Circled Heart (37 page)

My words caused him to turn and give me quick, intense look, both brows drawn together in concentration. “I think there’s more to your question, but I’ll take it at face value. Of course, I care. Your cousin was young with her whole life ahead of her. Why wouldn’t I care about such a senseless and needless death? I care because she was your cousin and because you care, but,” he concluded deliberately, “I would care much, much more if it had been you. Is that enough for you?” He returned to his driving and I settled myself more comfortably into my layers of wraps. I was convinced he was not a good enough actor to hide any depth of grief or loss from me.

“For now,” I answered and began to shake again, from the cold automobile and from the unbidden picture of Jennie’s hands uplifted above the water, clasped together in a final prayer.

I remembered Drew’s house the first time I saw it—I’d been drenched then, too—how it had seemed lit from within by something almost mystical and how charmed I was by all the windows and the uncluttered, spacious look and feel of it. I’d admired the house from the beginning, but now, pulling up to the curb in the dusky early evening and seeing all its windows filled with welcoming light, I loved that house like it was a person. Nothing cold and dark and icy anywhere. Instead, in a magical way, I thought it had somehow soaked up sun during the day and now radiated the light and warmth back to all the people who crossed its threshold. I’m going to live here someday, I thought. I love the house because I love the man. We’ll be happy at least some of the time and that’s happier than Jennie will ever be.

Drew scooped me out of the car and went up the walk, awkwardly pushing open the front door and calling Yvesta’s name as he did so. She came down the hall from the kitchen, followed by her daughters and Fritz bringing up the rear, a happy, well-fed, content little parade.

“Go turn down the bed in the guest room and bring as many extra blankets as you can find. Do we have a hot water bottle somewhere? Get that, too. And make a pot of hot tea and bring it upstairs. Fritz, go get Dr. Shannon and don’t come back without him.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” I protested. “I’m just cold, and I could probably walk if you’d put me down.”

Following Yvesta through a door that led into the rear wing of the house, Drew gave me a little shake.

“For once, just do what I say, Johanna. The aftereffect of immersion in frigid water is unpleasant at best and very serious at worst. The doctor is just a precaution.” He laid me inelegantly onto the bed. “Yvesta, underneath those wraps Miss Swan is naked as a newborn babe. I’m going to get one of my nightshirts which you should help her change into.”

“I can dress myself.” My attempt at independence was spoiled by my short, unbecoming gasps and chattering teeth. Drew simply shook his head at me as Yvesta pushed back my hood and quickly began to unfasten the layers of coat and cape.

“Johanna, what were you doing to get so soaked?” Yvesta asked. For no reason obvious to Yvesta, her question brought quick tears to my eyes. I think seeing them alarmed her because she patted my shoulder, saying gruffly, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Yvesta took the nightshirt Drew brought and slid it over my head, then disappeared from the room a moment and came back with a thick towel with which she dried my hair. After pulling the covers up to my chin, she told me, “I’m going to get hot tea, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a little whiskey came along with it.”

Left alone, I turned on my side and pulled my knees up against my chest, growing warm at last and afraid to move once I’d cozied into a ball. I thought I would sleep but didn’t, just lay there, unable to focus on any one thought. My mind seemed as slippery as the ice on the lake—and as treacherous.

Yvesta returned with a tray and a teapot, followed by Drew with the whiskey bottle, two minds apparently working as one. I resisted being moved from my warm spot but they both ignored my wishes and propped me up against the headboard. Drew had changed into a warm sweater over a shirt and dark flannel trousers. Looking at him, his hair becomingly tousled and a perfectly starched collar showing above the latest fashion in men’s sweaters, I could hardly believe that a few hours ago he’d been bumped and pulled by his heels over the ice, holding on to me so tightly we must have looked like two sacks of feed corn tied together.

After a well-placed hot water bottle and two cups of hot tea doctored with Drew’s best whiskey, my teeth no longer chattered. Yvesta gave me a critical look.

“I don’t like those two spots of color in her cheeks. Something’s not right there. I’ll go watch for the doctor.”

When she was gone, I snuggled back down under the covers, sleepy and much warmer. I felt odd, though, warm on the inside yet surrounded by a chilling coat of ice that made me think I must be stiff and cold to the touch. I was conscious, too, of a dull ache in my arms and legs, hands and feet. Probably just bruised, I told myself, and no use making a fuss about it. At least I was alive to feel pain unlike my poor Jennie, one moment there and the next gone, enveloped by the black, cold water and shrouded in ice. Poor lost Jennie. My eyes grew heavy and I knew I was falling asleep but felt there was something I needed to say to Drew, something urgent enough to make me fight sleep and push back the covers to go find him.

I don’t recall making any sound, but I must have said his name because Drew replied, “I’m right here, Johanna.” He sat in a chair next to the bed, relaxed with one leg thrown over the other and a glass of whiskey held loosely in one hand. I fell back onto the pillow and turned my head to the side so I could see him clearly.

“Thank you for saving my life, Drew. Thank you.”

He set down the glass, uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward. “You’re welcome,” adding conversationally, “I once heard that when one person saves another person’s life, the saved life belongs to the rescuer. Is that true, do you think?”

By then I could hardly keep my eyes open, but there was something I wanted Drew to know. I pulled my hand out from under the blankets and reached for his. I love you, I wanted to say. I understand it’s not about getting even or owing somebody something or being in another’s debt. Love isn’t about that. And although I don’t belong to anybody, I know I belong with you. I was too exhausted and lethargic, too heartsick, to say any of that, however. Instead, for answer I lifted his hand to my face and rested my cheek against his palm. He unfurled his fingers and cradled the side of my face. With a last push of energy and will, I turned my head enough to drop a light kiss into the palm of Drew’s hand.

“Yes, it’s true,” I murmured before falling deeply and darkly asleep.

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources,

Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing

Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer,

Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest;

So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels,

Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder,

Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer,

Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other.

Chapter Sixteen

The dream, inevitable and vivid and horrific, appeared that first night at Drew’s. I am walking on the frozen, snow-covered lake, the ice and the sky the same pewter gray color, so I cannot make out the line of horizon. The world is shrouded in gray. In my dream I am walking barefoot in my nightdress, but I am not at all surprised to feel warm and comfortable. I know I’m looking for Jennie, but as far as I can see there is only gray, whether lake or heavens I can’t tell, with no spot of life or color to be seen anywhere. Then to my amazement, I feel a tapping against the ice under my feet. I drop to my knees and begin to scrape away the snow urgently because I know it’s Jennie under there and I don’t have much time to save her. I crouch down and peer at the spot I’ve cleared on the ice. Under the ice, now a window into the frigid water, someone looks back at me, eyes wide, lips mouthing words I can’t hear, palms pressed up against the ice. I realize with shock that it’s not Jennie under the ice. It’s Drew. Drew trapped there, Drew’s mouth forming unintelligible syllables, Drew’s strong, long-fingered hands pounding against the ice, Drew’s eyes staring into mine begging for rescue. I begin to scrape at the ice with my hands so violently that blood from my torn fingers begins to streak the snow and then it’s not blood but the hem of a red dress. I turn and look up at the figure that suddenly stands beside me on the ice, a still figure who only watches, making no attempt to help. Jennie stands there, wearing my red silk dress.

“Help me, Jennie!” I cry. “It’s Drew! Look, it’s Drew!” But Jennie won’t help. She continues to stand immobile, watching me with a pitying look on her face. I realize suddenly that she cannot help me. Jennie cannot move for she is totally encased in ice, frozen stiff and solid. Trapped, too. Only her eyes are alive. I sob out her name, but it’s Drew’s name I’m saying because I’m confused and horrified and helpless. Then I awaken.

I have a vague memory of the dream’s first occurrence because of Drew, because of his sitting at the edge of my bed and saying calmly against my gasping sobs, “I’m here, Johanna, and everything’s all right. It’s just a dream. Nothing can hurt you. I’m here.” And because of his gathering me into his arms and holding me against his chest, just holding me until I fell back to sleep. I think I remember that.

When I truly awoke, I was amazed to see Crea standing over the bed. I knew I was in Drew’s guest room and I remembered everything that happened, but it didn’t seem possible that Crea would get here before the doctor.

“Crea,” I asked, my voice a little raspy, “did you have time to pack?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Johanna?”

“Of course, I’m Johanna. Why are you looking at me like that?” My question made her laugh and brightened her face.

“Like what exactly?” Crea filled a glass with water from a pitcher by the bed and lifted it to my lips.

After I took a long, gulping drink, I answered, “Like I’m crazy or like you’ve never seen me before. Unless—” I reached up a tentative hand to my face. “Just tell me. Did I freeze something on my face? Am I disfigured? I promise I won’t have hysterics if I am. Just tell me.”

“No, Johanna. Your face is perfectly fine. Here.” She brought me a hand mirror from the bureau. Crea was right. Although too pale and topped by a wild disarray of black, springy curls, my face looked its usual self.

“Then what caused that expression on your face? I know something surprised you.”

Seated, Crea asked, “Do you know what day it is, Johanna?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really feel in the mood for puzzles, but yesterday’s party was on a Saturday and I feel like I’ve had a good long sleep, so is it Sunday?” At Crea’s silence, I continued, “Monday then? Did I sleep a whole day away?”

“Try a whole week.”

“No.”

“Yes. You’ve been ill. The doctor said that sometimes a person who’s been immersed in cold water feels fine at first, only to run into serious circulation problems afterwards. I’ve forgotten what he called the condition, but you had it. We weren’t sure if you were going to live or if you did live, if you’d keep all your limbs.”

I immediately moved my arms and legs under the covers. “I think I have them all.”

Crea smiled. “You do, every one of them, and I think you’re going to live, besides. We’re all relieved.”

“We?”

“Your grandmother, for one. She’s doing fine,” Crea continued quickly at my look. “Don’t look so worried. She’s staying at your Uncle Hal’s for the time being, but she’s visited here every day.”

Thinking of Grandmother made me think of Jennie. “Did they find Jennie?”

Crea’s face sobered. “No. They looked all Saturday afternoon and then went back on Sunday and broke the ice away with picks, but there was no trace of her.” The picture of Jennie floating beneath the ice was more horrible than I could express, and Crea grasped my hand in sympathy. “I know. It’s awful. Don’t think about it.”

“How’s Aunt Kitty?”

“Peter says,” Crea began, and I watched her lovely, porcelain skin color a bright rose as she realized the implication of her words.

To spare her, I ignored the inference and the blush. “Peter says what?”

“That she won’t believe Jennie’s gone, won’t accept it. He says she gets up in the night and goes outside looking for her, that they’ve found her standing along the shoreline outside their house calling Jennie’s name. She insists they set a place for Jennie at the table and she’s still planning the wedding.”

“Oh, no! How awful! Poor Uncle Hal!” We were both quiet and I felt a surge of fatigue. It was the first I believed I must have been ill a whole week because I was not one to be exhausted from simple conversation. “Crea, don’t get stiff and formal with me if I tell you something.” When she didn’t respond, I went on, “Don’t let pride get in the way of being happy. Don’t ruin Peter’s life and your own through some misguided sense of propriety.”

I saw Jennie seated across from me, saying of Drew, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he loved you, and if that’s the case, count your blessings.”

“Don’t make Peter settle for second, Crea, or let Aunt Kitty make your decisions. Life’s too short to waste love. There. I just needed to say that.” She didn’t answer, but she didn’t lift her chin and tell me to mind my own business, either. Instead, Crea hopped up from her seat.

“I’m going to get Drew. I should have gone first thing. He’s been beside himself with worry.”

“I can’t picture that.”

“I can.”

“You can’t always tell with him, you know, Crea.”

“We’ve shared several nights sitting across your bed. I think I can tell.”

I felt a sharp and unbecoming pang of jealousy, completely ridiculous and out of place, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want Drew Gallagher sharing his nights with anyone but me. Crea left the room and despite my desperate intention to stay awake to see Drew, I fell asleep almost before she closed the door behind her.

I awoke later, alone this time, in a darkened room that was dimly lit by a small lamp on the bureau. I swung my feet around to the floor and slowly stood, found my own slippers and warm wool robe that Crea must have brought, and decided to go exploring. Somewhere outside my room was a kitchen and I was starving. A good sign, I thought to myself, and except for a momentary weakness in my knees that dropped me back down onto the bed the first time I stood, I felt clear-headed, healthy, and very hungry. Along the way, I discovered a small room equipped with modern conveniences where I washed my face and ran my hands through my hair. I gave up on an effort to straighten curls that had been slept on for a week. Crea must have tried her best to keep me clean and presentable, but even in the best of times, my hair had a mind of its own.

The house was quiet and at first I thought everyone must be settled and asleep, but spying light under one of the doors along the hall, I revised my opinion. I lost my bearings in the dim interior but felt fairly confident I was outside the kitchen. Yvesta was still up, perhaps, finishing supper or readying breakfast, and just the person I needed to point me toward something, anything, edible. Once I pushed open the door and stepped inside, however, I realized it wasn’t Yvesta and it wasn’t the kitchen.

The door gave a soft creak and Drew, seated behind his desk in the library, looked up. The room was bright and warm, with flames crackling in the fireplace. A fleeting look crossed Drew’s face when he saw me, surprise or relief or a stronger emotion still, but the handsome domed lamp behind his chair threw an assortment of shadows across both him and the desk, so I couldn’t decide whether all I really saw was a simple play of light. He certainly didn’t leap to his feet and rush to grab me into his arms. More’s the pity.

Instead, seated and wearing the charming smile of which I’d grown inordinately fond, he asked, “What on earth are you doing here, Johanna?”

I suddenly and vividly remembered our first meeting, me sopping wet and standing in this very doorway, dripping onto the same wool rug.

“‘The look on your face tells me you think I am some kind of vision, but please don’t elaborate,’” I quoted, stepping farther into the room. I could tell my response puzzled him but then knew from his broadened smile that he finally recalled our first exchange, too.

“There is something about you and water, apparently. Should you be up?”

“I’m hungry. I thought this was the kitchen.”

“Yes, but should you be up?” he repeated.

I sat down in the chair across from his desk before I answered. “I don’t think you need to baby me any more,” then hastened to add, “not that I mean to sound ungrateful. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate everything you’ve done more than I can say.”

His expression looked briefly forbidding, and he moved his hand to brush away my words with a wave. “You don’t have to be polite with me, Johanna.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I only meant it as perfunctory courtesy. There was a but coming.” Drew waited for me to finish, eyes warm and mouth so inviting I almost lost my train of thought.

“That’s all right, then,” he conceded, “because perfunctory courtesy is the only kind I allow in this house.”

“I was going to add, ‘but where is the kitchen?’ Do you think Yvesta is still up?” Drew peered at the small clock on his desk.

“Since it’s nearly midnight, I hope not, but I am not her keeper, only her employer. Let’s go see.” Pushing back his chair, he stood up and stretched. “I know where the kitchen is, and I imagine that even without Yvesta we can find something safe for you to eat. I can bring it to your room, if you’d like.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want you to wait on me any more than you already have and besides I need a change of scenery.” I had risen without taking his outstretched hand and we walked side by side into the hallway without touching.

“You sound like your old self again. That’s a sure sign you’re feeling better.”

“I’ve always had the constitution and the appetite of a horse. Was I very sick?”

“Very.”

“It’s odd that I don’t remember any of it, though.” By then we had entered the dark kitchen and Drew turned on lights and began to rummage for plates and utensils.

“None of it?” He stopped his exploration of cupboards to focus on my answer.

“Only the dream and your being there.” I remember the safety of your arms, I wanted to add, the way we fit together, and the words you murmured against my hair. I remember those things, too. But I didn’t say any of that. He was too coolly self-possessed, a different man from the one who held me night after night, trying to keep the nightmare at bay.

Drew turned his back to bring down mugs and plates from the shelves, so I couldn’t see his face. “Tea and bread, I think,” he said aloud. “I’m not a doctor, but I’d guess anything more than that might unsettle your stomach.” He put on the kettle for tea.

“I am a nurse, don’t forget, and professionally speaking, I’m sure I can handle something with more substance than tea and bread.”

“Here’s a slice of roast chicken, then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In a way he was right. I went from a ravenous need for food to feeling full after only a few bites—but those few bites were heavenly while they lasted. As I ate, Drew left the kitchen to return with a small woolen blanket that he draped across my shoulders. I felt him behind me, felt his hands on my shoulders as he arranged the blanket and then felt his hands cease their movement and simply rest there, gentle, warm, protective. For a few seconds, I leaned my head back against him, content and comfortable, aware of that same sensation of fitting together I’d experienced before. It was an odd moment, wordless and unacknowledged, the casual, amused Drew replaced by the man I remembered from my bedside. Coming back to sit across from me at the kitchen worktable, he nursed a shot glass of some liquid while I sipped tea.

“Crea said they weren’t able to recover Jennie’s body,” I volunteered.

“No, and the temperature’s dropped again. The ice is solid. They won’t find her until spring.” Drew paused. “Do you know why she was out there, Johanna?”

“Yes, I think so. She felt overwhelmed by life and was running away.”

“Overwhelmed?”

I pulled the blanket more tightly around my shoulders. “Jennie was pregnant and not by Carl. She couldn’t face what that meant, which in her eyes was a ruined future. If she went through with the marriage, she believed Carl would divorce her when he discovered the truth, and she was sure he would. If she called off the wedding, she’d have to face her mother’s disappointment and society’s scorn. Neither alternative was bearable to her. She didn’t understand that a woman could live through all that. For her it was the end of the world. The end of her world. I don’t know who the father of her child was because she wouldn’t tell me, so I don’t know if he was unwilling to do the right thing or if she was unable to have a life with him. Perhaps he was married, I don’t know. She was purposefully evasive with me that day. She said the man’s name wasn’t important and that I especially didn’t need to know, that knowing would make matters worse.” When I stopped talking, Drew sat back in his chair and idly swirled the liquid in his glass, clearly digesting everything I had just said.