Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (37 page)

Ainsley and Heather were gone.

Adrian had always been a thinker, but today he was doing
some
serious
thinking. He decided that standing here, looking out over
the point that stretched out over the Pacific, was a good place to do it. He
was contemplating Maggie: how pretty she always looked when he came home each
evening; what an effort she made to be cheerful and good-humored, even when he
was cross as a bear fresh out of hibernation. He recalled the way she looked in
the library in the evenings when she gathered Barrie, Fletcher, and Ainsley
there to read them stories, and how he was always distracted by it—for how
could he help watching the wealth of expressions that came and went across her
face, or the dozen or so ways she had of changing her voice to suit the
characters in a book? How could he forget those incredible eyes that seemed to
change color with her mood, and the flame-kissed highlights of her hair that
made him think she was born of fire? Most of all, he thought about the way she
made him feel whenever he was around her.

Maggie, with her pedigree all the way back to Charlemagne.
Maggie, with an education any man would covet. Maggie, with her feminine ways,
her Scots logic, her dry humor, and her infinite patience. Maggie, slow to
anger, quick to forgive. Maggie, who must know him better than he knew himself.
Maggie, the woman he was going to lose if he didn’t tell her how he felt. He
closed his eyes and prayed.

God, give me the right way to tell her. Give me the words
she wants to hear. There have been so many losses in my life. Don’t let me lose
Maggie, too.

As an afterthought, he added,
And don’t let me make a
fool of myself.

He returned to the house and poured himself a glass of
claret. Then he went to find Maggie.

“She’s taking a nap with Ainsley,” Maude said. “Want me to
fetch her?”

“No,” Adrian said. “I’ll see her at dinner.”

Seeing Maggie at dinner didn’t work out the way he wanted it
either, for Adrian had no more than dressed for dinner when Eli came to tell
him that someone had tried to break into the mill office.

Grabbing his coat, he followed Eli out the door.

“Was anything taken?” he asked, running to the stables.

“No, I don’t think so. Big John happened to notice a lamp on
in the office and thought it had been left on by mistake. He headed on over to
the office to turn it off, and when he opened the door, the culprit climbed out
the back window.”

Adrian saddled his gelding, letting Eli fill him in on the
rest of the story as they rode down to camp. Big John was in the office when
they arrived.

“I think there were two of them,” he said, “although I only
saw one go out the window.” He walked over to the window. “They broke the
bottom pane of glass. That’s how they got in.”

Adrian looked around the room. Everything seemed in place.
His gaze rested upon a stack of ledgers. He frowned. He was certain he put
those ledgers back in the drawer. And what was that can of coal oil doing on
the table next to them?

“By God,” he said, “whoever it was, they were going to burn
the ledgers…”

“And probably the office with it,” Big John added, coming
over to the table where Eli and Adrian stood.

Adrian looked around the room. “Well, there’s nothing we can
do now. You two might as well go home and get some shut-eye.”

“What about you?” Eli asked. “You going home?”

“I’ll put some boards over the window and put things away,
then I’ll head on home.”

Adrian boarded up the bottom half of the window and returned
the coal oil and ledgers to their proper place. When he had finished, he stood
at the window, staring out over the campsite, seeing the faint glow of
lamplight from the bunkhouse. A gust of wind rattled the front door, but Adrian
barely noticed. He was feeling his life had forked in two directions—his lumber
mill and his wife—and he was stranded somewhere in the middle, standing on the
lunatic fringe.

Adrian turned away from the window and turned out the lamp.
A short while later, he was back home. He ate a cold supper of salmon and
potatoes, then went to find Maggie, only to discover her door was closed. He
knocked softly, but Maggie did not answer. For a long time he stood outside her
door.
Wake her up and tell her,
a voice said.

She needs her sleep.

Are you stalling again?

No, I’ll tell her in the morning
, he thought,
suddenly recalling something engraved on a scrimshaw paperweight on his desk.
Defer
not ‘til tomorrow to be wise, Tomorrow’s sun may never rise.

He turned away from Maggie’s door. His footsteps were slow
and heavy as he went to his room.

For the rest of his life, Adrian would think of that next
morning as the most fateful day of his life.

Upon arising that December morning, Adrian made his way down
to the kitchen, where he was greeted with two bits of news: one, that a ship
had docked, and two, that they had found Clyde Bishop with his throat cut.

Hearing the news just as she was about to enter the kitchen,
Maggie paused outside the door. The ship was in. The time had come.

Her appetite suddenly gone, she turned away from the door,
making her way silently up the stairs, going to her room and closing the door
behind her.

Some time later she heard a soft knock. “Maggie, are you
awake?” It was Adrian’s voice.

On the other side of the door, Maggie clutched her dress to
her bosom, her heart beating frantically in her chest. He did not knock again,
nor did he call out her name. Wiping tears from her face, she turned away from
the door, walking with slow, plodding steps back to her bed, where her clothes
lay scattered. With a ragged sigh she folded the dress and placed it in the
trunk, on top of the others. It seemed such a short while ago that she had
folded these very same clothes to come to California, and now she was leaving.
She picked up her muff, rubbing her hands over the soft fur, her mind wandering
back to a moment ago. She could not help wondering what might have happened if
she had opened the door when he knocked, if he had seen her packing.
No
,
she told herself,
it is better this way. Better that he does not know. You
are’na as strong as you think, Maggie. A strong woman would have opened the
door.

On his way to camp, Adrian became aware of a deep, aching
pain that seemed to squeeze the breath from his chest. The pain wasn’t from his
procrastination as much as what it had resulted in. He realized that Maggie was
the reality shaped him, but when that ship docked before he had a chance to
tell her what was in his heart, he felt that he and Maggie were like grain that
had been ground into flour, grain that would sprout no more.

He was trapped now, between the decisions of his past and
the reality of the present, and there was agony there, knowing he could neither
go back to the past, nor leave it behind. So many memories rushed before his
eyes, and nothing…
nothing
gave him a deeper feeling of loneliness and
regret than treading the silent and deserted hallways of former times. He
didn’t know what he should do. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets,
thinking, knowing it was too late for that.

After going over the details about Clyde Bishop’s death with
Eli and Big John, Adrian stood at the window of his office, looking at the
ship.

“Maggie and the children are leaving. Did you know that?”
Big John asked.

Adrian whirled around. “Leaving? Why didn’t you tell me before
now?”

“I thought you knew.”

Adrian turned back to the window. Maggie was standing on the
dock, now, two men stacking her trunks around her, Israel standing at her side.
The children were nowhere in sight. Her face was turned away from him, and as
he watched, her hand came up to touch the collar of her dress, a winsome
expression that was also sad. Recriminations jammed his mind.

As swiftly as a mule’s kick, he realized she was leaving,
and he considered what he had done. Joined, first by marriage, then by lust,
finally settling into a comfortable friendship, he had acted in anger, then he
had been content to let it ride.

He left the office quickly, walking toward the dock. As if
sensing his presence, she turned and stood silently, looking at him. He swallowed
hard. He had wanted nothing more for the past several months than to tell her
how he felt, and now it was too late. The ship had docked and its masts were
bare and stripped of all canvas, like a grisly reminder that reached out to
him, an omen of what his life would be without her: bare and stripped of its
brightness.

A loud, thudding noise distracted him and he looked away,
seeing the plank had been lowered. The captain would appear at any moment. She
did not look at him, but he saw her reach down and pick up her wicker basket.
How much she looked like Ainsley. His heart wrenched at the thought. His gaze
rested upon her basket. He remembered it sitting beside her chair in the
library, skeins of yarn spilling out, her knitting needles jabbed into the shawl
she was knitting for Molly. He remembered it, too, crammed with food and loaded
in the wagon for a picnic.

He could not let her go.

His mind searched for a way to stop the madness he had put
into motion as his gaze took in the men who had gathered around the dock.
Hostility and contempt seemed to rise from the group of them like pointing
fingers of accusation.

His gaze came back to her. She was wearing a dress he had
never seen before, one that was so dark a blue, it was almost black. It was a
somber dress, and grave. It fit the occasion.

He walked up to her, stopping at her side. “What are you
doing down here, Maggie?”

“I’m doing what you wanted. Leaving.” She was looking at him
now. “Dinna worrit. I brought the children with me,” she said. “Ainsley wanted
to see Heather one last time, so Maude took them to the smithy. Emmitt was
making a harness for Heather. He’s been keeping her in a stall until he had it
fitted and made.”

Adrian’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to speak, when
she looked off and said, “Dinna say anything, Adrian. Please.” She looked at
the group of silent men. “I dinna want them to see me cry, and I canna keep
from it if you start talking. It’s over. You have what you wanted. Please leave
me with some dignity.”

It was the first time he could remember hearing so much
anger, so much hurt, in her voice. “I had hoped…”

She whirled, her face inches from his now. “You had hoped
what? That I would leave laughing? That I would thank you for not wanting us?
Or were you hoping we could part friends? Well, we canna.”

“Maggie, love, don’t be angry.”

“Love? Don’t call me that. You wouldna understand love if
someone whacked you over the head with it. Aye, you wouldna understand it if it
were sitting on the tip of your nose. You are a blind man, Adrian. Blind and
stupid.” She stamped her foot. “Why?” she asked, looking heavenward. “Why did I
have to fall in love with a stupid, stubborn, blind man?” Then looking back at
him, she added, “And dinna tell me not to be angry. I have a right to be
angry…I want to be angry. I
have
to be.”

He had never seen her this mad. He had never loved her more.
“You don’t have to be angry.”

“Aye, I do. It will be easier for me to go if I’m angry at
you.”

His hand come out to touch her sleeve. “Don’t go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to.”

“You will have to do better than that,” she said, and he
suddenly knew he would.

It was now or never.
Speak up. Tell her, or lose her.
Swallow your damn stupid pride. She loves you. Can’t you tell her what she
wants to hear?

It was the most difficult thing he had ever done. “Maggie.”
When he spoke her name and saw the way hope sprang into her eyes, it all became
easy. “I love you.”

The moment he spoke the words, a million pounds of doubt and
frustration fell away from him. He felt as if he would float away. He felt like
a new man. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw her anger was slowly
melting. To love and be loved. Was there anything better than this?

His arms went around her and he kissed her, full upon the
mouth—and in front of every logger in the camp.

A loud cheer went up, and laughing, Maggie pushed him away.
“The children,” she said. “I need to find them, to tell them.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“No, I ken it would be better if I talk to them first. They
are no verra happy with you right now, you ken.”

“Aye,” he said, “I ken.” He tried to imitate her burr and
failed, but he could tell from the warm look in her eyes that it didn’t matter
that he had failed, but that he had tried.

He walked with her as far as the office, then stood on the
porch, watching her cross the camp, walking toward Maude and the children—who
looked, just as she said, no verra happy with him.

Happiness inflated him. He felt ten times his size. He was a
strong man. He could walk through fire. His woman loved him, and somehow that
made the world seem right.

He went inside. The office was deserted. He poured himself a
cup of coffee and went to stand at the window, looking out at the ship that
would soon sail without its precious cargo—
his
precious cargo.

A moment later, the door opened and Maggie walked in.

She came to the window where he stood. He put his coffee cup
on the windowsill, and moving behind her, wrapped her in his arms, his chin
resting on top of her head. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Do you have any tea?”

“No, but I will from now on.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning closer against him.
“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said, “for there are more of you to
love.” He turned her to face him. “I love you, Maggie…
all
of you.”