House On Windridge (14 page)

Chapter 11

T
he weeks that followed left Devon depressed and frustrated. His injuries were quick enough to heal, so why not his mind? “How does that leg feel?” the doctor questioned as Devon hobbled around the room like a trained monkey.

“It's sore, but I've had worse.”

“How do you know?” the doctor asked curiously. “Are you starting to remember something more?”

Devon shrugged. “I remember little pieces of things. I remember a room with a stone fireplace. I remember riding a horse out on the open range.” He hobbled back to bed and sunk onto the edge of the mattress. “But I don't remember anything important.”

“Those things are all important, Mr. Smith,” the doctor told him.

“Don't call me Smith,” Devon replied angrily. “Not unless you have proof that that's who I am.”

“We have to call you something,” the doctor replied. “Now, raise that arm for me.”

Devon lifted his left arm and grimaced. Apparently his assailants had hit him repeatedly and kicked him as well. He had suffered busted ribs, a broken ankle, and a dislocated shoulder. His left arm had been continuously pounded, the doctor believed by boot heels, as had his face.

“It still works. Just not as well,” Devon told the doctor.

“I'm sure in time it will all heal properly. Are you in as much pain today as you were yesterday?”

Devon shook his head. “No.” He glanced up to find one of the nurses coming down the ward with a well-dressed man at her side.

“Dr. Casper, this man believes he knows our patient.”

Devon perked up at this and studied the man for a moment. Was he a friend? A brother? Some other family member?

“Yes,” the man said enthusiastically. “This is the man I've been searching for. He didn't have a beard when he stayed with us, but he's the same man. He's a guest, or was a guest, at our hotel. I'm so happy to have found you, Mr. Carter.”

“Carter?” Devon tried the name. Carter. Yes, Carter sounded right.

“The assault this man received left him without much of a memory,” Dr.
Casper told the hotelman.

“No wonder you failed to return,” the man said sympathetically. “When I heard about the poor man who'd been beaten in the alley not far from the hotel, I thought, perhaps this is Devon Carter. I knew you wouldn't leave without retrieving your things. After all, you left quite a bit of money in my safe.”

Devon nodded. Yes, he remembered having a good amount of money. He closed his eyes and pictured himself handing it over to the man who now stood at his side. “I remember you.”

“Good,” the doctor said enthusiastically. “Seeing something familiar often triggers memory.” He turned to the hotelman. “Did you bring any of his things?”

“No, but I can have them brought here immediately.”

“Then do so,” the doctor instructed. “Mr. Carter will need all the help he can get in order to remember who he is.”

Nearly half an hour later, a boy appeared with saddlebags, two brown paper packages, and a large envelope. The man from the hotel stood at his side as though standing guard. “We have your things, Mr. Carter.”

Devon nodded. It felt so good just to know his own name that knowing anything else would be purely extra. He took hold of the saddlebags and noted the carved initials
D.C.
He ran his fingers over the indentation, remembering vaguely the day he'd carved the marker on the bags. Reaching into one side, Devon pulled out his shaving gear and studied it for a moment. It seemed familiar, but nothing that offered him any real memory. Next, he took out an extra shirt and pair of socks. Nothing came to mind with those articles, so he quickly reached into the other side of the bag.

Here, he found receipts all dated from the middle of December. Some of the receipts were for furniture, and others were for homey things like lamps, curtain rods, material, dishes, and such. The kind of things a wife would have need and desire of. Did he have a wife? The same face kept coming to mind. At first she had appeared only in a hazy outline, but as time went on, the warmth of her smile and the sincerity in her dark eyes became clearer in his memory. Was this the image of his wife?

“Do you remember these things?” the doctor questioned.

“Somewhat,” Devon replied.

“This,” the man from the hotel said, “is the money you left with us.”

Devon took the envelope and looked inside. There was a great deal of money, and it immediately triggered a thought. The money was intended for a special use. The money belonged to her. The woman in his mind. Perhaps it was a dowry. Maybe they were setting up house, and this money had come from her.

“Why don't you unwrap these packages? My nurse will be glad to rewrap them afterward, but perhaps they will trigger some memory.”

Devon nodded and gently stripped away the paper on the first package. Toy soldiers. Devon felt mounting frustration at not being able to remember. Then to his surprise, the image of another face came to mind. It was that of a child. The fuzzy brown hair of the boy seemed to draw Devon's attention first. There was something important about this child. Then a horrible feeling washed over Devon. Was he not only a husband but a father as well?

“Here, try this one,” the doctor said, helping to pull the paper from the other package. A jewelry box was revealed as the paper fell away. Devon stared at the box, feeling sure that he should remember it but having no real understanding of why. Had he bought this as a gift for the woman in his dreams? Had he left a family somewhere to worry and fret over his well-being? What if they were in danger because of his absence? What if they needed the supplies and goods he had procured?

“No,” he muttered, handing the things over to the nurse. He stuffed the receipts and money into the saddlebag, then turned to the hotelman. “I don't suppose I gave you an address?”

“No, Sir, but you said you were from Kansas. You came to sell cattle.”

Devon drew his legs up onto the bed and fell back against the pillow. “I think I need to rest,” he told them all. He felt angry and frustrated. He had hoped that with the recognition of his own name, he might instantly remember everything else that he needed to know.

“Thanks for bringing my things,” he told the hotelman. The man smiled and prodded the kid to follow him from the room. The nurse and doctor agreed that rest was the best solution and finally left Devon alone.

He stared at the ceiling for awhile, then rolled onto his side and stared down the corridor of beds. Several men moaned and called out for help. Others slept peacefully, and a few read. But all of them had their minds. All of them knew their name and recognized their own things.

Sleep finally overtook Devon, and although he passed the time fitfully, he actually felt better when he awoke. The light had faded outside, leaving little doubt that dusk was upon them. This time of day made Devon melancholy. He longed to be home—wherever home might be.

He thought of the dark-haired woman in his dreams. Thought of the child whose laughing face warmed his heart. He loved these people; he felt certain of that. They were important to him in a way he couldn't figure out, but he knew without a doubt they were keys to his past.

Supper came, and although Devon had figured nothing good could come of the meal, he found himself actually enjoying the beef stew. It wasn't as good as Kate's, but. . .

Kate? Was that the dark-haired woman's name?

Devon stared at the stew and forced an image. He was sitting in a stylish dining room. The dark-haired woman and little boy were sitting beside him, but there was also someone else in the picture. An older woman's face beamed a smile at him. She pushed up wire-rimmed glasses and asked if he'd like more stew. Kate. Katie! He actually remembered her.

This triggered other thoughts, and soon Devon found himself overwhelmed with people and events. Still, he couldn't remember the brown-haired woman's name, nor that of the child. Nor could he remember where he lived and where he might find the others.

“I've brought another visitor,” Dr. Casper said as he approached Devon's bed.

The supper had grown cold, but Devon didn't care. “I've been remembering some things.”

The doctor smiled. “Good! That's very good. This gentleman called for you at the hotel, and he knows quite a bit about your home. We thought you might remember him as well.”

Devon looked at the man and nodded. “Yes, he does seem familiar.”

“I am Mr. Whitehead. You ordered a large number of chairs and two bedsteads from my company. You also ordered several nightstands and dressers.” The man chuckled. “You look a bit different what with the beard. You had the mustache, but the beard is new.”

Devon nodded and smirked a grin. “Nobody seems to offer me a shave around here. You say I ordered furniture? I do seem to remember something along those lines, but did I say why I needed so much?”

“You were ordering them for your place in Kansas. You are planning a resort ranch at a place called Windridge.”

The word
Windridge
triggered everything. Suddenly it was as if the floodgates to his mind had opened. He realized exactly who he was and who she was. “Jessica.” He breathed the name and sighed.

Then, startling both the doctor and Mr. Whitehead, Devon exclaimed, “What day is this?”

“February 3,” the doctor replied.

Devon rubbed his bearded face. “Get me a razor and some soap. I have to get home. I should have been there months ago.”

The doctor smiled. “Are you certain you feel up to leaving us?”

Devon nodded. “I'm positive. Just get me my things. Oh, and I need to send a telegram.” No doubt everyone would be worried sick by now. Especially Jessica.

“Well, it seems as though this is all working out rather well,” Dr. Casper said. “I wouldn't have given you odds on pulling through that beating, but you're one tough man, Mr. Carter.”

“I don't know about how tough I am, but I'm definitely a man with a purpose, and that gives a guy strength, even when all hope is lost.”

When they left him to dress, Devon felt the overwhelming urge to get down on his knees and thank God for supplying him with the answers he'd been so desperately seeking. Stiff and sore from his inactivity, Devon ignored the pain and knelt beside his bed.

Thank You, Father
, he prayed, feeling hot tears come to his eyes.
I was so lost, and I despaired of ever being found. But You knew where I was all the time. You knew what I needed, and You brought it to me. I pray with a heart of thanksgiving for all that You've done to rescue me from the hopelessness. Please keep Jessica and everyone at Windridge in Your care. Help them not to worry, and help me to get home to them quickly. Amen.

❧

Jessica awoke with a start. She went first to Ryan's bed and found the boy sleeping peacefully. All signs of the measles were gone, but he was still rather weak, and Jessica worried over him.

She watched him sleep peacefully and thanked God for His mercy.

“I've learned so much here at Windridge,” she murmured. “Things I never expected to learn.”

She thought of the diary her father had kept and went to take it up from the special place she'd given it on her fireplace mantel. Lighting a lamp, she sat down to reread the final entry in the journal. She continued to come back to this one entry, because while the rest of the book was written to her mother, this entry was written to her:

My beloved Jessica,

I can only pray that you will someday forgive me for sending you away. I have always loved you, will die loving you, but I know I am unworthy of your love. I've tried to help out where I could—tried to be there for you when you would let me, which, although it didn't happen often, happened just enough to give me some satisfaction.

Please know this, I never blamed you for your mother's passing. People live, and people die, and that's just the way things are. Only God chooses the timing for those things. Only God can give life, as He did in the form of my beautiful child, and only God can take life, as He did with your mother.

I'm sorry I can't leave you a legacy of memories spent here at Windridge, but I hope you'll stay on. I hope you'll come to love this house as much as your mother did. I hope too that you'll be good to Katie and Buck and Devon Carter. You don't know any of them very well, but they're good people, and I know they will care very deeply for you. When
you think of me, Jessica, I hope it will be with something other than ha
tred and anger. Maybe one day you will actually think of me as I used to be when your mother was alive. Hopeful, happy, looking forward to the future and all that it had to offer.

Your Father

Jessica sighed and closed the book to cradle it against her breast. She felt warmed and comforted by its words. Now if only Devon would come home. If only they could have some word from him. Some hope that he was all right.

Getting up, Jessica walked to the window and looked across the snowy prairie. “Come home to me, Devon,” she whispered against the frosty glass. “Please come home to Windridge.”

Chapter 12

W
arm southerly winds blew in and melted the snows on Windridge. The land went from white to dull brown practically overnight. Jessica marveled at the change. She could actually go outside without a coat, although Kate told her the warmth was deceptive. But Jessica didn't care. The heat of the sun felt good upon her face, and the warm winds blowing across the land would dry the ground and insure her ability to get to town again.

Jessica didn't allow herself to be concerned with what she would do once she actually got to town. She hadn't a clue as to how she would go about searching for Devon, but she knew the key would be in communication. She would start by telegraphing anyone who might have some idea of Devon's whereabouts.

Bundling Ryan up, Jessica decided a walk to the top of the ridge would be in order. The land was still rather soggy, but Jessica carefully picked her way up the hill while Ryan chattered about the things he saw.

“Bword,” he cried out, pointing to a robin sitting on the fence post.

“Yes, that's a good sign,” Jessica told her son.

“I want bword,” Ryan said, trying to squirm out of her hold.

“No. Now stop it,” Jessica reprimanded. “We're going up here to see if we can find Devon.”

“Dadon,” Ryan repeated.

Jessica smiled. No matter how much Ryan's language improved, Devon's name still came out sounding like some form of
Daddy.

“Dadon comin',” Ryan said enthusiastically.

“Soon, I hope.” Jessica wondered if she'd made a mistake by telling the boy they were looking for Devon. Now he would be constantly chattering about Devon, always asking where he was and when he'd come home. The measles had forced all of them to focus their attention on something other than Devon's absence, and even though Ryan had cried for Devon on more than one occasion, he seemed to accept that the man was gone from his life. At least temporarily. Now Jessica realized she'd probably stirred up the child's anticipation all over again.

“Dadon comin' to me,” Ryan told her, patting his hand against her face.

Jessica kissed his fingers and laughed. “I pray he comes home soon.” She trudged up the final few feet of the ridge, realizing as she did how much Ryan had grown since the last time she'd carried him up the hillside.

“Oh, Ryan,” she said rather breathlessly, “you're getting so big.”

“Wyan get big,” he said, raising his arms high in the air. “Dadon comin' to me.”

Jessica shook her head and grinned at the boy's enthusiasm.
Let him have his moment
, she thought.
It can't hurt to be hopeful.
Jessica stared out across the Flinthills and felt the longing in her heart grow stronger. He was out there somewhere.

“I don't know where you are,” she whispered, her skirts bellowing out behind her as the wind whipped at them. She knew she couldn't keep Ryan outside for much longer and had just started to turn back down the hill when she spotted a wagon emerge from behind a hill.

Ryan saw the object as well and started clapping his hands. “Dadon comin'!”

Jessica felt her heart skip a beat as yet another wagon
followed the first and then another. Four wagons in all, laden with crates and covered boxes, made their way toward Windridge. Then Jessica caught the outline of the two men in the lead wagon.

“Devon,” she whispered, feeling absolutely confident that the man beside the driver of the wagon was her beloved Devon.

“Come on, Ryan, we have to get you back in the house.”

“I want Dadon,” Ryan protested as Jessica nearly ran down the hill.

Because the grass still held moisture, she slipped and nearly fell. “I've got to calm myself down,” she said aloud and forced herself to walk more carefully.

Seeing the wagons come ever closer, Jessica forgot about taking Ryan inside. She forgot about everything but getting to Devon. She started walking down the dirt road, her pace picking up as the wagons rounded the final bend. She tightened her grip on Ryan.
Devon's home!
It was all she could think of.

He apparently saw her, because the wagon stopped long enough for Devon to jump down from the seat. He waved the driver on and walked toward them with a bit of a limp.
He was hurt!
she thought, and all sensibility left her mind. She began to run, mindless of Ryan, mindless of the drivers passing by in their wagons.

“Oh, Devon!” she exclaimed. His face registered surprise as she crossed the final distance and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Devon, I thought you were never coming home.” Then without thought, she kissed him. At first it was just a peck on the cheek, then another and another, and finally her lips met his and stopped. All rational thought had fled, and she kissed him passionately. Pulling away, Jessica suddenly realized by the look on Devon's face that she'd made a grave mistake.

Her enthusiasm waned, in spite of the fact that Ryan was now clapping and shouting Devon's name over and over. She did nothing for a moment, her gaze fixed on Devon. She searched his eyes for some sign of acceptance, but he only stared back at her as if trying to figure out who she was and why she'd just kissed him.

Thrusting Ryan into Devon's arms, Jessica turned and ran back to the house. He didn't even call after her. Jessica felt her face grow hot with humiliation. Kate must have been wrong about his feelings for her. She must have misunderstood Buck, or Buck had misunderstood Devon.

Jessica wanted to die. Wanted to crawl under a rock and never be seen again. What a spectacle she'd just made of herself. Running out there to Devon as though he was her long lost love.

But,
she thought,
he is
my
love.
She might not be his, but he was her own heart's love. And deep down inside, Jessica knew she would never love another. If he couldn't return that love, then she would live the rest of her life alone. The thought terrified her.

“Is that Devon?” Kate exclaimed, stepping out the front door.

“Yes,” Jessica barely managed to say. She rushed past, mindless of the shocked expression on the older woman's face. She couldn't stand and explain her humiliating actions to Kate. No, let Devon tell Kate how poorly she'd conducted herself.

Jessica stayed out of sight until suppertime. Kate had brought Ryan to the nursery for his nap, and although Jessica was just in the adjoining room,
she didn't open the doors to speak to the woman; Kate, thankfully, did
n't knock and ask her to.

She felt guilty for having neglected Ryan, but in truth her emotions were so raw and foreign that Jessica knew it would have been impossible to deal with anyone.

“I don't know what to do,” she whispered, pressing her face against the cool pane of the window. “I made a fool of myself, and now I have to face them all at supper.”

She heard Kate ring the supper bell, something the woman had come up with in order to call guests to meals. The tradition had been started early, all in order to see how and if it would work. The bell pealed out loud and clear, and Jessica cringed. She would have to go down. There was no other way.

She splashed water on her face and checked her appearance. She'd changed out of the skirt and blouse she'd worn earlier. The hem of that skirt had been laden with mud and grass, and the blouse had clung to her from perspiration. Now she studied her reflection and realized that the peach-colored gown made her look quite striking. The muttonleg sleeves made her shoulders look slightly wider, which accented her tiny waist. The gown was cut in a
very simple style, with a rounded neckline and basque waist. The peach ma
ter
ial had been trimmed in cream-colored lace and cording, and with Jessica's brunette hair, the effect was quite stunning.

She bit her lip and shook her head. It didn't matter. She had dressed for him, but it wouldn't matter. His feelings had obviously changed while he'd been away from Windridge. She would have to accept this fact and deal with her broken heart.

“Mama! Mama come!” Ryan called out to her from the nursery.

Jessica smiled and opened the door. “Yes, Mama is coming.”

By the time they made their way into the dining room, the others had already congregated. Jessica hated making an entrance where everyone could stare at her, but she knew there was no other choice. She swept into the room, Ryan in her arms, and made her way to the table determined that no one would think anything was wrong.

“Here we are. So sorry for the delay,” she announced, putting Ryan in his chair and taking her own place at the foot of the table.

“I thought perhaps you'd fallen asleep,” Kate said, allowing Buck to help
her into her chair.

Jessica could feel Devon's gaze upon her, but she refused to look at him. “Yes, well, I did rest for a time. Thank you for seeing to Ryan.”

“Oh, I didn't see to him except to put him down for his nap. Devon wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that they had a lot of catching up to do.”

Jessica could feel her cheeks grow warm. “Well, then, thank you.” She refused to say his name. It was almost more than she could stand. Being so near to him yet knowing that he was put off at her behavior was too much to bear.

They blessed the meal, with Buck giving thanks for Devon's safe return. Then Kate started the conversation, asking Devon to explain his long absence.

“As I was telling Buck and Kate, earlier,” Devon began, “everything went pretty well the first couple weeks. I had no trouble selling the cattle and arranging for most everything we had on our list.”

Our list
. The words sounded pleasant, but Jessica knew she could take no comfort in them. Devon merely thought of Windridge as being partly his own because her father had instilled that belief in the man. How could she blame him for his concerns about the ranch and what would become of it?

“They hit me hard and of course—”

“What?” Jessica nearly shouted, and for the first time her gaze met his. “Who hit you?”

Devon grinned. “I was just telling you that I got myself mugged in Kansas City. A couple fellows waylaid me in the alley not far from the hotel. Thankfully, the money was secured in the hotel safe, and those thugs only managed to get about five dollars. But they hit me hard on the back of the head, then proceeded to beat me. They thought they'd killed me, and why not? I was unconscious and bloodied up pretty good.”

Jessica could only stare at him. Her throat tightened as if a band had been tightly wrapped around her neck.

“By leaving me for dead, they did me a favor. Someone found me and hauled me off to the hospital. I was in a coma for about three weeks.”

“A coma.” Jessica barely breathed the words.

Devon nodded. Ryan began calling for something to eat, and Devon reached over to hand the boy a piece of bread without stopping his story. “When I woke up, I hurt like all get out, but the worst of it was that I couldn't remember a thing.”

“Nothing?” Jessica questioned.

His eyes seemed to darken as they locked with hers. “Nothing. I didn't know who I was or where I was from. I only knew the pain and misery of my condition. I couldn't even tell the police what had happened.”

“But God was watching over you,” Kate chimed in. “We've been praying for you. When you didn't turn up by Christmas, we all had a feeling something wasn't quite right.”

“Especially given that you didn't even bother to send a telegram,” Buck
added.

Devon pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. It was clearly a telegram, and he unfolded it and held it up. “I found this waiting at the telegraph office. I sent this as soon as I had my memory back. Seems you people have been impossible to get to because of the snow.”

Buck laughed. “That we were, but you could have let us know sooner.”

“I know. I should have, but I kept thinking that I'd be coming home any day. Then one week's delay turned into two and so on, and then they mugged me, and well, now you know the story.”

“But what happened to help you regain your memory?” Jessica asked.

“A fellow from the hotel came around to see me. He'd heard about the mugging, and since I never returned for the money in the safe, he thought it might be me. He brought some of my things, and little bits of memory started coming back. Then one of the vendors with whom I'd set up a purchase order for chairs came to the hotel when I never came back around to see him. He learned about my situation and came to see me at the hospital, and he was able to help me put together the rest of the mystery.”

“What an awful time, Devon,” Kate said shaking her head. “I just don't know how a fellow could manage without his memories.”

“It was hard. I knew there was so much waiting for me, but I just could
n't force it to come to mind.”

Jessica shook her head. “How very awful.”

“Well, it's behind us now. I have a bit of limp from a broken ankle, and my ribs still hurt me a bit, but my hard head kept them from doing me in.”

Buck laughed. “As many times as you've been thrown from one green horse or another, I'd say that head of yours has held up pretty well.”

They all laughed at this. All but Jessica. She pretended to busy herself with preparing Ryan's food. The boy was growing bored with bread, and it was clear he felt himself entitled to something more. She thanked God silently for bringing Devon home to them. She couldn't imagine why such a thing had been necessary to endure, yet Kate had assured her that all things happened for a
purpose. As if reading her mind, Devon spoke up again.