Long Road Home, The (8 page)

“Hey, Red!” The shout came from the bedroom and resounded loudly in the still kitchen.

Abigail’s head snapped up and her gray eyes narrowed. Ross’ immediate reaction was to laugh, but the fire he saw flashing in Abby’s eyes was enough to stifle that sound.

“Excuse me, Ross.”

Abby rose stiffly and walked toward the door. Ross watched as she entered the room and shut the door. A huge smile spread across his young face. What a woman!

The door closed, Abby stood just inside and waited for Paul to notice her. It didn’t take long.

“Oh, there you are! I’m done with the tray, Red; you can take it away.” Abby watched as he lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

Abby held her place, her fury just under the surface. When Paul realized she had not come for the tray, he cocked open one eye and peered at her. “I’m done.”

“My name is Mrs. Finlayson.”

Paul’s head came off the pillow with both eyes open and stared at her. “You sure came fast enough.”

“I came in to set you straight about my name. I do not answer to Red.” The last word was nearly spit out between clenched teeth.

“Whatever.” He didn’t seem to notice her anger. “I’m done eating.”

Her anger was so great that Abby had to control herself to keep from ripping the pillows out from behind his head. She didn’t think she had ever been treated so rudely. Up until now she had taken for granted the respect her profession had afforded.

As Abby worked, she began to look logically at the situation, cooling her anger swiftly as she righted the bed and room. Paul Cameron was a man with a deep hurt. Abby felt for him and whatever that hurt might be, but she could not condone the way he was handling it. Everyone had private pain to live with; she ought to know. But lashing out at God and the world in general was not the answer.

Having taken a few seconds to think this through while she settled Paul back in the bed, Abby could once again address him civilly.

“Mr. Cameron, I’d like to check your wrist.” She reached for his arm, but he pulled away.

“It’s fine.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” she countered patiently. And thus the argument went on, Abby calmly holding her ground by the side of the bed and Paul heatedly telling her to get out.

With a movement born of pure frustration, Paul finally thrust his wrist toward her and waited with ill-concealed impatience for her to finish.

Even in his anger he was surprised by her gentleness and watched closely as she unwrapped the wrist and probed the bones carefully with her small hand. Paul felt no pain until she turned his hand a few degrees. He stiffened a moment until he realized she knew of his pain and had immediately stopped.

“Did the doctor tell you it was broken?”

“He never looked at it, and I wasn’t awake to tell him it hurt.” This explained the strange wrapping of part of an old shirt on the wrist the day before.

“Well, I’m sure it’s no more than a bad sprain,” she spoke as she expertly rewrapped the wrist. Abby gave Paul no time for objections a moment later when she lifted the covers at the foot of the bed to check his legs.

Her movements were deft and professional, and Paul appreciated her not just throwing the covers off the way the doctor had done to cut off the legs of his union suit. Paul had not been sure what the doctor was going to do but he’d had to wait to find out. As soon as the doctor had touched Paul’s legs, he in agony had passed out.

“How bad is the pain?” Abby’s quiet voice cut through his thoughts.

“They throb all the time.”

“One more than the other?”

“The right more.”

Abby paused in her movements and noticed for the first time he was speaking to her in a normal voice and how beautiful that voice was. She also thought him not bad-looking when he wasn’t scowling.

When the covers were back in place, Abby spoke. “The breaks are not severe, but the fact that it’s both legs will keep you in this bed for a spell. Is there anything you would like? Some books or writing material?”

Paul didn’t want her kindness. He resented even needing her help. He answered from behind the wall he had built up around his heart.

“No.” His voice was curt. “And don’t start nagging on me.”

Stung by his words, Abby exited the room with quiet dignity.

Abby walked with a weary chuckle to her bedroom. She had gone back into the kitchen, determined to put the hurtful things Paul had said behind her, and had found the Becketts’ cook. Abby had jabbered on for who knows how many minutes to her, asking what the wonderful smells were that floated from the stove, praising her neatness, and really attempting to make a friend.

Abby didn’t have the slightest inkling as to why the woman had done no more than smile and nod until Lenore had come into the room.

“Abby,” she had said kindly, “Anna doesn’t speak a word of English.”

The whole thing had struck Ross as hilarious as he had followed his mother into the room, and his laughter had almost started Abby’s.

Well, she thought, as she entered her bedroom, at least she knew the woman’s name and could think of her as more than “the cook.” Abby had eaten breakfast and then checked on Paul and found him asleep. As she entered her room, she thought how it was rather nice to have just one patient to care for, finally giving her some free time with which to settle in. And what a beautiful room it was to settle into.

Morning sunlight filtered through two huge windows, and a double bed of a rich red mahogany wood with a full canopy
sat against the opposite wall. The rugs, curtains, and bed hangings were all in shades of pink, lavender, and blue. There was a small writing desk and a built-in closet.

Abby attacked her trunk with a vengeance. She filled dresser drawers and hung clothes. The entire room had her things placed about it before she was finished. The last items she put out were a beautiful brush, comb, and mirror set that Ian had given her for her birthday. They had not been able to afford it, and Abby had looked at him with concern until he said he hadn’t stolen them and that was all she needed to know.

Abby sank down onto the edge of the bed and pulled the pins from her hair. With her brush she took long, slow strokes, almost wishing the tears would come and hoping they could possibly wash away some of the pain that threatened to choke her.

How long she sat, brushing and softly singing some of the hymns Ian loved she did not know, when there came a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Ross,” came the answer from without. Abby, thinking she must be needed, hurried to the door with brush in hand.

“Abby, I was wondering,” Ross’ voice trailed off slowly as he stood regarding the woman before him. If he had any doubts before, they were gone; he was sure he was in love.

“Ross!” Abby spoke sharply a second time before he dragged his eyes from her unbound hair and only then to stare speechlessly into her eyes.

Abby spun away from the door and grabbed her pins. Within seconds the gorgeous mass of red hair was pinned neatly into place. Abby then returned to the young man still gawking at her from the doorway.

“Ross,” Abby’s patience had run out, “what did you need?”

He recovered quickly and said, “Since you just got here, I thought you might like to take a walk and see some of Hayward.”

It was said so sincerely, without the least trace of Ross’ usual cockiness, Abby couldn’t help but be touched.

“Ross,” Abby came into the hallway and shut her door as she answered, “I really appreciate your offer, but I need to stay here in case Mr. Cameron needs anything.”

If Abby had expected him to pout over her answer, she was to be disappointed. Ross looked down on her with an expression tender beyond his years and smiled.

“Some other time—okay?”

Abby nodded and watched as he moved down the hall. With her fingers pressing against her temples, her heart felt near the bursting point. His tender look had so reminded her of Ian that she had almost changed her mind about going with him.

“Oh, Lord,” Abby prayed, “what am I to do without him?”

The days went by and developed into something of a routine. Paul was civil at times, impossible at others. The doctor came over once and told Paul he was progressing well. The man had much praise for Abby and her care of Paul. Paul listened to it all with a bored expression on his face.

Abby worried some about Paul’s assumption that Mr. Beckett had been instrumental in bringing him here and hiring Abby. A comment from Paul one day told Abby this was what he thought and she, rather cowardly, had not corrected him.

Abby was not to know the day of reckoning was upon her. Sitting in the kitchen after lunch with a cup of coffee, Abby waited for the barber to emerge from Paul’s room. He had quite suddenly asked her if she could get someone to cut his hair.

Abby had been very pleased by the request, not because she cared how he looked, but because of the nice way he had asked her. She felt he was feeling a bit better each day, and his mood improved in kind.

However the surprises were not over that day when Abby paid the barber and saw him on his way. She nearly questioned the price, but figured he must charge more for coming out of his shop. She kept silent, and her curiosity about the cost was answered a few minutes later when she walked into Paul’s room.

Paul lay still on the bed, his eyes closed as though the effort of sitting still for the barber had exhausted him. Abby stood
by the bed and stared. Not only had the barber cut his hair, but every whisker of Paul’s beard was gone. With a start, Abby realized how good-looking he was. Suddenly the picture of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren in Grandma Em’s parlor popped into her mind. He had been very handsome in that picture, but his long hair, beard, and the bitter scowl he was always wearing had marred the man Abby met in person.

Here now, with his features clean-shaven and relaxed, Abby thought him almost stunning. It was at that second Abby was caught staring. For the first time in their association, Abby felt vulnerable.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she nearly stuttered. “Do you want me to clean things up a bit?”

Paul nodded without answering and closed his eyes as he tried to dispel the lingering image of her standing there so uncertainly for the first time. He did not want to be attracted to this woman. It would be disloyal to Corrine.

He told himself he did not like fat redheads and forced himself to concentrate on Corrine’s image: tall, willowy, silver-blonde hair. It was getting harder and harder to remember her smile. He had seen it so briefly.

As Abby worked around the bed, using a small brush to remove the hair, he tried to ignore her. Usually all he had to do was center his mind on the pain in his legs, but they didn’t hurt so much now and that didn’t work. He felt Abby lean over him, and the fragrance of her bath oil drifted to his nose.

Jasmine. Rage exploded in Paul’s brain. He didn’t want to smell jasmine. Corrine had always smelled of roses, and Paul wanted nothing to destroy that memory.

“What is that stuff you’re wearing? The stink is enough to choke a man.”

The outburst was so unexpected that Abby jumped back in surprise. To her horror, tears flooded her eyes as she realized
what he had just said to her. Ian had loved the smell of her bath oil, and now her patient thought she stank.

Never would Abby have dreamt such a small thing could cause the dam to burst, but without finishing her task she ran from the room.

Her bed pillows were the recipients of Abby’s tears which came in a torrent. Her eyes felt twice their regular size when she woke hours later to the sound of knocking on the door.

It was Lenore. “Abby, there’s a man here. He’s nearly frantic with worry. He can’t find the doctor or midwife, and he’s heard you were a nurse. His wife is having their first child, and he’s terrified.”

The nurse in Abby wanted to leave immediately, but she was here to do a job. “What about Mr. Cameron?” Abby asked. “I can’t just leave.”

“I’ll see to him. You go and do what you can.”

Abby quickly pulled herself together and rushed down the stairs. The man waiting for her was young, and he did indeed look sick with worry. He pulled her along explaining as they went, and causing Abby to nearly run to stay up with him.

Paul waited all afternoon for his nurse to return. Her reaction to his comment was certainly puzzling. Red usually gave as good as she got, and he had said much worse things than not liking her perfume. He felt irritated over realizing it wasn’t even true. She had smelled very nice.

As time went on, he wondered if she had quit. He would have guessed she had more mettle than that, but women were unpredictable creatures at best. Paul looked to the door in unconscious anticipation when he heard movement.

A woman walked in; it was not Red. He felt a stab of disappointment and knew it stemmed from being cheated out of picking a fight with his nurse.

“Who are you?” he asked belligerently.

Lenore had prepared herself for the worst, having stood in the kitchen many times listening to him yell at Abby. She answered calmly and hoped he wouldn’t notice her shaking.

“I’m Mrs. Beckett. I brought your supper.”

Paul was spoiling for a fight. “Where’s the redhead? I wouldn’t think your husband would appreciate having the nurse he hired run out on her job like that.” Paul hoped perversely he had just gotten her in trouble.

“Oh, we didn’t hire Abby. She’s seeing to a delivery in town. She’ll be back later,” Lenore answered innocently, eyes on the tray she was straightening. She had made such an effort to have everything nice, even cutting a flower from the garden to put on his tray.

By the time she looked up, the surprise was off Paul’s face. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” Paul answered, his expression completely covering his feelings. Lenore, thinking things had gone much better than she had hoped, told him she would be back for the tray and left Paul to his supper.

The tray sat untouched for a long time. Several possibilities ran through Paul’s mind as to what was going on. He finally decided it was not worth his effort to try and figure it out. He smiled cynically. He was confident of getting his answers. “Oh yes,” he thought, “I’ll have my answers—just as soon as I see Red.”

Abby placed a screaming, red newborn girl in the arms of her waiting mother and wiped some of the perspiration from her upper lip. She took a moment to bask in the sound. It never grew old. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Lord,” Abby’s heart kept repeating as she started the cleaning up in an attempt to get herself home before she collapsed.

She was both surprised and pleased to exit the small bedroom and find Ross waiting for her.

“Mother was getting worried. I’ve got the team out front,” he said by way of explanation.

Ross could see Abby was ready to drop, so he didn’t attempt any conversation even though many questions were piling up in his mind. His mother had said “Please go get Mrs. Finlayson.” She hadn’t said that when they had been introduced; it had just been Abigail Finlayson. Well, now was not the time to pursue the subject, but tomorrow he would pin her down.

Ross dropped Abby at the door, and she thanked him with a tired smile. Lenore was waiting up and gave her a great report on how well things had gone. Abby thanked her and briefly told of her evening as a midwife. They parted company in the kitchen where Abby, with a lamp in her hand, went in for a last check on her patient.

Abby had just set the lamp down and turned to the bed when a hand shot out and grasped her forearm with enough force to leave bruises. She gasped as she was dragged half across the bed to where Paul was leaning against the headboard. Snarling, he ordered, “Turn up the lantern.”

Abby reached with her free hand to obey, her huge silver eyes nearly swallowing her face. She would never have guessed that a man bedridden for so long would be this strong. Paul waited until the light was better before he spoke again.

“Now start talking. Who are you? Who’s paying you? Everything!”

Hesitating in her surprise, Abby’s arm was pulled painfully until she was almost in his lap. Paul reached around the back of her head to grasp her hair. His turquoise eyes were ablaze with anger. “I said talk. Now!” His voice was deadly cold, and Abby started with a voice breathless and stuttering with pain.

“Your family...sent me. Maggie, she’s my aunt—your brother’s nurse. I’m her niece. They heard from Mr. Beckett.
I mean, Amy did—well, her father. They heard you were hurt. Your grandmother is so upset, nearly sick with worry.”

Abby couldn’t go on. With tears clogging her throat, she whispered pitifully, “Please, Paul, you’re hurting me.”

The hand holding the hair at the back of her head released slowly. He held Abby against his chest for a long moment, the anger gone from his eyes, his thoughts unreadable as he looked into the pain-filled eyes so close to his own.

Abby pushed herself from her sprawled position when his hold loosened and stood by the bed. Paul’s eyes followed her movement when she unconsciously rubbed the arm he had been gripping. He was not so upset about what she had revealed as he was about the way he had treated her. Never in his life had he manhandled a woman, and he felt sick with revulsion.

How deceiving her size was! She was full-figured, but her frame was tiny. He was sure he could have snapped the bones in that arm had he twisted it. Maybe it was the confident way she stood by the bed or the fact that he was always lying down and her head was above him, but he had no idea how petite she was. Not that that was the point. His actions were reprehensible, no matter who the woman.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. It was wrong of me to let you believe Mr. Beckett was behind all of this. No one from your family came because they didn’t feel they’d be welcome, and I was afraid of how you would feel when you found out, so I kept it from you.”

Abby felt as though she were babbling and stopped abruptly. Paul looked at her and said nothing. He had too many questions to try and sort through tonight. Thinking she looked ready to collapse, he remembered the lateness of the hour. She had probably delivered that baby tonight, if the smears on her apron were any indication.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Abby nodded and moved slowly toward the door.

“Red.”

She turned back.

“You’ll be here?” Paul suddenly thought to ask, afraid she would flee after the way he had treated her.

“I’ll be here,” she said softly. But as she turned away, she wished desperately she had someplace else to go.