Moments In Time (37 page)

* * *
* *

M
aggie lay quietly in his arms, peace at last settled around her heart. She stroked his face, then asked, “And Jesse? What was Jesse’s problem tonight?”

“What makes you think there was a problem with Jesse tonight?”

“You were up there with him for so long. And when you came back outside, your jaw was still clenched. So tell
me
…
”

“Well, it seems Jess was terribly embarrassed by our publicly discussing his premature conception,” he began, “and was feeling a bit sorry for himself, thinking now that perhaps he’s illegitimate.”

“That’s silly, Jamey.”

“That’s what I told him, but he seems terribly sensitive about the fact that you were pregnant when we got married. And since he knows all his friends were watching tonight, he knows that they all know and I guess he’s a bit old-fashioned in that respect.”

“How did you handle it?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid. I owe him an apology, which I will give him in the morning.”

“Why do you need to apologize?”

“Because I called him a brat, among other things.”

“Sometimes Jesse is a brat. Sometimes they all are.”

“I didn’t have to say it. He was feeling confused, I would think. And I just sort of lost my temper with him. But we’l
l talk it out in the morning…”

He’d leaned down to kiss her again and heard a rustle behind him. As he turned and lifted himself slightly, a shadow seemed to glide over them. He looked over his shoulder, and before either he or Maggie could react, the first blast struck her in the left shoulder. He flung himself over her, his instinct being to protect her, placing himself directly in the line of fire. He fell forward heavily onto her as the second shot was fired.

“No!” she screamed as yet another blast shook the night and his body seemed to jolt.

“Ruthann.” The single word, spoken softly, seemed to
come from nowhere. She froze at the sound and looked toward its source.

Oh, God.

“Not so smart now, are you, Ruthie.” The old man grinned with malicious satisfaction. “Not so smart at all. And you—” He discharged another shot into J.D.’s back. “You never should’ve taken her from me. I always knew you’d be back, Ruthie. Didn’t know when, but I knew you would come back. All these years, I’ve waited for you, Ruthann.”

“George,” she pleaded, wondering if she could reach him through this nightmare that had begun to play out. “I’m not Ruthann. I’m Maggie
…
”

“I’ve had to wait so long,” he said, a blissful smile appearing as he realized his quest had ended.

“Please listen. I’m Maggie. Maggie Borders,” she sobbed, but he seemed not to hear. He was lost in his vision of what had been, and reality was now only of his making. Maggie had become Ruthann, and J.D., her lover. And now George would right the wrong as he’d waited to do for twenty-seven years.

He lowered the gun so that the barrel was directly in line with her face. From somewhere in the dark she heard what sounded like the faint rumble of thunder from some unseen cloud. With each slow step he took toward her, the rumble swelled slightly. Behind him a black shape stalked, half crouched.

“Duff
y,” she whispered, then screamed, “Duffy!”

The huge dog leaped with such ferocity that Brenner smashed face first into the hillside. Struggling to release herself from J.D.’s limp form, she crawled to where the gun had fallen and groped for the cold hard object with shaking hands. She flung it into the night as Brenner shrieked in agony as the dog attacked viciously.

“Duffy,” she panted, “guard. Guard, Duff. Good boy.”

Brenner moaned and tried to rise. Duffy growled menacingly, baring his teeth as the figure on the ground stirred, telling Brenner in the clearest of terms that further movement would be the signal for further attack. The old man slumped forward and remained facedown on the ground.

Light-headed, weak, and sobbing, Maggie turned back to her still, silent husband. In the dark she could not tell if his eyes were opened or closed.

“Jamey, please,” she whispered a cry, “please don’t die, Jamey. You can’t die. You can’t. Not after all this, Jamey.”

On her knees, she tried vainly to lift him, becoming aware for the first time of the pain where her neck met her collarbone. Her left arm was useless. Crying, she tried to gather him up in her right arm, and it was then that she saw the blood. It had poured from him as easily as liquid from an open jar as she tried to lift him, covering them both in a warm, dark flood.

“No, no,” she pleaded, “don’t do this to me. Don’t be dead
, Jamey. Please don’t be dead…”

With an effort greater than she had ever realized she’d be capable of, she slid her good arm under him and lifted, raising herself to her knees, then to her feet. She stumbled, bent from his weight and the awkwardness of the angle at which he leaned upon her. Step by slow step she dragged him, talking to him in a fierce whisper, begging him not to die.

The pain had become unbearable and her body shook with fear, but she continued dragging him, inching down the slope of the hill with single-minded purpose. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breath, and she stumbled repeatedly, forcing her to readjust her grip, her good arm now numb from the effort to hang on. In the distance she could see the lights from the first floor of the house, and she struggled toward them until she reached the bottom of the hill.

“Hold on, Jamey. Just hold on.”

She rested him on the grass in the darkness, sinking to her knees, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Unable to take another step, knowing she would not make it to the house, she forced herself to think, to find a way to get attention from the house.

Her right arm now nearly as useless as the left, she attempted to toss a stone to Jesse’s window on the second floor just forty feet away. The stone hit well below the window ledge. She sought to compose herself, her breathing coming in quick, sharp gasps as she fumbled through the grass for another stone.

“One hit,” she mumbled to herself, “just one good hit.” She pitched the second stone and heard it bounce off the side of the wall.

“S’matter with you, girl?” she chided herself. “Former ace pitcher of the Kelly’s Mills girls club lost her touch? Try again
…
You can do it.”

She sought out another stone, larger this time, and in her mind her father’s voice ec
hoed, coaching her as a twelve-
year-old, determined to make the team.

“Come on, Maggie. You can do better,” Frank had encouraged her. “Underhand. Throw this one underhand.”

“Underhand.” She repeated the words from her memory as she struggled to her feet. “Throw this one underhand.” The underhanded pitch shattered the window.

“Jess,” she sobbed, “Jess…
”

“Mom?” He leaned out the window, groggy with sleep and confused by the sight of her, half lying, half sitting on the ground. “Mom, what the hell are you doing out there?”

“Jesse,” she called hoarsely, unable to find words to tell him what had happened.

Within seconds he was there, shouting over his shoulder to
T
y
l
er, who had followed, to call for help. The last thing she remembered was her son’s horror-filled eyes as he looked down into her own.

A
wakening in the tiny hospital room, it had seemed to have taken tremendous effort to focus clearly enough to identify the woman who sat at the side of her bed, the gray head bent as if in prayer.

“Luke,” she whispered, and in speaking, the nightmare returned vividly. She tried to raise herself on her elbows but could not. “Jamey
…
”
Her voice rose in panic, her eyes widened in terror at the memory.

“Hush, Maggie.” Luke’s gentle hands forced her back onto the pillow.

“But Luke, Jamey
…”
Her
face flooded with tears.

“The doctors are with him, dear.” Luke seemed to hesitate, as if to say something further but did not.

“Will he die?” she mumbled, eyes closing against her will.

“We will not let him die, Maggie,” Luke told her resolutely. “Our love will bring him through this. We will not let him die.”

As her daughter-in-law drifted back off, Luke patted the sleeping hands and wearily walked to the window. Looking out she sent a prayer to her husband, long since dead, to send their son back to her and to the woman who loved him so desperately.

Will he die? The question still hung in the air. She turned to the doorway as Judith passed quietly into the room.

“He needs more blood.” Judith could not make eye contact with her mother, could not bear to see the questions there.

“Isn’t that dangerous, blood transfusions?” Luke asked, adding, “I’ve been reading in the papers about contaminated
blood
…”

“They’ve taken mine. Right now they’re taking some from Jesse. Good thing there’s so many of us who match.” Judith moved a chair closer to the bed and directed her mother into it, gently rubbing the soft, papery skin beneath the thin dress that covered the stooped shoulders. Luke seemed to have been transformed from a spry senior to a fragile old woman in a matter of hours.

“Why don’t you let Ned drive you home? Or to a hotel? Get a little rest and then—” Judith suggested.

“While my boy lays dying?”

“He’s fighting, Mom. He may make it yet.”

Judith swallowed back the tears, not wanting her mother to realize they’d already lost him twice, first in the ambulance, then later on the operating table. She had tried to co
rn
er first one doctor, then a second, as they had emerged from that brightly lit room wherein others struggled to
mend her brother’s wounded body. Both had shrugged, looking away as they muttered, “We don’t know yet.”

Mother and daughter sat in a long, tense silence, both fixed on a heavily sedated Maggie, grateful that she, at least, would recover hilly. The bullet that had passed through between the neck and collarbone had broken the bone but had caused no permanent damage.

J.D., however, had been shot three times. One bullet had struck him in the back, passing under his shoulder blade and through his right lung; a second had grazed the back of his head. The third, and most worrisome, should he survive the tremendous loss of blood and the resulting shock, completely shattered his right shoulder, turning bone and muscle to ribbons.

He won’t be playing the piano anymore,
Judith thought sadly.
No amount of therapy will bring that arm back. Listen to me, now, mourning the loss of an arm when we’ll be lucky if that’s all he loses
…

“What do you suppose they’ll do with George?” Luke asked.

“He’s in custody. Under observation, they said.”

The silence returned, Maggie’s breathing the only discernible sound.

“They do not deserve this,” Luke said to break the stillness.

“No one ever does,” Judith replied quietly.

27

T
HE LONG, BLACK LIMOUSINE SLOWLY TURNED THE
corner, the
occupants of the backseat silently gazing out the window. The car came to a stop, and the driver exited momentarily.

“The gate needs oiling.” Maggie rolled the window down and leaned her head out slightly. “It looks as if the lawn people have been on holiday since we’ve been gone, the grass is so high. But, oh, Jamey”—she turned to him with tears in her eyes—“doesn’t it look glorious?”

He leaned over stiffly, propping his left shoulder against her to peer through the window, taking it all in.

“Your garden looks awful,” he observed wryly, “but given the fact that for a goodly portion of the past nine weeks it was unlikely that I’d ever lay eyes upon the place again, I’d say ‘glorious’ was a bit of an understatement.”

The driver opened the door and leaned down to assist their exit. J.D. waved him away.

“Thanks, mate, but I’m okay.”

Leaning over with some effort, he offered his good left hand to his wife. They walked slowly up the drive, drinking in the sights of home, the house partially hidden by the yellows, reds, and oranges of the changing leaves. The
delicate fragrance of the sweet autumn clematis that wound its way around a trellis near the back door floated toward them, borne by the soft early afternoon breeze.

“Ah,” he breathed deeply, “I love the sights and smells of a Pennsylvania fall. Oh, God, but it’s good to be home. There is no place on this earth that I love more than these few little acres and this house, Maggie.”

A few last roses—blush pink and wine red—stubbornly bloomed, despite the recent frost, near the back porch. Maggie touched their petals gently as she ascended the steps and pushed open the door.

“Looks like your dad got a new car.” J.D. paused on the top step, nodding toward the shiny black automobile parked near the garage.

“Funny Mom didn’t mention it. I guess with all the confusion these past few months—her having to bring the children back for school—it slipped her mind.” Maggie walked slowly through the back entry and into her kitchen. “Oh, Jamey, isn’t it heaven to be here?”

“As close to heaven as I’ve ever been,” he agreed. “I’ve missed this place more than I can say.”

“Mom? Dad?” she called into the front foyer. “Anyone here?”

The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

“I wonder where everyone is.” She ran up the steps, then back down, telling him with a frown. “There’s no one here.”

“Your parents probably took Spencer for a walk. The other kids would be in school,” he noted.

She wandered from one room to the next, touching things, talking to things, savoring the blessed familiarity of the home she so dearly loved. She was openly weeping by the time he found her in the kitchen.

“It’s all right
…
It’s all right,” he murmured, embracing her with his good left arm. “We’re home now and everything’s all right.”

“It’s been such a nightmare,” she sobbed.

“The nightmare is over, Maggie. We’re home and everything is okay now.” He kissed the tears from her chin. “And look, new artwork on the refrigerator gallery
…
”

He nodded toward the eclectic display of the children’s work that completely covered the large, white appliance.

“Oh, Jamey, look at this one,” she managed to laugh through her tears, “Molly did a picture of Spencer.”

Molly’s uneven printing announced the subject, “My Baby Brother,” clearly depicting a howling little boy seated on the grass.

“I’d say she captured his spirit quite accurately,” he mused.

“I can’t wait to see him.” Her eyes began to mist again. “I can’t wait to hold him.”

“Looks like the wait is over.” He pointed out the side window.

“Oh, my God, it’s Caroline. And Rick! And Spencer!” She ran out the back door and down the drive to meet the threesome as they meandered up the long drive.

Caroline held the tiny boy’s hand while Rick pushed the stroller, which was loaded with bags.

“Mommy
…
Mommy
…
” The little boy broke free from a startled Caroline.

“Oh, my baby.” Maggie gathered him up and held him tightly. “My beautiful boy
…
and Caro
…
” With one arm she reached to hug her friend.

“What are you two doing here?” she said as she cried happy tears. “Where are my folks?”

“Your brother’s baby decided to come early,” Caroline explained as she pushed a wayward strand of Maggie’s hair from her beloved friend’s face, “so your mom called on Sunday to see if I could fill in for her till you got home since she’d promised Kevin and Jenny she’d watch the other three while Jenny was in the hospital
…
God, it’s good to see you.”

“It most certainly is.” Rick engulfed her with a bear hug. “And you, mate, you’re a true sight for sore eyes.”

J.D. approached with an outstretched hand that Rick ignored as he hugged him as well.

“I’m delighted to see you, too.” J.D. patted Rick’s back. “But, ah, what are you doing here?”

“Giving the fair Caroline a hand,” he said with a wide grin.

“All week?” Maggie asked, looking from Caroline to Rick then back to Caroline again.

“Certainly all week.” Rick put an arm over Caroline’s shoulder. “You don’t think I’d make her try to handle this mob of yours unassisted.”

“Oh, I see.” Maggie tried vainly to repress a smile. “So you’ve been here all week. Together.”

“Yes.” A red flush crept up Caroline’s neck as she nodded.

“Well,” Rick said, trying to act nonchalant, as if the two of them being there—together all week—was the most natural thing in the world. “I think we should get
our groceries into the house…”

Rick parked the stroller by the back steps and began to load his arms with bags.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” J.D. told him, then quipped, “one hand being all I have to work with these days.”

“What’s the prognosis on that?” Rick asked, nodding toward J.D.’s arm.

“It’s pretty much gone,” J.D. admitted grimly.

“No surgery, no therapy?” Caroline ventured.

“Nah. Bone’s healing a bit, but the nerves, the muscles, are pretty well shot, no pun intended. Maybe in time they’ll come up with something.” Noting the shadow that crossed his wife’s face, he attempted to lighten the mood, adding, “You wouldn’t know anyone who’s looking for a one-armed piano player?”

“Well, I’m looking for some new material
…
when you’re up to it, of course,” Rick hastened to add.

“I’m up to tossing some things around,” J.D. said with a nod. “Maybe tomorrow morning or so we can play around in the studio a bit.”

“I apologize, Maggie,” Caroline said as they entered the kitchen, “that the house isn’t in better order. Your mother
had things in pretty good shape by the time we got here, but I’m afraid she’s much better at keeping track of things than either Rick or I.”

“You want to tell me what is going on?” Maggie asked when the two men had headed back to the drive to gather the luggage that had been left there earlier. “Since when have you and Rick—”

“Since the night you were
…
since your accident.” Caroline busied herself filling a coffee pot with water. “He was in New York when he heard it on the news and took a taxi—a taxi, can you believe it?—all the way down here. Rang my doorbell just after midnight. And you want to know the craziest thing? It was as if I was waiting for him, as if I knew that he would come.”

“And then what?”

“Then the next day we flew to London. That’s why I was there when they finally started letting you have visitors.”

“I don’t remember too much.” Maggie frowned. “I remember you were there and that Rick was there, but I don’t recall that I knew you were there together.”

“I think you had other things on your mind at the time.”

Maggie digested this new turn of events, then grinned with satisfaction. “I knew that someday you’d find each other.”

“Took us long enough.” Caroline shook her head. “God, if you look back over the years, how many times we missed each other. First Lindy, then Lindy’s baby, then my marriage to Allen. It just seemed the time was never right.”

“I guess this is the happy ending you’ve been waiting for,” Maggie said, smiling.

“The happy beginning, you mean,” Caroline corrected her, “and yes, we are very happy.”

“I’m so glad. I love you both so much, and I can’t wait to tell Jamey ‘I told you so.’ ” She laughed. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the two of you taking care of the children for us these past few days. I know they can be overwhelming, especially if you’re not accustomed to living under the same roof with so many.”

“It’s been a pleasure. The kids have been fine,” she assured her,
“but I don’t know how you keep it all straight. This one has ballet this day, that one has tap the next, three of them have soccer on Tuesday, two on Wednesday. I can’t imagine how much longer I could have kept everyone’s schedules straight.”

“They will keep you running,” Maggie laughed, running her hand lovingly up the back of her son who still clung to his mother’s neck like a little monkey.

“Let me see that boy.” J.D. set the bag he carried on the floor and reached his arm out for the boy, planting a fond kiss on his son’s cheek.

The grandfather clock in the front hallway began to chime three o’clock.

“It’s almost time for the school bus,” Maggie noted. “Maybe I’ll walk down to the bus stop. I can’t wait to see their faces. Do they know we’re coming home today?”

“We didn’t tell them in case something happened with the flight schedule.” Rick poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I’ll go with you.” J.D. put Spencer onto the floor.

“Want a piggy ride,” the little boy told him, holding upreached arms to his father.

“Spence, Daddy can’t carry you on his shoulders anymore,” he told him, his voice cracking just slightly. “Would it be all right if I held your hand and you walked with Mommy and me?”

“Want a ride,” Spencer insisted.

“How about a ride on Uncle Rick?” Caroline suggested to the pouting boy. “He’s much taller than your daddy, you’ll be much higher up.”

“Okay.” The child flung himself onto Rick.

“Come on, Caro, we’ll all go.” Rick anchored Spencer firmly on his shoulders as the little parade moved toward the front door.

“Are you sure you can?” Maggie asked J.D., fearful the walk might be too much for him.

“Positive,” he told her firmly. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“It might be a good idea, Maggie. The kids have been
really anxious,” Caroline agreed, wondering if she should tell them about the nightmares several of the children had been having. Maybe now that their parents were safe and at home the terrible dreams would end.

T
here was absolute chaos following the dinner hour, the children so delighted to have their parents home with them again that they resisted bedtime for as long as possible. Finally, toward ten o’clock, Maggie managed to usher them all up the steps. While the four girls readied for bed, she rocked her youngest in her arms, tears of happiness streaming down her face as she prayed her thanks.

She laid Spencer quietly in his crib and closed the door slightly, then followed the hallway to the girls’ rooms. Peeking into the room shared by Lucy and Emma, she found them both frantically searching under one bed.

“I knew you’d lose it,” Lucy was grumbling. “You’re such a dummy.”

“I am not.” Gentle Emma stood up, small fists clenched in frustration. “I put it in a secret place to keep it safe.”

“Yeah, so secret even you don’t know where it is,” taunted Lucy. “So safe we can’t find it.”

“What is going on?” Some things, Maggie told herself with an inner smile, will never change.

“I can’t find
The Secret Garden,
”
Emma wailed, burying her face in her mother’s midsection. “I tried to remember where we put it so we could read the next chapter, like we used to before—”

“And she lost it.” Lucy, always anxious to cut to the chase, summed up the situation for her mother.

“Lucy, be nice and apologize to Emma while I get the book. I know exactly where it is.”

A moment later, Maggie returned, the treasured book in hand. She’d found it on her bedside table where they’d left it, months ago. The two girls climbed happily into their beds while their mother, almost choked by tears yet again, read softly, savoring the joy of sharing this small nighttime ritual. The young ones all sleeping soundly, she turned off the
light and followed the steps to the third floor to the boys’ rooms.

“My heroes,” she said as she kissed her nearly grown-up sons.

“Mom, Dad’s all right, isn’t he?” Jesse asked with the greatest of concern.

“As all right as he’ll ever be,” she told him honestly.

“But his arm
…”
Tyler frowned.

“The doctors did the best they could,” she told them.

“He almost died, didn’t he?” Jesse
said softly. “I heard Gramma…
We were so scared, Mom.”