Robin Lee Hatcher (30 page)

Dr. Forester shook his head, his expression grim. “The next few hours will be critical. If she doesn’t rally soon, you must prepare yourself for the worst.”

Gavin stared down at Petula, looking so small and frail in the bed. “But Brina’s so much better now.”

“One cannot predict these things.” The doctor placed his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “You need some rest yourself, Mr. Blake. I’ll stay with the child. You go and get some sleep. We can’t have you falling ill too.”

Gavin nodded, but when he left the bedroom, he didn’t go to his own room. Instead, he took his coat from the peg by the kitchen door and went outside, welcoming the feel of the bracing cold air on his face. He walked across the yard, past the barn, and on down the road a good half mile before he felt his legs give out. In a flash, he was on his knees.

“God . . .” he whispered. “God . . . God, be merciful. Don’t let Pet die. Please . . . help her. Help me . . . God . . .”

His voice trailed off. Words weren’t enough. Words couldn’t express the desperate cries of his heart. He covered the back of his head with his hands and groaned as he leaned forward, almost touching his forehead to the ground.
God, hear me. Please . . .
He felt nothing. Heard nothing. No answer. Only the cold.

But what did he expect? Who was he that the Almighty would hear his plea? He’d turned his back on the Chris tian faith when he was still a boy. He’d made no room in his heart for anyone, let alone God. Would his selfishness mean the death of his little girl? He felt his heart might burst with the anguish of that thought.

God . . . Help me, please . . . Oh, God. . .

Strange, the images that flashed through his mind as he knelt there on the snowy ground in the middle of the road. Unrelated pictures juxtaposed one atop the others. His broken and unhappy father, in a drunken stupor. His selfish and uncaring mother, throwing away the framed photograph he’d brought her. Dru with her Bible open on her lap, peaceful despite her losses and her own illness.

His breath came in gasps, and unable to stop himself, he threw his body forward, prostrate on the ground.

God, hear me. Help me . . .

He couldn’t have explained to anyone what happened in that moment, as he lay there in the silence. It wasn’t as if he heard a voice speaking to him from on high. But suddenly he knew he was not alone, and with that knowledge came warmth and peace and an overwhelming sense of love. The anger he’d felt for so many years, the bitterness, the hatred toward his mother, the shame about his father — they were gone, excised from his heart by a skilled Physician. On the heels of their removal came a certainty that all would be well, that he wouldn’t fail as a father, that Petula would recover, even that Gavin might find the love he’d denied himself for far too long.

His heart overflowing with prayers of gratitude, Gavin lay on the ground and let the tears fall.

Emily heard the muffled voices. They were so often there — the voices, whispering words of encouragement. She wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would go away and leave her in peace. She wanted to slide into blessed oblivion. Away from the burning in her throat and the weight on her chest that made it so difficult to breathe. She wanted to escape to someplace better.

Sometimes, she saw Gavin through the haze, smiling at her, beckoning to her. Time and again she tried to reach him, but she never could. She never quite could, although she wanted to so desperately.

“Gavin . . .”

If only he would come toward her. If only —

A woman’s voice said, “Drink this, Emily.”

Fingers slipped behind her head and eased her up from the pillow even as a glass was pressed against her lips. She drank obediently. The tea was warm and soothing to her throat.

“That’s good, kitten.”

“Maggie?” She opened her eyes.

“Yes, dear. I’m here.”

“Where’s Gavin?”

Maggie frowned. “I imagine he is on his ranch.”

“Where am I?”

“At home. In Boise.”

The fog in Emily’s brain cleared a little, and she began to remember. Her trunk on the boarding house floor. The stage ride to Boise. “Oh,” she said, then closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall.

Better the dreams than this stark reality.

Thirty-One

Gavin dismounted and strode to the front door of Killarney Hall. After a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the knocker and let it fall, repeating the action several times.

The door opened to reveal the O’Donnell butler. “Good day, Mr. Blake.”

“I’d like to see Patrick.”

“Mr. O’Donnell is at home. Please come in, and I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Gavin stepped inside as requested and removed his hat as his gaze swept around the entry hall. Large oil paintings in gilded frames hung on the walls. A marble table held a bronze sculpture of three running horses. The tiled floor gleamed.

As wife of the eldest brother, Emily could have been mistress of this household. She could have had servants at her beck and call. She could have —

“Hello, Gavin,” Patrick said from the library doorway.

Gavin turned toward him. “Hello, Patrick.”

“I was sorry to hear Brina and Pet have been sick. How are they?”

“The doctor thought we might lose Pet there for a while, but she’s on the mend. Thank God.”

“Word has it that the gold camps have been hit hard with the influenza this winter. Quite a large number of deaths, I’m told. It’s fortunate we are that that’s not the case here.”

“Yes.”

Patrick motioned toward the library, an invitation for Gavin to join him, and then strode into the room without waiting to see if he followed.

Gavin drew in a deep breath, at the same time wondering if coming here had been a mistake. But there was no going back. He needed answers, and this was the only place he knew to find them.

Help me, Lord.

He entered the library and moved toward the leather chairs near the windows where Patrick awaited him. He sat and placed his hat over his right knee.

“I’m thinking you’re here about Emily,” Patrick said.

He met his friend’s gaze. “Yes.”

“Well, spit it out, man. What have you come to say?”

“When I saw you in town last” — Gavin leaned forward on the chair — “you said Emily was in love with me. Did she tell you that when she broke the engagement?”

“No, but she didn’t have to. If I’d let myself think on it, I would have known it much sooner than I did.”

“And you’re sure she won’t change her mind about marrying you?”

“If I thought there was a chance, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you today. I’d be in Boise, pressing my case. But it’s not me she’s got a longing for.”

Agitated, Gavin rose from the chair and stepped to the windows, gazing out through the glass toward the southwest.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Patrick continued, “it’s her you’re longing for. What’s wrong with you, Gavin? Go to Boise and bring her back.”

His pulse leapt at the thought but he tamped it down. “The girls have been too sick for me to go now. I’d be gone too long to leave them in Stubs’ care.”

“So bring them here. Pearl will be glad to mother them, and it isn’t like we haven’t plenty of room for them.”

Gavin turned around. “Why would you want to help me, given your feelings for Emily?”

“Because in the end, I want to see her happy. And although I think you’re a thickheaded idiot, I want to see you happy too. And it’s together I think that will happen.” A lopsided grin curved Patrick’s mouth as he added, “So call me a sentimental fool.”

Gavin failed to see any humor in the situation. “She might not forgive me for sending her away.”

“Not if there’s any sense in that pretty head of hers, she won’t.”

“You’re probably right.”

Patrick grunted in disgust, the smile gone from his face. “Will you give up with so little discouragement? If so, then she’s better off without you.”

Staring at Patrick, he realized his friend was right. He’d spent too many years waiting for the next disaster to strike. He’d closed himself off in a useless attempt to shield himself from life’s hurts. He wasn’t going to do that any longer. If there was any chance that Emily might forgive him, if there was any chance she might love him still, then he would do whatever was required to win her back.

The large parlor windows gave Emily a clear view of the tall cottonwoods and poplars that lined the river. Sunlight streamed through the bare winter branches, revealing deserted bird nests and the tree house Tucker and Kevin had built one long-ago summer. She smiled, remembering watching father and son scramble up the boards they had pounded into the tree at intervals. Maggie had stood below, telling them she would tan the hide off the first one who fell and broke something.

The memory made her think of Petula. Had the little girl’s arm mended straight? Was she still wearing the splint?

Shaking off the thoughts of the Blake children, she twisted on the sofa and lowered her legs to the floor. It felt good to be downstairs again, good to be surrounded by familiar things. Why ever had she wanted to leave in the first place? Whatever had possessed her to think she should be a governess for Dru and —

No, she mustn’t think of him. She wouldn’t think of him. It was over, and life would go on. She was young — or so Maggie had told her countless times — and her heart would mend. No. She wouldn’t allow his name to even cross her mind. She would forget that he ever existed.

Emily returned her gaze to the window. There wasn’t even a trace of snow in the valley. She had to look to the north, to the tops of the mountains that overlooked the river valley, in order to see a mantle of white. Strange, that she should miss the snow.

Before her thoughts could take another unhealthy turn, a carriage rolled down the drive and stopped in the turnaround, still in plain view of the window. A moment later, the carriage door opened and a young woman stepped from the vehicle, a bundle in her arms.

“Fiona!” Emily rose from the sofa and started across the room.

Sarah appeared in the parlor doorway, blocking her path. “What are you doing up, miss? You know what the doctor said about getting proper rest.”

“It’s Fiona. She’s got the baby with her. Open the door, Sarah, and let them in.”

The housemaid put her hands on her hips and said, “I will once you’re sitting down with that blanket over your lap.”

“All right, Sarah. You win. I’m going. See?” She hurried back to the sofa.

Sarah gave her a triumphant look before turning toward the front entrance to the house. A short while later, she escorted Emily’s friend into the room. Emily rose from the sofa and embraced Fiona while Sarah unwrapped the blankets that cocooned the baby.

“I wanted to come sooner,” Fiona said as she drew back, “but Dr. Weick forbade it. Not until he was sure there was no more risk.”

“Of course you couldn’t come. You had little Myrna to think of. Oh, let me see her.”

Sarah stayed stubbornly in place. “Not until you sit down again, miss. I’ll not have you tiring yourself on my watch. No indeed.”

Emily sighed and rolled her eyes in Fiona’s direction, but she did as she was told, then held out her arms to receive the baby. “Oh, Fiona, she’s beautiful. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when she was born. Look. She’s going to have your auburn hair and your green eyes too.”

“She wouldn’t dare not have them. Her father demanded that all daughters born in our family must have my coloring.”

“How is James?”

“He’s wonderful, as always.”

Wistfulness washed through Emily. “And you’re both happy. I can tell just by looking at you.”

“Of course, we’re happy. But what about you? Your last letter said you wouldn’t return until spring, and then I heard you were engaged. And by the way, I’m angry with you for not writing to give me that news yourself. I had to hear it from Maggie. And now you are back home again and your engagement is already broken. What happened?”

Emily looked down at the baby. “Oh, lots of things. I realized that I couldn’t marry Patrick. He’s the best and kindest of men, but I didn’t love him as a woman should love the man she’s to marry. Not the way you love James or Maggie loves Tucker. Besides, I was homesick. I missed Maggie and Tucker and the children.” She kissed Myrna’s forehead. “And look what else I missed while I was away. Myrna is half-grown already.”