White Dawn (25 page)

She bit back the cry of protest. “I’m
not
strong. If I were, I wouldn’t be so afraid.” She stared up at him. If she were strong, she’d take the chance, she’d risk everything for John’s love. She’d dare the future. But she was weak. She was too afraid to trust him—not with her heart, but with her child. He had her heart. For better or worse, she’d never love another. But her child…

Unable to deal with all the conflicting emotions boiling inside her, she rose. She turned to the priest, who stood a short distance from her, giving her the privacy she needed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The priest smiled kindly, then stepped aside. He motioned toward a man running toward them with Samuel and another woman. “I think your father will be anxious to see you, too.”

Emily recognized the woman as Millicente. Realizing that the time had come to meet Matthew Sommers, Emily felt her nerves make her head spin and her stomach heave. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Oh, God, I’m not ready for this.” She held her breath.

John put his arm around her. “Just breathe, Emily.”

Emily blinked, stared, then blinked again. The stranger had nearly white hair with traces of pale yellow still in evidence. His eyes were blue—as blue as the sky after a storm. As blue as her own. He smiled. She recognized that smile. This was the same man, though older, from her locket. This man was her
father.
The world spun.

He stopped in front of her. “Is it? Can it be?” His voice was choked with tears. “You don’t know me but—”

“Father?” she interrupted. She choked on her tears.

The man called Matthew Sommers stepped closer, his hand held out. “Yes. Emily. My daughter,” he whispered, his gaze roaming over her as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

It was all too much. She’d come here to marry John, then had planned on finding somewhere to settle where she could raise her child. She hadn’t settled on seeking this man out. Even though she knew he’d found out about her, had posted a reward for information about her, she hadn’t determined to search him out. She might have let him know she was alive. But not once had she believed he’d still be here. Waiting. She hadn’t planned on having to face him so soon. Ever, perhaps.

Now, here he was. She couldn’t take it in. His features swam in and out of focus. “John…”

John caught her and gently lowered Emily to the ground. He stroked her face. “Easy, Sunshine. Just relax and breathe.”

“I can’t.” Emily closed her eyes and tried to blot out everything but the feel of John, the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, the feel of his fingers brushing her hair off her temple.

“Better?”

Emily opened her eyes. The dizziness seemed to have passed. “I think so.” Feeling foolish, she sat and glanced up at the crowd of people now hovering around her and John. Her searching gaze collided with her father’s.

The white-haired gentleman knelt beside her. His soft accent surrounded her with love. “It’s true,” he whispered. “I have a daughter.” Tears filled his eyes—those eyes that were so much the same blue as her own.

Listening to her father’s soft drawl, Emily stared up at him. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Yet after months of men with booming voices, Matthew’s soft-spoken, gentlemanly voice came as a pleasant surprise. As did the sight of the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“How… Why… I don’t understand—” She broke off, confused. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”

Millicente leaned over Matthew, balancing with one hand on his shoulder. In her haste to reach Emily, to see if Emily had truly returned, her hair, always neatly confined in a bun, had come loose. It spilled down her shoulder.

“I sent for him, child. Your mother was afraid for you—and for herself. She couldn’t stop Timothy from leaving, going off into that savage country and taking the pair of you with him. She knew he was crazy—especially not to believe you over that lecherous old priest—”

She hesitated and sent the new priest an apologetic look. “She was going to leave him. We’d made plans to take you and return to the States, but Timothy refused to let you go.” The woman’s voice hitched on a sob. “She had no choice but to go with him. But before they left, she begged me to send for help. She told me the truth and asked me to try to find your father and see if he’d come for you.”

Matthew reached out and took Emily’s hand in his. “Which I did. I was still living on my family’s farm. I had no idea, my daughter. No idea.” He smiled sadly. “By the time I got here, Millicente had contacted several other missions in the area, and already had a search organized.” He fell silent. “They’d already found Beatrice and Timothy.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Of you, there was no sign. Everyone thought you’d been captured by the savage who killed
your
parents. I sent word out by way of every trapper who came through the area and offered a reward for your recovery. I’d just about given up hope.”

“Seems we met up with two of them,” John said, explaining what had happened with the two outlaw trappers.

As John and her father talked, Emily tried to take everything in. All her hopes of finding this man had died once she’d learned she was with child. What if the love in his eyes turned to contempt once he knew the truth? That she’d loved and been loved by a savage? And then by John.

With John’s help, she got to her feet. Father and daughter stared at one another for an awkward moment. When he held his arms out, she hesitated. There were so many unanswered questions. So many answers she needed, and she wasn’t sure she could trust him. Not yet.

Yet one look into his eyes told her that no matter what lay in the past he shared with her mother, her father wanted her now. Emily’s throat clogged with emotion, and her legs shook.

She wanted to go to him almost as much as she feared his rejection. At last, she gave in to her need to be held by him. She’d have her answers, and soon, but right now it was enough to know that he’d come for her. When he’d learned of her, learned that she needed him, he’d come. And even when hope for her recovery seemed lost, he’d stayed. That faith, the love she saw brimming in his eyes, welcomed her home.

“Father,” she said with a sob, stumbling into his loving embrace. She clung to him, rejoiced in the strong arms holding her so tight she could barely breathe. But such discomforts didn’t matter anymore. All she could do was sob, her face pressed against his chest.

This was the first fatherly embrace she could ever recall, and the soft, broken murmurs in her ears reassured the child within that her father truly loved her.

Matthew stared down at the young woman in his arms. His daughter. His beloved Beatrice’s child, conceived in a night of the most tender, soul-shattering loving he’d ever known.

Noticing the pallor, the dusting of freckles that stood out across her cheeks and nose, he saw his one true love as she’d looked all those many, many years ago. Only Emily’s hair and her eyes belonged to him. And maybe the faint cleft in her chin. The rest of her delicate features belonged to her mother.

Scooping the girl up, he cradled her close. He had a daughter! Until this moment, he hadn’t really believed it. It seemed unreal. He’d gone seventeen years believing he was alone. No family. Just his farm and a few close friends.

He followed Millicente to her cabin and stood back while the woman fussed over Emily. Content to just watch her and study this child of his, Matthew let the unfamiliar feelings in him simmer. As if he’d held her from the moment she’d entered this world, a bond was already developing and forming.

He was a father! The knowledge was incredible, heady. Already he loved Emily. In his mind, he began to make plans to take her home—home to his farm, where they could get to know each other.

For so many years he’d lived his life content. His only regret lay in not having his love at his side. He’d searched for her for years. Then, at last, he’d given up. He’d never married. He’d never found another woman to love. In truth, he’d always hoped to find Beatrice again.

He hadn’t found his love, but he’d found their daughter—a miraculous gift.

Shoving his hand in his jacket, he caressed his pocket watch, the only bit of Beatrice he’d had left. Now, looking upon their daughter, Matthew felt joy fill him. He had the best part of Beatrice. He had her daughter. She was a part of them both, a living testimony to the love they’d shared.

“I have a daughter,” he whispered to himself, feeling the warm glow of love in his heart and a fatherly bit of possessiveness as well.

Emily sat in Millicente’s small one-room cabin in a crude rocking chair. The motion soothed her as she used it. A quilt lay over her lap and a cup of strong, sweetened tea sat to her side. “I’m fine, truly,” she told the woman who’d befriended her mother. The woman who’d done so much toward making Emily happy again.

“You look peaked.” Millicente bustled around, then sat in a similar chair. Both pieces had stuffed cushions.

“I’ll be fine,” Emily said. She reached out. “I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Dufour.” She’d just learned that the woman’s husband had died in his sleep a few months before.

“Thank you, child. Henry was a good man. I’ll miss him.”

“Are you going to stay here?”

Millicente shook her head. “No. I stayed to wait for news of you. I couldn’t leave until we found you.”

Emily’s eyes swam with tears to think that she had another friend—that her mother had a friend—who’d done
so
much for her.

A fire burned in the fireplace to Emily’s right. Beside her, John sat on a hard-backed chair, his legs stretched out, his arms folded across his chest. He’d been quiet since he’d brought her things in. She was staying here, while he’d accepted the hospitality of the priest.

Emily glanced at him. His eyes were dark. No spark of humor resided there. She knew it was her fault. She’d ended up hurting this person who’d brought laughter into her life. He was her friend. The only true friend she’d ever had, and she’d dimmed the light in his eyes.

Glancing down at her hands, she wished she could ask her father or the priest for advice. Yet deep down, she knew the decision had to come from within her. If only she had more time! The presence of her father meant that John no longer had to journey to Kentucky with her to find him. He was free to return to his grandfather. Now that such was the case, Emily wasn’t sure she could bear to see him go.

Across from her, her newfound sire sipped his tea. He finally broke the silence. “So what happened to you, daughter? Where have you been? You seem healthy.” He glanced from Emily to John.

Emily stared at him, wary and uncertain as to how much to tell. Would he turn his back on her if she told him the truth? Would he reject her and her baby? Tipping her chin, she decided she had to tell him everything. If he truly loved and accepted her, nothing would get in the way. If he didn’t, it was better to know now.

Slowly she gave her account. Millicente gasped when she told them how her father had abandoned her. She left out her mother’s part in it, sparing Matthew unnecessary pain. In truth, she wasn’t sure she could speak of it without bursting into tears. The agony of the betrayal still ate at her. It probably always would.

Then she told them how the golden warrior saved her life, and how he’d taken her with him. She spoke of the freedom she’d gained, and though she didn’t spell it out, her listeners knew from her voice that they’d shared their nights as well as their days. They said nothing.

Then she had to tell them how he’d left her, and how John had found her, and how she’d saved his life. At that point, John spoke up. Between them they finished the tale, leaving Willy out of it. But there was one last thing she had to confess. As if he knew, John reached over and took her hand in his.

Emily took a deep breath and looked her father in the eye. “I’m with child,” she blurted, bracing herself for his contempt.

Matthew’s eyes grew wide. “With—” He rose and came to her. “I’m to be a grandfather? A father
and
a grandfather all in so short a time!” He sounded delighted. He turned to John.

“I assume you plan to marry my daughter.” Matthew Sommers sounded like a stern man now.

John nodded. “I love Emily.” He glanced at her. “I’ve asked her.”

Curls of warmth wrapped around Emily. In all this mess, that was the one thing she didn’t doubt. She just didn’t know if it would be enough. She knew John would claim her child. He’d marry her and allow everyone to believe him to be the father. But she would have to tell her father the truth. And when her child was old enough, she’d tell the child the truth as well. Such secrets had a way of causing hurt and pain to all involved. Better the truth be out in the open—at least among those to whom it mattered most. And who knew how that truth would change someone?

She gripped John’s hand but stared at Matthew. “John’s not the baby’s father.” She held her breath, praying that it wouldn’t matter that his grandchild would be a breed.

For just a moment, Matthew was stunned. Then he smiled. It was an oddly wise smile, and Emily found herself loving the man for it. “A baby is something to be thankful for.”

“You aren’t angry?” she asked, still wary and afraid to believe.

“Emily, I’m so glad to see you alive and healthy that the last thing I’m going to do is judge you. You survived, and you’ve come back. That’s all that matters. The rest can be dealt with.”

John sat up straight, drawing his legs under his chair. “I still plan to marry her. Her child won’t be a bastard.”

“John!” As much as Emily wanted his name, she felt guilty taking it. If she couldn’t give him what he truly deserved—her devotion and trust—she had no right to take his name.

“The matter has been settled, Sunshine,” he said.

Matthew glanced from Emily to John. “I sense there’s something going on here. But we shall deal with it later. Or perhaps just the two of you will. I’m sure you have lots of questions for me as well.” He glanced at Millicente.

“Millie has already told me that you didn’t know about me, that Beatrice—your mother—was afraid to tell you.”

Emily glanced at him. She’d accepted him as her father and had even allowed herself to envision a normal, loving relationship. “I never knew. Why didn’t she tell me? Did she think I’d have judged her?”

Millicente shook her head. “No, she was afraid you would try to run away and find your father—and she knew Timothy wouldn’t have let you go. It would have made things worse between you. If she could have found a way to send you safely to Matthew, she would have. But she had no idea if his family still owned that farm, and Kentucky was a place Timothy refused to return to.” The woman took a deep breath and released it, then wiped the tears from her faded blue eyes and addressed the men.

“Beatrice and I had a plan to leave. My Henry had agreed in a letter to take us. If Timothy refused to let them go, Henry would have seen to it that he didn’t cause anymore trouble or stop them from leaving. But Timothy decided to leave before Henry returned.”

“Because of me,” Emily whispered, crying deep inside at the timing of things. They’d been so close to escaping. Her mother might have been alive today. She wasn’t. Again, it was all because of her.

“No. The blame lies with Father Richard. He’d been bedding some of the young Indian girls. But none of us ever thought he’d try it on you, dear. If I ever see him again…” Millicente’s voice rose with anger.

Matthew’s hand covered Millicente’s. “If he shows his face here, I will have a few words to say to him myself.”

“Take your turn,” John said, flexing his fingers and rubbing his knuckles. “I’ll leave his ears to you, but I have first claim on his hide.”

Silent understanding passed between the two men. Millicente and Emily rolled their eyes. “What’s done is done,” Emily said. Now that the time had come, she was afraid to ask her father about the past. As she’d said, it was gone. Nothing could bring her mother back or change her childhood. Yet she had to know.

She addressed her father. “I need to know. You and my mother—what happened?”

Matthew stared into the fire. “Beatrice’s father was a preacher. The hell-and-damnation, fire-and-brimstone sort. He came and held a revival just outside town. He’d sent Timothy and Beatrice into town to buy supplies. She was sixteen, and Timothy a few years older. At first, I thought they were brother and sister.

“Our church invited them to stay, as our own preacher only came once a month.” He laughed softly. “Only time I ever went to church was when I knew your mother would be there. She played the piano, and sang like an angel.” He fell silent.

“I never heard her sing,” Emily said, remembering all the church ceremonies. Her mother’s lips had moved, but Emily couldn’t recall the sound of her voice.

Matthew looked sad at that. “We fell in love, but when my father found out I was courting the daughter of a minister, he forbade me to see her again. He wanted me to marry the daughter of the man who owned the farm next to ours. Had greater ambitions for me. We had a huge fight. I told him I was going to marry Beatrice no matter what he said.”

Emily held her breath as her father stopped once more to become lost in memories. When he looked back at her, she saw tears in his eyes.

“The next week, when I rode into town for church, Beatrice and her father were gone. I tried to find them, rode out to the nearest towns, but no one knew of their whereabouts. I returned home, told my father I was leaving and packed my things.”

“You left?”

“For ten years. Just rode around. Took odd jobs; then I received word that my mother was ill. I returned. She died a few months after. I made my peace with my father. I’ve been there ever since.”

“You never married?” Tears swam in Emily’s eyes. Her father had loved her mother, had wanted only to marry her.

Matthew pulled out a pocket watch. He flipped one side open to reveal the time. Then he flipped open the other side to reveal the same portrait of her mother inside her own locket. “We had our portraits done secretly. I bought her a locket, and she did odd jobs around town to earn the money to purchase this. She gave it to me the last time I saw her—the night you were conceived.”

Emily pulled her ma’s locket from beneath her dress and slid the leather thong over her head. She held it out to her father.

With trembling hands, Matthew opened the two halves and stared at both portraits. “She kept it all these years.” His voice choked.

Emily didn’t tell him that she’d hidden his image behind Timothy Ambrose’s. The fact that her mother had kept Matthew’s likeness confirmed that her mother had loved him.

Yet, if Beatrice had loved this man, why hadn’t she found a way to return to him? “I still don’t understand why she married Timothy.”

Matthew handed her back the locket and looked to Millicente. The older woman took up the story. “Your mother was scared when she found out she was with child. She wanted to return, but her father wouldn’t let her. He made her marry Timothy. Timothy hadn’t wanted to marry. He’d wanted to devote his life to God, but he owed Beatrice’s father for so much, he agreed. He never forgave her for destroying his dreams.” Millicente sat back and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Emily sighed. “And lived to regret it.” She kept to herself the depth of Timothy’s resentment and hatred. For the first time, she allowed that perhaps Timothy had been a victim in this as well. It didn’t make things better, though. Only sadder.

The next morning, Emily walked beside her father. The wedding between her and John would take place later that day. Between her father, John, Millicente and even the priest, they’d all told her this was best. Even if John wasn’t around, she needed a husband if she was going to return to society—for her own sake and the baby’s.

“I can’t wait to take you home, Emily.” Her father stared down at her. “Call me selfish, but I want you with me. Of course, I’m hoping John will come as well.”

Emily knew neither John nor her father wanted her to have the baby out here in the wild. Matthew wanted them to return with him to his home.
Home,
she thought again. A place where she belonged.

The thought should have pleased her. Made her ecstatic, even. But when she thought of
home,
she thought of a tiny shack in the middle of nowhere. Bending down, she picked up a small twig and broke it into tiny pieces, like those of destroyed lives. “Love didn’t bring any of you happiness. It caused problems.”

Her father stopped. He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “Do you love him, Emily?” he asked.

The air smelled of rain. The wind was growing cooler, warning of another approaching storm. She couldn’t help remembering the last storm and the fierce lovemaking she and John had shared. The feeling of being one. Without him, she knew she’d never be complete again.