A Veiled Reflection (16 page)

Laboring with these thoughts, Mac fed and watered the horse, then headed to the house to see to his own needs.

About half an hour later, Jillian knocked on his door. He ushered her in, feeling his heart pick up its pace when she smiled. Even in his exhausted state, he was happy to see her. He looked forward to the possibility of sharing a moonlit ride to Mary's with this lovely young woman.

“Kate said you needed to see me?”

“Yes. I'm afraid it's not good. Little Sister is gravely ill. She'll probably die within a short time. Mary asked if you would come and sit with Little Sister while she goes out to the Navajo village to find Bear.”

Jillian shuddered noticeably, and Mac didn't know if it were for reasons of the stern-faced Bear or Little Sister's condition. She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not at all helpful in such matters. My mother never allowed me to tend the sick, and when our grandmother died, we were made to sit beside her, but she died anyway.” “It isn't a matter of needing you to do anything in particular,” Mac replied, totally confused by Jillian's attitude. “Little Sister shouldn't be alone—even for the few hours it'll take Mary to get to the village and back. She might go into labor; then again, she may not. But if the baby should come, there would be no one there to help her.”

“I . . . can't . . . can't do it, Mac,” Jillian said, backing toward the door. “Why don't you . . . I mean . . . why can't you . . . get someone else?”

She was shaking and stammering, and for the life of him, Mac didn't know how to respond. “Mary asked me specifically to bring you.”

Jillian shook her head. “You don't understand.”

Mac was beginning to get a little irritated. “No, I don't.”

Jillian reached for the door. “I can't explain it to you. I can't help you.”

“Can't or won't?” Mac asked angrily. “Isn't a poor Navajo woman worth the effort?”

“That's not fair, Mac. You know me better.”

“I thought I did,” he replied. His confusion over her behavior was overriding his ability to reason the situation. “Just go on back to your safe little world, Jillian. You're probably right. You're probably not much good for anything more than looking pretty and entertaining.” He said the words to Jillian, but it was another woman's face he saw.

The expression on Jillian's face betrayed her hurt. Mac's words had obviously hit their intended target, but he had no satisfaction in that. He didn't understand why she had suddenly become so irrational in her attitude. She seemed almost afraid, but why should she be? She'd been to Mary's before, and she knew Little Sister. Mary had even told him that she had befriended the Navajo woman and had easily shared her company. So what had happened since that time and this?

“I didn't mean to make you mad,” she said, turning, as if she'd changed her mind.

“Well, you did a good job of it. I don't have time for games like this, Jillian. Mary can't very well go for Little Sister's family and sit at her bedside at the same time, and frankly, I don't know of anyone else, short of the Reverend Lister or his wife, who might be willing to help a dying Navajo.”

“Reverend Lister would be a better choice, especially since . . . I mean, if she . . . dies.”

Angry at himself for losing his temper, Mac nevertheless hit his fist against the wall. “Go home, Jillian. Go back to Kansas City, where life demands nothing more of you than you can handle.”

“I'm sorry, Mac,” Jillian whispered before fleeing from the room.

He pretended that he hadn't seen the tears in her eyes. Pretended, too, that he didn't care about whether she accompanied him to Mary's or not. But he did care and he didn't understand how she could be so callous about Little Sister. She had acted as though the very idea of accompanying him had terrified her. Was she afraid of him? Afraid that once they were alone in the desert, he might take liberties?

This thought calmed him a bit. Perhaps that was the answer. She had never had a romantic encounter. He knew this because she'd told him so one day when they were talking together. Maybe she was just afraid of what he might do to her. But Mac felt a sense of irritation in

Jillian's lack of trust. If she did fear him and think him to just be using this as an excuse to get her alone, then he intended to give her a piece of his mind when he got back from Mary's.

Jillian had never longed more for Mary's company than she did in the hours that followed her entanglement with Mac. Mac had clearly been disgusted with her. He probably thought her as prejudiced as the rest of the town when it came to Little Sister and her condition. But it wasn't true. Jillian wanted to help Mary and Little Sister, but the thought of dealing with death overwhelmed her ability to reason.

Torn between hiring a horse and trying to find her way out to Mary's or waiting it out at the Harvey House until Mac returned, Jillian chose the easy way out. But hadn't she always? Rather than standing up to Judith, she always gave in and did whatever her sister asked of her. She said it was because she loved Judith, and she did. There wasn't anything she would have withheld from her twin because the bond between them was so deep—so strong. But she knew she also allowed Judith to push her around and get her into messes because it was the path of least resistance. Judith never demanded much of Jillian, and up until this stunt of posing as Judith, Jillian had never felt it was any real sacrifice to endure her sister's requests.

But the truth was, Jillian had let people push her around most of her life. She feared standing up to them, and she feared dealing with them head on. Her father dictated to her what she could and couldn't do, and she knew that had he forbidden her to stay in Pintan, she would have taken the first train back to Kansas City. She loved her father, though he could be demanding, and it just seemed more pleasant to let him have his way. Then there was her mother, who plotted and planned for Jillian's future. Jillian had never had the heart, until now, to put her foot down and demand her mother set such notions aside.

Letting people have their way seemed the most generous and loving thing Jillian could do. She might get walked on and pushed around a bit in the process, but if she did, it was her flaw that had caused it and not someone else's.

And until Mac had pressured her to face her fears of death, Jillian had felt it a fairly simple matter to endure this flaw in her personality. Now, however, Mac thought poorly of her—maybe even hated her for what he would misjudge as prejudice. She had to explain and make him see the truth. She couldn't just let this be swept aside, not when Mac thought her to be so heartless and cruel.

“I've made such a mess of this,” she moaned, struggling to keep a positive outlook. It was bad enough that Mac knew her capable of living a lie; now he probably thought she'd lied about caring about the plight of the Navajo as well. Mary might agree with his conclusion. Jillian bowed her head in sorrow. “I've probably lost my two dearest friends.”

It was nearly nine-thirty when Mac rode back into Pintan. Jillian had watched for him faithfully from her upstairs window, hoping and praying that she might be able to sneak out before curfew and explain her actions to him. How could she have refused him help? Then again, how could she have gone, knowing what she would find at Mary's? She hated her fear of death. Now Mac probably hated her, and she had no way to explain it . . . except to tell him the truth. But would he believe her, knowing her for the liar she was? Why should he trust her for the truth? Especially when the truth sounded so unfounded—so silly.

How could she explain to a man of medicine that her grandmother's nonsensical superstitions about death and dying had manifested unnatural terrors in Jillian's heart and soul? From the time Grandmother Danvers had moved in to share their home, she had tormented Jillian with death lore. Jillian had suffered horrible nightmares, certain that the Grim Reaper would soon pay her a visit. Grandmother had warned her never to be in the room when a person died, or she might be the next one to go.

Jillian shook her head and wiped an errant tear. How could she expect Mac to understand?

She slipped from the room quietly, not explaining to either Kate, who sat penning a letter home, or Louisa, who worked intently stitching together a new sunbonnet, that she was going out. With any luck, they'd just think she was going out to see to her personal needs before bedtime.

Creeping down the back stairs, Jillian knew she might not be back in time for curfew, but it was a risk she was willing to take—no matter the consequences. Somehow, the idea of climbing the latticework alongside the building didn't seem nearly as bad as leaving this misunderstanding to stand between her and Mac.

Silently she opened the back door and stepped out into the darkness. She felt a rush of wind against her face, and remembering Bear's nighttime ritual of a few weeks past, she trembled.
I'm such a coward.

Judith would have gone with Mac and no doubt would have never given Bear
a second thought
.

She walked slowly, hoping to give Mac plenty of time to put his horse away and take his things into the house. She was halfway across the street when she saw a glow of light in Mac's house as he moved from one room to the next, obviously carrying a lamp with him. The shadows danced eerily on the walls inside the house, and through the open window, Jillian could see Mac's almost ghostly form move in the muted light.

Steadying her nerves, Jillian reached for the door, knocking almost hesitantly. She then thought better of her irrational decision to sneak over to see Mac, but she squared her shoulders, determined to tell the truth. Jillian hated that he thought less of her and couldn't bear her conscience any longer.

When he opened the door, Jillian began to tremble anew. “Mac, I have to talk to you,” she said in a pleading voice.

“Not now, Jillian.”

“Please, Mac.” She knew she was begging, but she was desperate.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes hard and unyielding. “No.” He shut the door hard, leaving her to stand alone in the darkness.

A sob escaped her as she turned to run from the house and back to the safety of her bedroom.

Going through the back door, Jillian nearly ran over Gwen and Zack as they shared an intimate moment.

“Judith? What's wrong?” Gwen questioned.

“Nothing. Everything,” she replied, so tired of the lies.

Jillian looked up to see the sympathetic expressions of both Gwen and Zack. She desperately wanted solace, but they weren't the ones to offer it.

“Has somebody hurt you?” Zack questioned, glancing past Jillian to the open back door.

Jillian sniffed back her tears. “Not in the sense you're talking about, Sheriff.”

“Is it Dr. MacCallister?” Gwen asked softly.

“No, not really,” Jillian replied. “It's me. I did something unforgivable as far as he's concerned, and maybe even as far as I'm concerned. He asked for my help and I refused it.”

“That hardly seems unforgivable,” Zack said, relaxing now that he better understood Jillian's emotional state.

“Please don't worry about it,” Jillian replied. “I shouldn't have said anything. It's all my own fault. I just went over to apologize, and he won't hear me out.”

“You want me to go talk to him?” Zack questioned.

“No!” Jillian's voice raised as she shook her head. “Please don't. I have to take care of this matter.”

“If you need more time to try again,” Gwen began, “I can leave the door unlocked for a short time.”

Jillian wanted nothing more than to settle the matter with Mac. She looked out through the open door to where she could still see the light gleaming from his window.

“Go ahead. He may be stubborn, but I've a feeling you're just as determined as he is,” Gwen encouraged.

“Thank you,” Jillian answered. “I'll give it a try.”

She turned and walked out of the Harvey House with new determination, glancing over her shoulder in hopes of receiving one last smile of encouragement from Gwen and Zack. Instead, she found them to have totally forgotten about her. Standing very close, they seemed to be murmuring endearments in their farewells for the evening. Jillian's heart ached at the thought that theirs was a true and honest romance. A mutual attraction that would allow for a strong and binding love.

Leaving them to their secrets, Jillian turned away and faced Mac's door. She bolstered up her courage once again and wiped her eyes. Knocking lightly, she waited, barely breathing.

He opened the door and scowled. “I told you I'm not in the mood to hear any excuses. Why won't you just leave me be?”

“Because I won't be able to sleep if you don't let me explain about this afternoon,” she said, feeling her words catch in her throat. “I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I was being unreasonable, but I was afraid.”

Mac leaned back against the door, his expression clearly one of disbelief. “Afraid? Of what?”

“I don't handle these things well, Mac. I've never been strong when it comes to . . .”

“Something outside of your perfectly ordered world?” he questioned angrily.

“That's not fair,” Jillian retorted. “It's not my fault that my father sheltered me. He believed women were to be cared for and watched over.” Jillian knew she sounded defensive, and had it not been such a serious matter, she might have laughed at the thought of defending her father. “I'm the first one to admit that I've not had to handle much discomfort in life, and I was wrong to refuse to help you.”

“Yes, you were,” Mac replied, not giving her an inch of consideration. Jillian looked down at the floor. “I came to apologize. I'll help you in any way I can. I have tomorrow off, and if you want me to go out with you to help Mary with Little Sister, then I will.” She looked back up to meet his expression, hoping to find forgiveness . . . and maybe something more.