Cinnamon and Roses (22 page)

Mary put a shaking hand on
Anabelle's
shoulder, her face flushed with mortification. “How could you do this?” she whispered harshly.

Anabelle
didn't answer. She kept her head down, the front of her dress becoming wet and splotched with her flood of tears.

"I am so sorry, Rebecca,” Mary said, clasping Rebecca's hand. Her own eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I had no idea
Anabelle
had done those things. I would never have thought her capable. Of course we'll make good on all the damage she's done."

"It's all right, Mary. You're not to blame."

"Yes. Yes, I am. I should have been stricter with her when she was a child. Her father and I have been much too lenient. I should have—"

"There's no sense dwelling on the past, Mary. It's the present I think you should worry about."

"Yes, you're right.” She straightened her spine and took a firm hold on her daughter's arm. “We're going home, young lady. And don't think you'll be hearing the end of this any time soon."

Caleb let Mary and
Anabelle
go, even though doubt niggled at his conscience. Something just didn't add up.

Rebecca turned to him, eyes narrowed. “What is it?” she asked. “You got the answer you were looking for."

He shook his head. “Later” was all he said as he guided her to the surrey.

When they arrived home, they all sat down to a quiet dinner. After the meal, Rebecca pleaded exhaustion and escaped to her room.

Caleb followed her several minutes later. The door clicked closed behind him, and Rebecca raised her head.

"Tired?” he asked.

"A little."

"It's been quite a day."

"What is it, Caleb?” She sat up a bit. “Something's been bothering you all afternoon."

"I don't know,” he answered honestly, removing his suit coat and loosening his tie. “I just have a feeling this isn't over yet."

"
Anabelle
won't be playing any more horrible tricks,
that's
for sure,” she said, lying back once again. “I'd be surprised if Mary didn't cane her to within an inch of her life."

Caleb couldn't argue with that. Mary Archer had been furious. But something still didn't add up.

"Okay,” he said. “So
Anabelle
put the dead bird in your basket and tore your house apart. But I have a hard time believing she would want revenge badly enough to shoot at someone."

"Caleb,” Rebecca said with a sigh. “
Anabelle
admitted that she's responsible for the other events, no one has tried again to shoot anyone, and that's good enough for me. Maybe what happened to Megan was an accident. Maybe someone was hunting too close to the road, and a bullet went wild."

"Is that what you think?” he
asked,
a hard edge to his voice.

"I don't know,” she admitted, plumping the pillow beneath her head. “But I think that if someone wanted to hurt me—or Megan, or you, or anyone else—they would be a little more forward about it. It's been months since Megan was shot. Do you really think that if the bullet was meant to kill her—or me, as you suspect—the person would let me live this much longer without trying something else?"

She snuggled farther under the bedspread and covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “I think you're reading more into it than there is. Can't we just forget about it?"

Caleb tossed his boots aside and came to the bed, staying above the covers. “You really think that's all there is to it,
hm
?"

"Mm-hmm."

Her eyelashes fluttered and grew heavy.

"All right,” he said quietly. “Then I'll let it go. But if anything else happens...” His words trailed off, and he rolled to his side, wrapping an arm around Rebecca. He held her tightly until sleep claimed his worried mind.

"I have good news,” Caleb said with a smile, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Rebecca sat up, stretching after her long afternoon nap.

"Mother has agreed to let Megan stay."

Her eyes widened. To her knowledge, Holbrook had sent his letter only a little over a week ago. “You heard back from her already? So soon?” she asked, holding the covers over her breasts, though she still wore her camisole and stockings.

He nodded, loosening his black string tie and the top button of his shirt. “We got a wire from
New York
this morning."

"Well, what did she say?” Rebecca asked, shimmying to the edge of the bed.

"She's not happy, but she agreed to Dad's suggestion of letting Megan stay until spring. She'll want her back in time for school in the fall, but Dad says we can cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Oh, Caleb, that's wonderful.” Her eyes burned with the threat of tears as she moved to give him a hug. “Have you told Megan yet?"

"Dad wanted to do the honors.” His arms came around her waist. “He's talking to her now."

"I think we should celebrate,” she said, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. “Help me dress for dinner."

She searched the wardrobe for a proper dress,
then
held the bodice of the gown to her chest while Caleb finished closing the row of hooks at the back. The fit wasn't quite perfect, but it would do.

"There,” he said. He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “I think I like being a ladies’ maid."

"Oh, really?
Then how would you like to arrange my hair?"

He gave a chuckle. “I don't think I'm up to that. But call me when you want out of this thing.” He tugged at the back of her dress and gave her a lascivious grin. “I'd be happy to help."

He took one last look in the mirror, rearranged his tie and collar, and moved to the door. “Are you ready to go down?"

"I'll be along in a minute,” she said, sitting down at her dressing table and reaching for her toiletries. “Go congratulate Megan."

"All right.
See you downstairs."

Rebecca lifted the brush and ran it through her hair. When she raised an arm over her head to stroke the hair back from her other temple, though, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She dropped the brush and gripped the edge of the table, keeping her eyes closed until the sensation passed.

She took a deep breath and watched her reflection in the mirror. Her hair looked a duller brown than usual, and her skin was a bit pale. But that was to be expected when one had been nauseated for the past two weeks.

What did worry her was the cramping she'd begun to feel in her belly. Not the stabs of pain she expected would alert her to labor—though she wasn't due for more than two months—but long, throbbing spasms that wrapped around her abdomen.

She supposed she should have told someone.
Caleb, perhaps.
Or maybe it would have been a good idea to stop in at Doc Meade's one day while she was in town. But she hadn't done either yet, and she was beginning to regret it.

She ran the brush quickly through the rest of her hair and tied a wide emerald ribbon in a bow at the top of her head.

The illness would pass, she told herself for the hundredth time. Surely any number of women had suffered the same annoying sickness while with child. She simply wasn't sure. She'd seen too many females in the act of making babies and too few actually having them.

She got up, leaning against the dresser for a moment to allow her queasy stomach to settle. Then she made her way across the room and into the hall, keeping a hand to the wall to guide her heavy footsteps.

Was the house exceptionally hot this evening, or was it her? And why had she never before noticed how long this hallway was? It seemed to take her forever to reach the staircase and slowly falter her way down the difficult decline.

Once she reached the parlor, she took one last second to gain her equilibrium and entered the room where everyone was gathered for a drink before dinner.

"Here she is,” Caleb said and came over to her. He kissed her forehead and handed her a sherry, then returned to his father's side.

She tried to concentrate on the happy conversation but soon found that even that small task caused a fine sheen of perspiration to gather on her brow. She moved behind one of the medallion-backed armchairs and gripped the mahogany rim, swaying slightly and biting the inside of her lip to keep an anguished moan silent.

Then the room began to spin, and Rebecca felt herself falling. The sound of breaking glass filled her ears a moment before darkness claimed her.

"Rebecca!"

Caleb turned at his sister's cry to see Rebecca weaving back and forth unsteadily. He started toward her as the sherry glass rolled past her fingertips and to the floor, spraying sharp pieces of crystal in every direction. He knelt at her side and picked her up in his arms.

"Somebody go for the doctor. Get him out here now."

He stalked out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, letting it crash back against the wall. Throwing the covers aside with a fierce tug, he laid Rebecca carefully on the bed.

Her skin felt hot and sticky to his touch. He turned to his father and sister, who stood at the foot of the bed, and began to issue orders. “Get cold water and cloths. I have to bring her fever down. Megan,
find
a fresh gown for her, and then go downstairs to wait for Doc Meade. Send him up the minute he arrives."

Megan rummaged through several dresser drawers before pulling out a thin cotton nightdress and handing it to Caleb. Then she ran out of the room to help her father.

"All right, sweetheart,” Caleb said softly, practically tearing her clothes off. “Everything's going to be all right.” He flung the heavy satin gown to the floor and began removing her underclothes.

Megan brought a bowl of water and went back downstairs to watch for the doctor. Caleb soaked a cloth in the chilly water and bathed Rebecca's face and neck. Then he slipped the nightdress over her head and straightened it over her body.

"Jesus,” he breathed. His hands stilled, and he stared for a moment.
“Oh, Christ.”
Spots of bright red and dark-purple blood dotted her inner thighs. Without conscious thought, he grabbed the towels from beside the water basin and pressed them between her legs.

A moment of panic seized him. His ribcage seemed to tighten around his heart, and he struggled to get air into his lungs. What if she lost the baby? Dear Lord, she was already so far along. The child couldn't be taken from them now. Not when he'd just begun to think of it as real, as a little person they would soon be able to see and touch and hold in their arms. Tears sprang to his eyes. No! No, God couldn't be so cruel.

He crouched beside the bed and increased the pressure on the towels until his arms ached. He rested his forehead against the mattress and smoothed his thumb over the back of Rebecca's hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart,” he said. The words were muffled, but he repeated them over and over.

Twenty minutes later, pounding footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Doc Meade ran into the room. Caleb lifted his head and stood, moving aside to give the doctor room to work but keeping pressure on the cloths between Rebecca's legs.

Megan and Holbrook stood in the doorway, looking on anxiously. Caleb cocked his head and asked them to give him a moment alone with the doctor and Rebecca.

"She's bleeding,” he said desperately.

The doctor put a hand to Rebecca's forehead and dug in his bag for a stethoscope. He put the instrument around his neck, ready to continue his examination.

"Why don't you wait outside, son."

"No,” Caleb said sternly.

"Caleb, I know this isn't easy for you, but you can't do her any more good in here than you could downstairs. Get yourself a glass of the strongest liquor you've got and wait. I'll be down in a few minutes. Go, son."

Caleb reluctantly released Rebecca's hand and the towels, moved away from the bed, and left the room.

*
    
*
    
*

Megan helped Bessie arrange cups and saucers on the silver serving tray. She knew tea would be the last thing on Caleb's or her father's mind, but staying busy in the kitchen helped to keep her from imagining all the horrible things that could be wrong with Rebecca.

For some reason, Dolores had disappeared after summoning Doc Meade. Megan imagined the older woman had stayed in town to see someone; she seemed to go in quite often of late, and always after dark. Bessie managed as best she could without assistance at those times.

"
Mith
‘
Becca
gonna
have
thum
?” Bessie asked with her usual lisp.

"No,” Megan said softly. “Miss Rebecca is ill. The doctor is with her now."

"Thee
be
all right?"

"I don't know.” Megan looked away as her vision became misty. Rebecca was such a part of their lives now. She was like an older sister, full of stories and eager to teach Megan new things. Megan didn't even want to think about what life would be like without her.

"Don't need it then,” Bessie said, pouring steaming water from the stove into the china teapot.

Megan watched Bessie with interest. “You don't need what?” she asked.

"The
medithin
."

"Medicine?”
Megan's eyebrows rose. “What kind of medicine?"

Bessie shrugged her shoulders. “'
Lores
put it in
Mith
‘
Becca'th
tea.
It good for baby."

Megan's hackles rose in alarm. “Could you show me this medicine, please, Bessie?"

Bessie turned and dug around in a clutter of herbs and spices. She picked up the only brown glass bottle in the lot and handed it to Megan.

Megan pulled out the cork stopper and brought it to her nose. It didn't smell all that odd, she thought. But neither did it have a label to tell what it was.

"You've been putting this in Rebecca's tea?"

"'
Lores
,” Bessie corrected.

"Dolores has been putting this in Rebecca's tea,” she said.

The girl nodded.

"Has Dolores put it in anyone else's tea?"

She shook her head.
“Only
Mith
‘
Becca
.
It for baby."

"How long has Dolores been giving this to her?”
Megan asked.

"Long time,” Bessie said, stretching her arms out to indicate the passage of time. “
Sinth
thee came."

"Since she came,” Megan repeated under her breath. Bessie began to lift the tray to take it to the parlor.

"I'll get it,” Megan said, placing the bottle of herbs beside one of the cups. She picked up the serving tray and headed for the other room.