From This Day Forward (11 page)

"Ines, I need your help. Can you do as I say without fainting?"

Swallowing hard, Ines nodded her head. "I will try,
Senhora
."

"Good," Caroline said more gently, compassion for Ines momentarily outweighing the gravity of the situation. Then she gazed down at the pale young man and the urgency returned. "When I release the tourniquet, the wound is going to start bleeding again. When I tell you, press the fabric to the wound. Can you do that?"

"Sim,
Senhora
,"
Ines replied, her voice quivering slightly.

Julio returned with the water Caroline had requested, and she used it to wash away the mud from around the wound.

"Are you ready Ines?"

"Sim,
Senhora
."

"Now." Caroline removed the tourniquet, and Ines replaced it with the wad of fabric as Caroline had instructed, pressing with all her strength to staunch the alarming flow of blood.

Satisfied that Ines wouldn't faint or become ill, Caroline opened her father's medical bag, digging inside until she found a large bottle of alcohol. "When I say now, move your hand and the bandage away from the wound. Julio, be ready. As soon as Ines lets go of the wound, grab him by the shoulders. If he's not too far out of it, he may try to fight against the burning."

"Sim,
Senhora
."

"Now!"

Ines released the wound and blood flowed freely, mixing with the mud and grime that covered Caroline and the boy. Revulsion and compassion rose inside her in equal parts. He was just a boy—hurt, frightened. She spoke to him soothingly, not knowing if he could understand her words but hoping that her tone might comfort him.

"Press the bandage to the cut again," Caroline said as soon as the boy relaxed. So much blood, blood everywhere. She struggled to ignore it, to retain her professional poise, but the bile rose in her throat.

She doused the laceration with alcohol and

Vincente screamed, tried to rise, but Julio pinned him to the ground.

"I've got to close the wound. A bandage won't do it. It's too deep." She reached for the black bag and dragged it to her, rummaging around inside until she found a bottle of ether. She held the ether and another strip of petticoat toward Ines.

"I'm going to take some stitches, and when I start, I want you to pour this into the material and hold it over his nose and mouth. Be careful not to inhale it yourself."

The sound of high-pitched wailing followed Jason as he stumbled away from the river. He tried to close his mind against the pain, but all he could see was the face of Rosita, Ernesto's mother, as she'd thrown herself over her son's body. Damn, he should have been able to prevent this! If only he'd gotten here sooner. He'd known how precarious the earth around the dam was after heavy rains. He should have forbidden them to fish here until the reinforcements could be finished. He should have....

As he approached the place where he'd left Caroline earlier, Ignacio, his foreman, helped a weak Vincente to his feet. The boy leaned heavily against his father, obviously still dizzy from the loss of blood. But at least he was alive.

"Obrigado,
Senhora
, obrigado!
"
Ignacio said, his voice raw with emotion. "Thank you for my son's life."

Ignacio's gaze met Jason's as he turned away, and Jason's throat constricted at the tears in his old friend's eyes.
"Obrigado,"
he murmured.

Affection between a father and son was something Jason could hardly imagine, yet here it was before him. It touched a deep yearning inside him, a hunger he tried with all his will to deny. His own father had hated him. His own father wouldn't have cared if he'd drowned in the river or been eaten by alligators, except that he wouldn't have had the money Jason had earned sweating all day in a sugar factory.

Jason watched until Ignacio and Vincente disappeared into the darkness. On the ground at his feet, Caroline gathered medical instruments, cleaning them as best she could on the soiled material of her ruined gown before returning them to the black medical bag. Wiping her brow with her forearm, she released a great sigh.

How Caroline could be so vulnerable and so strong at the same time was the essence of her mystery. It confounded him, threatened his reality. Women were weak and demanding, but the only thing Caroline had ever demanded was his attention, his company. She'd wanted them to be friends before they became lovers. Was that what courting was about?

Nearly laughing aloud at the absurdity of his thoughts in light of the fact that his wife was up to her neck in mud, Jason asked, "Can I help?"

She gazed up at him, her hazel-green eyes heavy with pain and fatigue. His heart skipped a beat and he wondered for a moment if she'd injured herself in all the confusion. But the pain came from deep inside her, he realized. It was as if she'd taken Vincente's suffering into herself. That depth of compassion couldn't be good for her. If she carried the wounds of all her patients inside her heart, soon she would have nothing left for herself. Was that why she hadn't finished medical school?

Mud and blood covered her white gown, but she didn't seem to notice as she struggled to stand. Jason took her by the arm and helped her to her feet.

"I've never seen anything like that before," he told her sincerely. He'd never seen anyone work so tirelessly, so selflessly for a stranger. "I mean, I've seen doctors work to save lives before, but never—"

"Never a woman?"

Too tired and confused to argue, Jason ignored the question, taking the medical bag from her hand and supporting her as they walked toward the wagon. "You must be tired. Let's go back to the house. There's nothing else we can do here."

Caroline stopped, her gaze searching his blue eyes in the darkness. "The other one—Ernesto...."

Jason shook his head, the guilt and impotent anger rising in his chest. "I was too late."

Caroline jerked her arm from his hold. "I suppose you'll blame me for that."

"Dear God, no!" His heart twisted at her words. Was he such a brute? "How could you think I'd blame you when it was all my fault?"

"If you hadn't waited for me...."

He took her by the arm again, forcing her to look at him, determined to make her understand. "If I hadn't waited for you, Vincente would be dead now, too."

"Maybe," she conceded, pulling away again, her face a mask of bitter hurt that he couldn't for the life of him comprehend. "Maybe Ines could have saved him."

What had he done? What had he said to anger her when he was trying to tell her how much he admired her?

As they reached the wagon, Jason grabbed her by the arm again. Intent on making her understand, he turned her so that he could look into her eyes. "Why can't you just accept my thanks?"

Caroline slumped wearily. "What do you want from me, Jason?"

He released her and backed away to find her weary gaze still fixed on his face. What he wanted was to hold her, to find solace and forgiveness in her arms, to ease her weariness and tell her he admired her courage and her strength. He wanted to comfort her, wanted her to comfort him. But if she knew how he felt, she would use it against him.

He couldn't risk it. She couldn't stay here, so near, so accessible. He could never live close to her day after day and not reveal his heart. And as soon as he showed the slightest weakness, she would destroy him.

"Nothing," he murmured, and whether or not she was satisfied with his answer, she turned toward the wagon and waited for him to help her up. The distance that widened between them saddened him. He climbed in beside her, shook out the reins, and the horses bounded forward.

"What about Ernesto? Will there be a funeral?" Caroline asked tiredly.

Jason's body went rigid as her words plummeted him back in time. He fought to keep the memories at bay.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jason replied, "His family will take care of it. They'll bury him in the cemetery and when the priest comes next month, he'll conduct a ceremony."

"Shouldn't someone say something—a eulogy."

"They'll take care of it, Caroline." He knew what she expected. It was only natural. He was the
patrao.
Ernesto and his father had both been his employees. It was only right that he should be present at the funeral.

They didn't speak again as they rode toward the house, a silence that stretched so long that Jason thought Caroline might have fallen asleep until she spoke, her voice a mere whisper in the night.

"Shouldn't you be there?"

"What?" he asked, pretending he didn't know what she meant. How could he explain without revealing things he'd rather leave unexplored?

"The funeral for Ernesto." He could hear the impatience in her voice, the accusation. "They look up to you."

Jason felt his heart tighten. How could he explain? He must appear heartless and unfeeling to her, and even while he told himself he didn't care what she thought of him, he knew with a sickening certainty that he did care. No matter how much he tried to distance himself, he couldn't help caring about Caroline, any more than he could stop himself from taking on responsibility for the well-being of his people. Their loss was his loss.

God knew he didn't want to care. He didn't want to care about anyone or anything. Caring left you open to hurt. He'd cared about his mother, and look what that had gotten him. He'd cared about Peggy, and he still carried the pain of her death inside his heart.

"Caroline, I'm not good at funerals." He waited for a response, but none came. Either she was asleep or she couldn't think of a reply to such a selfish statement. Either way, he was glad for the silence.

They arrived at the house as the sky began to brighten with the sunrise. Caroline climbed down from the wagon almost before it stopped, dashing his hope that she had fallen asleep.

"Ines!" she called. "Have a hot bath brought to my room please, and then get some rest yourself."

"Sim,
Senhora
,"
Ines replied, moving past Jason with a disapproving glare. He didn't know if she meant to speak, but he quelled her with a scowl. The last thing he needed was to be scolded by Ines.

Jason fetched the medical bag from the wagon and hurried to Caroline's side. Taking her arm, he walked with her toward the courtyard. "Your gown is ruined," he said inanely, kicking himself mentally because he could think of nothing else to say.

"Good night, Jason," she said as they reached the arched entranceway. "I'm very tired."

Caroline pulled her arm from his grip. Taking her father's medical bag from him, she walked toward the spiral staircase that would take her upstairs to her room.

"Caroline!" He called after her, unwilling to let her go, yet not knowing what to say. She turned to gaze at him, her face drawn and smeared with mud. "Why didn't you finish your schooling?" he asked.

"My father became ill. It took all his savings and mine just to eat and keep a roof over our heads. Then he died and... well, that was the end of that."

"He left money for your husband's education. He should have left it for yours."

"He did," she murmured, turning away from him and slowly mounting the stairs.

Two more workers died of the fever yesterday. I suppose they buried them today. Ignacio went for me, to give my condolences. You know I cannot abide a funeral, not after Peggy's, not after I had to lie so they'd bury her in consecrated ground and so the priest would speak over her. / knew she'd have wanted it that way.

I promised myself then and there that I would never attend another funeral. The words the priest spoke were meaningless dribble. I just wanted him to shut up. She wasn't there; she wasn't in that sad body. Her spirit was gone, I don't know where. I don't believe in the hereafter, but I hope I'm wrong. I hope there is a heaven, for Peggy's sake.

The words of the letter echoed in Caroline's mind as the last shovelful of dirt landed on the grave. Rosita, Ernesto's mother, threw herself onto the grave and wept loudly as the mourners turned away.