Heartland Wedding (14 page)

“I am, too. But you did everything you could that night. I’ve never thought otherwise.”

Yet, Pete found himself swallowing back a wave of condemnation all the same. Not at Doc. At himself.

He was no longer able to keep his fears silent, not from this man. A year had been too long to wait to speak of this. And now Pete’s inner turmoil outweighed his outer dignity. He released the last scraps of his pride.

“Doc, I have to know the truth. Did
I
do everything I could?”

“Of course you did.” The answer came too quickly.

Pete looked at the tiny grave next to Sarah’s, the one that housed his infant son. Too much loss had come into his home. “Could I have done more to save them? I don’t mean that night. I mean,
before.
”

“Pete.” Doc lowered to the ground slowly, his bones creaking every inch of the way. “Sarah was not a happy woman in her final days, you know that.”

Of course he knew that. Pete had been the sole cause of her unhappiness. He’d brought her to High Plains. He’d insisted she give their move a full year when she’d begged to return to Massachusetts after a month. At least in Belville Sarah had had friends. And family. Lots of family.

Here, she’d only had him.

He hadn’t been enough.

“Do you think unhappiness was the reason the baby
came early?” he asked quietly. “If I’d taken Sarah back to Belville when she’d first asked, would she be alive today?”

“I don’t know, Pete.” Blowing out a shaky breath, Doc rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Modern medicine doesn’t have all the answers. Sarah was never a physically strong woman.”

Not like Rebecca.

Pete drew back from the thought. It wasn’t fair to compare the two women. It wasn’t right.

“Was carrying my child too much for Sarah? Was she too weak to bear our son?” The question was a valid one. One he’d avoided asking for a long time, even in the privacy of his own mind. But the truth could not be denied. Sarah had been tiny, nearly half the size of Pete.

“You know the realities.” Doc brushed dirt off his sleeve and grimaced. “Childbirth is dangerous for a healthy woman. Your Sarah was not a healthy woman.”

Pete’s throat constricted, growing tighter and tighter with each swallow. “Are you saying the baby killed her?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. It was probably a combination of factors that killed your wife. Her lack of physical strength. Her unhappiness.” Doc shot him a sorrowful look. “Perhaps even the harsh conditions here on the frontier played a role. But the journey back East would have been a strain on her, as well. I don’t believe she would have survived it.”

Pete heard what the older man was trying to say in his roundabout way. The land on this side of the Mississippi had been too brutal for Sarah’s delicate nature. By bringing her to High Plains, by creating a life that left her so unhappy, Pete had aided in her death.

And that of his son.

“Thanks, Doc.” He rose slowly, his joints protesting after staying in one position for so long. “You’ve cleared things up considerably for me.”

“Wait.” Doc hastened to his feet and grabbed Pete’s arm. His grip was surprisingly strong. “I don’t like that look in your eyes. I’m afraid you didn’t hear what I said at all.”

Pete lowered his head. “I heard you.”

“No.”
Doc’s voice turned anxious and his grip grew tighter. Painfully so. “Sarah’s death was not your fault.”

It didn’t matter how fiercely Doc said the words or how tightly he grasped Pete’s arm, he knew the truth.

Sarah’s death
was
his fault, and consequently so was his son’s, all because of his desire to make a new life for them in High Plains.

He would not repeat the same mistake with Rebecca. He would keep their relationship based solely on friendship, nothing more.

After all, if he didn’t build up her hopes, then he wouldn’t let her down. And if he didn’t let her down, then she wouldn’t have cause to become unhappy with him.

He knew his logic wasn’t entirely sound. Somewhere in his mind, he
knew
that. But Pete couldn’t figure out any other solution that would protect Rebecca from suffering Sarah’s same fate.

“Pete,” Doc began. “You can’t—”

“I have to go.” Realizing how cold he sounded, he softened the harshness in his voice. “We’ll talk again. Sometime soon.”

Or perhaps they wouldn’t. Pete wasn’t sure there was anything else they needed to say to each other. At least, not about Sarah. Or his son.

Right now, Pete needed to be anywhere but in this cemetery, surrounded by all he’d lost. He needed to walk, to think, to let his thoughts settle. Maybe then he would know what to do about Rebecca and their marriage.

R
ebecca made it home well before dark, only to discover the smithy closed. Pete was nowhere in sight. Disappointment tapped a painful rhythm against her ribs. Her husband must have changed his mind about wanting to share a meal with her today.

The wind chose that moment to whip straight into her face. Surely that explained the tears leaking out of her eyes.

Readjusting the basket of food in her grip, Rebecca set her shoulders against the attack and tried to think what to do next.

In an attempt to avoid her dreary home a little longer, she decided to check on her brother.

A few moments later, she found him sleeping. Soundly.

Good. He needed the rest.

Before turning to leave, she studied the tarp that had been flung over the massive hole in the roof. One good rainstorm and Edward would need to sleep in a boat rather than a bed.

That would not do.

She needed to arrange better accommodations for him, assuming her stubborn, proud brother would agree to move.

Not looking forward to another argument, Rebecca decided to tackle the subject tomorrow. When both of them were feeling stronger.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, she circled around to the back of the main house. A hot surge of uneasiness made her breath come in erratic spurts. Nevertheless, she must be brave. She
must
go inside.

Balancing the basket of food on her hip, she worked open the door with her free hand.

As always, her heart pinched tight in her chest as she stepped inside the house and shut the door behind her.

Despite the bright sunny day, the kitchen sat in shadows. Drab grays, blacks and whites danced around the dreary room.

The grim sight chilled her to the marrow.

Trying not to be discouraged—a staggering feat—she set the basket on the kitchen table.

A folded piece of paper instantly caught her eye.

Pete had obviously left her a note. That was something to rejoice in, she supposed, but her eyes filled with tears of distress. And shame.

She gave the paper a long, intent stare, puzzling over what to do with it. Dragging her finger across the unrecognizable letters, her humiliation dug deeper. If only she could read in English. Speaking the language was hard enough, learning to read it was simply out of the question. At least, for now.

Despite her embarrassment, Rebecca unfolded the note and peered at the symbols scrawled boldly across the page. Even on this small piece of paper, Pete’s striking presence
was undeniably large. Rebecca sighed. She could no longer deny the truth.

Her husband had truly captured her heart. She
loved
Pete, as a wife loves her husband.

A jolt of pleasure shot through her at the realization, followed by a painful churning in her stomach.

What if he never returned her feelings? What if his love for her turned out to be as lukewarm as her parents’ had been?

No. She was finished with this constant, nagging doubt. She was not a spineless woman willing to accept her fate without a fight. She was a child of God, loved by Jesus, blessed by her Heavenly Father. That meant she was worthy of love from her earthly husband, as well.

All she needed to do was give Pete a reason to move in her direction, and away from the past.

Resolve firmly in place, Rebecca forced her shoulders to relax and set the paper back on the table. She gave the kitchen a full inspection. If she wasn’t mistaken, the room had grown drabber. Well, no matter, there was one thing she could do immediately.
Clean.

Not more than an hour into her project, poised on her knees with scrub brush in hand, Pete charged through the back door.

His footsteps stopped abruptly.

“Rebecca. You’re home.” His voice was flat. And yet, she heard the controlled emotion beneath his words, the hint of defeat in his tone.

Something had changed since she’d seen him bent over Sarah’s grave.

Had he decided he could never love again? Was his heart so committed to Sarah and their child that there could be no room for Rebecca?

Afraid to look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes, she set her brush on the floor and spoke directly to his feet. “I thought it was time to start cleaning my new home.”

“I see that.”

She wondered what had happened to make him sound so…restrained.

Marshaling her courage, she sat back on her heels and forced herself to smile up at him. “I’m glad you’re home. I was worr—” Her words backed up in her throat. “You haven’t changed clothes since this morning.”

He looked down and shrugged. “Guess not.”

Her heartbeat stuttered at his detached tone. Her first instinct was to pretend she hadn’t seen him walk around the church, to pretend as though this day was like any other.

But she was tired of pretending. Tired. Tired. Tired of it.

“Have you been at the cemetery all this time?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. “I mean—”

“You didn’t get my note?” His voice was calm enough, but his gaze was as distant as a stranger’s, as if he was consumed with private, painful thoughts he could never share with her.

She tried not to despair. “Yes. I got your note. But I—” she swallowed back her cowardice and admitted the truth “—I’m afraid I can’t read. Not in English.”

That
got his attention. His eyes widened, but he only looked at her for a long, breathless moment. She couldn’t tell if it was shock, or pity, or simply disappointment on his face when he spoke at last. “But you said you wanted to read to me.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes. “Wanting and doing aren’t the same thing.”

“No, I don’t suppose they are.”

“I’m sorry I misled you.” Every word she spoke was soaked with shame.

“It’s fine, Rebecca. Not something to be concerned over. I never expected you to read to me in the first place.”

She dipped her chin. “But I
want
to.”

“That’s enough for me.” He touched the top of her head. The quiet gesture, more than the words, soothed her. The humiliation that had tightened in her throat relaxed.

When she had her breathing under control, she looked up again. “I brought your dinner home, just like I promised.” She glanced toward the kitchen table.

He didn’t follow the direction of her gaze. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Rather, he kept staring at a spot on the floor a few inches short of her knees. From her vantage point, she could see that his face was bleached of color and slightly contorted. He was back to the stranger she’d first married.

Something had clearly upset him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t read.

Terrible possibilities ran through her mind. Had he been unable to let go of Sarah? Was he going to stay rooted in the past? Would he—

No. Speculation was pointless. She was married to this man. She was his
wife.

That gave her certain rights.

“Pete.” She rose slowly to her feet, quickly drying her hands on her apron along the way. “What’s happened? You’re…different.”

Lips pressed tightly together, he turned his back to her.

“Please, Pete. Tell me what’s wrong.” She lifted her hand, but let it drop to her side without touching him. “Tell me what’s occurred since I last saw you at the church.”

With clipped steps, he paced through the kitchen, ignoring her completely. Thankfully, he didn’t leave the room, as she half expected.

“Pete?”

He yanked out a chair and sank into it with a loud thump. “I didn’t work in the smithy today.”

Yes, I figured that out already.
But instead of commenting on the obvious, she said, “You didn’t?”

She waited for him to respond. When the silence grew thick between them, she searched his face for
any
sign of emotion.

His coal-black eyes revealed nothing.

“Pete?” she said again, knowing her voice had a desperate ring to it now. “Did you—”

“I went searching for the twins this afternoon.”

She hadn’t expected that. “By yourself?”

His vacant gaze locked with hers. “I
needed
to search for them, to prove they were still alive.” He lowered his gaze. “There’s been enough death in my…” He cleared his throat. “In this town.”

“Oh, Pete.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, unsure what to make of his mood, especially in light of this new information. He’d gone in search of life, after he’d faced the reality of death at the cemetery.

Her fingers flexed on his shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“Yes.” His hand shook slightly, but he dug into an outer pocket of his jacket without hesitation.

She watched in horror as he pulled out a child’s shoe, one most commonly worn by young boys like Alex Henning. And…And…

“I found this northeast of town.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “You…you don’t think…” Was it Mikey’s?

Hand steadier now, Pete placed the shoe on the table. “I found it about a mile out of town, under a bush near the river bank.”

He clutched the shoe in a hard grip.

Rebecca closed her hand over his, resisting the temptation to lean over and plant a soothing kiss on his forehead. But,
glory,
he looked so defeated.

She felt the same way.

In an attempt to hide her alarm, she released his hand and placed her fingertips across her mouth. But when Pete said nothing more, she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Do you think the shoe belonged to, I mean
belongs
to Mikey?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a halting tone, his hand shoving the shoe toward the center of the table. “But I know who will.”

“Emmeline.”

He nodded.

Rebecca stepped away from the table and looked out the lone, dingy window in the kitchen. Although the glass was smudged with year-old grime, she was able to gauge the sun’s placement in the sky.

“There’s still plenty of time to ride out and back to the Logans’ new cabin before dark,” she said aloud.

Pete stood, his chair scraping on the floor as he shoved away from the table and picked up the shoe. “I’ll head out now.”

He took two full steps, then stopped before he took the third. “Will you come with me, Rebecca?”

How could she not?

“Of course I will.” She took the shoe from him and turned it over in her hand. “Pete, what if…what if this shoe
is
Mikey’s? What does it mean?”

He peered at her with troubled eyes. “It could mean anything. However—” he placed a gentle hand on her arm “—let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know if the shoe belongs to the boy.”

He was right. They didn’t know. “There’s one sure way to find out.”

He opened the door and waved her forward with a broad sweep of his hand. “After you.”

“No. It can’t be. It just can’t be. But it is. It
is
Mikey’s shoe.” Emmeline Logan collapsed against her husband. “Oh, Mikey. Poor,
poor
little boy.”

Her grip went limp. The shoe rolled off her fingers and landed on the ground with a hard thud.

In the ensuing silence, Pete exchanged a helpless glance with Rebecca. And then another with Will.
No one
seemed to know what to say. Especially Pete.

He hadn’t expected Emmeline to react so violently after examining the shoe.

Why not? Hadn’t he felt similarly distraught when Clint had given him Sarah’s cameo?

Lord, please let this discovery be of little significance. Let this be nothing more than a missing shoe found.

“I’m sorry, Emmeline,” he said, regret coating his voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Eyes fixed on the fallen shoe, her response came out barely audible. “It’s not your fault, Pete.”

“That’s right.” Will’s gaze filled with worry as he clutched his pretty wife against his chest and locked gazes
with Pete over her head. “You did the right thing bringing it here. Anything could give us the clue we need to finding the twins, even if it’s hard to handle at first.”

“I should have waited until tomorrow to bring it by,” he said.

“No.
No.
” Emmeline struggled free from her husband’s arms. “You were right to come this afternoon.”

She bent to pick up the shoe again, but her legs wobbled under her and she tumbled forward.

Pete reached for her. Will was quicker. With one swoop, he wrapped his wife in the band of his strong arms and pulled her against his chest. “You need to sit, darling, and catch your breath.”

Everyone fell silent as Will guided the trembling woman to one of the two rocking chairs on the front porch.

In the next moment, Rebecca rushed forward and dropped to her knees. “Emmeline. Take a breath,” she said in a gentle tone. “You have to breathe.”

“Please.” The woman clutched Rebecca’s hands in desperation. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Bess about this.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Rebecca rolled her gaze toward Pete.

He nodded his encouragement.

“Tell Bess what? All Pete found was one of Mikey’s shoes. It could mean anything.”

“She’s right, Emmeline. Let’s not panic before we consider all the possibilities.” Will maneuvered around the back of his wife’s chair and proceeded to brush his fingertips across her forehead.

When she didn’t relax right away, he bent over her and murmured soothing, unintelligible words in her ear.

She didn’t seem to be listening to him, but every so often
she would nod her head at something he said. With each passing second, she visibly calmed.

The interaction between husband and wife spoke of familiarity, of affection, of shared intimacy that went far beyond the physical.

Pete hadn’t realized how much he missed the understanding that came from a deep loving relationship. He’d lost that sort of closeness with Sarah months before she’d died, which had made her passing that much harder to stomach.

But this wasn’t about him, so he battened down all thoughts
and emotions
that didn’t pertain to the situation at hand.

Will eventually straightened to his full height and tracked his gaze from Pete to Rebecca, then back to Pete. They shared a resigned look.