Hearts Aglow (20 page)

Sissy was now fully recovered from her injuries and seemed to be regaining her old strength, doing the daily milking before heading to the garden. Mother was busy tending to her grandchildren and Lizzie; Deborah had never seen her happier.

Just after breakfast on the fifteenth, Christopher arrived to pay a visit to the new mother. Just the sight of his handsome form made Deborah’s heart pound. She longed to find a moment of privacy where they might share another kiss. She giggled to think of how scandalous such a thing sounded, but couldn’t help wishing for it just the same.

“There were rumors in town of storms off the coast,” he told them. “Could be we’ll have some rain soon.”

“It would be most welcome if it ends this hot spell. There’s been no relief from the heat! Let me take your coat. You know you don’t have to stand on formalities here. You’ll broil yourself to death if you stay in this,” Deborah declared, taking the coat from him.

She herself had picked a lightweight cotton gown. It was an older dress and the once-vivid yellow was now a faded cream. The sleeves were unfashionably short, but Deborah didn’t care. No one could survive Texas heat and worry overmuch about what the ladies were wearing in Paris.

“At least the air is clean here,” Christopher said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “The mill is putting out so much smoke and dust you can hardly see across the road.”

“We’ll have to pray for a good stiff breeze,” G.W. said, joining them. He extended his hand to the doctor. “You come to see Lizzie and the babies?”

“I did,” Christopher replied. “They’re coming up close to a month old. I presume they’re doing well, or I would have heard otherwise by now.”

“They’re growing quite fat,” Deborah replied before her brother could answer. “And, of course, we are spoiling them with a great amount of attention.”

Christopher grinned. “I’ve no doubt about that.”

“Lizzie’s feeding them just now,” Deborah continued. “Would you like to have a cup of coffee and one of Mother’s doughnuts?” She smiled sweetly knowing he would.

“Sounds good to me, but let’s make it at least two. After all, I’m here to see twins.”

Deborah laughed and led the way to the dining room. “Well, you’re actually here to see Lizzie as well, so maybe we should make it three.”

He nodded quite seriously. “I suppose that would only be right. It will be difficult, but I’ll suffer through.”

G.W. joined them but offered nothing to their banter. Deborah met his serious gaze. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, as well?”

He nodded and took a seat opposite Christopher at the kitchen table. Deborah went to the cold stove and picked up a pot. “I just brought this in from the outdoor kitchen a few minutes ago. Should still be nice and hot.”

“It’s surprisingly cool in here,” Christopher said. He took up the cup after she placed it in front of him. “My house isn’t as comfortable. Especially if I go lightin’ the stove to cook anything. I’m starting to think it’s better to just eat everything raw.”

Deborah shook her head. “Now, you know what Mama said – you can eat your meals here three times a day.” She poured G.W.’s coffee and brought a plate of doughnuts to the table.

“I was hopin’ I might ask you about something,” G.W. said without so much as glancing at the food.

Deborah wondered if he’d prefer her to go. “I can leave, if you like.”

G.W. shook his head. “No. What I have to say might well involve you.”

Deborah took a seat and waited for him to speak while Christopher downed his first doughnut. She knew G.W. had something on his mind and would share it when he was ready. He was never one to keep a matter to himself if it was important, but sometimes he could be irritatingly slow to deliver. It reminded her somewhat of the way one of her college professors had lectured. He would begin speaking on the topic of the day, then halt in mid-sentence. Sometimes he would pace a few moments; other times he would stare at the students as if trying to remember what it was he wanted to say.

Finally, G.W. piped up. “I want to know what can be done to help me regain full use of my leg. I mean so that I can mount and ride a horse, walk without a cane – maybe even run. I have two children now, and I want to be able to keep up with them.”

Keeping her gaze on the table, Deborah remained silent. She was never so happy to hear anything. G.W. had been moody and difficult to live with ever since the accident, but now he found hope for the future in the form of his two babies.

“There are a number of things we can do to strengthen the muscle,” Christopher said thoughtfully. “It’s not going to be easy, of course. A lot of tissue was damaged. You may always have a bit of a limp.”

“I can live with a bit of one, but I don’t want to be kept from doing things for and with my family. I know I’ll probably never work in the camps again, and I can accept that.”

Deborah was glad to hear him say as much. It was a long time coming.

Christopher took a slow sip of coffee and continued to hold the cup as he began to speak. “My father was injured in an accident. It left him unable to use his legs at all.”

G.W. shook his head. “I couldn’t live like that.”

“Neither can he. At least, not well.”

Deborah perked up at this. Christopher shared so little about his family that, even though the conversation was more for G.W.’s benefit than hers, she wanted to hear it all.

“My father was always a very strong man – a laborer who knew his own capabilities and wasn’t afraid to learn new skills. He was admired by many, but also scorned. There will always be men who are unable to accept that someone has a stronger back or can work without rest for longer periods of time. Those men are partly to blame for my father’s accident.”

“What happened?”

Deborah was glad G.W. asked the question. She figured Christopher would be more willing to answer – especially since he’d brought up the topic.

“For a variety of reasons, there was a fight in the train yard. My father was the object of disdain – along with a couple of his friends. A group of men took it upon themselves to settle a score that wasn’t really valid. They ambushed my father and his friends at the end of the work night.”

Deborah noted the pain in his expression, and she couldn’t help reaching over to place her hand atop his. Christopher looked at her for a moment and gave her the briefest of smiles before continuing.

“The beating they received was brutal. In fact, my father’s friends were killed. My father was thrown from the back of an idle train car. His back hit the rail and broke. It damaged his spinal cord and left him unable to use his legs.”

“That isn’t an accident,” Deborah protested. “It was murder and assault. No doubt they intended to kill your father, as well.”

Christopher nodded. “But I don’t tell the story to dwell on the wrong done my father, but rather to encourage you, G.W. My father allowed his life to change in a most negative fashion. My hope is that you’ll continue to desire and fight to make yours better. The things you’ll have to do to strengthen your leg won’t be easy. The pain of your injury is still fresh in your memory, but this will hurt like nothing you’ve ever endured. But I believe there is hope that you’ll recover most – if not all – of your use.”

“That’s what I want,” G.W. told him. “I don’t want to give up, though I thought I did. I figured for a long while that my life was pretty much over. Deborah helped me to see that I could use my brain for something more than calculating board feet and where a pine was going to drop.” He smiled. “She’s a stubborn one, my sister.”

“That she is,” Christopher said before giving her a wink. “But I suppose we wouldn’t want her any other way.”

“So what does your pa do now?” G.W. asked.

“Mostly he makes life unbearable for my mother,” Christopher replied without emotion. “He torments my brothers and sisters who are still at home, and he drinks. The latter is what he seems to do best. He says it’s the only way he can deal with his miseries and pain.”

“During really painful moments, I’ve considered it myself,” G.W. admitted.

Deborah was surprised by her brother’s words, but instead she addressed Christopher’s comment. “Oh, your poor mother. How awful that must be.”

“She gets by – barely,” Christopher replied. “I suppose it’s one of the reasons I’ve never been too anxious to talk about it.”

“I can well understand,” she answered, hoping her expression would convey her sympathy.

For several minutes, no one said a word. Christopher took up a second doughnut while G.W. nursed his coffee. Deborah had a million questions for Christopher, but she knew that now wasn’t the time. There was no comfort in reliving such awfulness.

“Well, hello, Dr. Clayton. I didn’t realize you were here,” Mother said, coming into the kitchen. “Have you come to see my grandbabies?”

“I have,” he said, getting to his feet. “And to eat your doughnuts.”

She put her hands on her waist and eyed him quite seriously. “Did Deborah tell you that I was going to send her into town this morning with a batch for you?”

He looked at her as if he’d caught her walking out with another man. “She said nothing.”

Deborah shook her head. “I would have gotten around to it. I figured you were more interested in eating than hearing about my plans for the day.”

“If your plans involve bringing me your mother’s doughnuts, it’s only right that you share the news upon my arrival,” he replied.

“Well, I’ll certainly know better next time,” Deborah said, then added with a teasing smile, “If there is a next time. One can never tell.”

Deborah accompanied Christopher back to town, slowly driving the wagon while he let his horse amble alongside. She wanted to say something about what he’d shared earlier, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“Christopher, I’m sorry that things are so difficult for your mother. Is there nothing that can be done?”

He rode in silence for a moment, then looked at her. She had never seen such pain in his eyes. “She won’t allow for anything to be done. My father is dying before her eyes, wasting away in a bottle of whiskey that, ironically, she supplies him. Yet, to refuse would be worse for her still. I can’t imagine the dilemma she endures on a daily basis.”

“I can see why you don’t like to talk about your family, but I hope you know it does nothing to change how I feel about you.”

He stopped the horse, forcing her to halt the wagon team. He drew up even with her and asked, “And how do you feel?”

She smiled. “I thought that was quite evident. I admire you greatly and enjoy spending time at your side.”

“And that’s all?”

Deborah grew a bit uncomfortable. “I try to guard my feelings as best I can.”

His brow furrowed. “But why?”

“I suppose,” she said, staring down the road, “that it’s because of the agreement between us. Given your obligations to your family, I know that you do not intend to marry anytime soon . . . and I find that I am easily given to thinking on just such things if I’m not careful.”

“I thought young women liked to dream about their wedding day.”

She fought to keep tears from her eyes. He couldn’t possibly understand how it was for her. She had come to love him so completely that to know she couldn’t yet count on their marriage was the most painful thing she had ever endured.

“Deborah?”

She looked at him and offered a smile she did not feel. “I like to dream on things that I know will come about.”

“You doubt that we have a future?”

A hint of breeze brought a bit of relief from the heat, and Deborah took the opportunity to take off her wide-brimmed hat and let the air dry her sweat-dampened hair. “A future with you still seems too distant to spend any time in speculation and dreams,” she finally answered. “I’m a practical woman – you’ve always known that. Daydreaming and pretending that I can make things happen any sooner isn’t a good way to spend my time.”

“And what is?” He sounded almost hurt.

Deborah fixed her hat back in place and picked the reins back up. “Exactly what I’m doing. Learning everything I can. Growing closer to God and getting to know you better. I’m not unhappy, Christopher, if that’s your concern.”

He narrowed his eyes just a bit. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”