Long Road Home, The (9 page)

Abby awoke and sat straight up in bed. She was drenched in sweat. The light told her the hour was early, and she let her body fall back on the bed. She had dreamed of Ian’s dad.

He had come for her. They had camped in the woods, and he was furious. In the dream he said she had to pay, and he had tried to push her into the campfire.

Abby was afraid she would fall back asleep and dream again, so she got dressed and went down to start the coffee. As she neared the kitchen, she could smell the coffee brewing. She stopped when she noticed Paul’s door was open. Voices drifted to her ears.

“I’ve got it on, but I haven’t made it enough to know if it’ll be any good.”

“I don’t care what it tastes like, just as long as it’s hot.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be laid up?”

Paul must have shrugged because Abby heard no reply. Ross went on cheerfully. “Well, I almost envy you being laid up with a beautiful nurse like Abby to wait on you.”

“Listen kid,” came Paul’s surly reply, “it’s not a bit of fun to lie here and be bossed around by that fat redhead.”

Abby’s hand flew to her throat in horror. It was what she deserved, standing there and listening to a private conversation. She had always been extremely sensitive about her hair
and size. Phrases like, “Here comes the Fat Carrot” from the kids at school had stayed with her for years.

Her father had always told her she was pretty, and Ian had treated her as a rare jewel. But the image she had of herself was not a positive one, and hearing what Paul must have been thinking every time she was in the room was totally humiliating. Abby left the room silently, wishing she had tried to go back to sleep.

She may have felt better if she could have seen the look on Ross’ face as he sat by Paul’s bed. He wasn’t sure why he stayed in the room, but the man fascinated him. He hadn’t been the least bit polite, but he hadn’t kicked him out either.

“I’d sure like to see the women where you come from if all Abby is to you is a bossy, fat redhead.” Ross couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s eyes had been affected along with his legs.

Ross had stood across the street yesterday when Abby had gone to hire the barber. The place had nearly fallen apart. The old men on the bench out front had turned in their seats and gawked through the window like schoolboys.

But Paul only grunted in answer to Ross’ remark, and then asked about the coffee.

Later in the morning Abby entered the room with Paul’s breakfast. He could see she was back in control, and for some reason it made him angry. Her attitude was on the cool side and, even though Paul was sure of the reason, he was irritated. She settled the tray in silence and then turned to leave.

“I said we would talk today, Red.” It was an order.

Abby turned slowly and answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “I realize I am little more to you than a bossy, fat redhead, but I can assure you I am a person with needs of my own, and right now I’m going to eat my breakfast.”

Abby had never intended to bring those words up to him, but the look of surprise on his face, brief as it was, was worth it.

Over an hour later Abby walked to the door of Paul’s room feeling deceitful. She had barely touched her food. Outside the door she stopped, realizing she was acting as if faced with an inquisition. She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.

It was obvious Paul was waiting for her. His tray was back on the table and he was still sitting up in the bed. Wordlessly he motioned her to the rocking chair.

Abby shook her head. “I plan to change the bedding while we talk.”

“The bed can wait. Have a seat.”

Abby nearly balked at the command, but after a moment’s hesitation she sat down, albeit reluctantly.

“How did my family know I was hurt?” Paul wasted no time in beginning his questions.

“Amy’s father worked with Mr. Beckett years ago, and he remembered Amy married a Cameron. He wasn’t sure you were related, but he wrote just in case.”

“Who’s paying you?”

“Your brother Luke gave me money for everything.”

Paul’s eyes were locked with Abby’s, and she wished she knew his thoughts. “I want,” he said slowly, “a complete accounting of every dime you’ve spent: your wages, clothing, train fare—everything.”

Of all the things Abby had tried to prepare herself for, this wasn’t one of them. In bewilderment she asked why.

“Because you’re going to close my account at the bank and pay Luke every penny.”

Abby’s mouth nearly swung on its hinges. What in the world had made this man so bitter against a family who obviously loved him?

Abby couldn’t know what being a younger brother to Luke, Mark, and Silas was all about. They never seemed to have any doubts. Luke and Silas had wanted to run the ranch from the
time they were able to walk. And as a kid, Mark had been constantly on the lookout for some hurt animal to doctor. It wasn’t that Paul didn’t find horse breeding interesting or that he wasn’t compassionate, but neither of those occupations appealed to him.

His family hadn’t meant to, but they had made him feel like a failure. The only thing that had kept him going was the remembrance of a Sunday afternoon on the back porch with his brother-in-law Mac.

“I will not send money back to Luke. I don’t have any idea what caused the bitterness that drives you, but your family sent me here in love, sick with worry about your plight. I will not be so cruel as to throw money back in their faces. If you want that money returned, you’ll have to drag your backside out of that bed and do it yourself.” Abby was on her feet by the bed, eyes brilliant with anger.

“Watch it, Red,” Paul said in a deadly voice.

“My name is Mrs. Finlayson,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Well, I pity Mr. Finlayson. He must be crazy to be married to you.”

Abby’s hand cracked against his cheek. “Ian Finlayson was more man than you could ever hope to be. I’ll not listen to a single word against him.”

Abby swept up the tray and nearly stormed from the room, but stopped short at the door. “Let me make something clear. I’m up here as a favor to your grandmother. I suspect she doesn’t realize what a coward you are, Mr. Cameron. Did you think you were the only person to ever feel pain and loss? Well, wake up and look around! Everyone hurts in some way. I’ll be back at lunchtime. If you need anything before then, get it yourself.” The door slammed on her last words.

Fingering his stinging cheek, Paul sat in stunned silence after the slamming of the door. No one had ever talked to him like that before. He was not furious, as could have been expected.

Paul shifted himself down to where he lay flat. As always, the change in position sent pains shooting through his body, but the pain was lessening some every day. His wrist was as good as new.

He was healing. He had honestly believed he was never going to walk again and planned to use that excuse to remain bitter toward God forever. But he was healing.

Paul lay back and let his mind get used to the idea. He fell asleep with thoughts of Corrine, wondering when, if ever, his heart would follow his legs in the healing process.

Abby walked in the garden at the back of the Beckett home. The flowers were lovely and in full bloom, but she hardly noticed them. Was it wrong to speak to Paul in such a way? Maybe he had reasons to turn from his family. No, Abby couldn’t believe that. Surely whatever had happened, God could take care of it.

A new thought occurred to Abby. Paul’s whole family knew Christ, but maybe Paul had never made that step. Grandma Em had admitted to praying for him his whole life. At the time Abby had taken that to mean she loved him and wanted him
to walk with God. But maybe he had never faced eternity and looked to the Savior.

Abby recalled her parting shot to him and felt deep shame. She was here to take care of him, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that for this morning, at least, she couldn’t be bothered.

She decided right then to go back to the house and ask his forgiveness, but when she turned Ross was coming her way.

“You’re a hard lady to track down,” he called to her as he approached. He motioned to her when he was a few yards away. “Come over and sit down. It’s too warm for work today.”

Abby came forward to sit on the iron bench off the path-way. Ross joined her the minute she had adjusted her skirts.

“How’s the patient?”

“Coming along, I think.”

“You two sure have a hard time talking in normal tones to each other.”

Abby felt a warmth creeping into her cheeks, turning them a most becoming shade. Ross was enthralled and, without thinking, bent his head. Abby whispered, “No, Ross” just before his lips touched hers.

Abby pulled away quickly as she felt Ross’ arms begin to encircle her. She would have leapt from the bench, but Ross caught her hand and held it fast.

“Tell me it isn’t true, Abby. Tell me you’re not married. I don’t think I could stand it. Tell me your name is not Mrs. Finlayson.” Ross had planned to be so calm when he asked her, but when she blushed, turning her already creamy complexion rosy with embarrassment, he lost his head.

“Let go of me, Ross.” Abby tried to sound reproving, but she was shaken.

“Not until you answer me. Is your name Mrs. Finlayson?”

“Yes, Ross, it is.”

“But where is your husband?” Ross’ look showed complete confusion. He couldn’t believe any man would let this woman out of his sight.

“He’s in a grave in Canada.”

Ross stared at her. He was sure there was no way she was old enough to be married, let alone widowed. And then he felt young and foolish. What a protected little world he lived in! She could easily have been married and widowed. She wasn’t that young. And it was just a way of life. If her husband had been a logger, it was practically expected that he would die young.

“Ross, I never thought you didn’t understand. I probably wouldn’t be here if Ian were still alive. You must be thinking I’m younger than I am.”

Ross was almost afraid to ask. But even as she told him, it began to make sense. How could she be a trained nurse if she were hardly out of the schoolroom?

“I’m sorry if I caused you pain with my questions. But honestly, you don’t look like a widow.”

Abby did not take exception. “Ross, I loved my husband and still do. It hasn’t been very long. But Ross, Ian’s death was not a waste. He was a man of God, and when it was God’s time he go home, not even I in my love for him would have wanted to stop him.

“I’m not worried about where he is, because we both believed in Jesus Christ, and I’m sure when I see Christ I’ll see Ian again.”

Ross was completely silent, his eyes telling her he was catching every word. Abby felt as if he might ask her some questions, but she was not to know on that day because Lenore was walking their way and calling to them. Abby could only pray she and Ross would get another chance to talk about Christ. After all, she had a promise to keep.

The morning dawned beautifully, finding Abby with wonderful peace of mind. The day before she had prayed long and hard before going in to talk with Paul, and he had been very polite. Abby had been stunned speechless when he had even apologized for his remark. The constant sparring was weighing on her, and it was a relief to have some peace.

Now she stood before the mirror and looked at her reflection. She was dressed in her best gown—the gray percale from Grandma Em. It was the first time she had worn it, for she was to attend church with the Becketts.

She worried she might be keeping everyone, and so she rushed to tell Paul he would be in the hands of Anna for the next several hours.

“Mr. Cameron,” she spoke as she crossed to the bed, “I’m going to church with the Becketts. Anna, the Becketts’ cook, will be right in the kitchen if you need anything.” Abby hesitated and continued on almost to herself. “Well, actually I just remembered that she doesn’t speak a bit of English. Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“I’ll be fine,” Paul said gravely, almost smiling at how seriously she took her job.

Abby studied him awhile, deciding. Seconds ticked by. Paul lay quietly under her scrutiny until Abby realized what was
wrong. Paul was flushed. He started when her hand came out and touched his cheek.

“You feel feverish.”

“I’m fine,” Paul said, thinking the scratchiness in his throat was not worth mentioning.

Abby was not to be dissuaded. Her hands came out to frame either side of his jaw, and then traveled down his throat. Paul captured her wrists in his hands.

“I am fine, Red.” He enunciated each word slowly, as though speaking to a child, and called her Red in hopes of making her angry enough to leave. For some reason it made him feel terribly guilty to think of her missing church on account of him.

Abby shook her head and went for the door. “Go to church, I’m okay.” This time Paul’s voice was a bit croaky, and Abby whirled and came back to the bed.

“Is your throat sore?” Abby demanded.

Paul looked at her in stubborn silence. He watched her leave the room, muttering to herself all the way. “Lenore,” her voice sounded out in the kitchen, and Paul knew she was telling Mrs. Beckett she would not be going to church.

“No doubt telling her I’m at death’s door. You’d think I was an infant the way she behaves.” But the ceiling didn’t answer Paul, and he was scowling when Abby came back.

“What’s that stuff?” Paul suspiciously eyed the large bottle in her hands.

“It’s for colds.” She began to open the bottle.

“I’m not taking that stuff.” His voice was unyielding.

“Do you think your brother Mark is a good doctor?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you?” Abby persisted.

“Yes, he’s an excellent doctor. Were you planning to bring him up because I’m obviously at death’s door?”

Abby ignored his sarcasm. “He gave me this for colds, which is what I suspect you’re coming down with. Do you know how many people develop pneumonia when bedridden? Now you’re going to take this, Paul Cameron, if I have to pour it down your throat.”

It was a hollow threat, and they both knew it. She could never overpower him physically. But the stubbornness went out of him as he watched her. His voice was soft when he spoke.

“You look like a spitting red kitten when you’re mad.”

Abby said nothing. He was not angry or being mean, and she thought if he wanted he could use that voice to melt snow in midwinter. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her hand shaking as she poured the liquid.

His look was beginning to unnerve her, and when he asked his next question she nearly spilled medicine all over the bed. “Where’s your husband, Red?” His thoughts were running along those of Ross’: No man would let this woman out of his sight if he could help it.

The hand holding the spoon stopped short on its path to his mouth. “He’s dead.” Paul’s eyes narrowed, and they shared a long, mutual look. Paul knew at that moment that she was aware of his widower status. It didn’t bother him—actually, it felt rather good to know someone else felt as he did.

Her words from before came back to him in full force: “Ian Finlayson was more man than you could ever hope to be.” He had missed her usage of the past tense because of the other words. And then as she had stood by the door she had said, “Did you think you were the only person to feel pain and loss? Wake up and look around....”

Paul took the medicine without complaint. Abby, thinking it might make him sleep, went upstairs to change and give him some quiet.