Morgan's Rescue (35 page)

     
At times Culver wanted to say something, but recalling Dr. José's warning, he took the man's advice to heart. Pilar, he discovered, had been badly broken by her recent experience. She wasn't as strong and resilient as he'd thought. But then, he ruminated as he walked down the hall toward her private room with a handful of orchids in a vase for her, Pilar had carried a heavy load for eight years by herself. Culver ached to talk to her of all she'd been through, to share with her his understanding of why she'd made the decisions she had.

     
Maybe today, he hoped. It had to be Pilar's decision, though. As he knocked on the door, he smiled to himself. Every day, Pilar grew a little stronger, and despite everything, it was sheer joy for Culver just to be with her. As he opened the door, he saw to his surprise that she was out of bed. She wore a dark pink cotton robe, her right hand deep in one pocket as she stood with her back to him, looking through the venetian blinds.

     
When Pilar heard him enter, she slowly turned. Her left arm was in a sling and she managed a small smile of welcome. "You were gone a long time."

     
Culver grinned roguishly and lifted the vase of purple-and-white orchids so she could inhale their heavy, sweet fragrance. "One of the nurses in ICU told me about this old woman, a jaguar priestess living just outside Tarapoto, who raises the most beautiful orchids in the world." He smiled down at Pilar and watched a rosy flush come to her pale cheeks. "Well? What do you think? Are they half as beautiful as you are?"

     
Touched, Pilar leaned over and inhaled their heady fragrance. The burning hope in Culver's eyes lifted her depressed spirits. Straightening, she caressed the thick, waxy petals. "They are far more beautiful than I am," she whispered. Pilar had never thought of herself as
beautiful,
though the way he looked at her made her feel that way.

     
Snorting, Culver slid his hand around her elbow and guided her to a wooden rocking chair near the window. "Your face could melt the hardest of hearts," he said. Pilar moved slowly, her balance not yet totally restored. As she lowered herself carefully into the rocker, Culver placed the orchids on the table next to her bed.

     
"It's good for you to get away from here for a while anyway," Pilar said. She loved the rocking chair because it reminded her of being rocked in her mother's arms when she was small. "You are built for the outdoors, not places that close in on you like this." She looked around the sterile room and then back at him. Culver took another chair and brought it over to sit down facing her. How much she enjoyed their quiet moments together. In the past few days he'd talked a great deal about himself and his family. She'd learned so much. He was sharing a side of himself she hadn't known, and it left her yearning for him, for his kisses.

     
Oh, how she'd missed his kisses! She could recall each one with burning clarity. But since she'd been transferred to this room, he'd oddly removed himself in that sense. Although he slept here with her, on his separate bed, and he held her hand or caressed her hair occasionally, he hadn't kissed her again. Pilar's spirit died a little each day, bereft of the feel of his healing mouth upon hers. She was so needy right now, but she didn't expect Culver to understand her physical need for his touch. She was like a battery that had run down, and his kisses recharged the very depths of her spirit, infusing her with light and hope.

     
Sighing softly, Pilar folded her hands in the lap of the cotton robe. It was time. She felt strong enough now to talk to Culver without sleep overtaking her as it had been doing, suddenly and without warning. The antibiotics had worked their magic, and she had come back from the arms of death, fully back in her body and in the present. Glancing up, she saw Culver watching her with a curious, burning gaze. Her lips parted, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

     
"I'm afraid," she admitted, opening her hands and giving a weak laugh. "I felt I understood jaguar medicine, but I do not. I felt it was about strength and power. It is more than that. It is about living honestly." Pilar held his caressing gaze. "When I met you, Culver, I felt my heart open and embrace you. I had dreams all during my young life of a man's face, and it was your face. I did not know the gift of the jaguar was to bring visions of the future to me until Grandmother Aurelia told me. It was then I confided my dreams of your face to her.

     
"She laughed and hugged me. She said that was the man who would hold my heart gently in his hands. I asked her how I could know when I was so young who was going to love me. Grandmother said there are many things we can never explain. But when I saw you, I felt my chest open up, like one huge orchid unfolding all its rich, beautiful petals."

     
Pilar studied her tightly clasped hands for a long moment, searching for the right words to convey her feelings. The silence stretched out between them, but without tension. Instead, she felt Culver's respect and interest in her words, in how she saw her world—and his. That assurance gave her the courage to go on.

     
"When you compared me to an orchid, I felt this cord strung between us." She lifted her hand and moved it gracefully from her solar plexus to his. "How could you know of my special love of the orchid people? You seemed to know so much about me, and I felt it was because you remembered coming to me in your dreams. I didn't know how a
Norte
Americano
 
could
do such things. In
South America
, it is common and accepted, but…" Pilar shook her head and gazed at him in awe. "We had three months together,
mi querido.
I was so young at the time.
Young and thinking that my life was endless.
I laughed at the danger around us. I jeered at the violence always nearby. And when you loved me that first time by the pool in the jungle where the orchids grew, I felt my spirit fuse with yours. I felt our hearts melt into one. I felt my womb expand with a warm, golden light, and I felt your life within me."

     
Pilar licked her lower lip and went on in a softer voice. "I did not know it at the time, but I was pregnant with your daughter, our child—Rane. A wonderful, joyous sensation emanated from my womb. I felt the pulse of life in there, and I thought it was because we had become one and loved without regret or shame." She laid her hand across her abdomen and smiled fondly in remembrance. "Each time we made love after that, I felt stronger, more sure of you and of myself."

     
Pilar touched her forehead and frowned. "And then you were wounded. I was so afraid you were going to die. I didn't know at the time that I'd suffered a small bullet wound in my thigh—it was no more than a stinging sensation. When they took you into surgery in
Lima
, the doctor examined me thoroughly. I was bleeding." She pointed to her thigh beneath the robe. "That was why he examined me. I thought it was my moon time, though I'd not had one for three months. The doctor said no, the blood between my thighs wasn't moon blood, nor was it from the fleshy wound on my thigh."

     
Pilar looked up, and her voice grew hoarse. "He told me I was two months pregnant. He said I would lose the baby if I stayed on my feet, that the shock of the mission had started to tear the infant from the wall of my womb." Pilar covered her abdomen and rubbed it gently with her hand. "I had never lain with another man. I knew you were the father of this baby who was fighting to survive. The doctor said I must go home, stay in bed and rest, or I would lose her."

     
A ragged sigh escaped Pilar's lips as she looked up at the ceiling beyond Culver. "I had no one. My parents were dead. What was I to do? I had only one friend, and that was Fernando. Hector called him, and he came immediately to the hospital. I told him that you did not want children right away, that you were not ready for them. And he asked me if you had said you loved me. I said no. He said it was a bad sign, and I could not disagree. I wanted my baby to have a name, Culver. I did not want her to suffer as I had, with mestiza blood. To be a child out of wedlock is a curse here. She would be called the child of a whore. I couldn't stand it. I wanted Rane to be able to overcome her mestiza blood and hold her head high. She would not have been able to do so with a mother who was pregnant and unmarried. Fernando convinced me you would not want me pregnant." Frowning, Pilar shook her head. "Now I wonder about that. At the time, I believed him. I was so confused that afternoon. I was in shock from your nearly being killed. I was traumatized by my own bullet wound, though it was small in comparison to yours. And to be told I was pregnant…" Her voice wobbled. "It was too much for me to cope with." She rubbed her furrowed brow with trembling fingers, and her voice lowered with feeling. "We were married that evening, so that when Rane was born, I could say she was premature, and no one would suspect she had been conceived out of wedlock."

     
Opening her hands, feeling drained,
Pilar
held his tender gaze. "Oh, Culver, I hated leaving you in the hospital. But the doctors told me you would live. Fernando said it would be best never to see you again, but I sobbed myself to sleep for weeks afterward."

     
Getting up, Culver slowly moved over to crouch in front of Pilar and capture her hand. The stricken look on her face was telling. "I don't know what I could have done at that point, but I would have claimed Rane as my daughter," he said.

     
Tears shimmered in Pilar's eyes as she studied him. His voice was gruff with emotion, his hands strong and steadying on hers. "You would?"

     
"Yes," he rasped, "in a heartbeat. I know how people look upon unmarried mothers down here. Your culture is very different from mine. In
North America
, a woman with a baby out of wedlock isn't such a big deal. Down here—" he scowled "—it's a damned mortal sin. You're shunned by everyone, and the child is an outcast—forever."

     
Wearily, Pilar rested her brow against his. "Oh, Culver, I wish I had known. I wish…"

     
"It doesn't matter anymore, Pilar," he whispered gently, releasing her hands and framing her face.

     
Tears streamed down her wan cheeks. "I—I remember you telling me you wanted a family someday, but not at that age. I thought you'd send me away, that you wouldn't want to be told the truth. I sobbed it all out to Fernando, and he felt, under the circumstances, that I should marry him to protect my family's name and my daughter's future."

     
Culver bowed his head. "I was just blowing smoke at the time, Pilar. I never really meant what I said about not having a family. It just didn't occur to me you'd get pregnant. Everything seemed so natural between us that—that the possibility escaped me. I wasn't being responsible, and that was my fault—not yours. I was older, more experienced, and I should have seen that we took precautions. But I didn't. . . ." He gazed into her swollen eyes. "Fernando married you because he was your friend, and he was giving you and our baby protection from this society."

     
"Y-yes…We never
laid
with each other, Culver." Her voice shook with tears. "H-he never touched me. He was like a father to me, very warm, very kind. He loved Rane so much. He treated her as if she were his own child."

     
Once again Culver wiped away her tears. "I'm just sorry I didn't
know,
mi querida.
This isn't
all your
fault, you know. I bear a heavy responsibility, too."

     
Sniffing, Pilar said, "I gave up hope at that point. I thought you would be ashamed of me.
Of getting me pregnant.
I didn't think you wanted me or our baby. As I got older, I began to doubt what I had done, but by then, it was too late. I knew your anger with me would be great if I told you the truth. I was afraid you might want to take Rane away from me if you knew. Oh,
Dios,
how could I ever have left you when you needed me? How could I have been so cruel to keep you and Rane from knowing and loving each other?" She placed her hands over his and held his glistening gaze. "I never loved anyone but you—ever. So many times as Rane grew up I wanted to tell her about you, about our love. . . . But I did not want to hurt her like that. She was mestiza; that was enough. I did not want her to feel even more different from society by being an outcast, too."

     
"I understand," Culver said gruffly, leaning over and gently taking her mouth. Pilar tasted of wet, salty tears. He felt her moan, a slight vibration as she hungrily returned his gentling kiss, intended to soothe the pain she still carried in her heart. Easing away from her, he saw the gold flecks deep in her eyes again, for the first time since she'd been wounded. Her cheeks were suffused with pink, and hope thrummed strongly through him.