Nevada Nights (3 page)

"Cameron, stop that. Do you hear? It wasn’t your fault my horse bolted. It was a snake, I believe. And you did just fine, child. Why, you and this man saved my life."

As Cameron wiped her eyes, Sister Leona stared up at him. "Reverend Mother tells me your name is Michael Gray," she said slowly.

"Yes, Sister."

"Michael, do you believe that the hand of God directs all our lives?" Sister’s voice was thick and muffled from the sedative.

"It’s not something I’ve given a lot of thought to, Sister. But I’d say yes, I believe that," he replied seriously.

"Good. Good." She seemed to be speaking to herself. Then louder, to both of them, she added, "I don’t know how you happened to be on Allumette Island today, Michael, but I do know that God required both you and Cameron to work together to save my life. Neither of you alone could have done what you did together." Her words were slurred, as though talking had become a great effort. "God bless you, Michael Gray. You will be in my prayers always."

Cameron leaned down and kissed her cheek and followed Michael Gray from the room.

Before they had left the room Sister Leona was asleep.

As they descended the stairs, the wonderful aroma of cooking reached them from the kitchen.

Little Sister Adele smiled shyly at Michael and said, "Reverend Mother wants both of you to come and eat." Putting her arm around Cameron’s shoulders, she murmured, "Dear Cameron. You must be exhausted."

Cameron smiled at her and allowed herself to be led once more to the kitchen. There were only two places set at the table, and Cameron realized with some apprehension that she would have to sit and face Michael Gray over dinner. He held out a chair for her, and she averted her eyes as she sat down. Several of the sisters were busy washing up pots and pans, making tea, and hunting up any other chores that would keep them in the kitchen to hear what Mother Superior would have to say to the stranger.

Reverend Mother entered the kitchen, and Michael rose to his feet. He held her chair, then moved back to his place at the table.

"Will you be staying long on our island, Mr. Gray?" she asked.

"No. I was leaving today, when"—and he turned a smile on them both—"I found myself detained. I’ll be leaving tomorrow."

Cameron’s heart sank.

"We are most grateful, Mr. Gray. Sister Leona believed that you and Cameron behaved most heroically today."

Michael glanced at Cameron with a bemused expression. Her cheeks burning, she lowered her eyes and moved the food around her plate. It was very warm in the kitchen. Warm and safe. If only she could rest her head for a moment. As the voice of Reverend Mother and the deeper timbre of Michael’s voice washed over her, she set down her fork and propped her head on her hand. The steamy warmth of the room comforted her. The familiar kitchen sounds were lulling her. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. The next thing she was aware of was a sensation of being lifted in strong arms. She was floating. There were distant voices, and she thought she heard Reverend Mother say, "Her room is up here."

Cameron brought her arms up around a rough shirt and buried her face in warm flesh. She could feel a pulse beat against her lips. She sighed contentedly and heard a deep, throaty chuckle.

Under her warm quilt, she slept soundly.

Cameron awoke at first light and moved stiffly. Her arm and shoulder ached. She tried to remember coming up to bed the night before. Then memories began to flood her mind, and she groaned and covered her face with her hands.

She had fallen asleep at the table, right in front of Michael Gray. She had probably buried her nose in her food. And Michael had seen her.

Michael. He was here somewhere, sleeping under the same roof. She jumped from her bed, oblivious to the pain and stiffness. Stealing a glance in the small oval mirror over her wash basin, a moan escaped her lips. She looked horrible. Her hair was all tangled, her face smudged.

It took Cameron more than an hour to repair the damage of the day before. By the time she came downstairs to chapel for morning Mass, she was scrubbed fresh, her hair washed and arranged in a neat knot at the back of her neck. She wore a fresh green cotton dress which Sister Adele had once said gave her green eyes a warm glow that put emeralds to shame.

Her arm throbbed painfully, and she found that it was less painful if she kept it bent slightly in front of her. Carrying her prayerbook in her other hand, she entered the chapel.

Cameron knew the exact moment when Michael entered the chapel. Mass was nearly over when he walked in. She forced herself to stare at the words in her prayerbook. He entered the pew across from her. She knew without looking that his gaze was on her. She would not look at him. She could not. But with a will of their own, her eyes betrayed her. They moved up, over, and then she was meeting his steady gaze. He smiled, and she allowed herself a demure smile, feeling a swift rush of heat stain her cheeks, before forcing herself to stare once more at the book in her hand.

When Mass ended, she remained in her pew until Michael stood and began to leave. Walking out behind him, she gazed in fascination at the width of his shoulders. His clothes had been carefully cleaned and pressed. She realized that his jacket was beautifully tailored, and the collar of the shirt, which yesterday had been soaked in a stream and used to bathe Sister Leona’s wounds, was of the finest linen and intricately embroidered with his initials.

Breakfast was a festive affair, held in the huge refectory. Except for the bishop, who visited the convent once every five years, they rarely had a visitor. Reverend Mother sat at the head of the long table, with Michael Gray at the other end. The sisters and Cameron sat along the sides.

Cameron listened as the sisters asked Michael endless questions about where his travels had taken him and discovered that he had seen most of the United States and Canada. She said nothing, hoping no one would call attention to her. Every time she thought about last night, falling asleep at the table, probably with her face in her plate, she wanted to hide. How foolish she must have looked to a man like Michael. How childish.

Sister Marie was telling Michael something about her home. Cameron stole a quick glance at his face. His eyes caught and held hers. He winked wickedly, and she felt the flame once more burn her cheeks.

Too soon breakfast was finished, and the sisters were walking Michael to the door. Cameron followed, wondering what she could possibly say to him in front of all of them.

His horse was saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Cameron stared at the hand-tooled leather and the exquisite silver gleaming in the sunlight. This was further proof, she knew, that Michael was a man of wealth and breeding.

The sisters gathered around him to bid him their goodbyes. Reverend Mother made the sign of the cross over him with her right hand, offering her blessing for his safe journey. Each of the sisters shook his hand, thanked him for his help, and promised to pray for him. Cameron was the only one who had not spoken.

He moved forward and stared down at her. "Cameron," he said gently. "You are a woman of many surprises."

A woman! She had never been called that before. She felt herself blushing right down to her toes.

"And that arm of yours is giving you much pain," he added.

"Oh!" she gasped. "How did you know?"

"I just know," he whispered. Then, looking over her head, he said aloud to Reverend Mother, "When the doctor comes today to check Sister Leona, have him look at Cameron’s arm." Glancing down at her once more, he said, "Goodbye, Cammy, short for Cameron. Stay well."

He lifted both her hands to his lips and kissed them lightly.

He turned, mounted his horse, saluted them all, and rode smartly away.

No one moved until he was out of sight. It was as though none of them wanted this to end. Michael Gray’s visit had been an extraordinary event in their tranquil lives.

A week later, an attendant from the ferry arrived at the convent bearing a huge gift box. It was addressed simply to "Cameron" at the Convent of the Sisters of Divine Charity.

Sister Adele, holding her skirts above the rows of vegetables, came scurrying to the garden to find her.

"Come quickly, Cameron. Reverend Mother wants you in her office."

Cameron followed the little nun to the office, only to find most of the sisters already clustered around Reverend Mother’s desk. Cameron stared at the mysterious box. Except for the clothes from her father’s lawyer each year, she had never received a gift.

Slowly, she lifted the lid on the box. Inside, wrapped in layers of tissue, she discovered a pair of fawn-colored suede jodhpurs, a beautifully tailored black velvet riding jacket, a matching black derby, and a soft ivory shirt with a high neckline and mother-of-pearl buttons. At the very bottom of the box was a pair of hand-tooled leather boots. The box bore the name of a very exclusive ladies’ shop in Ottawa. A tiny handwritten card was tucked into the folds of the jacket. It read simply "Michael."

Cameron held up the jodhpurs. They were the right length. She slipped on the jacket and buttoned it. It fit. She slipped off one shoe and slid a dainty foot into the soft, glove leather boot. It fit as though it had been made just for her.

She shook her head in wonder. "How could he have guessed my size?" she asked shyly. She looked at Reverend Mother. "May I keep them?"

Reverend Mother, whose face registered her amazement, studied his card, then nodded affirmatively. Setting down his card, she said dryly, "I see no return address for our Mr. Gray. I think you have no choice but to keep them, Cameron."

The slim young woman hugged Reverend Mother and carried the box of clothes to the privacy of her room. She wanted to wear them always, and to read and reread his name, written in his own hand. Michael.
Oh, Michael!
she thought.
How did you know my exact size?

Cameron stared at her reflection in the mirror. Had he studied her that carefully? Her pulse raced at the thought.

Just thinking of Michael Gray, of his dark eyes, of his muscled strength, of the deep timbre of his voice when he spoke her name, would carry her dreamlike through the long, bitter winter on her island in the Ottawa River.

After Michael’s visit, Mother Superior became aware of a gradual transformation in Cameron. The green eyes would soften and take on a dreamy, faraway look. Although she still rushed headlong around the convent and grounds, Reverend Mother noted that Cameron occasionally slowed her pace, moving in a fluid walk, her hips unconsciously swaying with natural feline grace. The child was there still, but she was becoming submerged in the woman.

Alarmed at hearing nothing decisive from Cameron’s father in all these years, Mother Superior decided that she must take steps to ensure the future of her young charge.

Reverend Mother assigned Cameron to assist with the small, one-room schoolhouse at the French settlement of Chapeau on the north shore of the island.

There is a special look about children who are denied love and affection. They have a hungry, yearning look about them. Cameron discovered that she could always spot a child who needed special attention. It seemed strange that she, who knew no family except the sisters in the convent, never grew up feeling deprived of love. She could feel affection emanating from all the women who surrounded her. She was a sort of special bonus to them. They had embraced this lifestyle believing they would never know the satisfaction of raising a family. They had turned their backs on marriage and family life to dedicate themselves in a special way to God’s work. Suddenly, they found this noisy, inquisitive little girl growing up in their midst. Although there were times when they yearned for peace from the constant rush of a whirling, wild little tomboy, still, she brought a special joy to their lives, and they showered her with love and affection. She grew up feeling very secure.

After some weeks of teaching, Reverend Mother asked Cameron to her office for a serious conversation.

"Sit down, Cameron." The old nun paused, clearing her throat. "Mr. Bassette was here earlier today to ask me about you."

The two Bassette children attended the island school. Since their mother’s death several years earlier, they had become shy and withdrawn, unable to recite aloud in class. Cameron’s heart had gone out to them. She had been working patiently with them, encouraging them, offering praise whenever they did especially notable work. She had even mentioned to their father not long ago that she felt they were responding well to her encouragement.

"Have I done something wrong, Reverend Mother?"

"No, Cameron. Mr. Bassette was here to ask some—personal questions."

"Personal. I don’t understand."

"He particularly wanted to know your status—whether or not you contemplated becoming a sister. You are, after all, an object of some curiosity here on the island."

Cameron sat for a moment, letting this sink in. Then, suddenly realizing what this was leading to, she let out a gasp. "Oh! Reverend Mother! What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth, Cameron. That you grew up here—that you have a father somewhere in the United States. That you are an excellent teacher. Apart from that, there is nothing more to say. If you wish Mr. Bassette to pay you court ..." She shrugged, staring intently at the young woman.

Cameron’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the nun. A man was seeing her as a woman he wished to court. She thought of the thin farmer, shy to the point of being barely able to speak to strangers, and of his two sweet children, who needed the love and attention of a mother. Cameron’s heart went out to all of them. And her heart soared at the knowledge that a man could see her as a potential wife. But marriage to him! Mother to them!

Her eyes softened as she stared into space, and another picture sprang unbidden to her mind: a tall, compelling figure on a black stallion, whose mere touch caused her skin to burn. As long as there existed such a man in this world, she could never consent to be a shy farmer’s wife.

She looked up to see Reverend Mother staring thoughtfully at her, and she wondered how much had been revealed on her face. Instantly, she glanced at the floor, allowing her thick lashes to veil her thoughts from the astute woman across the desk.

"No, Reverend Mother. I couldn’t even consider it." Her strong voice spoke her conviction. "My father shall send for me one day, and I must be free to go to him." Lifting her head proudly, she faced the nun. "Shall I tell Mr. Bassette myself?"

Reverend Mother smiled gently. "I suspect Mr. Bassette would run to the far side of the island if you dared to speak to him about such a personal thing as courtship. I will tell him for you."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother."

As Cameron walked from the room, the old nun watched her with a sigh. For too long this young woman had lived on the fragile thread of hope that her father would send for her. She whispered a silent prayer that Cameron’s faith in him was justified.