Robin Lee Hatcher (19 page)

Emily sat on the sofa, Sabrina on one side, Petula on the other. They’d long since given up any pretense of play. Instead they sat in silence, the girls clutching favorite dolls, staring into the fire.

Emily prayed some, tried to pray more, fought back tears.

It was well past the children’s bedtime when the bedroom door opened and Gavin looked out. His face was drawn, his eyes filled with defeat. “Girls, your mother would like to see you again.”

Sabrina slid to the floor first, then reached for Petula’s hand. Together they entered their mother’s bedroom. Emily rose and followed them as far as the doorway, where she leaned her left shoulder against the jamb.

“Let me hold you,” Dru said, her words barely carrying to Emily. “One on each side.”

Gavin helped drape her arms around the children, his wife too weak to do it on her own. The gesture was the last straw for Emily. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They streaked down her cheeks and fell onto the floor.

Plop . . . plop . . . plop.

No one spoke for thirty minutes or more. The girls sniffled now and then, and Dru kissed their heads, first one, then the other, then again and again and again. Sorrow pressed hard upon everyone in the house while death waited at the door.

At long last, Dru said, “I love you, Brina. I love you, Pet. Don’t ever forget how much I love you.”

Sabrina said, “We won’t forget, Ma.”

Gavin reached out to brush strands of hair from Dru’s forehead.

She gave him a little smile. “What happened in the past . . . can’t be changed . . . but the future can.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Gavin . . . I wish you love.”

Emily pressed her right hand against her heart, as if to stop it from breaking.

“My Lord . . .” Dru whispered the words on an exhaled breath. Then all was still except for the sound of the wind in the eaves.

Somehow Emily fought back another wave of tears, enough so she could enter the room and do what she had been hired to do. “Come along, girls,” she said with quiet authority. “It’s time you were in bed.”

Did the children know their mother was gone? Gavin couldn’t tell. They weren’t crying now. Their tears had been spent some time ago. He watched as Emily helped each of them from the bed, holding them close against her sides.

“She’s with her God,” he said softly.

Emily answered, “I know.” Then she led the children away.

He looked at Dru’s face and was struck by the change in it. Earlier it had been drawn with pain, but now there was no sign of it. She looked younger, lighter, more like the woman she’d been before Charlie died.

He lifted Dru’s hand and kissed it, then laid it across her chest.

Gavin . . . I wish you love.

As he heard her parting words repeating in his mind, a chink appeared in the carefully constructed wall around his heart.

Eighteen

Emily stood on the knoll, her right hand on Sabrina’s shoulder, her left on Petula’s as the children pressed close against her. Gavin stood on the other side of the grave, his face a controlled mask.

The minister’s voice droned on, dispensing words of consolation and hope. Overhead, gray clouds rolled across the heavens, driven by a frigid wind. The weather seemed in keeping with the sorrow that blanketed the friends and neighbors who had gathered to bid Drucilla Blake farewell. As Reverend Keating’s final prayer was carried to the mourners on the wind, the snow began to fall.

People departed quickly after that, hurrying toward their buggies, horses, and wagons.

Gavin made no move to leave, not even after the last person had offered his condolences and gone. Emily’s heart ached for him. What words could she offer that would lessen his sorrow? How could she be of help? She longed to make a difference but didn’t know how.

“Come along, girls,” she said softly. “We must get inside.”

As the three of them turned, Emily saw Patrick O’Donnell waiting at the bottom of the slope. A lump formed in her throat. She longed for someone to comfort her the way she was trying to comfort her two charges, and she knew Patrick would willingly become that person to her if she would let him.

Slowly, Emily guided Sabrina and Petula toward the house. When they reached Patrick, he fell into step beside them, not saying a word. They walked until they reached the front door, and then Emily stopped and looked back toward the knoll. The snow was falling in large gentle flakes, but she could still see Gavin’s silhouette against the hillside.

“Miss Harris?”

She turned toward Patrick.

“You’ll take cold if you stand out there much longer. Come inside and warm yourself by the hearth. You’ll do no one any good should you take a fever.”

She nodded, cast one final glance over her shoulder, and entered the house.

“Give Gavin time,” Patrick said.

That’s what Dru had said too. Give him time. But there was so much more she longed to give him. She wanted to give him her heart. She wanted to share his grief, help him carry the burden of sorrow. Didn’t he understand —

“Come here, lass.” Patrick drew her toward the fireplace with a hand beneath her elbow. Once there, he helped her out of her cloak before urging her to sit in a nearby chair. “I’ll be of whatever help I can be.” He sat in the other chair before taking her hand. “Please let me be of help, Miss Harris.”

A strong shoulder to lean on would be a wonderful thing. It was clear that Gavin had no intention of offering his shoulder — or anything else — to her. And why should he? He’d just lost his wife. She felt as if she could shatter into pieces. How was she to keep her promise to Dru with things as they were?

Patrick’s fingers tightened around her hand. “I’m here for you, lass. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell,” she whispered as fresh tears began to fall.

The front door slammed shut, and Emily looked over her shoulder to meet Gavin’s troubled gaze. His dark hair was dotted with flakes of snow, and his face was red from the cold. Without a word to either Emily or Patrick, he moved on toward his bedroom, the door closing firmly behind him.

Emily removed her hand from Patrick’s grasp. “Thank you for your kind words, Mr. O’Donnell. I appreciate them.” She stood. “Now I must go to the children. It has been a difficult day, and they need me.”

She found the two girls curled up together on the bed. Sabrina was stroking her sister’s hair and whispering, “Don’t cry, Pet,” while large teardrops streaked her own cheeks.

Maggie had talked to her in just that tone of voice when they were young. Orphaned and living with a cruel uncle, there had been many occasions for them to huddle together, the two of them against the world. Or so it had seemed.

Whenever Emily had been unhappy or frightened, Maggie would play the “Good Things” game. They would hide in the attic, where Uncle Seth never thought to look for them, and together they would think of all that was good and happy and bright. Margaret Ann, Emily’s favorite doll. Cuddles, the stray dog that had befriended them. Blue skies. Picnics on hot summer days. Polly, the iceman’s Clydesdale.

Maggie had been both sister and mother to her, but Emily had longed to be part of a happy family. And she’d been lucky. Coming to Idaho on that wagon train so many years ago had given her the family she’d longed for. New brothers in Tucker and Neal Branigan. A new sister and best friend in Fiona Branigan. New grandparents. And later her adorable nieces and nephews. She’d been granted so many things good and happy and bright.

How long would it be before Sabrina and Petula could play the “Good Things” game? Could she help them find the happiness their mother wanted for them?

Emily crossed the room and sat beside them on the bed, pulling a blanket over them. She stroked their hair and murmured words of comfort. She silently prayed for God to protect their small hearts, to help them heal. And eventually, as the shadows in the room deepened, both girls drifted off to sleep.

Emily was surprised to find Patrick still seated by the fire when she came out of the children’s room. He rose from his chair the moment she appeared.

“I thought you’d gone.” She walked toward him.

“I couldn’t leave until I made sure you were all right.”

She sighed. “I’m all right. Just tired.” She sank onto the chair nearest the fire, her gaze locked on the orange flames. “I was remembering how Maggie, my sister, used to make me feel better when something bad happened to us. We used to try to think about good things, pretty things. Like a fine horse pulling a shiny black carriage. Or a lady’s hat with a purple ostrich feather. Or maybe a winter snowfall. Sometimes we’d play the game for hours.”

“Did bad things happen often, Miss Harris?” He sat down once again.

“Yes. My parents were dead, and the uncle who came to raise us was a hateful man. There was no love in his heart for either of us. But God was good. Maggie and I had each other, and later God brought other people into our lives who loved us.”

“I’m glad of that. I’d not have you sad if I had my way about it, and that’s the truth.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I don’t want Brina and Pet to ever feel unloved or alone, either. I want to protect them from sorrow. I promised Dru . . .” She let her voice trail into silence.

“Grief takes many forms, Miss Harris. I believe you will find a way to help them navigate through it.”

His kind words acted as a balm on her hurting soul, and she wondered, given enough time, if she could ever feel more for him than simple friendship.

November 20, 1883

Dear Maggie,

We laid Mrs. Blake to rest today. There was a biting
wind and the skies were gray. Despite the threat of snow,
many people attended the funeral. Mrs. Blake was loved by
all who knew her.

The day before she died, we attended a wedding at the
home of a neighbor. The O’Donnell house is fashioned after a
wealthy estate in Ireland, I’m told. There are four O’Donnell
brothers, and it was the second oldest who was married that
day. It was such a festive affair. I never dreamed we would
be facing death within such a short time. I suppose death
always takes us by surprise, even when we are told the person
is dying.

Mr. Blake has shut himself away in his grief, although
he has tried to comfort the children as much as he can. And
I am doing my best to relieve their pain. Mostly I hold them
and read to them and try to keep their minds occupied. I
have often wished for your wise counsel. There are times
that I feel completely unequal to the task before me. At other
times I believe this must be why God sent me to stay with this
family.

Please pray that the Lord would grant me wisdom. Pray
that hearts will heal. Mr. Blake is not a man of faith, which
was a heartache for his wife while she was alive. Perhaps God
will use this loss to draw Mr. Blake to him.

My love to all. I will write again soon.

Your sister,

Emily

Nineteen

The days and weeks drifted by, little noticed by Gavin. Sorrow and regrets weighed him down. Logical or not, he blamed himself for Dru’s death. If he’d worked harder, been more successful, had more money. If he’d taken her to see one more doctor. If he was smarter or better educated. If any of those things were true, then maybe she wouldn’t have died.

And he could have been a better husband in the time they were man and wife. True, their marriage had been one of convenience, never consummated and never meant to be. True, their mutual affection had been based upon friendship and nothing more. But if he’d tried a little harder to love her in a deeper way, maybe she wouldn’t have longed for Charlie. Maybe she would have fought harder to live.

He saw the children through a fog and found it almost impossible to speak to them, to even touch them. They needed him — he saw it in their eyes — but he felt unable to reach out to them. He was frozen on the inside. At least they had Emily. She cared for them. She comforted them. And maybe she would have comforted him too if he could let her.