Wings of a Dove (62 page)

    A sharp tremor shook Allie's body, and she closed her eyes. This was not really happening, she told herself. This was a cruel dream from which she would awaken. She had not returned to the land she loved so well, to the only true home she had ever known, to bury the man who had loved her more than his own life.

    Supportive hands closed on her arms, drawing her close, but she resisted them. She took a few steps closer and watched with a strange fascination as the wooden coffin was slowly lowered. The Reverend Mr. Whittier's deep, solemn voice echoed in the back of her mind, but she could not seem to comprehend his words.

    She stared at the sober faces encircling her. Elmer Winthrop, Elizabeth Morley Grimes, Charlie Knots, Amory Bishop, Mosley Rourke, Rob Miller, Dr. Peters, Homer Trace, others… many others. They had come to say good-bye.

    They were silent, looking toward her, and she knew what she had to do. Stepping forward, Allie took a handful of the warm earth from the mound nearby and threw it into the grave. The dirt struck the lid of the coffin with a hollow, echoing sound and Allie felt a sudden urge to laugh. It was almost like a party, with all of James's friends attending, only there was nothing to celebrate.

    The circle around her began to dissipate with mumbled words of sympathy, and a strong hand gripped her elbow in an attempt to guide her away. Allie turned to Delaney. His face was sober, unreadable and she shook her head. She didn't want to leave yet.

    She saw a sudden movement from the couple standing slightly to Delaney's rear and turned toward Sarah as she left Bobbie's side and walked closer. Halting a few feet away, Sarah looked up into Delaney's face, and Allie was struck with the thought that nothing had really changed. Almost eight years had passed and Sarah was married and the mother of two children, but she was still startlingly beautiful. And she still wanted Delaney.

    "It's been a long time, Delaney. I never expected to see you again, after the way you left Cass County."

    Allie did not have to look at Delaney to know he was frowning as he said, "I guess you were wrong."

    Sarah stiffened at Delaney's response, casting Bobbie a harsh glance as he extended his hand toward Delaney with a quiet word of greeting. She frowned as Delaney accepted his hand warmly, and she addressed Delaney again as if Allie did not exist. "I suppose you'll be going back to the city now that you've paid your respects here."

    Delaney's hand slipped to Allie's arm as he took a step closer to her, backing her up with the strength of his body.

    "That's up to Allie. If she needs a few more days here to straighten things out, we'll stay, but she"

    "Allie, Allie it's always Allie, isn't it!" Sarah stepped forward, her beautiful face contorted with jealousy. "You don't even have the decency to wait until my brother is cold in his grave before you put your hands on his wife! But you never did have much decency, did you, Delaney? You never even"

    "Sarah!" Grasping his wife's arm, Bobbie drew her back, turning her toward him. "I think you've said enough. It's time to go home. The children are waiting."

    Sarah gave a short laugh. "Yes, the children." Turning to address Allie for the first time, Sarah smiled tightly. "You really must bring Margaret home soon, Allie. My son misses her so. They have so much in common."

    Sarah's cruel words rocked her, and Allie took a short step backwards. Stiffening as Delaney's arm moved around her, she swallowed once, and then again. Still unable to respond past the

    sudden constriction of her throat, she closed her eyes briefly as Delaney spoke in her stead.

    "Allie's exhausted. We're going back to the farm now. Bobbie…" Addressing the silent young man, Delaney continued quietly, "I've arranged to have Homer look after the farm for a while. If you should need Allie for anything after we've gone, I'll leave an address where you can reach us."

    "Reach
us
?" Sarah repeated. "Isn't that convenient!"

    Allie shook her head. "No, it isn't like that."

    "You don't have to explain anything to us, Allie." Casting an angry glance at his wife, Bobbie gripped her arm more firmly. "Let's go, Sarah."

    Turning without another word, Sarah followed her husband's lead.

    After watching their wagon move down the cemetery road, Allie turned to Delaney.

    "I want to go back, Delaney."

    "Back where?"

    "To Chicago. I want to be with Margaret."

    Delaney nodded in silent acceptance of her decision.

    As she turned toward the wagon, Allie heard the first shovelful of dirt hit James's coffin. The second struck it as she started to walk away. The steady scraping sound continued as Delaney lifted her onto the wagon. It echoed in the silent field, heard above the wagon's groaning creak as Delaney settled in beside her. The sound reverberated endlessly inside Allie's mind, and as they pulled away, she knew she would never forget it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

    Tormented, Delaney paced the floor of his room. A month had passed since James's death, and summer had begun making itself felt in the lengthening of bright, sunlit days and warm, humid nights, but he was well aware that this night's sleeplessness was not due to physical discomfort. He had retired to his room a few hours earlier after a difficult evening during which he had again failed to penetrate the barrier that Allie had built around her heart.

    Delaney raked his fingers through his hair in a characteristic gesture of frustration. Ironically, everything was going wrong between Allie and him just as many other aspects of his life were falling neatly into place.

    The men who had attacked him and killed James had been identified and arrested. No one was surprised to learn that they were Moss Paynter's men. One of the most feared men in Conley's Patch and other sections of the city where immigrants suffered the effects of poverty and ignorance of their new country's ways, Moss Paynter had been the object of Delaney's investigation from the first. However, it had not been until Mae Brewster showed up at his door and agreed to testify against Paynter that    Mulrooney had agreed to go ahead with his expos? of Paynter's illegal activities in Conley's Patch and his connection to the murder of several young prostitutes.

    Everything had caved in after that, collapsing like a great house of cards, and Paynter had been buried in the debris. The white-slave prostitution ring, the killings he had ordered to keep his people in line, the bribery of public officials, countless petty crimes connected with the illegal empire he had established in that ramshackle section of town, had all been exposed, and Paynter had been arrested.

    Delaney's reporting had been showered with critical acclaim, and his prestige had risen enormously. He had even managed to smooth the breach between himself and Otis Davidson II, a surprising success, which he owed largely to Sybil's unexpected efforts in his behalf. It appeared Otis Davidson would do just about anything his darling daughter asked since she announced her engagement to Harriman Bain. Delaney could certainly understand Davidson's relief that Sybil appeared to have found the right man at last. As for Bain himself, he appeared to be a decent sort who had considerable influence over Sybil, and who Delaney suspected was behind the change in her attitude toward him. He supposed he would never understand why either of them should feel a need to make something up to him, but he was grateful to have Sybil out of his hair. He wished Bain luck. He had a feeling the fellow would need it.

    
Those concerns behind him, Delaney was
now actively involved in the
Tribune
's campaign to make Chicago a fireproof city with Otis Davidson's full cooperation. It was an assignment he had considered dull only a few months earlier but for which he was presently grateful, since his personal affairs were in such disorder.

    The only aspect of his private life that had shown marked improvement was his relationship with Margaret. Strangely, in light of Allie's aloofness, she had encouraged her daughter's confidence in him. It was through Margaret's quiet reminiscences of her father that Delaney had begun to appreciate James for the first time. Although his own feelings about the man had not changed, he had learned to be grateful that James had been a devoted father and a loving husband.    But the past was dead, and it was time to look to the future. Or was it?

    Again running an anxious hand through his hair, Delaney walked to the window and looked out into the dark shadows of the garden. He breathed deeply of the moist night air, turning back to slant a glance toward the clock on the mantel. Three o'clock. His short laugh reflected little mirth.

    He had not had a woman in his bed since Allie reentered his life, and he was only too well aware that the coldhearted womanizer he had been in recent years had received his comeuppance. The man who had claimed he neither needed nor wanted more than physical satisfaction from any woman now ached with wanting one woman alone. But Delaney knew the throbbing urgency inside him was not stimulated by mere physical desire. There was so much more he wanted to give Allie, to share with her.

    The direction of his thoughts suddenly changing, Delaney frowned. On the countless occasions when he had imagined Allie free of James, he had neither envisioned nor desired seeing him lying dead in Allie's arms. The memory of that morning still clear in his mind's eye, he acknowledged again the debt of gratitude he owed James for shielding Allie from the bullet that had taken his life. He supposed it was that realization that had finally allowed him to make his peace with James's memory.

    Delaney's frown darkened. Allie had not made her peace, and their future together depended upon her doing so. Telling himself he was expecting too much too soon, Delaney still found that, in silent hours such as these, he was more terrified than he dared admit that Allie's acceptance of that last, harrowing caprice of fate would never be accomplished.

    That thought was almost more than he could bear, and Delaney turned toward his bed. Not bothering to strip off his trousers, he lay down, only to be bothered by a thought that had given him little rest in recent days. Persistent, nagging, it was the feeling that more than James's memory stood between Allie and him. He sensed it, saw it occasionally a silent, fleeting accusation in Allie's eyes in those rare moments when her gaze was unguarded.

    Questions, unending and without answer, assailed Delaney,   and his frustration grew. He wanted Allie. He needed her. He could not lose her again.

    The image of the medal came to Delaney's mind, and he felt a moment's consolation. Allie's belief in the Lady and everything the medal represented to her was strong. That medal was the one firm link between them.

    The image on the medal suddenly clear in his mind's eye, Delaney felt the whisper of a soft plea rise inside him. Immediately regretting his momentary lapse, he turned on his side. With great determination he forced back further thought and attempted to ignore the sounds of a restlessness similar to his own coming from the room next door.

    Tortured thoughts painful, poignant, merciless. Allie moved restlessly as fragmented, haunting images continued to fill her mind.

    James, his expression sober as she emerged from the chicken coop as a child, her face streaked with tears. His face relaxing into a faint smile, freckles dark against his sunburned skin, as she took the newborn kitten into her hands.

    James, his face flushed with fury as he came over the sun-warmed hill to find Delaney pinning her against the grassy slope with the weight of his body, his mouth close to hers.

    James, the pain in his eyes as intense as her own as he followed her into the frozen stillness of the yard where she had fled Sarah's stunning announcement that she, too, carried Delaney's child.

    James slipping the medal into her hands as she resisted Margaret's birth, allowing her a consolation she had forbidden herself out of loyalty to him.

    James, loving her, taking her gently, tenderly, never asking more than she was willing to give.

    James, forgiving, enduring with understanding the love for Delaney she sought to suppress, the part of her that could never be his.

    James, tense, shoving her to the sidewalk outside the hospital to save her life, shielding her from the bullet that took his own.

    James, still, lifeless, unresponsive to her pleas, his blood on her hands, a stain she knew would remain there forever.

    James, why did I never explain to you that I loved you in a way I loved no other? Why did I take for granted that you understood my feelings for you had progressed past affection, past gratitude, past all the lesser emotions that were a prelude to love? Why did I not tell you that despite the love for Delaney which would always be a part of me, I was your wife, faithful to you, loving you in a way I never loved him. Why did I never tell you that I would hold my marriage vows sacred and never defile them, no matter how much I longed to be in Delaney's arms?

    But I longed to be in your arms, too, James. I longed to feel your selfless love encircle me, to hear your whispered words of devotion, which shielded me from images of light, piercing eyes I could not elude. I yearned to look into your eyes, to see the love there, to feel its safety protecting me from the myriad unnamed dangers of Delaney's anger, of Delaney's bitterness, of Delaney's love.