He turned to leave, again through the blackened door frame, this time out of reverence to the home that once was, but his eye caught a small glimmer. He bent and dusted away the ash that covered it. A sugar bowl, still intact, one tiny speck of a gold rim visible. Willing it not to break, he used both hands to scoop it up, as gently as one would lift a newborn from its mother’s arms. The bowl became one fragile, tangible piece of hope, and he cradled it against his cheek and let his tears flow, not ashamed of the sobs that tore the silence.
His shoulder ached and his hands were raw, but he worked his way through the tangle of burned trusses where once the barn stood. His search yielded a length of leather harness, the head of an ax, and a dented tin bucket. Well after noon he ceased his efforts, satisfied he’d found all he would deem usable among the ruins. If they were forced to stay hidden in the cave for the winter, he’d have to scour the countryside, but for now he’d take his spoils and make his way back to the cave and Charlotte.
Maybe handing her the sugar bowl would soften the pain that was sure to come with the knowledge that all she’d known as home was gone. Charlotte cradled the sugar bowl against her heart. She’d never had a lot of pretty things, nothing from her childhood to remind her of a loving family, but Lafe had given her the sugar bowl for their first Christmas. He’d sold a pig and bought the piece of gold-rimmed china and ten pounds of sugar. She’d never felt so fancy or so rich.
Now all that was left of home was the sugar bowl and her memories. She had a sweet tooth, and Lafe had teased her every time she spooned the sweetener into her coffee. Had even threatened her at one point, saying if his kisses weren’t sweet enough he’d have to find another to bestow them upon. They’d laughed amidst the loving, and she’d made him promise to keep them all for her. He’d taken her face in his hands—those big, calloused hands that were gentle as a kitten—his eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Charlotte Mae Teasdale, don’t you ever think for one minute I’d favor another over you. You’re all this man wants. You understand?”
She’d answered him with a kiss. The memory of it made her close her eyes against a wave of guilt. Just this morning she’d fought the urge to beg Robert Stallings to stay at the cave. Even resisted the temptation to fall into his arms—arms she knew would welcome her. Even as she stood at the entrance, watching until he disappeared into the timber, she’d wondered if she laid her head against his chest if his heart would thrum against her cheek, its rhythm telling her more than words.
She bit the tip of her tongue lest she cry out. How could she entertain such thoughts when Lafe might be coming home to her right this moment? If he stepped around the rocks and into the inner chamber, what would he see? Robert sat in front of her on one of the stuffed grain bags, but one hand rested on her arm. Would Lafe understand Robert was only trying to comfort her? That’s all. Wasn’t it?
“Charlotte? You’ve not said a word. You know, it’s all right if you want to cry or ask questions, or—”
She averted her eyes. “Thank you, Robert—for everything. I…I can’t think of anything you could have salvaged that would mean more to me. But if you don’t mind, I’m really very tired. For now, I’m not ready to think over what all you’ve told me. I only want to sleep. You understand, don’t you?”
He squeezed her arm, then stood. “I do understand. Sleep well. If you do want to talk, you know where I am.”
“I know.”
She waited until he was gone, then blew out the candle in the holder on the floor beside her bed. Maybe in the dark the images of the past would go away. Maybe without light the imaginations of the present would disappear.
CHAPTER 8
Robert propped his back against the rock wall and laid the gun across his lap. Weary as he was from the day’s events, he wasn’t ready to succumb to sleep. Charlotte’s reaction to the news that she no longer had a home concerned him, though he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe what he anticipated was nothing more than a desire—that she’d throw herself into his arms, thankful he’d returned safe, pleased he’d found the sugar bowl, needing the comfort of his embrace after she learned the horrible news. He would not have been surprised or shocked had she screamed a litany of the years of toil and sacrifice or blamed him or his men for the destruction of all she and Lafe had worked so hard to build. He would have had a better sense of what to do had she railed against God for allowing such atrocity.
No, it was her silence that bothered him. Even though she didn’t move away from him while he told of his findings, he’d sensed her retreat, pulling within herself, hiding behind the sugar bowl.
He stood and moved to the mouth of the cave. There was a peace that accompanied nighttime that belied the destruction daylight revealed. Distant thunder rumbled, and the smell of rain sweetened the air. Robert closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow Charlotte would be ready to face reality. Maybe tomorrow she’d want him to stay…allow him to hold her and comfort her.
Or maybe tomorrow her husband would return to keep his promise to be there for the birth of their babe. He wanted her to face reality, and he needed to do the same. Could he face reality if it meant admitting he’d fallen in love with another man’s wife?
He moved to his pallet. Sleep. Deep sleep was the only way he’d escape the truth. Wasn’t truth supposed to set him free? Why, then, did he feel so trapped? Robert jerked awake. Something wasn’t right. He could sense it. A quick scan of the interior revealed a stone he didn’t remember being present before. Rocks littered the cave floor, but this one was larger than most and lay just inside the entrance. If it been present last night, he would’ve stumbled over it. He bent to retrieve it and his chest tightened. Attached with a hank of string was an envelope addressed to Charlotte.
Only Lafe Teasdale would know where to find his wife. If he wrote the note, why not deliver it himself…in person? Was her husband crouched somewhere in the timber? Did he know Sergeant Robert Stallings was present? Would he give him a chance to explain his presence?
With the note gripped in one hand and the gun in the other, Robert sidled his way past the boulder separating the two chambers. “Charlotte? Charlotte, are you awake?
Charlotte’s hands shook as she untied the string holding the envelope to the stone. She turned the missive over several times, caressing her name—more precious because it was in his handwriting and she knew how he loathed to write. “Will you read it to me, Robert?” She held it out to him.
He shook his head. “It’s addressed to you. I—I wouldn’t feel right.” She looked up and met his gaze, those dark, dark eyes boring into hers. “Please. I can’t. I just…can’t.
He took the letter and unfolded it. “Are you sure this is what you want?” “Yes, just…just do it. Please.”
His shoulders heaved with a sigh. “‘My Charlotte, my love. If you are
reading this, please—’”
“No!” She grabbed the letter from him. “No, I’ll—I’ll do it myself. I’m sor
ry.” She didn’t want to hear what she felt in her own heart—Lafe was gone.
Especially didn’t want to hear it from Robert. It was her fault. She’d allowed
wicked imaginations and now God was punishing her. Lafe was her husband,
but she’d entertained thoughts of another man. And now… Now… “Please, leave.” She couldn’t look at him. Not now. Maybe never again
could she look into those dark-coffee eyes.
“Are you sure? I’ll not say a word, Charlotte. I’ll just be here. You know,
in case—”
“No. I need to be alone. Please. Go.”
His feet dragged through the dirt, and she was almost certain he went no
farther than behind the rock that guarded the narrow entrance into the inner
chamber. But at least he was gone.
She smoothed the letter on her knee, and turned toward the candle light.
My Charlotte, my love… She bit h
er bottom lip. She could hear him. As plain as his handwriting, she could hear him. How often he would say those very words—my Charlotte, my love.
Don’t step outside the cave to look for me, I’ll not be there. This note will be delivered by a trusted friend. I know I promised to be home when our babe is born. But my love, you have to know by now that is impossible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. As I write this, there’s little chance I’ll ever be home again. And if you’re holding this letter in your hand right now, know, my Charlotte, my love, that I died trying.
Kiss our babe for me and tell him his papa loved him. And Charlotte, love again. Promise me you’ll not raise this babe alone. That’s my wish, my deepest need—to know that you and our child are loved and cared for. Hold me always in your memory. And stay strong, my love. Stay strong.
Lafe. A scream went the air and shot through Robert like the bullet that hit his shoulder. He was by Charlotte’s side before a second one could leave her throat. This was not the piercing cry of a woman whose absent husband would return any time soon. No, he recognized agony, the sheer tortured sobs of a heart broken into a million pieces. He’d experienced the same when Molly died, only then there was no one present to wrap their arms around him, to comfort him, to assure him that someday, somehow the sun would shine again, that life could and would go on. It would never be the same, but it would continue.
She sank to her knees, and he went down with her. He wrapped her in his arms, cradled her head against his chest, and rocked her. No words were needed. There were no words to soothe this deep, deep pain. They would come later. Later when the whys and if-onlys, and what-ifs clamored for attention, maybe then words would soothe. But not now.
It seemed hours passed, but he had no way of knowing. The front of his shirt was wet from tears, but it would dry. His shoulder ached and he needed to stretch his legs to ward off a cramp, but he held her until at last she no longer cried Lafe’s name.
“Robert?”
“I’m here, Charlotte.”
“Lafe is—”
He caressed her hair, tresses that shone like copper in the candlelight. “I
know. I know.”
“He won’t ever—” A sob caught on her breath
“I know.”
There was a long silence, and he felt her relax against him. Good. She
needed to rest, but only when she was ready. He continued to rock. “I’m so scared.” Her voice muffled against his chest.
“What are you afraid of, Charlotte?”
“Life without him.” She tilted her head away from his chest. “Tell me,
Robert. Tell me how to keep living. How can you go on? I don’t want to forget him. Ever. But tell me how to keep living without him.” Her eyes bore deep into his, no longer summer-sky blue, but dark and troubled, reflecting the storm he knew brewed within. He thought there would be days before the questions came…not hours. He wasn’t ready. This was not the time to tell her he loved her and that he’d help her live, one day at a time…without Lafe. That he’d wait for her to love him, but would never leave her side. He’d not had time to think how, when or where they’d go from this cave. Home to his ranch in Kansas, to be sure. But they had no mode of travel, and until he could deem it safe to travel west, they dare not leave the safety of their rocky hideaway.
What if she refused to go with him? In all his imagining, had he considered she might not want a life with him? She might not love him? Had he considered—
Maybe if he clenched his teeth hard enough the roar in his ears would drown out his conscience. No, as a matter of fact, he’d not considered anything other than he loved her and could wait for her to love him. He hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate she might never come to love him.
“One minute at a time, Charlotte. One minute, one hour, one day at a time.”
She began to sob again, and his tears fell freely, too. God’s Word never lied…hope deferred did make the heart sick.
A familiar tightening of her tummy accompanied a spasm that grabbed Charlotte’s low back, and she caught her breath. It couldn’t be the babe, could it? Not now. Not without Lafe. What about Granny Wilson? If all Robert told her was true, there was no one left in Cass County. Not even the old midwife. Only Robert.
She gasped. No! Never! Never could she allow another man to help with the birthing of Lafe’s child. She bit her lip and willed whatever was happening to stop. Please, Lord, don’t let this babe come now. Not now. Not yet.
She pushed from Robert’s embrace. What was she thinking? How could she seek comfort in another man’s arms, when her Lafe would never hold her again? “I need to lie down, please.”
“Of course.” He slipped to his knees beside the bed. “Rest if you can. I’ll be right here.”
“No. Please—please leave me alone. I need to be—” Another pain grabbed her. She tried to twist away from it, but it followed her and a groan escaped her lips before she could stop it
“Charlotte?” He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. “Is it the babe?”
“Please leave. I need…I need to rest.” She lay back against the pillows as another wave of pain gripped her. She couldn’t let him stay—couldn’t allow him to take Lafe’s place. “Go, please.”
Now the pains were coming in waves. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen, was it? Didn’t Granny Wilson say Lafe would have plenty of time to fetch her once she felt pain? What was wrong? Is this what it meant to travail?
Even with her eyes closed, she knew Robert was still there. She could sense it. Hadn’t she told him to leave? “Robert. Go. Please. I just want to be alone.”
Another pain rolled through her and she arched her back against it. Too fast. It shouldn’t happen this fast.
Robert gripped her shoulders. “I’ll not leave you.”
“Yes, you will.” She flicked her wrists, but he grabbed them and held tight.
“Look at me, Char.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to look into those dark eyes and tell him to leave. Neither could she allow him to stay. This was Lafe’s child. Her’s and Lafe’s. No other man should be privy to this occasion. And why was he calling her Char? No one ever called her by that name except Lafe. No, it was all wrong.
“Char, look at me. All right, don’t. But I’m not leaving. You need my help. Please. I’ve done this before and you haven’t. Once this babe is here, I’ll leave you alone. But for now, like it or not, I’m staying. We’ll do this together. Look at me, Char. Do you understand?”
She nodded. What choice did she have? Instinct told her she couldn’t do it alone. Oh, Lafe, how could you let this happen? Why? Why did you leave me? You knew. You knew the chance you took. But you promised. You promised…
“Do you have a name for her?”
“Lydia. Lydia Ruth. It’s the name Lafe chose before he—” Charlotte
gulped. “Before he went away.” He laid the babe in her arms, and something
sweet flooded her. Her travail was over and she no longer remembered the
anguish—only joy, a deep contentment.
“It’s a good name. She’s beautiful, Charlotte.” He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“She is, isn’t she?” She cupped her hand under the tiny, fuzzy head. She
looked up and her gaze met his. “Thank you, Robert. Lafe would be—” “Shh.” He shook his head. “You did all the work, you know. I’m just glad
I was here.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Now, I shall retreat to my
chamber and leave you two alone to get acquainted.”
Shadows danced along the rock wall as the flame of the candle flickered
with his leaving. Only the soft little grunts and suckling noises of the babe at
her breast broke the silence. It was always dark in the interior chamber, and
Charlotte had lost all sense of time. But it didn’t matter. The babe was here
and now time could stand still. If onl
y Lafe could see her.
Robert stepped out of the cave and leaned against a tree. Every groan, every tear that slid down Charlotte’s face, every time she squeezed his hand so hard it hurt, memories of his desperation to help Molly and save their child had haunted him. Although thankful the ordeal was over for Charlotte, grateful she’d delivered a healthy, beautiful baby girl, his heart ached to the point of tearing out of his chest. He had no idea what it was like to be in the throes of bringing life into this world, but could it possibly be more painful than watching life slip away? Could anything hurt worse than holding the promise of the future embodied in one tiny human being and realizing it would never take a breath, never run and play, never say Papa?
A new layer of pain threatened to swallow him. Would he ever be able to declare his love for Charlotte? Could he bear caring for her and tiny Lydia, knowing that one day they’d part, perhaps never to meet again?
He turned his face against the trunk of the tree and cried deep, gulping, sobs. Some for what had been, and was no longer.
Some for what was now, but perhaps never could be.
CHAPTER 9
Several days later “Charlotte, you have to let me help.” Robert wasn’t sure who he’d be helping the most—Charlotte or himself. His nerves were frazzled. Tiny Lydia’s cry belied her size. Or maybe it was the effect of echoes within the cavern walls. But at this rate, no one was getting sleep, day or night.
“What’s wrong with her? Why can’t I get her to stop?” Dark circles under Charlotte’s eyes spoke of her exhaustion. A constant stream of tears ran down her cheeks. Still, she steadily refused to allow him to take the child from her arms.
Destination: Romance: Five Inspirational Love Stories Spanning the Globe Page 23