Charlie writhed in Lilly’s embrace, one skinny arm snaking out, fingers splayed as if grabbing for something unseen. “We’ll be downstairs when you change your mind,” Lilly said softly. She got up and found Dawn in the hall, also in her bedclothes and robe, her long black hair down to her waist.
“I’ll warm some milk,” she said.
Lilly descended to the parlor, stood by the window, staring out as the dawn pushed back the darkness. A sliver of gold simmered against the horizon, the sky a slate gray. She put the baby against her shoulder, rocking her, singing softly.
A miracle child, and Rosie didn’t want her. After two days of labor, after Lilly drove to Silver City in Abel’s Packard to fetch the doctor, after turning the baby out of the breech position, after nearly dying from exhaustion, the loss of blood, Rosie didn’t want her child.
Lilly heard footsteps, light on the floor behind her. Dawn bore a bottle of milk. “Shall I feed her?”
“I can. You go back to bed. We’ll be fine.” Lilly sat in the rocking chair and nestled Charlie on her lap. The baby’s mouth opened for the bottle and she sucked hungrily, her eyes closing, her sighs shuddering out of her.
Dawn stood above them, arms akimbo, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen the sickness this bad. Already nearly two weeks and she still can’t bear to look at the child.”
“She’ll get better,” Lilly said.
Dawn sank down onto the velvet divan. “I don’t know, Lilly. She’s all healed up, yet she refuses to leave her bed.” She ran her hand over Charlie’s head. “It’s nice to have a baby in the house. To have you back.”
Lilly met Dawn’s eyes, found them shiny. “I missed you too.”
“I long dreamed of looking up one day and seeing you ride down the driveway on Charity, as if you were just out overlooking the herd with Abel.”
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to return. I tried, years ago, but then my father needed me after Mother died.”
“I’m so sorry about your mother, Lilly. She was like a daughter to me. She wrote to me often after you left the ranch, told me about your life in New York. I never could see you in those fancy dresses. In my mind, you will always be riding Charity across the hills, your long braids stringing out behind you. Scared me to death when you showed up in an aeroplane.”
“It’s not mine. It belongs to…” She wasn’t sure what to call Truman. Husband? Friend? Pilot?
“The man you love?”
Lilly stared down at the baby, jostling her a bit to keep her awake, still suckling. “Why do you say that?”
“Because every day you stand on the porch, watching the road, and I’m wondering who you are waiting for.”
“My father.” She removed the bottle, still half-full, and handed it to Dawn. Then she turned Charlie over on her knees, resting her face in her hand, rubbing her back for a burp. “I left him in New York in a rather precarious situation. He told me he’d come when he could.”
But Dawn was shaking her head. “Oh, Lilly, you’re so much like your mother. I knew her before she and Daughtry were married. I know the look of a woman in love. A woman with her hopes upon her countenance.”
Charlie emitted a tiny pop of sound, startling herself awake. Lilly rolled her over, nestling her back into the cradle of her arms before she could start to wail, and took the bottle from Dawn.
“What you see, Dawn, is what can never be. I do love this man. His name is Truman, and I married him years ago. He’s the one who taught me to fly. But that’s the problem—he’s a barnstormer, a risk taker, a man who belongs in the skies.”
“And you are needed here.”
She couldn’t agree, not really. “The buffalo herd has nearly doubled in size. Maybe I belong in New York.”
“Abel tends the animals with your heart. It’s why he leased the ranch from your father. Perhaps the buffalo don’t need you, but yes, this little one does. You’ve always been a nurturer, Lilly. Perhaps this is the mind of God, bringing you back here, now, with Rosie, for this child.”
“This child has a mother, Dawn, and it’s not me.”
Dawn ran her hand over Charlie’s forehead again then nodded. The baby had fallen asleep with the bottle in her mouth. Lilly removed it.
“Would you like me to return her to Rosie?”
“Let Rosie sleep. I’ll put her down in the bassinet.” Lilly got up and put the baby in the wicker Indian basket Lilly had found in the attic and cleaned, the one she set on the window seat for moments like these. “I’ll just nap on the divan in case she wakes.”
Dawn took the bottle but paused at the door. “This house still echoes with the laughter, love, and dreams of the people who loved you. I saw the paper, I know this Cesar fellow is dead. But Montana is not a terrible place to raise this child. You might tell Rosie this.”
Not a terrible place, indeed. Riding through the prairie that first day back with Abel stirred up the taste of galloping Charity through the tall grasses, the odor of sun-baked cow pies saturating the air. She loved this land, the sky, so deeply blue, so wide it might be the sea, the gray-black ripple of foothills feeding into the white-laced mountains to the north. Sparkling rivers, the lush paint of the pink bitterroot flowers, the yellow buttercups, lavender clover.
And, the buffalo. The shaggy-coated beasts roamed over the land, no longer corralled in the canyon bordered by the meager river. “The drought pushed them out, in search of water,” Abel said, sitting tall in his saddle, his once-dark hair now sanded with white. He was every bit as wide-shouldered and wise as she’d remembered. “Now, we have to ride for miles to find them, and camp out during calving season to watch for wolves, cougars. They still roam our land, however, and for now, they’re safe.”
Truman’s plane might help in the search in the spring. The thought tripped into her head, and she shook it away.
Truman would return, yes, for his plane. Then he’d hand her the signed divorce papers and fly out of her life, and she wouldn’t blame him. She’d nearly gotten him killed. Again. And now she had Rosie and her child to care for.
She would care for Charlie until Rosie broke free of her grief. As long as it took. And then she’d return to New York where she belonged and help Oliver run the paper.
Leaning over the basket, she kissed Charlie’s tiny nose then curled up on the divan, pulling her robe over her. From here she could hear every rustle, even a feeble cry.
She sank into sleep despite the plume of morning sinking into the room, yet lightly because the house creaked and it roused her. Lilly listened, her eyes blinking in the rose-gold light, but perhaps it was only her imagination. Getting up, she tiptoed to the baby, found her still asleep, beautiful translucent eyelids closed, tiny rosebud lips open, her quilt still tucked around her.
So precious.
Lilly lay back down, closed her eyes. Yes, for as long as Rosie needed her, and then some.
Another creak of the floor and this time a footstep accompanied it. Lilly opened her eyes, realized that morning had parted the curtains, the room lit and warming. She pressed a hand to her cheek, found the creases of the divan pillow in it.
“Rosie?” She sat up, hoping to see her cousin in the hallway, searching for her daughter.
Instead, in the middle of the hallway, under the gleam of the sun, wearing a sharp black suit and tie, his hat in his hands, stood Truman.
Truman.
Alive and well and unscratched, looking so painfully handsome that for a terrible moment she thought it might be a dream.
And as long as she was dreaming, she imagined herself launching into his arms and holding on. Dreamed of hearing him say that he’d returned for her, that he loved her, that she was everything to him.
For a moment, as she dreamed, silence thudded between them. Then a devastating smile twitched up his face. “Hello, Lola.”
Lola. She drew in a quick breath.
Real. Not a dream. So she shook herself free and held onto the brutal truth. Truman wouldn’t stay her
e, wouldn’t commit to live this life, or whatever life lay before her. “I suppose you’re here for your plane.” Oh, that hadn’t emerged quite like she’d intended, but he didn’t flinch.
“Maybe.”
See. She shouldn’t expect anything different.
“Is it in one piece?”
She glared at him, tucking her robe around her, got up, and padded over to the basket.
Charlie was still sleeping. Lilly laid a finger to her mouth then tiptoed out into the hallway. “Of course it is. When did you get here?”
“Last night, late. I stayed in town then hired a car this morning.”
He’d said I. Not we. Not her father. She braced herself. “Where’s my father? The paper said that Cesar was killed, but—” Oh, please—
“Oliver’s fine. He’ll be out in a day or two, I promise.” Truman pulled his trilby off his head, ran his hand around the brim. Looked out the window.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She stepped up to him. Saw the remnants of a bruise on his jaw. “Truman?”
“He got a little banged up.”
“What—”
“He’ll be fine. Cesar’s men brought the heavy artillery, and although your father had called in some favors with pals in the police department…well, they fired the house, Lilly.” Truman shook his head. “It’s gone. Your chateau on Fifth Avenue burned.”
The Price home, turned to ash. She had to reach out, to hold the doorframe. Her mother’s portrait, her books and journals, Oliver’s photographs, the family heirlooms.
“Was Oliver—”
“He’s going to be okay. He was burned trying to retrieve a few items, but the fire department pulled him out.”
She sank down onto the stairs. “How did Cesar die?”
“From the beating Guthrie gave him. And the Napoli gang— all arrested.” Truman seemed to want to take a step toward her, almost gave a start. Then, “You’re safe, Lilly. You and Rosie are safe.”
The nearness of him buzzed through her. He smelled good, some sort of soap, and had brilliantined back his gleaming black hair, capturing that rebellious lock, as if trying to make a good impression. He set his trilby on a side table.
“This is a beautiful place, Lilly. No wonder you wanted to return home.” He stood there talking to her like a salesman, or an old family friend, shifting from side to side as if nervous.
She’d never seen him without his cocky smile and the “over my dead body” stance, except, of course, two-plus weeks ago when he’d suggested he loved her. That he couldn’t live without her. That he’d do anything to prove it.
Without his trilby, he had nothing to do with his hands and slipped them into his pockets.
She wanted to weave her fingers through his, wrap them around her. Lie to herself that he hadn’t arrived for his airplane, but for her.
But she wasn’t that stupid.
Lilly didn’t want to imagine what she might look like, the lines in her face, her reddened eyes, the disarray of her hair.
A noise emerged from the basket, the smallest of whimpers.
“Is that Rosie’s child?”
“A little girl. She hasn’t officially named her yet, so we keep calling her Charlie.” She picked up the infant, cradled her in her arms, hoping she might fall back to sleep. “I remember Rosie telling me that Guthrie wanted a son named Charlie. I didn’t know what else to call her.”
“Where’s Rosie?”
“She’s upstairs sleeping.” She patted the baby’s diaper as Charlie began to squirm, as the first little squeaks came from her. “I need to change her diaper.”
“I’ll help.”
She stared at him, her mouth forming a question, when little Charlie woke with a start and began to wail. Wetness soaked through the blanket and into her nightclothes.
“Excuse me.” She brushed past him, heading up the stairs, and noticed that he followed her. When they reached Rosie’s room, she turned. “Rosie’s sleeping. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
He nodded, and she eased open the door.
Then she simply stood there in the threshold as Charlie screamed. Rosie’s bed wasn’t just empty, someone had made it.
As if she’d never been here.
She stepped inside.
“Is she here?” Truman said, right behind her. “Because I don’t see her.”
“Maybe she’s downstairs,” Lilly mumbled and went to the dressing table.
Truman fetched a dry diaper. Lilly cleaned Charlie, powdered her, then replaced the saturated diaper.
“She’s so little.”
“Nine pounds when she was born.”
She had no words when Truman reached over, sliding his large hands under her, and picked her up. He held her close, tucking her into the crook of his arm.
The sight made Lilly want to weep.
He would have made a delicious father, with little boys to teach to fly and a little girl to dance on his shoes.
No. She couldn’t think this way, and the sooner he left— “I gassed up your plane. You can get Abel to help you push it out of the barn to the road.”
Emotion pulsed at the edge of Truman’s eyes. “What if—”
“Lilly!” Dawn’s voice cut through his question. She wore a clean brown dress, her hair now neatly pinned back in a bun. She didn’t even cast a look at Truman as she strode into the room, looking shaken, holding a piece of stationery.
“She’s gone.”
Lilly frowned.
“Rosie’s run away.” Dawn shoved the paper at Lilly.
She took it, cold fingers pressing into her with each word.
Dear Lilly,
Once upon a time, you promised to forgive me for betraying you. I believe you may have to work harder at it now, for I know my next sin to be much greater, perhaps even unforgiveable.
I cannot care for the child I birthed.
I have lain in bed for ten days watching you bathe, diaper, and feed the child, and have discovered one thing: you are her mother. You are the one who wakes at night, you are the one whose heart is moved by her cries, who inspected her tiny fingers and toes upon birth. You may not have carried her, but you were meant to be this child’s mother by the very fact that you have taken her into your heart.
I know you would give your life for this child.
I cannot even look at her. Not when she has Guthrie’s lips, his eyes. Not when I must bear the day when she inquires about her father, and I must keep him alive in her heart. Your mother had a strength I do not possess. In fact, I do not want it.
If I am to survive this grief, I must erase it. Do not try and find me, for I do not wish to belong to the world I had, the woman I was.
I give you this child as your own, Lilly. I pray someday you will forgive me yet again for this betrayal, this weakness. If I know one thing, however, it is that only you can understand what grief this daughter of yours will bear. And that, I know, will be her salvation.
Gratefully,
Rose
“How could she do this?” The words shook out of Lilly, just a whis per, growing louder the second time around. “How could she do this?”
Dawn’s eyes widened as Lilly shoved the letter back into her hands. She rounded on Truman. “We have to find her. Stop her. Dawn, take the baby—”
She went to retrieve Charlie from Truman’s arms, but he stepped back. “Lilly, stop.” His low voice cut through the whirr in her head. “She doesn’t want to be found.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s saying! She belongs here, with this child. Her child!”
“No, Lilly. Your child. You can’t force her to be something she doesn’t want to be. Just like Oliver couldn’t force you to be a newspaper woman. She has to want it. Commit to it.” He nudged Charlie, now sucking her fist, into Lilly’s arms. “Lilly, your heart is broken for those in need—Rennie, and your buffalo, and even me. I was broken until I found you. I didn’t believe that I could be loved, but you changed that. You made me believe, ev
en for a little while, that someone could love me, despite my mistakes, my sins.”
Just like Oliver had for her. “Truman, I never stopped loving you.”
He touched her cheek, his eyes soft. “You can be this child’s mother if you want to.”
There’s power in commitment, it turns you into the man you hope to be. The man you can live with.
The mother she hoped to be?
“I—I don’t know…”
“What if you didn’t have to do it alone?” He ran his thumb over Charlie’s delicate fingers. They opened and wrapped around his, holding on.
She looked up at him. His eyes glistened. “I didn’t come back for my plane, Lilly. I came back for my wife, if she’ll have me. Please forgive me.”
“I forgave you long ago, Truman. But…” Oh, it felt good to finally say that. And she longed to step into the dream, but— “What about your air show and flying and—”
“I sold the air show back to Marvel. He wanted it anyway. I’m out, Lilly. And I came here with the hope that you’d let me prove every day that I love you. That I’m not going to leave you.”
“You’re not going to get into your plane and fly out of my life?”
“It’s your plane now—I bought it for you. I’m grounded.”
He caressed the baby’s head. “It’s taken me ten years for it all to sink in. God walked back into my life the day you asked me for a ride. I just didn’t see Him until you left.” He cupped his hand under her chin. “Flying Angel.”
She blinked against the burning in her eyes. Charlie began to squirm in her arms.
“I’ll heat up some milk,” Dawn said from behind her. Lilly had forgotten she’d been standing there.
“And I’ll feed her,” Truman said. “Please?”
He wanted to feed her? “Who are you?”
“Her…father?”
She swallowed, nodded. “Yes.”
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