Mary

by Raine Cantrell

  Rafe had begun with deeds of valor performed by mountain men and traders. Mary had enjoyed listening to those, but he had a talent for spinning an enchanted web when telling fables that taught a moral value. And the teaching had continued with the Indian tales.

  Mary turned down the top sheet. She admitted to herself that she loved listening to his voice. Had the circumstances been different, she would have added her plea for him to continue to Beth’s.

  Just being with the two of them sent pleasure seeping inside her. She could pretend they were hers to care for, love and protect. It harmed no one. She would not make the mistake of thinking any of it was real.

  But her pleasure was tainted with worry. Beth’s eyes glistened with a rising fever.

  Her gaze met Rafe’s, and she saw that he shared her concern.

  Beth wore the camisole Mary had altered to fit her as a nightgown. She cradled the soft cloth doll in the curve of her unwounded arm. Despite her plea for one more tale, the child’s body remained listless in Rafe’s arms.

  “First you drink your tea, love. I’ll tell one more, then into bed with you.”

  Mary, cup in hand, came to kneel by the rocker. She waited as Rafe gently cupped Beth’s neck to lift her up so that she could drink. The effort proved beyond the child.

  “I’ll get a spoon.” Mary rose to her feet. She ran the back of her hand over Beth’s cheek. Once more she thought Rafe communicated a silent message for her to hurry. She felt the same need.

  Although the fury of the storm had lessened, the rain continued unabated throughout the day. The house held pockets of warmth as Mary raced downstairs.

  The kitchen was the warmest room, and there she found Sarah and Catherine working. Sarah was leaning over the table, the household accounts occupying her attention. Catherine was struggling to clean her boots.

  “How is she?” the two of them asked at the same time.

  “Weak. I came down for a spoon. Poor little love, she can’t drink from the cup. And the fever’s rising again.”

  “Mary, why not let one of us watch over her tonight?” Sarah suggested. It was not what she had intended to say to her cousin. True, Mary’s eyes held shadows from too little rest, but she worried more that her cousin’s heart had already been lost to the child. She knew she would hear a refusal of her suggestion. Mary didn’t disappoint her.

  “No. I want—”

  “Sarah’s right,” Catherine said. She put aside her boots. “You should look at yourself, Mary.”

  “Getting the child well is all that matters, not my appearance.”

  Mary turned her back toward them to get a spoon from the cupboard. Sarah laid a hand over Catherine’s arm. She warned her with a quick shake of her head not to press Mary.

  Before she left the kitchen Mary checked the coffeepot. There wasn’t much left.

  “Go on up, Mary. I’ll make a fresh pot and bring it upstairs.”

  “That’s good of you, Sarah.” At the doorway Mary paused, then turned to face them.

  “I know you both think I’m being foolish to care so much, but I can’t help myself. Since I’m the oldest, I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions. And my own mistakes,” she added in a whisper, and left them.

  Catherine felt Mary had struck too close to her own thoughts. She loved finally having independence and would fight tooth and nail if anyone dared to try and curtail it. Glancing at Sarah, she couldn’t help wondering what thoughts were hidden within her dark eyes.

  “She may be older than you or I, Sarah, but I worry that Mary will be hurt. She’s so wrapped up in that child. Rafe’s going to leave and take his daughter with him. What will she do then?”

  “Mary? She’ll go on making a new life for herself. Just as you and I are. But I admit I’ve never seen her so possessive about anyone or anything.”

  “Do you remember when we used to play and Mary pretended she had a houseful of children? At least a dozen. She’d make a wonderful mother, too.”

  Catherine picked up her boot and the rag spotted with bootblack. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mary could find a widower with a brood of children? Or,” she added with a sly smile, “if Rafe fell in love with her?”

  “Catherine! Get that dreamy look gone. My cousin may want a child, or a brood, as you said. Mary doesn’t want another marriage. I don’t know all the details of what Harry did to her, but he stole my cousin’s laughter, and her spirit. What’s more, the devil take him if he wasn’t already dead, he made Mary believe that no man would ever want her.”

  “You knew that and never told me?”

  “There was no reason to. Besides, Rafe has enough trouble on his hands without taking on Mary’s problems. You would be wise to let the matter die here and now.”

  “He’s handsome as sin, and he’s a kindly man, too.”

  “Enough, Catherine. You can’t go about ordering people to fall in love because you think they’d make a good pair.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll stop. But even you can’t deny there’s a tension between them. Have you seen the way he watches her? And Mary? My goodness, Sarah, you’d need to be blind not to see the longing in her eyes. Cooped up in her room, why, who knows what can happen?”

  Sarah tossed her pencil down and folded her arms across her chest. “May I remind you, that there is a child up there with them?”

  Catherine leaned forward. She smiled. “Yes, I know. And what stronger bond could there be to bring two people together?”

  “I give up. You keep your fanciful thoughts to yourself. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Sarah, don’t you ever get lonely? I mean sometimes, at night, don’t you wish there was someone holding you?”

  “Like a man?”

  “Well, we’re a little too old to want Mama’s arms. Of course I meant a man.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t!”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Well, I do. I miss Louis. Well, that’s not exactly true. I miss his visiting my bed. Don’t you miss—”

  “No. I like sleeping alone.”

  “Did you love Judd so much that no one can replace him?”

  But Sarah had already bent her head over her accounts.

  “It was a silly question, Sarah. Please, forgive me. I know you loved Judd, or you wouldn’t have married him. Tell you what. I’ll make the coffee for Rafe and Mary while you finish your accounts.”

  She had to be satisfied with Sarah’s curt nod. But as she waited for the water to boil, Catherine’s gaze strayed to the ceiling. Her thoughts were rich with possibilities for Rafe and Mary.

  Long after midnight, Mary woke with a start. She soon realized she was lying on the pallet she had made for Rafe, without any idea of how she had got there.

  The last thing she remembered was sitting near the head of the bed after bathing Beth’s fevered little body. She must have fallen asleep there, and Rafe had moved her. The catnap had done little to relieve her exhaustion.

  From the glow against the wall, she knew a fresh candle had been lit. Then she heard Rafe’s voice as he whispered to his fretful child.

  “And when you’re better, Beth, I’ll take you up to the magic lake where the Indians claim the bluebird got his color. The one where Coyote, too, turned a beautiful shade of blue, but then fell into the dirt and became so dust-covered, he remains brown to this day.

  “I’ll buy you the prettiest and sturdiest mountain pony. We’ll ride the mountain trails where no one else has ever gone. Just get well, baby. Fight this fever. Come on, try and drink a little more for me. That’s my girl. I love you, Beth. Remember that. I’ve always loved you.”

  Rafe said more in the same vein, and told another Indian tale. His husky voice soft as a murmur as he pleaded with his daughter to respond.

  Listening to him, Mary felt herself an intruder, for Rafe was a man intent on baring his soul to that little girl.

  It was wrong of Mary not to make some noise, to make some effort to alert hi
m that she was awake to hear his every word.

  She asked the Lord’s forgiveness for her silence.

  “From the first I couldn’t believe we’d been blessed with a child. I’d rush from the diggings to get back to our cabin every night, just to hear about the storm you had kicked up while I was gone. The first time I felt you move, Beth, I thought an angel’s wing touched me.

  “When we get home, you’ll see the cradle I began that very night. Sometimes I’d stop working and just think about you. What you’d look like, what I’d do. I never knew a man could hold so much happiness without bursting from the sheer joy of it.

  “Toward the end, I hated to go to the mine claim I had staked. But it was all we had. Every day I went off with a fear that you’d come along and I wouldn’t be there. Lord, baby, that was a hair-raising, heart-thumping night. But when that sun came up, there you came into my waiting hands.”

  Mary filled in what Rafe left unsaid. A lonely cabin, no doctor, no other women around to help. But Rafe had been there, eager to be with his wife as she labored to birth their child.

  Was it then that Mary’s tears began? She wasn’t sure. It could have happened seconds later, when the hushed quality of Rafe’s voice told of holding his tiny, squalling daughter in his hands. Of his own breathless wonder as she took her first breath of life and he saw with new eyes the very lovely miracle that was his daughter.

  “I held you, Beth. Your head was no bigger than my palm. Red-faced, your eyes squeezed closed, a bit of a nose, and your small pink mouth crying out that you had arrived. I can still see those small fingers curled tight and remember swearing that I’d always be there to fight your battles for you.

  “But that’s when I got scared, Beth. I’ve faced armed men with no more than a shovel in hand, but nothing scared me as much as you. I felt so big and clumsy handling your fragile body. Even when you were wrapped up tight in your blanket. I wanted the very best of everything for you, baby.

  “And I wanted to be everything I wasn’t—patient and gentle, wise and kind, strong and rich. So much. Maybe too much. But I looked at you, and I wondered why I had ever thought I knew how to be a father, a good father.

  “You humbled me, Beth. Humbled me and filled me with all the love I’d never given to anyone else.”

  Mary had to cover her mouth with her hand to still the sob that built inside her. Rafe was pouring out his heart. She had known from the first how much he loved Beth, but she hadn’t fully understood the depth of his love.

  “Ah, Beth, that fear never left me. I’d get up during the night to stand by your cradle and watch you sleep. All that time, I was questioning myself. How was I going to learn to be what you needed? Where would the knowledge come from to teach you the things that really matter? What if I failed you? What if all the love I had for you wasn’t enough?

  “Oh, but you were a beautiful baby, Beth. The first time you smiled at me I thought my heart turned over. It was a gift every time. Pretty brown curls, bright eyes, rosy cheeks and those toothless smiles. I treasured every image of you from that first year. Sometimes it was all that kept me going after you were gone.

  “And it wasn’t true, Beth, that I didn’t want you. I didn’t want to let you go. But I couldn’t stop her from taking you away. I once thought it was because I couldn’t give her much in those days and she was afraid of living in a lonely place.

  “But let the Lord stand as my witness, Beth. Losing you was losing the best piece of myself.”

  Mary felt the hot sting of tears slide down her cheeks. Twice she heard Rafe’s voice break, as if he were having a hard time holding back tears of his own.

  What you’re doing is wicked. Lying here, eavesdropping on what you have no business hearing. No business knowing.

  But she didn’t move. Didn’t utter a sound.

  “I’ll never leave you again, Beth. I’ll never let anyone take you away from me, either. But you have to help by fighting this fever so that doesn’t happen. I’ve prayed so hard for you to get well, baby, that the words are all running together in my mind.

  “I’ll deal with the devil if I can see you smile.”

  Oh, Lord, help him. Help us all. Mary bit down on her knuckle. Her listening had become a violation of Rafe’s most private thoughts and feelings. She cringed inwardly at the thought of alerting him now. Somehow, that seemed a worse violation.

  What was she to do?

  His desperate murmuring ceased for a few moments.

  Mary strained to hear what he was doing. The sound was water dripping into the bucket. He was bathing Beth again.

  “Hush, baby. I know it feels cold. And I’m not as gentle as Mary doing this. Your poor little body is so hot. But let me, love. It will help.

  “What we need from the Lord is an angel. No. We already have one to help us. That’s how scattered my thoughts are, Beth. That Mary’s a lovely warrior angel, armed with so much compassion that she’d take your pain and fever and make them her own if she could.

  “That’s powerful medicine right there, love. You’ve got me and Mary ready to fight this battle right along with you. Only…only it’s not…not up to us.”

  The creak of the rope spring beneath the feather tick mattress muffled Rafe’s last words, and the sounds that followed.

  Mary tried to stop crying. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, but couldn’t control the tears. What should she do? What could she do?

  The yearning to go to Rafe and gather him and his child into her arms was an ache that grew in intensity.

  But then Rafe would know she had heard him.

  They needed her. She couldn’t pretend to be asleep when that need reached out and touched her.

  She lay there no more than a minute before she gave in to the intuitive beckoning. She cast aside her blanket and stood up.

  Candlelight gilded the dark thickness of Rafe’s hair where his head bent towards the pristine whiteness of the pillow. She saw that his shoulders were shaking, and at first she thought it was a trick of the wavering light.

  The faintest sounds gave her to understand that it was more. So much more.

  She hesitated. This was beyond her capabilities. She had never seen a man express heart-wrenching emotion. The sight stirred her soul as no words ever could have.

  Rafe named her a warrior angel. Mary had never felt less adequate to bear the title. Her store of healing skills was so small when measured against the need in this room.

  Mary had once thought herself broken, and had fought to pick up the pieces and make herself whole once more. She had to find some way to keep Rafe whole. And that meant racking her mind for something, anything, she could do, for the sight of this man and his helpless child tore at her.

  Her stocking feet made no sound as she glided closer to Rafe’s kneeling body. Her hand hovered above his shoulder. Then, with a resolution coming from deep inside, she lowered her hand to touch him.

  “Rafe? Rafe, listen to me. There’s one thing I…I haven’t tried. Do you hear me? We still have hope to break Beth’s fever.”

  If he had jumped up and roared with fury at her, Mary could not have been more shocked than she was by the deathlike stillness that permeated his body.

  Rafe called her compassionate. But while that well of compassion overflowed, it was something stronger, a feeling she would not name, that drew her hand to slide into his hair.

  And the feeling that she would not give a name to urged both her touch and her voice to caress.

  “Rafe? You’re not alone. Please. I—”

  “I woke you.”

  Whatever Mary expected, it was not to hear a mixture of resignation and accusation in his husky voice.

  To deny it would be to lie to herself, as well as to Rafe.

  “Yes. I…heard you.”

  “Then you know Beth’s burning up. Tell me, Mary, what you have in your bag of tricks to help her now.”

  The bite of his mockery hurt her. Mary let it pass. She couldn’t let him matter—only Beth.<
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  “Down on the side of the house we have rain barrels. I want to take Beth there and immerse her.”

  “She’s shaking from the chills and fever.”

  Mary let her hand fall away from his hair to her side. His voice chilled her. “I won’t lie to you. I’ve done what I can. This is all I can think of. You trusted—”

  “Trusted? Yeah, I trusted you.”

  He came to his feet in a controlled rush.

  Mary hated herself for doing it, but she backed up a step, then took another, before she stood her ground.

  Rafe was bathed in shadow. Dark. Dangerous. His overpowering masculine anger blanketed the very air they were breathing.

  “Are you drunk from lack of sleep?” he demanded. “It can happen. I’ve seen it.”

  “No. I think it would work.”

  “You think? What you propose to do could very well kill her.”

  “And if I’m right, Rafe,” she answered, as calmly as she could, “this might break the fever and save her life.”

  He moved so quickly that Mary didn’t have time to evade him. His fingers bit into her upper arms as he hauled her against his body.

  “How did such a fragile-looking woman get so strong-minded?”

  “Someone tried to break me once.”

  “And?”

  “And I found I don’t break.”

  “That’s damn good to know. ‘Cause the way you cloud a man’s senses when he should be thinking of other things can make him forget how soft a woman you really are.”

  Mary tilted her head back. She stared up at him. All she could see, all she could feel, was the burning heat of his gaze.

  Not a sound of protest at his tight grip passed her lips. She bore with his threatening dark visage, not as a sacrificial lamb—that was a role she refused to play—but as the compassionate woman Rafe named her, who understood the true source of his anger.

  “You’re wasting precious time, Rafe.” The reminder helped Mary distance herself from the aching need to slide her arms around him and hold him close.

  He lowered his head. Her breath caught. But it wasn’t to kiss her. When he spoke, his words whispered across her mouth.