The Ways of Heaven

by Lindsey Barlow

  Jonathan nodded and Meg looked away shyly as he stood up. Were his cheeks flushed or was that simply her imagination?

  “My bag is in the front room.” He held a hand out waiting for Meg to exit before him. “Ladies first.”

  Meg sat nervously while Jonathan set down his bag and searched for a stethoscope. By then Rose had joined them and settled on a couch with a book.

  “This won’t take long,” Jonathan said, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’m going to need to examine your ribs and then listen to your breathing. Is that fine with you?”

  Meg understood that he was asking permission to touch her. She glanced at Rose who was peeking above her book, which she quickly held up over her eyes, refusing to help or interfere with the interaction between Meg and the doctor.

  “Go ahead,” Meg said more nonchalantly than she felt.

  Jonathan nodded and placed his hands on her side. Sheer delight shot through her skin as his long fingers pressed softly. He was so near, listening to her breath, that Meg could smell the soap on his neck. Her body reacted to the touch with an insatiable hunger that demanded more tenderness, more gentleness, more of everything that it had been deprived of for years.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  Meg could feel the sharp pinch. “A little.” The pinch wasn’t the problem. The problem was that her heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wing. Her mind was in composure, but her body wanted to lean into his hands like a moth drawn to flame, eager for its light despite the danger of getting burned.

  Jonathan lowered his hands. “Here?”

  “No,” Meg choked, crossing her ankles. This examination could not take long. She would faint if it did.

  He slid his hands up, sending a shiver beneath his palms. His hand stilled and for a moment he let go, averting his eyes and taking a slow breath before placing his hands back on her.

  “Here?” he asked his voice so soft it was barely audible.

  Meg nodded. “A little.” She swallowed looking at the opposite wall. What was wrong with her?

  “It is cracked,” he concluded, standing up quickly and turning away to shake his head like he was clearing his thoughts. “Let me check your breathing and heart, and then we will be done.”

  “I am breathing fine,” Meg said quickly. She didn’t want him closer, yet at the same time she felt a hunger to have him near.

  “Any injury of the ribs could affect your breathing. Better to be safe and check it.”

  Meg nodded with a sigh and stiffened her muscles when he placed the stethoscope on her.

  “So tell me, what do you like Meg?” the doctor asked suddenly.

  She looked up, confused by the question. “Excuse me?”

  “Many people don’t like having a doctor examine them. Questions help.”

  Meg blinked. I like you. I like you touching me. I want to run my fingers through your hair, cling to your chest, and feel the muscles in your back. I want this examination to never end so as long as it keeps you near me.

  “I like animals,” she said shyly. “I am not around them much, but I do love them. I also love cooking.” He was right; this took a little of the focus off him, “and holidays.” I remember holidays before my father left and they were wonderful.

  “And what else?” Jonathan inquired, checking her lungs.

  “I cannot think of anything else,” Meg sighed. “I am afraid I’m rather a boring person who is not very accomplished.”

  Jonathan settled back on his knees, looking at her curiously. “I don’t think you are boring at all.”

  Meg smiled uneasily with the intensity of his look. “Well, you don’t know me,” she countered. He looked like he was about to argue, but decided against it and placed his stethoscope back in the case.

  “What do you like?” Meg found herself asking. “Perhaps I have not been introduced to enough pursuits from which to take pleasure. Maybe ideas are all I need in order to expand my interests.”

  Jonathan pursed his lips as he thought. His dark eyes narrowed in focus with his straight jaw ticking. Meg took the moment to admire his face, his neck, his shoulders—

  “I love books,” he said. “I am currently reading one on forensics.”

  “Forensics?” Meg asked curiously.

  “Evidence on dead bodies used to solve crimes,” he answered and then laughed when Meg’s lips curled into a smile. “Most women find that repulsive.”

  “I believe they may pretend to find it repulsive,” she said, “but most females have sharp minds, which they hide beneath a vacant facade.”

  “And why do they do that?” Jonathan let a slow grin spread across his face.

  “So as not to frighten men away. Heaven forbid a woman be more intelligent than a man. Who would have her then?”

  A soft chuckle escaped Jonathan’s lips. “Are you one of those women?” he asked.

  Meg frowned. “I’m not married am I? Tell me more of what you enjoy.” She should keep her mouth closed, but for so long she had watched this man, seen him look at the mysterious picture, cooked his meals, and wondered about who and what he was.

  “I love to walk. When I worked in New York I enjoyed walking in the city and parks where you could see a variety of people every day. Here I enjoy the stillness and peace that comes when I go on my walks. I love animals too, as well as music—though I don’t play any instruments.” He cocked his head slyly, “And I immensely enjoy doughnuts.”

  Meg’s eyes widened as Jonathan waited for her reply.

  Anna suddenly walked in, announcing dessert. Meg stood up so fast the chair scooted back an inch. “I’ll help serve it,” she said quickly as she hurried out of the front room.

  Jonathan watched her and looked down at his doctor’s case. She’d smelled like fresh bread and warm butter when he’d examined her. She was thin but strong, and up close, her eyes were pure gold.

  He knew she was nervous. Most women who had been abused would feel that way when touched in any form, but then she began asking him about himself. Her smile had been warm, her eyes full of curiosity. He could have sworn there was an eagerness in her words and desire in her eyes. Of course, he reminded himself, he was not the greatest judge about a woman’s feelings.

  Rose was suddenly by him, her eyes wide with a mischievous smile on her lips. “That seemed to go well.”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Do not tell me you are playing matchmaker, Rose? Things always end badly when you do.”

  “They do not end badly. Besides, in this case it’s obvious both of you harbor a liking towards one another.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “I doubt that woman has any interest in me. I thought she did not remember me, which, by the way, is not a good sign. Then when she knew that I liked cornbread, it proved that she remembers me and is pretending not to, which is even worse. Besides, you know my luck when it comes to romance.”

  Rose waved a careless hand. “Jonathan, I of all people know that romance seldom works out the way it should, but romance is like the tide: It comes as easily as it goes. We cannot watch the waves recede and live in misery thinking they will never return.”

  “Yes, but you cannot force the tide. Maybe if Meg didn’t remember me I would have a chance to make myself more … well, memorable. The fact that she is lying about not knowing me can only mean she doesn’t want to have any link between us.”

  Rose shook her head. “Or she is shy, or ashamed, or confused, or all three. Women can feel a plethora of emotions at the same time, and all of them can be both real and justified.”

  “Just please, Rose, do not push anything. I don’t want another messy heartbreak.”

  His friend shrugged. “Very well, I will try to let you do this on your own. Just tell her the story of you rescuing the baby from a carriage. That will surely make her fall in love with you.”

  Jonathan arched an eyebrow. “I never rescued a baby from a carriage.”

  Rose blinked innocently. “Are you sure? Well, she does not need
to know if it is true or not, now does she?” she teased.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes dramatically and offered his arm to Rose.

  Sixteen

  Cade wanted to ram his head into a wall just to get the images of Rose out of his mind. He was becoming a madman thinking of her. She had not come back! Why had she not come back? Did she not know how crazy he was about her? That he lived and breathed to smell her, to see her, to know that she was always there for him?

  He knew full well that he didn’t deserve her and that he was a disappointment, but he had always planned to change. One day, he had told himself again and again, he would be better and she would have the man she deserved. But that day never came and she grew tired of waiting.

  “Where to?” asked the coach driver.

  “Do you pass Tall Pine?” Cade asked. He was sober right now and felt the undeniable need to go to the cursed place that harbored the woman he was so desperately trying to live without.

  “I do.” The driver laughed when a cloud uncovered the sun and Cade cringed and covered his eyes. “Rough night, was it?”

  Cade chuckled a throaty laugh. “Rough couple of years more like it.” He pulled the money from his pockets and held it up to the driver; even with the little he had it was still much more than most. “Take me to Tall Pine as quick as you can. There is someone I need to see.”

  The driver shrugged and took the money. “You got the look of a betrayed man in your eye. Someone take your money and flee to that valley?”

  Cade did not answer, but merely glared and hauled himself inside the coach. “Took my heart,” he growled to himself. “My heart, my soul, my pride.” His hand slid to the cold steel on his belt. He had not fired his pistol for a long time, not since things began to grow worse between himself and Rose. His work suffered, his family suffered—all for the game. The more he played, the more he hated himself, and the more he hated himself, the more he wanted to play the game. He tapped his pistol; it had been a wedding gift from his father, a goodwill gift symbolizing his acceptance of Cade’s choice in employment.

  “I worry less now that you have a wife,” his father had grinned. “You’ll be more careful, more responsible.”

  Cade had gripped his father in a hug, feeling more proud than any other day of his life. His college degree, his trophies in athletics, none of it compared to the moment that Rose had walked down the aisle. He had a job he loved and a woman who was the world to him.

  “I will love you, protect you, cherish you, and do everything I can to make you happy,” he had told her before God and every witness in the congregation who’d come to celebrate their wedding.

  Cade had done none of it. So Rose had done it herself. She’d found her own happiness, slowly shutting him out, slowly expressing less and less. At first he’d liked it. He no longer had a crying or angry wife waiting for him as he came staggering home after another loss, but then he realized what was happening: She was shutting him out. Replacing him in her heart with some other love. A love that made her glow, that made her laugh again, that gave her a joy not credited to him. Cade rubbed his temples. He’d almost hoped it was another man. At least then there would be someone to fight, someone to blame other than himself, but her actions were as pure as a mountain stream, a stream from which he could no longer drink. He removed his hand from his pistol. What exactly was he planning on doing in Tall Pine? He’d groveled before, telling Rose it was the last time—it never was. He could justify himself with shouting and harsh words. Sadly, he had often done that before, too. It only pushed Rose further from him.

  He knew he would not change. He had told her enough times that he would and both now knew that was impossible. This was him- a failed man.

  “I just want to see her,” he said out loud. Was she as miserable as he was? Was she happy? What about the baby?

  It had been wrong of him to deny a helpless child, but he was a desperate man. So desperate to keep his wife he’d turned his back on an innocent being. When had he turned into this man? “You alright back there?” the driver shouted back.

  The other passenger remained silent. Cade thought the man, too, had seen better days.

  “Yes,” Cade snapped. My life is falling apart. I have no woman, no children, and I am a worthless man with no control, hiding in plain sight. “I am just fine.” He closed his eyes and leaned back, his heart racing with the habitual desire to play and his finger twitching with the need to feel a stack of cards.

  Seventeen

  Meg dropped another pan. She’d been up late again, praying, thinking, and, to her own dismay, crying. It was as if years of pent up emotions were avalanching with an uncontrollable force. She knew prayer would be a bit tricky, but she did not expect for it to be a catharsis.

  “Sorry, gentlemen,” Meg rubbed her forehead, “I am not myself today.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Frank asked, mopping the floor for the fifth time. She’d never met any man who was so clean. Even though she understood these two were peculiar, their need for cleanliness was beyond her.

  Meg shook her head. “I want you two to go get some sleep. I promised the workers chicken fried steak for breakfast, so I’ll want to start the flap jacks early. The steak will be cold if we cook it first.” She smiled at her two helpers, touched by their constant eagerness to help.

  “Chicken fried steak for breakfast?” Bill shook his head, “Madam Claremont would be ashamed.”

  Frank dropped the mop, closed his eyes and began patting his forehead with his left hand over and over. “Stupid! Stupid Frank!” he muttered to himself, trying to clumsily pick up the mop.

  Meg’s eyes widened as Bill himself looked like he was about to cry.

  “Why did I say that? Why, why, why?” Bill asked himself, shaking his head.

  Meg frowned. What was happening? “Gentlemen, who is Madam Claremont?” She instantly regretted her words, because Bill did begin to full out cry, and Frank grabbed the mop and began cleaning so fiercely he fell and continued to mutter and call himself stupid. The behavior frightened Meg. Not that she felt afraid of these young men, they couldn’t kill even a fly—in truth, they couldn’t kill any bug, but instead tried to capture and release any unwanted critters.

  “What is wrong?” Meg cried out. “Please, stop!” She wrung her hands nervously as their behavior intensified.

  A shadow fell through the doorway and Jeffries’s tall frame walked in. “Bill, Frank,” his booming voice filled the kitchen and the two young men fell silent, the muscles in their faces relaxing. Jeffries smiled and spoke slowly. “I want you to go home and drink a cup of hot cocoa. Do you understand?”

  Bill wiped his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Jeffries. We understand.”

  Meg felt her eyes cloud with tears as her two friends walked out the door with hunched shoulders. Had she done something wrong? She looked up at Jeffries whose jaw was clenched.

  “They will be fine, Miss Meg.”

  She sniffed. “What did I do wrong? Bill brought up a Madam Claremont, and I asked about who she was, and then they …”

  The manager shook his head, a fire lighting in his eyes. “Madam Claremont was not a good woman, Miss Meg. She nearly killed those two.”

  Meg felt her skin grow cold. “What do you mean ‘nearly killed them?’”

  Jeffries walked closer and lowered his voice. “When the mother of those two realized they were a bit slow in thinking, she didn’t hesitate in abandoning them on the streets. Naturally, they were put in an orphanage under the guidance of a Madam Claremont. She was a harsh, cruel woman who took advantage of their kind and subservient nature. They were forced to clean day and night, and if anything was not up to Claremont’s approval, they were beaten and left in the cellar to freeze and starve for three days at a time. This went on most of their life. I am sure you have noticed how clean and tidy they are—that is because they got beaten if they weren’t.”

  Meg’s throat tightened and tears fell down her cheeks. Sweet twins—her sweet twin
s. Why were people so wicked? Why did they prey off weak things like the twins, like her?

  “How did they come here?” Meg asked.

  “Mr. Castle and I met up with an associate who had recently adopted a son. This boy told his parents about the twins and they told us. Naturally, we investigated and it was worse than one could imagine. The place was shut down, and I took the two boys to live at my place. The first thing they tasted was hot cocoa. It represents their freedom, their first taste of freedom. It is the one thing that calms them when they have their moments.”

  Meg wiped her eyes.

  “I did not mean to upset you.” Jeffries frowned and scrunched his hat in his hands, “But, I do think it is important that you know.”

  “I am glad you told me.” Meg nodded affirmatively. She would make sure those two had a cup of hot cocoa every morning. “Do they still live with you?”

  Jeffries chuckled. “No, and yes. Clark and I built them a house behind mine. So we all live on the edge of the dairy,” he sighed. “Thank goodness we found them.” He shook his shoulders, shrugging off the memory. “I was wondering if there was any pie left over? I could use something sweet.”

  Meg nodded and walked over to the pantry to pull out a small slice of cherry pie she had been saving for herself. She wrapped it up and handed it to Jeffries, her own problems seeming that much smaller.

  /

  Jonathan felt like a fool. Why had a he brought flowers? What was he thinking? How many times would he have to suffer humiliation before he learned that love was elusive? Especially when it came to him.

  He’d rode up to the dairy kitchen only to notice Meg’s warm brown hair flying in the wind as she took cover in the outhouse. It was obvious she was avoiding him. He wished he could stop being attracted to women who found him so unappealing. He left the flowers with Mrs. Castle and hurried to his next appointment. If he were smart, he would stay away from Meg, which was what he had successfully done the past week or so. But for the last few nights, he’d dreamt about her, and her golden eyes, about her tender smile, about the way she had felt beneath his touch.