“Yes!” She nodded, liking this man more and more. “Those were my sentiments exactly!”
They walked in companionable silence for another block.
“May I ask you something else, Mrs. Boyd? Something of a far more personal nature?”
The tone of his question roused her curiosity. “Of course.” She took the stairs to the boardwalk, glad there were few pedestrians.
“Let me preface my question by saying that under normal circumstances I would never inquire about this. But understanding how closely I’m working with Mr. and Mrs. Mullins, and that we’re partners in the store now . . .” He sighed, looking down. “I’m making a mess of this.”
Rachel smiled, hoping to ease his discomfort. “Why not simply ask the question outright? That’s often best.”
He nodded. “I showed Ben a picture of my grandchildren the other day, one my daughter sent me last week, and then I asked him whether he and Lyda had any children.”
Rachel winced and saw him do the same.
“It was a thoughtless question on my part, I realized immediately. But Ben was gracious, as seems his nature. He told me they’d had a boy and a girl, twins, but that their children were gone now. That’s all he said. And, of course, I didn’t press for more. But I was wondering if . . .”
“You’d like to know what happened,” Rachel said softly, understanding.
Eyes remorseful, yet hopeful, he nodded.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me telling you, Mr. Westin. Most everyone in town knows, at least those who’ve lived here long enough.” Rachel confined her gaze to the weathered planks passing beneath her boots, but her eyes briefly closed as an image of the children returned. She slowed her steps. “It’s been eight years ago now. The twins were four years old. It was winter, and it had been snowing throughout the day.” She felt a shiver, not from the memory of the bitter cold as much as the anguish in Lyda’s face when she and Thomas had arrived at the house.
“Ben and Lyda had taken the children sledding. Up on a hill near the edge of town. It wasn’t until they’d gotten home that their daughter realized she’d left her doll behind. A storm had moved in, and it was snowing hard by then.” Rachel stopped at the end of the boardwalk and looked out across the street, remembering. Mr. Westin stood beside her, quiet. “When they put the children to bed, little Ellie Grace was still crying for her doll. Their son, Andrew, said he’d go back and look for it. But, of course, Ben and Lyda said no, that they’d go look for it the next day.” Just as she and Thomas would have done.
Rachel clenched her jaw, still unable to fathom what Ben and Lyda had gone through, the regret they still carried. “Next morning, they found the children’s beds empty, and the front door ajar.”
Edward Westin slowly bowed his head.
“Search parties combed the hill where they’d been sledding, then all around town and up into the foothills. But the snow covered whatever tracks there’d been. Come nightfall, the men lit fires up there along the ridge”—she pointed—“near our home, hoping the children would see them and find their way.” She shook her head, remembering how she and Lyda stood in the biting wind and snow, waiting, praying, feeling hope slip away like a whisper on the wind. “They found Andrew and Ellie Grace the next morning. . . . They’d fallen through the ice on a creek near where they’d been sledding.”
A deep sigh sounded beside her, but Rachel didn’t look over.
“Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Boyd.” A moment passed before he spoke again. “It’s one thing to lose your spouse, as you and I well know. But I can’t begin to imagine the pain Evelyn and I would have experienced if we’d had to bury our children.”
The warm breeze was cool on her cheeks, and Rachel wiped away the moisture, recalling details she hadn’t shared with Edward Westin. Ben had accompanied one of the search parties. Lyda wanted to go too, but they urged her to stay near home, in case the children returned. Everyone knew how searches went in the mountains. Two shots were fired when the person was found alive. Only one shot was fired when the body was recovered. Ben had told Lyda to listen for two shots. But only one shot came.
They walked on, until Westin paused at the next street. “I think I’ll head over to the store, see how things are going.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Westin, for dinner and for your excellent counsel. I’ll let you know my decision as soon as it’s made.” She hesitated, wanting to word her observation the right way. “It sounds like your Evelyn was an extraordinary woman. I wish I could have known her. Thomas and I were only married for twelve years. I can’t comprehend the loss you must be feeling after thirty-six years with someone.”
“Thirty-six wonderful years that I would relive again in a heartbeat, if I could. You’re a beautiful young woman, Mrs. Boyd. I pray you have the opportunity to share your life with someone for that long. There’s incredible joy in knowing your partner so well.”
Not knowing quite how to respond to that, she decided some humor was needed to offset the seriousness. “I don’t know whether or not I’ll ever marry again. But if I do, it will be for love. Not for a loan!”
He smiled, rubbing his jawline. “And if I ever marry again, Mrs. Boyd”—he gave her a wink—“it’ll be when a woman looks at me the way you look at Rand Brookston . . . when you think no one else is looking.”
He chuckled as he walked away.
30
By the time Rand got to Rachel’s house it was nearly dark. He’d been looking forward to this night all week, and despite being dog tired, he wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else. True to her word, Rachel served a delicious roast dinner, complete with tiny potatoes and all the trimmings, and he enjoyed every bite and every minute with her and the boys.
After dinner, Kurt disappeared from the table only to return a minute later with a box in his hands. “Can you stay to play dominoes?”
Rachel shook her head. “Dr. Brookston’s had a long day, son. We need to let him—”
Rand touched her arm. “Sure I can. But only if we can play more than one game. I hear you and your brother are mean domino players, so you need to give me a fair chance to win.”
Later, the boys in bed, he readied to leave, and Rachel walked him to the door.
She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, quieter than she’d been all evening. “I’m glad you came tonight, Rand.”
“I am too, Rachel.” He loved it when her mouth tipped up on one side like that. Sort of a half smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”
She stared, her expression all but lost to him in the shadows. “And thank you again for the wonderful evening at the resort. Even though it’s been a week, the boys are still talking about it, as you saw at dinner. It really made an impression on them.”
He wanted to kiss her so badly but held back, not wanting to move too quickly, having promised himself he’d be patient. But that was easier said than done. He’d seen her the other afternoon with Edward Westin at Miss Clara’s cafe. She’d told him beforehand about the meeting so he wasn’t surprised to see them there together. He’d gone out of his way not to intrude, to give her space. More than once in recent days, he’d asked her about the ranch, and she always told him, “I’m managing just fine.”
He knew she wasn’t, and he wished she would confide in him about it. But again, he was determined not to push. He thought of his meeting with James that same afternoon and knew Rachel had to have seen them. He’d been more nervous than he’d thought he would be and was glad that particular task was behind him.
Slowly, Rachel rose on tiptoe, and for one brief, hopeful second he thought she might be issuing an invitation. But just as quickly, she pressed her lips against his cheek and then retreated into the cabin, giving him one last smile before closing the door.
Carrying that smile with him, along with her kiss, he stopped by the clinic to make sure no one had left a note requesting his assistance, then headed back out to the resort.
After checking on Ben, he fel
l into bed, exhausted, only to awaken in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep. He heard Ben coughing and went to check on him, taking one of several lamps he kept lit.
On the off chance Lyda was still asleep on the cot across the room, he kept the light low so as not to awaken her. “You all right, Ben?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Ben finally whispered back. “I’m fine, Doc.” But he didn’t sound it.
Rand moved closer, lamplight illuminating his steps. “Is there anything I can get you? Are you experiencing any pain?”
“No. I’m fine. Just can’t sleep for some reason.” His laugh held no humor. “Maybe ’cause that’s all I’ve been doing lately.”
Rand got him a drink of water, and they spoke softly in the dark. When Ben’s cough persisted, Rand gave him a dose of laudanum. Lyda stirred on the cot, and Rand was almost certain she was awake. Yet she said nothing.
Ben took a breath and exhaled. “This time of night’s got to be the loneliest of all, Doc. Feels like everybody else in the world is asleep.” Reminiscence thickened his voice. “Makes a man take inventory of his life and wish he’d done better with the time God gave him.”
Hollow regret filled the silence.
Rand knew the root of Ben’s feelings. This kind of reflection, and regret, was common when people were facing their own mortality. “I’d wager most men haven’t done half as well as you have, Ben, with the way they’ve lived their lives. I know your wife would agree. And I think the people in town would too.”
Ben didn’t say anything, but his quiet sniff a minute later was answer enough.
Rand took hold of his hand. “Could I pray for you, Ben?”
Ben’s feeble grip tightened, and Rand bowed his head.
“I’m tired of this place, Doc. I want to go home.”
Rand situated the pillows behind Ben’s head and warmed the bell-shaped end of the stethoscope in his palm, hearing the weariness in Ben’s voice. And no wonder, with how Ben had slept during the night. “I know you do. But you’re not strong enough to make the trip just yet. Especially not with what happened this morning.” The heart episode he’d experienced following breakfast hadn’t been severe, but Rand knew that keeping him at the resort for another few days would be best. “The swelling in your legs and feet tells me you’re retaining a substantial amount of fluid. The medicine I gave you earlier should help that, but we need to give it a couple of days.” He paused, waiting until Ben looked at him. “I promise, Ben. . . . As soon as you’re able, we’ll get you home.”
Ben stared up for several long seconds, then closed his eyes.
Rand positioned the stethoscope on his chest, not unsympathetic to Ben’s request, nor having forgotten his and Ben’s conversation during the early-morning hours. “Take some deep breaths for me, if you would. Hold . . . then exhale.”
Eyes closed, Ben cooperated and Rand heard what he did not want to hear. Fluid was thick and tight around Ben’s lungs. Again.
The low howl of wind drew Rand’s attention outside, and he watched a cluster of stalwart pines—some seventy feet tall and two feet around—sway to and fro, yielding to nature’s will.
Since noon, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. Typical for a late Colorado spring, winter was returning to the mountains for one final, bitter stand.
“Doc?”
Rand looked up.
“I’m grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me. For everything you’ve helped me do for Lyda. The extra time you bought me . . .” He smiled his easy smile and drew in a breath. “But I don’t want to spend my last days here in this place. I want to be back in my own bed . . . in the room above the store . . . where Lyda and I first lived when we moved to Timber Ridge.” His exhale carried a weight of fatigue and memories. “Where we used to lie in bed at night . . . dream of all we’d do with the store. Where she gave birth to our children. And where—” His voice caught. “Where we held them for the last time.” He stared ahead, not bothering to wipe away the tears. “I don’t mean any disrespect by this, but . . . it only seems right that the person dyin’ should get to choose.”
The words resonated within Rand. And not for the first time with this man, he felt less like the doctor and more like the patient. Part of him wanted to argue, wanted to try and persuade Ben to keep on fighting, to hold on to this life. Then he looked at Ben, and as if looking into a mirror, he saw himself—in this situation, in these circumstances—and a certainty settled deep inside him, silencing every remaining argument.
Head bowed, he covered Ben’s hand with his. “You’re right,” he said softly. “The person dying should get to choose.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll make the arrangements, and we’ll have you home tonight.”
He prayed Ben would survive the ride back into town, through the bitter cold, over the washboard roads. Yet he feared the odds of that happening were slim. But if that was what Ben wanted, that is what he would do. Slipping the stethoscope back into his bag, he glanced out the window, the gray of late day gradually giving way to approaching evening—and he paused. Then he squinted to make sure what he was seeing was real.
He’d seen God work in many ways, but this . . . He felt the touch of a smile inside, sensing those less-than-favorable odds shift in their favor.
31
Rand checked the clock over the mantel again. A quarter past eight and it was already dark. When he’d spotted the first snowflake, he’d thought it was an answer to prayer.
Now he wondered. . . .
In the past hour, the storm had intensified. The wind gusted, churning the snow sideways and pelting the windows with bits of ice. Where was Charlie? And why was he taking so long? All he had to do was go to Rachel’s house, then come back. Rand rubbed the back of his neck. He’d told Charlie to wait until enough snow had fallen to smooth the roads, not bury the Rockies.
He looked at Ben lying in the bed, and at Lyda beside him in the chair. The room was quiet, still—yet he felt a tension. A weariness. The moments crept by with each ticktock of the clock on the wall. Perhaps Charlie’s not showing up was a sign that they weren’t supposed to try and make this trip today after all. He’d made Ben a promise, but surely Ben would understand if the weather—
The door to the Health Suite burst open. Mitch and Kurt came barreling in, Rachel a few steps behind.
Mitch’s hair was plastered to his head, wet with snow. “Mama says to tell you we’re here!”
Kurt skidded to a halt by Ben’s bed. “We’re supposed to make sure you’re bundled up, Uncle Ben. But that’s all we’re supposed to say.”
Rand didn’t miss the exaggerated look of warning the older brother gave the younger, nor the playful look Rachel gave them both. She smiled up at him, and instantly, Rand felt his spirits brighten. As did the mood in the room.
Rachel leaned down and kissed Ben’s cheek. “Your carriage awaits, kind sir. Are you ready to take a ride?”
Grinning like he hadn’t done in days, Ben waggled his brows. “That depends on who’s drivin’!”
She chuckled. “Let’s get you out of that bed and bundled up, and we’ll take you to see!”
With everyone helping, they got Ben ready and situated in the wheelchair. Rand administered a dose of laudanum and digitalis, both preventative measures for the trip. As Lyda tucked a second blanket around Ben, Rand pulled Rachel aside.
“You are an absolute answer to prayer,” he whispered, meaning it in so many ways.
She looked into his eyes, and only then did he glimpse how difficult this was for her, how much she was hurting, despite her cheery demeanor. They weren’t just “taking Ben home,” and she knew it.
She pressed a hand to his chest. “Please . . . don’t make me cry, Rand,” she whispered, her smile tremulous. “Not now.” Taking a deep breath, she turned. “Mitch, Kurt, grab those bags, and we’ll be on our way!”
Rand watched her, admiring her strength and courage, and her love for Ben and Lyda.
With Ben
in the wheelchair, dressed warmly and with extra blankets tucked around him, they headed for the lobby. Guests of the resort mingled in small clusters, drinks in hand. Some looked their way and smiled. But every employee they saw paused from their work to come and hug Ben and Lyda and say their good-byes.
The bellman held open the doors, and Rand pushed Ben’s wheelchair through, readying himself for a chilling blast of wind. But none came.
The night was absolute stillness. Not a breath of wind stirred. Snow continued to fall, but the flakes drifted lazily downward, unhurried and unhindered, cushioning every footfall and muffling their voices.
“Well, I’ll be,” Ben said softly.
Rand wasn’t sure whether Ben was referring to the night’s quiet, or to the huge sleigh wagon Charlie Daggett stood beside, but he shared the reaction.
Lyda turned to Rachel. “Where on earth did you find that wagon?”
“I didn’t.” Rachel gestured. “Charlie did. It belongs to a family in Little Italy. They were kind enough to let us borrow it. That’s what took us a little longer.”
Charlie stepped forward. “We got you a nice, warm spot back here, Mr. Mullins. You too, Miss Lyda. We warmed up some bricks and stuffed them down beneath so it’d be nice and cozy for you.” Charlie ran a hand along the oversized wagon bed layered with hay and blankets. “It’s gonna be nice havin’ you back in the store, sir.”
Once Ben and Lyda were comfortable, covered up and toasty, the boys burrowed in with them. Rand assisted Rachel and claimed a spot beside her. He leaned closer. “Why do I have a feeling this isn’t everything you and Charlie have planned?”
She laughed softly but said nothing.
After a jerky start, the sleigh glided across the fresh-fallen snow like warm butter over homemade bread. A myriad of stars twinkled above, and the blanketed ground reflected the moonlight, making it easy to see the path ahead.
Within My Heart Page 29