Select

by Patricia Reding

  “Can you believe it, Mara?” Jo asked, approaching. “He,” she motioned Dixon’s way, “wouldn’t let me see you. And Mother is worried sick about you.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Mara said, her comment directed at Dixon.

  “Oh, of course you are. I’m sorry.” After helping her to sit up, he grabbed the cup of water from the table and then brought it to her lips. “Not too fast now,” he cautioned.

  She took a swallow, waited a moment, then took another.

  He lowered the cup.

  “More,” she insisted.

  “Here, let me do that.” Jo reached for the mug.

  He pulled it away before she could take it from him. “I’ve got it.” He glared at her, willing her to leave.

  “I told you. Mother and I can take care of her quite well on our own. Your services are no longer required.”

  He put the cup down and stood, just inches separating him from the woman. “I’m not going anywhere, Jo.”

  She scowled at him, then turned her attention to her sister. “Mara, tell him that’s enough now. We’re family.” She turned back to face him. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  “Clearly, Jo, he’s someone who sees you for who you are,” Mara said.

  Jo’s head snapped her way. “What did you say?”

  When Mara tried to sit up straighter, Dixon assisted her, stuffing pillows behind her back. Once comfortable, she looked back at her sister, her expression emotionless.

  “You heard me. You’re not fooling anyone here. Not anymore anyway.”

  “Well, I never!”

  “That’s right—you never. You never cared about anyone but yourself. You never considered anyone but yourself. You’ve never given a thought to me, or about anything concerning me, unless it served a purpose for you. What purpose do you intend that I should serve for you now, Jo? Find you a man? Raise your child? Your children? What? What do you think you have in store for me this time, Jo?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well now, you got that right. It is ridiculous. So just go away. Your ways will not work with me any longer. I don’t know what drove me back here, but I guess I can be grateful that it didn’t take long for me to recognize what drove me away in the first place.” She closed her eyes. “Rest assured, I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Mara looked back at her sister. “What Jo? What’s the excuse this time? That I’m being selfish? That I’m having a tantrum? That I should get over myself? That I’m not one to judge? Well, you know what, Jo? Even if all those things are true, so too is this: it’s not going to work anymore.” Each word was focused, determined, emphasized.

  She pointed to the door. “Now, go away. And don’t let me see you again—ever. Because the thought makes me want to shoot something, and the next time I can’t promise that it won’t be you.”

  “Well!”

  “Go. Away.”

  It was as though, for the first time ever, Jo heard her sister and realized that she had no hold on her. She turned toward the door.

  “I’ll see to arrangements for Hedda,” Mara said. “Considering the manner in which you’ve allowed her to live, I’m confident you’re not about to do so. But you can let her know that I’ll not be by to see her again.”

  Jo stepped out without another word.

  Dixon caught Mara’s eye and grinned. “That’s my girl!”

  She smiled weakly. Gradually, it became more genuine. “Dear Ehyeh, but that felt good!” Then, quite suddenly, her expression fell. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Dixon, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “For what happened—just before I passed out. For . . . what I said.” She put her hand to her mouth.

  He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  A knock came at the door.

  Dixon watched her closely. Finally, he tore his gaze away and looked back to the door.

  “May I?” Channer asked.

  “Yes, certainly. Please, do come in. Our patient is much better.”

  Dixon was bewildered. Had Mara remembered things? It seemed she had when she said, before passing out, that being in his arms was the right place for her. Yet now she seemed distant again. What could have happened? Had he misunderstood her?

  Channer approached, smiling broadly. “Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  “Channer?” Mara cocked her head and blinked repeatedly.

  “Yes, that’s right.” He pulled up another chair, then sat down. “I’m glad to see you’re better. You had us worried. How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m . . . well.” She bit her lip. “It’s good to see you.” It could not go unnoticed that she seemed to appreciate that the man had aged considerably since she’d last seen him. Indeed, he’d gone from young adulthood, to middle age. His hair had grayed, he’d dropped some of the thickness of young strength, and crow’s feet framed his eyes.

  “Did Dixon tell you that I haven’t been well?”

  “Yes, I hear you’ve lost a bit of time. Still, from your recent exchange with Jo here, I can see you’ve lost none of your spirit.”

  She smiled. “You were right, you know. I don’t owe her my life. I imagine she just wanted me to come back here so she’d have someone to take advantage of, to order about, or to blame for whatever went wrong. I guess that’s true of Hedda, as well. When I think on it, I never really was part of their . . . family.”

  “Well, as to Jo, I don’t doubt your intuition. Hedda’s just . . . lonely.”

  “Huh. If you say so.” She looked away. “How is Seth?”

  “Seth? Oh, he’s . . . well. You did the right thing, you know. You gave him a wonderful home and a loving family.”

  She nodded. “I still miss him.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to pass your good sentiments to him and to Martin . . . and Grace.”

  “Thank you. Are they well? Martin and Grace, I mean?”

  Channer’s eyes flickered toward Dixon, as though he was unsure what to say. “Ahhh, yes, they’re . . . well. You gave them a wonderful blessing, and their lives were—are—full because of it.”

  Not catching the man’s slip, Mara turned Dixon’s way. “How long was I out this time?”

  “Ahhh . . .” He shrugged. There was no sense trying to hide the truth. “Three days.”

  “Hmmm.” She bit her lip. “I had another one of those strange dreams.”

  “Oh?”

  “About those twins. Remember? Reigna and Eden?” She tipped her head. “But that was before . . . It was when I was in The Meadow.”

  He poured another cup of water, his hands trembling. So, she’d traveled again to the twins. How confusing this must all be for her—not to mention for them.

  “What did you dream this time?” he finally asked when he felt he could keep the shaking out of his voice.

  She closed her eyes. “It’s so strange. They seem so real, these dreams.” She looked back up.

  He helped her with another drink. “So, what did you dream?”

  “The girls—well, they are young women really. I suppose they must be nearly my age.” She paused. “They were . . . in a strange place covered with snow.” She shivered. “It was freezing there.”

  “But I thought you said they were in a desert.”

  “They were—the first time. But this time it was more like the tundra.”

  “Were they all right? In your dream, I mean?” Once again, Dixon’s hands shook. He folded them, and then dropped them to hide them. “Was anyone else with them?” he asked.

  “No. I mean—yes, they were all right. Well, that is, I think they were going to be all right once they ate. But they were alone. I . . . I killed a stag. No,” she said, holding up her hand, “that’s not right. I killed the stag in The Meadow. But in my dream the two places were all mixed up together.” Her brow dropped. “In my dream the twins were in
desperate need of food and I . . . I brought the stag to them.”

  He nodded. “Good. That’s good. So your dream had a happy ending.” Things didn’t sound good for the twins, and he wished he knew more, but he wanted to change the subject. “How are you feeling now? Any better?”

  “Listen, I can see you two have a lot to discuss,” Channer interrupted. “I just wanted to be sure you were all right, Mara.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Channer. I just— It’s just so odd . . . to lose time.”

  “I understand.” He stood, scraping his chair against the floor. “Let me know if you need anything,” he added to no one in particular.

  Mara and Dixon watched as he stepped out and then closed the door.

  In his absence, silence reigned.

  Finally, Mara reached out and placed her hand over Dixon’s.

  He fought the urge to intertwine his fingers with hers. He looked up at her, his heart in his eyes.

  “I’m so—” She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Dixon.”

  “Sorry?”

  She removed her hand. “I said something to you just before I passed out. I remember what I said, but then, no sooner were the words out, that I remembered something else.”

  “You should just get some rest now.” He started to his feet.

  “No.” She held her hand up, urging him back to his seat. “You need to know that I . . . understand and that I’m . . . so sorry for—”

  “I don’t understand,” he interrupted, trying unsuccessfully, to smile. Tears pooled in his eyes. “What are you sorry about?”

  She appeared to fight back tears. “You see, I remembered something earlier—when you asked me to go to sanctuary with you. When we were at Hedda’s, I mean. You told me it would be good for me to get out. I had a . . . a glimpse—just a glimmer really—of a memory. It seemed to flutter through my mind. It was a memory of another time you told me something like that. You and I . . . We were in a city somewhere. You told me it would be good for me to get out. Then, we walked.” She closed her eyes. Tears flowed. “That’s true, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She wiped her tears away. “That night we confessed . . . Well . . .” Once again, she swallowed hard. “I know Dixon. I know that we can’t be together.”

  He was confused. If she remembered that night, then she must remember her connection to the twins. It was because of her oath for their safety that the two of them had been unable to be together. His charge, Rowena, was already dead, so he was no longer subject to his oath.

  He patted a rhythm on his knee. “What do you remember about that night?” he asked.

  “Not much, really. I just remember that we agreed never again to speak of our feelings. I remember that we can’t be together.”

  He pursed his lips, wondering what he could say to set her straight.

  “I know that your charge no longer lives. You told me so yourself. So that can only mean one thing.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

  “That you’re already married.”

  He struggled to catch his breath. She remembered the night he’d first confessed his love for her. It was before the two of them had discovered that they could commit themselves to one another after all. But somehow, she got the memory wrong—or incomplete anyway.

  “I’m surprised your wife would let you go away for so long, and to help me.”

  “My wife?”

  “Was it Basha? Or . . . what was her name? Lucy, I think. Or—”

  “Oh no! No, I’m not married . . . to either of them.”

  “But you are married. Right?” Tears sprang to her eyes. A moment passed in silence. “Well?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I just— I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes. “It felt so right to be in your arms when we were in The Meadow. I hadn’t yet remembered that . . . it wasn’t possible.” She looked at him again, held his gaze for a long moment. “But I’ll . . . abide by our agreement,” she whispered as she turned away.

  He sat, mute. He could think of nothing to say.

  “I think you should go now,” she said, softly.

  “Mara, I—”

  “I’ll be all right, Dixon. I need some rest is all. I have to get better so I won’t be a burden to anyone any longer—least of all, to you.” She pulled her knees up and curled into a fetal position, but said no more.

  Mara slept, on and off, for a couple days, gradually increasing her strength. Just the day before, she’d met with Hedda’s neighbor, Devan, leaving him with sufficient funds to see to her mother’s care for an extended time. She provided gold coins she found in her saddlebag—gold Dixon insisted belonged to her. Then she arranged for a housekeeper to see to her mother’s needs, from cleaning, to preparing meals, to providing medical care, should it become necessary. Devan, with Channer’s assistance and oversight, would supervise the funds. In exchange, Mara insisted that both men take a fee for their services. She promised to stay in touch so that if they required anything more, she could see to it. Only a single proviso did she require: under no circumstances whatsoever were any of the funds to be used for the benefit of Jo or Jo’s own.

  Notwithstanding the many plans she made on her mother’s behalf, Mara adamantly refused to see the woman. Though both Dixon and Channer suggested she at least stop in to inform Hedda of the arrangements she’d made, Mara would have none of it. She was convinced that her mother wasn’t interested in seeing her. Hedda, like Jo, didn’t want Mara in her life. Rather, she wanted what Mara could provide. So be it. She would make provision and then take her leave.

  Unbeknownst to her, Dixon stopped in to see Hedda one afternoon while Mara rested. He informed her of the plans for her welfare. Hedda had said nothing in response. As to Jo, it seemed she’d returned to wherever it was she’d come from.

  On this day, Mara awakened feeling truly refreshed for the first time since her hunt, buoyed with the knowledge that she’d soon put Barton Lake behind her. After some discussions with Dixon—initially rather uncomfortable ones—she agreed he could accompany her further. Their destination: the City of Light. The decision came about when she insisted that he share with her, information about other places she’d been in the past. She was convinced that just as Barton Lake had triggered some past memories, so too might other places bring new facts to her awareness.

  “Thank you for everything, Channer,” Mara said as she embraced her old friend.

  He held her for as long as possible.

  Oblivious to his extended embrace or feelings for her—feelings that hadn’t waned in all the intervening years—she stepped back.

  “Are you ready to go then?” Dixon asked, hoping she’d respond as she had of old. But now, aware of the mutual feelings the two shared, she was even more distant than when their journey first began.

  “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll see to Hedda,” Channer assured her.

  “Thank you.” Mara made a final adjustment to the gear tied to her horse, then saddled up. “Dixon,” she said, turning his way, “who is Cheryl?”

  “Cheryl?”

  “Yes. Do I know a Cheryl?”

  He thought for a moment. “The only Cheryl I know is a horse you had ye—some time back.”

  Not noticing his slip she grinned. “That must be it.”

  After he mounted, they both waved farewell to Channer.

  Midmorning came and went as the two traveled, for the most part, silently. Occasionally, Mara glanced Dixon’s way, as though reassuring herself of his presence.

  “It was good of you to accompany me,” she said after an extended silence. “I would understand if you chose not to.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgement. What could he say? That nothing could keep him from her side?

  “Tell me, Dixon, when we traveled together before, how did that come about? Why were you with me?”

  “I guess it was for much the same reason that I travel wi
th you now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “For safety’s sake.”

  “I see.” She tightened her cape around her shoulders, shutting out the cool breeze.

  “Are you cold?” Try though he might, he couldn’t keep the concern, the care, out of his voice.

  “No. Well . . . yes. But I’m fine.”

  He watched her fidget. “Something on your mind?”

  “Hmmm. I just keep getting these images of names and faces. They tease my thoughts for a moment and then . . . disappear.”

  “I see.” He bit his lip. “Anyone in particular you’re thinking of?”

  She glanced his way. “Who are Drake and . . . Meg? Meggie? No, that’s not right. Uhhh . . . Marjorie? No, that’s not right either.”

  “Maggie.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Who are they?”

  “They were just some old friends of mine.”

  Mara’s brow dropped. “Were?”

  After stealing a glance behind, Dixon turned his gaze back. “That’s right.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Ahhh, they— They . . . died.”

  She pursed her lips, in apparent concentration. “No . . . that’s not right. They didn’t just . . . die. Someone killed them.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  She brushed hair from her face. “I knew them though, didn’t I? They lived in a— Oh gracious Good One!” She drew back on her reins. “That was Drake and Maggie’s place we were at before, wasn’t it? That cottage we stopped at?” She stared at him. “Right? Isn’t that right?”

  He stopped at her side. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “But they were such lovely people!” She closed her eyes as though calling up her memories. “Drake had unruly hair. It shot straight up from the top of his head. And Maggie was . . . plump.” She chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s no laughing matter, I know. But she . . . Well, I remember thinking how she was so round that she would be as tall lying down, as standing up!”

  Dixon laughed. “You’ve got them right.”

  “But who would want them dead?”

  He was momentarily at a loss for words. “There are all kinds of evil in the world,” he finally said. “Someone wanted something from them, and when they got what they wanted, they killed them.”