When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  Leigh had almost reached the end of the corridor, and was pulling on her gloves, when she stopped abruptly. She’d just passed Guy’s room when a sound startled her.

  “Guy?” Leigh called to her brother from outside his closed door. “May I come in, please?” she asked worriedly, knocking sharply.

  “Yes, come in,” his voice came faintly to her.

  “Are you ill? I was passing by your door and I heard you cry out,” Leigh explained as she entered his room. “Have you had an accident? I thought I heard something crash to the floor and break.”

  “I’m all right, Leigh. Don’t worry. It was just my usual clumsiness,” Guy said with ill-contained impatience.

  “You’ve had another attack, haven’t you? It was that sharp pain behind your eyes again?” Leigh asked in growing concern as she walked over to where he lay in bed, the covers tumbled into disorder, as if he’d spent a restless night.

  As she stepped closer to straighten the coverlet, she heard a crunching noise beneath her boot and glanced down to see shards of broken china scattered across the floor.

  “Leave it, Leigh. Don’t cut yourself,” he warned brusquely.

  “Guy? What have you done? Your hand is bleeding.”

  “Yes, dear, I cut myself,” he commented in far too patient a voice. “Careless me. Have I dripped blood all over the coverlet? Ruined it for good this time? Spilled soup on it yesterday, and eggs the morning before. Why should today be any different? I’m just another child the maids have to clean up after,” he added in self-disgust, his hand shaking as he tried to stanch the flow of blood.

  Unconsciously, Leigh sighed, for Guy had been doing so well since they’d arrived at Royal Rivers. He had seemed almost his old self. But even had he not lost his sight, he would never be the same Guy Patrick Travers. And she was glad, because she liked the thoughtful, conscientious man he’d become much better than the indolent young gentleman who’d cared more for his own needs than those of others. It wasn’t that Guy had ever been truly selfish, just thoughtless and accustomed to having everything he wanted because he was handsome and amiable, and possessed the Travers name. She’d first seen the change in him when in Virginia, when he’d returned to Travers Hill from the war. And even had he not been sightless, Leigh suspected he would still have sat for hours staring blindly, a disbelieving expression on his face as he searched the darkness for an answer. But his face had contorted in anguish when he found no comfort in the reason for what had happened to him, to his family and friends, to the life they had known at Travers Hill. Gradually, though, as his wounds had healed, she’d sensed that Guy had in some way found a peace within, and he began to accept his blindness, making a valiant effort to live a normal life again.

  He had seemed especially content since reaching Royal Rivers, and Leigh suspected Lys Helene had something to do with that, for she and Guy were always together, laughing, talking, walking in the courtyard or across the grounds of the rancho, her small hand, with a gentle firmness that might have surprised some, guiding his steps. But all of that had changed since he’d had the accident. He’d stumbled over a stool carelessly left in the center of his room and fallen and struck his head.

  “I’m sorry, Leigh. Forgive me? I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”

  “No, just a bit of a grumpy bear of late. But you suffered a serious blow to your head, and we all understand you haven’t been well. You’re being too hard on yourself. No one else blames you, or expects you to be norm—” Leigh began, letting her words trail off as she touched his hand almost apologetically.

  “To be normal?” he concluded for her, less sensitive to the truth than she. “Just an invalid to be cared for day and night?” he asked, grasping her hand tightly. “I won’t have it, Leigh, I won’t live this way, not any more, not now that I…to think that now I might—oh, what the hell, it’s just another foolish dream,” he swore, a note of exasperation in his voice, but Leigh caught another note.

  “What is it? Is there something you’re not telling me, Guy? Are you in pain anywhere else? If you’ve suffered some injury other than the blow to your head, then I should tell Nathaniel. He’ll find a doctor,” she told him, starting to pull away.

  But Guy’s grasp on her hand tightened more painfully as he held her by the bed. “I didn’t want to say anything yet because I’m not certain. But, Leigh, for just an instant, I thought I could see again!”

  Leigh tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to find the proper words to say, or even if she had, should they even be words of encouragement? She didn’t want him to hope for a miracle that would never happen.

  Guy laughed harshly. “Oh, I know. I don’t need to see your face to know what you’re thinking. It is in my mind, isn’t it? Wishful thinking? Maybe. I don’t know. I feel so confused. But Leigh, I shouldn’t still be suffering such damnable headaches. I know our mother suffered from her famous migraines, but this is quite different. My headaches do not come at my beck and call as I once suspected our mother’s did. I never had a headache in my life until that concussion and wound to my head. I still have the occasional one, but not like I did at first. I swear, when I was first wounded I heard bells ringing in my ears for months. I thought I would go mad. I’m hearing that ringing again, Leigh,” he confided.

  Leigh didn’t have the heart to tell him that the chapel bell had been ringing a few minutes earlier.

  “And I’m not mad. But why am I still dizzy? I’ve no balance at all, and I can hardly sit up in bed without falling flat.”

  “Don’t you remember how hard you hit your head on the corner of the chest? The chest was slammed against the wall, making a hole in it and knocking down one of the wall sconces. We actually found a small sliver of metal protruding from your scalp. We thought you were dead, Guy, you were so still and ashen. And there was so much blood. It’s unfortunate you reinjured the old wound. That sliver of metal must have sliced right along the scar, making a very deep cut. Although, Nathaniel is still puzzled, since there was so much blood on the corner of the chest, and he can’t see where the metal chipped off the sconce.”

  “I thought you told me all of my hair had grown back over that scar,” Guy accused her good-naturedly as he ran his fingers through the chestnut hair that grew thickly over the tender scar slashing above his forehead. “Makes for good padding.”

  “Chestnut-top,” Leigh said, echoing Stuart James’s words of endearment spoken to her years ago. “That’s probably why you weren’t killed. You can’t even get a comb through it without tangling it into knots. Maybe I should have one of the sheep shearers come in and cut it for you, and we’ll weave the strands into a cap you can wear to protect that head of yours.”

  “Don’t need it. The Travers family is a hardheaded lot.”

  “Well your head isn’t that hard. It was rather difficult not to see the bump pushing up from your bloodied scalp, and right on the scar. It was awful. And that was not very amusing.”

  “Stephen said it was bigger than a sweet, sun-ripened plum, and just as purple.”

  “If you felt as bad as it looked, I’m not surprised you had a headache. And it is not unusual to have dizziness after such a blow. Or,” she added slowly, “to think you were seeing bright lights inside your head.”

  “The last stars I saw were in the cross on the battle flag waving in front of me as I went down,” he said wryly. “Listen, after I fell last week, I do admit I was delirious, and I did mumble about being able to see again. That, I know, was a dream. I never saw light then. But just a few minutes ago, when I awoke, and I opened my eyes, I felt the worst pain strike me between the eyes. The pain has never been so severe before. I felt nausea, that’s why I was reaching for the bowl and knocked it off the table. Then the pain became more intense, and that incredible light seemed to brighten with each throbbing jab behind my temples. It was blinding, and it burned right through my head. Thought for a moment we were having a storm and I’d been struck by lightning, and in my own bed,” he said, trying to
jest about what he was afraid to admit might just be false hope, his hand reaching to touch the black patch over his left eye. “But, Leigh, when the light faded, so did some of the pain. And now, I’m seeing light and dark. I can distinguish between the two. There’s a grayness, like a drifting fog obscuring my vision, but I’m no longer in complete darkness,” he finally found the courage to tell her, his voice hoarse.

  “Guy!” Leigh whispered excitedly, the pain of his grasp no longer hurting her. “Guy, remember what the doctors told you. They said you might regain your sight in the one eye. They really didn’t know. But they did not believe there was any physical damage to the eye. They said it might take time. It could be happening. Oh, Guy, what if it is true, and you are regaining your sight,” Leigh said, a low laugh of exultation escaping her as she began to believe that Guy’s vision might be returning.

  “Maybe that knock on the head put things back in place. Father always said he could hear my brain rattle at times,” Guy joked.

  “Oh, just wait until I tell Althea and everyone. They’re going to be so excited. This is wonder—”

  “No!”

  “Of course, I’m sorry, Guy,” Leigh said quickly. “You want to share the good news with them yourself.”

  “No, Leigh, I don’t want anyone, except you, to know.”

  Leigh frowned. “But why? I don’t understand, Guy. Everyone will be so happy.”

  “Even though I am not in total darkness any longer, I am still blind, Leigh. What if my sight doesn’t improve beyond this?” he asked without bitterness, and hearing the sigh of unhappiness she couldn’t control, he smiled. “It wouldn’t be fair to get everyone’s hopes up too high. I want to wait to tell them when I can see their expression, and only then, Leigh.”

  “I wish you’d tell Lys Helene. She should know before anyone else, even me,” Leigh told him.

  “Why?”

  “Well…I thought…I mean, aren’t you—”

  “In love with Lys Helene?” Guy scoffed. “Why should I be? She’s a very nice young woman. She has been very kind to me. She’s like a…a sister to me,” he hastened to say, and even though he couldn’t see Leigh’s expression, or meet the questioning glance in her eyes, he looked away guiltily.

  “Kind? She’s in love with you, Guy,” Leigh told him bluntly, wanting to reach out and pinch him to bring him to his senses.

  “Is she? I think she pities me. She’s even more softhearted than you. I’m like one of her sickly plants that needs a little more attention. That’s all. Nothing more than that. How could there be? I’m blind. Why should she think herself in love with me? Good Lord, can’t the woman get a whole man? What’s wrong with her, Leigh, that she should want to spend all of her time with a helpless cripple who can’t even see what she looks like?” Guy demanded angrily.

  “She is in love with you,” Leigh told him quietly. “You may not be able to see the expression in her eyes, but I can.”

  “That’s just it, Leigh. I cannot see. And if I do regain my sight, then maybe I wouldn’t like what I saw. And when I’m able to feed myself, and dress myself, and walk around without a guide, then there will be no reason any longer for her to hang around me,” he spoke harshly, pressing his hand over his eyes as if suffering another attack. Then he glanced up, staring blindly toward the door. “What was that? I thought I heard something in the hall.”

  “Probably just one of your hounds trying to get in. They sneak in whenever a door is left open, especially in the kitchens. And even though Lupe yells at them, they always seem to have a soup bone or a tortilla in their mouths when they come racing out,” Leigh said, glancing back at the door. It was partly opened, but she didn’t see any of the pack trying to nose their way inside. “It was just the breeze moving the door,” she said, turning back to Guy and staring at him in puzzlement. “I truly do not understand you, Guy,” Leigh said in exasperation.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, you sound like the old Guy, who was very careless about the feelings of others. I seem to remember you once prided yourself on all the hearts you’d broken.”

  “‘The old Guy,’” he repeated softly, as if that man were a stranger to him. “The old Guy Travers, although not an especially nice man at times, which I deeply regret, did have three advantages over this Guy Travers. He had his sight. He had his wealth, whether it was from an inheritance, or from the money he would earn in his law practice one day, which meant he could support himself in very fine style. And he had his home. A very treasured home. The home he was born in. Travers Hill was where I’d hoped to take my bride, and raise my future family. I no longer possess any of those advantages, my dear, and so I have no future. Or had you forgotten that?”

  “Guy.”

  “No, it is the truth. Apparently, I can see that more clearly than you. I live here at Royal Rivers on charity because I am your brother. You are a Braedon now, not a Travers any longer, and you are a part of this family. I am still a Travers, even if I have nothing. And unless I regain my sight, I will always be an invalid. And even were I to become sighted again, what could I possibly offer a woman, especially Lys Helene? My prospects are rather limited. We lost everything. And even if Adam paid the taxes on Travers Hill, what about next time? Where will I get the money when we’ve no horses to sell, and the fields are lying fallow or were burned? There is nothing. I doubt I would ever be able to keep Lys Helene in the style she is accustomed to, and not as I once would have were she to become my wife,” he said beneath his breath. “I will not embarrass either of us by asking her to marry me. And I dare say Nathaniel would be less than pleased to give me permission to marry his daughter. Probably think I’m a fortune hunter, and throw me out of his house and into the dust as fast as that fancy hat sailing off that fellow on the stage you told me about.”

  “And what happens if you don’t regain your sight?” Leigh asked him, wanting him to face reality now. “You cannot deny that you had begun to accept that, and that you have been thinking about—”

  “About marrying?” Guy concluded for her, unable to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

  “Yes! You’re a young man. You’ve a whole life ahead of you. Do you want to spend it alone?”

  “Oh, Leigh, of course not. I have dreams. I may have lost my sight, but not my masculinity. I still have a man’s needs. Lys Helene is a woman. Her body is fragrant and soft. Her hair, when a curl touched my cheek, was silken. Of course I’ve desired her, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever thought about marriage. I will not ask her, or any woman, to marry me,” he said, his jaw set in that familiar line of stubbornness that reminded Leigh of their father when he’d set his mind to something.

  “Travers pride,” she said.

  “Still got that, have I?” he asked, smiling slightly.

  “Yes, and you may come to regret it.”

  “Oh? And you, have you thought about your Travers pride?” he countered.

  “I thought you said I was now a Braedon?” she returned, the old sparring coming easily between them.

  “In name, my dear, but you’ll always have your Travers pride. It’s in the blood. But what happens when your husband returns?”

  Leigh glanced away this time.

  “You are married, whatever the reason for that marriage. You were our sacrificial lamb, and now you must accept that fate. There’s no going back for you, Leigh. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I don’t wish to go back.”

  “To being Leigh Travers? Or to Virginia?”

  “To both, maybe,” Leigh said, standing and walking over to the window to stare out at the mountains.

  “You love it here, don’t you?” he asked suddenly, not sounding surprised.

  “I’m not certain why, but I do. I loved Virginia, and I miss Travers Hill, sometimes so much I ache. And yet, I don’t think I could bear to go back, to see the destruction, to know that everyone I loved is gone. At the same time though, I’m not unhappy here. I don’t feel as if I�
��m in exile. In fact, I’ve never felt quite so…so, ah, I don’t know,” Leigh said, shrugging.

  “I do. You feel free out here. You always were the rebel. You’ve never been like Althea, who has always been happy sitting on the veranda doing embroidery or sketching, visiting friends and gossiping, or comparing recipes and the latest fashions, or when the conversation lulled, discussing politics and literature. She’s quite bright, even if she pretends to have no interest beyond her home and family. I don’t think she ever felt restless. And little Lucy, although she was more like you, and she managed to get herself into trouble too many times to count, she was just high-spirited, like a long-legged colt, and she was usually following in your footsteps. She always seemed to find the fullest enjoyment in whatever she was doing, or wherever she was. Always so full of life, our Lucy. She would have been happy anywhere. And she accepted who she was. She was never searching for something else. But you, Leigh, you never seemed contented. I’m not saying you were not happy, just that you were not fulfilled. And, sometimes, I wonder if you would have found your happiness with Matthew Wycliffe. You would have been mistress of your own home in Charleston, had all your heart could possibly have desired, including a loving husband and, eventually, a family, but I think you would still have been searching for something elusive. I can’t see you having tea and gossiping with your pampered lady friends everyday, or standing for hours being stuck with pins while you were fitted for the countless gowns Matthew would have bought you. Half the time at Travers Hill you walked around in that old, faded muslin of yours. I’ve never seen anyone so careless of fashion, and yet you always looked so lovely. You said I enjoyed breaking hearts, well, I think you enjoyed scandalizing people in the county. I can remember our mother saying how she hoped your few years at finishing school would turn you into a proper young lady—declaring it was your only salvation if you were to make a brilliant match. But whenever she’d receive those numerous reports from this Madame Something-or-other, she would begin to fan herself in growing agitation, as if about to swoon, then, with Jolie in tow, retire to her bedchamber with a migraine. Father threatened to call the woman out for upsetting his household so, muttering about the excitable French, and somehow never finding your behavior at fault. He was always proud of you. He loved your spirit, just like one of his little fillies, he used to say. But I’m not certain Matthew, much as he would have loved you, would have understood your flaunting of convention. And you’re no different now. I’ve heard about your riding astride, and wearing those ‘baggy breeches she’s worn in public’ an’ causin’ the Misses Simone an’ Clarice to swoon,” he mimicked.