Adam's Promise

by Julianne MacLean

  Looking flustered, Hilary nodded. Madeline quickly returned to Diana’s room.

  “Why aren’t you doing anything?” Diana shouted hysterically. She began to sob and cry and Madeline ran to the bedside to hold her hand.

  Just then, Adam practically skidded into the doorway, his white shirt untucked and open at the collar. He froze there with a look of concern.

  Diana turned her head on the pillow. When she saw him, she cried out. “Adam! I’ve been hurt! My leg is broken!”

  Madeline saw the guilt and misery in his eyes. “I know. I’m going to get the doctor. He’ll be able to help you.”

  Adam hastened from the doorway, his footsteps pounding briskly down the stairs.

  Clenching her teeth against the pain, Diana squeezed Madeline’s hand. “How could this have happened?”

  “It was the storm. It came up very suddenly.”

  “Storm? I don’t remember a storm.”

  “It was raining. That’s why you went into the barn.”

  Diana shook her head, refusing to believe what Madeline was telling her. “No, no, I don’t remember that. I would never have gone out in the rain.”

  Madeline gazed helplessly at Diana, trying to jog her sister’s memory, even though a barn collapsing on her was not something she would likely want to remember. “You went riding alone.”

  “Alone? Why would I do that?”

  A shadow of alarm moved over Madeline. She spoke slowly, cautiously. “Don’t you remember what happened yesterday?”

  Diana’s expression hardened as she concentrated. After a moment or two, she began to tremble. She shook her head. “I…I’m not sure. I know I had biscuits and apple butter for breakfast.” She squeezed Madeline’s hand tighter. “I can’t remember anything after that.” Her face contorted with a sob. “Madeline, what’s happening to me? I can’t remember! I can’t remember!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dr. Hudry sedated Diana and relieved her pain with an anodyne draft, after which she closed her eyes and quietly drifted into sleep. Madeline sank back in her chair, still feeling as if the world, just like the hay barn, had collapsed upon her shoulders.

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t she remember anything beyond breakfast? The barn roof collapsing—I can conceive of forgetting that, but the whole day?”

  Dr. Hudry packed his instruments into his bag. “It’s not uncommon with a head injury to lose some short-term memory. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Will she ever regain it?”

  “Difficult to say. She might remember later today, when she wakes up. Or she might never remember.” The doctor closed his bag. “You should count yourselves lucky that’s it’s only one day she forgets. I’ve heard of patients being completely unable to remember anything. Not even their names or where they live. What’s one day, after all?”

  It was a very important day, Madeline thought anxiously.

  The doctor moved toward the door. “The thing you must concentrate upon is helping Lady Thurston walk again. Try and be positive about things. She will be in pain for a time, but if she has loved ones here to support her and encourage her to get out of bed, she’ll heal much faster. Give her something to occupy her mind, something to look forward to. Plan her wedding to Mr. Coates, for instance.”

  Madeline had to work hard to acknowledge the suggestion with a smile.

  The doctor opened the bedchamber door and stopped to speak to Adam, who was pacing back and forth in the hall. “I gave Lady Thurston something to ease her pain. She should sleep for a while. I’ll return this evening to check on her again.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Hudry. I appreciate your coming.”

  The doctor descended the stairs, and Madeline met Adam’s gaze. He slowly entered the room.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “As well as can be expected under the circumstances. But we must talk, Adam. Alone.”

  He gestured toward the reading corner in the hall, where they had spoken the night before. They both sat down in the same chairs.

  Madeline perched on the edge of her seat, not quite sure how to tell Adam about Diana’s memory loss, or what they should do about it once she did tell him. She cleared her throat and decided to blurt it out quickly and go straight to the heart of the matter.

  “I’m afraid Diana’s head injury was rather serious. She cannot remember anything about what happened yesterday. She doesn’t remember why she went riding alone, or anything about your conversation with her. The only thing she remembers is what she had for breakfast.”

  Adam took in this news. It was difficult to imagine not being able to remember something that happened only yesterday, not to mention something as important as an engagement being broken. It took him a moment or two to comprehend it.

  “Will there be any long term effects on the health of her mind?” he asked.

  Madeline answered him with a clear voice. “The doctor assured me that a memory loss like this is common, and that we shouldn’t concern ourselves with it, as it’s only one day. As long as she remembers everything else, the important thing is to help her walk again.”

  Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “She thinks we are still engaged.”

  Madeline nodded. “That seems to be the state of things at the moment.”

  Adam stood up to pace the hall in front of the reading corner. “Good God, I can’t break with her again. At least not now.”

  Madeline sat quietly for a moment. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. What you decide to do in the long run is your decision, of course, but I must ask that you not tell her the truth right away. Please wait until she is feeling better. The doctor even suggested that we keep Diana occupied and lift her spirits by planning your wedding.”

  “Our wedding! That will be taking things a little far, don’t you think?”

  Thank God, Madeline was reasonable about it, and nodded. “Yes, I think it would be a mistake to mislead her in that way, unless you think you might change your mind.”

  He gazed at her in the dim morning light shining in through the window. If only she knew how ridiculous such a notion was. Did she still not believe he truly loved her? If she thought he could forget about what he had said to her the night before, pretend it never happened and marry another, she underestimated his feelings, to be sure.

  “Do you think I should?” he asked, testing her, for he had not been able to give up hope that she would one day accept his love.

  On the other hand, if she pushed him to marry her sister, he would know for certain that Madeline was firmly resolved never to accept it. Ever. “Do you think I owe it to Diana?”

  Madeline responded in a calm, indifferent tone that made him doubt she could ever care for him the way he cared for her.

  “I think you owe it to yourself to do the right thing.” She could not have been more cryptic.

  “The right thing?” He heard the anger rising in his voice, but could do nothing to stop it. “What is the right thing, exactly? Marry Diana out of pity? Out of duty or guilt? I’ve already done that once in my life, and I promise you, it does not bode well for future happiness for either party involved. Besides, Diana already married a man who didn’t love her. I doubt she would be happy with a repeat of that particular past.”

  “But perhaps you might grow to love her again. It was not that long ago that you wanted to—”

  Adam dropped to one knee at her feet, to stop her from saying anything more. “This is difficult enough as it is, Madeline. What happened to Diana is killing me inside. I feel responsible, and yes, there is a part of me that thinks I should marry her, to try and make up for what happened. But I can’t let pity rule my head and my heart, for I would not be doing Diana any favors. I can’t change the fact that she was injured, no more than I can pretend to love her. She would know the truth, and it would chip away at her heart every day for the rest of her life until she knew nothing but misery. Diana may remain here as long as she wishes, and I will do eve
rything in my power to give her all that she needs to get well—the best medical attention, the best food, the best entertainment to keep her spirits up. But I cannot marry her, Madeline. I will not make the same mistake twice in my life. It would be a disservice to both of us.”

  He would have liked to add that he could not marry Diana—or anyone for that matter—because there was only one person in the world for him, and that person was Madeline. If circumstances were different, he would take her into his arms right now and never let her go.

  Without revealing the slightest weakness or change of heart, Madeline simply nodded. “I understand. We’ll try to avoid the subject when we are with Diana, at least until she is stronger. We’ll continue as we were when Lord Blackthorne was here, and pretend everything is fine. I can do that. Can you?”

  “It is more than clear to me that you can do it, Madeline. You seem completely in control of your emotions.”

  Why did that bother him so bloody much? Would he have preferred her to melt into a puddle of tears and tell him she loved him, too, and cry over what could never be? Or to leap into his arms and beg him to hold her, just for one single, glorious moment? Or kiss her, just once again, as he had the night before?

  That was what he wanted to plead for, why he was on his knee in front of her now, wanting to pull her closer and make promises he knew she would never let him keep….

  “I am in control of them,” she said, her tone disturbingly controlled. Madeline stood. “I’ve learned to keep my feelings to myself, and deal with them in my own way.”

  She made a move to return to Diana’s room, but Adam stood and stopped her. He took hold of her arm and pulled her to face him. “Perhaps what you really need to learn is how to accept that you are worthy of love. Perhaps you need to learn how to open up to people.”

  Her brow furrowed with incredulity, as if she could barely believe such a suggestion. “Why would I do that? It would be like opening a wound, when it’s much less painful to close it up and keep it that way.”

  “Feelings are not wounds, Madeline.”

  “They are to me, because love has only ever been painful. My feelings make me vulnerable, Adam, and lately, especially lately, I prefer to be impenetrable.”

  She pulled away from him and he let her go. The door slammed closed behind her.

  Later that morning, Jacob arrived to check on the family and inspect the marsh with Adam, who was still reeling with bewilderment over his conversation with Madeline. He was treading in strange territory, for Madeline was the complete opposite of Jane, who had wept and wailed over the smallest disappointment, or smashed things when she became frustrated or angry. He had always known where he stood with Jane, especially when he stood in the hall, locked out of their bedroom for the night.

  Madeline’s composure and unwillingness to express any of her feelings, on the other hand, was beyond reserved or constrained—it almost seemed as if she was denying the fact that she had a heart.

  Yet, over the past few weeks, he’d come to believe he’d found his true mate. He had been certain that what lived beneath Madeline’s polite exterior was perfection. They had everything in common. She always seemed so calm and levelheaded, which was one of the things he loved most about her.

  How could his feelings have been real, if she had no heart and no affection for him in return? How could he feel so connected to her?

  Perhaps it wasn’t real, he thought soberly. Perhaps he had been dreaming again, wanting what he wanted—the perfect woman—instead of what was real.

  He and Jacob rode their horses to the top of the ridge to overlook the marsh below, and what they saw pulled Adam’s attention back to where it presently belonged: on his land and his livelihood.

  That, at least, was something he could be sure was all too real.

  Speechless, Adam and Jacob stared at the inconceivable scene while they each contemplated the enormous losses.

  By the hour of the day, Adam knew that the tide had already receded but was now on its way back in. The damage to the dykes must have been substantial, he thought, for most of the great marsh was still flooded with seawater. The lush green grasses, the clover, the goldenrod—all that once fluttered and swayed in the wind—it was gone, completely submerged, transformed into a muddy brown swamp that produced a sickening stench and a dismal fog. Carcasses of dead cattle dotted the area, and fence planks lay scattered about, floating and bobbing in dirty, shallow pools. A number of hay barns lay in disordered piles of lumber. Others had simply vanished from where they had once been.

  My whole world is in ruins.

  “It’s a good thing we drove that herd to Halifax when we did,” Jacob said with quiet resignation, “or we would have lost everything.”

  Adam clicked his tongue to urge his horse further along the top of the ridge. “It’s going to be a long winter.”

  “What will we do for feed, Father?”

  “We’ll get what we can from the uplands, and purchase the rest. It’ll be enough to get us through, though we won’t see any profit. We’ll all have to be frugal. No more pretty scarves for Mary, Jacob, or toys for the baby.”

  Jacob followed quietly behind. “What about next year? Will this drain off by then? Will we be able to start fresh?”

  Adam wished he had better news for his son, but alas, he did not. Jacob, however, was a strong and bright young man, and Adam knew he would find a way to provide for his wife and child. They would all work together as a family.

  “Even if we manage to repair the damage to the dykes,” Adam said, “it will take a few years for the rain to rinse out the salt.”

  “A few years? What will we do in the meantime?”

  “We’ll farm the uplands. We’ve always had enough to meet our needs. We’ll just have to forgo the luxuries.”

  They rode down the ridge road to the edge of the marsh, where the muddy floodwater was lapping up against the hill.

  “I’m going to call a meeting of the dyke holders,” Adam said, “and we’ll vote on what should be rebuilt. I suggest you prepare yourself for a great deal of dirty work in the next few months, Jacob. We’ll have to locate the breaks, repair them, then we’ll be up to our elbows in marsh mud—digging ditches and trenches to drain it. And if we have to, we’ll build new dykes, high enough and strong enough to hold back the sea, for we will not surrender to it, Jacob, even if it is determined to defeat us.”

  Jacob smiled at Adam with admiration. “Your confidence is contagious, Father.”

  Adam only wished he could be that confident about his future where Madeline was concerned.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The storm, they later learned, had caused the Fundy tides to rise to a level five feet higher than ever before, an unusual and extraordinary occurrence that no one had been able to predict. It took six days for the tides to return to normal levels, during which time Adam, Jacob and George, along with other local farmers, surveyed the dykes and searched for breaks and fractures.

  To their surprise and relief, they found the damage minimal. Most of the dykes had held strong against the battering of the currents. It had been the extraordinary height of the tides that had caused a natural overflowing.

  They also recovered a number of stray cows and goats, as well as Charlie’s horse, Dante, who had managed to escape the flood farther down along the ridge.

  During those days of investigation and decision making, Madeline learned that the dance at the Aikens’ barn had been canceled, and to her own chagrin, she was relieved. She had not been looking forward to spending an evening with John Metcalf, trying to pretend that she was interested in him. That would have been too difficult, especially now after all that had happened.

  So Madeline spent her days and nights nursing Diana’s broken leg and keeping her company in her bedchamber.

  Madeline also had hot soup dumped in her lap, had her hand slapped for checking for fevers, and had been hollered at for keeping the window open when Diana was too cold, or for keeping
it closed when Diana was too hot.

  Today Madeline found herself in the unfortunate position of having to give Diana a sponge bath. Cautiously, apprehensively, she approached the bed.

  “Get that cold cloth out of my sight!” Diana shouted. “It must be your callused hands. You can’t tell if the water is steaming hot or ice cold! I want another bucket of hot water brought up here! Hilary!”

  Hilary came scurrying into the room.

  “I’ll get it,” Madeline replied quickly, trying to quiet Diana. “You don’t need to yell.” She dropped the offending cloth into the basin on the washstand and left Hilary to baby-sit her ladyship.

  Taking a few deep breaths to summon her necessary quota of daily patience, which was becoming more and more difficult to fill, Madeline ventured downstairs. She entered the kitchen and fetched a bucket, then went outside to fill it with water.

  As she drew the bucket up out of the well, she thought about her relationship with her sister. It had been years since she and Diana had lived in the same house. Madeline had forgotten how demanding and vocal her sister could be about every little discomfort. It was one area where they differed greatly, for Madeline preferred to deal with her own discomforts quietly, by herself. Madeline wondered suddenly how it was possible they could have come from the same mother.

  Madeline carried the heavy, sloshing bucket into the kitchen and poured it into the pot over the fire. She wiped a sleeve across her forehead and sank into a chair at the worktable.

  Madeline then recalled the string of housekeepers they’d had when she was young. None had stayed more than a few months, until kind Mrs. Stapleton arrived and remained with them for ten years. Madeline had thought the woman simply had no other aspirations, for the others had always explained their reasons for leaving: a more profitable opportunity, a change of heart or a desire to take up a different profession.

  Perhaps—as Madeline considered it now with a trifle more perspective—the only reason Mrs. Stapleton had been different from the others and had stayed with them was because Diana had left shortly after she was hired. Diana had gone away to live with their aunt in London and learn how to be a proper lady.