Over at the Manor was the elderly man who had cried on Sam’s shoulder only an hour ago, incoherently understanding that he would never be well enough to return to his home, yet worried about his dog. The dog, Sam ascertained with some difficulty, had been left in the care of neighbours. Sam had promised to visit the dog, to make sure he was all right, and the man old enough to be his father had relaxed, trusting the gruff doctor with the scar on his face.
A dog. An old man. A bright young juvenile destined for gaol. A baby Dot yet born. And Alex. . . Alex Diamond. . . Mary Alexandra Houseman. Child-woman with too many secrets. The baby would need a father. He was wary of her, unsure of her plans and uncertain of being able to influence them. Tonight she had understood some of what he felt. Surely she would not keep him from the child, yet—
He picked up the infant as it started to cry. The unsteady head floundered against his shoulder, seeking instinctively for its mother’s breast. He staggered slightly under a powerful vision of Alex, his baby suckling at her breast, her head bent to watch the infant, her hair sweeping over her face, touching the child as it rummaged against her.
I love her, he realised with wonder, then pushed away the realisation in panic. No! What could a man with his background know about love? The patterns for relationships were formed in a man’s earliest years, and his patterns were only nightmares.
The nurse came to take the swaddled child from his arms, tutting with disapproval at the doctor who did not know his place. He left and went upstairs to the surgical floor, shaking his head at the nurse who looked up from the desk, her quiet disturbed. ‘Don’t get up,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m just going to look in on the MacKenzie boy. No need for you to come.’
Neil was awake, lying in his bed in darkness. Sam leaned against the side of the boy’s bed, his hands in his pockets. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking at himself, the younger Sam.
‘Can’t sleep?’
The boy rolled his head on the pillow, shifted and half sat in the bed. At one time, a nurse must have made the blankets orderly, but now they were tumbled in a wild disarray. Sam shifted himself up on to Neil’s bed, sitting with his legs hanging over the side.
‘The nurse won’t like that,’ the boy said with relish. ‘She’s a dragon lady and she’ll kill you.’ Neil sat up abruptly, a spasm of pain passing over his face as he jarred the arm in-its cast. He jerked his head towards the snoring lump in the next bed. ‘He’s sleeping because he’s got nothing to worry about.’
‘You think not?’ Sam examined the noisy mound of blankets. ‘He’s probably got his share, maybe more than you.’
Neil’s fingers tortured the blanket lying in chaos across his legs. ‘What the hell would you know.’ His chest heaved an unsteady breath, his eyes evading Sam. ‘You don’t have any idea. Doctors are-’
‘Fat cats,’ suggested Sam easily.
The boy stared intensely at Sam. The doctor’s sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms that hadn’t come from putting stitches in wounds. His neck, rising from the open collar of his shirt, looked heavy and strong, too. Above the throat, a granite chin. Neil realised uneasily that if he met this man in the street, wearing grubby clothes, he would turn the other way and run. He decided that the nurse would probably not say anything to Dr Dempsey about sitting on the bed. She wouldn’t dare.
‘Where’d you get that scar?’
Sam remembered the night he had met Alex. She had half believed that he had got the scar in a street fight. Smiling, he said, ‘In the bush. I felled a tree on top of myself.’
‘Yeah?’ Neil shifted himself restlessly in the bed, protecting his weak arm. ‘That was pretty dumb.’
‘Yeah, it was.’ Sam grinned. ‘I’ll guarantee I won’t do it again.’
‘I’ll bet!’ Neil laughed, his eyes seeming suddenly to sparkle in the dark. ‘You learned your lesson quick.’
The man in the next bed shifted in his sleep, the snores abruptly ceasing. Sam said quietly, ‘I had a few months lying in hospital to think it over. Hospitals are a good place for thinking.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ Neil pushed the blankets away from his legs. ‘I bet you never stole a car.’
Sam stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said slowly. ‘You’d be wrong. I was every bit as much of a fool as you.’
Neil licked his lips, his jaw working, his eyes riveted to the man’s face. It was half-dark, the light from the corridor mixing with moonlight from outside and bathing the room in an unearthly glow. The doctor’s face was even harder than be had thought. Tough. He tried to imagine the doctor stealing cars, and he thought that he could see it, just barely. What he could not believe was that the doctor had been caught. The doctor was a winner, not a loser.
Sam leaned forward, his eyes blackness without form, yet hard and determined for all that. ‘If you think I got away with it, that it didn’t touch me, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I got caught, just like you. You were joy-riding, right?’ The boy nodded, hypnotised. The man said, ‘That’s what we called it.’ Sam’s voice grew tense and ironic. ‘What the hell, we weren’t hurting anyone. Just take a car, have a bit of fun with it, and put it back— well, maybe not exactly where we found it, but they’d get it back. Isn’t that how it is, Neil?’
Neil felt his chest constricting. A pulse in his arm pounded painfully. The doctor’s voice was low, hardly carrying to the other end of the bed, but it was hard and filled with a suppressed something that Neil didn’t want to hear.
Staring down at the boy’s shadowed face; Sam realised that he had started something that would change his life more than the relationship between a man and a boy. He was not sure where it would end, but he was involved.
Her mother was immaculately dressed. She swept through the door as Alex opened it, and Alex wondered why she never relaxed, why she never wore jeans or a sloppy shirt. Frances swung around as soon as she was inside, talking in a high voice before Alex could get a word in.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Mary! Hiding out on a shack on the wharves as if you were some criminal!’
Frances Houseman seemed blind to the luxurious deep-pile carpet she stood on, the beautiful antique furnishings, the walls hung with original oil paintings. She glared at her daughter, and opened her mouth to carryon the tirade.
‘Mother, I—’
‘I don’t understand you.’ Frances’ voice seemed calm, then abruptly rose to a shriek. ‘What got into you? What if people find out? What if—? What about—about Mrs MacAvoy.’
‘Maggie, you mean? I don’t know what I would have done without Maggie and Michael. I think I’d have gone insane.’
‘Does she—does she know—’
Alex thought it was better not to tell her that Maggie was in the kitchen and could probably hear every word. ‘Mother, it’s not a secret we can keep. I’m having a baby. Sooner or later everyone will know.’
‘No!’ Her mother’s hands gripped each other cruelly, the straps of her bag still hanging from her left arm. ‘It needn’t—you could—could go away. We could—maybe to your Aunt Lexie for a time. Lord knows, she should feel tolerance for what you’ve done.’
Alex stood up abruptly and found herself saying what she had often thought, ‘Mother, Aunt Lexie is a very—a very warm person.’ The adjective seemed to imply a criticism of frances, and Alex hurried on. ‘I don’t know what Lexie did to make you feel so critical of her, but I—well, I don’t really want to know, and I wish you’d—’ She broke off at the expression on her mother’s face.
This could easily turn into a raving lecture, and Alex felt her courage ebbing. She said hastily, ‘In any case, Lexie’s off sailing. Don’t you remember?’
Her mother seemed not to hear the last comment, which Alex had thrown in as a hopeful distraction. ‘Mary Alexandra, we are talking about your situation. This is no time for a misguided defence of your aunt. You are in a mess! We must act quickly to—to preserve your reputation.’
Alex t
ook a ragged breath. How could she have thought she was ready to handle her mother? The woman had the determination of a steam-roller. ‘Mother, I—I’ve thought of going away, too. Of course I have. I’ve even thought of. . . not having the baby.’ She swallowed.
‘Perhaps,’ her mother said slowly. ‘Your father, of course, would have to be convinced. However, I’m sure I could persuade him that it would not be unreasonable in the situation.’ She nodded, her eyes glazing over slightly. ‘Yes, that would be the best. Then no one need know. You could go to—I suppose to Vancouver, or Seattle or somewhere.’
‘Vancouver,’ Alex heard herself saying. She gave herself a shake, trying to break the irresistible spell of her mother’s will. ‘Mother, it isn’t going to happen like that. I’m-I’m going to have the baby, and-I’m not giving it up for adoption. I’m going to keep it.’
‘You—Mary Alexandra, it’s just not possible! You’re—you’re the daughter of the minister. We have to—’
Alex felt a rigid band of panic and terror tightening around her lungs and heart. ‘I—it’s my baby, my life.’ Her words rushed on. ‘I have to—I know it would be—well, embarrassing for you to have a pregnant, unmarried daughter underfoot. So I—I think it would be a good idea if I moved out.’ She should have done it years ago.
Why had she come back after university? Why hadn’t she struck out on her own then? She loved this woman, but she absolutely must get free to live her own life, away from the inhibitions of being the daughter of the manse.
‘You’re—what? Move where? You’ve got to support yourself, you realise, and money doesn’t grow on trees.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Alex snapped irritably. ‘Do you think I’m a fool? I—’
Her mother cut her off with a furious tirade. Alex managed to shut out most of it, catching only a word here and there. She heard Emily Derringer’s name, and her father’s position with the church. She fought against an inner voice that insisted that everything would be all right if she acceded to her mother’s wishes, agreed to be a good girl and do what she was told.
‘In any case,’ her mother finished dogmatically, ‘you can’t support yourself, and we can’t afford a separate apartment for you, so that’s the end of it. The clinic in Vancouver—’
‘No! I’ll get by.’
‘How?’ demanded her mother. Alex considered telling her about the book, but decided that that wouldn’t help anything.
‘Don’t worry,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘I’ve got some saved, and I’ll get a job.’ There was a motion at the doorway to the living room. Alex looked past her mother and saw—Sam’s broad form. Maggie must have slipped into the corridor to let him in or perhaps, being Sam, he had simply walked in.
‘A job!’ her mother shrieked. ‘If you could find a job in these times, you’d have found one long ago!’
‘Maybe I’ve been too fussy. I’ll find something.’
Sam leaned against the doorjamb, as if he was settling in for as long as it took. Why was he here? Yesterday she had sent him away. Some day they would have to talk again, about the baby, but she had asked him to leave her alone.
‘What will you find?’ her mother demanded. ‘Where will you work? The banks are full, not taking applications. I know that, because Emily told me. And the canneries—you can’t work in the canneries with a baby coming. It’s hard work, on your feet all day, and the smell of the fish—I can’t have my daughter working in the canneries!’
What was Sam thinking, listening to this, Alex being berated by her mother like an infant. He should be laughing, but his eyes on her seemed sombre and perhaps even sympathetic, although he was doing nothing to stop the verbal lashing from her mother. Meeting his eyes, she felt strength flowing into her, a warmth that filled her and made her stand more erect.
‘Mother, I’m not a child. I’ll make my own decisions on this. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, but I’ll be the one to make the decisions. Not you!’
‘You—’ Frances took a deep breath, her hands clutching at her elbows so that she seemed to be hugging herself. Then, swiftly, she turned and saw Sam lounging in the doorway. ‘You!’ she screamed. She swung back on Alex. ‘I suppose you’re going to let him keep you! You’ll be the scandal of the town, and we’ll be shamed! For heaven’s sake, Mary! I don’t understand you! If you must keep the baby, then marry the man! Make it respectable.’
Her face rigid with anger, Frances swung around with a hard, smooth motion and swept through the doorway, refusing to move to one side to dodge Sam as she went. Sam, equally stubborn, did not move to let her pass. Her suit jacket whipped past him and she was gone with an angry huff and the slamming of the door in the hallway.
Alex put her palms to her face, felt the skin burning. She would be flaming red, some combination of embarrassment and anger infusing the flesh throughout her body. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. She—this is hard for her. She never thought her daughter—’ She gulped. It was too much, too much for her parents and too much for her. She would shame them. People would be talking in the pews of the church, passing gossip about the daughter of the minister as he stood up to give his sermon. Wild. Just like her brother.
Sam stood immobile for a long moment, watching her, assessing. At length, he said, ‘She’s not the first parent to be made distraught by her daughter.’
She whispered, ‘My father’s the pastor and—’
‘They’re parents,’ said Sam firmly ‘And you are not a child. You can’t live your whole life in their shadow.’ He came further into the room, and said drily, ‘She’s right, I did ask you to marry me, and the offer still stands, of course. It could be the best solution, but I don’t want you accepting just from her pressure. You’re obviously not comfortable with it, and—’
‘Sam,’ she interrupted gently, smiling wryly, ‘you’re not comfortable with it either, are you?’ Her eyes searched his and found the unease she knew would be there.
He laughed then. ‘I’ve got to admit that, Alex, but— well—’
She nodded. ‘You’re offering because it seems like the right thing to do? I do know about that motivation. I know—oh, Sam! You’ve no idea how nice it is to laugh about something! Everything’s so heavy and serious and—it’s terrible, but I really feel that I need some fun in my life right now.’
‘Well—’ He pushed back his unruly hair. His smile made the scar deeper, brought creases to the sides of his eyes, but his eyes remained serious although warm. ‘Will you put yourself in my hands? Put on a jacket and come with me. I have something I want to show you.’
It sounded like heaven, to go with Sam and forget all the heavy pressures. I’d go anywhere with him, she thought suddenly. The knowledge overwhelmed her in a breathtaking flood. ‘What is it, Sam? What are you going to show me?’ He did not reply and she felt curiosity stirring. ‘Won’t you tell me?’
As she settled herself into the bucket seat in Sam’s Corvette, she remembered how nervous she had been the first time she was in this car. She watched him settling behind the wheel, remembering that she had thought him sinister looking. She had thought he might be a gangster, the scar from a knife fight or some other, nameless violence. Yet she had trusted him, a stranger. She did not know a lot more now, except that he was a doctor, and that he could not walk away from an unborn child he had fathered. She still trusted him, and she was afraid that she loved him, too.
She must not think about that too much. It would show in her eyes and he would see. He would feel guilty if he knew that she loved him, and trapped, because he was the man who could not let himself love. Inconsistent, she thought, thinking of stories she had been hearing. ‘I’m hearing rumours about you,’ she said, fastening her seatbelt, concentrating on the buckle.
‘Oh?’ He slipped the car into gear and set it rolling across the gravel and mud car park. ‘I haven’t killed any patients yet.’ He grinned at her suddenly and she found herself smiling back as he added, ‘Neither have I been in any street fights.’
She managed to look sceptical and he laughed. She asked curiously, ‘Isn’t it the time of day that doctors should be in their offices?’
‘It is,’ he agreed, ‘But I got called away early this afternoon to deliver a baby. However, the young lady arrived before I got to the hospital.’ His lips curved as he remembered the scene he had found in the delivery room. ‘The nurse was pretty young, and I gather she’d been trying to tell the mother to try to wait, not to push. The mother was an old hand, though, and she wasn’t about to wait for anyone, much less the doctor. I got there in time to pronounce everyone healthy.’
‘So you didn’t go back to the office?’ She was fascinated by the open joy in his eyes. Would he feel like—this when his child was born? What if she did agree to marry him? Would it grow into love and joy?
‘I’m playing hooky,’ he told her with a smile. ‘I called and all my appointments have been cancelled. Nora Bramley assumed I’d be the rest of the afternoon with the delivery. No emergencies. I guess it’s too nice a day for anyone to want to spend it in the doctor’s office. So I decided to please myself.’
She felt her heart pounding wildly in her breast and could not meet his eyes. Was this his pleasure, to spend time with her? Did he realise what he had said? She thought not. She pushed the hair back from her face nervously. ‘I heard you were in court this morning.’ Sam glanced at her, then returned his attention to his driving. ‘Did you go in to stand up for Neil MacKenzie?’ Sam nodded and she said, ‘I’m glad. I’ve always liked Neil.’
‘You know him?’
‘About ten years ago I used to babysit for him. He was a nice kid—smart. He was always taking things apart—alarm clocks, radios. I was never sure if he knew what he was doing, and I was sometimes worried that he’d electrocute himself. I used to babysit for the MacKenzies for a couple of years, then his mother died and everything changed.’
One Secret Too Many Page 8