Until Spring

by Pamela Browning

  "Something like that," Duncan repeated. Various scenarios flashed through his mind, and inwardly he shuddered.

  "You could talk to Jones, the farmer who found her. He has a kid who was with him that day. Practically fell over her where she was lying in the ditch, I hear. It's not something you'd forget easily, you know what I mean?"

  Duncan hung up, wondering if he had made any progress. He decided that he had at least made a contact with someone who was chatty enough to convey whatever information he knew, and at least this Schmidt fellow sounded interested and energetic. That was something.

  He placed his next call to the administrator of Tyree Hospital, who was polite but could not provide any information at all due to patient privacy laws. "I'm sorry we can't help you," she said.

  Discouraged by all the dead ends, Duncan hung up the phone when the conversation was over, shrugged into his coat, left his warm office and trudged toward the house, which was lighted from within by the lamps Jane always turned on in the evening. He recalled all too well what it was like to come home to an empty house. He'd done that every evening since Sigrid left, until Jane came.

  A chill wind nipped at his cheeks. The night was clear, and in the pen beside the barn, the llamas shuffled and hummed to one another. The pungent scent of wood smoke drifted toward him, and he realized that Jane had lighted a fire in the fireplace. It was good to be going home to Jane.

  Under the shelter of the porch, welcoming light beamed from the windows, casting a mellow glow over the snow. As he drew closer he could see Jane's blond head bent over her spinning wheel, and he smiled to himself. She had taken to that thing and made it her own, and he was pleased that she had shown this new interest. New interest? It must be an old interest, otherwise she wouldn't know how to do it. He wished he understood more about how her memory worked. Or didn't work.

  And if her memory did improve, where would that leave him? Especially if there were, as she had pointed out, a husband and children somewhere, anxiously awaiting the return of a wife and mother. The thought of Jane as someone else's wife was like a wound to the heart.

  He had fallen for her, and she thought of him as a brother. Someday she would pick herself up and move away, and that would signal the end of warm welcomes in his house, the end of companionable evenings sitting beside her as she spun, the end of the connectedness that he had begun to feel for another human being.

  He supposed Jane never thought of that. She was too all-fired eager to start a new life in California, of all places.

  Well, let her go if she wanted. He wouldn't stop her. He would even help if that was what it took to keep her happy. He had given his word about that, and he'd keep it even if it broke his heart.

  It hadn't been hard to be kind to her when she needed kindness, nor had he had a hard time forgiving her for stealing from him, and he hadn't found it difficult to bear with her in those early days when she still didn't trust him. No, with Jane everything was easy, including falling head over heels in love with her.

  The hard part was going to be saying goodbye.

  * * *

  He thought about it for a long time before he reluctantly told her about calling the Tyree County sheriff's department and the Tyree hospital. The main reason that he didn't want her to discover later that he had been there first without telling her.

  The opportunity to divulge this information came at dinner one night when she told him with quiet pride that she had sold her entire store of llama yarn to a hand knitter in Vermont.

  "I didn't make a lot of money, but it's a start," she said. "As soon as I can afford it, I'm going back to Illinois and try to retrace the path that led to that ditch in Carlton Jones's field."

  Duncan felt his mouth go dry but could no longer keep from telling her what he knew. "Jane, I have news," he said.

  She stopped chewing and swallowed. She gave him a questioning look.

  "I called the Tyree sheriff's department the other day. I talked to the detective on the case, Bill Schmidt was his name. He's not the officer you talked with after they found you. He's a new guy who took over after the other one left. Anyway, he says he'll let you look at the records if you want to."

  "Look at the records?"

  "The report of the detective who came to your hospital room."

  "Detective Sid Reedy," Jane said slowly. "I remember that day."

  "If you'd like to talk to this Schmidt, why don't you call him? And you could phone Carlton Jones tonight, if you'd like."

  "I want to go there, Duncan. To see if standing in that ditch outside Tyree brings back memories of anything that happened to me. To ride along the highway and try to figure out why I was there and where I was going." Her gaze was steady.

  "Are you sure, Jane, that this is what you want to do?"

  "Absolutely sure."

  Duncan decided from the set of her chin that Jane was going to go on the trip whether he liked the idea or not. He heaved a big sigh. "Well, if you're so set on going, I'll lend you the money," he said. "It'll take a while to make enough money from selling your wool, and you should probably go as soon as possible so your tracks won't get any colder than they already are." He surprised himself by offering this; he still didn't want her to leave.

  "I've already imposed on you too much," she said reluctantly.

  Why was it so difficult to convince Jane to accept help? "You'll pay me back," he pointed out.

  Suddenly she seemed thoughtful. She went very quiet.

  "Is anything wrong?" he asked.

  "I'm scared, Duncan," she said. She turned wide eyes upon him, and he saw the panic in them.

  "You said you wanted to go."

  "You have to admit that taking off by myself on a search like this is pretty intimidating," she said.

  He considered this. True, Jane had gained a lot of self-confidence here at Placid Valley Ranch, but then again, this was a place where she felt comfortable.

  "I could go with you," he said. He hardly dared to hope that she would agree to this, but he was rewarded by a leap of interest.

  "You could? Really?" She seemed dazed by his offer.

  "If you want me to."

  "It's another imposition," she said slowly.

  He regarded it as an opportunity, but he didn't say that. "Say the word and I'll go online tonight and make the plane reservations," he said, expecting an argument or at least a long discussion, but she surprised him.

  "The word," she said, smiling the brilliant smile that always made his heart turn over, and so he went to do it right away.

  * * *

  "You and Jane are going to do what?" Rooney asked when Duncan told him that they would be leaving.

  "Search for her past," Duncan said.

  Rooney scratched his head. "What for?"

  "She's afraid she left loose ends that might need tying up," Duncan told him.

  Rooney considered this. "Well, she might have. You never can tell," he agreed after a while.

  "So we're going to fly to Chicago, rent a car and head for southern Illinois."

  "One question for you, Duncan," Rooney said. "Why the hell do you care?"

  "Hey, you know I like to read mysteries. Why not try to solve one?" Duncan managed a crooked grin, but he was well aware that he couldn't admit how much he cared for Jane even to Rooney, who was like a father to him.

  "I sure hope you won't be gone long. Jane neither. Mary Kate is going to miss her like crazy."

  "You and Mary Kate will have to hold down the fort around here, Rooney. You think you two can manage it without Mary Kate demolishing the whole place?"

  "Jeez, Duncan, I don't know. Just to make sure, why don't you take Mary Kate with you?"

  Duncan laughed. "I don't have anything against southern Illinois, that's why. Anyway, she's been behaving herself pretty well since she drove your pickup into that snow bank, hasn't she?"

  "Yeah, but the truck ain't never going to be the same. She burned up the emergency brake."

  "It could
have been a lot worse."

  "A lot of things could be worse. Which brings us back to our original subject. Why don't Jane leave well enough alone?"

  "Because she can't, Rooney. And if she can't, I can't, either." With that, Duncan jammed his hat on top of his head and walked out of Rooney's house into the cold night air. Let Rooney make anything he wanted out of that statement. Being in love with a woman who had no intention of staying with him was hard enough, and not talking about it was even harder. Maybe Rooney would get the hint and understand how it was between them.

  * * *

  "But I thought you were staying until spring!" Mary Kate cried accusingly.

  "I am, Mary Kate. In fact, I should be back before then," Jane said.

  Mary Kate tossed the wool she had been carding for Jane onto the floor and jumped up from her seat at the kitchen table. "I want to go with you," she said.

  "That's impossible, you know. You have to go to school."

  "I hate school. I hate everything," Mary Kate said.

  "That's not true—you love Dearling," Jane reminded her.

  Mary Kate stuck out her bottom lip. "Uh-huh, I love Dearling," she agreed. Her expression darkened. "You said you were going to teach me to spin."

  "I can show you how to spin with a simple drop spindle before I go," Jane said soothingly. "And I'm hoping you'll take care of Amos for me while I'm gone."

  Mary Kate considered this. "He does like me," she conceded. Then she frowned again. "Do you have to go, Jane? Absolutely have to?"

  "Yes, Mary Kate, I do. It's really important to me to find out my real name and where I came from. I've decided that I can't go on with my life until I know."

  "Why?"

  "Because I keep remembering fragments of it, and I'm curious about them."

  "Why?"

  "You would be, too, wouldn't you? Think how you would feel if you didn't know where you came from or where you belonged."

  "Why?"

  Jane was growing impatient. "Stop playing this silly 'Why?' game with me, Mary Kate. I'm trying to talk to you the way I'd talk to another adult."

  This seemed to sober Mary Kate. "You are?"

  "Sure. You're my friend. I'll miss you when I'm in Illinois."

  "You'll miss me? Really? "

  "Really. And I'll bring you a present."

  "A present!"

  "What would you like?"

  Mary Kate considered this. "A frilly dress. With ruffles and petticoats and sleeves that you can see through."

  "A frilly dress?" Jane was stunned. Mary Kate wasn't the type for party dresses.

  "Yeah. A pink one."

  "Well, okay," Jane said dubiously.

  "Something nice, Jane. Really nice," urged Mary Kate.

  Jane smiled. A soft shade of pink would brighten Mary Kate's sallow complexion.

  She bent to hug Mary Kate. "I'll buy you the nicest, pinkest, frilliest dress I can find," Jane promised.

  * * *

  Duncan and Jane left the ranch a week later and flew into Chicago in early afternoon. They rented a car and left the city, Jane staring with conflicting emotions at the buildings looming against the city's skyline. Behind them jets soared up and out of O'Hare Airport, and Jane couldn't help but recall all the times she used to wish she was on one of them and headed for California.

  "You're awfully quiet. Is everything okay?" Duncan asked anxiously.

  "Not really."

  "You look tired," he said.

  Jane pulled down the car's visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, and there were deep circles under her eyes. She had hardly slept at all last night. She shoved the visor up again and tried to smile through her fear that somehow the city might swallow her up again if she wasn't careful.

  "Seeing Chicago again makes me feel like I've been socked in the stomach," she said.

  "Was living here that bad?"

  "I couldn't keep a job, I was constantly trying to find a place to keep warm, and I mostly lived in shelters for the homeless. One time some men came in a police wagon and started rounding up people on the streets, and we heard later that they'd been taken to a mental hospital. I thought they'd get me next, and I hid in the basement of an abandoned building with some other street people until I was sure the threat had passed. Yes, it was that bad. Oh, and then there were the gang fights. And gunfire." She hunched herself into the corner of the seat.

  "Didn't you go to the authorities and explain what had happened to you? That somebody was supposed to help you get on your feet and find a job?" he asked incredulously.

  "Sure, but no one seemed especially interested. I don't think anybody believed me. The prevailing attitude was that I was a lot better off than a welfare mother with children, so I was left to fend for myself. I was still having headaches when I lived here, and it made holding a job difficult."

  "You don't seem to be having headaches now."

  "It's odd, but I don't think I've had a headache since I fell and hit my head in the snowstorm the night you found me in the mine," she said. They were on an interstate now, driving past neat subdivisions. Traffic moved faster, and she sat up and looked around. Now that they were away from oppressive tall buildings and ugly warehouses, she felt better.

  "And your cough is almost gone, too," Duncan said, hoping to cheer her.

  "The antibiotic did wonders. I thought I'd need a warm climate to shake it," she told him.

  "Is that why you decided to go to California?" He was curious as to why she had chosen that particular state for her new start.

  "There was another reason, too. All the time I spent in the library trying to keep warm, I used to read a lot. One of the magazines I read outlined training programs in the Silicon Valley. I thought I could learn computer coding or, well, I don't know. Something useful that pays well."

  He sent her a sharp look. "Is that what you still want?"

  "Maybe. It all depends on what we find out on this trip. Perhaps I have marketable skills and just don't know it." She stared out the window at a passing blue Ford van. It somehow seemed familiar. She shook the feeling off because there was nothing she could tie it into; there was no vehicle like it at the ranch.

  The flat land stretched out white and frozen on both sides of the road. They were in the country now, and the roads were straight with few intersections between the towns. Duncan held their speed at a steady fifty-five miles per hour, and the dotted line in the middle of the road hypnotized her so that all she wanted to do was let her head loll back against the seat. They played the radio to break the monotony, but soon it became part of it, droning on and on about commodity prices or community happenings that had nothing to do with them. They were travelers in a strange land, part of the landscape but curiously detached.

  It was growing dark when they reached the outskirts of Springfield. Duncan pulled the car off the interstate and into the parking lot of a large chain motel. Jane waited while he went inside and registered them in two different rooms.

  When he came out, he seemed to be thinking about something else, and she had to ask him their room numbers twice. The rooms were on an inside hall, and Jane trailed behind him, lugging the suitcase she had borrowed. He offered to carry it for her, but she refused. Duncan shook his head as if to say that it was her own business if she didn't want his help, which made her feel as though she had fallen short of some mark that she hadn't even known was there.

  He unlocked the door of her room for her and handed her the key.

  "Let's eat dinner later at the restaurant across the street," he suggested. "Say, at seven o'clock?" His eyes in the light from the lamp on the wall seemed overly anxious.

  "You're on," she said, smiling.

  "I'll call you to make sure you're ready."

  "I'll see you later," she said, suddenly feeling shy about this, and went into her room. She heard his room door open and close next door.

  Jane set her suitcase on the luggage stand and looked around. The window faced the p
arking lot. She closed the sheer draperies, but not the heavy light-blocking ones, and moved restlessly around the room, examining it. She opened a door, thinking it was a closet, and found its twin shut and latched. The second door must open on Duncan's room. She closed the door on her side very carefully so that he wouldn't hear.

  After that, an inspection of the dresser drawers turned up a folder full of stationery. She hated the dresser with its plastic top, but the little plastic glasses in their wrappings of cellophane on the tray there amused her. She tested the double bed, which after the comfortable one at Duncan's ranch seemed hard, and the rust-colored carpet was ugly.

  She'd grown accustomed to the welcome of a lived-in room full of lemon-polished furniture and scented with the fragrance of wholesome food cooking in the kitchen. You've gotten awfully particular, she chided herself. A few months ago she would have counted herself lucky to be in a room such as this for only a few hours. Here there was all the heat she could want, there were clean sheets, and no one was around to tell her to move on.

  But she had changed since she arrived at Placid Valley Ranch. What had once seemed like enough—a warm place to live, plenty of food—was not adequate for her needs now. She had to have more. She had to know who she was.

  She lay down on the bed to rest, and before she knew it she was asleep. She didn't wake up until Duncan called her on the phone.

  "Hi, beautiful," he said. "Are you ready to go to dinner?"

  "I fell asleep," she admitted, thinking that "Hi, beautiful" didn't sound like the kind of thing Duncan would say.

  He laughed, and she didn't let him in on her puzzlement.

  "I'll be knocking on your door in ten minutes or so," he told her.

  When she hung up, it was a few seconds before she could move. All at once Duncan was acting differently. Had he been this way on the ranch? She didn't think so.

  There he had always been helpful and forthright, and she could usually tell what he was thinking. As soon as they'd checked into the motel, he'd changed. It was as though he was trying to figure out how to act in these circumstances, as though he were trying to impress her.