“You had his child?” Dixon asked. Whether it was judgment in his voice or disappointment, was hard to tell.
“Oh no! No . . . I thought he wanted to marry me. I thought he would . . . wait for me.” She frowned. “But I found out that while I’d thought he understood my feelings and respected me for—you know, for waiting—that he was actually seeing my sister, Jo, behind my back.
“When Jo got pregnant, Jack refused to acknowledge the child as his own. He left our town. He never even said ‘good-bye.’ Jo had his son, Seth.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with you.”
“Jo left Seth with me. She demanded my promise to care for him, and then she simply . . . disappeared.” Mara looked at Dixon. “I did. I told her I’d care for Seth, but . . .”
“But you didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t. I tried, but I could barely make ends meet. I even sought Jack out. I told him that we could try to make a family of our own with Seth. But he just . . . laughed at me.”
She was quiet for some time, then turned and locked her gaze on Dixon. “I loved that child, Dixon, deeply.” She wiped away a tear that slid down her cheek. “I was really more his mother than his aunt. I felt responsible. But in the end, I broke my word and . . . I failed.”
“So what did you do?”
“Like I said, I tried to raise him on my own, to provide the necessary care for him. But sometime later, I . . .” She inhaled deeply. “You know, my grandmother told me that Jo got pregnant either because she didn’t consider the consequences and was moved merely by her emotions or physical urgings—or a combination of them—or that she did consider the consequences and found them acceptable.”
“So what happened?”
“Seth was not much older then than the girls are now. I was out with him one day, working at sanctuary, planting fall bulbs and preparing the grounds for the next spring.” She shook her head. “Imagine my surprise to find Jo waiting for me at home when I returned.”
“She came back?”
Mara grimaced. “Yes, she came back . . . pregnant.” She looked out again. “I realized that what Grandmother had been telling me was right, that the consequences of Jo’s behavior were consequences she might have found acceptable, but not me. I realized that whatever she’d done to Seth—to me—I had allowed. And I knew that when she bore her next child, she’d leave that one to me as well.
“So I packed our things. I walked out the front door and just . . . kept going. I never told my family what I was doing or where I was going . . . Mother would have just supported Jo at my expense anyway. She would have said that I should keep my word. But . . . I didn’t. I didn’t keep my word. I left. I took Seth away and I never went back.”
She stood and paced, trying to hold her tears in check. Finally, she returned to Dixon’s side.
“I knew by then that I couldn’t meet Seth’s needs myself. So with the assistance of a friend from the local sanctuary, I left him with a couple that had longed for a child for many years.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought my heart would break.” She sucked in a deep breath.
“Shortly after that, I joined the Oathtakers. I didn’t want to think about families or children or risk ever having to lose someone, anyone, ever again.
“When I first became the girls’ Oathtaker, I started thinking back to those days. I had stuffed my feelings of anger and betrayal and . . . failure and guilt, down, very deep, for a long time. I thought I had it all under control,” she held back a cry, “until we left for Polesk and I had to leave the girls. And even then, I denied my feelings. But once we got back to the inn, back to them, I just . . .” She wept. “Well, the thought of leaving them again is like thinking about breathing in . . . mud.
“So you see, even if it could be—and you know it cannot—I wouldn’t be worthy of you. I’m not someone whose word you can trust. I worry every day that I’ll break the oath I swore to protect the twins, that I’ll not live up to the demands, that I’m . . . unworthy of them.”
He looked away.
“I’m sorry, Dixon. I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have chanced your coming with me from the beginning. This is all my fault.”
He remained quiet for a long time, watching the starlight sparkle upon the water. Finally, he spoke. “So let me get this straight. Because you decided not to abide by a promise forced from you, you think your life is over. Because you were so horrible as to surrender a child to a better life, to parents who would love him and could care for him, you’ve no right to expect a future of your own. Because—”
“Don’t, Dixon,” she whispered. “It cannot be.”
“Because you thought of someone else’s needs over your own—”
“I said, ‘Don’t!’”
“Wheewww! Don’t you see? Everything you say confirms what I know and reveals what you’re saying for the falsehood it is.”
Her eyes flashed his way. “What do you mean?”
“Mara,” he said quietly, “you think you broke an oath. All right, you feel guilty. I understand that. But I think you’re wrong. Not only was the promise you gave forced from you—but you abided by it. You did care for Seth. You did the best thing for him that you could. But even if I’m wrong, even if you should shoulder some blame for what happened, it seems to me you’re paying a heavier price than necessary. And who would I be to hold anything against you?” He caught her eye. “What? You think I’ve never done anything I was ashamed of or felt badly about? Shall we have a contest here? Let’s see, there was the time—”
“Stop it, Dixon.”
He looked down. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Do you know anyone who’s perfect? Anyone who’s never made a mistake or questioned their own judgment about a decision they made? If you do, please, I beg of you, don’t ever introduce him to me.”
He watched a longboat float past. “You were taken advantage of and you did what you could to right the wrong. I can’t help but think that both you and Seth are better off for what you did. Don’t you think that one day you might have blamed him for your feeling so helpless?”
Glancing Mara’s way again, he exhaled slowly. “From everything you just said, you did all you could to make things right.”
“But I left him!” She jumped to her feet. “And after promising to care for him.”
He reached up and grasped her hand. She tried to shake his grip loose, but he held on more tightly. “Sit,” he commanded as he pulled her forward.
Reluctantly, she conceded.
“Hear me out. It’s time you put this behind you. You were able to see that Jo used you, but you seem unable to understand that you’re not to blame for that.”
She looked away. A tear spilled.
“Mara, do you know how difficult it would have been to raise that child on your own? Have you any idea how much a child needs a family? You may think you broke a promise, one unfairly gained from you I might add, but you gave Seth the most and best you could. A real chance at a good life.”
She bit her lip. “Somehow it all seems so clear when you say it that way.”
“It is clear.”
“So maybe Grandmother was right. Jo accepted the consequences but . . . I didn’t. And I shouldn’t have had to pay the price for her actions.”
“It seems so.”
She chuckled softly. “She was a good and most brilliant woman, my grandmother.”
“And it seems you’ve followed in her footsteps.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’d like to think goodness could skip a generation and still re-appear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mother.”
“What about her?”
“She’s something else.”
“Tell me about her.”
Mara shook her head. “I guess to understand Mother is to understand Jo. I never really got that until . . . Jack.”
Dixon listened quietly.
“Jo was—is still, I assume—difficul
t. No,” she continued, holding her hand up as though physically arresting something, “wait a minute. That’s too kind . . . and not altogether honest. Jo is willful, selfish, completely egocentric. She always got what she wanted, which was usually what I had, then she tossed it away like so much trash.”
“And Mother?”
“Mother supported everything Jo did. If I did something wrong, Jo could hold it against me for an eternity. Mother would say we had to be understanding and patient. If Jo did something wrong, Mother said we had to be longsuffering and forgiving. If I held something against Jo, I was being judgmental. If Jo held something against me, she was simply misunderstood. We needed to give her time to get over her disappointments. ‘Life had been hard on her,’ Mother said.”
Mara sighed. “Jo thought I was bitchy. I thought she was immature. Jo thought I was unforgiving. I thought she was unrepentant. Jo thought I was judgmental. I thought she was self-centered and completely thoughtless. Mother always backed her, making it a virtual certainty that she’d never grow up.”
“Why do you suppose that was?”
“Ha! Why Mother always backed Jo? In short?” She glanced at Dixon. “Mother lived vicariously through Jo. I think on some level she admired that Jo did what Mother only longed to do. The more outrageous Jo’s behavior, the more Mother backed her. There was no competing with that. And in the end, I’d never known such peace as I’ve known since I left home. I don’t ever intend to go back.”
The sounds of a boat floating down the canal drifted upward. The water splashed quietly as the oarsmen lifted and pushed, lifted and pushed.
Dixon patted out a rhythm on is thigh. “So this explains why you don’t want to leave the girls.”
She nodded. “I feel better about it now though.” She looked at him, held his gaze. “I guess it did me good to talk about it. Thank you.”
He smiled weakly. “So . . . where does this leave us?”
It was hard to tear her eyes away.
“Is Jack still in the picture?”
“Oh, no! But, Dixon, you know it’s . . . not possible.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
She looked away. “No,” she sighed, “I couldn’t ask that of you. And even if I could, you’d be in no place to make such a vow now to someone who can’t return it, and at a time when you’re still so vulnerable. You’d just be exchanging one sorrow for another.”
“Vulnerable?”
“There’s still Rowena.”
“What? Rowena?”
“Rowena.”
He pulled back. “I don’t understand.”
“Dixon, you’re still in mourning. And you . . . loved her. You need time to get over her. It wouldn’t be right to—”
His eyes opened wide. “You’re wrong,” he interrupted. “I loved her, yes, but not the way that you think. Oh, I’ll admit that there was a time I was entirely smitten with her, but it was nothing more than youthful—I don’t know. Inanity? She never gave me reason to think my feelings were returned and, eventually, I came to understand that it was all . . . wrong. I was an Oathtaker. I’d sworn an oath. I wasn’t available. She was my charge. She was married. She wasn’t available. Talk about being unequally yoked!”
He stood for a moment, then sat back down. “But you know, even if none of that had been the case, Rowena would’ve been all wrong for me. Once I figured that out, I was free to care for her in a positive way.”
“But when we first escaped with the girls. That night at the campfire. You remember. You told me that I was right.”
“No, I told you that you were right ‘about most things.’ And yes, I remember. I remember perfectly.” He paused. “I remember because, in that moment, I knew.”
“You knew?”
“I knew what you thought. I let you think that. I wanted you to think that. The truth is that I knew the moment you told me to leave, that I could never be without you or the girls and . . . I hoped your believing that I loved Rowena would help to keep a distance between us.”
Their eyes met.
He leaned in. “I remember because that was the moment I knew I was destined to love you.”
For a moment, she was still, then she turned away. Her eyes welled with tears. “Stop it. I can’t take any more.”
“I told you. Truly, I’ll wait for you. Unless of course, you don’t find me . . . charming,” he said, smirking, “in which case, I may have this all wrong.”
“What?”
“It’s a long standing family joke. My mother thought I was so difficult, that if I ever found a woman who found me charming, I would know I’d found the right one for me. She said that when I found her, I’d best hold on. But you said it yourself—tonight—at dinner. You said you were charmed.” He smiled, his brow raised, looking long into her eyes.
She grinned. “And so I was.”
“So, you see? There you have it. I knew it from that night and I know it now.” Slowly he reached up and touched her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes. “Oh, gracious Ehyeh!” she exclaimed. “Dixon, this is all wrong. I can’t break my oath and I can’t ask you to wait for me. The girls are just infants! It’ll be a lifetime before I’m free.”
“Just for the moment, imagine you are.”
She looked long in his eyes. “This is very dangerous, Dixon.”
“Just for the moment, Mara. Just for this moment. What if you were free?”
She held her hand out. “Dixon, stop. I can’t do this alone. You have to be strong for . . . You have to be strong . . . or I’ll have to ask you to leave me . . . to leave the girls.”
He looked away, then stood and paced, fueled by anger. He chewed his lip. A long minute passed. Finally, he sat back down and sighed.
She glanced his way.
“You’re right.”
She looked into his eyes smiling, sadly.
“You’re right,” he repeated.
She nodded and stood to go.
“Wait!” He reached for her. He intertwined his fingers with hers.
She glanced down at their hands. She considered how incredibly intimate was that gesture. It was as though it foretold of a further mingling. It charged her every nerve ending. She shook her head to dispel her thoughts.
“Please, Mara, please . . . just give me one thing to hold on to.”
Her eyes held her question. What was he asking of her? She swallowed hard, not trusting herself to speak.
“Just for tonight let me hold you. Give me just that much. I . . . I won’t ask again. I’ll . . . I’ll do my utmost never again to broach this subject.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Truly, not another word. Not until you’re free.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Just for tonight. Just for tonight he can love me. Just for tonight. As though unable to restrain herself, she dropped back to her seat and leaned toward him.
He pulled her close and rested her head against his chest.
Just for tonight.
When a tear spilled down her cheek, he wiped it away gently.
Just for tonight.
They sat quietly. There was nothing more to say.
The musician changed tunes from his former plaintive notes to a melody that spoke of hope, trading bursts of mournful keys with occasional hints of joy. Mara wondered whether the fiddler had planned for the unburdening of the emotions, the secrets, she and Dixon shared. Or had his choice of tunes been in response to what transpired between the two of them? Or could it all have been merely . . . coincidental? Somehow that didn’t seem likely.
After some time, they made their way back to the inn. Before they entered, Dixon tightened his grip on her hand.
She looked up at him. “We don’t speak of this again. Agreed?”
He nodded.
Reluctantly, she released his hold.
They entered the inn.
“You kids have a good time?” Ezra spoke up from behind the bar, all the while watching Dixon closely.
Mara
responded with a simple nod. She tried to smile, wondering if she’d ever do so again. Then she kissed his cheek. “Absolutely, Ezra.”
They made their way back to their suite in silence.
“Good night,” Mara said to Jules and Samuel, still standing guard.
“Good night,” they responded in unison.
The Oathtakers entered. The room was empty; Basha and Therese had retired for the night.
Dixon approached the door to his room while Mara went to her own. They looked back at one another and nodded, then silently turned away.
“Mara?” Nina sat up. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” she whispered as she kissed the girls.
“Good. I had a dream.”
“Really!” Mara exclaimed, standing erect, suddenly attentive. “Anything I need to know?”
“Only that you’ll be needing a wedding dress,” Nina whispered as she fluffed her pillow and laid back her head.
Oh dear Good One. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand that it cannot be. Dear Ehyeh, will this pain ever cease?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Do you have everything?” Jules asked.
“Yes,” Basha said.
“Where are Mara and Dixon?” Therese asked.
“They’ll be right here. She wanted a moment with the girls.”
The door to the suite opened. In came Mara holding Reigna, then came Dixon, who held Eden. Nina and Adele followed behind.
“Are you all ready to go, Basha?” Mara asked.
“Yes, whenever you are.”
Mara turned to Therese. “Are you sure you don’t mind my taking her?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s right for you to take her. Of course I’d like to travel with you myself. I understand it’s quite extraordinary. But you’re right that I shouldn’t go back to the palace. Maybe I’ll get a chance another time.”
“I’d be happy to take you.”
“Please just bring her back safely.”
“Yes, and you bring Mara back safely,” Dixon said to Basha. “The girls need her.” He looked away.
Mara smiled, but it was a sad smile. She kissed Reigna and handed her to Nina, then turned to Dixon and Eden. She leaned down to kiss the infant, willing herself not to breathe in Dixon’s scent.
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