A Borrowed Dream

by Amanda Cabot

  “The important thing now is to prevent infection and keep Grace out of the sun. New skin is very tender, and you know how strong the Texas sun can be.”

  “Much stronger than me. I feel as limp as an overcooked noodle.”

  “I’m not surprised. You were tense all the while you were helping me, and now you can relax.” He looked at the empty water glass. “Let me make you a cup of tea. I think we both deserve that and some of Lydia’s fudge.”

  “I can make the tea.”

  Austin shook his head. “Let me wait on you for a change. Your first surgery is a major event. We need to celebrate.” When she started to protest again, Austin laid his hand on hers, and this time it was not to check her pulse. “You did a great job, Catherine.” The warmth of his hand on hers comforted her as much as his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers as he said, “I’ve had assistants before, but never one who learned so quickly. Have you considered becoming a doctor?”

  “No.” While it was true that she gave her pupils as much medical care as she could, that was simply to keep them away from Doc Harrington. If Cimarron Creek had a competent physician, she would gladly relinquish those responsibilities.

  “That’s not my dream,” she told Austin.

  “Then what is your dream?”

  A husband and a family of her own. That was what she’d wanted for as long as she could remember, but she wouldn’t say that to Austin. While it was true that he’d spoken of courtship, until—unless—it became official, she could not be so bold.

  “I’ve already told you my dream. I want to go to Europe.”

  “Alone?” The look that he gave her made Catherine wonder if he wanted to accompany her. She could think of few things as wonderful as a honeymoon in Paris, but hadn’t Austin said that he had no desire to return to Europe?

  “No. My mother and I had planned to tour the continent together, but she died before we could do that. Lately Grace has had dreams about being in Paris. When she told me about them, I joked that she had borrowed my dream. Now that she’ll have a new face—and, yes, Austin, I’m confident that your skill will help her—maybe she’ll be my traveling companion. Instead of a borrowed dream, it could be a shared one.”

  “Yes, of course.” There was no doubt about it. Austin sounded disappointed, and that made Catherine’s heart sing.

  20

  Are you going to marry Miss Whitfield?”

  Austin stared at the boy who was grooming his horse. Though he hadn’t actually given Patches to Seth, the boy was meticulous in his care of the aging mare, lavishing love on the animal that carried him to and from school. While he wielded the curry comb carefully, it was obvious that Seth’s attention was divided between Patches and his question. Normally Seth’s questions centered on the ranch. Why was he asking about Catherine and marriage?

  Unsure how much he wanted to share with the boy, Austin countered with a question of his own. “Do you think I should?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Austin couldn’t deny how often he thought of courting and then marrying Catherine. Though life with Geraldine had left him wary, he now knew that Catherine was not like his wife. She was stronger, both physically and emotionally. More than that, she was the woman Austin loved in ways he’d never loved Geraldine.

  In the years since her death, he had reflected on his feelings for his wife and had realized that he’d confused the desire to protect Geraldine with love. What he felt for Catherine was not simply compassion. It was love—a deep and abiding love. But he also wanted to protect her, which was why he needed to be certain Enright was no longer a threat before he married her.

  “And why do you think I should marry Miss Whitfield?”

  Seth smirked. “Because she’s pretty.”

  She was indeed. “That’s not a good enough reason to marry someone.” Though Boone should have been the one having this discussion with Seth, Austin doubted the man said much to his son other than issuing orders. “Marriage should be based on more than outer appearances.”

  As he stroked Patches’s head, Seth said, “Pa told me a gal needs to be a looker.”

  That sounded like something Boone would say. “Was your mother pretty?”

  Seth shrugged. “I guess. I don’t remember much about her. Sometimes I think I just dreamed her. Pa said we were better off without her, but I don’t believe that. Everybody needs a ma. That’s why I think you should marry Miss Whitfield—so Hannah can have a ma.”

  It was the longest speech Austin had heard Seth make, and it gave him pause. “Did Hannah say she wanted Miss Whitfield to be her mother?”

  Seth nodded. “She misses living with her.”

  And she hadn’t said a word to Austin. He had believed she was content being back on the ranch and working with Mrs. Moore to decorate a picnic basket as a gift for Catherine, but he’d been mistaken. Was he as poor a father as Boone? The thought was appalling.

  Another day without mail. Catherine told herself not to be concerned. There were many reasons why she might not have heard from Sterling and Ruth Russell. Her letter could have been lost. Their reply could have been lost. Or—more likely—they’d been too busy to answer. She needed to be patient, but right now she needed the company of a friend.

  “Did you come for a piece of fudge or a chocolate cream?” Lydia asked as Catherine entered the confectionary.

  “I was thinking about one of each.”

  Lydia gave her a sympathetic look, then wrapped her arm around Catherine’s waist in a quick hug before she headed for the back room. “Sounds like you’ve been having a bad day. I thought that might be the case with Hannah gone and Mrs. Sims ill.”

  Since Grace would not be able to attend church for at least two weeks, she and Catherine had decided to spread the story that she was recuperating as a reason for her absence. It was not a lie.

  “Grace is doing better, but you’re right—I do miss Hannah.” Even though she saw her at school, it wasn’t the same as having her living with her. Last night, Catherine had gone into what she now thought of as Hannah’s room and had played the music box. The lilting melody that had once evoked bittersweet memories of her mother now reminded her of Hannah’s almost miraculous change from a silent child to one with a zest for life.

  She had been right to share the music box with Hannah. That thought was followed by the memory of Seth’s request for her to bring her father’s books to school. At the time, she’d done nothing, but now Catherine wondered if he was right. Perhaps something good would come of sharing them with her pupils. She pursed her lips, then nodded. She’d take them one day next week. Feeling a sense of peace over her decision, Catherine smiled as her friend emerged from the back of the shop.

  When Lydia had placed a tray laden with a teapot and two cups as well as a selection of candies on the table, she motioned to Catherine to take a seat. “Hannah’s going to be one very happy little girl when you and Austin marry.”

  “Lydia!” Catherine practically shouted her friend’s name. “We haven’t even talked about marriage.”

  “You will.” Lydia’s smile was almost a smirk. “And Hannah won’t be the only one who’s happy. Rachel Henderson keeps talking about that cousin of hers who wants to teach here.”

  Catherine pretended to be annoyed. “So Austin and I should marry to make Hannah and Rachel happy. Is that what you’re saying? What about us?”

  Lydia’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “You’ll be the happiest ones of all.”

  Catherine couldn’t disagree.

  Austin watched his daughter. There was no doubt about it. The closer they came to the church, the more animated she became, and when she spotted Catherine walking toward the front door, she leaned over the wagon’s side and called to her.

  “Miss Whitfield! Miss Whitfield! Can I sit with you?”

  Catherine turned, her smile almost as jubilant as Hannah’s, making Austin hope she was as happy to see him as she
was his daughter. Though the ever-proper Catherine did not shout a reply, she nodded and waited at the entrance until he and Hannah joined her.

  “Oh, Miss Whitfield, I’m so glad to see you!” Hannah grasped Catherine’s hand between both of hers and grinned when Catherine bent down to give her a quick hug. For a moment Austin wished he were Hannah’s age. Of course, Catherine couldn’t hug a grown man in such a public place. It wouldn’t be proper.

  “How is Mrs. Sims?” he asked when he’d greeted Catherine. Though he now thought of his patient as Grace, he would not refer to her so casually when he might be overheard.

  “I can see improvement each day,” Catherine told him. “The change is quite remarkable.” As they’d agreed, their comments were circumspect. They could be discussing nothing more than a recovery from the grippe, but Austin knew the truth: his surgery had been successful. His heart overflowing with gratitude, he said a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the One who’d given him the ability to heal.

  “Can I come visit her?” Hannah asked as they walked down the aisle toward Catherine’s pew. “I miss her.”

  Catherine shook her head. “Not yet. She can’t have any visitors until the healing is complete.”

  “Oh.” Hannah tipped her head to one side as if considering a new approach. “Then can you come visit us? We have baby chicks, and Papa let me hold one ’cuz I was very careful. They’re soft.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Moore has more than enough food if you’d like to join us for dinner.” And Austin would be more than happy for the opportunity to spend the afternoon with Catherine. “You could ride back with us. I know you normally have Sunday dinner with your aunt and uncle, but perhaps they’d excuse you today.”

  Catherine slid into the pew, waiting until Hannah and Austin were seated before she said, “I told them I need to eat with Grace today, but perhaps I could come out later.”

  Austin was certain Hannah’s squeal of delight could be heard at the back of the church. “Perfect,” he said. “I’ll have my two favorite girls together.” And if the day ended the way he intended, both of them would get good night kisses.

  “You brought them!”

  Catherine couldn’t help smiling at Seth’s enthusiasm when he saw the books in her arms. Once she’d made the decision, she had sought the perfect day to implement it. Today was that day. When the class had seemed more distracted than normal, she’d promised them that if they finished all their assignments before noon, she would read them a new story after the lunchtime recess. The ploy had been successful, and they’d worked more diligently than ever to win their reward.

  “I promised you we’d see,” she said, remembering Seth’s skepticism the day she’d told him that.

  “I know you did. It’s just . . .” When he didn’t complete the sentence, Catherine suspected it was because he’d been about to say that he wasn’t used to adults keeping their promises.

  Though she’d seen no signs of Boone using his fists on Seth recently, there was no doubt that he was not a good father, and that made Catherine’s heart ache. As much as she’d hated having no father, she had had a devoted mother, and she was confident that had Papa survived the war, he would have been a tender parent. Poor Seth had no mother and a far from loving father. The least she could do was make his time at school as pleasant as possible.

  “This was Seth’s idea,” Catherine told the class five minutes later, “so he’s going to have the privilege of choosing the first story.” She held up the books. “Which one would you like?”

  To her surprise, Seth did not select one. Instead, he gave the class a brief description of the three books and let them vote. Wouldn’t Austin be proud when he heard how mature the boy had become?

  “Are you certain you’re ready?” Two weeks had passed since Grace’s surgery, and throughout that time, Catherine had insisted that Grace not look in a mirror. She had covered the one that hung over the dressing table in what had been Mama’s room and had even removed Grace’s small handheld mirror from the bureau. But today Grace was adamant.

  “I can feel the difference,” she insisted. “I want to see it.”

  And so Catherine removed the sheet that had shrouded the mirror. Austin had advised her to keep Grace from seeing her reflection for at least ten days, lest the scabs alarm her, but that time had passed.

  Grace stared into the mirror, her eyes widening in astonishment. “I didn’t think it was possible.” Her fingers stroked the skin covering her cheek bones. “I look almost like I used to.”

  Tears filled Grace’s eyes. “The day I arrived back here and discovered that both of my parents had died, I was angry with myself for not having come sooner. I was even angry with God.” Grace brushed the tears aside. “I know it’s wrong, but I blamed him for not urging me to come home sooner. Now I know that the time I came was right. I won’t say it was perfect. I still don’t know why God didn’t let me see my mother again, and I probably won’t understand that this side of heaven, but I do know that if I’d come for a visit a year ago, Austin would not have been here, and I would have had to wear a veil for the rest of my life.”

  “The change is remarkable, isn’t it?” Each day as she had cleansed and dressed Grace’s face, Catherine had marveled at the way the previously pocked skin had responded to Austin’s treatment. For the first time in her life, she had witnessed a doctor healing rather than hurting his patient.

  Grace continued to stare at the mirror, almost as if she could not believe what she saw. “God has been good to me. He’s answered what I thought was a selfish prayer. Now I pray that he’ll answer two more.”

  “Finding your daughter is one of them.” That had to be the thing Grace wanted most.

  “Yes. The other is keeping that horrible Sherman Enright from finding Austin and Hannah.”

  Those were Catherine’s prayers too.

  “Oh, Catherine, I don’t know what I’m going to do . . .” Lydia stopped abruptly. She’d entered the kitchen without knocking, giving neither Catherine nor Grace any time to prepare for a visitor. Her eyes widened, and she gripped the doorframe as she stared at the woman seated at the table, whatever she was about to say clearly forgotten.

  “Come in, Lydia.” Catherine pulled out a chair. She wasn’t surprised by Lydia’s shock. This was the first time her friend had seen Grace’s face. It had been three and a half weeks since the surgery, and while her skin was still red, the scars were barely visible, revealing Grace’s beauty and something else, something that was undoubtedly the cause of Lydia’s wide eyes.

  “I’m sorry for staring, Mrs. Sims,” Lydia said. Despite the offer of the chair, she remained standing in the doorway, almost as if her limbs were frozen. “I know it’s rude to stare, but you look like someone I used to know. The resemblance is uncanny. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a young Bertha Henderson.”

  Catherine exchanged a look with Grace. They’d both commented on the now-evident resemblance between them, a resemblance that was strong enough that most people would believe them related, though their coloring was different. Still, Grace had hoped everyone would accept her claim that she was a distant relative, not the daughter of one of the town’s first generation. Though some might believe that, it wouldn’t be as easy to convince Lydia. She might have been in Cimarron Creek only a year, but she had lived with Aunt Bertha and knew her better than most of the townspeople.

  Grace nodded briskly. “Sit down, Lydia. A woman in your condition shouldn’t be on her feet when she’s upset. I wouldn’t want you to collapse.” She turned to Catherine. “You might want to get Lydia a glass of water.” It was only when Lydia sank onto the chair that Grace continued. “I hadn’t planned for anyone other than Catherine to know, but it seems you’ve guessed my secret. There’s a good reason you think I look like Bertha: I’m her daughter.”

  Blood drained from Lydia’s face, then rushed back. “You’re Joan?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Of course! It’s no wonder I kept telling Tra
vis and Catherine that you seemed familiar. You look just like the portrait your mother showed me.”

  Tears misted Grace’s eyes. “She kept that? I wasn’t sure she would. She and Father were so upset when they learned I was going to have a child that I didn’t know what they’d do. Father threatened to disown me if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted.”

  Catherine reached over to lay her hand on Grace’s. “I think they may have been trying to protect you as much as themselves when they refused to let anyone talk about you.”

  Lydia nodded, confirming Catherine’s supposition. “But your mother never stopped loving you. She kept your clothes for years, hoping you’d return to wear them, and that portrait was one of her most treasured possessions.”

  Her voice husky with emotion, Grace said, “I wish I’d had a photo of her and Father. As the years passed, my memories faded.”

  “You only need to gaze at a mirror to see what your mother looked like.” Catherine was still in awe of the difference Austin’s surgery had made.

  “There’s a daguerreotype of your parents in the house,” Lydia told Grace. “I’ll bring it to you today along with your portrait. They’re both on the bureau of what used to be your mother’s room.”

  A shadow crossed Lydia’s face as she considered the implications of Grace’s revelation, and she took a sip of water. As Catherine watched, color fled from her friend’s face again. “The house should be yours. The only reason Aunt Bertha left it to me was because she feared you would never return. Now that you’re here, Travis and I will move out.” She took another sip before continuing. “Travis has been worrying about leaving his cousin’s house vacant. We can go there.”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t want the house. It’s right that you and Travis live in it, especially since you’re going to have a baby. It’s a wonderful house for a child to grow up in.”