It was a sound Drayton instantly recognized, the click of a gun being cocked. Every muscle in his body tensed as he turned to face that sound, as he stared at the barrel of a Colt revolver. His gaze lifted to meet his stepbrother’s crazed, glittering brown eyes. He watched Aaron’s mouth curve up ward in a smile of triumph, an ugly, gloating kind of smile. “What do you want, Aaron?”
For an instant Aaron’s smile faded. He had expected Drayton to tremble, to plead, to beg for his life. But instead he stood as cool as always, asking what he wanted. As if the gun that was leveled at his chest did not convey the message clearly enough. Aaron laughed aloud at the thought, a strange, maniacal laugh. And then his face was void of all laughter. “I want you dead,” he said deliberately. “And this time, I will see you die. I won’t let you get away this time.”
“Is that why you set the fire at the house?” Drayton inquired calmly.
Aaron frowned at him, angry now and confused. “I-I didn’t want to burn mother’s house,” he cried suddenly, his voice rising as his face twisted with emotion. ‘’It was all I had left of her. Your father left her nothing, you know. He left everything to you.” He straightened abruptly and his lip curled in disdain. “You ought to have died years ago, brother,” he spat. “I meant for you to burn years ago. But you were away, playing country doctor. She was all alone that night.’’
For a split second Drayton didn’t understand. But suddenly it all fell together in his mind, all the pieces of the puzzle, after all these years. A lifetime of rage and helpless frustration exploded inside him. “You killed her!” His voice trembled with disbelief, with bitterness. “You killed her!” he screamed again, his eyes filling with tears.
He lurched blindly forward, deflecting Aaron’s gun so that the first bullet imbedded itself in the ceiling as they wrestled to the floor. Drayton’s wounded leg twisted beneath him, causing him to falter, giving Aaron an advantage that almost cost him his life. As Drayton groaned and struggled to free his leg, Aaron broke free and rose to a single knee. He cocked the gun and aimed it, his finger poised at the trigger when he heard a woman’s scream. Instinctively, Aaron whirled about and fired in the direction of the sound. The wooden door frame splintered behind her, and he aimed his gun a second time. Ambrosia’s knees gave way as she fell forward, clutching Mandy tightly to her breast as the gun fired again. The baby let out a startled cry and hid her face in Ambrosia’s throat, her little fists tightening on the fabric of her mother’s dress.
Even as Aaron made to fire the gun again, Drayton struggled to his feet and grasped Lily’s letter opener from the desk. A flash of silver caught the lamplight as he lifted it, then plunged it deeply into the back of Aaron’s neck. With a sickening scream of pain Aaron twisted grotesquely to face the man who had sent him to his death. Breathing hard, his blue eyes blazing, Drayton watched Aaron writhe about, then crumple to the floor, blood gushing in a thick stream from his mouth. With a cry of anguish Drayton fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. All these years he had thought it an accident. All these years Aaron had gone free. After killing everything Drayton had loved, he had gone free. Even now, when his body lay hideously sprawled in a pool of blood, Drayton felt no sense of justice. He only felt hatred and a self-loathing for never having guessed the truth, for not having been there to protect his wife and child.
Ambrosia shivered with revulsion as she turned to face away from Aaron’s mangled body. It was at that precise moment that she saw that Mandy’s tiny fists no longer clutched tightly at her dress. Instead they lay open, limp, and a stream of bright red blood ran down her arm and dripped on the floor. “Mandy!”
Drayton’s head jerked up at Ambrosia’s scream, but his eyes remained wide and dazed. He did not move. He watched Ambrosia lift the hem of her skirt and press it to Mandy’s shoulder, heard her let out a cry of panic as it was instantly saturated with blood. But he was not really seeing her at all, could not really hear her cries. Something inside him refused to see.
Ambrosia looked up, her eyes tear-filled and pleading. But Drayton seemed in another world, apart from what was happening, indifferent to her need. One by one the servants rushed into the library, stopping short at what they saw. Ambrosia struggled to her feet and ran to Dray ton, kneeling beside him. “Mandy’s hurt! You’ve got to help her!’’
A spark of comprehension lit in his eyes. His face broke into an icy sweat and he began to tremble violently. “No...no...I can’t help her. I-I’ll go for a doctor.”
“There isn’t time for that!’’ she cried back at him. “Don’t you see?” She touched his cheek, her face streaming with tears. ‘’Mandy’s going to die if you don’t help her! She’s going to die!” She let out a heartwrenching sob and shook her head as she tried to rein in her emotions. “You can’t let her die, Drayton! You can’t! I won’t let you!” Her eyes locked with him, pleading, begging, praying. “Please,” she whispered. “Please...”
It seemed a lifetime passed before he took hold of her hand. His fingers were cold and trembling, his eyes still touched with fear. But she saw him struggle to clench his jaw. And then he was pulling himself to his feet and limping his way to the dining room. It was a different Drayton who began to call orders to Sheba and Sarah and Emily and Bessie, an almost calm man who helped Ambrosia lay Mandy’s inert body on the table. ‘’I’ll need you to hold her fast,’’ he told her quietly. “I don’t trust anyone else to do it.’’
Ambrosia gave a nod, thanking God for the strength she heard in his voice, for the courage she saw battling the fear in his eyes. She took firm hold of Mandy’s arms as Drayton accepted the shears from Bessie and cut away Mandy’s nightshirt. At the sight of the ugly wound marring her perfect little body, Ambrosia saw him falter. She bit her lip and squeezed her own eyes tightly shut, feeling weak and sick to her stomach. She had seen dozens of worse wounds, but only on soldiers’ bodies, not a child’s, not her child’s. She forced her eyes open and watched as Drayton also regained his composure, reaching for a cloth to clean and closely examine the wound.
“A ricochet, I think,” he said aloud. “It doesn’t seem to be imbedded too deeply. ‘’
Ambrosia’s eyes followed him as he moved to kindle a flame in a small brazier, to pass the knife in a strange ritual through the small yellow tongue of fire, just as he had done at Heritage. It took every ounce of her strength to hold Mandy fast as Drayton angled the knife and moved to cut her flesh. The small body jerked and twisted before it dropped into a fitful slumber with only a soft, weak little cry of pain. Ambrosia’s eyes fixed on Drayton’s hands, on the precise, agile movements he made cutting, probing, retrieving the small lump of lead. Twice he glanced up at her, as if seeking reassurance in what he was doing. But the looks were so brief that she hardly had time to respond.
It seemed to her that she held Mandy for an eternity, that Drayton worked on the tom flesh of her shoulder for hours and hours. She felt numb when he finished, and her eyes filled with tears as he drew his sleeve across his moist brow.
“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”
He sighed and his eyes warmed a little, a shadow of a smile. “Yes. She’s going to be all right.”
Chapter 53
For the next three days Drayton remained at Mandy’s bedside, tending to her every need, watching her closely when she regained consciousness, when she slept, when she woke again, calling for “Papa.” In all of that time he said very little to anyone, ate next to nothing, and refused to sleep. Only after his daughter’s recovery was certain did Drayton yield to Ambrosia’s urgings and seek his bed. But even his exhaustion could not allow him a peaceful sleep. His slumber was restless, fitful, and Ambrosia woke at dawn to find the bed beside her empty.
She expected to find him at Mandy’s bedside, but Bessie shook her head, saying that she had been with the child all night and he had not been there. Ambrosia began to search the house, the stables, the
garden, her anxiety rising when she found that his stallion was gone. He ought not to have ridden anywhere with his leg still paining him. She sent Debbs off to town to see if Drayton had returned to his work. But Debbs returned a few hours later and reported that Drayton had been neither to the warehouse nor the factories.
“And I-uh, already took the liberty of checking the taverns in the village,” he added uneasily. Her eyes lifted hopefully but he only shook his head. “No one’s seen him, Miss Ambrosia.’ ‘
“And there’s nowhere else he might have gone?” she pressed. “Perhaps a place he went as a boy, to be alone?”
Debbs frowned thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “He used to go lots of places with the Desmond boy, rounding up stray dogs and rabbits and such.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But there was one place he only went by himself-’’
“Where was that?”
“The pond. About a mile or so from here. He built a house there, years ago. It’s gone now though, burned to the ground before the war.’’
“’Hitch up the buggy for me, Debbs.’’ she instructed, “and tell me how to get there.”
He gave her an odd look. “What makes you think you’ll find him there?”
She met his eyes, then looked away. “I just know that I will,” she said softly.
There was very little sign of the house that had once been: part of a stone chimney rose from the still blackened ground, the crumbling foundation had filled with dirt and debris, and flagstones were covered with weeds and vines. Drayton’s stallion was tethered to a tree nearby, and the animal whinnied and pranced restlessly as Ambrosia maneuvered the buggy toward him. She alighted from the buggy, looking about for the pond Debbs had told her was here, catching sight of it finally, just beyond the first hill. The early frosts had turned the dense growth to brown and withered weeds and brush, making the landscape seem old and lifeless beneath the bright, copper-red trees.
Ambrosia made her way along the narrow path, overgrown by years of neglect, toward the quiet pond that shimmered gray-blue beneath the autumn sky. She saw him while she was still some distance away, the stark white shirt, the jet black hair that lifted in the light wind. She stopped for a moment, studying his posture, knowing at once that it was the stance of a defeated man.
Slowly she closed the distance between them, expecting him to turn and face her, expecting him to give some sign that he had heard her approach. But he stood motionless, staring out on the pond, his eyes far away. “Drayton?”
He gave no response until she stretched a hesitant hand to his arm. Then he turned and slowly lifted his eyes, distant blue eyes filled with pain.
“I was worried about you,” she told him softly. “I didn’t know where you had gone.”
His eyes showed no spark of comprehension as they slipped from her and fixed again on the shimmering surface of the water. She frowned, her hand trembling a little as she moved to touch his cheek. “Drayton?”
“I thought it was an accident,” he said suddenly, his eyes still looking away. ‘’All these years I thought the fire that killed her was an accident. And now, after all this time, I find that it was meant for me.”
A silence fell, empty and hollow, a silence Ambrosia did not know how to fill. And then Drayton spoke again, his voice low and hoarse. ‘’I should have died that night. Not her. Not Kathryn. Not our bab-” He closed his eyes against the memory, his voice breaking as he tried to speak the word.
“Drayton-”
“I was too late to save her,” he went on after a moment. “She was already dead. Oh, dear God, she was already dead!”
She slipped her fingers into his hand, and he grasped at her tightly, holding her fingers almost desperately in his own. “There was nothing you could do, Drayton,” she began quietly.
“Nothing I could do?” he flung back. She felt a shudder pass through him as his eyes met hers, as she saw again the pain that reached his soul. “I could have saved the baby. Our child-was-was alive,” he choked out. “I-I saw it moving. I could have saved it. I could have saved that one precious part of her. I’d taken babies that way before. But I couldn’t take my own child. I couldn’t bring myself to take a knife to Kathryn’s body. She was already burned so badly...her face was-oh, God!” he cried in agony. He covered his face with his hands and tried to hold back a sob, torn from the deepest part of him. And then he was in Ambrosia’s arms.
‘’I-I couldn’t hurt her anymore,’’ he said brokenly as she cradled his dark head to her breast and tenderly smoothed his hair. “So I held her... feeling the life in side her... knowing I had the power to save it...knowing I couldn’t-I couldn’t-”
She held him, whispering words of comfort, listening and blinking back tears of her own as his words revealed his pain and his guilt. But suddenly he turned away from her, brushing quickly at his face with his sleeve, his broad shoulders squaring bravely as he placed the distance between them.
“It’s past, Drayton,” she told him, her hand seeking his once more.
He brushed her away. ‘’I can’t forget it. I’ll never forget.”
‘’Then you must come to terms with it, accept it, so that you can go on.”
‘’Come to terms with it?” he repeated bitterly. ‘’Come to terms with the fact that I let my own child die? I was a doctor, Ambrosia.”
“You are a doctor,” she told him softly.
“No. I’m a coward. A coward, Ambrosia. Something you’ve never been.”
She stared for a long moment at his broad back, and when she finally spoke, her voice was small and childlike. “You’re wrong, Drayton. So very, very wrong. I was always afraid-don’t you know that?” She swallowed hard as her composure slipped, her throat constricting painfully with so many things she had meant to say to him long before this, so many things she needed to say. “I was Jackson Lanford’s daughter, you see. So I tried to be like him, strong and brave and sure of myself. I used to pride myself on being like my father was,” she said with a little smile, a brief smile marred by the tears that filled her eyes. “I thought those were the only parts of me that had any value, and they were the only parts I wanted anyone to see, that I allowed myself to see.
“But you-” She drew a ragged breath and gazed out on the water, staring distantly at the play of sunbeams just as he had moments before. “From the first moment I saw you, that night in the rain, you made me see things in myself I didn’t want to see. When you looked at me or-or touched me-I knew that I wasn’t like my father at all, that I was a woman, that I wanted things from a Yankee, that I needed things....’’
Her eyes lifted and met his. She wondered briefly when he had turned to face her, when he had begun to listen, when the distance had faded from his eyes. She fought the tightness in her throat. “You-you cared about me. No one else had ever done that. I-I hated you for it. I hated you for seeing that I needed someone to care.’’ She wiped tersely at her cheeks again and lifted her chin to meet his eyes once more. “I wasn’t brave enough to face what I felt for you. So I blamed you for everything-my father’s death, the war, even Ledger.... I lashed out at you with all of my strength and tried to hate you. How I tried! Only to find-” She bit her lip hard to stop its trembling, her voice catching with tears. “Only to find,” she repeated in a whisper, ‘’that I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything else...”
She stretched her hand to touch his cheek, and he slowly turned his head to place a lingering kiss to her palm. She gave a little cry, remembering the first time he had done that, the first time she had known without a doubt that she loved him. “We can’t run away from what we are,” she whispered brokenly. “You told me that once, and you were so right.” She sighed softly as he drew her into his arms, as his mouth sought hers and gently awakened another memory. His fingertips played lightly beneath the coil of hair at the nape of her neck while another hand sought out softer flesh,
prodding deliberately, touching, seeking, even as his mouth lifted and he met her eyes. He searched her face. The love in her eyes was everything he needed to see.
They made love slowly, tenderly, restraining passions until physical need overtook all else, feeling a wild fulfillment that swiftly culminated in a warm peace. For the first time each belonged to the other totally, weaknesses and strengths, successes and failures, hopes and fears.
The sun was dipping toward a pink-tinged horizon when they left the pond walking hand in hand. Drayton leaned heavily on her as they walked in silence, his leg cramped and aching though he wasn’t aware of the pain. He was only aware of their newfound closeness, of the strength he had found in loving her. The pond was far behind when he suddenly stopped and took her into his arms once more. There was a serenity in his face that Ambrosia had never seen before, and no trace of the guilt or pain he had carried for so many long years. After all this time, she knew he had finally let go.
“I love you, Ambrosia,” he whispered fervently against her hair.
It was the first time he had ever said the words. She smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with tears of joy as she slipped her arms about his neck. ‘’Then take me home.”
Epilogue
New York
Spring 1868
Ambrosia let out her breath wearily and opened her eyes as Drayton bent over her, pressing a cool compress to her sweat-moistened brow. Their eyes exchanged a brief smile, Ambrosia’s disappearing as she felt the start of yet another contraction. She grasped tightly at his hand, her face contorting as she struggled to give birth. She distantly recalled the long hours of waiting for Mandy to be born, and tried to prepare herself for a similar ordeal. But the pains were so intense, so closely spaced! As she expelled her breath and dropped her head against the pillow, she wondered if she could endure much more. “Stay with me,” she pleaded softly.
“I’m here, love. I won’t leave you,” Drayton assured her. “And it won’t be much longer. I promise.” He squeezed her hand and smiled again, and she drew muchneeded courage from his words.
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