The Long Road Home

by Lori Wick

  “Abby, this is our son, Ross. Ross, this is Abigail Finlayson. She and a man who is in her care will be staying with us for a while.”

  Abby took instant pity on the red-faced youth. His eyes didn’t plead with her, but Abby was sure he was holding his breath.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ross.”

  His sigh was audible and his smile was back in charming force as he repeated the amenities. Ross was then ordered by his mother into the kitchen for his supper.

  Abby made her apologies, checked on Paul, and took herself off to bed. Her last prayerful supplication as she fell into a dreamless sleep was that all her days in Hayward would not be this busy.

  15

  Abby had checked on Paul twice during the night and found him sleeping. She made sure the bedpan was within reach and, other than those short visits to see to his needs, slept through the night.

  Ready to take on anything the next morning, she began her day in the Scriptures. In Luke 11, starting with verse 33, she read, “No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they who come in may see the light.”

  As soon as Abby read the words, she thought of the promise. With an effort, she didn’t cry. It wasn’t that she planned to break her word, it was just that she never believed she would be alone to carry it out.

  “Dear heavenly Father, Ian is with You now, and I know this was Your will. I hurt. I hurt so much. You gave him to me. He was the husband of Your choice, and now You have seen fit to take him home to Yourself. Please hold me close, Lord. Comfort me with Your Word. And please, Lord, help me keep my promise.”

  Abby washed and dressed and thought about being a light to the Becketts. She prayed again and asked God to give her opportunities to share Him.

  Her next thoughts were of Paul. In the confusion of leaving Baxter, she had not slowed anyone down long enough to ask a few questions about Paul. Her aunt must have known something, but when they talked she hadn’t elaborated.

  He was a widower—she knew that much. And Grandma Em had made it sound like he was angry with the family, or maybe his bitterness was directed at God and that made him angry with everyone.

  The subject of Abby’s thoughts was just waking up in his downstairs bedroom. As usual, Paul’s first thoughts were of Corrine. It was getting harder and harder to picture her laughing or smiling at him with eyes of love. The time he had seen her that way had been so short; their total time together had been all too brief.

  He wished he had understood the severity of her illness. It wouldn’t have changed his feelings, but the surprise was so hard to take. She shouldn’t have died. There was no reason for her to die. God could have healed her so easily; He could have reached down and lengthened her life for many years. After all, their plans to work for Him were so big, so wonderful. Paul let the now-familiar feelings of betrayal wash over him.

  Some minutes passed before he allowed himself to come out of his tiny shell of misery. Where in the world was he? Oh yes, he smiled unkindly—the bossy redhead. At the same time that Paul remembered the woman herself, he remembered her bathing him. A fast look under the sheet told him his worst fears had come true. He was wearing only his leg splints and a bandage on his wrist. “Well,” he thought uncharitably, “at least I can stand my own stench for the first time in weeks.”

  The bedroom door opened on his bitter mood, and the present object of his anger walked confidently toward the bed.

  “Good morning, Mr. Cameron. Did you sleep well?”

  “Where am I?” Paul growled without answering her.

  “You’re in the home of Mr. Sam Beckett.”

  It was not the answer Paul had expected, and it gave him pause. Beckett was one of the mill owners and for some reason had come to see him twice in the bunkhouse. Why would he move him here? Surely he had better things to do with his time than take care of one of the many loggers who was injured.

  Paul felt no better after having run all this through his mind, and his voice was no less curt on his next question. “Who are you?”

  “I’m your nurse, and my name is Mrs. Finlayson.” Abby’s voice was kind, but she did not offer any more information than necessary.

  Now Paul was really confused. Why would Sam Beckett bring him here and hire a nurse to take care of him? He thought of asking the woman by his bed, but she was just hired help and he doubted she would know.

  Paul felt at a definite disadvantage next to her. She was calm in answering his questions and she could come and go as she pleased, whereas Paul knew he was nearly helpless and undressed to boot.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “The ones with you in the bunkhouse are hanging over on the pegs. The ones you were wearing were not savable.”

  “What do you mean by ‘not savable’?”

  “I burned them.”

  “You what?” he exploded at her. “What gives you the right to...”

  Paul stopped shouting when he realized she wasn’t even listening to him. Abby had walked over to the windows to draw open the curtains and to let in a little air. She took her time and, when everything was straightened to her liking, she went back to stand by the bed.

  “Would you like some breakfast?” When Paul only stared at her in open hostility, she continued. “I’ll go now and fix your breakfast. I won’t be long.”

  Abby reached without embarrassment and touched the bedpan. She waited until his eyes followed her hand before exiting without another word.

  Paul had never known such humiliation and anger. He pictured himself throwing the bedpan at her retreating back, but didn’t follow through with the violent thought. With eyes focused bleakly on the ceiling above, he knew without a doubt he was living in a nightmare of his own making.

  16

  Abby closed the bedroom door and leaned against it. He was not happy and she suspected he was feeling violent, but he hadn’t thrown anything at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Abby thought wryly of her days in the hospital with some of the most unpredictable patients a nurse could never hope to meet.

  Before she had gone into the bedroom, she had stoked the fire and put on some coffee. With a little searching she had all she needed and was well on her way. Abby was just finishing with the tray when in walked the cook. In her middle years, she was short and stocky with blonde hair and blue eyes set in pale features.

  “Hello! I stoked the fire and started the coffee. I have to deliver this tray and then I’ll be back.”

  The woman smiled broadly at her, bobbing her head but not saying a word. Feeling a bit bemused, Abby picked up the tray and moved to the bedroom.

  “Well now, that didn’t take too long, but you must be hungry.” Abby shifted the table a little nearer to the bed and set the tray down. She felt Paul’s eyes on her as she moved to the wardrobe and removed two pillows she had spotted there yesterday.

  “Now if you’ll let me, I’ll prop these behind you so you can reach the tray.”

  “I can move myself ” was the snarled reply Abby received as she moved to help him.

  The nurse watched quietly as her patient placed his palms flat on the bed and attempted to move himself up against the headboard. His bandaged wrist gave out immediately under the pressure, and he glared at Abby as though it were her fault.

  “Maybe you’d rather I spoon-fed you,” Abby stated in all seriousness. The comment deepened his scowl, but he made no further remarks as she helped him back up against the pillows.

  Abby placed the tray across his lap and watched again as he fell on the food as though he were starving. Abby could see why his beard had been matted with food—he ate like a wolf!

  “I’ll be right out the door here, in the kitchen. Call if you need anything.” A grunt was the only indication he had heard her and Abby exited, thinking she had her work cut out for her.

  A little disappointed to see that the cook was gone, Abby poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the t
able. Lost in thought over the hostile Mr. Cameron and over possibly getting a letter off to Baxter, Abby soon heard a noise. Turning expectantly and thinking to see the cook approaching, Abby was surprised to see Ross.

  “Hello,” he greeted her cheerfully as he plopped down in a chair across the table from her. “Boy, was I surprised to come by your room and find the door open and you already up.”

  “I have a patient to take care of,” she told him not unkindly.

  “Oh yeah. Who is that guy anyway?”

  “His name is Mr. Paul Cameron.”

  “He’s not your husband or anything is he?”

  “No,” Abby assured him.

  “Good.”

  Abby wondered for a few moments why Ross found this information good, but she was too preoccupied to spend much time musing on it.

  When she glanced up a few minutes later, it was to find Ross staring intently at her. Warning bells went off in her head and, hoping to remind him he was staring quite rudely, she raised her brows questioningly.

  He didn’t drop his eyes from hers, but spoke softly. “Why didn’t you tell my parents we had talked at the train station?”

  Abby shrugged, somewhat relieved that she had misread the look. “I didn’t agree with your actions at the train station, but I felt there was no real harm done.”

  Ross’ smile was triumphant. He knew he had been right. She was as attracted to him as he was to her.

  Abby frowned at that smile and spoke sternly. “I don’t intend to tell your parents of our conversation, Ross, but if I had my way I would have boxed your ears for such behavior.”

  Ross’ triumphant mood evaporated. Why, she was speaking to him as though he were a child! Abby saw the look and interpreted it correctly.

  “Ross,” her voice was gentle now, “how old are you?”

  “I’ll be 18 in July.” His chest swelled out as he answered.

  “You’re a man now, Ross, and it was foolish of you to let your friends goad you into that stunt yesterday. I was not amused, and you’re old enough to know better.”

  It was all said so gently, Abby’s eyes so filled with kindness, that Ross couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. He smiled at her and Abby smiled back, mostly in relief. They had come to an understanding. Had Abby not felt so distracted, she would have noticed Ross’ smile was a good deal more personal than her own.

  17

  “Hey, Red!” The shout came from the bedroom and resounded loudly in the still kitchen.

  Abigail’s head snapped up and her gray eyes narrowed. Ross’ immediate reaction was to laugh, but the fire he saw flashing in Abby’s eyes was enough to stifle that sound.

  “Excuse me, Ross.”

  Abby rose stiffly and walked toward the door. Ross watched as she entered the room and shut the door. A huge smile spread across his young face. What a woman!

  The door closed, Abby stood just inside and waited for Paul to notice her. It didn’t take long.

  “Oh, there you are! I’m done with the tray, Red; you can take it away.” Abby watched as he lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

  Abby held her place, her fury just under the surface. When Paul realized she had not come for the tray, he cocked open one eye and peered at her. “I’m done.”

  “My name is Mrs. Finlayson.”

  Paul’s head came off the pillow with both eyes open and stared at her. “You sure came fast enough.”

  “I came in to set you straight about my name. I do not answer to Red.” The last word was nearly spit out between clenched teeth.

  “Whatever.” He didn’t seem to notice her anger. “I’m done eating.”

  Her anger was so great that Abby had to control herself to keep from ripping the pillows out from behind his head. She didn’t think she had ever been treated so rudely. Up until now she had taken for granted the respect her profession had afforded.

  As Abby worked, she began to look logically at the situation, cooling her anger swiftly as she righted the bed and room. Paul Cameron was a man with a deep hurt. Abby felt for him and whatever that hurt might be, but she could not condone the way he was handling it. Everyone had private pain to live with; she ought to know. But lashing out at God and the world in general was not the answer.

  Having taken a few seconds to think this through while she settled Paul back in the bed, Abby could once again address him civilly.

  “Mr. Cameron, I’d like to check your wrist.” She reached for his arm, but he pulled away.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’d like to see for myself,” she countered patiently. And thus the argument went on, Abby calmly holding her ground by the side of the bed and Paul heatedly telling her to get out.

  With a movement born of pure frustration, Paul finally thrust his wrist toward her and waited with ill-concealed impatience for her to finish.

  Even in his anger he was surprised by her gentleness and watched closely as she unwrapped the wrist and probed the bones carefully with her small hand. Paul felt no pain until she turned his hand a few degrees. He stiffened a moment until he realized she knew of his pain and had immediately stopped.

  “Did the doctor tell you it was broken?”

  “He never looked at it, and I wasn’t awake to tell him it hurt.” This explained the strange wrapping of part of an old shirt on the wrist the day before.

  “Well, I’m sure it’s no more than a bad sprain,” she spoke as she expertly rewrapped the wrist. Abby gave Paul no time for objections a moment later when she lifted the covers at the foot of the bed to check his legs.

  Her movements were deft and professional, and Paul appreciated her not just throwing the covers off the way the doctor had done to cut off the legs of his union suit. Paul had not been sure what the doctor was going to do but he’d had to wait to find out. As soon as the doctor had touched Paul’s legs, he in agony had passed out.

  “How bad is the pain?” Abby’s quiet voice cut through his thoughts.

  “They throb all the time.”

  “One more than the other?”

  “The right more.”

  Abby paused in her movements and noticed for the first time he was speaking to her in a normal voice and how beautiful that voice was. She also thought him not bad-looking when he wasn’t scowling.

  When the covers were back in place, Abby spoke. “The breaks are not severe, but the fact that it’s both legs will keep you in this bed for a spell. Is there anything you would like? Some books or writing material?”

  Paul didn’t want her kindness. He resented even needing her help. He answered from behind the wall he had built up around his heart.

  “No.” His voice was curt. “And don’t start nagging on me.”

  Stung by his words, Abby exited the room with quiet dignity.

  18

  Abby walked with a weary chuckle to her bedroom. She had gone back into the kitchen, determined to put the hurtful things Paul had said behind her, and had found the Becketts’ cook. Abby had jabbered on for who knows how many minutes to her, asking what the wonderful smells were that floated from the stove, praising her neatness, and really attempting to make a friend.

  Abby didn’t have the slightest inkling as to why the woman had done no more than smile and nod until Lenore had come into the room.

  “Abby,” she had said kindly, “Anna doesn’t speak a word of English.”

  The whole thing had struck Ross as hilarious as he had followed his mother into the room, and his laughter had almost started Abby’s.

  Well, she thought, as she entered her bedroom, at least she knew the woman’s name and could think of her as more than “the cook.” Abby had eaten breakfast and then checked on Paul and found him asleep. As she entered her room, she thought how it was rather nice to have just one patient to care for, finally giving her some free time with which to settle in. And what a beautiful room it was to settle into.

  Morning sunlight filtered through two huge windows, and a dou
ble bed of a rich red mahogany wood with a full canopy sat against the opposite wall. The rugs, curtains, and bed hangings were all in shades of pink, lavender, and blue. There was a small writing desk and a built-in closet.

  Abby attacked her trunk with a vengeance. She filled dresser drawers and hung clothes. The entire room had her things placed about it before she was finished. The last items she put out were a beautiful brush, comb, and mirror set that Ian had given her for her birthday. They had not been able to afford it, and Abby had looked at him with concern until he said he hadn’t stolen them and that was all she needed to know.

  Abby sank down onto the edge of the bed and pulled the pins from her hair. With her brush she took long, slow strokes, almost wishing the tears would come and hoping they could possibly wash away some of the pain that threatened to choke her.

  How long she sat, brushing and softly singing some of the hymns Ian loved she did not know, when there came a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Ross,” came the answer from without. Abby, thinking she must be needed, hurried to the door with brush in hand.

  “Abby, I was wondering,” Ross’ voice trailed off slowly as he stood regarding the woman before him. If he had any doubts before, they were gone; he was sure he was in love.

  “Ross!” Abby spoke sharply a second time before he dragged his eyes from her unbound hair and only then to stare speechlessly into her eyes.

  Abby spun away from the door and grabbed her pins. Within seconds the gorgeous mass of red hair was pinned neatly into place. Abby then returned to the young man still gawking at her from the doorway.

  “Ross,” Abby’s patience had run out, “what did you need?”

  He recovered quickly and said, “Since you just got here, I thought you might like to take a walk and see some of Hayward.”

  It was said so sincerely, without the least trace of Ross’ usual cockiness, Abby couldn’t help but be touched.