No birds chirped. No squirrels chattered. The enveloping silence, like the enveloping fog, added an even greater degree of loss and solitude to her solitary trudge to the village and away from the scene of her disgrace. And away from her love.
It was no more than she deserved, to have to walk this road alone and in the fog. She deserved worse than that.
If you’d been honorable, you might be marrying the man you love. But you weren’t, and now you’ve not only lost Aubrey, but you’ve lost Becky as well.
The notion of losing the two people she loved most in the world was such a miserable one that Callie couldn’t contain her tears. She was surprised she had any left.
Stopping and setting her suitcase on the roadway, she fished in her pocket for a handkerchief with which to dry her eyes and blow her nose. She was irked with herself. This was all her fault, and if she was now suffering, it was no more than she deserved.
She didn’t hear the milk wagon until the horse loomed out of the fog directly in front of her. She didn’t mean to scream any more, probably, than the horse did, but scream they both did.
Horrified and frozen in place, Callie saw the animal rear. She saw its iron-shod hooves, which looked to her startled brain like huge clubs, coming down straight at her out of the air.
After that, her world went black.
Chapter Twenty
Aubrey lay in bed for hours after Callie’s confession. At first his anger and sense of betrayal kept him awake. After those two bitter emotions had burned themselves to a slow simmer, he began to wonder about lots of things.
He still resented Callie’s having read his private correspondence to Anne. Those letters had been written out of love to the person Aubrey had cherished more than life itself. Indeed, if he could have arranged things to suit himself, he’d have gladly sacrificed himself for Anne. The good Lord knew, Becky would probably have been better off with Anne than with him, if fate had insisted she lose one parent.
On the other hand, after his fury cooled, he sort of understood why Callie had read them.
“Bah! She had no right.”
True, true.
However, if reading those letters had assisted her in understanding his and Becky’s anguishing loss, he guessed the action, however underhanded it had been, had worked for some good.
“Conniving bitch.”
Even in the feverish acme of his rage, Aubrey knew that wasn’t so. He’d accused her of being manipulative and treacherous, but he didn’t really believe it. Not Callie. She had many faults, but disloyalty and deviousness weren’t among them. Far from it. She was more apt to lambaste a person to his face than to sneak around behind his back. She was more apt to demand than try to manipulate. Not for her the behind-the-back tactics of a Bilgewater.
Hell, if she’d been really devious, she’d never have confessed her sin in the first place. Even in his shock and anger, Aubrey had registered her honest contrition. She’d been ashamed of whatever compulsion had prompted her to read those letters.
It had startled him to know that it had been Becky who’d initially found the letters and tried to read them. If Callie were to be believed, Aubrey’s own daughter had asked Callie to read the letters to her. Said they gave her comfort. Made her feel better.
Aubrey’s heart squished slightly.
He’d been awfully hard on her. Aubrey couldn’t recall seeing Callie cry very often, but she’d cried when he’d been berating her. Ripping her into bloody strips was more like it. It had infuriated him when she’d tried to excuse her behavior, because he hadn’t believed there to be any excuse for it.
Maybe he’d been a little too hard on her. After all, she’d been trying earnestly to help Becky overcome the loss of her mother.
And she’d been writing letters to Becky, posing as Anne, in heaven. In spite of himself and in spite of the unhappy reality of Becky’s life that had prompted her to do such a thing, Aubrey grinned into the darkness.
She was a clever little minx, and no mistake. But he really couldn’t see Callie Prophet doing something like answering Becky’s letters to heaven in an elaborate and crafty scheme to worm her way into his house and heart. She simply wasn’t that sort of person.
Hell’s bells, when she’d first come here, she’d hated him and had made no bones about it.
And now she claimed to love him.
By damn, when he thought about that part of this whole fiasco, an unreasonable and totally irrational feeling of pride crept over Aubrey. She loved him. Callie Prophet, who was twenty-four years old and had probably been courted by dozens of lovesick swain, loved him, Aubrey Lockhart.
And Aubrey would give his all if he were called on to do so in a wager that Callie didn’t love him for his money. Indeed, the only things she seemed to want to spend his money on were items of use to Becky.
“A birthday party,” he muttered. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”
By the time Aubrey’s brain finally quit whirring and allowed him to sleep, he’d pretty much decided he owed Callie an apology. True, she’d been wrong, but he’d been wrong in attacking and condemning her so thoroughly. Two wrongs, as Aubrey’s mother had tried bard to teach him when he was growing up, did not make a right.
He’d talk to her first thing in the morning. He told himself so as his eyes closed and sleep claimed him.
By that time, though, it was very late. Aubrey had spent a restless week fraught with worry over Becky, sexual frustration resulting from his one liaison with Callie, and suppressed excitement from keeping his engagement to Callie a secret from Becky, who was going to be elated when she heard the news.
The morning was creeping on toward noon, therefore, when Aubrey was startled awake by his bedroom door being flung open and by Becky flying into the room in tears. She was waving a letter in her small hand and between her sobs, she gasped out words that Aubrey didn’t understand at first.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Becky! Good God, child, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Callie!”
That’s what he thought she said, at any rate, and his heart chilled. “Callie?”
“Miss Prophet!”
Becky hurled herself at him. Even with his body and brain still lagging behind his reflexes and struggling to emerge from sleep, he caught her up in his arms. “Miss Prophet?”
This was no good. He could do better than repeat everything she said, He cleared the frog out of his throat and tried again. “What about Miss Prophet, sweetie?” He hugged Becky hard.
“She’s gone!”
It was a more-or-less incoherent wail of distress, but Aubrey caught the words, and his heart stuttered. He shook his head, trying to clear it of sleep webs. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”
Becky dropped the paper she’d been holding, wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, and gave herself up to heart-wrenching sobs. She didn’t answer him, and Aubrey maneuvered one of his hands free and picked up the paper.
He read the missive with growing distress:
Dearest Becky,
I’m afraid it’s time for me to go away, love. Please take care of your papa. He loves you very, very much. I love you, too, but I find I can’t remain in your home any longer. Please remember that I love you, Becky, and I will miss you awfully. I’m leaving Monster to help you get better.
Callie
“Good God.” The paper fluttered from Aubrey’s numb fingers, and he hugged his daughter more tightly.
She’d gone. She’d left him. She’d left Becky.
She’d left Monster, for God’s sake.
What had possessed her to do such a drastic thing?
“Good God,” he repeated, understanding all too well what had possessed her.
She’d believed him when he’d told her she was a no-good cheat, is what had happened. She’d believed him when he’d said those hateful things. She’d believed him.
This was all his fault. His daughter’s broken heart—twice broken, now—could be laid at his own fum
bling feet. He’d all but driven Callie away, all but had her pilloried in the public square and whipped at the cart’s tail.
And she’d written Becky a letter. The impact of that struck Aubrey finally, and he wondered if she’d penned a missive for him, too. Suddenly, the compulsion to search for it assailed him and, holding Becky firmly in his arms, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He needed to find Callie’s letter to him. Surely, she’d written him a letter, too. She had to have written to him. She couldn’t have hared out of his life without leaving so much as a note behind.
He wouldn’t let her leave, anyway, if it came to that. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get dressed and look into this matter.”
“She’s gone,” Becky whimpered. She’d exhausted herself with crying and clung to Aubrey like a limpet, hiccupping and gasping and giving the occasional coughing sob.
“We’ll get her back,” Aubrey told her with more brightness and confidence than he felt. “We’ll find her, sweetheart.”
Becky pulled her face away from his shoulder and looked him in the eye. It hurt Aubrey to see pain and misery reflected in her puffy red eyes, still streaming with tears. “You promise?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“I promise.”
And he’d be damned if he’d break a promise to Becky.
He found Callie’s letter to him in the first place he looked. His heart hurt as he read the words:
Dear Aubrey,
I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have violated your trust. I was wrong, it was a bad thing I did, and I pray that someday you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. Please try to find another nanny for Becky. It’s not my place to advise you, but I think a young woman with lots of energy would be best. You probably don’t believe me, but I love you and Becky with all my heart. God bless you both.
Callie
*****
Callie hurt everywhere. She wondered if she was in the throes of a particularly bad dream.
Steel-shod hooves loomed out of the shadows of her brain, and she flinched. The flinch aggravated the assorted aches and pains in her body, and she groaned.
“She’s coming around, Doctor.”
The voice came to her through the fog shrouding the countryside. What did it mean? Callie couldn’t figure it out, and she hurt too much to devote a lot of thought to it.
“Good. I’d hoped she would. That’s a good sign, although she’s not going to be out of the woods for a while.”
A muffled sob filtered through the mud in Callie’s head. Now why was someone crying?
She realized it had been one of her own sobs she’d heard and was surprised. Callie almost never cried in front of people. Then she heard another sob, and knew it wasn’t her own.
Good heavens, why was everyone crying? It seemed very strange to her.
“Oh, Dr. Marshall, please, please save her.”
Lord on high, that was Alta! At least . . . Callie strained to think, but her head hurt too much. She was pretty sure that had been Alta’s voice, but Alta never sounded like that, as though she were terrified and alarmed and sad.
“Don’t spare the treatment, Doc. I’ll pay whatever it’ll cost.”
George! That was George! For heaven’s sake. Callie couldn’t figure this out. What was he offering to pay for?
“And we’ll help, Dr. Marshall.”
And that had been Florence! Mercy, what on earth was going on here? Callie couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard all of her siblings sounding so upset about anything.
Oh, yes. She remembered now. When their father died was the last time. The thought of her father dying made her want to weep, but she hurt too much to spare energy for more tears.
“I’ll do everything I can,” came Dr. Marshall’s voice out of the void. “What about Mr. Lockhart? Has someone been in touch with him?”
Callie’s brain screamed No! but her mouth wouldn’t work. Silence settled on the room after the doctor’s question.
At last Alta spoke. “I, uh, don’t know. Something funny’s going on there, Dr. Marshall. Callie had her suitcase with her. She appeared to be walking to town.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” said George, sounding a trifle more hearty. Actually, he sounded rather belligerent. “I’ll go there and find out what happened, you can bet on it. He shouldn’t have allowed her to walk to town in that fog. What was the man thinking?”
No, Callie’s brain pleaded. It wasn’t his fault I left like that. She realized she’d probably been precipitate in her departure, although it hadn’t felt like it at the time. Actually, she couldn’t remember the particulars, but she was sure she’d had a good reason for not telling Aubrey about her departure.
“Please don’t make trouble, George.”
That was Florence, the peacemaker of the Prophet clan.
Florence wanted everyone to get along. Always. No matter
what.
“Well, but we really must tell him. For all we know, he gave Callie leave to do something, and she was taking a little holiday. Or something.” Alta didn’t sound sure of herself.
“You’re going to have to leave the room now, folks. I need to examine her further. The concussion’s a bad one, and I’m not sure if there will be permanent problems resulting from it. I also need to check for other injuries, and I don’t care to have an audience.”
Thank God. If Callie had to be examined by a doctor, she didn’t want her brother and sisters peering on.
“After I assess her condition in more detail, I’ll see what I can do to ease her pain.”
“Is she in pain?”
Callie could tell Alta was crying when she asked the question. She’d like to have answered her. She was in horrible pain. She’d never been in such pain. She couldn’t get her muscles, nerves, and brain to cooperate, however, so she remained silent.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Marshall said, sounding worried.
Callie didn’t like to hear the doctor sound worried.
“How can you tell?” asked George. •
“I can’t. If there’s nerve damage, she might not feel anything. If—if the blow to her brain was severe enough, she might remain in a coma.”
“No!” It was a chorus of three.
The hooves came out of the fog at her once more, and she flinched again.
A horse. She vaguely recalled something about fog. And a horse. And screaming.
Yes. There had been screaming. She’d screamed. And the horse had screamed. How funny. A horse screaming.
“Good God, she’s smiling!” George. Callie felt him leaning over her.
“Does—does that mean anything, Doctor?” Alta, too, leaned over her.
“Oh, please, Doctor, tell us she’ll be all right!” Florence joined the other two of Callie’s siblings.
“I can’t tell you anything until I’ve examined her.” The doctor sounded as if he were losing patience. “Will you please leave the room so that I can get this done?”
“Oh, she looks so terrible! I’m so afraid for her!”
“Don’t cry, Florence.” Alta. was crying, too, although Callie wasn’t sure Alta knew it.
“Come on, Alta and Flo. Let’s get a cup of tea or something. Let Dr. Marshall do whatever he has to do.” More grimly, George added, “I’ve got to get a message to Lockhart.”
Lockhart. Not Mr. Lockhart. Oh, dear, George was angry. He was blaming Aubrey for whatever had happened. If only she could remember. Callie tried to remember, but was again unsuccessful.
“Thank you,” the doctor muttered. He sounded cranky, but Callie thought she detected an underlay of apprehension. She didn’t think that was a good sign.
She heard a whoosh and a bang, and she flinched yet again. These loud noises played the very devil with her headache.
The doctor said, “For the love of— What are you barging in here for, Mr. Lockhart? And you shouldn’t have brought Becky out in this weather. She’s only recently recovered from a bad bout of influen
za and needs to be resting, not running around in the cold autumn air.”
Good Lord, it was Aubrey and Becky. Callie exerted every ounce of her inner strength to open her eyes and look at them, but none of her organs wanted to obey her commands.
“Callie!”
Aubrey. He sounded scared. Bad. Very bad.
“Miss Prophet!”
Becky. She sounded scared, too. Oh, dear.
Bother. It was all too much for Callie. She decided she’d just have to figure it out later. At the moment, she thought sleep would do her more good than thought. So she went to sleep.
*****
When Aubrey and Becky had arrived in Santa Angelica in his surrey, Aubrey had gone to the post office, bought some stamps, and asked casually if Callie had been in to chat with her former coworkers. When Mr. Wilson had looked grave and told him about Callie’s accident, Aubrey’s heart had stopped beating for a moment. Then it had raced.
He’d scooped Becky up, forgotten all about the stamps and the horse and buggy waiting for them outside the post office, and headed at a run for the hospital.
Then, when he’d seen Callie lying there, her face a deathly white except for the stark, livid bruises that bled into her hairline and seemed to Aubrey to be silent accusations, he’d almost fallen down on his knees. Only the fact that he still held Becky in his arms had kept him upright.
George Prophet had come to his rescue, taking his arm and leading him to a chair.
“Here, Mr. Lockhart, sit clown here. Callie’s been in an accident.”
“An accident?” Becky, still not entirely recovered from her recent illness, began crying weakly. “What happened? Will she be all right?”
“We hope so, sweetie pie.” George, bless him, had smiled encouragingly at Becky.
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