by Ann Collins
Alex stood waist-deep in the surf. Waves battered his already battered body. He turned in circles, looking everywhere, reaching into the water, but coming up empty-handed. Every few seconds he dove under. Each time he surfaced with nothing.
Joshua had vanished beneath the endless procession of waves. His abandoned pail was half buried in the glistening sand. Water streamed around it.
Julia saw a growing panic in Alex’s face. His movements became jerky, perhaps partially due to the cold water.
Trying to control her own panic, she scanned the surf for the tiniest bit of color that didn’t belong to the sea. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she didn’t think it could have been more than two minutes.
Joshua’s mother moaned and keened. “My baby. Where is my baby? He can’t just disappear.”
She held the woman more tightly, trying to comfort them both. “Alex will find him. My husband will find your son.”
“He just wanted some water in his pail. I should’ve gotten it myself.”
Julia blinked away the burn of tears and continued watching Alex struggle against the crashing waves, against what was quickly becoming a hopeless mission. A murmuring crowd gathered, but she didn’t look at them. No one else risked entering the surf.
A flash of red in the foaming water caught her eye.
“Alex!” she shouted, releasing the woman and running toward him, oblivious to the water soaking her shoes and hem. “There!” She pointed to where she’d seen the color, the red of the sailor suit’s buttons. “Five feet that way!”
He dove under. Another wave broke over where he had been standing.
She backed herself out of the water, waiting and praying.
Alex surfaced with the boy.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
Joshua, sputtering and coughing and crying, clamped his arms around Alex’s neck.
Carrying the boy, Alex trudged out of the surf, then collapsed to his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Julia rushed to his side, knowing how difficult his breathing must be with his injured ribs. Both he and Joshua were shivering.
Joshua’s mother, sobbing with relief, stumbled forward and tried to grab her son.
Alex didn’t relinquish him. Not right away.
Julia thought she saw a tear rolling down her husband’s face. She couldn’t be sure, though. Too much saltwater dripped from his hair. Whether he was overcome with emotion or not, she knew that a large piece of her heart now belonged to Alexander Devlin MacLean. If he kept on like this, protecting her and saving small children, she might very well fall in love with the stranger she had married.
When Alex finally released the boy, Joshua let go, too. The boy reached for his mother and cried harder. She hugged him close, then carried him farther up the beach and set him down.
Julia helped Alex to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“I … will … be.” His wet clothes stuck to his body. He continued to shiver.
Dr. Dolan emerged from the crowd, wrapped a towel around Joshua, made a quick examination, and pronounced him “a strong lad.” He patted the boy on the back and turned to his mother. “Right now, madam, your son needs a hot bath and a good rest. Some warm milk with chocolate would go down well, too. I’ll stop by the kitchen and bring a cup to your room.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” the woman said. “Would you please watch Joshua for a moment?” Before the doctor could respond, she rushed toward Alex and threw her arms around him. “You saved my son. I thought I’d lost him, but you brought him back to me. Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you, but you will always be in my prayers.”
Julia blinked back tears.
Alex seemed at a loss as to what to say. He looked relieved when she let go and ran back to her son.
“I, uh, need to find my shoes.” He walked away, leaving Julia alone.
Letting him go, she retrieved Joshua’s pail from its sandy grave and carried it up the beach. The crowd began to disperse. Several of the men complimented her on her eagle eye. A woman said, “Without you, that little boy might still be underwater.”
“Thank you, but my husband is the true hero. He’s the one who deserves your praise.”
The men and women gave him that praise as soon as he rejoined her, shoes in hand. Several men clapped him on the back, failing to notice that each well-meaning thump made him grimace.
“Well done, sir,” one man called out.
Julia inserted herself between Alex and the others, put her arm around his back, and protected him from their compliments. It was the least she could do after all he had done for her and Joshua. If, indeed, he was keeping secrets from her, she hoped he would find a way to trust her as much as she trusted him.
* * *
Finally warm again, Alex eased himself out of the claw-foot tub and wrapped a linen towel around his hips. The ocean had been numbingly cold. He hadn’t felt it at first, too intent on his search for Joshua and the race against time. He hadn’t known how long the boy could hold his breath or if he had managed to gulp some air between waves. Thank God Julia glimpsed his clothing when she did.
Alex didn’t know if he could have endured another child dying just out of his reach.
While in the surf, frantically searching for Joshua, he had seen flashes of his own son, first as Danny had stood at the window begging to be saved, then as the smoke and fire swallowed him whole. Danny had disappeared as suddenly as Joshua.
Forcing the agonizing thoughts away, Alex opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom to dress. Spread over the bed were his new clothes. Julia must’ve had his packages brought up, opened, and laid out for him.
He chose one of his new sets of work clothes, dressed, and entered the sitting room. “Julia?”
“In here,” she answered from her room.
At the threshold, he stopped and peeked in. The room was simply furnished, with a bed large enough for two, a linen-covered bureau, a dainty French writing desk, and shelves weighted with books, shells, driftwood, and framed photographs of two women, one who could only have been her mother.
Alex leaned in farther. To his surprise, Julia was sitting in a rocking chair by the window, sewing the hem of one of her dresses. He was impressed. Elizabeth would have never considered taking up needle and thread for anything as practical as mending an item of clothing.
“Come in,” she said, resting her hands on the dress covering her lap.
He felt his eyebrows lift. “You’re inviting me into your bedroom?”
“You are my husband.”
“Yes, well, not in every respect.” He stepped inside. “Not yet, anyway.”
She swallowed visibly but didn’t look away. “I see you found your new clothes. Theo delivered your packages. I laid them out and gave him your other clothes to be laundered. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not as long as you didn’t tell him to throw them out.”
“They’re not mine to dispose of. I had hoped, however, that you would wear one of your new suits this evening. I thought we could do my rounds early and then dine in the Crown Room.”
He leaned against the bureau. “To be honest, I’d rather stay in tonight, away from any more demonstrations of appreciation.” He put a hand to his aching back. If he kept going the way he had since his arrival at the hotel, his body would never heal.
“Of course. I should’ve thought of it myself. Word will have definitely gotten around by now. It’s likely a reporter from the local newspaper will want to interview you.”
“Not interested.” He examined her sterling silver-backed hand mirror. “I don’t want to talk to any reporters.”
“But you’re a hero, the only person who jumped into the surf to help Joshua. And you stayed in that freezing water because you refused to give up. Everyone will want to hear from you. You saved a child’s life.”
He returned her brush to the bureau. “I don’t want to think about any of it. I certainly don’t want to talk a
bout it to some reporter.” He hated how close they had come to losing Joshua. “What’s the chef’s special tonight?”
She jumped up and tossed the dress on the chair. “How can you just put it out of your mind like that? I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving him. I don’t know how I would have faced his mother if you hadn’t pulled Joshua out alive.”
“If it hadn’t been for you, I would have failed.” Again. He started for the door. “I’ll be in my room putting my clothes away. Call me when dinner arrives. And order a bottle of wine with it. I’m thirsty.” At her room’s threshold, he paused and looked back. “After dinner, I’ll be going to bed early. Alone.”
While standing in the surf, helpless to find Joshua, Alex had felt wave after wave of guilt threatening to drown him. For over three years, mired in self-blame and suffering, he had tried not to think about Danny, essentially wanting to forget his own beloved son. He had married Julia to start his life over, hoping to find love and have other children. Alex groaned as he crossed the apartment. He had betrayed his little boy, and he did not deserve happiness.
Chapter Eleven
Despite her exhaustion, Julia lay awake. Dinner with Alex had been like eating alone. He had barely said a word, even after drinking nearly the entire bottle of wine himself. In fact, he had become quieter, as though turning inward, brooding about something he refused to share with her.
When he’d said good night, he hadn’t even tried to touch her, let alone kiss her. She had discovered she wanted his affectionate and stirring touches.
An odd, unidentifiable noise made her sit up straight in bed. The sound had come from somewhere in the apartment.
She listened hard, trying to hear over the sudden hammering of her heart. Had her attacker dared to enter her refuge?
The noise came again, this time mixed with a loud muttering—Alex’s voice.
Relieved but concerned, she slid out of bed and tiptoed into the sitting room.
The ramblings continued, but with his door closed, she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She crept closer and put her ear to his door. He kept mumbling, his bed frame creaking and bedclothes rustling.
Worried for him, she knocked lightly but received no response. The sounds inside continued. She opened the door and switched on the lights. “Alex?”
His eyes were shut tight. His body thrashed from one side to the other. He was shirtless, the sheet and blanket tangled around his lower body.
She winced at the vivid coloring of his bruises. He was surely in pain, yet he didn’t wake. His incomprehensible muttering rose and fell, louder and softer. Was he feverish after his plunge into the ocean?
He moaned, pausing in his movements. She pressed her hand to his forehead. Perspiration dampened her fingers, but his flesh was cool. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Alex, wake up.” She shook his shoulder.
Eyes still closed, he suddenly screwed up his face and shouted, “No!” He drew the word out for what seemed an eternity, like the howl of a coyote.
Gooseflesh spread over her body. In anguish and astonishment, she watched as tears squeezed out of his eyes. What could he be seeing that was so terrible it brought him to tears in his sleep?
Abruptly every muscle in his body seemed to tense. “Danny!” he cried out.
She shook him harder. “Alex! Wake up!”
His eyes blinked open, and his body went limp. He peered up at her, then glanced around. When his gaze returned to her, he said, “Julia?” as if questioning who she was and where they were.
“Yes. Are you all right?”
His eyes cleared. “Why are you here?”
“You were having a nightmare.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He grabbed the covers, tugged them free of his lower body, and pulled them halfway up his torso. “I remember.”
When he didn’t explain, she said, “It must have been awful. You were thrashing around quite violently.”
He only shrugged.
She felt a wrenching pang in her heart. Why wouldn’t he confide in her? She was his wife.
“Who’s Danny?” she asked.
His eyes locked on hers.
“You shouted that name. It obviously means something to you.”
He rolled onto his side, facing away from her. “Switch off the lights on your way out please.”
She didn’t move for a full ten seconds. An empty, hopeless feeling overwhelmed her. Eventually she made it to the door and turned out the lights. Under the cover of darkness, she said, “All right, Alex. Keep your secrets. There’s no reason for you to trust me with them. After all, our marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement.”
She shut the door, fought back the tears stinging her eyes, and forced herself to walk calmly to her room.
* * *
Alex stood behind his closed door the next morning and breathed in the smells of bacon and sweet rolls. Despite his hunger, he remained in his room, trying to come up with a way to apologize to Julia for turning his back on her. She deserved better from him, especially after her efforts to keep the well-wishers on the beach from clapping him on the back.
Though she’d only been trying to help him late last night, Alex felt as if she were prying into his past, a past he didn’t want to talk about. He had relived enough of it during his nightmare.
Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the coolness of the painted wood. For several months, the nightmare had left him alone, but last night it returned with a vengeance, reminding him of his failure to protect his son. Julia had every right to know who Danny was, but talking about him was excruciating.
If Alex did speak of him, he feared that the pain he had kept to himself would trickle out at first, then rush like a flood through a narrow canyon. He didn’t want anyone to see him that way, most especially Julia.
Straightening, he finally opened the door, no closer to a solution. He walked through the sitting room and into the small dining area. She was seated in the same chair as yesterday, a barely touched piece of toast on her plate. She held a coffee cup with both hands.
He cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
She didn’t look up. “Morning.” Her voice sounded deeper than usual, and there was nothing welcoming in her greeting.
Alex dropped onto the chair to her left and tried to think of something neutral to say. “Smells good.”
She took a sip of her coffee, still not looking at him.
He gave in, hating the coldness he knew wasn’t her. Normally, she could warm a room just by being in it. He had hurt her by refusing to answer the simplest of questions.
He pressed his palms to the tabletop. “Danny was my son.”
For a moment, she didn’t move, but then the cup in her hands started to shake. Afraid the steaming coffee would slosh over the rim and burn her, Alex took the cup from her hands and carefully placed it on the saucer. He steeled himself for the inevitable, the truth he had to tell, about Danny anyway.
“He died in the same fire that took Elizabeth’s life, as well as a servant girl’s. He was four.”
Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, Alex. When I told you about my baby sister, I said you couldn’t know what it was like to lose a child, but you do know. Too well. I am so sorry.” She placed her hand over his forearm. “Losing him in a fire …” She shook her head. “I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s best you not try.” He sucked in his stomach, attempting to maintain control. “I see it enough for the both of us.”
Her fingers gently closed on his wrist. “Your nightmare last night?”
He nodded, afraid to say more.
“Tell me.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Please don’t keep something this important from me. Despite the reasons we married, I am your wife and you said you wanted to stay. If you choose to keep your past from me, it will always be a wall between us.”
She was right. He knew that, but—
“P
lease, Alex.” She covered his wrist with both hands. “What happened?”
He drew a deep breath, stared at a covered platter without really seeing it, and remembered. “It was … a Thursday night. Elizabeth and I were arguing, again, about money. She wanted to redecorate the house that I hadn’t wanted in the first place. Her parents bought it for us as a wedding gift. That way they could keep Elizabeth, their only child, close to them. We were three houses from theirs, and I hated the influence they had over her, and then over my son once he was born.”
He closed his eyes as the memories emerged—his in-laws telling him how his own son would be raised, as if he had no say in the matter.
“Alex?”
He opened his eyes.
“Go on,” she prompted.
He breathed in, then out. “Maintaining and staffing a house that big was more than I could afford with a wife who constantly spent money on herself. I told her we would not be redecorating, that I’d been looking for houses in a more affordable neighborhood. She threw the biggest tantrum I’d seen yet. Bottles of perfume and powders and I don’t know what else went flying, crashing and breaking against the walls. There was no talking to her when she got like that. I didn’t even want to be in the same house with her, so I left. I went for a walk. When I got back, the house was on fire.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was filled with compassion and sorrow.
He didn’t want her sympathy. Her hands on his wrist were enough to undo him if he didn’t keep a tight rein on his emotions.
“Later,” he said, “I learned the fire had started in her room. Her tantrum had most likely continued after I left. The kerosene lamp on her dressing table may have been knocked over, the flame igniting what she’d spilled.”
“The poor woman.” She stared at the browned toast on her plate, shuddered, and jerked her gaze back up to him. “Where was Danny?”
He swallowed hard. “Upstairs. Asleep in the nursery on the third floor. He …”
She waited. “Don’t stop. I know this is painful for you, but please don’t stop.”
He scraped a tiny patch of tablecloth with his blunt fingernail. “I haven’t talked about Danny since I left Baltimore.”