Beyond This Moment

by Tamera Alexander

  Angelo was holding his own, as Dr. Brookston had said earlier. He'd awakened only once and hadn't spoken yet, and was bruised in more places than not. She wouldn't have thought a boy that slight of build could take such a beating and live. Not for the first time, Angelo Giordano's tenacity had surprised her. And Dr. Brookston's skill continued to impress her. He'd insisted she get some rest during the night, and she was glad now that she had.

  James and Deputy Willis joined them on the boardwalk, still discussing the outcome of the meeting with Davenport and Rudger. She was so proud of how James had handled the situation. Timber Ridge was fortunate to have him as sheriff. What LuEllen Spivey had said to her the evening before returned, and though she knew Mrs. Spivey had a spiteful side, she also knew that what the woman had said held bits and pieces of truth.

  More than bits and pieces ...

  Molly caught James staring at little Callie, and his blue eyes mirrored the same longing she felt. Oh, how she wished things were different.

  Deputy Willis fingered his daughter's bonnet. "Anybody up for breakfast? Miss Clara's open on Saturday mornings now."

  They all laughed, but Molly saw James look in her direction. She gave a half shrug, thinking of the packing she had to do. But she was also famished, and not overly tired-yet. She nodded. "Then, maybe we can stop by Dr. Brookston's and check on Angelo?"

  " James smiled. "My thoughts exactly."

  Miss Clara's was busy, but it didn't take long to get their food, and the more Molly ate, the more renewed she felt. Or perhaps it was the two cups of Miss Clara's stout coffee. Mary held Callie, and Molly reached over and brushed a finger against the silk of the little girl's cheek.

  Tallie's extra special to us." Deputy Willis tucked his napkin beside his plate. "I'm not sure if Mary told you, ma'am, but we lost our first baby, a son, when Mary was right at seven months along-"

  "Dean!" Mary threw him a look, her cheeks growing pink.

  Molly's heart skipped a beat, but she forced a weak smile. Mary had lost a baby in her seventh month of pregnancy?

  Deputy Willis sighed. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't-" He shook his head. "I flat out wasn't thinking:'

  "No;' Molly whispered. "That's all right, really." Her seventh month? "I'm ... deeply sorry for your loss:" That was so far along to lose a child, and similar to where she was in her own pregnancy.

  Their parting with the couple moments later on the boardwalk was subdued and slightly awkward, but Molly held no ill will toward the deputy. He'd meant nothing by what he'd said, and she told herself it had no bearing on her situation.

  She and James arrived at the clinic to find that Angelo hadn't awakened again. Dr. Brookston assured her that was best for now, to give the boy's body time to heal, and insisted she go on home. Molly retrieved the still-unopened gift Lori Beth had given her from the back room and met James outside.

  She accepted his help onto the horse, riding sidesaddle, then leaned forward as he swung up behind her. The gentle plod of Winsome's unhurried gait and the warmth of the sun lulled her into shutting her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw the turnoff to her cabin. Her cabin. That wouldn't hold true much longer.

  James paused. "We don't have the sleigh, but it sure is a pretty day for a ride. If you're up to it:'

  His hopeful tone was persuasive, as was thinking of the packing that awaited her if she went home. "A ride sounds nice."

  He guided Winsome around the cabin and up a trail Molly had walked twice before, only she'd never gone past the large boulder where the path forked. The trail to the left looked as though it continued on around the ridge. The other way, more narrow and twisting, led higher into the mountains. James nudged the mare to the right.

  The incline grew steep, and Molly leaned back into him. His arms came around her and her unborn child, and she smiled, wondering if this closeness had figured into his choice of trail. A spasm tightened across her midsection, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It took every ounce of concentration to breathe normally until the discomfort passed. Finally, she exhaled deep. This was the strongest one so far. Dr. Brookston had told her she'd have mild contractions on occasion, but what had he meant by mild?

  James leaned to one side. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded. "I'm fine. I just think the baby's telling me we need some rest"

  "We won't be long:"

  "No, no ... I'm enjoying this." And she was, but another pain like that one and she would ask him to take her back.

  The trail gradually leveled again and James reined in. They sat in silence for the longest time, staring out over the world below, and the world beyond. Wave after wave of mountain ranges rose majestic white against the cobalt sky, stacked one behind the other for as far as Molly could see. Ethereal beauty ... The air was cooler up here than down in the valley, and she appreciated the warmth from both James and Winsome.

  "There's something I need to speak to you about, Molly."

  She closed her eyes, not having forgotten about this, and guessing what was coming. "James, perhaps ... with everything else that's happened, it might be best to wait until later."

  His arms tightened around her. "I don't think so. I think you need to know this ... now."

  She stole a glance behind her. His expression was noticeably more serious than before, as was his tone. `All right;' she whispered, facing forward again, wondering if she'd guessed wrong.

  "Molly, you and I have spoken about our homes, and our families ... what it was like growing up. Your parents ... your father and mother," he added quickly, as though needing to clarify the term parents. "They sound like they were fine people. Yours was a proper heritage, your family name well honored, well thought of."

  She didn't follow what he was saying, but he seemed so intent on finding the right words, she kept silent, not wanting to make this any harder for him. At the same time, her imagination darted in all directions, coming back empty as to what he might say next.

  He exhaled. "I'm not doing a very good job of this, am I?"

  "I think you're doing fine:' She turned so he could see her smile. "Of course, I have no idea what you're trying to tell me:"

  He touched the side of her face, then drew his hand away. "What I'm trying to tell you is this.... My family-the family I described to you before-was my family. At least ... it was how I saw it until I got older. Until I learned the truth:"

  She would have sworn from his tone that he'd winced.

  "My father was a physician, as you already know. I was never close to him growing up, but didn't understand why until later in life:"

  Unhindered silence filled the passing seconds, and Molly settled her gaze on a mountain peak far in the distance. And waited.

  "The reason I'm telling you all this is because"-his breath came out part laugh, part sigh-"is because I care for you ... so much:" His hand inched forward until it rested on the swell of her belly. "I care for you both;' he whispered in her ear, his face closer now.

  Molly closed her eyes and covered his hand.

  "It hurt when you told me about the baby." His breath was warm against her cheek. "When I realized you'd lied to me, to us. But that's behind us now," he whispered. "I understand what it's like to be afraid that something will change people's opinions of you-if they knew the truth:'

  Never had she so wanted to know what someone would say next. She could scarcely hear over the pounding in her chest.

  "When my father was on his deathbed, he told me the truth ... about something he'd done:" His voice went cold and hard. "My father was an excellent physician, but he was not a moral man. He had ... relationships with women outside of his and my mother's marriage. A woman he'd had an affair with ... she came to be with child:"

  A sickening premonition welled up inside her, and Molly swallowed. She stared at his hand beneath hers. It began to tremble.

  "That woman ... she died giving birth to a son. When my father-" His voice caught. He cleared his throat. "When he brought the boy home;' he said, his d
eep voice gravelly, "he gave him to my mother and told her that one of his patients had died that day, that the woman had no family and had left the boy orphaned. My mother, God bless her soul, had lost her first child to a stillbirth ... only weeks earlier:"

  Tears choked Molly's throat. She squeezed his hand. "You ..." she whispered, "were that baby."

  He didn't answer for the longest time. "My mother didn't learn the truth until a year after he brought me home:" He sniffed. "She said that by then it didn't matter where I'd come from-or from whom-that I was already hers:"

  Molly suppressed a sob. So that was it ... the pain responsible for this man's discerning spirit. As what he'd told her became clearer, so did the reason he was telling her. He felt obliged that she be told of the inferiority of his birth. Of his lack of heritage in comparison to hers. Ever the Southern gentleman, no matter where the gentleman was.

  The irony of the situation struck a dull and dissonant chord inside her. Sensing he was awaiting her response, she looked back, careful with what she said. Because she knew he would remember this once she told him who she really was. "You are the finest man I've ever known, James McPherson. Nothing you've told me changes that. Or ever will:"

  He kissed her, but it was different this time. There was a sweet shyness in the way he held her, in the way his mouth moved over hers, as though he wanted to drink her in, yet was reluctant to, wanting to savor it. Savor her. Just as she was him.

  The ride down the mountain was quiet, and Molly felt a silent clock ticking inside her, the pendulum slicing off the seconds.

  All his life, James had tried to forget who had given him birth. And since Molly had been in Timber Ridge, she'd been trying to forget who she was, and what she'd done. Two people on such diverse, yet similar, converging paths. But no matter what good she'd done since moving to Timber Ridge, no matter what lessons she'd learned or how much she regretted her choice, in James's eyes, once he knew, she would always be ... that woman.

  41

  ack at the cabin, Molly held on to James's shoulders as he eased her down off the horse. She tried to quiet the question inside her, but it wouldn't be stifled. "Did you ever learn who she was? The woman who gave birth to you?"

  James didn't meet her eyes. "No. I never had any desire to know who she was. Not after knowing what she was ... and what she'd done:"

  Seeing the hardness in his expression, the lingering hurt, and this after so many years, she wished now that she hadn't asked the question. "Thank you ... for the ride this afternoon. And for telling me" He'd been right. She had needed to know this about him, only not for the reasons he thought.

  A wave of fatigue hit her, as did another spasm. Only not as hard as before, and it didn't last as long. Perhaps she shouldn't have taken that ride after all. Her back was aching and breakfast wasn't sitting too well. James walked her to the door, and she slipped the key from her pocket into the lock, eager to get to bed.

  "You get some rest:" He held out his arm and assisted her into the cabin. "I'll do the same and be back later this afternoon, to help you pack:"

  `And we'll go see Angelo?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

  "You bet:" He kissed the top of her head. "Sleep well, Molly."

  Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the cabin, such an unusual day for winter. But she welcomed the warmth. After slipping into her gown, she used the chamber pot, then crawled beneath the covers. Another pain hit as she lay down, and she gripped the mattress until it passed. If this is what Dr. Brookston meant by mild, she had a new respect for women who'd borne numerous children, and a deeper dread of what giving birth would be like.

  She felt the urge to use the chamber pot again and sighed. This was happening more often these days-this dire urge to relieve herself only to have so little a reward once she got there. She pushed back the covers and stood, and felt a warm gush flow down between her legs.

  Startled, she stared, disbelieving.

  She tried to stop it. And couldn't. She lifted her gown. It kept coming. Oh, God ... She tried to get to the chamber pot, but a cramp doubled her over. Followed by another. And another. Fighting to get her breath, she grabbed the footboard of the bed to steady herself. Her legs shook uncontrollably.

  She needed to lie down. But didn't have the strength to get back to the bed.

  She sank down to the floor as another contraction hit. She cried out, cradling her abdomen. This shouldn't be happening. Not yet. It was too soon. "We lost our first baby, a son, when Mary was right at seven months along...."

  Molly tried to block out the words, but what Deputy Willis had said played again and again in her mind. She had to get to Dr. Brookston's. She struggled to her feet and held on to the doorframe before managing a few more steps. Another pain hit, and she gripped the back of a kitchen chair, but it toppled beneath her weight. She went down and her knees made a dull crack on the wooden floor.

  "Oh ... God ..." She curled onto her side and stared through the window at a snow-covered peak set against a patch of blue sky. She shivered, her gown wet and cold around her legs. "Help me, Lord ... please:" Don't let my baby die. Please, don't let my baby die.

  The room started to spin seconds before everything went dark.

  James stopped by his office on the way home, more from habit than anything else, and when he dismounted, he noticed a red ribbon peeking out from one of his saddlebags. Then he remembered.... He'd tucked Molly's reticule and sack inside.

  He'd seen Miss Matthews give the cloth bag to Molly last night, then had overheard Molly asking the woman to tea the following week, as had a few other people. He'd toyed with saying something to Molly earlier but had decided to leave it alone, for now.

  Molly had a tender heart, and she probably felt sorry for Lori Beth Matthews. Being mindful of those less fortunate was an admirable character trait, and something he cherished about Molly. But it was a fine line to walk, and she also needed to be mindful of her own reputation. Especially if she was going to be the sheriff's wife, which was looking more promising every day. A smile worked at the corners of his mouth.

  He tucked the ribbon inside. He'd give Molly her things when he saw her later. He walked into the office, hat in hand, and Deputy Stanton looked up from his desk.

  "Hey, Sheriff, I was just penning you a note. Brookston sent word that the boy woke up. Says he's asking for you and Mrs. Whitcomb. Doc said for y'all to come as soon as you could:"

  James was nearly to Brookston's office when he thought of having to tell Molly he'd visited Angelo without her. She wouldn't be pleased. Knowing better than to purposely rile the woman, he gave Winsome a good prod, and the mare took off down the road as if already knowing where to go.

  James made it to Molly's in no time flat, out of breath from the hard ride. Winsome snorted, and James smoothed a hand down her forehead. "That felt good, girl:"

  He grabbed Molly's reticule and the ribboned sack from the saddlebag and knocked on the door. And waited. Chances were good she was already asleep. She'd looked a little tired. He felt a pinch of guilt for keeping her out when she needed to rest, but he'd needed to talk to her and was glad now that he had. He pictured her face again, after he'd told her. He'd seen it in her eyes. She didn't fault him for his inferior birth, or for his lack of honor in that regard. To say he was grateful was an understatement.

  He knocked a second time. "Molly? You still up?"

  Then he heard something. A moan? He tried the door. It was locked.

  "Molly! Are you in there?"

  He walked around to the side of the cabin and peered through a window-and his heart wrenched tight. She was curled up on the floor, holding her stomach, a kitchen chair overturned by her head. "Molly!" He banged on the window. She didn't acknowledge him.

  He dropped the reticule and sack and ran back to the porch. He tried shouldering the door open, but it wouldn't budge. He gave it a hard kick. The wood splintered but held. He backed up and came at it again, putting his full weight behind his right shoulder
, and the door flew open.

  He raced in and knelt beside her. He brushed strands of hair from her face. "Molly, can you hear me?" She was pale, her skin cold and clammy.

  She looked up at him, her eyes glazed over.

  "Molly, what happened? Did you fall?"

  She blinked, then cradled her belly, moaning. "It's ... too soon."

  He saw her wet gown clinging to her thighs and emotion choked him. The baby ... Her face blurred in his vision. "I've got to get you into town:" He grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and wrapped it around her. There wasn't time to ride for Brookston and he couldn't leave her here alone.

  Her whole body shook. "It hurts..."

  "I know it does, and I'm sorry." He lifted her in his arms and she cried out. "I wish there was another way."

  Her arms came around his neck and she squeezed tight, groaning. With effort, he got her onto the horse, but the ride into town was excruciatingly slow. In between pains, she panted for breath and cried.

  "James. . "

  "I'm here, Molly. I'm right here. Just hold on:' Five more minutes and they'd be to Brookston's.

  "I don't want to die;' she said in a rush, sobbing.

  Tears he'd been fighting slipped past his defenses. "Y-you're not going to die:"

  "But you don't know..."

  He cradled her head against his chest, wishing he did know for sure. " Shhh;' he whispered. "It's going to be all right" God, please let it be all right.

  "I'm so sorry;" she whispered, crying harder.

  He scoffed. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who's sorry. I had no business asking you to go for a ride today when-"

  "No .. " She shook her head. "You don't understand. James, I ... I need you ... to listen. I'm sorry for not-" A strangled noise rose from her throat and she bent forward, hugging herself tight.

  James urged Winsome to a faster pace, feeling so helpless. If he could take her pain away, he would. He'd take it upon himself. God, don't let her die. You can't let her die.