Mary’s eyes widened.
“I meant, should I call Kweela—” What had this girl done to him? He was acting like a blathering idiot.
“No, thank you, sir,” Mary said primly, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I’m sure I’m fine now. Thank you, sir.”
He took two more steps back and cleared his throat. “Well. . . you get a good night’s sleep. You need not worry about Emma tonight. Daniel will take proper care of her.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that, sir.”
Tired as he was, Colin still couldn’t seem to draw himself away. “She’s lucky to have had you here, Mary.”
“She ain’t—ah—isn’t the lucky one, sir, it’s me—” Mary frowned. “Or is that ‘I’?”
Colin tried not to smile. She was so sweet and innocent, and lovely.
Mary shrugged. “Anyway, aside from this difficult time, which now seems to have passed, these have been the happiest weeks of my whole life. . . And I owe it all to you, sir. I’ll never forget that.”
There was a special warmth in the soft timbre of her voice. And he was quite sure that he was not misinterpreting the regard that shone in her expressive brown eyes.
“You must sleep now. I’ll return tomorrow to visit Emma.”
And you.
“Before you go, sir—”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear any news of Ed?”
Mary’s question doused Colin’s heated thoughts like a splash of cold water. Oh, he was sure she was anxious to know about the phantom Ed McKenzie, but was her question also a subtle reminder of propriety?
Whether or not that was her intention, it served the purpose. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “No one has seen or heard of him. At least not in the mines we visited. Of course, it’s always possible he struck out on his own.”
Mary nodded. “That sounds more like Ed. He said he didn’t come to South Africa to work for wages. He expected to make a big strike on his own.” Then she seemed to sink down into herself, her sad thoughts removing her from Colin. “Thank you, sir. I know you did your best,” she added absently.
“I’ll keep trying,” he promised, though he doubted she’d heard him.
That blackguard, Colin thought, marching out the door. That fool. When Ed McKenzie left Mary, he’d left something of far greater value than the richest vein of gold.
❧
Mary wasn’t as innocent as she suspected Magistrate Reed believed. She’d felt his beating heart and seen the yearning in his eyes. As she stared at the closed door, she pictured him, covered in dust and weary. What an extraordinarily handsome man he was, matched only by the most sterling qualities of character. Trustworthy, loyal, compassionate. Certainly not qualities she’d seen in her father. Or Ed. Before she met Magistrate Reed, she’d begun to despair that they even existed.
What wonderful people surrounded her in this place. Was it possible that all the sadness she’d suffered since her mother’s death had been leading her here?
Was God truly working in her life, as Emma suggested?
Mary lay back into the down of the soft quilt and stared through the open window at the starry sky, alive with the sound of night creatures. Oh, how she wished her dear mother were here to reassure her. As she gazed into the heavens, she thought of her brothers, Ethan and Brody. The same moon shown on them. stars twinkled above their heads, too. Somehow, the thought made her feel closer. She prayed that God had been as kind to them as he was being to her.
She realized, as time had passed, she was almost considering Ed’s abandonment a blessing. Now, sad to say, she didn’t miss him at all. It had been almost four weeks and still no word from him. Did he really think Ryzzi Kryzika was a suitable protector?
Did Ed even think?
With a sigh, Mary rose to wash up before undressing for bed. But as her feet touched the floor, she was surprised again by a sudden wave of dizziness.
She leaned back against the bed, waiting for it to pass. This was so unlike her. She’d been plenty tired before, that was for sure. But the only other time she’d felt faint was when her dad had popped her on the jaw. That had rattled her brains all right. But this was different.
Suddenly, the truth hit her. She had not had her monthly flow since she’d left New York. Not since she’d married Ed. That was over two months ago.
She was with child!
God help her.
eight
Bone weary but unable to sleep, Mary lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. If she’d felt angry at Ed before, it was nothing to what she felt now. Anger. Hurt. Despair. Despair worse than any she could ever remember, and she’d had plenty of experience to compare it to.
Without him, what was going to happen to her?
Now that she really needed Ed, the thought of never seeing him again loomed with frightening possibility.
She was probably getting her just reward, she thought miserably, for those fleeting moments when she’d hoped he might never return. Those moments when she’d longed for a good and responsible man.
A man like Magistrate Reed.
Faintly she could hear voices from the kitchen and knew he was still there. Nandi was probably feeding the men.
Now that Mrs. Emma was out of danger, they had nothing more to worry about.
But not Mary. Added trouble was heaped on her head, and she saw even more in her future. If Ed didn’t come back, what other man would want her? Without Ed she had no proof that she was even married. A fallen woman, that’s what they’d think. Alone, penniless, with a baby to take care of.
What was to become of her?
Oh, how she wished she could sleep. Forget. At least for a time.
And, at last, she did.
❧
“Mary, Mary, we need you!” Reverend Bryant’s frantic voice penetrated the sweet oblivion of sleep.
Mary bolted upright.”
“Mary, wake up.” She could hear his fist pounding on the paneled door. “It’s Emma, something’s terribly wrong. It’s too soon for the baby—too soon.”
“I’ll be right there.” Mary threw off the quilt and swung her feet to the floor. Dizzy again, she gripped the bedpost, waiting for it to subside, then grabbed her robe.
She found the minister kneeling beside Emma’s bed, her hand grasped tightly in his. What a sad tableau. He, still wearing the soiled clothes in which he’d traveled, his distraught, unshaven face hovering close to hers; she, lying beneath the lace coverlet, pale and still.
For an instant, Mary thought her dead, but then Emma’s eyelids flickered open. “I’m sorry,” she managed before she gasped from another wave of pain. “Oh, Daniel, pray for me.”
“I will, my dearest—”
Pray? That made no sense at all. “You must go for the doctor,” Mary cried.
“Don’t leave me,” Emma begged. “Don’t leave me, Daniel.”
“I won’t leave you, darling.” He turned to Mary. “Colin will go.”
Magistrate Reed was still here?
Mary found him sitting at the cluttered kitchen table, looking almost as distraught as Reverend Bryant.
He lurched to his feet as she entered. “What can I do to help? Tell me what to do.”
“You can go after Dr. Lukin.”
She had barely finished the sentence before he was out the door.
Mary stood by the window and watched him mount his horse. The animal leaped forward. A less skilled rider would have been thrown, but the magistrate leaned into him, urging the stallion on. She listened to the clap of hooves and tracked the horse and rider until they disappeared into the darkness.
The Bryants were lucky to have such a true and loyal friend as Magistrate Reed. Mary wiped an unbidden tear. And so was she.
Turning back into the kitchen, she drew a pitcher of water, retrieved a glass and bowl from the cupboard, a clean towel from the drawer, and returned to the bedroom.
As she laid what she’d brought on the table beside th
e bed, Emma managed a wan smile, then shuddered and cried out as another pain beset her.
Reverend Bryant bowed his head over their tightly clasped hands. “Blessed be God, the Father of mercy and the God of all comfort, who comforteth us in all our tribulation—”
Pouring water into the glass, Mary slid onto the other side of the bed beside Emma and slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Try and drink this, dear, it may help,” she urged, lifting the glass to Emma’s lips.
Valiantly, Emma tried to do as she was asked but fell back from the effort, only to stiffen again, as another pain hurtled through her. “I. . .I’m so. . .much trouble.”
After it had passed, Mary stroked her arm, now lying like a dead weight beside her protruding belly. “Just try and relax, the doctor will be here soon.”
Emma’s body jerked convulsively and again she cried out. The spasms were coming faster.
Mary recognized the pain etched on her dear benefactor’s face. She knew the signs. She knew what to do.
She’d seen it all before—when her neighbor had died in childbirth.
Oh, dear God, please don’t let that happen to Mrs. Emma.
She wrung out the towel she’d dipped in the bowl of water and gently bathed Emma’s brow with the cool, damp cloth, and then her neck and along her arm. Emma seemed to calm briefly, but not for long. Faster and faster the pains came, until Emma seemed oblivious to anything else. Sheathed in sweat, she writhed beneath the rumpled quilt, her sheet-white face contorted, her once-lustrous dark hair lank and tangled on the damp pillow as her neck corded, straining against the paroxysms of pain.
And through it all Reverend Bryant knelt beside her, murmuring a continuous stream of prayer. Then he lifted his eyes and reached for Mary’s hand. “Pray with me, Mary.”
For an instant she feared he expected her to pray aloud. What was she supposed to say?
But as he took her hand and held it, uncomfortably tight, he began, “Dear Heavenly Father, I beseech you to show mercy for your servant, Emma. Take away this terrible pain and give her peace—” He thanked God for bringing him and Emma together, and as he expressed his deep love and commitment, Mary felt the power of his words coursing from his hand to hers, and into her heart. She could hardly breathe. It was as if all had fallen away, all movement, all sound, all but the prayer from this devoted man who was so very close to his God.
She peeked out from beneath her lowered lashes.
Calm suddenly seemed to have enveloped Emma. Although she was breathing heavily, an expression of peace had transformed her face. Her body seemed to have relaxed.
Had God answered Reverend Bryant’s prayer so swiftly? Was the reverend’s communication with his Lord that real? That certain? Mary was dumbstruck. The servants had prayed for days to that same God, and so had she. But what they saw of God’s mercy had come so slowly. The improvement so gradual. Nothing like this sudden change.
She had heard of Reverend Bryant’s miraculous healing. Now she was a witness.
The pains had stopped.
Then she saw it, a red stain seeping into the lace coverlet.
She wrenched her hand from Reverend Bryant’s and rolled back the quilt. Blood soaked the sheet and Emma’s gown. The baby lay there. Very small. Very still.
She heard Reverend Bryant gasp.
Mary snatched up the baby. She shook it, slapped its bottom, refusing to believe it was dead.
But the tiny infant did not stir.
Her eyes filmed with tears, she finally gave up. Gently, she wrapped it in a towel and laid it at the foot of the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, looking into her husband’s face with the saddest eyes Mary had ever seen.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he began to stroke Emma’s matted hair. But instead of words of comfort for his grieving wife, he started to pray. Again. For the baby.
Consumed by her own sadness for her dear friend, Mary could not believe her ears.
“—and I know you will care for our first-born, until we are called to join him. What a joyous reunion that will be.”
Mumbling something about boiling water for the doctor, Mary fled.
She ran down the hall, sobbing.
What kind of a man was this Daniel Bryant? His simple acceptance. His talk of a happy reunion. For their whole lives he and Emma had been laboring in the vineyard of the Lord, and this was the way He repaid them.
Why wasn’t Reverend Bryant angry, as she, Mary, was angry at this God she had just begun to trust?
❧
Colin breathed a sigh of relief as he found the spot of light blinking through the trees. Almost there. He urged his horse forward, galloping farther ahead of the doctor’s small carriage. It seemed to have taken an hour, but he realized it had only been half that. Dr. Lukin had seemed interminably slow getting dressed. And if Colin hadn’t offered to hitch his carriage, they’d probably be there still.
He swung his stallion into the drive, the doctor’s buggy clattering behind. Leaping from his mount, he passed the reins to Jalamba, who had run from his quarters to secure the horses.
As he turned, the kitchen door flung open, and in the flood of light, he recognized Mary’s silhouette.
Heedless of the doctor, he rushed ahead, across the drive, and up the steps. He took both her hands in his. “Emma—” But he need not finish his question. The answer was written on her tear-streaked face. “Oh, no.” His words came out in a guttural moan.
“The baby is gone,” she sobbed.
Colin took Mary into his arms. Her head lay against his heart, and he felt his shirt dampened by her tears.
Dr. Lukin crowded past and hurried down the hall.
“And Emma, is she—” Colin was almost afraid to ask. He felt as he had when he was a small boy, waiting for news of his mother.
“Alive. But oh, sir, she is so pale. I’m afraid—” And Mary’s slender form shook with renewed sobs.
She released herself from his embrace, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, sir, I am sorry.”
Whirling around, she ran to the stove, where a kettle of water boiled. “The doctor will need it.” She grabbed an armful of towels and lifted the pot by its handle.
“Let me carry that.” Colin stepped forward and tried to take it from her.
But she shook her head and held tight. “No. I must do it,” she said, struggling to keep the heavy vessel from tilting. “I need to feel as if I’m of help.”
Colin paced the kitchen from one corner to the other and around the table. He saw Mary flying down the hall with an armful of sheets. How did she have the energy? She looked so frail and tired.
A few minutes later she returned. She leaned against the frame of the kitchen door. “The doctor has given Mrs. Emma something to make her sleep. He thinks she’ll be fine.”
Relieved beyond words, Colin exhaled, feeling his taut muscles begin to relax.
“Just fine.” A weary smile barely lifted the corners of Mary’s mouth.
She looked so small and forlorn, Colin longed to wipe away the circles of fatigue that smudged her sad brown eyes.
She tightened the sash of her dressing gown and wiggled the toe of a bare foot, giving him a depreciating glance. “I guess you’re thinking what a mess I look.”
His fingers ached to smooth the tangle of silky cinnamon curls swirling around her shoulders. “That’s not what I was thinking.”
Not quite meeting his gaze, she said, “I was thinking how blessed the Bryants are to have such a good and faithful friend as you, sir.”
Her simple, heartfelt words warmed his heart more than any compliment he could remember. “And more than fortunate to have you. I can’t help wondering what might have happened to dear Emma had you not been here. Now, she’ll need you more than ever.”
Mary sighed deeply. “I’m not so sure, sir, when she finds out that. . .that—” She turned her face away.
Colin walked across the tiled floor to her. “What is
it, little one?” When Mary didn’t reply, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “What’s troubling you?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be so welcome when they find out I’m with child,” she whispered.
Colin felt as if he’d just taken a fist in his solar plexus. “You’re what?”
Mary’s shoulders sagged. “You heard right, sir.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mary, stop calling me sir. I’m not some dottering old uncle.” He turned violently away. “With child,” he muttered, stalking the length of the kitchen. “That’s just dandy!”
“It may not be dandy, Magistrate Reed,” Mary said, drawing herself up. “But that’s the way it is.”
“And don’t call me Magistrate Reed.” He glowered at her.
“What I call you will matter little very soon, since I probably will not be around to call you anything.”
“Don’t say that,” he barked. And was immediately contrite. “Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry. Of all people, you’re the last one who deserves my wrath. The last one I’d want to hurt.” He moved back to her. “Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mag—”
“Colin. Call me Colin.”
She looked at him askance. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
“It wouldn’t be seemly to disobey the magistrate,” he said, softening his tone. “Friends again?”
“You’ll always be my friend. You know that. . .Colin.”
“Now, Mary,” he said, thoughtfully, “we must deal with your. . .condition. I think it might be better if you didn’t mention it to the Bryants just yet. Under the circumstances.”
“I’d come to that conclusion myself.”
“And as for the Bryants turning you out? Never! I’d stake my reputation on that. But if you would be uncomfortable staying on, I’m certain I can place you elsewhere.”
“You won’t have to go to all that trouble.” Mary looked toward the window. “I’m sure Ed will send for me soon.”
❧
It was almost dawn before Colin started back to his room at the men’s club. Only the echo of his stallion’s hooves broke the silence. In the grainy light just before the sun squinted over the eastern hills, the world looked as gray and sad as he felt. But as he rode, the crow of a cock, the bark of a dog, offered the promise of a new day.
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