Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  She paused at the front door. Should she knock? She was family; the baby she was carrying was family. But she didn’t feel like it; in fact, she felt less like family than before she’d married Beau. But maybe that wouldn’t always have to be true. Still, it didn’t feel right to just go in, so she compromised by knocking before opening the door and sticking her head in.

  “Anybody home?

  “Hey, Christian.” The angels had smiled on her. Sammy was in the foyer changing light bulbs.

  “Exactly who I wanted to see.”

  “Yeah?” He climbed down from the ladder. “That’s good. I thought you were here to see Beau. He had to go to Nashville for something or the other for that cradle he’s making.”

  The frustration of the morning lifted. She would do well to remember that he was making a cradle for their baby. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him it might take him longer to make it than the baby could sleep in it. Or maybe not. What did she know about how long it would take to make a cradle? Or how long a baby could sleep in one, for that matter. She giggled. Maybe that was something useful Beau could look up on the Internet.

  Sammy gave out a puzzled little laugh, like people do when someone laughs for no apparent reason, but they feel they should join in. Feeling suddenly energized and happy to finally be taking some kind of action, Christian laughed again.

  This time Sammy didn’t laugh, but, instead, looked around the room as if searching for what could be causing all this amusement.

  Time to get on with it. “Sammy, Emory said you packed up some of Miss Amelia’s things before the renovation.”

  He nodded. “Emory moved some of the furniture to other parts of the house, but we put the rest in the attic.”

  “What about her small things? Emory said I could go through the books.”

  He nodded. “They’re up there, plus all those glass unicorns she had, the little jars and things from her dresser, sewing gewgaws, and all like that.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “Sure.” They walked toward the staircase. “It ought not be too dirty up there. I cleaned good when Around the Bend was shut down after Christmas.”

  “I can deal with a little dirt.”

  They climbed to the third floor, where they switched staircases to make the final climb.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever been up here,” Christian said with some wonder. After all these years, Beauford Bend still had some secrets.

  “I can’t say the same.” Sammy opened the door and turned on the light. “Especially since Jackson’s been living back here. He’s always sending me up here to look for this or that. Got in his head last week he wanted some of their old toys for his baby. I tried to tell him it would be a while before he’d be needing toys, but Jackson sent me up here anyway. I think he just wanted to see them himself.”

  “I can understand that.” Nothing ever got thrown away at Firefly Hall, so her toys would be in the attic there, too. The image that came to mind was not of stuffed animals or dolls. She saw herself, Beau, and a four-year-old with Carolina blue eyes as he drew a card from the same Candy Land that she and Beau had spent so many hours playing with. He would cheat, but they wouldn’t call him on it, because he’d have his father’s smile, and because they loved him so much that they couldn’t bear to.

  By then, Beau would be free of the past, and things would be so much more than fine.

  “Here you go.” Sammy led her to an area where about ten boxes were stacked. “Trouble is, they aren’t labeled. I told Jackson you had to label things so you could find them later, but he was in such a hurry to get it all done that all he’d let me take time for was to write Miss Amelia’s name on the them.”

  “So you don’t know which box has her leather journals?”

  Sammy shook his head. “I don’t even know which ones are books. But I can open them up and look, if you want.”

  “No. You have work to do. I’ll do it.”

  “Okay. Call if you need me.” He went over to an abandoned cupboard and opened a drawer. “Here’s a box cutter and some packing tape.”

  When he’d gone, Christian surveyed the boxes. Even if she had to go through all ten, that wasn’t so bad.

  The first one she opened turned out to be the glass unicorns. Christian had to smile. Miss Amelia had never meant to collect unicorns. Year ago, before the fire, when on a trip with the church to Italy, she’d bought a beautiful prancing unicorn in Venice. Because she’d displayed it on her desk, people had gotten the idea she liked unicorns, when what she’d really liked was Murano glass.

  So the unicorns started coming, and they came until she died. Miss Amelia had said three was a collection, five was an obsession, and more than five was a mess. What Miss Amelia had ended up with was one, big, unicorn mess. There had to be at least a hundred in this box. But she would have never insulted the people who had given them to her by hiding them away.

  Christian searched through the box until she found the original one. She’d put it in the baby’s room and one day tell him about this woman who would have loved him. Or her. Christian put her hand on her stomach. It didn’t matter, but for some reason, she pictured a boy.

  The next box contained random items, some that should have been thrown away, like magazines, cough drops, and a partial box of tissues mixed in with her silver dresser set and costume jewelry. No doubt this was a product of Jackson’s impatience to get the room emptied so he could get on with expanding his and Emory’s private rooms. These things should be sorted. Miss Amelia would not have wanted a half used tube of Bengay saved to remind future generations that she had ever had an ache or a pain. Christian would do that someday soon.

  The third box contained books, but it was murder mysteries and current—at the time—bestsellers.

  Finally, with the fourth box, Christian hit pay dirt—stacks and stacks of leather journals, though not all alike. It did seem that Miss Amelia might have bought several identical ones some years and used them until they were full, and other times bought them one at a time. With the years, the styles changed as had, no doubt, Miss Amelia’s tastes, but they were all of good quality and a pleasure to hold. She must have considered the weight and flexibility of each book before buying it. After all, she would have been spending a lot of time with it.

  If Christian had not been desperately seeking answers, it would have been so tempting to start at the beginning and read straight through, to spend that time with the woman she had loved. And Miss Amelia would have been fine with that. She was not the kind of woman to put on paper anything that she minded anyone knowing.

  So she dug through, only opening covers to discern the year, until she found what she’d come for. That one was red and the cover a little more worn than some of the others. It was easy to imagine why. It had been a hard year, and Christian could imagine Miss Amelia, once she found herself, for all practical purposes, a single mother, going back to the book to reread about the events that had brought her to that point—maybe looking for answers, maybe looking for blame, maybe looking for the good, last memories.

  And the good, last memories were there, because the first entry had been made in February before the fire later that summer. Christian had already discovered that Miss Amelia wasn’t tied to starting a new book on January first. She started a new one when the old one was full.

  She flipped through the months and seasons, passing mentions of birthdays, Around the Bend parties, and plain, everyday happenings. Then she found it. This was the week. Christian read snatches—the family getting ready, how they urged her to go, and she refused because she didn’t like the beach but also wanted to give them time away from her. The following days, she missed them, but also enjoyed the solitude and eating chicken salad on crackers for breakfast if she wanted.

  Oh! Here was a day when she’d invited Christian for tea! Christian didn’t remember that time specifically, though it was something they had done from time to time. She’d definitely come back to that.

>   But for now …

  It looked like she talked to one of Beau’s parents every night—usually Laura. The closer Christian got to the devastating date, the harder her heart pounded.

  Finally. She took a deep breath. With a fountain pen, in her finishing school script handwriting, Miss Amelia had written:

  I just got off the phone with Laura. I can’t decide if those boys need to be spanked or hugged. Probably both. For sure I can’t wait to hug them when they get home tomorrow night. The boys camped out tonight—all the boys, even though Laura told Beau at the last minute he couldn’t. Seems he has a little sniffle, and she wanted him to stay inside, though James told her she was being overly protective—again. Beau was not to be outdone. I can’t stop laughing as I write this. He got his sleeping bag and rolled it out behind the tent so his brothers wouldn’t know and tell on him. He was that determined. I have to admire that boy’s spirit, though Laura did not. She discovered him gone when she went in to check his temperature and sent James out to look for him. When James came back without Beau, reported what he’d done, and told Laura to leave him be, she was fit to be tied. I don’t know who she was madder at—James or Beau.

  She was still mad, but as we talked, she began to laugh. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has some sort of punishment coming when he gets home—after all, he did disobey. But it won’t be too severe. As always, she and James watched over the boys from the balcony until they went to sleep. Jackson and the twins went in the tent without ever discovering Beau sleeping outside, but only after Jackson and Gabe deliberately scared Rafe. James had gone down to make sure the campfire was extinguished, and Laura took that opportunity to call me. Camille was asleep, of course. They plan to get an early start tomorrow and be home before bedtime. The solitude has been nice, but I’ll be happy to have my family home—and to get back to work.

  Christian’s heart broke for the woman. When she’d written those words, she’d had no idea that three of her family would come home in coffins or how hard she would have to work to raise the other four.

  Christian turned the page, but there was nothing else pertinent. Amelia went on to talk about the Around the Bend parties scheduled for the next week—parties that would never happen, because there would be a triple funeral to plan.

  So Christian been right—right that Beau was in no way responsible, and right to look for the proof. Beau had to see this as soon as possible. Then, maybe they could get on with their lives. Maybe he was back from Nashville by now. If he wasn’t in his workshop, she’d call him.

  She marked the place with the blue silk ribbon attached to the book and hurried down the attic stairs, down the third floor hall, to the stairs, and down.

  She shouldn’t have hurried.

  It was at the top of the second story landing that she slipped, and tumbled, down and down, and down.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The drive to Nashville had done Beau good. Technically, he could have started the cradle without going, but there were some hand sculpting tools he would need later in the project, so he figured he might as well go on.

  Besides, he’d needed to calm down. Will had cautioned him about going into a project with negative, angry feelings. Beau still wasn’t sure if he believed all that, but why take a chance? The last thing he wanted to do was infuse bad feelings into the wood where his child would sleep.

  But it was over now. All married couples argued, and as far as disagreements went, it hadn’t been much of one. After getting back from Nashville, he’d gone to Firefly Hall to see her and smooth things over, but Allie, one of Christian’s assistants, had said she was at Beauford Bend. Maybe she’d come over with the same idea in mind.

  It was cold and rainy today—March had come in like a lion. Consequently, there were only about three diehard photographers and a few fans hanging around the gate of Beauford Bend. Beau didn’t slow down to give them a good photo op, but neither did he cover his face. Beau would never, the longest day he lived, understand why they wanted his picture. He supposed if they couldn’t get Jackson, another Beauford would have to do.

  He pulled up to the guardhouse and rolled down his window. Brett was on duty today, and unlike Mike and Tom, he wasn’t given to waving you through, family or not. He wanted to get a look at everyone’s face. Beau admired that about him.

  To Beau’s astonishment, Brett was not alone. No. Crowded in there with Brett were none other than Dirk and Jackson—and they all looked grim.

  “What?” He glanced toward the house to make sure it hadn’t burned down. He couldn’t see through the trees, but there was no smoke.

  Dirk and Jackson were out of the guardhouse in a flash. Jackson jumped in the back seat and Dirk jerked the driver’s door open.

  “Move over, Beau. I’m driving.”

  Beau might have argued or at least questioned anyone else, but Dirk had the uncanny ability to insert that military tone into his voice that a soldier didn’t question. He just crawled over the gearshift.

  But his ability not to question only lasted a moment. He spun to look at Jackson in the back seat. “Where are we going? What’s wrong?”

  “The hospital. Christian fell down the stairs.”

  The whole world died. There was no sound except the motor, the wipers, and all the best angels screaming.

  He could picture her rolling as she tried to grasp the rail, her face a study in terror until she landed with a snapped neck and her head angled all wrong.

  Beau had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “Are we going to the hospital to identify her body?” Was this what an out-of-body experience felt like? Numb, with a buzzing head and weightless body?

  “No,” Dirk said. “That wouldn’t have been necessary. This is Beauford. Everybody knows who she is.”

  True, which meant she wasn’t dead. That was comforting, though apparently Jackson didn’t think so.

  “Good God, Dirk. A little bedside manner,” Jackson said.

  “We’re not in bed,” Dirk said and drove a little faster.

  Yes, faster. “Hurry up, Dirk. I need to be there when she dies.” The least he could do is hold her hand. He wouldn’t tell her he loved her, even if he could find the words. Too little, too late was worse than nothing.

  “She’s not going to die, Beau,” Jackson said.

  “Actually, you don’t know that,” Dirk said.

  “How?” Beau asked. Maybe someone had pushed her; then, he’d have someone to kill.

  “We don’t know,” Jackson said, “but the thing to remember is, she didn’t lay there for any length of time. Sammy heard her scream and was there in thirty seconds. He called 911 immediately. I have sent for the best obstetrician in Nashville.”

  Obstetrician. Beau’s gut turned. He felt the need to confess, though he didn’t expect absolution. “I didn’t even think of the baby.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Dirk said. “I ought to know.” Gwen had gotten pregnant young, and she and Dirk had gotten married, but she’d lost the baby after a car accident. Though eerily familiar, there were differences. Dirk and Gwen were in love and would have gotten married eventually anyway. And maybe there was another difference. Maybe this baby would survive. Or maybe Christian wouldn’t.

  Beau was out of the car and running through the door of the ER before Dirk brought the car to a complete stop.

  There gathered were Neyland, Abby, Rafe, Noel, Sammy, and Gwen. Gabe was in LA shooting commercials. They all held hands.

  It was Rafe who stood and came toward him. “She’s okay.” He laid a hand on Beau’s arm. “But—”

  Beau nodded. “I see.” The baby was gone. “Where is she?”

  He wouldn’t really believe she was alive until he saw her.

  “Emory’s back with her. The doctor said you can go right in.” Rafe showed him to the cubicle, and Emory laid a hand on his arm before slipping out.

  It was a long road to the bed, but it was one he had to walk. Christian looked groggy and sad. He took her h
and, like he had a thousand times when he shouldn’t have and unlike he hadn’t ten thousand times when he should have. Her wrist was wrapped with an ACE bandage, and there was a bruise the size of quarter on her cheek. He ran his fingers over the bruise and then her wrist.

  “You’re okay.” Finally, he could breathe. She was alive and she was going to stay alive.

  “I lost the baby.” She said it like it was her fault.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Did he sound like it was only her loss? That wasn’t how he felt, but that’s how it had come out. He saw it in her eyes. He wanted to explain, to tell her he was just so relieved that she was alive that he couldn’t connect with that loss right now, especially when it hadn’t been all that real to him yet. He’d never even thought much about whether it would be a boy or girl, or a name. But he thought about it now, and it gutted him to the core.

  She nodded. “I’m sorry we fought this morning.”

  “Me, too.” Had it only been a few hours earlier? She’d been sick because she was pregnant. And now, she wouldn’t be sick anymore. At least not that way. “Are you in pain?”

  “A little. I have something to tell you. Your parents didn’t look for you the night of the fire. They knew you were asleep outside.”

  The turn of conversation was so sudden, so surreal, that, at first, Beau couldn’t take it in.

  He shook his head. “What? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  She smiled a brokenhearted little smile. “I found Amelia’s journal. She talked to your mother that night before the fire, but after you snuck out. They knew where you were, and your dad said to let you stay. So they weren’t looking for you. That doesn’t take away the loss, but they didn’t stay in the house too long because of you.”

  Somehow, after all these years—or maybe it was the circumstances—that didn’t seem to matter very much right now.

  She let her eyes drop. “So you see, Beau. You’re free. Free of that burden.” She took a raggedly breath. “And free of me.”