She sniffed and put a hand on her stomach. “I did it…didn’t I? I made it…come too soon. I wanted it to come, Sage. I…hated it! I remembered and I hated it because…it was all so ugly…so horrible.”
“I told you not to dwell on it. Now you did get pretty upset, but I still say it would have come anyway. Maybe not yesterday, but sometime soon. It was meant to be, that’s all.”
“You should hate me…for losing it…for hating it.”
“No, no, no.” He kept petting her hair. “The way you felt was natural, honey. You just didn’t have time to let it all sink in. It hit you all at once and you couldn’t stand the memories. All you have to remember now is that the baby was mine and nobody else’s. And he or she is real happy right now—probably up there somewhere playing with your little girl and your husband. You’ve got to start all over now. I reckon having a baby right now was bad timing anyway. It’s probably best you heal first, inside and out. We’ll get this all talked out, and then we’ll get married, and you’ll have more babies. One thing I learned from all this is how much I want a family, Mary. I never knew it till now. I want a family, and you’re going to give me one.”
She grasped his hand. “Help me, Sage,” she whimpered. “I can’t stand remembering.”
“You just think about you and me—all the good times we’ve had, all the good loving. Think about how happy we were just being together. We both knew this would come. Now we’ve got to take it in stride, just like we said we would. It’s best you remembered, no matter how much it hurts. At least it will all be out in the open now and we’ll both feel better knowing the truth.”
He moved out from under her, propping her up slightly and tucking the covers around her neck.
“I’m gonna build up the fire and get some coffee going. You’ll feel better when you eat a little something. I want you to do nothing but eat and sleep, Mary, you hear? Just eat and sleep and heal. I don’t want you talking about any of it, not for a couple of days—not till you’re stronger.”
He got up to stoke the fire. Now that she remembered, she realized how different Sage MacKenzie was from any man she had ever known. In the life she had led before, she wouldn’t have dreamed of loving or marrying someone like Sage. Now she knew what a mistake it would be to judge a man by his dress or occupation or education. But how could it ever truly work? Would their different backgrounds catch up with them one day and come between them? What would be waiting for her at home? Maybe Rafe wasn’t even dead! Her heart pounded painfully with torn devotions—with the hope Rafe could still be alive, and the realization that if he was, she would have to make a choice. There would be no choice. She must choose Rafe.
She watched Sage fix the coffee and set it on the grate. Poor Sage! He had suffered so much right along with her. She loved him so! How could she ever bring herself to hurt him, to let him walk out of her life? Who would have dreamed she would fall in love with a rugged mountain man who knew nothing about the wealth and elegance she had known?
Her stomach tightened then. What did it matter? Perhaps Sage was the only man who could ever love her now anyway. All honor and respect had vanished. Those of her former circle of friends, perhaps even her own parents, would look down on her now. Thank God for Sage. He might be the only one left to love her.
Chapter Seventeen
Mary didn’t have to be forced into sleeping. A heavy weariness engulfed her, brought on from the trauma of shocking memories and the loss of the baby. To Sage’s relief she fell into long periods of deep sleeps, during which he would just sit and watch her, wondering how much longer they could be together. He was sure the sleep was something long overdue, a healing rest to make up for all the sleep she had lost after her attack, and all the shock and loss. She had said little about what she remembered, other than the words she had screamed that awful day the memories had first returned.
“You picked yourself a hell of a woman to love,” he muttered late on the third night after the loss of the baby. He sipped some whiskey and was tempted to drink the whole bottle. He needed it, to kill the pain in his heart. He would lose her. Somehow, against all hope, he knew it.
He looked around the little cabin. This had been the strangest experience of his life, the most emotional, the most intense. He was different now. These few weeks with this woman had changed his life forever. Even if they couldn’t stay together, he would never be the same man. How could he come here to these mountains alone again? He had walked this land most of his life, but never in the lonely shoes he would wear without Mary. The howling wind outside seemed to reflect the howling in his heart.
He drank more whiskey. Everything pointed to losing her. Maybe she still had a husband. Maybe he wasn’t dead at all. If not, it was likely she came from a life that would be impossible for him to lead, and she in turn surely couldn’t always live the way she had been forced to live up here on this mountain. Such a life would bring her an early death. Losing the baby and nearly dying for lack of a doctor’s care had already proven that. She was strong, but not that strong.
He took another slug of whiskey, leaning closer and studying how pretty she was asleep. She had a little more color to her now. Her beauty was astounding, her complexion something close to satin.
“Aren’t you the prettiest thing,” he said softly. “In all my days I never pictured something like you coming into my life, let alone my falling in love.” He leaned closer. “You know what I wish I could do right now, Mary MacKenzie? I wish you were well, and I could make love to you. And I wish somebody”—his eyes teared—“I wish somebody could say you and me could be together forever and ever, just like you made me promise you once. We made a lot of promises, didn’t we, hoping we could keep them. I reckon sometimes promises can’t be kept, no matter how much we mean them when we say them.”
He sat back and gulped down more whiskey. “Damn,” he swore, angrily shoving the cork back into the bottle. “Damn all of it!”
He got up, setting the bottle aside and stumbling to the door. He opened it and went out, closing the door and climbing up the snowbank so he could stand on top of it and see better. It was cold, but he was full of whiskey and didn’t even feel it. The night was dead quiet, and clear. The sky was filled with millions of brilliant stars, and the moon was full. The cries of wolves filled the air from every direction, and mountain range after mountain range could be seen in the distance, the snowy peaks lit up by the moon.
Sage looked up at the sky. “Don’t let me lose her,” he yelled. “Don’t let me lose her, God.”
He stood there quietly then, realizing what a foolish prayer it was. Even if she was willing to stay with him, what right did he have to keep her? He was as wild and untamed as the wolves that were howling in the hills. This was Sage MacKenzie country. There was a wildness in his heart that called him here now and would again for the rest of his life.
He turned and looked at the cabin door. If he wanted to keep Mary MacKenzie, he would have to give up this life. It was as simple as that. Which would be the greater loss? He looked out at the lonely hills, and he knew. She would be the greater loss. He would have to give up this life, these mountains. And he would do it gladly, if only things would work out so that they could be together. He rubbed his hand over his chin, realizing he needed a shave.
Sage awoke to the smell of fresh coffee. The whiskey he had drunk the night before had left him groggy, and his thoughts were cloudy at first. He stretched, turning on his side and opening his eyes to see Mary sitting up watching him. He frowned and sat up, suddenly realizing he must look terrible.
“You picked a fine time to come around,” he grumbled. “I reckon I’m looking about as bad as a man can look, let alone the smell. I haven’t washed or shaved since you got sick.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly.
He noticed she had apparently changed her nightgown. Her hair was brushed and tied neatly at the back of her neck. He stood up, wearing only long underwear.
“T
hank God you seem to be feeling better,” he told her, going to his own supplies and taking out clean underwear. She made no reply. He walked to the fire then, taking a kettle of hot water and pouring some of it into the wash pan, then adding some cold water from the bucket to cool it. He glanced back at the fireplace, realizing there was fresh coffee brewing. He looked over at Mary.
“We got a ghost in here making coffee for us?”
She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “I made it.”
“You! You shouldn’t be getting up at all.”
“Well, I did. I had to use that thing you rigged up so we wouldn’t have to go outside in the cold to the outhouse.”
She glanced at the large pine log in which he had hollowed out a deep hole. An end piece from the same log served as a lid, and it was light enough to be carried outside and emptied. The pine eliminated all odor, and it made a perfect pot.
Now that Mary remembered a finer style of living, she found it amazing how a person could make do with what nature furnished. “And then I washed myself,” she continued, “and I even managed to put on a clean gown and start some coffee.” She sighed deeply. “But you’re right. It wore me out completely. Now I’m tired again.”
“Well, you just sleep a little while I wash and shave. Then I’ll start us some breakfast. How’s the bleeding?”
She reddened slightly, lying back down. “Normal now. I’m afraid I threw some towels outside that will have to be washed.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s embarrassing. You must have gone through hell taking care of me these last few days.”
“I never minded. When it’s somebody you love, you don’t think about anything else except getting them well.”
She turned away while he washed, and silence hung over the room. There was so much to talk about, but both of them were afraid of what needed to be said. Sage finished washing and shaving, then put on clean underwear and his buckskin pants and a buckskin shirt. He emptied the makeshift pot and the wash pan, bringing the towels inside and laying them in an empty bucket. He poured hot water over them and left them to soak, then took out a frying pan, throwing in a little grease and slicing some potatoes into it. He went outside then and cut down some more bear meat, adding it to the frying potatoes.
“I need to go out and see if I can shoot us some fresh meat,” he commented.
“But the snow is so deep.”
“I can walk on top of it. I’ll make some snowshoes with some pine branches. I’ve done it before. It’s easier to get something this time of year. It’s harder for an animal to hide. He’s got to walk on top of all that snow just like I do. There’s not as much brush and rock to hide behind. And with the snow so deep, it’s harder for an animal to run away.”
Again silence hung in the air while he cooked their breakfast. Sage lit a cigar, smoking and drinking coffee, and letting her doze off again until breakfast was ready. He fixed their plates, bringing them over to where she slept and setting them on a log. He touched her shoulder. “You want to eat now, Mary?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Yes.”
“You can sleep a while first if you want.”
“No. I’ve been sleeping too much, I think. I’ve got to start moving around more.”
He walked to the corner and brought over a saddle to prop up behind her, covering it with several blankets. “There you go. I’ll put your plate right on your lap.”
Their eyes met. How beautiful he looked. It tore at her heart. Such a man he was—all brawn, tanned from the mountain sunshine, his thick, curly hair bleached to a reddish color in some places, his dark brown eyes full of love for her. Her own eyes teared.
“Sage, we have to talk.”
He nodded. “I know. But first let’s eat breakfast.”
“Do you…really still love me?” she asked, her voice cracking.
He grasped her chin firmly in a strong hand. “I really still love you. I love you more than my own life, Mary. Nothing is gonna change that. So don’t you sit there and start crying on me. This is the most calm and well you’ve been since you lost the baby. Let’s keep it that way and just talk things out. And you won’t get better till you start eating again. Now dig in.”
She smiled sadly, and he wiped at a tear that trickled down her cheek. He gave her a smile and a wink, handing her a fork and going to pour her some coffee. He noticed some water dripping past the window then.
“Might get a little melting today. Must have warmed up some outside. That’s best for walking on snow. Hardens it some. Maybe we’ll get lucky and have an early spring. Some warm weather sounds mighty good to me. Sometimes in February up here it gets real warm for a while, then gets cold again. It must be getting close to February now. I’ve kind of lost track of time.”
“I know what you mean. I have, too.” February. Last February she had been large with child, so happy and in love, ready to give birth to Rafe’s baby. How amazing that had been only a year ago. How incredibly fast a person’s life could change.
She swallowed back a new urge to cry and shook off the horror of returning memories. She was safe. She was here with Sage, with a good breakfast in front of her—good for the mountains, anyway. If she had been home, she would have been sitting at a grand table, and a servant would have brought them their food—toast, fruit, eggs. How wonderful that seemed. But that was another life, and another Mary.
They ate quietly.
“Do you think the horses will come back if it melts some?” she finally asked.
“Hard to say.”
“How would we get out of here if they don’t?”
“I reckon we’d have to walk.” He glanced at the concerned look on her face. “Don’t worry. It can be done. I’ll get us out of here.”
She looked back at her plate. “I’m not so sure I want to leave.”
Pain stabbed at his heart. “It’s the same for me, Mary. But we have to go sometime. We can’t stay buried up here forever. We both know that.”
She nodded, the aching lump returning to her throat. She sipped some of the hot coffee to help make it go away. They finished their breakfast in silence. Then Sage took her plate and set everything on the crude table. He sat down Indian-style then, facing her, and lit a thin cigar. He puffed it a moment, then met the violet eyes. He saw in them the sorrow, the humiliation, the confusion.
“Why don’t you tell me where you’re from, Mary? What’s your real name?”
She studied his eyes, seeing the love there, knowing she could trust him to love her no matter what she told him. “My name is Marietta St. Claire Cousteau. I’m eighteen. I’ll be nineteen this June. My father is James St. Claire, from New Orleans. He owns a bank in Austin, Texas.”
“Owns it?”
She smiled and looked at her lap. “Yes.” She sighed deeply. “He came to Texas a few years ago because he was sure it would become a state. When we first went there Texas was an independent republic and in a bad way financially.” She looked back at Sage. “Father was sure that if he invested in the land it would be profitable, and it was. He built us a grand house in Austin. He was very good friends with Sam Houston. Visiting Mr. Houston a few times had given him the incentive to go to Texas in the first place, in spite of the fact that Texas was still raw and uncivilized.”
She looked at her lap again. “Little did he know just how uncivilized it was. The Indians were supposed to have been rooted out…” Her voice began to shake and he leaned forward and took one of her hands.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mary. Just slow down and tell me.”
She sniffed and nodded. “About two and a half years ago friends of my father’s from New Orleans, the Cousteaus, came to visit us in Texas. Mr. Cousteau is a merchant in New Orleans and quite wealthy. They brought their son…” She was silent for several long seconds.
“Rafe?” He spoke the name carefully, feeling the jealousy creeping into his blood again.
She nodded. “Raphael. R
afe is just what everybody called him. He was twenty-two when I met him. He was handsome, intelligent, educated. He was staying in Texas and working at my father’s bank. And Rafe and I very quickly fell in love. Father decided I was too young to marry, but after a year of courting, father gave his permission. I was only seventeen. Father wanted me to wait until I was eighteen, but we didn’t want to wait any longer.” She reddened, and again Sage felt the painful jealousy.
Mary wiped away a quiet tear, still staring at her lap. “It was such a beautiful wedding. We traveled all the way back to New Orleans and were married in a huge Catholic church with all our friends and relatives attending. Rafe and I spent our honeymoon in New Orleans. He was…kind and patient with me. He was a good husband for the short time I had him.”
She looked up at Sage then, seeing the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sage. You wanted to know.”
“It’s all right. I gotta know all of it, Mary. And I’m glad to know he was a good husband. A man can’t be getting jealous of somebody he never knew. It’s just—” He shrugged. “I feel like you belong to me now. It’s strange to think about your having that other life.”
“It’s even strange for me.”
“You moved back to Texas then?”
She nodded. “Rafe continued working at my father’s bank. My parents arranged an apartment upstairs in their big house, and that’s where we lived. I wanted a house of our own, but mother hates Texas, and she would have been so lonely if I had lived someplace else. I was all she had. She never adjusted well to the uncivilized conditions—couldn’t warm to the rugged kinds of women who lived there, and she had no use for the Mexicans. My mother has always lived a pampered life. I had made many friends among the daughters of the Mexicans who lived nearby. She was always telling me to stay away from them. But I liked them.”
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 25