The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  A sigh pulled from his shoulders, confirming the depth of his sadness. He stepped back from her to rest his hands on her arms. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for God’s grace and your sister.”

  Catherine controlled a bristle. Bested by Ashleigh again? Definitely not. “And how is your father? I suppose the dear man must be worried sick for you? Have you given him the news of your safety?”

  His expression turned as tender as any she’d remembered. A woman could lose her purpose in such a look. Her heart warmed in a new way, urging another turn of affection – slow and effortful, like the workings of a rusted clock. She was frightfully out of practice with sincerity.

  “Ashleigh sent him a telegram to let him know we were safe. I wish I could have the same report for Michael.” He lowered his head, his voice thick with emotion. Her heart broke, a little, enough to buoy concern. “We searched for him, for his body, among the shoreline and the morgues, but never found anything.”

  “Michael was aboard the Lusitania? But I thought…” Her words trailed off as her mind whirred with questions.

  “It’s a long story.” He lowered onto the settee, as if he couldn’t bear the weight any longer. “Meant for another day.”

  She joined him on the velvet settee and covered his hand with her own. “I am truly sorry for your loss.” A surprising rush of tears threatened her voice, unbidden and strange. “And I hope your time here will help you heal.”

  “So do I.”

  She braided their fingers together and offered him her most disarming smile. “I’m particularly gifted in helping you forget your heartaches, as I recall. Especially in Grandmama’s hallways and on long summer picnics.”

  Sam’s brow wrinkled. He placed his other hand over their clasped ones and stared down at them. “Catherine, we’ve both changed.” His blue gaze came up, clear and kind. Too kind. As if she’d lost the fire of his affection. Fear skittered up her spine lodging like desperation in her throat. She needed him.

  “No, Sam.” Oh heavens, did she really have to resort to more tears? “Please don’t give up on me. Please say you still care about me.”

  “I’ll always care about you, Catherine.” A shadow fell over his features, curbing the sweet glow of love she realized she’d missed. He was so good, one of the few faithful men left who didn’t have to be coddled into commitment. And it almost satisfied.

  His eyes filled with apology and perhaps a touch of regret? She didn’t like the look of finality on his face. “You were right. We’re not the same people we were a year ago and…and I’m not the one for you.”

  “What?” She shot to her feet, palm pressed to her chest. “You came across the ocean and survived a sinking ship to tell me this?”

  “Catherine.”

  He stood and reached for her hand but she jerked back, forcing more tears into view. “I can’t believe this, Sam Miller. After all we’ve been through, you had to bring my horrible decision face-to-face?”

  “Did you think I could let it end through a letter? We started this relationship face-to-face, I needed to resolve it the right way. In person. Our friendship deserved that much.”

  “And this is how you treat your friend, is it?” She sighed and massaged her fingers into her head. Disappointment at her failed plan etched a painful gnaw in her stomach, but something deeper made her feel sick.

  “Come on, Catherine, you know as well as I, it ended months ago for you. It took longer for me, but clarity of time has helped.” His earnest gaze searched hers, probing almost to the core of who she was. “We’re meant to be good friends, but only friends. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She stepped further away, unfamiliar shame flickering a flame beneath her cheeks. No one needed to see beneath her skin. She righted herself, smoothing her palm across her shirtwaist. No, she couldn’t reflect her disappointment. It would make her weak, and successful women could not appear weak. She’d learned as much from Drew’s grandmother. Power surged from Lady Cavanaugh, an addictive sort of wealth and power Catherine craved. A marriage with Drew would elevate her entire family, ‘save’ them from the squandering humility they’d endured since Father’s practical bankruptcy. Yes, she’d be the best sister then.

  “I care too much about you to let a letter be our final conversation, my friend.”

  Pain twisted in her chest at his declaration. What had she forfeited in Sam’s love? A tiny piece of her heart ached for the simplicity of what Sam once offered her, but it would never satisfy. Not when she had so much to prove and so much to lose. She meant it. He’d shown her nothing but love’s faithfulness and generosity, and she’d treated him deplorably. The awareness pierced her with inward reflection which panged for a second along with a gaping emptiness. True tears slipped freely down her cheeks, shocking her with their presence.

  No, she couldn’t give in to weakness. She pushed the emotions aside and accepted her fate and choice. With a deep breath, she stepped close to him and placed her hand to his cheek. “I should have taken better care of your heart.”

  “I don’t belong in your world, Catherine. I know now, I never really did.”

  The look of compassion in Sam’s eyes chipped away at her anger. It had always been that way. He, the moral compass to her wayward heart. “You’re right, I suppose.” She swept the grand room a glance and looked back at him. “You’ve never been fond of society.” A smile formed, slow and genuine. “And you would hate all the pomp and expectations, wouldn’t you?”

  “Friends, then?” He offered his hand, his sad smile renewing a tug-of-war with her heartstrings.

  She hesitated, the weight of this finality adding sting. She placed her hand in his and quirked a brow, readied for the salvation of distraction. “And upon the quick forgiveness of friendship I must beg my pardon, for I am off to London in the morning.”

  “You are?”

  “I’ve a house party which should last at the very least a fortnight.” She fluttered her eyelashes ever so slightly, but the thought of running away from Sam’s unsettling presence and the ache of his rejection couldn’t have come at a better moment.

  He tempered his unnerving intensity with a slight grin. “Be careful in that world of glitz and glamour, Catherine Dougall. Lots of things that sparkle leave burn marks behind. Not every man has your best interest at heart and certainly not every one of them is a gentleman.”

  Her smile faltered for a second as his warning sent a shudder through her confidence. She would be careful, but she would not settle for failure – no matter the cost.

  “Sam?”

  A man’s voice came from the boy Sam once knew. Scott Dougall stepped through the large doorway, but the only resemblance the young man kept was a shock of dark hair and his dark blue eyes. Same as Catherine’s. Sam’s gaze made a quick inventory of the woman of which he’d ended a relationship. A small light of fear lit her expression at his warning. Once she’d attempted to cover with her glib response.

  Sam walked toward Scott with outstretched hand, creating more distance from the root of the heat in his face. “Scott Dougall, I hardly recognize you.”

  “Jackson told me you were here.” Scott took Sam’s hand, grin growing with each step. “Finally, some decent conversation.”

  “You’re almost as tall as I am. What have they been feeding you over here?”

  Scott’s mouth set in a grimace. “Nothing as good as Millington. English food can’t compare, especially at the boarding school.”

  Boarding school must have been a big change for Scott when he moved from Millington’s close-knit schoolhouse. “Then you’ll have to come back with me.” Sam steadied a palm to the boy’s shoulder, leaning close to add camaraderie. “Think we can convince your mother?”

  “I see you have plans to make,” Catherine interrupted, standing. “I must attend to my packing. Do forgive me.” She sidled up to Sam and slid her hand up his arm, her warmth and touch twisting his thoughts. When had she learned to offer caresses like those so
freely. Heat pulsed into his neck. She was playing a dangerous game.

  “Oh, Sam, don’t be vexed with me.” She warmed his cheek with a kiss and then sauntered to the doorway as if across a stage for the world to view.

  What had Ashleigh said about a houseful of actors? “I’ve never been good at holding a grudge against you, Catherine.”

  “Ah, the perfect man.” She sighed and tossed a last look over her shoulder. “Perhaps, when I return, we can become reacquainted? I might not mind a country life shared with a gentleman.”

  She disappeared out the door and he released his breath.

  “I wouldn’t set my cap at her if I was you, Sam.”

  Sam shifted his attention to Scott and cocked his own smile. “Is that so?”

  Scott nodded and hitched a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Catherine disappeared. “That one is trouble. If you’re going to fall for one of my sisters, it ought to be Ashleigh.” Scott shrugged. “But as Catherine says, what do I know about women? I’m nothing but a boy.”

  Sam shook his head. “I think every male on earth gets lost in that murky quandary, Scott.”

  “Which is all the more reason to take you up on your offer.” Scott patted Sam on the back. “I like this idea of going back to Grandmama’s. What do you say we talk about it over some of Ellie’s fabulous pastries?” Scott lowered his voice. “It’s the only thing she cooks that’s worth eating anyway.”

  Ashleigh caught Catherine’s reflection in her dressing table mirror as she entered the room. From their meeting downstairs, Ashleigh knew nothing had changed between them. The same contempt of unknown origin burned in the sarcasm in Catherine’s words and the sneer on her perfectly manicured lips. Like now. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Ashleigh ignored her contempt. “Sam has only arrived and you are leaving? He survived a sinking ship and untold hardships to see you. Don’t you realize how much he wishes to resolve things with you?”

  A question flickered in Catherine’s eyes. “Resolve?”

  Ashleigh faltered. Had he resolved things with her or resumed them? With Catherine’s flare for getting what she wanted, it seemed quite possibly he could have fallen right back into her hold on his heart. “Can’t you postpone your trip? If nothing else to show him you value his efforts and friendship.”

  “Sister dear, I have a previous engagement. Some of us still have engagements, of course.” Her slender eyebrow pointed like the dagger in her words. She returned to powdering her nose. “Besides, I’ve been practically fettered to this old house for the past year while you’ve gotten a college degree and scared away a fiancé. It’s time for some freedom.”

  Ashleigh’s lips pinched closed. Perhaps coming home had been the wrong idea. From her first encounter with her sister in the drawing room until now, each haughty look and slighting phrase proved why an ocean apart was the best sibling situation for the two of them.

  And Catherine sat there in a new gown which had to have cost much more than her mother could afford. She sent a glance over the gowns littering her sister’s four-poster bed, each one exquisite, modern, and…new? Where was she getting all this money?

  Ashleigh fingered the edge of a blue brocade sleeve. “I know very well the weight of being a caretaker, but Sam has—”

  “You are such a saint, aren’t you?” Her words dropped into a whisper Ashleigh barely heard. “Everyone’s favorite.”

  Sam’s favorite? The question knifed a fresh pain to her chest. Was she, or had Catherine already begun to renew their affections. Ashleigh released a breath through clenched teeth and refused to enter into the same argument and bout of jealousy. She turned to her sister’s bed. The gowns draped across it were made up of garden colors, a couple with questionable neckline drops. There was even one of the newest hobble-skirt styles in pale blue. “I’ve noticed you haven’t taken much of the English accent since you’ve been here. I thought perhaps you might have, with all your social connections.”

  Catherine smoothed back her dark hair with her palm. “It isn’t useful. I haven’t the patience for things which aren’t useful to me.”

  “And Sam?” Ashleigh’s tone hardened. “Is he useful?”

  The same questioning look entered Catherine’s eyes. “Sam? Sam is vital, I assure you.”

  Ashleigh dropped to the bed with a sigh, keeping her thoughts from following Catherine’s words into possibilities. “I understand his arrival was unexpected. And I understand you want some freedom from Mother, but—”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Catherine turned on her, ice blue eyes in slits. “I am the eldest, but you’re the one they all want. You’re the one they’ve always wanted. Sweet Ashleigh.” Her lips curled. “Do you realize how many times I’ve heard, ‘If only Ashleigh were here?” She took a deep breath and turned back to her mirror, brush clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, but her words came in barely controlled smoothness. “It’s no matter. I have my plans.”

  Her face paled to match her knuckles. Anger. Anger Ashleigh had never completely understood, but experienced the wrath in bounds. Years of insults and undermining. If the orphanage failed, Ashleigh would return to the states without one glance back to this house or her sister.

  Did her sister even know how to value Sam’s heart? Ashleigh didn’t put one ounce of confidence in her. Catherine brushed through her long, midnight hair and ignored her presence.

  “Perhaps it would be better if you left him alone, Catherine.” Ashleigh turned to the window, the wear of the day evident by the pale orange light off the horizon. “He deserves someone who will know her own heart regarding his.”

  The sunset’s colors drew her thoughts to the Lusitania as she’d watched the fading day from the top of an overturned lifeboat, Stephen clutched to her. Her eyes flickered closed and Sam’s face came into full view. The way their eyes met when he woke the morning after the accident, staring at her from across the bed, Stephen between them. Warmth rushed over her in waves, bringing an inward glow with it. If only…

  “I see.”

  Catherine’s voice dashed the memory with a chill. Ashleigh opened her eyes and met her sister’s, the faintest smile lifting her glossy lips.

  “You’re in love with him.”

  Ashleigh controlled her expression into disinterest, but her pulse stuttered forward. “I’ve always loved Sam, as has Scott. In fact, everyone who meets Sam eventually loves him. This isn’t news.”

  Catherine stood, giving Ashleigh a full-length measured look. “No, you really love him.” She stepped closer and slid her voice to a whisper. “But he’s not yours.”

  There was no use denying it. “No, he’s not.”

  Catherine’s grin curved with sarcasm. “Do you plan to win his heart while I’m gone? Use all of your…” She swept Ashleigh another glance. “Charm?”

  Ashleigh’s emotions fell cold. “I have no intention of playing games with Sam’s heart. Evidently, that is more your sport than mine. He deserves sincere affections.” She squeezed the words out through clenched teeth and broken heart. “And he wanted that from you.”

  “That’s right, sister. Me.” Catherine scoffed and pulled the brush through her hair again. “And though you doubt it, my affections for him are sincere. You’re too young to realize there are different forms of love, but I can assure you, I will make up for my absence once I return – and he will be mine.”

  Ashleigh held Catherine’s gaze. “He isn’t stupid, nor will he remain blind to your liaisons forever.” Catherine’s eyes narrowed, but Ashleigh didn’t back down. “So, if you do love him, then I would tread carefully.”

  “Or you’ll steal him from me?” She released a light, humorless laugh. “Is that your threat?”

  “No, Catherine. If Sam stops loving you, it will never be from my doing. His friendship means too much to me.” Ashleigh walked to the door and placed a trembling hand on the knob. Her anger quaked beneath the surface. “You’ll only have yourself to blame.”

/>   Chapter Twelve

  Ashleigh peeked into her room, keeping her feet hushed by the rug in case Stephen still slept. His giggle answered her question and loosed some of the anger knotted in her stomach after her talk with Catherine. She’d never been able to understand Catherine’s hostility toward her, but for years Catherine’s competition grew more ruthless. Their early childhood held nothing beyond ordinary sisterly discord, but from Catherine’s thirteenth or fourteenth year something changed. A drastic shift curbed their relationship and finally grew into an insurmountable chasm Ashleigh had no intention of trying to cross.

  She’d attempted too many times, only to be wounded by Catherine’s words or actions. Ashleigh was finished trying to make her sister care.

  “Well now, look who finally showed up?”

  The sight of Fanny McCloud’s familiar smile, with all of its genuine love intact, brought welcome peace with it. The woman, fifteen years Ashleigh’s senior, sat on the floor with a set of blocks Ashleigh recognized as ones she and her siblings used to enjoy.

  The small white coif at the back of Fanny’s head unsuccessfully held in her wealth of auburn hair. Her smile welcomed in the comfort of someone who knew all her family’s secrets – no pretension or anxiety in a slip of the tongue.

  Stephen snuggled up on her lap without an ounce of the past few days’ tragedies shadowing his countenance, an added bounce to his clean curls. He was so young, perhaps he could find healing from his tragedy in the love of a new family.

  “Oh, Fanny, are you a sight for these wearied eyes.”

  Fanny’s face softened into a look of understanding. She patted the floor beside of her. “Jackson told me what he knew, but not nearly enough.” Her gray gaze grew sharp, defied by the curl of her Irish tones. “And this wee lad favors Mr. Michael Craven too much to be a coincidence. I suspect you have quite a yarn to spin.”