by Jill Metcalf
Hunter shook his head, quickening his pace to reach her, wondering why God had set him to tell her.
“Let’s go into the house,” he said when he stood before her.
Maggie shook her head, looking down at the crumpled paper in his hand. “I want to see the letter, Hunter,” she said reasonable. She did not like the way he was behaving, and began backing away from him.
“Maggie,” he said softly, reaching out toward her and staring into her trouble yes. “It isn’t a letter, pet,” he said quietly. “Not the sort you might be expecting. It’s a brief message from Denise…about your father.”
Maggie avoided his hand, knowing instinctively that he was conveying bad news. “Let me see it!”
“I’ll tell you,” he said softly, the pain in his gut growing as he watched a worried frown creep across her pretty face. “Your father…”
Maggie instinctively knew what he was about to say before the words could leave his mouth. “No!” she cried and turned to run from him.
Hunter caught her with little effort, his long legs taking only seconds to gain her side. And then he grasped both of her upper arms. “Maggie…”
“He’s dead!” she cried. “Don’t tell me that!”
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said and pulled upward on her arms as her knees seemed no longer able to support her. “Oh, Maggie,” he whispered, pulling her up against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Marie-Louise had run the length of the yard by now and stood staring at them in alarm.
Hunter looked at her with a worried frown. “It’s Maggie’s father,” he explained and stooped to pick his wife up in his arms. “Come with us to the house,” he added, and Marie-Louise fell into step beside him.
“Tell me you’re lying,” Maggie cried against his neck, but she knew he wouldn’t lie to her, and her arms tightened around him, seeking his always calming support. “How can it be?”
Hunter’s arms tightened around her. “I don’t know, my love,” he breathed against her ear. He wanted desperately to absorb her pain, and yet he knew he could not.
Maggie continued to cry, drenching his shirt with her heart-breaking tears, as Marie-Louise darted ahead and held open the door for him.
“If you want to take her into the parlor,” she said, “I’ll fetch some water.”
Marie-Louise sped into the room while Hunter sat in a large chair before the cold fire, his weeping wife held firmly against his chest. He nodded and smiled when Marie-Louise held up his precious bottle of fine brandy.
“I want to go home, Hunter,” Maggie whispered brokenly against his shoulder.
Hunter accepted a plain glass half filled with brandy. “I know, love,” he said softly, “and I’ll take you there. Drink some of this now.” He held the glass close to her mouth, but she would not lift her head to drink. “Come now,” he ordered, and Maggie automatically obeyed his tone of command.
Marie-Louise, not know what to do or how else to help, began to build a fire against the late afternoon chill. She felt badly for her dear friend, and her eyes kept darting back over her shoulder, seeing Hunter’s strong hand stroking his young wife’s back. And then he seemed to notice her own despair and held out a hand to her.
“Come along,” he said softly, and Marie-Louise moved quickly across the few paces between them, dropping to her knees, her side against Hunter’s thigh.
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 22
“It looks tired and care-ridden,” Maggie murmured.
Hunter ducked his head toward her. “Pardon, darling?” he asked, and she repeated her comment. Hunter had her tucked close against his side as the rented hack drove them from the train depot to Treemont. They were entering the grounds now, and Hunter tried to view her home as Maggie was seeing it.
“I hadn’t noticed before,” she continued softly as her eyes roamed her beloved home. “Being away…coming back…I hadn’t realized until now.”
In fact Hunter had noticed last summer that the place could use a bit of refurbishing, but times had been hard for most southerners and he had thought nothing of it at the time; seeing the place again in such a state of deterioration weighed heavily upon his heart.
Maggie had not slept properly or taken much food for the past forty-eight hours. She was worried about her sisters and about Treemont, but she had not yet begun to miss her father; that would come later.
“You mustn’t worry about the farm, Maggie,” he said softly. “Leave that to me. Right now there is something of greater importance we must discuss.”
She turned her face up to him then.
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, the most aggressive action he had offered for two days. He had simply held her when she needed holding and listened when she chose to talk. “I love you,” he said. “Remember that.”
“Is that what you want to discuss?” she asked blankly and he shook his head. She was serious; not a laugh line crinkled around her eyes.
“I want to discuss your sisters, little one,” he said. “Denise will soon be off and married, but Florence and Jennifer will have abundant fears.”
“Denise cannot marry now,” she returned quickly.
He silenced her with a forefinger against her lips. “We’ll discuss Denise and Timothy’s situation with them in due course. For now I think we must reassure Jennifer and Florence that they will always have a home with us.”
Margaret Downing Maguire stared intently at her husband, her blue eyes moist, purple circles of fatigue outstanding below her fair lashes, and then she reached up and put both arms around his neck. “You would take them in?” she asked.
Hunter wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently. “Of course we will,” he said lightly. “They are sweet innocents, and they’re your sisters. Of course they will live with us.”
“I thought you might expect Denise…”
“Denise is not much more than a girl herself, and she has a new life to start. She cannot care for two younger sisters and I would never dream of asking it. You and I are much more suited and much more established. We’ll care for them and love them, Maggie.”
Maggie dropped her arms from around his neck and wrapped them around his back as she settle herself comfortably, her cheek against his chest. He was large and warm and secure. He was becoming day and night, and all seasons. He was a man to be reckoned with when he set his mind to something, but he was, above all else, a man of gentle, loving ways. He was her cherished husband.
“You are a remarkable man, Hunter Maguire.”
“I’m a simple man,” he returned.
“A loving man,” she breathed. “A man a woman could love.”
He waited, holding his breath as he prayed for her to continue, for her to at last confess that she loved him.
“I think I do,” she said in a voice that was so soft he could barely hear, a voice that quavered with fatigue.
He waited still another long moment before smiling his understanding, his right hand coming up to stroke her cheek. “You’ll let me know when you’ve come to a decision?” he teased, knowing she was too weary to jest in return. He knew only that he’d had to lighten the moment, for his heart’s sake.
Maggie knew only that her feelings toward him had changed greatly. She did not know if these feelings could be called love, but she seriously thought it to be true. Hunter had become important to her in so many ways. There were days when she felt she breathed when he breathed. His happiness and comfort had become important to her. Yes, she supposed she was in love. Quite desperately in love.
Hunter felt Maggie stiffen against him as she raised her head and realized they were approaching the house now. She pushed away from him, smoothed the skirt of her traveling suit, and turned her head his way after she had surveyed the people who had emerged from the front door of the stately old homestead. She looked sad and devastated in that moment and Hunter reached out to grip her hand as he silently wished again that he could save her
from this pain of loss.
“It…won’t be the same,” she murmured.
He smiled reassuringly. “No, it won’t, my darling.” There were no words of wisdom to offer her, and they both understood that.
All three sisters were waiting for the approach of the hack. Timothy Fletcher, Denise’s fiancé, stood behind them. Hunter had met the younger man only once and had been impressed with this quiet doctor who was so obviously devoted to Denise. That was just as well, he thought now, for they would soon be related by marriage, and he and Timothy would no doubt have many long discussions about the care of the Downing girls and the fate of Treemont.
Hunter alighted first from the carriage and turned to help his wife, who was quickly surrounded by three weeping young women. Over Maggie’s head, he nodded to Tim, who had chosen to stay back a pace or two. Hunter then placed a reassuring hand lightly on Maggie’s shoulder.
Young Jennifer broke away first and ran to him, tears flowing freely down her ivory cheeks.
Hunter’s heart twisted as he held out his arms to her. “Hello, monkey,” he said softly as she ran hard against him, her cheek against his waist as she wrapped her thin arms around him.
“We lost our papa,” she cried.
Hunter bent and picked her up, and Jennifer’s head dropped naturally, trustingly to his shoulder. “I know, sweetheart,” he said.
Maggie watched him holding her sister. Jennifer was too big to be held like that, but against Hunter’s greater size she seemed small and vulnerable. And, with Florence tucked under one arm, Maggie found herself stepping next to him again, slipping her small hand around his arm; it appeared they all needed him.
Tim saw to the unloading of the luggage from the hack and then stepped forward. “Let’s go into the house,” he said as he put his arm around Denise’s shoulders. “Everyone here is exhausted,” he told Hunter. “And I’m sure you both are as well.”
It was true. Tim’s mother had come to stay and help in any way she could, but the kindly woman could not assuage the grief within the household. They had slept little.
“I’ll take your cases in once I’ve introduced you to everyone,” Tim added as he and Denise led the way inside.
Friends and neighbors, he said, had come to express their sympathy and their concerns over the fate of three young women who were now without parents. The girls had been inundated with questions about their future and, while everyone was well-meaning, Timothy told Hunter that the attention had only added to the distress they girls already felt.
The two men stared silently at each other as they stood inside Treemont’s entrance. The next few days would be a test of everyone’s emotional endurance.
*
In fact, the four young women presented a brave front to the world. Only when they were alone did they share their heartaches and fears. Hunter and Tim stood quietly by, just being there.
The funeral was an ordeal in which Maggie and Denise stood stiffly, holding the hands of their younger sisters.
They returned to the house in the late afternoon. Early in the evening Mrs. Fletcher decided that the interval of visiting with friends and neighbors had gone on long enough. She encouraged Florence and Jennifer to go to bed and Maggie insisted on seeing them to their room.
“I want to sleep in Florence’s bed,” Jennifer whined tiredly as she pulled a white, cotton nightgown over her head.
“All right, Jen,” Maggie agreed quietly as she smoothed the thick braids back over Jennifer’s slim shoulders. “But you must sleep,” she added firmly.
The two younger girls shared a room that was cluttered with collections of their favorite things…dolls that had been given up by their maturing sisters and an abundance of riff-raff that could only be termed as junk, from rocks to ribbons, that Jennifer was fond of saving. Twin beds dominated the room, and a small table stood between the two.
Maggie sat on a chair in a corner of the room while Jennifer stood before her.
“What will we do, Maggie?” Jennifer asked worriedly. “I don’t think Florence and I can look after Treemont.”
Maggie smile sadly at the thought and reached out to stroke her sister’s slim arms. “Don’t you worry about Treemont,” he said firmly. “Hunter told me not to worry and you mustn’t, either.”
Jennifer’s brows crinkled with another worried thought. “But Denise will move to town, and…”
“You are not to worry, Jen,” Maggie said again. She noticed that Florence had changed into her nightclothes and was sitting on the side of her bed, listening intently. “Hunter and I will look after you both. You must not worry about being alone.”
“But you live far away,” Jennifer pointed out, growing teary-eyed again. Maggie pulled the girl up against her. “We’ll be together, Jen,” she whispered. “All of us.”
A large shadow fell across them then, and Maggie looked up to see Hunter staring down at them. “All of us, monkey,” he said. When Jennifer raised her head from Maggie’s shoulder, he shooed her toward the bed. “You must get some sleep now. Both of you,” he said, smiling at Florence, who had scrambled under the covers on her bed. The girl looked frail and thin, and the dark circles beneath her eyes worried him.
“I’m going to sleep with Florence,” Jennifer told him.
Hunter nodded and watched her lie down beside her sister. He pulled the blankets over them both and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down gently as they stared at him. “Your sister and I have already discussed this,” he said quietly. “We love you both, and we want you to live with us. Now, is that all right with you?” He looked from one to the other, and they both nodded, sleepy-eyed. “Good. And if you are worried about something, you’ll tell us?” He smiled at their whispers of agreement then reached out and touched their hands. “Will you sleep now?” he asked, and they nodded once again. “Good.” He bent to kiss them each lightly on the forehead, then straightened and waited for Maggie to do likewise.
Maggie whispered good night and something else he could not hear. Then she walked toward the door and out into the hall before Hunter had even lowered the wick of the lamp.
He closed the door and stepped up behind her; Maggie was leaning heavily against the wall, her head lowered. Without a word, Hunter turned her into his arms and held her while she wept. She cried silently, her heart breaking for the two your girls who seemed so alone and bewildered. And she cried for her own loss and for the father she would never see again.
“They’re so afraid,” she whispered.
“We’ll find a way to reassure them,” he said quietly. “Come to our room now,” he added. “I know it’s early, but I think you could use some sleep.”
She shook her head and pulled away from him, trying to regain her composure, but it was easier to meld against him and let him be her strength. “We have a houseful of people,” she said at last.
“I’ll make your excuses. You need some rest and everyone will understand that.”
“Denise is alone down there.”
“Denise is with Tim. I saw him take her outside for some air. You have to worry about yourself now, Maggie,” he said firmly. “Your sisters will need you, and you’ll be of little help to them if you’re exhausted.”
Maggie hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of thinking about being tired; there were simply too many other things to think about and too much to do. She had functioned under nervous tension for days now, and she knew that was why she was so weepy. Hunter must be truly sick of seeing her cry.
Nodding in agreement to his suggestion, Maggie lowered her eyes as she took a first mechanical step toward the room that had been hers and that she would now share with her husband.
Seeing the weary droop to her shoulders, Hunter hesitated not one moment. He swept her up in his arms and carried her down the dark corridor.
“I can walk,” she murmured, lowering her head and pressing her lips against his neck.
“Tonight I’m not so certain about that,” he said quietly as he entered a
room that looked much like the bedroom of a very young girl. The bed was too short for him, and he scowled as he eyed the thing.
He laid her gently on the bed and removed her black shoes. Then, raising the skirt of the simple black dress, he reached under its hem and drew off one stocking at a time.
“I can get undressed,” she protested, although weakly.
Hunter reached for the buttons of her dress. “I’ve seen you undress,” he said lightly. “Tonight, allow me.”
“Why are you so good to me?”
His hands grew still just below her breasts. “I thought you understood that, little one,” he said simply. “I love you.”
“I’ve given you a lot of trouble.”
He continued with his task then, his gaze moving away from hers to watch his progress. “I happen to think you’re worth it.”
“I haven’t been very…loving,” she admitted in a small voice, propping herself up on both elbows. “I mean…other than when…I don’t mean when we’re…together.”
Hunter frowned, trying to follow her thought process, and sat on the bed beside her hip. “Together?” he prompted.
She allowed her head to drop back onto the pillow and her eyes moved away to stare at the curtained windows. “I mean…I think I’m loving when we’re together. You know.”
“When we’re making love, Maggie?” He gently took the hand that rested at her waist. “You are loving, my pet. What’s this about?” he prodded, seeing her struggle with whatever was on her weary mind.
“All that has happened these past few days…” she whispered, rolling away from him. “I can remember when I was very small and my mother and father would laugh and touch each other. My father’s eyes would always go to her whenever she entered a room. I think they must have been very much in love. And…I remember the way they were together. I haven’t been able to offer that to you.”
Her voice trailed off then and Hunter placed one hand on the mattress in front of her, leaning forward. Her eyes had closed. Sleep had stealthily enveloped her and eased her thoughts, at least for the moment.