The Brightest of Dreams

by Susan Anne Mason

  How did she begin to confess her shame? What if he had her fired once he learned her secret? “It will keep for another time.” She reached for the doorknob, but the whole room seemed to tilt. She grasped the handle, her head buzzing.

  “Miss Holloway?” The doctor’s voice sounded like it was coming from inside a tunnel.

  She pressed one hand to her forehead, the other gripping the doorframe to keep her upright. She would not faint. She would not.

  “You’ve gone completely white.” Dr. Clayborne took her arm and guided her over to a chair. “Put your head down, take deep breaths, and I’ll get you some water.”

  She did as he asked, and by the time he returned, her vision had cleared, though her stomach now threatened to rebel.

  Dr. Clayborne held the glass to her lips. “Take a few small sips. It should help settle your system.”

  The cool liquid soothed her parched throat. She inhaled deeply again and at last met the physician’s gaze.

  “Are you unwell, Miss Holloway?”

  Her hand shook, sloshing the water in the glass. “I don’t know. That’s why I came.” Her eyes stung with sudden tears. “I need to know . . .” She gulped. Did she have the courage to continue?

  “It’s all right. I’m a doctor and I don’t shock easily. You can tell me anything.”

  The gentleness in his voice made the tears shake loose and spill down her cheeks.

  “I need to know if I might be . . . pregnant.”

  Under the blazing sun, Quinn pulled the energetic brown gelding to a halt and removed his cap. With his sleeve, he wiped the perspiration from his brow. He hadn’t realized the summers in Canada were this hot. At the end of a long country lane, a battered mailbox with the name Sherman painted in faded black letters stood sentinel.

  Quinn squinted down the dirt road and could just make out the roof of a barn in the distance. Should he risk riding up on horseback? Perhaps it would be safer to walk. He’d have a better chance to avoid buckshot that way. And the horse wouldn’t be in danger.

  Quinn tied the reins to the post, took a moment to bow his head and pray for a good outcome, then started down the road. As he walked, all his senses went on high alert, watching for any sign of workers on the property. Specifically, someone who might resemble his brother. Yet he encountered nothing but acres of rolling green fields.

  When the barn came into view, Quinn’s pulse sprinted, and a bubble of hope rose in his chest. Was it possible he was about to see his brother again? If so, would he even recognize Cecil after so long?

  Repressing the urge to head straight to the barn, Quinn recalled the station master’s warning and instead made his way to the farmhouse. It was a plain white clapboard home with a screen door and a sagging porch. Quinn climbed the stairs and knocked on the doorframe. Immediately, a vicious barking erupted from within. Quinn backed away in case the creature launched itself through the screen.

  “Quiet, Hercules.” A woman’s sharp command made the noise cease.

  Seconds later, a tall, austere woman appeared, a mangy-looking mutt at her side. She frowned at Quinn through the screen. “Can I help you, mister?”

  Quinn swallowed, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. “I hope so, ma’am. I’m looking for my brother, who I believe works for you and your husband. His name is Cecil Aspinall.”

  A flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes, but then her features hardened. “I think you have the wrong farm.”

  He stepped forward, already prepared for the obstacles to come. “Could you at least tell me if you know Cecil? He works on a farm in this area. I was certain it was for a Mr. Sherman.”

  “Can’t expect me to know the names of all the help around here.” The brackets around her mouth deepened as her lips pulled down even lower. “Now, I’d thank you to get off the property before my husband gets back. Believe me, he won’t be as accommodating as I am.” She scowled at him again for good measure and slammed the wooden door, making the screen rattle.

  Quinn expelled a long breath. The woman knew more about Cecil than she’d said. Yet harassing her further would not help Quinn’s cause. He had no choice but to leave.

  Certain she would be watching him through a window, Quinn retraced his steps down the lane. When he passed the barn, he slowed his stride, reining in the desire to charge inside and see if Cecil was in there. However, since the entrance would be visible to anyone looking from the house, Quinn kept going until he rounded a bend and was out of sight behind a crop of trees. Then, ducking low, he pushed through the foliage and painstakingly made his way back to the far side of the barn, counting on there being another entrance into the structure.

  Sure enough, a small rear door stood open, allowing him a partial view of the dimly lit interior. Quinn brushed the grass and leaves off his clothes, and with his heart in his throat, stepped inside. The immediate stench of manure hit him as he waited a few seconds to get his bearings. Rows of cattle stalls lined the far wall, and a layer of straw covered the dirt floor of the main aisle.

  Movement farther down the barn brought Quinn’s attention to two people who came into view. He ducked out of sight into an empty stall and held his breath.

  “Fill the wagon from the hay shed and get those cattle fed,” one man said. “And while you’re at it, bring back a couple of bales for the barn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn’s pulse sprinted at the younger man’s British accent. Could it be Cecil? Or just some other immigrant worker brought over from England?

  Heavy footsteps stomped off, and judging by the sounds being made, it seemed the second person was fiddling with a harness. Quinn dared to peek over the stall door. A very thin boy bent over a leather-and-chain contraption. He wore a large floppy hat that hid his face, making it impossible to tell if it might be his brother.

  The lad straightened and moved to open one of the stall doors. Seconds later, he led a sway-backed horse out of the enclosure, the hooves kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

  “Come on, Rigby. Time to take the wagon out.”

  Before he could change his mind, Quinn stepped into the open. “Excuse me.”

  The boy whirled around, still clutching the horse’s reins. His eyes widened, the freckles standing out on his pale skin. The strap of his denim overalls slipped down, revealing a stained white shirt beneath. The knees of the boy’s pants were so worn, Quinn could see skin showing through. But it was the thinness of his limbs—the bony elbows and shoulder blades—that struck Quinn hard. The lad bore some resemblance to the brother he remembered, but Quinn couldn’t be sure.

  He swallowed. “Cecil? Is that you?”

  “Quinn?”

  For a second, Quinn’s throat closed up, and he could only nod. His eyes stung with sudden tears as the boy launched himself at Quinn. He caught Cecil and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

  Cecil hugged him hard and then pulled back, smiling widely. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “It’s a long story. But I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” Quinn gripped the boy’s shoulder. “I’ve come to bring you, Harry, and Becky home.”

  A flicker of alarm crossed Cecil’s face. “Did Mum send you? How’s she doing?”

  Quinn held back a sigh. “Not well. She’s in the workhouse infirmary and quite weak. Which is why we all need to go back. Once we’re together again, I know she’ll pick up.”

  “I . . .” Cecil frowned and glanced down the aisle. “I wish I could leave, but I can’t.”

  “What do you mean? You’re not a prisoner here, are you?”

  “Close enough.” He scowled and moved away, picking up the horse’s reins once again.

  Quinn followed him. “All the more reason to come with me. We can be on the next train back to the city.”

  “I told you, I can’t. I’m bound by my contract.” Cecil glanced nervously around the barn. “You’d better leave now before Old Man Sherman comes back. He won’t be happy to find you here.”r />
  Quinn threw out his hands, barely suppressing the urge to shake his brother. “Cecil, I’ve crossed a blasted ocean to find you. You can’t just dismiss me after less than five minutes.”

  Cecil shot Quinn an agonized stare. “You don’t understand. If he finds me talking to you, he’ll take it out on me. I’ve worked hard to earn his trust. I won’t ruin that now.”

  Quinn squeezed his fingers into fists at his side. How could he simply walk away from his brother now that he’d found him? “I don’t believe this,” he said. “I never once considered you wouldn’t want to come with me.”

  “Please, Quinn. I have chores to finish.” A fly buzzed around Cecil’s neck, and he swatted it away. Beads of sweat dripped from under his hat. It was obvious from the way he kept looking behind him that the boy was nervous. But he let out a sigh. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude. Maybe on my next afternoon off we can get together and catch up. I’d love to hear how things are going back home.”

  Quinn held back the retort that leapt to mind. He never imagined that his brother would barely speak to him. Would refuse to go back with him. Perhaps he needed to give Cecil time to get used to the idea of going home. “Very well. I’ll go for now, but I’m not giving up. You can count on that.”

  Cecil gave a quick nod before heading down the center aisle, the horse in tow.

  Quinn struggled with an immense feeling of disappointment. He only hoped he’d have better luck with Harry. “Wait.” Quinn charged after Cecil. “Have you heard from Harry at all?”

  For an instant, Cecil’s feet faltered, then he stiffened his spine. “Haven’t seen him since I left Toronto.”

  Quinn frowned. “Well, I intend to find him, and when I do, we’ll both be back.” He jabbed a finger at him. “Be warned. I’m not leaving for England without you.”

  Cecil went still, then came to stand toe to toe with Quinn. “I only have eighteen months left before my contract is up, and then I’ll be free to do whatever I wish. Do not ruin this for me, Quinn.” He snapped a leather switch against his palm, his eyes burning with a host of emotions.

  “I wish I could leave it at that, but I can’t. I didn’t want to tell you this way. . . .” Quinn paused, searching for the words. “Mum may not last the summer.”

  Cecil stood breathing hard for a moment, his thin chest puffing in and out. Surely he would realize the gravity of the situation and come home for Mum’s sake. But the boy shook his head again. “Harry and Becky will have to be enough. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a herd of cattle to feed.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Julia finished buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers. Dr. Clayborne was waiting for her in the outer office, one that belonged to a colleague, since his own office was not equipped for this type of examination. Filled with books and papers, it was only used for verbal consultations with his patients, while the bulk of his work was conducted in the physical therapy room.

  Dr. Clayborne had assured her that no one would mind him using this room, and he’d found a nurse willing to assist him in the examination. Would they have been able to come to any conclusions about her condition this soon or would she have to wait for the bloodwork?

  Either way, Julia dreaded walking through that door. Lord, help me to be strong and to bear whatever the doctor has to say.

  She brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, picked up her handbag, and went to face her destiny.

  Seated behind a large desk, Dr. Clayborne’s features betrayed little, but as he watched her take a seat, his eyes filled with sympathy.

  Julia’s stomach dropped. Bile coated the back of her throat, her body already aware of what was to come. “It’s not good news, I take it.”

  “That depends on how you look at it, I suppose.” He gave her a slight smile. “Your suspicions were correct, Miss Holloway. I believe you are indeed expecting. From the information you’ve given me, I suspect you’re about three months along.”

  Julia covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. “What am I going to do now?” Her eyes burned with the threat of tears, her mind spinning. How long would she be able to work? She’d have to hide her condition as long as possible, for without an income, how would she live?

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Dr. Clayborne said, “what about the baby’s father? Surely he should take some responsibility for the situation.”

  Julia focused her gaze on her lap, where she twisted a rather worn handkerchief between her fingers. The thought of facing that man again—the one she’d thought so kind but who had taken advantage of her in the worst possible way—brought another wave of nausea. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

  “I see.” The physician leaned over his desk, his forehead creased. “Forgive me if I’m getting too personal, but I couldn’t help noticing the time of conception coincides roughly with the date of Private McIntyre’s death.”

  She clamped her lips together to stop their trembling.

  “Is Sam the father of your child?”

  The gentle question ripped at Julia’s heart. If only this baby were Sam’s. At least then she could look forward to seeing a resemblance to someone she truly cared about. Instead, the child was the product of a man who’d used his position of trust to prey on Julia at her most vulnerable moment.

  “I’m afraid not. While I was very fond of Sam, our relationship was not a romantic one.”

  An awkward silence descended. Julia tried to breathe normally under Dr. Clayborne’s scrutiny, but her lungs felt incapable of fully inflating.

  “Did the father make promises to you? If so, where is he now?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.”

  His brows shot up. “You weren’t forced—?”

  “Please, I don’t wish to talk about it.” She swallowed the acid rising in her throat. Even if she could speak of it, just picturing Dr. Clayborne’s reaction would keep her silent, not willing to risk losing the one ally she had. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “Very well. I respect your right to privacy.” He hesitated. “Will you at least tell the man? Give him the opportunity to do the right thing?”

  She shook her head. Facing Dr. Hawkins, admitting her condition—no, she could never do that. No matter how dire her circumstances. “I don’t think so. It’s a rather complicated situation.”

  “I see. Well, then, what can I do to help?”

  The tears she’d kept at bay now welled anew. They brimmed over her lower lashes and dripped down her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I need to keep this confidential for as long as possible. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  The doctor remained quiet for several seconds. “Perhaps I could look into possible maternity homes for when you can no longer work.”

  The sympathy on his face was more than she could bear. But she needed his support since he would be the only other person privy to her condition. “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

  Dr. Clayborne rose and came around the desk. “Try not to despair, Julia. I’ll be praying for you, that God will provide you with the people and the resources you need to see you through this trying time.”

  “I appreciate that.” She got to her feet, still somewhat shaky.

  He steadied her with a light touch to her elbow. “Come and I’ll call you a cab. Once you’re home, I prescribe a cup of tea, followed by a good night’s sleep. Matters are bound to look better in the morning.”

  She secretly doubted that would be true. If anything, the world would appear even bleaker once the enormity of her situation sank in. “Thank you, but I’ll take the bus. The fresh air will do me good.” In reality, she didn’t want to waste her limited funds on a taxi.

  “If you’re sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you again for everything.” With as much dignity as she could muster, Julia left the office and made her way outside.

  For some reason, as she walked down the street, her thoughts flew to Quinn
, and she thanked her good fortune that he was not around to witness her utter demoralization. Despite his chivalrous attempts to help her, she now found herself in a worse situation than ever.

  By the time Quinn returned, she would need to have her composure in place so he wouldn’t detect anything amiss. And then she would have to sever all ties with the man before he could learn of her disgrace. For she couldn’t bear it if he or her uncle ever knew the truth.

  After almost an hour’s journey, Quinn came to a stop in front of the dirt road leading to the Wolfe farm. He’d walked all the way from the Caledon train depot, following the station master’s very specific directions, and during the entire trip, he’d been trying to come up with a different way to approach Harry. Talking to the farmer or his family, as Quinn had tried to do with Cecil’s employer, probably wouldn’t help him. Mr. Hobday’s words came back to Quinn. “But be advised, Mr. Aspinall, any interference with these children will not be tolerated.” It appeared the man wasn’t exaggerating.

  So, what could he do differently this time to ensure a better outcome?

  The most logical course of action seemed to be trying to find Harry without involving the farmer. He only prayed his youngest brother would be happier to see him than Cecil had.

  The sun heated Quinn’s shoulders as he started down the road, making him wish he could remove his jacket, but he wanted to make a good impression should he run into anyone in charge, so he kept it on. As he came closer to the main barn, Quinn stepped off the path and crossed a grassy area to a slatted wooden fence. Bending low, Quinn followed the line of fencing toward the barn, hoping he wouldn’t be too noticeable. When he reached the wooden structure, which, from the peeling paint and missing boards, looked like it had seen better days, Quinn crouched behind a wide tree trunk.

  Several men went in and out of the double barn doors, one leading a cow by a rope. A second man drove a flock of sheep in from the pasture. All the workers looked too old to be indentured British boys. So where was Harry?