by Linda Ladd
"I don't think she needs to see you right now. She's very weak and upset."
"I'm going to see her."
"I think you'd better wait—"
"I'm going to see her."
There was no hint of harshness or anger in his voice, but Olivia knew the tone very well. Nothing would stop him, and she gave up, motioning for Macomi to follow her outside. Donovan waited until they had gone, then crossed to his wife's bed.
Alysson lay facing him in the middle of the bed, her eyes closed, one arm outside the covers. She seemed very small, childlike, and pale, and Donovan closed his eyes, his fingers biting into his palms. He hated himself for all he had put her through in the past few months. He had been the worst kind of fool; he was no better than her abusive father. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her bandaged hand. He pressed his lips against her fingertips.
"Alysson? Love? Can you hear me?"
She stirred at his low whisper, and Donovan smiled tenderly as her eyes fluttered open. He held his breath as she tried to focus on him, afraid she would hate him, afraid she would blame him for everything. He could not suppress his groan of relief as she raised her arms to him, wanting him to hold her. He pulled her gently against his chest, smoothing her hair as she began to cry against his shoulder.
"I wanted to tell you about the baby. I wanted you to love me again."
She sobbed, her words slurred by laudanum. Donovan's own devastating sense of loss and regret pervaded his next words.
"I do love you,” he muttered hoarsely. “I always have."
Alysson continued to weep, cradled in his arms, but not long afterward she lapsed into a drugged and peaceful sleep.
Donovan laid her back against the pillows, tenderly pushing her golden hair away from her temples. The strands were damp, darkened by her tears, and in that moment, he was gripped by such heart-wrenching pain that he felt he could not bear it. He paced a step or two away, restless, agitated, angry, helpless. He had almost lost Alysson. He had lost the child he had always wanted. He dropped his face into his hands, a sob catching in his throat as he grieved at her bedside, alone and with a mental agony he had never experienced before.
For the next few weeks, Alysson lay without the strength to sit up. Though her tears were frequent and profuse at first, they were spent in time as reluctant, sorrowful resignation settled over her. She felt an emptiness inside herself, a void that she was sure would never, ever leave her. Her heart ached with each thought of the tiny life lost before it had a chance to live. She had envisioned it all along to be a boy, blackhaired, black-eyed like his father, but now she would never see him, never hold him.
Gradually she settled into the lowest depths of depression, despite the kind attention of Olivia and Brace, and the gentle nursing of Macomi. Even Donovan's presence could not cheer her, though he sat beside her for hours, holding her hand. She wondered vaguely at times if he really did care about her, or if guilt prodded his conscience. But most of the time she found it too wearying to think at all. She really didn't care anymore.
A fortnight after her miscarriage, as the first of December loomed, Donovan came to her after the supper hour, as was his custom. Macomi was moving about the chamber in her quiet way, lighting the night tapers set in the gold wall sconces. Alysson watched Donovan from her bed as he waited impatiently for the old woman to leave. When Macomi finally departed, he looked down at Alysson, smiling in his new and gentle way.
"How are you feeling?"
"I am better, I think” was Alysson's listless response, and Donovan absently stroked the scar upon his eye.
She watched him pace like a restless tiger over to the crackling fire, then back toward her again. He looked around as if unsure what to do, and Alysson waited, at a loss to understand his uncharacteristic behavior.
"I want to hold you,” he said finally, looking down at her. “If you don't object."
He had certainly never asked her permission to do that before, or to do anything else, and it surprised Alysson so much that it took her a moment to nod. She was unprepared for the quickness with which she was gathered up into his strong arms, coverlets and all. He carried her to the hearth where a large wing chair faced the fire. He sat down, settling her comfortably across his lap, and Alysson rested her cheek against his shoulder, feeling very secure with his arms around her. Donovan laid his head back against the chair and stared into the flames, his fingers threaded through her loosened hair.
"I hate myself for what happened."
His words were so low and vulnerable and full of anguish that Alysson's heart twisted, for she knew what he was feeling. It was the first time he had mentioned the baby to her. She lifted her head and put a gentle palm against his cheek.
"It wasn't your fault. I should have been more careful."
He looked at her then, anger in his voice. “Don't blame yourself, don't ever blame yourself. I've acted like a fool about you from the day we met."
She didn't reply, but she knew it was time to set things right between them. She knew he would listen now.
"I only went to Douglas to tell him...” She stopped as she felt his muscles tighten beneath her, but he didn't speak, so she went on softly. “To tell him that I couldn't act anymore. The things he said were lies, I swear it. He told me Rosalie was coming to his house. That's the only reason I waited there."
Donovan was quiet. She had been innocent all along, and that made his own actions that much worse. He wouldn't blame her if she never forgave him.
"I'm sorry, sweet, I'm so sorry for all that you've suffered. I'll never do anything to hurt you again, I promise you that. I'll make it up to you, if you'll let me."
Great tenderness crept over Alysson, spreading a warm glow over her heart. She laid her head back upon his chest, closing her eyes, soothed by the steady thud of his heartbeat. Everything was going to be all right, she thought in quiet contentment. Everything was going to be all right at long last.
"Please, Olivia, tell me, I really want to know,” Alysson insisted as she climbed back into her freshly changed bed.
Olivia handed the soiled bed linens to a young maid. “Katie is fine. Why won't you believe me? She's in her room right now, playing with her dolls."
"Then why hasn't she come to see me? It's been a month now, and I haven't seen her at all."
"She will someday soon, I'm sure. You know how shy she can be at times. You shouldn't fret so about it. You haven't needed children around bothering you. You're still recovering."
"But I miss her."
Olivia smiled. “She misses you, too. Now take your nap before Donovan comes in from the city."
Alysson watched the door close behind them, not at all satisfied with Olivia's explanation. Each family member, including Donovan, used the same excuse about Katie disturbing her, but something was wrong, she knew it. Since Donovan had assured her that Katie's burns had healed long ago, she could not understand it. But she was going to find out, and she was going to find out now.
She threw back the covers and stepped carefully down to the embroidered bedstool beside the bed. She had felt just fine for a week now, but the doctor had ordered more bed rest, and Donovan made sure she abided by it. She smiled, thinking about him. He had become a complete tyrant over her health, but he held her every night by the fire, tenderly, affectionately, with absolutely no passion. She was quite well enough now to miss the latter, and she wanted him to stay with her at night instead of going off to his own room. Apparently, however, Dr. Whittingham had said otherwise, and she grimaced as she drew on her silk dressing gown and moved toward the door. She rested several times en route, finding that she was much weaker when she stood upon her feet than she had expected to be.
She peeked out into the hall, feeling like a thief in the house, though her only crime was getting out of bed. Donovan's strict orders concerning her were enforced by the staff, as well as by Olivia and Macomi, but no one was in sight to stop her. She walked as fast as she could to Katie's door
near the servant's back stairway. She eased open the door, smiling when she saw little Katie playing in the corner beside her five-foot-high dollhouse.
"Katie? Look, I've come to see you!"
Katie jerked around, and Alysson gasped at the expression on the child's face. She looked terrified, as if she were trapped, and before Alysson could say another word, the little girl fled past her into the hall.
"Katie! Wait!” Alysson cried, following her to the back stairs. Halfway down them, she stopped, gripping the handrail. “Please don't run from me, Katie! I'm too weak to run. I'll fall!"
Katie stopped and looked back from her place several steps below. Alysson sank weakly down where she was, leaning her back against the wall for support.
"I don't understand, Katie,” she said, trying to regain her breath. “I thought we were friends. Why don't you like me anymore?"
"Because you hate me,” Katie said, stunning Alysson
"Hate you? Katie, I love you, surely you know that. You're just like a little sister to me."
Katie wouldn't look at her as she twisted the long ribbon sash of her dress. “It was my fault that your baby died. It was because you picked me up and carried me. I heard the maids whispering about it."
Alysson sat very still as Katie's face contorted with an ancient agony, and her words came, low and tortured.
"I did it to Papa, too. I made him die. He told me to stay in the wagon, but I wanted to play hide-and-seek with him, so I ran away and hid. Then all those men came in their paint and feathers, and I was so scared I couldn't even scream when Papa came running after me, and they, and they—"
Alysson went quickly to her, gathering the trembling child close.
"Hush now, darling, don't say those things. None of it was your fault. My baby was already sick. You had nothing to do with it. No one could ever blame you. And you did not cause your father to die. The Indians did it, not you."
"But don't you see,” Katie said, her voice aquiver. “He wouldn't have been out there all alone if I hadn't gone there. He was looking for me."
Alysson bit her lip, compassion for the child filling her. How much she must have suffered in her little mind, blaming herself for so long. No wonder she relived it in her nightmares.
"Now listen to me, Katie,” she said firmly, taking Katie's small face between her palms. “You were only four years old then, just a baby. How could you have known? Tell me that. Your mother told me about it once, and she said the Mohawks attacked the wagons too, isn't that right? Other people died then. Your father loved you. He wouldn't want you to think this way.” She hesitated, looking into Katie's eyes. “I know how you feel, though. I saw my mother die, and it was horrible, just horrible.” She stopped, remembering that day. “I thought it was my fault too, for a while, because I thought I had allowed it to happen. But now I know it wasn't my fault, and you must try to realize that, too."
Katie had listened to every word, her freckled face young and solemn, but the expression in her eyes seemed very old at that moment.
"I'm not sure I can, Alysson, but I will try very hard."
Alysson hugged her again, but they both drew back and looked at each other as Donovan's angry voice bellowed from the hallway above them.
"Olivia! Where in the bloody hell is Alysson?"
They began to laugh then, and Alysson called her husband's name before he could descend on her poor sister-in-law. Moments later, he appeared at the top of the steps to stare incredulously down at them.
"What in the blazes are you doing down there?"
"Talking,” Alysson said, smiling and hugging Katie as he came down the steps toward them.
"Talking? You're not supposed to be out of bed yet, and you know it,” he scolded, scooping Alysson up with his easy strength. “Go see cook, Katie. I brought you some ice cream from the city."
Katie scampered down to the kitchen, and Alysson rode back to her room in smiling silence. Far be it for her to complain when her handsome husband showed such loving consideration for her.
Chapter 20
Olivia moved through the house, surveying with satisfaction the holiday cheer all around her. For the first time in years, the great staircase and mantelpieces were hung with ropes of evergreen and mistletoe. This would be a very special Christmas indeed, even though Brace and Jeremy could not be there. Alysson was up and around at last, if only for the last few days, and Katie—Katie was a totally different child than she had been a year ago at Christmastide. Alysson had done much to make Katie into the happy, smiling child she was of late, and Olivia would never be able to show her gratitude for such a miracle.
Yes, things were better than they had been in many a year what with Donovan home at Wildwood nearly all the time now. Alysson had been good for him too, making him less obsessed with his business and responsibilities. He was happy now, smiling often. He had needed to settle down with a woman like Alysson for a long time. He had had too many women, too many mistresses, and not enough love.
She stopped at one of the frosty dining room windows to straighten a long white candle decorating a fragrant, ribbon-decorated cedar wreath. She paused there a moment, watching the snow. Flakes drifted downward from the gray skies, blanketing the vast lawns in a patina of white, all the way to the river. It was a beautiful picture, but a nostalgic sadness pierced her spirit as she looked at it, bringing the timeless pain back to haunt her.
How Jason had loved Christmas and all the festive excitement that came with the holiday season! When they had first married and lived in their Philadelphia house, most of their Christmases had been snowy ones, with laughing sleigh rides and caroling with Dolley and their other friends. It had all ended so abruptly for them. Olivia sighed wistfully. She must remember to have the sleigh brought out, she thought, then turned, not wanting to dwell on the past, not when the future seemed so bright. She knew Katie and Alysson were in the private family parlor, laboring over their surprise for Donovan, and she smiled as she slid back the doors to join them.
Alysson stood at a round pedestal table where a small fir tree had been set. Katie was on a stepstool beside her, helping to tie small gifts and candles on its bough. It was she who saw Olivia first.
"Mama! Isn't it grand? And look, Alysson made cookies shaped like little angels! Her friend Mathilde taught her how back in Cornwall."
"Have one, Olivia, they're really very good,” Alysson said, pushing a white ribbon through the hole she had made on one of the cookies. She tied it carefully to the tree, then smiled. “We always had a little tree like this. Mathilde said that in Germany, it is the custom to have one in every house. It does look pretty, doesn't it, Olivia? Do you think Donovan will like it?"
"Yes, I'm sure he will,” Olivia said, coming closer to admire it. She had never seen such a thing done. It did seem strange to have a tree in the house, but the excited delight in her daughter's eyes made it worthwhile.
"Tell me more about Cornwall and Freddie,” Katie begged. “I think I'd like him very much. Did he really climb the ocean cliffs to rescue your dog?"
"Yes, but Mathilde was quite angry because it was a very dangerous part of the cliffs where the rocks often crumbled and fell into the sea. She punished him soundly for it, but he did save Shylock."
"He must be very brave."
Alysson thought of a day when Freddie had helped hide her mother and hadn't told her father where they were, even when Daniel Tyler beat him on the back with his riding crop.
"Yes, he is very brave. I miss him, and his mother, too.” Emotion caught in her throat, but no one had time to notice as Macomi appeared on the threshold.
"Long Knife come."
"But the candles aren't lit!” Katie cried in a curious mixture of terror and anticipation. Alysson laughed at her panic as she lifted a candlestick and quickly lit the others, one by one. But she couldn't deny the excitement in her own heart, for Donovan had been required to spend the last few days in the city, and she had feared the snow would strand him there. He had
promised to come home for Christmas Eve, though, and he had. They all gathered behind the tiny tree to wait, and Alysson smiled happily, thinking they had done a fine job decorating it until she noticed that something was missing.
"Uh-oh, we forgot the angel Gabriel! Where is he?” They all scurried to find the paper figure. Katie saw it first on the sofa by the fireplace. Alysson barely had time to affix it to the tree before the door opened and Donovan stood there, still wearing his great black cloak. His wide shoulders were powdered with snowflakes, and he held his tall beaver hat in one hand. They all held their breaths in eager expectancy.
Alysson was so glad to see him at first that she didn't notice the expression on his face slowly changing as he stared at the glowing tree. Her own smile faltered as his brows came down, a warning sign that she knew well. She tensed.
"I want that thing out of here, Olivia,” he said tersely, then turned on his heel to move away with long, angry strides.
A stunned silence followed in the parlor as Alysson and Olivia looked at each other in confusion. Katie looked up first at her mother, then at Alysson.
"Why doesn't he like it, Mama? We don't really have to take it down, do we?"
Olivia hesitated as Katie's blue eyes filled with tears still shocked by Donovan's behavior. Never before had he denied Katie anything reasonable, and this was such a little thing. But Donovan was the master of Wildwood, and she could not ignore his wishes.
"Let's put it in Katie's room, then,” Alysson suggested, when Olivia looked torn between taking it down and letting Katie have it. “He won't see it there.” She took Katie's hand in hers. “Just think, you can have it all to yourself then. Even when you are in bed you can look at it. Won't that be nice?"
"Oh, yes,” Katie said, wiping her tears with her fists. But Olivia was still very reluctant to defy Donovan's orders.