The Winter Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

  "Sid Baxter? Didn't the name ring any bloody bells?" he yelled.

  "Yes, it did. But I didn't think it could possibly be you, because you're supposed to be dead!"

  "I haven't slept since I saw you. I can't eat."

  "I'm very sorry, but you must stop shouting at me. I shall leave if you don't."

  "Sorry," he said, in a softer voice. "Don't go. Stay. Please." He dug frantically in his saddlebag. "Would you like some dinner? I brought sandwiches. Alice made them. And cake. And a bit of port. It's all she had."

  India looked at him warily.

  "I won't shout anymore. I promise. Look, there are some flame trees there. We could sit under them."

  "All right."

  They rode to the trees and tied their horses.

  "That's a nice spot, right there," Sid said, pointing to a patch of grass half in the sun, half in the shade. But neither of them sat. Sid stood with the saddlebag in his hands. India stood, arms crossed over her chest, cupping her elbows.

  "You're here, then. In Africa," he finally said.

  "Yes, Sid. Yes, I am."

  "Freddie's sorting things out, is he? Between the government and the settlers?"

  "He's trying."

  "Think he'll succeed?"

  "I'm certain of it. He always does. One way or another."

  "Foreign secretary, is it?"

  "Undersecretary for the colonies."

  "He's done well for himself."

  "Yes, he has."

  "How's Charlotte feeling?"

  "Better, thank you."

  "She's an amazing girl. Smart as a whip. I've never met a child like her."

  India closed her eyes for a few seconds, squeezing back tears. Here she was, standing next to Sid. Sid, whom she'd loved more than any other man in her entire life. Sid, whom she'd thought was dead. Here she was, standing next to the father of her child, making small talk with him when all she wanted was to run to him and kiss him, tell him all about Charlotte, and tell him she loved him.

  "India, is something wrong?"

  "No, nothing," she said quickly.

  She opened her eyes again and raised them to the horizon to avoid looking at Sid. She affected a look of calm detachment, determined not to lose control. As Sid continued to talk, another voice spoke to her--one from the depths of her memory.

  "You what? You feel, Jones?" this voice said. "You are not in my classroom to feel..."

  Professor Fenwick. She hadn't thought about him in years. How like him to pop in at a time like this to lecture her. He was right, though--it was better not to feel. Feelings carried too high a price. Hugh Mullins had taught her. Whitechapel had taught her. But Sid Malone had been the best teacher of all.

  "Well, anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry about the other night. I really am. I'm just happy to know that you're happy, India," he said.

  As he spoke those words, a choking anger filled her. She tried desperately to tamp it down, but she couldn't. It twisted and roiled inside her.

  Why had he always been able to do that? To make her so angry? At Teddy Ko's. Again at the London Hospital. In the Barkentine. At her flat. In the dark streets of Whitechapel. They had never talked in those days without fighting. Even now, when he was trying hard to apologize, he made her angry.

  "You deserve happiness," he continued. "More than anyone."

  In an instant the anger ignited into rage. It was too much, this. To hear from the man she loved that he was happy she was happy being married to a man she hated. It was unbearable.

  "Is that what you think?" she asked, Fenwick's warning now forgotten. "That I'm happy to be married to Freddie?"

  "Well, aren't you?"

  "No, you bloody fool. I'm not."

  Sid winced. "Steady on. I was trying to be nice to you," he said.

  "But you're not nice. You're stupid and heartless."

  "What's wrong, then? Why aren't you happy? You should be," Sid said, his voice sharp again. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? A nice respectable man for a husband instead of a criminal. What's the matter? Aren't all the houses and horses and parties and balls enough?"

  "No, they are not. Good day, Sid," India said, turning on her heel. She had to leave. Now. Before she did lose control.

  "Not so fast." Sid's hand closed on her arm. He spun her around to face him again. "Why the hell did you marry him?" he asked.

  "I had my reasons," she spat, trying to shake him off, but he wouldn't let go.

  "Yes, Joe Bristow and Gemma Dean, right? You thought I did for them. That's why you changed your mind."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Just tell me one thing. Did the police come to you, or did you go to them?"

  "What police? What are you talking about?"

  "Arden Street. You told them about Arden Street. You helped them set a trap for me."

  "No," she said. "That's not true. They found out--"

  "Bloody right they did. You told them!"

  "Is that what you think? That I betrayed you to Freddie? I would've given up everything for you--medicine, the clinic, my home. I did give up everything!" she shouted. "I gave up my life for you." She was weeping now. Unable to break his grasp, she buried her face in his chest.

  "Then how did they find out? Donaldson told me my lady had told him."

  "He meant Gemma Dean, not me. She told Freddie. Before she died. At least, that's what he's always said." She looked up at him. "Why didn't you come for me? I waited and waited. Before Arden Street and after. I was out of my mind with worry waiting for you."

  "I thought you'd betrayed me. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me," he said, looking as if someone had reached inside him and ripped his soul out. "All these years..." he said softly.

  "All these years I thought you were dead. And all these years you hated me."

  "I never hated you," he said. "I wish I could have. It would have made my life so much easier." His voice broke.

  India heard it. The sound of his pain was agony to her. She couldn't bear it. She wanted to stop it. Instinctively, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  "Let go of me, India," he said. "I didn't know ...I thought..."

  "You thought I'd run to Freddie. Changed my mind about you. You thought I did what I did because I didn't love you enough. Oh, Sid. You never thought you were good enough. Never thought you deserved to love and to be loved."

  "I can't do this, India. I can't be near you like this and then just walk away again."

  "Then don't walk away. Please don't walk away," she whispered. "Love me, Sid. If only for now. If only for an hour. Please still love me."

  She kissed him again. The smell and taste and feel of him felt to her like rains in a desert. Her soul, dry and parched, nearly dead, came to life again. She sobbed, then laughed, then held him tightly, burying her face in his neck. And then he was kissing her, and his arms were tight around her.

  "I never stopped loving you," she whispered to him. "Never, Sid. Not for one day."

  He pulled her down with him into the grass and made love to her. It was hard and fast, angry and bruising. When he finished, he lay on his back, hands over his eyes. She took them away and kissed his tears, and then his mouth. She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his throat, and his chest, taking her time, wanting to remember it all--the feel of his skin, the warmth of the sun on her bare back. His body was harder and thinner than she remembered, his face and arms were bronzed by the sun. Her lips brushed the place over his heart, where the skin was so pale and fragile-looking. She kissed him there and then she made love to him, tenderly and slowly, wanting it to last forever.

  When it was over, she lay with her head on his chest and he held her close, just as they'd done in Arden Street. They talked. He told her about escaping from London and coming to Africa and finding himself stranded in Mombasa. He told her about Maggie Carr and how she'd saved him and all about his life here. She told him about the day she'd learned he was dead and the tearing grief she'd f
elt. About going to London Bridge to throw flowers into the Thames. She told him about her home in London and the dead and meaningless life she lived there. She told him how she missed medicine and Whitechapel and, most of all, him. And she told him about the happiness Charlotte brought her and how much she loved her.

  When she finished, he looked at her and said, "Come back to me, India."

  She touched a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't. It's not possible. He'll never let me go. Never."

  "He loves you, then. Loves Charlotte..."

  India laughed mirthlessly. "He loves neither of us. It's my father's fortune he loves. It's a staggering amount of money, but it comes to him only through me. My father set things up that way to make sure he never divorced me."

  "Can't you divorce him?"

  "He's told me that if I ever try, he will take Charlotte. I don't doubt for a second that he would. He has friends in high places. I could never do it. Never abandon her to him. It would be like handing a lamb to a wolf."

  "I'll come to London, then. I'll see you. Somehow..."

  "No," she said sharply. "If Freddie ever found out you're alive, if he even suspected it, he'd come after you."

  "Why? I didn't shoot Joe Bristow. Frankie Betts did and he's been sent to prison for it. It was in all the papers. Even in Mombasa."

  "He'll try to hang you for Gemma Dean's murder," India said.

  "But I didn't kill her!"

  "Do you think that matters to him? He'd see you as a threat to his marriage and his money. He's a ruthless man, Sid. A hateful man. You've no idea how hateful."

  Sid's eyes searched hers. "Is he cruel to you, India?"

  She looked away.

  "And Charlotte?"

  "He mostly ignores her. Unless a photographer's lurking."

  "But she's his daughter."

  India looked away. She almost told him then. Almost said, "No, she isn't. She's your daughter." She wanted to. Desperately. She wanted him to know that he had made her; that they both had. But she didn't because it would have been unspeakably cruel to tell him Charlotte was his and then take her away from him forever.

  Instead she said, "I have to get back. I'll be missed. There's packing to do. We're leaving for Nairobi tomorrow morning." She picked up her camisole and blouse and put them on. She buttoned her riding skirt and stood.

  "And then you leave for London," Sid said flatly, standing now, too.

  "We've a family holiday at Mount Kenya to endure first. Then we leave."

  "I just got you back and now I'm about to lose you all over again."

  "And I you."

  India felt she should be weeping now, but she didn't. Neither of them did. The pain was too deep for tears.

  "I'll wake up and think I dreamed this," he said. "Tomorrow. When I have nothing again."

  "We'll have this," she said. "This day. This memory. This love. No one can take that from us. I know you're alive, Sid. That's so much more than I had."

  "If only I'd got to you. In London. If only I could have found a way..."

  "Don't. Please."

  "I love you, India."

  "And I love you."

  They held each other then, not wanting to let go, each knowing it was for the last time. And then, when she could bear it no longer, India broke his embrace. She took his hand in hers, held it to her cheek, and said, "No matter where I am in this world, no matter what I'm doing, I'm thinking of you and loving you. Always, Sid. Always and forever."

  She kissed him one last time, mounted her horse, and rode away toward the McGregors'. Freddie's there, she reminded herself. She must show no tears, no emotion, no weakness. She would blame the color in her cheeks, and her loose curls, on a long ride. He must never, ever suspect what had just happened. Charlotte's happiness depended on it. And Sid Malone's life.

  She sat up tall in the saddle, rode hard and fast, and did not once look back.

  Chapter 108

  "This is hopeless. Totally hopeless," Dr. Rosendo Ribeiro, Nairobi's one and only doctor, said. "It's the worst fracture I've ever seen. How did she do it?"

  Seamie explained what had happened on Kilimanjaro and how he'd gotten Willa to Nairobi. It took everything he had to get the words out. He was dangerously exhausted. It was evening now. He'd arrived at Nairobi station only minutes ago, after enduring an endless train ride. He'd asked the first man he saw where the hospital was and the man had pointed to a rickety bungalow only yards from the station. He'd run to the building with Willa unconscious in his arms. The hospital was really only a doctor's surgery, little better than a field hospital, with its dirt floors, sagging beds, rusty sink, and flies.

  "She broke the leg five days ago?" Dr. Ribeiro repeated. "I'm amazed she's not dead. It's got to go."

  "What's got to go?" Seamie asked, confused. "She can't go," he said now. "She needs to stay. She needs help."

  "Not her. The leg. The leg has to go. We'll take it below the knee. We'll try to cut as close to the fracture as we can, but it all depends on how far the gangrene's spread."

  "No!" It was Willa. She was conscious now and struggling to sit up on the bed where Seamie had placed her. "I heard you. You're not taking my leg."

  "Miss Alden, if we do not amputate, you will die," Ribeiro said. A young man hurried by. "Mr. Pinto, I need you. Scrub up!" he barked at him. "The gangrene's spreading," he said to Willa, "and your bones can't be set. They're too damaged. Surgery's your only chance."

  Willa turned to Seamie. "Don't let him. Please don't let him," she begged.

  Seamie bent down to her and stroked the hair off her forehead. There was blood in it. She'd tried to shoot herself--to kill herself--when he'd left her to run for the train, but she was so weak she'd lost her grip. The bullet had missed her forehead and grazed her temple. It was the pain that drove her to it, he'd told himself. She hadn't been in her right mind.

  "Willa, you're too sick," he said to her now. "Your body can't take anymore. You're going to die if you don't have the operation."

  "I'll die if you cut my leg off!" she cried. "I'll die if I can't climb!"

  "It's delirium talking. She's not in her right mind, Mr. Finnegan. But you are and I need a decision from you," the doctor said. "Now."

  Seamie pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He didn't know what to do. If he let them amputate, he would be betraying her wishes, but if he didn't, she would die.

  "Mr. Finnegan?"

  "Do it," he said.

  "No!" Willa screamed. "Please, Seamie, please!"

  "It'll be all right, Wills," he said, his voice cracking. "It'll be all right."

  "Mr. Finnegan, if you'd stand aside, please," the doctor said. He motioned for his assistant. "Pinto, chloral."

  The man advanced on Willa with a mask. She fought him off, knocking the mask to the floor. Dr. Ribeiro pinned her arms. "Hurry, please, Mr. Pinto."

  "No!" she screamed, thrashing her head from side to side. "No!"

  The assistant hooked one arm around Willa's head, immobilizing her, then he pressed the mask over her face. Her eyes, fearful and pleading, sought Seamie's. He had to look away.

  "There, Miss Alden, that's a good girl," Dr. Ribeiro said soothingly. "Take a deep breath. Good. Now another..."

  After a few seconds Pinto said, "She's out."

  "Good. Let's be quick, please. Swab from the knee to the break. Then get me a bone saw, scalpels, clamps, a cautery iron, sutures, and needles."

  "Good God, what a mess," Pinto said, cutting Willa's blood-stained clothing away. "The muscle's putrid and the--"

  "Thank you, Mr. Pinto," Dr. Ribeiro said. He turned back to Seamie. "Mr. Finnegan, unless you've a very strong stomach I'd advise you to leave now. There's a good hotel in town. The Norfolk. It's not far. We'll take care of Miss Alden."

  Seamie didn't want to leave Willa.

  "Go, Mr. Finnegan. Now, please," Dr. Ribeiro said.

  "Is there... is there anything I can do for her?" Seamie asked.

  "Yes," the doctor said. "
Pray."

  Chapter 109

  Tom Meade poked his head into Freddie Lytton's borrowed office in Nairobi's Government House. He was heavily laden with folders and documents.

  "Good morning, sir," he said.