Head in the Clouds

by Karen Witemeyer

  Adelaide swiped her rolled sleeve across her forehead as she contemplated the butler. “How long until the doctor arrives, Chalmers?”

  He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “At least an hour but maybe more, miss.”

  More than an hour? It already felt as if an eternity had passed. Suddenly weak, Adelaide gripped the edge of the table.

  “That’s a long time.” She stared at Gideon, taking in the deterioration of his features. His complexion had lost most of its color, and his muscles were knotted in torment. She would have preferred to stand in a nest of rattlers rather than hurt him again, but she had no choice. “I suppose we should bind him up. He can’t afford to lose any more blood.”

  Adelaide sighed and waved Chalmers forward. “We must do this quickly and with as little movement as possible.” She grabbed a roll of bandages and positioned herself by Gideon’s feet. “You two take his arms, and I’ll swing his legs over to the side. His hips should keep him on the table while you sit him partway up. With his legs hanging off, he’ll be stretched out so I can get a good wrap on him.”

  Gideon moaned something that sounded like her name. Adelaide moved up the side of the table to be nearer to him.

  “I’m sorry, Gideon.” She lightly stroked his jaw, wishing she could take away his pain with her touch. “I promise this will be the last time we move you. Then I’ll leave you to rest until the doctor comes.”

  “Addie …” He opened his eyes and peered up at her.

  “Yes?”

  He blinked very slowly, and Adelaide worried he was slipping from consciousness. He forced his lids up again, though, and licked his dry lips.

  “I love you.”

  Adelaide went very still. Then her hand started trembling and her heart started fluttering. Though she had longed to hear those words for so long, she had a hard time believing they were real. She was tempted to ask him to repeat what he’d said, but his eyelids drooped closed over his earnest gaze.

  His declaration thrilled her, but the joy it brought was bittersweet. For if she lost him now, the devastation would be multiplied, knowing what they could have shared had he lived. But she couldn’t dwell on the fear of future grief and let it cheapen the gift he had given her. No. He deserved the best she could give him. And she would give him all.

  Not sure if he could hear her or not, Adelaide bent close to his ear. “I love you, too, Gideon Westcott.” Her lips brushed his cheek.

  Chalmers and James both averted their gazes the moment she looked up. They hadn’t been fast enough to hide the sympathy in their faces, though. Adelaide straightened. She didn’t want their sympathy. She wanted their help to make Gideon well. Clearing her throat, she refocused on the task at hand.

  “Ready, gentlemen?”

  Adelaide grasped Gideon’s legs above his boots and nodded to her helpers. They lifted. Weakened by the unending agony he’d been forced to endure, Gideon no longer had the strength to contain his scream.

  Holding the rear compress in place, Adelaide worked as fast as she could. Gideon’s scream ended abruptly after she had circled his waist twice. He went limp. Oblivion had claimed him at last. She prayed it would not be permanent.

  She finished the wrap, and as she tied off the ends of the bandage, she vaguely registered another noise coming from upstairs. Pounding footsteps. Muffled shouts. But she didn’t have the mental wherewithal to concentrate on anything beyond Gideon.

  They had just laid him back down on the table and cushioned his head with a stack of dishtowels when a small blur raced into the room and rammed into Adelaide’s side.

  “No, Papa Gidyon. No!”

  Chapter 29

  Mrs. Chalmers huffed around the corner and collapsed against the doorframe. “Sorry, miss. When she heard the scream, there was no stopping her.”

  “That’s all right.” Adelaide waved off the housekeeper’s concerns and stared at the girl beside her.

  Had Isabella spoken or had Adelaide’s frazzled nerves just sent her over the edge into delirium? The gamut of emotions she had run over the last hour had drained her mental faculties to the extent that she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  Isabella lifted one of Gideon’s fingers, then let it go. It flopped lifelessly back to the table. She flinched.

  “Is he … dead?”

  The housekeeper’s audible gasp echoed Adelaide’s amazement at the sound of Isabella’s shaky whisper. However, this was no time for rejoicing. One look at the girl’s stoic face served as a haunting reminder of the withdrawn, unsmiling child Adelaide had met upon her arrival at Westcott Cottage—a child willing to forfeit joy in order to escape pain. Only the sacrifice hadn’t eliminated the pain. It had simply dulled it until she no longer cared about anything.

  Adelaide hunkered down beside Gideon’s daughter and turned the girl to face her. She couldn’t let her retreat behind that wall again. While her heart delighted in the fact that Isabella’s voice had indeed returned, she dared not focus any attention on that development. The youngster would probably revert back to her silent ways in an instant. Besides, that wasn’t what was important right now. Izzy needed answers to her questions, not fanfare over her speech.

  “No, honey. Your papa’s not dead. He’s resting. Come here.” Adelaide gathered Isabella in her arms and hugged her tight. Then she stood and lifted the child onto her hip.

  Taking Isabella’s small hand in her own, Adelaide bent over Gideon. She placed the girl’s palm on his chest above the white bandages. “Do you feel him breathing?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “That means he’s alive.”

  Isabella pulled her hand back and looked up at Adelaide. “Will he get better?”

  Such a simple question, but Adelaide had no ready answer, only an ache in her heart that intensified as she contemplated the most realistic outcome.

  “Why don’t you take the child to the parlor?” Mrs. Chalmers urged, saving her from having to answer Isabella’s question immediately. “I’ll sit with Mr. Westcott until the doctor arrives.”

  Adelaide hated to leave Gideon’s side, but she knew he would want her to take care of Izzy.

  “All right, but come get me if he wakes or if there is any change in his condition.”

  “Of course.” The housekeeper patted Adelaide’s back. “You did a fine job with him, miss. The rest is in God’s hands.”

  Adelaide’s gaze lingered on Gideon’s face. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him before she left, afraid she might not have another opportunity. But that was selfish. He’d asked her to take care of his Bella, and that’s what she would do.

  Once in the parlor, Adelaide snuggled into a cushioned armchair with Isabella securely ensconced in her lap. It amazed her how good it felt to sit down. The emotional strain of tending Gideon had taken a physical toll, as well, one she was only now beginning to recognize.

  Isabella raised her head from Adelaide’s shoulder and looked at her with wide, soulful eyes. Adelaide fingered back a strand of the girl’s hair that had fallen across her brow and patted it into place.

  “I haven’t forgotten your question, Izzy.”

  Adelaide was tempted to offer a blanket assurance that everything would be fine, yet she couldn’t make such a broad promise with a clear conscience. She wanted to offer hope, but not a false hope that would only destroy Isabella’s trust.

  “Your Papa Gideon has been hurt. Badly.” Adelaide tempered her honesty with as much gentleness as she could muster—in her tone, her touch, her expression. “I have done everything I can to make him better, and the doctor will be here soon. I believe he will get well, but even if he doesn’t, I know that God will take care of him. And us.”

  Isabella didn’t answer. Not knowing what else to say, Adelaide hugged her tight and began stroking her arm.

  How could she instill hope in one who had learned to expect the worst in life? At age five, Izzy was too young to have any measure of control over her situation. Her future depended on the decision
s of others, and nothing killed hope faster than the belief that one had no ability to positively affect her own circumstances.

  Adelaide stilled as an idea occurred to her. Her hand hovered above Isabella’s arm midstroke. What if she could give the girl a bit of control back? Would hope follow? It was worth a try.

  “Isabella?”

  The girl lifted her chin to meet Adelaide’s eyes.

  “Would you like to help me take care of your father?”

  Her brows arched, and she pointed to her chest.

  “If you are willing, I could certainly use the help. Perhaps with two of us watching over him, he’ll be more likely to get well. What do you think?”

  A look came over Isabella’s face that reminded Adelaide of the time they had played soldier together. Serious. Determined. Ready to try. She nodded her agreement.

  “Wonderful.” Adelaide rewarded her with a smile and a buss on the cheek. “There will be all kinds of things for us to do. I’ll change his bandages, and you can put cool cloths on his forehead. We’ll tend to his hurt body, but we’ll also need to take care of his spirit. That will be your most important job.”

  “How do I do that?” Isabella asked.

  Some of the tension that had coiled in Adelaide’s stomach when Isabella reverted back to silent gestures unwound at the child’s spoken question. She’d feared Isabella had locked her voice away again. Hearing her speak was like a balm on her ragged nerves.

  “When people get very sick,” Adelaide explained, “it is easy for them to get discouraged. Doctors and medicine can help them heal, but they have to work at it, too. Sometimes they get tired of hurting and they want to give up. It’s our job to make things easier for them, to cheer them and help them want to get well even if it hurts right now.”

  “Does Papa Gidyon hurt lots?”

  Images of his pain-ravaged face thrust into her mind, and the sounds of his moans rang in her ears.

  “Yes, love. Papa Gideon hurts a lot.” Adelaide blinked the moisture away from her eyes before continuing. “That’s why our job is so important. Sometimes he will need us to be quiet so he can rest, but other times we can talk to him and tell him funny stories or even just sit by his bed and hold his hand. Anything to remind him how much we love him and want him to stay with us.”

  “Can I sing him a song? Mama used to like me to sing to her.”

  “I can think of nothing he would enjoy more.” If the sound of his daughter speaking and singing didn’t enliven Gideon’s spirit, she didn’t know what would.

  The two would-be nurses sat silently for a minute. Then Isabella wiggled to the edge of Adelaide’s lap.

  “Can we start taking care of him now?”

  Adelaide grinned at the child’s enthusiasm. She was about to explain that this was one of those times when Gideon needed to rest, but thought better of it.

  “Yes, Izzy,” she said. “We can do one of the best things of all for your papa. We can pray for him.”

  Isabella’s face fell. “I’m not a good pray-er.”

  “You don’t have to use fancy words, sweetheart. God knows what’s in your heart.”

  A fat tear rolled down Isabella’s cheek as she shook her head. “No. My prayers don’t work.”

  Of course her prayers worked, Adelaide wanted to argue. She was too innocent to have anything hinder her petitions. However, an inner urging kept her silent.

  “My first papa died before I had a chance to pray at all, but when my mama got sick, I prayed every night for her to get well. She didn’t. She died just like Papa.”

  “Oh, Izzy.” Adelaide pulled her back into an embrace and rocked her. “It’s hard to understand why God says no, isn’t it? I felt the same way when my father died. I had prayed for him, too. But just because God doesn’t give us what we ask for doesn’t mean he doesn’t love us or hear us.”

  Adelaide shifted their positions until she was cradling Isabella like an oversized infant. Her head lay in the crook of Adelaide’s arm, supported by the side of the chair, while her knees bunched up on the opposite end.

  Perhaps this conversation was too mature for a child to comprehend, but Adelaide didn’t want her to grow up thinking that prayer didn’t work. Even if all she did today was plant seeds for future understanding, that would be better than nothing. Adelaide took hold of Isabella’s fingers and commanded her charge’s attention.

  “God loves us, Izzy, and wants to give us good gifts, but those gifts aren’t always what we expect. Sometimes instead of making a person well, he comforts us and gives us the courage to go on. Sometimes he sends new people into our lives to help us—like when he sent Papa Gideon to take care of you. And sometimes he gives us a new joy that we would not have known otherwise.”

  A lump of emotion rose in Adelaide’s throat as she thought about the unexpected joy God had led her to in the form of a heroic sheep rancher and his darling of a daughter.

  “After my daddy died and Aunt Louise took me away,” Adelaide tried to explain, “I was so heartsore, I didn’t think I would ever be happy again. But I was wrong. Over time, God mended my heart and gave me a new joy—the joy of teaching. If I hadn’t gone to Boston, I would never have become a teacher. And if I hadn’t become a teacher, I would never have met you and your father.”

  And fallen in love with you both.

  Adelaide pressed her lips together to stop them from quivering. She didn’t speak again until she trusted her voice not to crack.

  “I don’t know what God will decide to do about your father, Izzy, but I plan to ask him to make him well every chance I get. And I’m going to start right now. If you want to pray, too, you can.”

  Isabella shrugged and climbed out of Adelaide’s lap. She knelt on the floor and folded her hands together. Leaning her elbows on the padded bench of the settee that stood kitty-corner to the armchair, she mimicked the posture she used at bedtime. Adelaide crawled down on the floor to join her.

  “Dear God,” Adelaide prayed, “we know you love us and want what is best for us. And right now what we want more than anything is for you to make Gideon well. Please heal him. We love him and need him with us. Spare his life and restore him to full health. In the name of your Son, who claimed victory over death, amen.”

  Adelaide stayed on her knees, hoping to hear Isabella add a prayer of her own. Second after second ticked by in silence. Adelaide snuck a sidelong glance at her charge. The girl’s eyes were squeezed shut so tightly, the resulting wrinkles extended from her eyelids to her forehead. She opened her mouth but couldn’t seem to find the words to get started. At least she was trying. Adelaide bowed her head again, content to wait.

  “God,” Isabella finally blurted, “I don’t know why sometimes you say yes and sometimes you say no, but you gotta say yes this time. You gotta make Papa Gidyon all better. Last time it was only me praying. This time I gots Miss Proctor praying, too. So you might as well go along with us ’cause we already beat you two to one. Amen.”

  For the first time in hours, instead of biting her lip to keep from crying, Adelaide chomped her teeth down to contain her laughter.

  Chapter 30

  The pain registered first. Like a hundred knives stabbing his gut. Gideon groaned and instinctively tried to curl around his wounded middle, but the movement only drove the knives deeper. Consciousness slowly tore the veil from his mind, allowing memories to surface. Slaughtered sheep. An ambush. José. A bullet ripping through his belly. Petchey.

  He fought to open his eyes, but his lids were locked down tight. He scrabbled his way toward full awareness. If he could feel the pain, he must not be dead yet. But there was no guarantee he would linger for long. He needed to talk to James. Now. Before it was too late. He had to protect Addie and Bella.

  By strength of will alone, he wrenched his eyes open and focused on a whitewashed ceiling. As he gingerly twisted his head to the right, a kitchen stove came into view. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the dark blue lump in front of it was the backside of his cook
.

  Mrs. Garrett straightened and pulled a pan out of the oven. She kicked the door closed and grumbled something about stubborn men who ruined perfectly good suppers by getting themselves shot.

  She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. He never thought to see the old bird reduced to tears. It was rather touching. Of course, her upset might be due more to the blackened roast than to him. The edge of his mouth curved just a touch. He wondered if she’d miss their sparring when he was gone.

  “He’s stirring, Mr. Bevin.”

  Gideon recognized his housekeeper’s voice, but she wasn’t in his line of sight. Wood scraped against wood off to his left, as if someone was pushing a chair back. Clenching his teeth, he turned his head in that direction.

  “Welcome back, Gid.” James stood over him, the smile on his face at odds with the worry in his eyes.

  “Thanks,” he rasped.

  “I’ll go fetch Miss Proctor.” The housekeeper’s voice again.

  “No.” Gideon had trouble spitting the word out of his dry mouth, but apparently Mrs. Chalmers heard him. Her head bounced into view beside James’s shoulder.

  “Whyever not?” She frowned down at him. “That dear girl patched you up practically all by herself and only left your side when Isabella ran into the room. She left me strict instructions to come find her when you woke, and I aim to keep my promise.”

  He’d never had one of his servants take him to task before, yet he couldn’t work up any affront over it. The woman was clearly overwrought. Besides, it reassured him to know that Adelaide had Mrs. Chalmers’s support. She would need that in the coming months.

  “I want to see Addie, but … I need to talk to James first. Alone.” Gideon stared at the housekeeper, willing her to understand. “I have to set my affairs in order and make arrangements for Bella before …”

  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud. He knew he was dying. Men didn’t recover from abdominal wounds. But some hidden part of his soul must not have fully accepted his fate, for even though he was prepared to plan for his death, he had trouble speaking of it.