Eden swallowed, more than a little unnerved by her friend's visions—and the accuracy of at least one of them. "Sera, I—"
"You didn't tell me! You're supposed to be my friend. Why didn't you tell me?"
Eden bit her lip, her luminous jade stare pleading for the truth. She looked like she might cry herself, and Michael struggled with his guilt. More than that, he struggled with his dread. The numbness was at last receding from his feet and legs; his tongue no longer felt like a piece of cotton gauze.
Still, his gut churned, hot enough to process steel. This time, it wasn't due to the eerie coincidence of Sera's insights, concocted by an overwrought young woman with more imagination than was healthy. No, this time the nausea was due to the fear that his illness, whatever it was, had taken a decided turn for the worse. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
"Sera." His voice cracked, harsher than he'd intended. He couldn't bear to see her cry, couldn't bear to know she was feeling every stab of the pain from which he had fought so long to spare her. "Eden is my wife. I made her promise to say nothing. To anyone."
"But I'm your sister!"
Eden shifted uncomfortably behind him. "Sera—"
She threw off Eden's hand, as if it were some kind of insect. The glare she shot his wife pierced Michael to the bone.
"I have a right to know if you're sick, Michael. You're not just my brother, you're my guardian!"
He averted his eyes. He could see her tears anyway. They dripped onto the fists she'd clenched in her lap.
"I'm sick, Sera," he confirmed bleakly.
Her swallow was audible. "Is it bad?"
"Yes."
"Bad enough to... to die?" she finished in a tremulous voice.
Self-loathing roiled through him. He'd been unable to ward off illness, cure himself, or protect his sister. Now Eden was caught up in the lies his failures had spawned.
"Yes," he said flatly, clinging to the dispassion his profession demanded. "I may die."
"But you can't!" The hand she pressed to her mouth was shaking even harder than the rest of her. "You have to see a doctor!"
"I have already consulted three—"
"Then consult a fourth. And a fifth! I don't care how many, only..." Her voice broke. "Don't die, Michael. Promise me you won't die."
The mantel clock chimed, six grim strikes of its mechanical innards. Between each one, an eternity fell away. Michael stared at the blank whiteness of the wall. He could hear Eden's uneven breaths behind him, feel her valiant struggle to hide her own upset. Sera's tears burned like acid where they fell on his knee.
He thought of his mother, who'd died so young. He thought of Gabriel, who'd died even younger. He would have gladly surrendered his life to save either one of them. And now, for her sake, Sera was demanding that he fight this debilitating curse that no doctor could name. Should he make yet another promise he couldn't keep?
"I'm sorry, Sera." Thirty-one years of cynicism, bred by good intentions gone awry, crept into his tone. "Would you have me lie to you again?"
A primitive keening ripped from her throat, rolled through the room, mingled with the thunder. Eden reached for her. This time, Sera let Eden hold her.
"I'm sorry, Sera," he whispered again.
Rain began to pelt the tin roof. He rose shakily. Drained by the endless effort to quash his own grief, he turned away. That's when he spied two shadows hovering in the doorway that led to the hall.
"Michael Jones." Claudia sounded more grim than he had ever heard her. "I ain't ever known you to run before."
Collie's eyes gleamed, ghostly in the pale yellow wash of the lamplight. He said nothing. He just stood with a shotgun by his side, barring any retreat.
"Let me pass," Michael growled.
"Ye're too young fer that."
"I meant..." He felt the old rage starting to build. He might be a failure, dammit, but he wasn't any coward. "Step aside."
"I'm writing to Rafe," Sera sniffled. "I'm telling him to come home."
"No!" The word exploded from Michael's mouth. Watching his half-brother gloat while he grew progressively weaker was more than he could bear.
Claudia harrumphed, folding her arms across her chest. "Rafe's got duties toward Sera. She'll need a male guardian."
"I'm her guardian."
"Not fer long, the way ye're talkin'."
"That's enough." Eden's voice cut like glass through the rain, the thunder, the weeping. "Michael needs support, not an interrogation. I will not allow you to bully him. If you choose to grieve, do so when he breathes his last. God willing, he'll outlive us all."
Michael's throat constricted. If ever there was an avenging angel, his wife was it. He silently thanked her with his eyes.
The love her gaze poured back to him buckled his knees.
With a garbled oath, he shouldered past Collie and Claudia. He didn't know where he was going when he flung open the door and stalked out into the storm. He knew only that he felt a primal kinship with the wind that ripped his clothing and the rain that knifed his face and throat.
* * *
No one spoke much about that day. Not in Michael's presence, anyway. Eden refused to let Sera wallow in woe, speaking of her brother as if he were already buried. Eden insisted that they focus on living, rather than dreading an uncertain future, and she sternly counseled Collie and Claudia, who'd been eavesdropping to begin with, to keep silent about Michael's secret. After all, a runaway wagon could strike any one of them down, Eden argued, just as Berthold Gunther's had nearly killed Jamie.
But rumors spread anyway.
At first, most people didn't pay much attention. Michael's hasty marriage gave the gossips more fat to chew than a couple of missing pounds off his broad-shouldered frame. When Bonnie blamed Michael's pronounced cheekbones on Eden's kitchen skills, Claudia just as vociferously pointed out that Michael was spending more time in bed of late—romping with his wife. Eden wasn't sure that Claudia's rumor mill was the lesser of two evils, but she kept her peace, hoping that the illusion of her happy marriage would bore Blue Thunder Valley, and folks would start grumbling again about the mosquitoes, drunken lumberjacks, and the stench of Gunther's animal compound.
By October, however, folks couldn't rely on Michael, as usual, to be holed up in his office, waiting to treat their ills. Eden, who'd been dividing her time between Claudia's store and Michael's medical practice, briskly explained away her husband's shortened hours and brooding preoccupation, claiming that Michael was making more time for his family. But his clients lost patience with his odd behavior. They started turning to her for their treatments.
The most unsettling defection of all was Bonnie.
* * *
Eden rose early to prepare the clinic for Michael's return. The previous night, he'd been called to the bedside of an elderly sodbuster, and he'd slept at the ailing man's farm.
At least, that's what Eden wanted to believe.
Michael's long hours continued to be a bone of contention between them. It worried Eden to watch him ignore his fatigue, to see how he slumped over what little food he spooned onto his dinner plate, to see the hollows that ringed his eyes when he woke. Living under her husband's roof had proven eerily similar to living under her father's: Both men were driven to save lives, and both were too selfless to worry about their own. The similarity only intensified Eden's fear that her herbs were failing Michael.
And that she was, too.
As if to drive this point home on that particular Tuesday morning, early in October, Bonnie dashed through the clinic's back door. She didn't knock. She didn't even call out a greeting. She simply rushed around the corner, her crimson taffeta and trailing cape rustling like autumn leaves against the bleached pine of the floor.
"Oh." Bonnie slid to a halt before she could bowl over Eden, who was dutifully scrubbing medical instruments in a soapy basin of water. "I didn't know you were here."
Eden's hackles rose. Shaking the suds from her hands,
she forced herself to count to ten before she spoke.
"Michael isn't here. He had to pay a call on Farmer Garretson."
"I wasn't looking for Michael."
Eden arched a brow.
"I was looking for Jamie."
She's lying.
Eden frowned. As usual, her intuition was hard to substantiate. She had nothing to base it upon, except the unusual timing of Bonnie's call. Still, the knowledge that something was amiss rang inside her head with the vibrancy of an alarm bell.
Reaching for a towel, she struggled to maintain an air of professional courtesy. "Jamie isn't here, as you can see."
Bonnie moistened her lips. "Are you sure?" She edged toward Michael's desk, her knuckles nearly bloodless as she steadied herself against the scarred wood. Her complexion looked as pale as her hands. "Perhaps you should go in the other room and... and look for him."
Eden's suspicions climbed another notch as Bonnie's gaze darted furtively to the medicine jars filling the glass cabinet over the instruments. "I'm quite certain we're the only ones here. Is Jamie missing from the schoolhouse?"
Bonnie started, some of her color returning. "Urn... missing?" Her gaze snapped back to Eden. "Of course not. He's probably under Auntie's porch, playing with that wretched toad. He... had a bellyache this morning. And he disobeyed my order not to leave the house."
"I see."
Bonnie audibly swallowed. "Anyway, since I'm here, you might as well give me a bottle of citrate of magnesia. For Jamie."
"You know very well Michael doesn't hand over medicines without a thorough examination. As soon as he returns, I'll tell him you'd like to set an appointment for Jamie—"
"I think I know my son well enough to determine what ails him. Besides, there's no telling when Michael will get back," she added hastily, "and my son is suffering now."
Again Eden counted to ten. She decided not to point out that a child who felt healthy enough to crawl under a porch with a toad probably wasn't suffering. At least not from dyspepsia.
"Very well. There are other remedies for bellyaches. The apothecary should be opening his shop soon. And you won't need Michael's prescription for peppermint, valerian, yarrow, or blue flax."
Bonnie wrinkled her nose. "I couldn't possibly stomach... I mean, Jamie couldn't possibly stomach the smell of boiling flax seeds this morning."
Another one of Eden's insights struck. This one was more ominous, more shattering. It made her stomach roil.
"This isn't really about Jamie, is it?" She choked out the remainder: "You're in the family way."
Bonnie retreated so hastily, her shoulders struck the wall. "N-no!" Her hand dropped to her abdomen, belying her protest. "How dare you? I'm not even married!"
Eden lowered her gaze. To a man-hungry widow like Bonnie, what difference would marriage—hers or anyone else's—make?
Dread gnawing at her innards, Eden tried not to draw the most heartbreaking conclusion about Bonnie and her real reason for visiting the clinic before business hours. "Have... you told the father?"
Bonnie spun away. For a moment, she looked like she might bolt out the back door for safety. Instead, her steps faltered.
"No."
"You won't be able to keep the baby a secret for long."
She faced Eden again, her eyes glistening a haunting green. "Aunt Claudia said your tonic stopped her chest pains."
"Um... yes," Eden admitted warily, her mind shrieking for answers that she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Was Michael really the father of Bonnie's baby? Or had Bonnie come here merely to get medicine for her nausea?
"I didn't believe Claudia at first," Bonnie rushed on. "But Sera said it was true. And Jamie says you're some kind of Indian Medicine Woman. Didn't you mix potions for people in Colorado?"
Eden squirmed. The very mention of Colorado was enough to deflate what little confidence she'd managed to build under Michael's tutelage. Although she still tried to refer all patients to him, the sheer volume of Michael's practice made her assistance necessary. After observing her for several weeks as she treated minor maladies, he'd insisted she had the skills to treat rashes, bee stings, head colds, and sprains. Part of her had been excited to think Michael was giving her an opportunity to grow her skills and prove herself to Blue Thunder's skeptics.
But the rest of her had begun to wonder if he were just too sick, too exhausted, and he didn't care who helped him shoulder his patient load. For surely if Michael believed in his heart she was competent, he would have heeded the medical advice she gave him.
Instead, he opted for coffee instead of the rejuvenating teas she brewed for him each morning; he paid lip service to their agreement that he would come home each afternoon for a nap; and he refused to soak his weary muscles each evening in an herbal bath because he didn't want to smell like a "dandelion." Her confidence wavered every time he dismissed her ideas, and no matter how kindly he declined her offers of help, her pride stung.
"Bonnie..." Adulteress or no, the beseeching look in the older woman's eyes was nearly Eden's undoing. "I'm not the expert that Michael is. You should really consult with—"
"No! Not Michael. He'd never understand!"
Hugging her waist, Bonnie began to pace in an agitated rhythm, the heels of her kid boots scoring the soft pine boards. "This shouldn't have happened," she muttered under her breath. "I was so careful. I could kill that old mountain woman for convincing me her preventatives worked."
She turned abruptly, a tear staining her cheek. "It's not fair! I don't want this baby."
"I know you don't think so now," Eden countered shakily, not liking where this conversation was leading. "I know you're worried about the things people will say—"
"I can't have this baby, don't you see?" Bonnie's eyes brimmed. "Birthing Jamie nearly killed me. I can't do it again. I can't let him grow up alone!"
Oh, Bonnie. Eden's chest ached. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought they'd find common ground in an age-old female fear. "I helped Talking Raven midwife several women out west. They were scared too, because the first child came so hard. But the second came easier. And so did the third."
Bonnie's brows knitted. "So you could make me live?"
"No, but you can. By fighting for life. By refusing to leave Jamie at any cost. Isn't that how you got through those first three months after he was born?"
Bonnie blinked at her. Eden blushed. She didn't know where that fount of wisdom had come from. Even so, some part of her knew, as surely as if Talking Raven had stood congratulating her, that her insight had been truth.
"I guess so." Bonnie bit her lip. "But I don't put much stock in prayer. I mean, I prayed till I was blue in the face that Michael and I would..." Her voice trailed, and she had the decency to redden. "Anyway, it's not like I have a choice. I can't go to him now. Doc Perkins is half blind. And that old mountain woman's clearly a charlatan. Maybe your Indian ways can... can eliminate my problem."
Eden cringed. Even when her herbs had failed, her intent had always been to save lives, not take them. "I'll do everything I can to help you, Bonnie, except... something we'll both regret."
Bonnie straightened her spine, but her show of mettle was undermined by the quiver in her chin. "I thought you hated me. Why are you being nice?"
"Well..." The question was a good one, considering the circumstances. "I suppose it's because I see the good in you. The part that loves Jamie and worries about Aunt Claudia. I try to ignore the rest."
"I suppose you think I should ignore your bad parts, too," Bonnie said petulantly.
The front bell jangled before Eden could respond. Bonnie jumped hard enough to make her straw boater bounce.
"Promise," she hissed, clamping a hand over her hat and backing for the rear door.
A footstep rattled the floorboards beyond the curtain that separated the rooms.
"Promise you won't say a word, Eden."
"But—"
"Promise!"
She nodded, too choked to speak. Bo
nnie fled in a flurry of crimson, the back door banging closed behind her.
"Mama?" Jamie poked his tousled curls around the curtain. "Oh. Hello, Miss Eden. I thought I heard Mama's voice."
Balling her fists in her skirts, Eden gulped a steadying breath and steeled herself against glancing toward the rear entrance. "She's not here, Jamie. Why aren't you in school?"
"Mr. Luke said I didn't have to go. He paid me a whole dollar to find Mama!"
Mr. Luke? Eden's heart stuttered even as her brain pounced on that grain of hope.
"Uh-oh." Jamie was gazing out the side window toward Claudia. She stood wreathed in her habitual smoke cloud as she unlocked the door of her general store. "I gotta scoot. If I don't get over there 'fore Auntie eats her breakfast, there won't be any peppermints left! Bye, Miss Eden. If you see Ma, tell her Mr. Luke's looking for her."
Eden watched the boy dash back the way he had come.
Luke Frothingale! The mayor's son!
Her momentary relief was checked by an insidious doubt.
Just how many lovers does Bonnie have, anyway?
The widow had been seen clinging a bit too cozily to a number of prominent bachelors since Independence Day. Eden had heard folks whisper that Bonnie didn't care one whit for any of them, that she was just trying to hurt Michael the way he'd hurt her when he'd gotten caught with his hand up Eden's skirts.
Maybe Bonnie doesn't know who sired her baby.
Eden's eyes stung. She didn't know for sure that Michael had spent the night at Farmer Garretson's house. And last night hadn't been the first night her husband hadn't come to their bed.
In fact, he disappeared during business hours, too, leaving Eden to stammer excuses to his patients. Because he refused to speak of the circumstances surrounding his absences, she'd tried to convince herself that a patient's confidentiality was at stake. She even allowed herself to believe that he'd been called to some medical emergency at the orphanage. Circumspect questioning of Lydia Witherspoon, however, always proved there'd been no emergency and worse, no visit from Michael.
But the hardest lie of all to face came in the wee hours before dawn.
His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) Page 24
