Chasing the Sunset

by Barbara Mack

  "I’ve been expecting this," she said slowly. "I’ll make us up a cup of coffee. We might as well be comfortable while we talk."

  While Maggie worked the pump in the sink to fill the coffeepot, she felt Joanne’s eyes upon her back, though the other woman never said a word. Maggie avoided her gaze as she put the pot of the stove to boil, spooned the coffee into the hot water, then added crushed eggshells to settle the grounds. When she poured the drink into big, serviceable mugs and brought them to the table, she worked up the nerve to meet Joanne’s gaze head on. Maggie felt a chill race through her body when she saw the sympathy in Joanne’s eyes.

  "You needn’t do this," she said numbly, not able to hold Joanne’s gaze for long. She cast her eyes down upon the scarred surface of the old work table they sat at. "I’ll be leaving soon."

  Leaving Nick, leaving Kathleen and Ned and Tommy, leaving the people she loved; leaving her heart. It was the first time that she had spoken the words out loud, and they tasted like ashes in her mouth.

  "What are you talking about?" Joanne demanded.

  "I know that is what you want to talk to me about, and I can’t say that I disagree with you. I know that ... you know about my marriage. I’m not good for Nick, and I have some funds saved up. I’ll be leaving next week."

  Joanne placed her hand on Maggie’s on the table, warming it with her own.

  "I don’t like that at all," she said gently.

  Startled, Maggie jerked her eyes up.

  "Nick needs a woman," Joanne said briskly. "He is just that sort of man, and always has been. You are that woman. He is absolutely crazy about you, and you care for him as well. That is plain to anyone with good sense, and I definitely have good sense, Maggie. It won’t be long before he’s thinking of marrying again, and you are good for him. Why, I haven’t seen him so happy since before he married that harpy, Mary."

  Maggie stared at her, mouth agape. Joanne laughed merrily, the sound tinkling through the kitchen, and Maggie smiled a little bit at the sound. It was hard not to.

  "I am a plain-speaking woman, and so are you. We can speak our minds to each other. I have been watching you, and I know that you care deeply for Nick. I was initially concerned, for I had heard some disturbing rumors about your marriage, but that is all in the past as far as I am now concerned. Many women have made unfortunate marriages, and that is not to be held against them." She wrinkled her nose. "You should have met our father. Mother’s first marriage was not an overwhelming success, and she bore the scars from it for years, but she has put that all behind her now, as I am sure that you can. I am sure that you have faults, Maggie, but so does Nicholas. Who am I to sit in judgment upon you?"

  Maggie pressed a hand to her mouth, but the laugh behind it spilled out anyway. Joanne regarded her quizzically, then patted Maggie’s hand again.

  "I never know what to expect from this household," Maggie said, wiping her forehead with one cold hand. "Just when I think I know what is coming ...”

  "Well, you can never tell about people," Joanne said sunnily, taking a dainty sip of her coffee, a big smile on her face. She was so naturally elegant that she even made drinking from the big, clumsy mugs seem graceful. "Now, on to the reason that I wanted to talk to you. I really think that you should get to work on getting Nick to marry you. I have just lots of ideas to help you with that."

  Maggie stood up abruptly, signaling that the conversation was at an end. She gathered their empty mugs and put them in the sink, then turned back to Joanne.

  "I will not be getting married," she said, her voice shaking. "You cannot control other people’s lives, Joanne. I will not trick Nick into marrying me. I was married once, and I did not care for it. I do not want to be married, ever again. Leave this alone, please."

  "I may not be able to get everyone to do as I wish, but I can get some to do my bidding," Joanne laughed. "I am so often in the right, you see."

  And she stood up and walked out of the kitchen, skirts swishing, leaving Maggie shaking her head and laughing shakily behind her.

  Throwing down the dishtowel she twisted in her hands, she wrapped a cloak around herself and hurried out the back door. She needed to see Nick; she felt a physical need for his presence that bordered on obsession, and she dashed into the frigid air and toward the stables at an almost frantic pace. She got halfway down the path before she changed her mind again and hurried back toward the house.

  Nick saw her bustling toward him, then turn abruptly. He stepped outside to watch her walk away. She was breathing rapidly, long, loose strands of hair flying around her face and neck, a look of deep concentration creasing her forehead. And he wasn’t sure, but he thought that her mouth had been moving, as if she were talking to someone who was not there. She had been acting so strangely the past few days, smiling so brightly whenever she thought anyone was looking, but whenever she thought herself unobserved, grief lit her eyes with a pain so deep that it hurt him just to look at her. He had tried to tell her without words that he was there for her to confide in, but she was rather deliberately avoiding him lately, and Nick knew that he would not confront her. She looked far too fragile, and a once-again fragile Maggie was more than he could handle. He dreaded to find that he might be the one who had made her backslide into her earlier behavior, and though his heart ached and he berated himself for his cowardice, he permitted her to sneak away every time he came close.

  "Saints preserve us," Maggie was indeed muttering to herself at that very moment. "You cannot go tearing down to the stables every time something goes wrong or you want some reassurance from Nick. Have you forgotten that he is angry with you? What is the matter with you?" she berated herself.

  Letting the back door slam behind her, she stepped into the kitchen. Kathleen was just taking a peach cobbler out of the oven, and she turned around in surprise.

  "Where have you been, Maggie?"

  "Just out for a little walk," she said.

  "Your face looks flushed."

  "I was walking quite briskly."

  "Perhaps that isn’t wise in such cold weather," Kathleen scolded. "You should bundle up more, not just throw on that old cloak I keep beside the door. It’s freezing, and you should have on gloves and a hat. What were you thinking? And this is the very worst time in the world to be sick. You will miss all of the festivities that we have planned."

  Maggie threw her arms around a surprised Kathleen, and kissed her soundly on the cheek, hugging her fiercely as she did so.

  "Thank you, Kathleen," she said feelingly. To her surprise Kathleen looked up into Maggie’s face and caught her rapidly blinking away tears. "I will be more careful in the future."

  Maggie fled the room under Kathleen’s alarmed gaze. She felt tears threatening again and knew that she would not have any answers for Kathleen if they filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, so she hurried away to her room where she could wash her face and quiet her emotions.

  *******************************************************

  Maggie brushed aside the cobweb with a moue of distaste, then rubbed her hands on her skirt. Joanne and Kathleen had the idea that looking through the attics would be fun; they had forgotten to mention that no one had been up here since Nick’s mother died. And from the looks of this upper room, she hadn’t spent her time up here cleaning. Boxes were stacked haphazardly and everywhere in the small place, and they were festooned with gossamer cobwebs. All three women had kerchiefs tied over their mouths, armed with brooms, and they attacked the boxes vigorously, stirring up a cloud of dust so thick that they could barely see one another in the gloom. Maggie heard a squeal and a stamping sound, and she thought grimly that one of them had probably run across the makers of the abundant spider webs.

  An hour later, the attic looked much better, but they did not. Dirt streaked their faces and hands, and their once-white aprons were a dingy gray. Maggie had anticipated this, and had brought a pitcher of water, a basin, and a cloth to dry on for them to use after. Then they were ready to
dig into the boxes, and it was like going to an open-air market.

  Squeals and cries of "Look at this!" and "Oh, how cunning!" rang through the small room, as they each went in a different direction to look. Maggie picked out an old leather trunk that was pushed to one side, and huffed and puffed as she worked to open the stubborn catch. Finally, it gave with a creaking groan, and she peered inside at the neatly folded contents. She drew in a deep breath of the scents of lavender and cedar that wafted from the trunk.

  Carefully, she lifted the first item from the pile of clothing. It was a tiny christening gown trimmed with white ribbons and yellowing lace. Perhaps Nick’s grandmother or grandfather had worn it, Maggie thought as she ran her fingers over the soft white lawn. Surely he had worn it.

  She brushed the soft material against her cheek, then carefully folded it and put it back in the trunk. Perhaps one day Nick’s children would wear it, she thought, ignoring the pang that struck her heart at the thought. Perhaps one day he would find someone with a whole heart, someone who was free to marry him, and they would have fine babies together...

  But it would not be her.

  Resolutely, she dismissed the thought, and pulled out a pair of leather baby shoes. She smiled over them, as well as the tiny sailor suit that she found. She found a number of finely woven blankets, and a variety of infant gowns as well. Surely these had belonged to Nick, and she marveled at how small they were, how finely made.

  "Nick’s mother put those up here," said a voice behind her, and Maggie turned with a start to see a disheveled Joanne smiling behind her. "She used to let us go through them if we promised to be very careful. Aunt Louisa always said that one day Nick’s children could wear them. Some of the gowns, and one of the receiving blankets was made by her mother, Nick’s grandmother. There is a christening gown in there that belonged to her also, and it had been her mother’s before that. It made the trip all the way from France with them when they emigrated here, and Aunt Louisa so wanted to see it on her grandchildren. I wish that she had been able to do that."

  "I’ve heard much about her," Maggie said slowly. "Uncle Ned told me that he adored her, and from all accounts her son and husband nearly worshiped her. She must have been a wonderful person."

  "She was charming," Joanne said wistfully. "I still miss her. She was full of life, and laughter, and she spread her love around indiscriminately. She was very tender hearted, and she could not bear for anyone to be in pain. My mother told me that once after Louisa and my uncle Obadiah were first married, she was invited to dinner at their house. She was shocked when she arrived to find the entire house filled with people. It seemed that there had been a fire that destroyed nearly an entire block of housing, and when Aunt Louisa heard that whole families were out on the street with nowhere to stay, she had made Uncle Obadiah take her down there so that she could bring some of them home. Mother said that despite her initial shock, the night turned out to be one of the most entertaining evenings, and that she never forgot it. One of the groups of people that Aunt Louisa had gathered up and brought home with her was a troupe of musicians who were wintering in St. Louis with friends. They had managed to save all of their instruments from the burning building, though very little else. That night the musicians kept them up until nearly dawn, playing the most exquisitely beautiful music that she had ever been privileged to hear. Mother said that it was like listening to angels sing, they were so very good, and that she wept while she listened to them. They stayed in the house with Aunt Louisa and Uncle Obadiah for nearly a month before they were able to rent a place of their own."

  Joanne sat down upon the floor beside the raptly listening Maggie, smoothing her skirts over her ankles.

  "Years later, Mother said that she was in one of Boston’s most illustrious concert halls, when she happened to recognize the celebrated violinist who was playing there, straight from playing for the crowned heads of Europe. She was certain that he was one of the troupe of players that had been at Aunt Louisa’s that night, though he had been but a boy at the time. Mother sent him a note backstage and managed to speak to him later that same evening. He remembered Louisa and her husband fondly, he said, and my mother as well, because it was Louisa who had arranged for him to go to New York to study with a renowned musician. He regularly reserves Mother a seat at his concerts whenever he is in Boston."

  "That is a lovely story," Maggie said softly.

  "She was a lovely person."

  Kathleen, who had been listening too, said quietly:

  "I wish that you could have known her, Maggie. She would have loved you, and you could not help but love her. When she and Obadiah died, it was like losing two members of my own family. And it was not just I who felt so. They were well liked, and on the day of their funeral, I would swear that not a farm for two hundred miles had a worker on it, for they were all there in the procession. Ned practically fell into a decline over it all, and my mother was so distraught that Doctor Fell sedated her."

  Maggie carefully folded the baby clothes and blankets and put them back, patting them tenderly before closing the lid of the trunk. She did not see the glance that Kathleen and Joanne shared, nor did she notice the small smile that twisted Joanne’s lips as she looked at the woman that she was determined would become her cousin’s next wife.

  TEN

  “Maggie, wake up!”

  The hand that shook her was insistent. Maggie rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, trying to get away from the persistent person who was shaking her shoulder. She had a hard time going to sleep last night-- that is, after Joanne and Ronald had finally allowed her to stumble up to her room, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Perversely, once in bed, the longed for slumber had not come to her immediately. She felt as if she had just now dropped off to sleep, and she definitely did not want to get up yet.

  “Go away,” she mumbled. “It is not morning yet.”

  The hand did not go away, and Maggie reluctantly opened her eyes. Light was spilling in from the hallway, and Nick was leaning over her bed, his hair flopping in his eyes in the way that she found so utterly endearing. She smiled sleepily, lovingly, and reached up to push it off his forehead. The texture of it against her fingers, so slippery-smooth and warm, made her shiver. She let her arm fall back down, her fingers sliding down his beloved face, and shut her eyes again, hugging her pillow.

  "I am much too tired to get up now, Nick, " she said sleepily. "Come back later."

  Nick shook her again, roughly this time.

  “Maggie, I mean it, wake up.” His voice was intense, and something in his tone had Maggie rushing to wakefulness in a hurry. She sat up and scrubbed her hand across her face, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Nick? What is it?” she asked sleepily. “What is wrong?”

  “Ned has been shot,” he said. “Tommy is on the way to let the doctor know we are coming, but we have got to get him to the surgery, and I am going to need your help.”

  The words acted like a bolt of lightning straight to her heart. Maggie cried out and threw her covers off, scrambling wildly to get out of the bed, her whole body shaking terribly. She succeeded only in tangling herself in the bedclothes. Nick grabbed her, holding her tightly by the elbows. His eyes looked directly into hers as he forced her to be still, to compose herself.

  “Listen to me, Maggie,” he said firmly. “We will not do Ned any good by panicking. He needs you to be calm, his life depends on it. Do you understand? Maggie?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes darting everywhere, then settling back on his face. “Yes, I am calm now. Let me get dressed and go to him.”

  Nick politely looked the other way while she dressed. He crossed his arms on his chest and tried not think of how she looked naked. God, now was definitely not the time, but he could not keep his mind off of her. He leaned his forehead against the frost-tinted window and banged it lightly, just once, hoping that it would cool his raging blood.

  “It is cold out there, so dress warmly,”
he said, and his voice gave no hint to the turmoil raging inside. She pulled on her warmest dress, wool stockings and boots, topping the whole ensemble with a heavy woolen cloak and the hand-knitted gloves, scarf and hat that Lanny Donaldson had made and sent over with Kathleen.

  Maggie assured him that she was, indeed, dressing warmly, her voice quivering, and Nick’s heart broke at the pain contained in it. He grasped her hand tightly in his when she came to his side.

  “What happened?” she asked as they clattered down the stairs to where Ronald and Joanne waited in the wagon with Ned.

  “I do not know exactly,” Nick said grimly. “I could not sleep, so I went down to check on

  Jet. He had a swollen hock this afternoon and I wanted to change his poultice and see if the swelling had gone down. When I opened the front door, I could hear Sadie howling. I ran down where she was because it sounded as if something were wrong with her and I thought she was hurt. She met me in the doorway and took me right to Ned. I found a blood trail leading away from the stables, and there was blood on her muzzle, so Sadie got a piece of whoever did this, that’s for sure. I found Ned lying face down beside Jet’s stall. He had been shot through the shoulder. He was freezing, so cold he was blue with it, but the cold might have actually done him a favor. I think it slowed his blood loss enough so that he will be all right. If we get him there on time.”

  He did not tell her that the reason he could not sleep was that he missed her in his arms. He did not tell her that all night he kept imagining the way she looked naked, all rosy limbs and soft curves, and that his mind had driven him crazy until he had been compelled by desperation to do something, anything to get her off of his mind. Nick thought that Ned was lucky that his employer was so obsessed with his niece, or he might very well have died there on the cold floor of the stables, all alone.