If I Wait For You

by Jane Goodger

  West stared at the closed door for a long moment, stared at where Sara had stood practically begging him to declare himself to her. She had all the evidence she needed that he loved her in those damning drawings. She knew he loved her, she had to know. And yet, he’d let her go, let her walk away for the sake of his younger brother.

  Noble, once again.

  With one savage movement, he snapped the carving in his hand, not even wincing when a sharp edge cut a jagged gash in his palm.

  What had seemed like the right thing to do last evening with her emotions in tatters, now seemed a horrible idea in the bright glow of mid-morning. How could she expect Gardner to understand, to forgive? Not only was she planning to tell him she was the most notorious woman in New Bedford, but also that she’d shared a cabin with his brother pretending to be his wife. No matter how many times she rehearsed her speech in her head, she ended up sounding like someone demented. Someone guilty.

  Yes, I lied to you and your mother. Yes, I pretended to be your brother’s wife, but it’s you I love. Only you.

  Oh, but even that was a lie, she thought, gazing out the bank of windows that allowed in large squares of sunlight. She did love Gardner, but she was becoming sickeningly aware that she loved West, too. If she married Gardner, it would be a good and sturdy union. But West would always be there, like a ghost or a vivid memory, standing between them. What would it be like to come home after years at sea with Gardner to find West there, to realize her heart still pounded when he walked into a room, to know that he’d once loved her. He must have loved her once. Didn’t those drawings tell her that?

  Suddenly, Sara thought of her mother. How embittered she had been, clinging to her cherished memories of a man she could never have. Would Sara become like her? Would she come to hate Gardner simply because he was not West?

  “No,” she said aloud.

  “Practicing your answer, darling?” Gardner asked from the doorway. He strolled in looking dapper in light tan trousers, pale blue waistcoat, and crisp white shirt. Though he was smiling, he looked nervous and Sara’s heart went out to him.

  “Of course not. I think you know what my answer will be. But I’ve something to tell you and your mother that might make you change your mind.” Sara’s throat closed and she swallowed heavily. It would not do to start blubbering before she’d even made her confession. She looked down at her hands laying atop the rich burgundy velvet gown she wore, painfully aware everything on her back was given to her by a woman she’d betrayed again and again. They would hate her, she knew they would. But in her heart, she felt they would also forgive her. They would be angry, they would be hurt, but surely they would understand the reasons behind her actions.

  Julia bustled in, excitement clear in her sparkling eyes. She sat across from Sara looking expectantly from her son to her new daughter. “Well?”

  “She’s said yes, mother, but is now torturing me by hinting at some deep, dark secret.” Gardner had relaxed noticeably, apparently thinking that nothing Sara could say would shock him, would make him withdraw his offer. Oh, Sara thought, you are so wrong. She wished suddenly West was in the room helping her. He could convince them of her innocence.

  “Is West at home? I think he should be here, too,” Sara said, thinking her idea inspirational.

  Gardner scowled. “This has nothing to do with him,” he said forcefully. “Besides, he’s gone to Boston to look for new buyers.”

  “Oh.” Sara’s heart sank. She took a fortifying breath and began.

  “What I am about to tell you will hurt you both terribly. I want you to know that my two years here have been the happiest time of my life. I love you both dearly. I want you to remember that. Please, remember that.”

  Gardner’s face lost all signs of humor. “My God, Sara, you’re starting to scare me with such talk.”

  Sara gave him a tremulous smile. “I know. I’m scaring myself, too. I’m telling you both this because I love you and because you deserve to know the truth about me.” She could not talk past the lump in her throat and so sat there feeling horrid and very alone while Julia and Gardner waited for her to confess her sins. Closing her eyes briefly, she took another calming breath.

  “My name is Sara Dawes,” she began, and didn’t stop until she’d revealed everything but that she had fallen in love with West. She was thankful they were silent throughout her monologue, for it made it so much easier to get through her story. She realized quickly it was shock that silenced mother and son. Shock and outrage.

  When she was finished, she sat still, her eyes going from Gardner to Julia, trying to discern what they were thinking. Gardner was the first to speak.

  “That is quite a tale,” he said, looking at his mother.

  Julia sat like a statue, her face completely unreadable.

  “Julia, Gardner. I know how awful this must be. I didn’t intend to continue lying to you, but I didn’t know how to tell you the truth, either. West thought, for my own protection, that it would be better to live this fabrication. I don’t think either of us thought past my coming here and being safe. The longer it went on, the easier it became to continue this charade. We certainly never foresaw our falling in love,” she finished, looking at Gardner, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

  “I imagine not,” Gardner said coldly. He walked to the bank of windows and looked out, effectively turning his back on her.

  Finally, Julia spoke quietly and with frightening finality. “I want you to leave. Pack whatever things you need to live on, and leave.”

  Sara let out a ragged gasp. “Please, Julia, I…”

  “How dare you! I gave you everything. Clothes, money, love. I nearly gave you my son. And all you have given me is fabrications.”

  “I know it seems awful.”

  “It is worse than awful, Miss Dawes. It is unforgivable. I will not tell you again. I want you out of this house.” Her eyes were hard, but tears glittered there, breaking Sara’s heart. She loved this woman, and yet she’d lied and lied and lied.

  Sara stood on shaking legs. In all her imaginings, she’d never thought this would happen. She knew they would be upset, knew that, perhaps, Gardner would withdraw his proposal. But she never dreamed they would completely turn away from her. As if they never truly loved her.

  “Gardner,” she said in a voice clogged with tears. “If you love me, you’ll forgive me. I’ve never lied to you about loving you.”

  “Haven’t you?” he said without turning to her. “I think we both know who you love, Sara. And it sure as hell isn’t me.”

  Sara began sobbing in earnest. “You’re wrong. I do love you.” She walked over to where he stood, taut and angry and hurt. “Please. Gardner. You’ve no idea how difficult it was for me to tell you these things. But I told you because I love you, because I couldn’t go on lying to you.” She placed a hand on his arm but he jerked away, still not looking at her.

  “Don’t do this, Gardner. I do love you.” She stood next to him crying softly, fighting the urge to crumble up into a ball at his feet and beg him to forgive her.

  “The question is, Sara, do you love only me.” He turned to her then, his eyes filled with anger and pain and soul-wrenching resignation. She knew he would forgive her anything—except loving West. Sara was silent, for she would not lie to him again.

  “Go, Sara. Do as mother says,” Gardner said wearily. And when she remained standing by his side, he pounded the wall with sudden fury. “I said get the hell out of here!”

  Sara turned and fled to her room, her slippered feet flying over the soft carpet. With every step she was brutally aware that she would never walk these halls again. For two years, she had lived a fantasy, she had pretended her life before she came here did not exist. But now her past had slammed into her with cruel force. As she numbly gathered a few items and shoved them into a small carpet bag, Sara tried to think where she could go, what she could do, but nothing came. She sat down on her bed heavily, tears drying on her face leavin
g behind salty tracks. She sat there a long time staring at the flowered wallpaper, thinking she should try to remember the pattern, thinking it was time to remember everything.

  That it was time to turn herself in.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  It was a kind of symbolic suicide to have walked into Judge Robert Reynolds’ office and calmly announce who she was. Sara had waited patiently for the judge to return to his office; no stabs of panic assaulted her. She accepted with strange calmness her fate, like a person who is fighting death then finally welcomes it.

  It was over.

  When Judge Reynolds entered the room, his eyebrows rising when he saw her, Sara stood. Judge Reynolds was a handsome older man, distinguished and tall, with a bearing that bespoke privileged and power. She knew him as a man who had been kind to her, and hoped he would be in this instance, as well. Upon leaving the Mitchell home, Sara had briefly considered turning herself into the police corps, but decided instead to go to Judge Reynolds.

  “Miss Dawson,” he said taking his seat and indicating that Sara do the same, “how can I help you?”

  In a voice that shook only slightly, Sara said, “My name is Sara Dawes, your honor. I’ve come to turn myself in.”

  He studied her a long, uncomfortable minute, and Sara could almost see his mind work out the details and decide whether she was guilty or innocent. What he said shocked her.

  “I had my suspicions of who you were, Miss Dawes.”

  Sara shook her head in confusion. She had never seen Judge Reynolds a handful of times over the past two years. “How?”

  “The similarity in names, for one. And other things.” He let out a long, contemplative breath. “Young lady, you’ve been very foolish.”

  Sara nearly quaked at his stern voice. “I know. At the time of the fire, I didn’t think I had a choice but to run away. May I tell you my story?”

  He nodded, and she told him what she’d told Julia and Gardner.

  The older man appeared genuinely sorry to hear Sara’s tale, including the information that she was thrown from the Mitchell house. Sara told the kind old man she had no money, nowhere to go, no one to go to. She didn’t want to burden her brother with her plight, she was tired, so tired, of putting her life in the hands of others. Sara knew she could have avoided all this heartache if only she’d had the courage three years ago that she now had.

  “I did not kill my parents. I didn’t even know that young man they found near our house. But I’m tired of running, of pretending I’m someone I’m not.” She did not tell him she’d suspected her father was somehow involved with the young man’s death.

  The judge had leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “You are in a precarious position, young lady,” he said sternly. “I tend to believe every word you’ve said, but I need to talk to West Mitchell to see if he’ll corroborate the story about the thugs. I can see for myself that you’ve been injured,” he said eyeing her long scar. “But that could have happened any number of ways. I’ll send a note over to his home immediately, telling the Mitchells you are in my custody and asking West come here upon his return. There isn’t enough evidence to charge you with your parents murder. There never was, dear girl,” he said kindly.

  Sara looked at him, flabbergasted. “But the police corps put a reward out. The city was mad to find me. How can that be?"

  Judge Reynolds shook his head sadly. “I can understand why you were frightened, perhaps even a little why you fled.”

  “If I could do it all over again, I would stay. But you’ve no idea how frightened I was, especially after those men attacked me. All I could think was that I had to get out of the city. I had to be safe.”

  “Until Mr. Mitchell returns, I’m going to hold you, Miss Dawes.” At Sara’s widening eyes, he held up a hand to pacify her. “I’d be a fool to let the only suspect we have in a triple murder go simply because she is beautiful and claims to be innocent. You can stay in my home until matters are settled one way or the other.”

  Sara was dumbfounded. Though she knew little of the legal process, she was quite certain it was highly unusual for the judge to take custody of a suspected murderer.

  Seeing her disbelieving look, the judge said, “My dear girl, it is more for your protection than anything else. As you have admitted, you have no money, nowhere to go. What were you planning to do?”

  Sara shook her head. “You misunderstand, Judge Reynolds. I’m grateful, deeply grateful, that you are handling this matter in such a generous way. And I don’t want you to think I do not realize how charitable you are being with your offer. But, sir, I don’t understand why you would welcome me into your home. I wouldn’t want to put you in an untenable situation by my presence there.”

  “You will understand soon enough,” he said, suddenly seeming tired and old. “I’m afraid you’ll understand all too much.”

  With those ominous words ringing in her head, Sara walked with Judge Reynolds the short distance to his pretty little manor house. A brick sidewalk led up to the Federal style brick home, its fluted columns giving the entrance a grand air. Judge Reynolds, after handing off his top hat and coat and giving instructions to a maid to take Sara’s few belongings to a guest bedroom, led her directly to his second-floor office. There, with an air of expectation, he led her to the sofa and sat in a chair positioned at an angle to Sara’s seat.

  It was a richly appointed room, with dark paneled walls and molded ceilings. Judge Reynolds sat there, clearly expecting something from her, his large blunt fingers tapping a rhythm against his thighs. Sara looked around again, her discomfiture increasing with each second that beat out of the pretty little mantle clock.

  “It’s a lovely…” She stopped, her eyes pinned to a portrait of her brother hanging above the fireplace to her left. “Why do you have a picture of my brother in your office?” she asked, stunned.

  “Take a closer look, Miss Dawes. It is not your brother.” She stood and walked to the portrait of a handsome young man, noticing what she hadn’t before—the old-fashioned clothes, the rich brown hair tied back in a queue.

  “That is me when I was twenty-one years old. The year I graduated Harvard.”

  Sara looked from the young man to the judge, slowly comprehending what was becoming so obvious. “You’re the one,” she whispered.

  He nodded, a small jerk of his head. “I was already married and quite unhappy. Gertrude and I had no children, and I think that made her bitter. I know it was a great disappointment to me. I was thirty-five, your mother just nineteen and so beautiful.” He gazed at Sara, his eyes warm. “You have her eyes,” he said softly, then cleared his throat.

  Sara gave him a tentative smile. This man was irrevocably tied to her family and she hadn’t known. Her mother had loved him, had born a child by him, and no one had ever known. No wonder he was helping her now.

  “Was she happy?” he asked.

  Sara thought to lie, but then shook her head. “No, sir, she was not. I never understood why until recently. Zachary told me we have two different fathers, but he doesn’t know who you are.”

  The judge chuckled. “But I knew him. At least I watched him when I could. I’d walk by your house hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Or her. Ah, well. Let me show you to your room. I want you to be comfortable here, to think of this as your new home. At least until we get all that ugliness behind us, eh?” He waved a hand for her to precede him from the room. “You do look remarkably like her this light. So beautiful.”

  Sara felt her face warm uncomfortably. “Thank you, sir,” she said hesitantly.

  “I haven’t had a pretty girl in my house in years,” he said lightly. “Four doors down on the right. There you go, my girl.”

  She entered the pretty room, marveling that an old man would have such a room in his house. It was feminine and light, with luxurious appointments and expensive furnishings. It was almost as if he’d created it with her in mind.

  “I pray you’ll be comfortable here,”
he said, again gracing her with a smile that made her slightly uneasy. Sara remembered walking from the Shelton wedding and thinking that Judge Reynolds was being more than polite, that he was actually subtly flirting with her. As she did then, Sara rejected such a notion. Just because a man was being kind to her didn’t mean he had designs on her. She was confusing his longing for her mother for something else entirely, she told herself.

  Sara walked across the room to the far side of the large bed, trailing a finger on the rich pristinely-white counterpane. She looked at a finely embroidered pillow, part of a mass of pillows piled upon the bed, and her heart nearly stopped. The initials ESR were stitched onto the satin surface of the pale pink pillow—the initials her mother would have claimed had she married Judge Reynolds. Evelyn Sara Reynolds.

  For the first time in his life, West didn’t want to walk up the familiar steps of his boyhood home and push open the front door. In fact, he dreaded it. Dreaded seeing Sara smiling up at Gardner, dreaded his mother’s happy chatter. Dreaded having to pretend he was happy for the loving couple, of having to see her, smell her, be close enough to touch her and yet never—never—allowing himself to.

  In two months, the Julia would set sail and Sara would be torn from him forever. He would remain silent, he would pretend he wished the young couple well. In fact, he did. He was glad his brother was happy. He simply wished it wasn’t Sara who made him so. He had stepped aside, nobly, gracefully, and had paid a terrible price.

  The pain, that awful drumming pain that filled him when he thought Sara dead, was back. But this time, it was worse. For he knew he had it in his power to bring her back. He knew it would take as little as a single, soul-searing kiss to make her his forever. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in him to betray his brother, to coldly, calculatingly steal her away.