Remembered

by Tamera Alexander

  As the sun had risen through his open window, and the bubbling echo of Fountain Creek serenaded the dawn, he found himself praying for Véronique as she slept just across the hall from him. For her to find peace in her journey, and that her father would be a man worthy of such a daughter—if Pierre Gustave Girard was even alive after all these years.

  Pulling his thoughts back to the moment, Jack reached down to the grave and scooped a fistful of dirt. He held it in his hand, then let it sift back to the earth. “‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally.” ’ He kept his voice hushed, as seemed right. “‘And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.” ’ Weeks after Mary’s passing, he had finally worked up the courage to go through her things. As he’d sorted through the books in her trunk, he’d run across a collection of sonnets tucked amid the treasured volumes she’d used in her teaching. The particular sonnet containing this verse had been underscored and the page dog-eared. In the margins of the text, she’d penned a Scripture, one he’d since written on his heart.

  “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

  It had taken years, but the sting of Mary’s and Aaron’s deaths had lessened for him. Though death had taken them, it did not hold them in its grip. It never had. Christ had seen to that.

  Looking around, Jack could understand why Jonathan McCutchens had wanted to be laid to rest in this spot. Thinking about Jonathan and Annabelle McCutchens—the couple he’d met last spring on his final caravan—his appreciation for what they had endured grew. Upon Jonathan’s untimely death on the trail, Annabelle had traveled from the plains north of Denver all the way back to Willow Springs, by herself, to fulfill her husband’s wish of being buried on the banks of Fountain Creek.

  In all of Jack’s travels, no other place equaled the beauty he’d discovered in these mountains nor possessed the welcome feel of this community nestled at the base of Pikes Peak. He rubbed his jaw, smiling as he thought of what else he’d found in this town, and in recalling what Jonathan McCutchens had said to him the last time they’d spoken.

  “I didn’t find what I came looking for in that little town, but I discovered what I’d been missin’ all my life.”

  Jack let his attention wander the jagged mountain peaks to the west. “I’m not quite sure yet, Jonathan, and I certainly didn’t come to this town looking for it, but . . . I’m thinking I just might’ve found what’s been missing for so long in my life too.”

  When Hannah Carlson had extended an invitation for Sunday lunch a while earlier, he’d been tempted to accept. Especially once learning that Véronique would be there. His gaze dropped to the cross at his feet—but this particular visit had been long overdue.

  For several minutes, he kept his head bowed and laid his thoughts before his Maker, who already knew every one of them even before they were on his tongue.

  Sighing, he stood and headed to the mercantile to load the shipment. Hochstetler had come by the hotel before church to tell him that Miss Maudie from Casaroja wanted her supplies delivered first thing Monday morning. But Jack figured he’d use the afternoon to get a jump on a busy week, and Hochstetler said he’d leave the back entry open. Besides, he would enjoy the trip to Casaroja and looked forward to seeing how that lively little Irish lady was faring since her fall.

  CHAPTER | TWENTY - FIVE

  VÉRONIQUE PAUSED MIDSTEP in the doorway of the bedroom, her attention fixed on the frail woman in the bed. She hoped Lilly was right and that their hostess wouldn’t mind a

  E´ stranger visiting as she recuperated.

  Lilly leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek. “Mama sent along something for you, Miss Maudie. And I’ll give you one guess as to what it is.”

  “There’ll be no need for guessin’, Lilly dear. Your mother knows my favorites and never disappoints.” The older woman tilted her head, squinting. “Now, who did you bring with you there? A new friend, I hope?”

  As Lilly made the introductions, Véronique approached the bed.

  The woman’s subtle air of regality, coupled with the way her face lit when she smiled, brought back memories of her mother, right before the illness had claimed firmer hold. An unwelcome wave of déja` vu swept through her.

  She curtsied at the appropriate time and was about to respond when, from a corner window, she glimpsed a wagon heading up the road toward the house. A rush of excitement accompanied her when she recognized the driver.

  “Well, if that’s not a tellin’ expression, Miss Girard, my Irish eyes are failin’ me for sure.”

  Véronique’s face heated at the older woman’s comment and at having been caught not paying respectful attention. She curtsied a second time, cautious in meeting the woman’s discerning gaze. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Maudie. I fear I was—”

  “Momentarily distracted? Yes, I can see that.” Miss Maudie’s smile deepened. She craned her neck to peer out the window, and her brow slowly furrowed. “And I can easily see why, my dear. I’ve met that gentleman, and if I were thirty years younger, I’d not let you have him without a fight. Though with the pretty French package I see before me . . .” She made a tsking noise with her tongue. “I would’ve hardly stood a chance even then.”

  Véronique laughed softly, feeling an instant bond with the woman.

  “Véronique, it’s a pleasure indeed.” Miss Maudie reached for the bell on the night table and rang it twice. “I’ve known my share of Frenchmen, to be sure. But it’s a rare treasure to meet a lass of your heritage.”

  The woman who had allowed them entrance when they arrived appeared in the doorway. “Are you and your guests ready for tea, ma’am?”

  “Yes, indeed we are, Claire. Thank you. We’ll take it in here, dear.”

  “Tea and Lilly’s mother’s oatmeal muffins coming right up!”

  “Now, to the both of you” —Miss Maudie patted the bed—“sit down here and tell an old woman what’s happenin’ in the world outside these walls. That ol’ Doc Hadley trussed my leg up so good and tight I can hardly be movin’ it.” Her covert wink said she was only half serious. “I feel like a hen ready for the oven, and I’m as bored as a spud in the mud.”

  “Mademoiselle Girard is the one with all the interesting stories.” Lilly nodded her way. “So she should go first. She just arrived from Paris, after all. And she’s been visiting some mining towns in the mountains.” She widened her eyes, encouraging Véronique to tell more.

  “I would hardly label most of my stories as interesting. But a few of them have been rather exciting. . . .” Véronique looked pointedly out the window. “And they involve a certain gentleman who just arrived.”

  Miss Maudie tried to push herself up, and more from reflex than forethought, Véronique adjusted the pillows behind her back.

  “Why, thank you, dear. Now . . . do tell me everything.” Miss Maudie’s countenance brightened with anticipation. “And don’t leave out any details, startin’ with when you left your homeland, to when you first set foot in Willow Springs, and then to those mountain treks of yours.” A wistful expression swept her face. “It’s been ever so long since I’ve seen our mountains up close. I miss them so. And” —she raised a forefinger and offered a look befitting the most venerable teacher—“lest you be forgettin’, I want a full account of your time with your gentleman friend too. And not to worry, dear. Whatever you say, Lilly and I will keep locked up tighter than a drum!”

  ————

  Jack finished unloading the supplies and sat down on the back steps to enjoy a glass of water and a slice of warm blueberry pie, courtesy of Claire Stewartson. From the wagon parked out front, and the occasional laughter he heard coming from inside, he figured Miss Maudie was entertaining guests.

  “Well, that disappeared in a hurry.” Mrs. Stewartson pushed open the screen door. “How about seconds?”

  Standing, Jack hesitated, not wanting to appear greedy.

  “Okay, hand over that plate, Mr. Brennan.” She re
ached out. “We don’t allow shy eaters here at Casaroja. One of Miss Maudie’s rules.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Jack held onto his fork.

  The young woman returned minutes later with an even larger slice than the first.

  “My thanks again, ma’am.” He loaded a bite onto his fork. “How’s Miss Maudie doing since the accident?”

  It was Claire’s turn to hesitate. “Doc Hadley said her leg should heal up just fine, as long as she doesn’t try to do too much, too soon. But she’s still having those dizzy spells. Doc doesn’t know what’s causing them either.”

  “I’d imagine keeping a woman like Miss Maudie down would take some doing.”

  “You’re telling me!” Claire glanced in the direction of the nearest barn. “Thomas stopped by earlier to let me know that one of our mares is expected to drop her first foal in the next couple of days.

  When Miss Maudie heard about it, she could hardly wait. Said she wanted to be there, that she hadn’t missed a first birth in years. Then Thomas reminded her that it was against Doc’s strict orders for her to be up and walking about. . . .” She shook her head. “You’d have thought he’d told her Christmas was cancelled.”

  A cackle of feminine laughter floated toward them through the open door.

  Claire smiled. “She’s entertaining guests right now. I haven’t heard her laugh this much in a long time, even before the accident.” Her expression softened. “Does my heart good after all that sweet woman has been through.”

  Claire’s comment, similar to one her husband had made, caused Jack to wonder just what Miss Maudie’s story was, and what had happened to her nephew.

  Footsteps echoed in the kitchen, accompanied by voices—one of them unmistakable.

  Jack peered over Claire’s shoulder just in time to notice Véronique’s face brighten when she saw him. It didn’t necessarily reflect the surprise he’d expected, but then she had a way of hiding things when she wanted to. He’d learned that early on.

  He held open the door for them and enjoyed the way Véronique lightly touched his arm as she passed.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Brennan. What brings you to Casaroja?” Her accent gave the name of the ranch a pleasing sound.

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Girard.” Jack winked when only she was watching. “Mr. Hochstetler asked me to deliver an order from the mercantile. So I loaded up and came on out.” Wondering at Lilly Carlson’s coy smile, Jack greeted her before returning his attention to Véronique. “I didn’t know you knew Miss Maudie.”

  “I did not have that pleasure before Lilly invited me on this outing.” Véronique slipped an arm about the girl’s shoulders and gave Claire Stewartson a sheepish look. “We had a most enjoyable time, but I think our laughter exhausted the dear woman. She was asleep before we left the room.”

  “It wasn’t our laughter that put her to sleep.” Lilly nudged her in the side, and Jack sensed a deepening friendship between the two.

  “Véronique rubbed her shoulders and back, and Miss Maudie said she hadn’t felt that good in years.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” Claire took a step back toward the house. “I think I’ll run and check on her.” She reached for Jack’s empty plate. “Thank you again for delivering those supplies so quickly, Mr. Brennan. And Lilly, feel free to show Miss Girard around the place if you’d like. The wild flowers just over the hill are in full bloom, and they’re a sight to behold!” Claire grinned as she let the door close behind her.

  “Oh, let’s go see!” Lilly exclaimed, urging Véronique to follow her.

  Véronique turned to go, then paused. “Would you like to accompany us, Monsieur Brennan? Or are you not a fan of wild flowers?”

  “I appreciate flowers as much as the next man, and the wilder the better.” He wriggled his brow. “But I’ve got some things I need to see to in town. Thank you for the invitation though.”

  “Perhaps some other time, then?”

  That sparked an idea within him. “Perhaps some other time . . . like tonight?”

  Her expression turned sweetly suspect.

  “For dinner, I mean, with me. Not to look at flowers.” To say he was rusty at this would have been an understatement. The other night had been easier, when he’d discovered her already seated in the dining room. Jack could feel Lilly’s stare from where she stood a few feet away. Clearing his throat, he decided to start over again. “If you’re not otherwise engaged, Mademoiselle Girard, I would like to take you to dinner tonight.”

  Seeing the sparkle in her eyes, he discovered he could hardly wait to get back on the trail with this woman. Who would have ever thought . . . ?

  “Oui, I would like that very much, Jack. And for the record . . . I am not otherwise engaged.”

  Standing nearly a foot taller than she did, Jack noticed how she tipped her head back in order to look up at him. She’d worn another one of her fancy gowns, and though it wasn’t too revealing, it still invited the eye. He tried not to linger overlong on the inviting curve of her neck or the soft hollow at the base of her throat, or at the slow rise and fall of her bodice as she—

  Realizing he was failing miserably at not lingering, Jack cleared his throat again and forced his attention elsewhere.

  Véronique leaned slightly to one side as though to catch his eye again. If she only knew how effortlessly she did that already. “So I will see you tonight, Jack?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll come by and pick you up at seven o’clock.”

  “And I will be waiting for you.”

  As he watched Véronique walk away, he couldn’t help but think of Mary, and how different a man he’d been with her. And how different a woman she’d been from Véronique Girard.

  He walked toward his wagon—wait, Véronique’s wagon, he corrected—and tried to recall what he’d been like with Mary. Tentative and shy at first, unsure of himself. Everything about their relationship had been so new, for them both. And that time of discovery, of learning together, had been exciting.

  But things were different now.

  When he looked at Véronique, it wasn’t through the eyes of some wide-eyed schoolboy. It was through the seasoned perspective of a man who knew what it was like to be married, to have an intimate relationship with a woman. In the same breath, Jack reminded himself that Véronique did not have that same perspective. At least he didn’t think she did.

  She’d obviously never been married—the title of mademoiselle told him that much. He didn’t know much about her background other than what Sampson had told him, but he would bet she’d had plenty of beaus lined up on her doorstep. It struck him then that he probably ought to tell her about Mary and Aaron. The timing just hadn’t seemed right yet. Not that he thought it would matter to her, but it was part of his past, part of who he was. And he would forever carry a part of Mary and Aaron with him.

  He guided the wagon down the front road of Casaroja, admiring again the beauty of the ranch. For so many years he’d never stayed in one place more than a few days, and that’s how he’d liked it. But not anymore. He looked forward to settling down and— He yanked back on the reins and cocked his head, certain he’d heard something.

  Once the horses came to a standstill and the squeak of the wagon quieted, he heard his name being called. He stood in the wagon and peered over the fields. After a minute, he saw a man waving.

  Jack secured the wagon and jumped down.

  When he reached the lower field, he recognized Thomas Stewartson kneeling in a sea of blue and white columbine. Beside him, a mare lay on her side, breathing heavily. Thomas was rubbing the horse’s distended belly in slow arching circles.

  Jack was winded when he reached them. Taking a minute to catch his breath, he quickly read the situation. “Has her water broken?”

  “About ten minutes ago, but nothing’s happening yet. She keeps trying to roll and raise up.”

  The mare let out a sudden high-pitched whinny and did just as Stewartson said. Pressing his weight against the horse, Ste
wartson managed to keep her down.

  “It’s all right, girl,” Jack cooed, running a hand over her belly and feeling the foal move inside. “Her first?”

  “Yes, and she wasn’t showing signs of dropping this soon. We normally bring them into the barn for their first deliveries. Make them as comfortable as possible. One of Miss Maudie’s rules.”

  With a laugh, Jack rolled up his sleeves. “That woman seems to have a lot of those.”

  “You have no idea, Brennan. But there’s a heart of gold behind each one.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Jack bent to inspect the mare’s progress. “The foal looks to be presenting fine.”

  Stewartson nodded. “I rode out this morning looking for her. Couldn’t find her, and that’s when I knew.”

  The mare reared her head. Her body shuddered. Bathed in sweat, her tan coat glistened in the afternoon sun.

  Jack rubbed his hand over her haunches in smooth, firm strokes, whispering to her.

  “Thanks for stopping.” Thomas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “No matter how many times I see this, it never gets old.”

  Jack understood. “It’s like assisting God in a miracle.”

  “Claire and me . . .” Stewartson paused. “We’ve been trying to have children for a while now. I keep thinking it’s gonna happen for us. But so far, it hasn’t.”

  “It will. Sometimes it just takes some trying.” Jack thought back to the night Aaron was born, and how happy he and Mary had been. He’d been so thankful for her brief labor and for a healthy son.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t mind the tryin’ part.” Stewartson caught his eye and they both smiled. “But it’s seeing Claire get her hopes up and then it not comin’ about that makes it hard. You married, Jack?”

  “I was, many years ago. I lost my wife and son in an accident on our way out west.”

  For a moment, Stewartson said nothing. “I . . . I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “I appreciate that.” Jack slowly swept a hand across the tops of the wild flowers growing beside him. “Aaron, our son, would have been sixteen this year.” He laughed softly. “Hard to think of me having a sixteen-year-old son. Come to think of it, that’s not far from the age I was when I got married.” He shot Stewartson a look. “Thanks for makin’ me feel so old.”