A Borrowed Dream

by Amanda Cabot

  Silently, Travis pulled out a sheet of paper and made a few notes. When he looked up and saw Austin’s skeptical expression, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll burn this once I’m done. I just want to be sure that I have the details correct.” He fixed his gaze on Austin. “When exactly did you leave Philadelphia?”

  Five minutes later, the page was covered with writing. “That should be enough to get them started. I’ll send a telegram to Philadelphia to see what they can tell me. If this Enright is still running his operation there, I’ll check back every month.” Travis laid down his pencil. “Why don’t you stop in tomorrow morning? I should have an answer then.”

  Austin spent the rest of the day trying not to think about Sherman Enright but failing miserably. Even Mrs. Moore commented on his mood, asking if he wanted some of her dandelion tonic. “It’s good for whatever ails you,” she assured him.

  But no tonic, no matter how potent, would stop his worries, and when he saw Travis’s expression the next morning, Austin knew without asking that his fears had been confirmed.

  “They didn’t catch him.” Travis held out the telegram he’d received from the Philadelphia police chief. “You were right in saying that he’s wily. Enright must have seen something that alerted him, because he didn’t return to your office the next night, and he hasn’t been seen since. It appears that his operation is continuing, which makes the police believe he’s holed up somewhere in the Philadelphia area.”

  That meant that Sherman Enright was still looking for Austin. And Hannah.

  9

  Is something wrong, Seth?” Catherine kept her voice low as she stood next to his desk. The boy, who was normally one of her best students, had made several errors on what should have been simple arithmetic problems. Now he appeared almost listless as he looked at the day’s reading assignment. Though she saw no signs of physical abuse, Catherine couldn’t help wondering what had happened at home to cause such a difference.

  He shrugged, then closed his McGuffey’s Reader. “It’s these stories, Miss Whitfield. They’re not as exciting as the ones in your books.”

  “My books?” For a moment, Catherine wasn’t certain what he meant. Then she remembered how Seth had entertained himself when he’d been recuperating at her house. “You mean my father’s books?”

  Seth nodded. “Those were good stories.” He scowled at the slim volume that was the designated text for pupils his age. “Can’t we read them instead? That Mohican story sounded like a good one.”

  Catherine couldn’t disagree. James Fenimore Cooper’s book was far more exciting than the ones on the approved reading list. So were her father’s other cherished books, Washington Irving’s Sketch Book and Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.

  She looked at Seth, wishing she could satisfy his request. It ought to be simple. She wouldn’t be breaking any rules if she brought the books to school and let the students read them, so long as they completed their normal work, and yet the thought of sometimes-careless children handling the only keepsakes she had from her father made her cringe.

  “We’ll see.”

  Seth’s lips flattened. “That means no, doesn’t it?”

  “No, Seth, it doesn’t necessarily mean no. It means we’ll see.”

  Austin looked at the sky and smiled. There were only three days left in February. It might be the shortest month of the year, but it had also been the busiest one of his life. Calving season had begun, and Austin had been riding the range for the last week. His lips curved into a grin. A year ago if anyone had told him he’d enjoy being on a horse all day and sleeping on the ground at night, he would have scoffed, but that was exactly what he’d been doing. And, while he had to admit that the hard ground lacked the appeal of a real bed, despite his ongoing worries about Sherman Enright, the experience had been satisfying.

  As he’d ridden under the blue sky and felt the sun beating down on his head, Austin had felt closer to God than when he was inside a church. This land was God’s creation. He was only the steward, but thanks to God’s help, he was proving to be an adequate one. His fears that he would hate ranching as much as he had as a boy were unfounded.

  His father had always said that if Austin gave ranching a chance, he would discover that it was good, honest work that a man could be proud of. As a third-generation rancher, Pa scoffed at the idea of Austin becoming a doctor, declaring that if ranching was good enough for his grandfather, his father, and himself, it was good enough for Austin. Austin had not agreed. Far from it. He’d hated the physical labor and the need to be outdoors regardless of the weather. Most of all, he’d hated the fact that he was being given no choice.

  Though he’d appealed to his mother, Ma had sided with her husband, saying they’d spent their lives making the ranch prosper so they’d have a legacy for him. He was their only son, and as such, it was his duty to remain on the ranch.

  Austin’s grin faltered as he recalled the bitter arguments. Neither of his parents could understand that he didn’t want the ranch. For as long as he could remember, Austin had wanted to be a healer. And so, though his parents had disapproved, he’d left home when he was sixteen and made his way to Philadelphia, determined to do whatever he had to to become a physician. He’d succeeded, but now he was once again on a ranch.

  The smile returned, a bittersweet one this time. If Pa were still alive, he would surely be laughing at the fact that a dozen years later, Austin was a rancher and that he didn’t hate what he was doing. To the contrary, using his medical training to help a cow through a difficult delivery today had been the culmination of a good week.

  Austin knew that if he hadn’t been there to turn the calf and ease it out, both the cow and her offspring would have died. As it was, when he watched the wobbly-legged calf begin to suckle, a feeling of deep satisfaction had welled up inside him. It might not be the same as saving some of Philadelphia’s neediest residents from a life of shame and ostracism, but there was no denying the exultation that had flowed through him at the sight of the calf. He couldn’t have chosen a better way to end the week.

  And now he was on his way home. A hot bath to wash off the week’s grime, one of Mrs. Moore’s delicious suppers, and the reunion with his daughter—what more could a man want?

  “I’m glad to see you’re back.” Mrs. Moore swiveled at the sound of his footsteps and nodded her head, then lowered the flame on the stove as he entered the kitchen an hour later.

  “Right on time too.” Austin had promised to return no later than 5:00. According to his watch, he had another fifteen minutes before he’d be late. The grin that accompanied his statement faded as he looked at his housekeeper. Instead of the welcoming smile he’d expected, he saw distress. “Is something wrong?”

  She nodded and wiped her hands on a towel. “It’s Hannah. She hasn’t spoken a word since you left, and as far as I can tell, she hasn’t eaten a bit. When she’s not at school, she just sits in the corner of her room.”

  Austin tried to keep his expression neutral. Though he’d been concerned about Hannah’s possible reaction to his being gone, he had thought she’d understood when he’d explained what he was doing and when he’d return. It appeared that even if she had understood, something had changed. Something serious. Something dangerous.

  Mrs. Moore took a step toward Austin. “I’m worried, Mr. Goddard.”

  “So am I.”

  March had arrived. Catherine tried to slow the pounding of her heart as she gathered the books she’d used for today’s lessons and arranged them carefully on the shelf. While her pupils were celebrating the end of the shortest month, she found no cause for celebration. Not only had February seemed longer than normal, but the past week had been particularly difficult.

  When Mrs. Moore had brought Hannah to school last Monday, she had explained that Austin was riding the range. Though Catherine had expected Hannah to miss her father, she had not been prepared for the changes in her most difficult pupil. The girl had looked like the last ves
tiges of life were being drained from her, making her as pale as Mama had been after one of those dreadful bloodlettings. For the first time since she’d started school, Hannah had refused to respond when Catherine asked her a question. She merely sat at her desk, making not a sound. She had remained silent all week, fading a bit more each day.

  Catherine had seen troubled children before, but she had never seen a case so extreme. Though she knew she had to tell Austin what she’d observed and what she feared, he hadn’t attended church on Sunday, and Hannah had not come to school yesterday, only adding to Catherine’s worries. Fortunately, the girl had returned today, but though Seth had mentioned Austin giving him a ride this morning, Catherine had not seen him.

  She glanced out the window. Nothing had changed in the five minutes since she’d last checked on the children. Hannah was still on the swing, simply sitting there rather than swinging, and Seth was seated a few yards away, busily sketching something. Where was Austin? He was normally here by this time.

  As if on cue, the door opened. Catherine turned, her heart leaping at the sight of the handsome rancher. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  He removed his hat as he approached her desk. “You might not be when you hear what I have to say.” His eyes were dark with worry, and the rings beneath them told Catherine he’d been sleeping poorly.

  “If it’s about Hannah, believe me, I’ve noticed the difference. I’d have to be blind not to. She seemed to fade away while you were gone.” Catherine looked directly at Austin as she asked, “Did that happen in Oklahoma?”

  Surely it was her imagination that he seemed uncomfortable with the question. Austin shook his head. “No. This is the first time anything like this has happened.” When Catherine settled into the chair behind her desk, he took the one next to it.

  “Perhaps I should have expected it, but I didn’t. I’m worried.” Austin shook his head. “Worried doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling. I’m terrified.”

  Catherine stared at him, confused by the fervor she heard in his voice. Surely terror was an extreme reaction. She could understand concern—deep concern—but not bone-deep fear, and yet that was what he was exhibiting.

  “Do you want to talk to me about whatever it is that’s terrifying you?”

  Austin shook his head again. “I don’t want to, but I need to. You spend more time with Hannah than I do. I need you to be on the lookout for signs.” Catherine hadn’t thought it possible, but his expression darkened. “I also need you to promise that you will not share what I’m going to tell you with anyone, especially Hannah.”

  Though she was grateful Austin trusted her enough to confide in her, Catherine couldn’t suppress her concern about what he might reveal. “Of course,” she said, infusing her voice with certainty.

  “Thank you.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “No one else knows what happened. I didn’t want anyone to know, but I can’t risk Hannah’s safety.”

  Each word he pronounced made the situation sound worse. “You’re scaring me, Austin.”

  “That wasn’t my intent. There’s no easy way to tell this story, so I won’t even try to dress it up with pretty words.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he stared at the wall behind Catherine. When his gaze once again met hers, he began his tale.

  “My wife was a woman of volatile moods. I didn’t notice it when we were courting, but then her parents died of influenza, leaving Geraldine alone and bereft. We’d planned to marry when I returned from Europe, but I couldn’t leave her behind when she was so terribly distraught, so we married only weeks after she buried her parents.”

  Austin ran his hand through his hair, leaving it as disturbed as his thoughts appeared to be. “At first, I thought it was grief. Then I blamed it on the fact that she’d been taken from everything familiar and was now living in a country where she could barely communicate. Finally, I gave up trying to understand why she was acting the way she did and simply tried to cope with her moods.”

  Though Catherine wished there were something she could do or say to comfort Austin, she knew that what he needed most was someone to listen to his story. Only when it was complete would she respond.

  Austin stared at the floor for a second before continuing. “Some days Geraldine would be the happiest person I’d ever known, laughing and singing and acting as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Other days she’d be in the depths of despair. I never knew which Geraldine would get out of bed in the morning or if she’d even make the effort to leave the bed.”

  Catherine’s heart ached at the pain both Austin and Geraldine had endured. Though she had never experienced anything like what he was describing, she recognized the symptoms. “I read about something like that in one of my medical books.”

  For a second, Austin appeared surprised. Then he shrugged. “That’s right. You’re an amateur doctor.”

  “I don’t claim that distinction,” Catherine told him. “I simply want to keep my pupils from being hurt by Doc Harrington.” Catherine turned the conversation back to Austin’s daughter. “I haven’t noticed any mood swings in Hannah. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been melancholy, but having you gone seems to have deepened that. I would call her melancholia extreme now.”

  “So would I. I’m afraid she inherited that tendency from her mother. That’s what terrifies me.” Austin paused, and Catherine suspected he was choosing his words carefully. “Geraldine changed after Hannah was born. There were no more happy days. Instead, she seemed to sink further into melancholy. I don’t know what made that last day any worse than the others, but when I came home, Hannah was alone, screaming because she hadn’t been fed or her diaper changed. There was no sign of Geraldine. No note, nothing.”

  Austin stared into the distance for a long moment before he said, “They pulled my wife’s body out of the Seine the next day.”

  10

  A shiver made its way down Catherine’s spine as she remembered the dream—no, the nightmare—she had had just hours before she met Austin for the first time. Perhaps it was only a coincidence, but she did not believe that. Somehow, someway she had dreamt about a woman who’d done the same thing Austin’s wife had.

  Though she tried, Catherine could not control her trembling. For her, the Seine had always represented beauty and peace, the culmination of one of her dreams. For Austin, it was the site of a tragedy, the loss of his beloved wife. “What did she look like?”

  “Geraldine?” Austin appeared confused by the question, as well he should be. That was not the typical question someone asked upon learning that a man’s wife had killed herself.

  Catherine closed her eyes for a second, praying for a way to help this man who had suffered so greatly. “I’m sorry, Austin.” She hoped he knew her words were sincere.

  “I’m sorry your wife was so unhappy. I’ve heard that sometimes happens to women after a child is born, but your wife’s condition sounds extreme.” The violent mood swings even before Hannah’s birth hinted at an underlying condition that would have made what Cimarron Creek’s midwife called the baby blues even worse.

  Geraldine’s suffering was tragic, but so was its effect on Austin. “I’m sorry for what your wife endured, but I’m even sorrier for you. I can’t imagine what your life must have been like.” Catherine reached out to put her hand on Austin’s. It might be forward and unladylike, but she had to do something to show him how deeply his loss touched her.

  Austin laid his other hand on top of hers, as if he were giving rather than receiving comfort. “I kept thinking I should have been able to stop her, that there was something I could have done.”

  “There wasn’t. She had made up her mind, and no one could stop her.”

  Austin’s eyes widened. “What makes you say that? You never met Geraldine. You know hardly anything about her.”

  Catherine had wondered why a dream that usually made her happy had turned into an unforgettable nightmare. Now she knew the reason. The nightmar
e had given her new insights, insights she could use to comfort Austin, to help assuage his pain and lessen his feeling of guilt.

  “Did Geraldine have hair and eyes the same color as mine?”

  He nodded.

  “Was she a couple inches taller and a few years older?”

  He nodded again. “How did you know?”

  “The night before I met you, I had a dream. It was a dream I’ve had many times before. In it, I was walking along the Seine, approaching Notre Dame. This time was different, though. I saw a woman at the edge of the river, the woman I just described to you. She looked so unhappy that I wanted to help her, but as I ran toward her, she shook her head, rejecting my help. Then she jumped.”

  The blood drained from Austin’s face, leaving his eyes in sharp contrast to his pallid cheeks. “What was she wearing?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Catherine closed her eyes, trying to recall what she had seen that night. “A red dress,” she said as the memory resurfaced. “It had a black collar and cuffs.” She opened her eyes and stared at Austin. Though she hadn’t thought it possible, his pallor had increased.

  “I don’t understand how you know all that, but that’s the dress Geraldine was wearing when they pulled her out of the river. It was her favorite gown, the one she wore when I took her to a nice restaurant to celebrate our anniversary. She only wore it that one time. When I asked her why she didn’t wear it again, she said she was saving it for a special occasion.”

  Austin pulled his hands loose and covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I should have stopped her.”

  “You couldn’t have. Everything you told me and what I saw in my dream says she had made up her mind. No matter how much you loved her, you couldn’t stop her from doing what she planned.”

  Lowering his hands, Austin looked at Catherine, his blue eyes bearing an expression she had never seen in them. There was pain, almost agony, but also a glimmer of hope. “I want to believe you’re right.”