Lula Mae appeared at the bedside. “Here’s a glass of water for her to wash it down, Doc.”
The shivers came with an expected rush, encompassing Constance until she shook and trembled from head to toe. She pressed her toes against the floor and folded her arms across her chest to rub her opposite elbows.
As if he knew her every need, Ellis responded. He resettled the blanket over her shoulders, and draped both arms around her from behind. His chin nestled into the top of her head. The gentle hold beckoned her to lean against him. She thought she could fight the urge, but when he tugged softly, bringing her back against his chest, she went willingly, and closed her eyes for a moment, forgetting the agony filling her heart and soul.
“That’s a girl,” Doctor Neely said.
Constance pulled her eyes open half believing the doctor spoke to her, for Ellis’s hold had healing powers.
“You did a good job there, Angel,” the doctor continued. “I just want to take a look at your head now, make sure you don’t have a lump from hitting that tree.”
Constance clutched onto Ellis’s forearms wrapped around her breasts, praying the doctor found no other injuries. She hadn’t seen or felt anything, but then again, in her hurried examination, she may have overlooked something.
Eventually, the doctor moved away from the bed. “You’re gonna be fine, Angel,” he said as Constance stepped closer to the bed. “But if something else gets to hurting, you tell Miss Jennings or your pa right away.”
Ellis had stepped forward as well, still had his arms around Constance. Angel noticed, and a sleepy smile covered her face. “I will,” she whispered.
“There’s no bump on her head,” Dr. Neely said. “I think she must have blacked out from the pain of the break. Sleep is the best thing for her right now.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Ellis said.
Constance’s throat didn’t want to work. The comfort his touch provided was too great to ignore, as was the relief of knowing Angel hadn’t been more seriously injured.
“I gave her a good dose of medicine. She’ll sleep for a fair while.” Doctor Neely rolled one sleeve down and buttoned the cuff before switching to the other sleeve. “Miss Jennings,” he nodded toward her, “you’ll want to go get out of that dress. You’re soaked clear through. Don’t need you coming down sick with Angel to take care of.”
Beyond the edges of the blanket, yellow splatters of eggnog covered the front of her dress, and the bottom of the pale blue velvet had turned purple where she’d knelt in the snow. Constance held no concern for the gown, but knew she should follow the doctor’s orders, if for no other reason than to demonstrate to Angel how important it was to comply with what the man said.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, patting Angel’s hand.
Angel closed her eyes and nodded. “Take your time, I’m fine.” Her voice held a touch of her usual grit and determination.
Ellis couldn’t contain a grin, but when his gaze went to Constance, guilt raised its ugly head, instantly filling his insides and erasing the smile from his lips. Her shoulders slumped forward, making his hold feel unwelcome and irritating. He eased his arms from around her and stepped aside.
Pain for Angel still filled her blue eyes, but he saw more. Disgust. Betrayal. Loathing. All the things he imagined filled her soul. He couldn’t blame her, he had betrayed her. He’d attempted several times to speak with her since he’d seen her and John Hempel near the tree, but every time he got close, she’d scooted away. Even while concerned for Angel, Constance held a large portion of his attention.
He loved his daughter, and had been truly alarmed by her accident, but once the initial shock had grown into deep parental distress knowing she was injured but would be fine, his thoughts had once again returned to Constance. Both her learning about Ashton’s will and how deeply Angel’s accident had affected her.
“Constance,” he started, not really knowing what he wanted to say, but wishing he could somehow ease her pain and clear the tension between them.
She dropped the blanket on the chair and stepped away from the bed. He turned to follow her, but Angel’s weak voice stopped him.
“Pa?”
His gaze bounced between Constance and his daughter. This had never happened before. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d had to make a choice between his daughter and anything else. His heart went both ways, splitting right down the middle.
As if she understood the battle going on inside him, Constance pointed to the bed, and then walked out the door.
He took a hold of Angel’s outstretched hand. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m here.”
Angel grinned. “It’s you who shouldn’t worry. She’ll be back as soon as she changes her clothes.”
Sometimes Angel was more forthright than any child should be, and twice as loveable. “You need to rest,” he told her.
“I am,” she said.
Ellis pulled the chair next to the bed.
“You know you’ll have to tell her,” Angel said.
“Tell who what?” he pretended ignorance.
Her eyes were cloudy from the medicine, and the little smile on her lips was tranquil. She let out a gentle sigh. “You know who, silly.” Her eyes closed. “And what.”
Ellis laid a hand on her forehead. The smooth, peachy skin was warm, but not feverish. “Go to sleep, honey.”
“Why didn’t you tell her about Ashton’s will, Pa?” she asked groggily.
He continued to stroke her forehead and brush the curly tendrils from her temples. “Shh,” he whispered.
“You know, Pa, when you love something, you have to let them choose. You gotta give them the chance to decide if they stay or leave. That’s what you tell me about my animals.”
He knew that, but nonetheless was afraid. The door to Angel’s room was open and his gaze locked onto the space, while his heartbeat increased. Not so much as a shadow flickered in the hall, yet his gaze remained transfixed, refusing even a blink of an eyelid, waiting for Constance’s return.
“She loves you, Pa. She loves us both, and she’ll stay. But you gotta give her the choice.”
His daughter was right in more than one way. But that was a conversation he and Constance needed to have. He bent down near the bed. “What would you say if I told you I want to ask Constance to marry me?” He’d made the decision a few days ago, and couldn’t bypass the opportunity to ask for Angel’s approval—wanted everything in place when Constance was ready.
Angel’s grin grew. “I’d say it’s about time. When are you going to ask her?”
His chest grew heavy. “I don’t know. It won’t be for a while. She needs a little time, yet.” A flicker of hope it could happen soon, had him asking, “But you’d be okay with it?”
“You don’t need to ask my permission. It’s your choice. Just like it’ll be my choice when I find who I’m going to marry.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll be all grown up then and won’t need permission.”
He kissed the top of her. “Yes, you’ll be all grown up then.”
Burrowing her cheek deep into the pillow, she mumbled, “I’m going to sleep now, Pa.”
“You do that, Angel girl,” Ellis whispered past the tightening in his throat and chest. His insides were a tangled mass of emotions he couldn’t decipher. Angel’s leg would be fine, it was a clean break that set quickly, and as long as she stayed off it so the bones could heal she’d be as good as new in a few weeks. He on the other hand, had doubts if he’d ever be fine again. Leastwise not until he had a chance to explain things to Constance.
Constance did love Angel, and he’d grown accustomed to the laughter and lightheartedness they filled the house with. It was the aching inside him he’d silently battled. At first, he’d struggled with the fact it was no longer his dead wife he wanted, but, as hard as it was for him to admit, he’d never desired Christine as profoundly as he did Constance. It had been that admission that made him understand he was no longer content in his life as
a widower, hadn’t been since he’d discovered the intense love he had for Constance.
He bowed his head, and let his eyes flutter shut. Could Constance forgive him? Not just for Ashton’s will. He’d hurt her when he’d said he didn’t believe she was still in love with her husband. He’d been where she was at, knew denial was a person’s first reaction. He hadn’t believed he no longer loved Christine at first, either. Given the choice to stay or leave, Constance would leave. Whether he loved her or not, she’d leave. Just as he would have, not so long ago.
Chapter Twelve
“Is she sleeping?”
The whispered words might as well have been shouted, the way Ellis bolted out of his chair.
Constance stood at the foot of the bed, running a hand along Angel’s uninjured leg. The gown she wore was olive green with rows of tiny bits of lace running up and down the front, and made her look even lovelier than she had earlier.
Ellis took a breath to calm the racing in his chest. He glanced to his daughter, watched the way her chest rose and fell evenly before he replied, “Yeah, she’s sleeping.” His quivering voice box made his whispered answer scratch his throat. He coughed to relieve the pressure. “Constance.”
She didn’t turn his way; instead she closed her eyes with an agonizing slowness that made the swirling of his insides almost painful.
The chatter of the party below entered the room. Lost in his disheartened world, he’d forgotten about the holiday guests. Not that it mattered. Constance needed him, and he needed her. If only he could tell her how much.
He moved to her side. Tears rolled down her face. He wiped them away, and then drew her to his chest, where he held her tight. “Angel’s going to be fine,” he whispered.
“I know.” She sniffled and snuggled in deeper.
The sweet, vanilla scent wafting around him had the ability to make him lightheaded. Or maybe it was simply holding her. He kissed the top of her head. This was how things were meant to be, Constance in his arms. His love was so different this time. With Christine it had developed slowly over years of growing up and maturing, but with Constance, love had hit him like a train barreling downhill. The force and intensity had him unable to think of anything except her. He’d tried to fight it, had been since he’d seen her sitting on the chair outside of Link’s, but the battle was over.
He understood how precious the prize was, but he couldn’t claim it. Not right now. Constance needed time, and he had to give it to her. He folded his arms tighter around her slender form, absorbing the bliss of simply holding her.
Her arms around his waist tightened, and her sniffles grew stronger.
Ellis forced his mind to go beyond what he felt, and concentrate on her. Her crying continued to escalate instead of decline. He leaned back, cupped her chin with one hand. “Hey, there,” he whispered, while wiping at the steady trickle on her cheeks. “Angel’s fine. The worst is over.”
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut.
His heart balled into a hard knot, making every beat raw. In the brief moment he’d looked into her eyes, he’d seen a pain so deep he started to tremble. “Constance—”
Shaking her head, she stepped back, pushing on his chest. He let her go, reluctantly, and watched for a glimpse of her next move. She spun and headed toward the door. He followed, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Shrugging, she whispered, “Ellis, please.”
“Please what?” Confusion clouded in his mind. “Where are you going?”
“To pack.”
Incapable of moving, of even breathing, he watched her race out of the room. It seemed like an eternity before his wits returned. He ran then, out the door and down the hall. The door to her room was closing. He caught it before it shut.
She spun around. Her chin was thrust forward and her spine stiff, but it was a show. He saw deeper, into her very soul. It was like a slap in the face. The pain and loss were beyond anything he’d ever known, and there was more, a battle ensued inside her. He was the cause. He had pushed her too far, too fast.
The validity of it all stung his spirit. Deeply. Profoundly.
“Where are you going?” he asked, when capable. She was leaving and he had to let her. He loved her too much not to.
She glanced to the trunks stacked along the wall. “I’ve asked Jeb if I can ride to Ashton’s place with him this evening.”
Another day, another time, he’d watched one of those dome tops rock back and forth across the floor. In an odd way, the memory drew strength from the pit of his being. Someday, somehow, she’d be able to love him; he’d be here, waiting for her with open arms. His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles stung. He could do it. He’d wait for years if that’s what she needed.
“Just take what you need for a few days.” It was amazing how normal he sounded, since his insides were blubbering. “I’ll fix the hinges on your broken trunk and have it delivered to you.”
With those pain-filled eyes, she stared at him for several quiet moments before she whispered, “Thank you.”
His control was ebbing, fading with every second. He stepped closer and laid a hand upon her cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, but then leaned into his touch, pressing the softness of her cheek deep into his palm. “I—I’d like to come and see Angel in a few days.” She sniffled and caught her breath with a little sob. “If that’s all right.”
The desire to pull her close ate at his mind and body until he trembled. He had to swallow the log in his throat in order to answer. “Of course it’s all right. Anytime, night or day, and for as long as you want to stay.”
Her struggle was fierce. Confusion, fear, pain and a list of other things he could only imagine. It was on her face, in her shaky breathing, pouring from the depths of her eyes, and wrenching him in two.
This was by far the hardest thing he’d ever done, letting her go. But for her sake, he had no choice. In time she’d understand it was all right to move on, to love again, just as he had. Leaning forward he placed a kiss on her forehead. His lips didn’t want to leave her skin, and it was a combat of inner will to make them.
“Let me know when you need someone to haul your trunks down.” He was breaking from the inside out, and had to leave before he shattered.
Without looking back, he crossed the room, pulled open the door and grudgingly forced his feet over the threshold. He didn’t go downstairs, instead walked down the hall to his room. There he shut the door and moved
to the window where he stood, gazing at the snow-covered hill with blurred vision.
* * *
Three days later, Constance wondered how her body was able to function. Her heart hung so heavy in her chest, walking across the room made her breathless. Every part of her body hurt, making even the simplest tasks laborious.
After adding a log to the fire, she made her way back to the bed where she’d spent the majority of her time since arriving at Ashton’s home. The house was a one-room cabin, with the bed along one wall, the fireplace and table with two chairs in the center, and a large cook stove and newly built cupboards along the wall opposite from the bed. Upon arrival, Jeb had told her how Ashton had installed the stove a few days before he’d died. He’d also built the cabinets—all for her.
Ironically, the stove was the exact one Ellis had. Every time she looked at it, tears blistered her eyes. She’d done little more than cry for the past few days, and today, Christmas Day, would be no different. Sleep was the only thing that helped, for when she slept, she dreamed. Visions of Ellis refusing to let her leave Heaven on Earth filled her sleeping mind. In the far-off world of dreamland he proclaimed to love her, and she admitted her love for him. Nothing else mattered there. No memories haunted them, no past or present indifferences separated them. They just loved and laughed and lived. Her and Ellis and Angel.
Constance laid her head on the pillow, ready to go to that world again. Beckoning dreamland to ease the pain engulfing her, she cl
osed her eyes and waited for the visions to come.
A knock on the door startled her lids open. She stared at the rafters that held the roof overhead, wondering if they’d go away when she didn’t respond. It was likely Jeb or Miles—the two of them lived in a partitioned-off room in the barn—coming to check on her as they did two or three times a day.
The knock sounded again, and she swung her legs off the bed. She didn’t bother to straighten the covers, for as soon as she told them she was fine and didn’t need anything they’d leave and she’d return to the comforting dreams.
She did run both hands over her hair, to smooth it down and then push the front clumps behind each ear. Mustering a smile was impossible, so she simply pulled open the door.
Lula Mae’s eyes widened, going from Constance’s head to her stocking-covered toes. “Good Lord, girl!” The woman propelled into the house, kicking the door shut behind her. As soon as she set a large basket on the table, her hands were all over Constance’s face. “Are you ill?” Lula Mae continued to pat and probe. “You don’t seem to have a temperature, but it’s so cold in this place it’s hard to tell.”
Constance could do little more than stare. Seeing Lula Mae reminded her of the moment her heart had shattered. Similar to the punch bowl full of eggnog, her heart had hit the floor so hard it had splinted into a million pieces, leaving nothing except painfully sharp shards. It had happened when she’d walked out of Angel’s bedroom, accepting she couldn’t put off leaving any longer.
She was still numb, probably would be for the rest of her life.
“Here, sit,” Lula Mae demanded, leading Constance to the table. A blanket was draped over her shoulders before Lula Mae piled log after log into the fireplace. The woman then turned her attention to the cook stove. In no time, she had a fire blazing there, too, and a kettle of water sitting on the front burner.
“We’re going to have some tea,” Lula Mae said, opening the flap on the basket and pulling out a dainty porcelain pot decorated with yellow roses along with two matching cups and saucers.
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