“Mama…” she began to protest. Then she clipped her words, laying her head on her mother’s shoulder. She was just too tired to argue.
“Do you need to use the bathroom first?” Amanda inquired, as she’d done many times before putting Cassia to bed when she was a little girl.
“No, I’m good,” she said, yawning again.
“Then to bed with you.” Amanda helped Cassia off with the robe and adjusted the quilt for her to snuggle beneath. After tucking her in, Amanda climbed onto the bed, beside her. “You’d never take an afternoon nap unless I lay down with you, but right now I’d say we could both use a bit of shut-eye.” Stifling a yawn, she added, “I hope your father comes home soon as well, so he can get some sleep.”
Cassia rubbed her sleepy eyes. “He never thinks of himself.”
“That’s what he has me for,” her mother commented. “Why do you think a spouse is referred to as the better half? I’m his, and he’s mine. It will be that way for you and Brodie too. Now, roll over onto your side.”
Cassia obeyed, and her mother gently rubbed the lower region of her spine. Her tender touch made Cassia sigh as the tension left her body. For now, grief could take a break. She was safe, home in her bed, with her mother here to tend her. Whatever else transpired in the hours, days, or months to come, could wait. This was the time she needed to heal. Hope sprang, as she remembered her father’s words. God’s grace is greater than our woes. She will be counting on that grace, clinging to such a thought to get herself through this tragedy. And she would also care for her inner lamp, making sure it didn’t go dim so she could share the light of love, hope, and compassion with others.
Slowly Amanda brought her hand to rest upon Cassia’s backside. Back and forth she rocked her. “I used to soothe you like this when you were little, after you had a nightmare or felt ill.”
“I’m too old now for you to be rocking my bottom, Mama,” she mumbled, feeling her body grow limp with fatigue.
“Nonsense, you will never be too old for me to comfort, because you’ll always be my baby. And one day, when you’re a mother, you’ll know exactly what I mean,” her mother warned.
She smiled to herself, thinking of the time when she’d be holding her own baby close to her heart, and then sleep overtook her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The aroma of her mother’s cooking stirred Cassia’s hunger once again, this time waking her from her slumber. She sniffed the air—chicken stew and homemade bread, she deciphered, her stomach longing for a taste.
She glanced at the nightstand clock. It read five p.m. “Goodness, I’ve slept the day away,” she mumbled, stretching her bones before leaving the bed. She dressed in a casual, off white, pull-over top, and a yellow cotton skirt before slipping on a pair of moccasins Rising Sun made for her when she first returned from England. She arranged her hair with care, wanting to look presentable for Brodie, when he visited later. Truth be told, she was a little concerned he hadn’t already tried to call. His hesitation and remark about not yet being family left her unsettled. But then again everyone was in dire need of rest. He might still be sleeping himself, or simply decided not to disturb her.
When she entered the kitchen, her mother was busy at the stove, and her father sat reading the paper at the table. His specs hung down his nose as he scanned the page before him. “How long have you been home, Papa?”
His eyes rose to meet hers. “I returned about two hours ago.”
She frowned, taking a seat opposite him. “Then you haven’t gotten much sleep.”
“He hasn’t gotten any,” her mother chimed in, turning from a simmering pot on the stove, to glance annoyed at her father. “So, it will be an early bed call for you tonight.”
“Now, Amanda, don’t be coddling me so,” her father objected. “I’ve gone all night and day without sleep before, and it didn’t kill me.”
She knew why her mother worried. Joshua Holmes was well into his eighty-fifth year, though quite healthy and vibrant in many ways. Yet he was still a very elderly man, and going twenty-four hours without sleep could be detrimental.
“But I will do as you wish, and take myself to bed after dinner,” he reneged, always accommodating Amanda. “And how much longer will it be until the meal’s ready to be served?”
“Another thirty minutes should do it.” Amanda sliced the homemade bread on the cutting board.
“Good, just enough time, then.” Joshua set his glasses and the newspaper aside. Standing, he put out a hand to her. “Come with me, baby girl, as we need to talk.”
Once in the parlor, Joshua sat in his favorite stuffed chair, so old it fit the mold of his body. Cassia took a seat on the sofa. “First, I want you to know I spent a great deal of time with Trudy and her children. We talked, she reminisced about Alma Lee, and then we prayed.” He shook his head. “It won’t be easy for them, as swallowing the bitter taste of grief never is, but they are God-loving folks and their faith will help them through.” He sighed, sitting back in his chair. “I believe losing a child is the worst loss a person could endure. So many facets of that child’s life cross your mind…the times you cared for them as a baby, changing their diaper, feeding them a bottle and the bathing, rocking, reading bedtime stories. And then how you molded them as they grew, teaching them right from wrong, showing them how to be self-sufficient, and preparing them for adulthood.” His eyes filled with tears. “The eight years you were in England were very difficult ones for your mother and me. We missed you terribly. Many nights I’d catch your mother in your room, touching your pillow or hugging that old teddy bear you’ve had since you were five. I would have my moments as well. And yet, we knew you’d return to us, and we’d have more chances to love and enjoy you. I can’t imagine how Trudy must feel.”
She swallowed the tears stinging her throat. “How can you ever get over something like this, Papa?”
“You don’t, Cassia, but in time a person does learn to live with tragedy,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “Take into consideration your mother’s tragedies. She lost her mother at a very young age and saw her father slain by the Chiricahua. With all that heartache, she still managed to carry on after losing her home and having to conform to a way of life foreign to her upbringing. After being captured by the Chiricahua, stripped and humiliated, she rose up to fight them for her escape, shooting and killing one with an arrow. She lived in fear for her children when the Apache village was taken over by white agents…enduring their suppression, starvation, and secretly coping with one of her daughter’s rape. Then she was forced to send all her children away for their safety. Not to mention the eventual loss of Proud Eagle, and her being kidnapped by a Reservation Agent.”
She gasped. “Though I’ve always known these things have happened to Mama, I am still amazed upon hearing them. Her strength is more than admirable.”
“And those who don’t know her would never suspect anything so traumatic has ever happened to her. And the reason is she embraces life, doesn’t give up or give in because she grieves, and draws courage from the love she gives and takes from her family,” he added.
“And yet all the grief and horror is still there, lurking in the back of your mind or etched deep within your heart,” she countered. “I’ve seen it with the military men I tended during the war while in England. They suffer from shell shock—an aftermath of fighting, killing, and seeing their friends die in front of them. I’ve had nightmares myself just from caring for them and watching many succumb to their wounds. And now…and now…”
Her father reached out to take her hand. “Breathe. Take your time.”
“Now Alma Lee is dead, and I keep seeing Attwater’s face. How he leered down at me, what I knew he wanted to do to me, and then seeing him shot in the head.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “Papa, how do I… How will I get past it all?”
“By dwelling on the good things,” he said softly. “Your mother told me about the gypsies, how you saved two lives. In the scheme of th
ings, Attwater’s escape and you leaving the Boyds’ house alone despite the pending danger led up to you being in that gypsy camp at the right time to help a woman and her baby.”
“Just as you’ve always taught me to believe, there are no coincidences,” she mused aloud.
“Aye, baby girl,” he agreed. “And though we don’t always like or understand why things turn out the way they do, the Lord has good reason…a master plan far greater than anything we could imagine.”
“You always know what to say and when to say it, Papa. Constantly you offer others a plate full of nutritional food…only for the soul,” she reflected.
“I just trust in the Lord to guide my tongue,” he humbly admitted. He squeezed her hand affectionately. “And with that in mind, I need you to trust and have faith for those results destined to come. Shine a beacon of hope on those who need it, like the Boyds and Brodie.”
She frowned. “Brodie?”
“Aye,” her father said. “He’s having a hard time coming to grips with the fact he killed a man—monster or not—a life was taken by his hand. The fear he endured throughout last night’s search, and then coming upon Attwater attacking you, has left him with his own case of shell shock.”
She gasped. “How do you know all this, Papa?”
“After I left the Boyd’s homestead, I dropped Sean off at his house and decided to go in to talk with Brodie. Sean thought he’d be asleep, but I knew differently.”
“Why did you know differently?”
He arched a brow. “Because of what I said to Brodie before he left to search for you.” Joshua paused before continuing. “I told him to do whatever it took to save you…at all costs. And that’s just what he did.”
“And so, now you somehow feel you gave him your blessing to take the action he did?”
“Aye, though I’m sure he would have done the same with or without my permission, I still can’t help but feel responsible. And now the poor chap’s dealing with blood on his hands.”
She stood. “I must go to him.”
Joshua reached for her arm. “Nay, Cassia.” He pulled her down to sit back upon the sofa. “Brodie needs to think the matter through by himself tonight. So, if you’re expecting him to visit… Well, I don’t believe you’ll see him this evening.”
She sighed and nodded. “Were you able to comfort him any?”
“Aye, as we talked I could see some of the tension departing from his shoulders, and the creases along his brow relaxed,” he conveyed. “As I was leaving, Sean insisted he take something to sleep, so I’m hoping he listens to his father. Rest is what he needs…and time…and that goes for you as well.”
She stood, making her way closer to her father and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Papa, for always being there for me and everyone else. Truthfully, I don’t even want to think what I’d do without you.”
“God willing, you won’t have to worry about that for a while.” He returned her hug with one of his own.
“Yes, God willing,” she repeated.
It was just then her mother peeked around the door frame. “Dinner’s ready, my loves. So, come and get it while it’s hot.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cassia was given a reprieve from going to church the next morning, her father understanding her need to avoid the questions and gossip for which a small town is famous. It was only the second time in her life she missed services—as her father was quite strict about her and Amanda attending Sunday worship. A stomach ailment kept her home all those many years ago when she was just seven. Not being able to keep anything down or venture too far from the toilet granted her permission to remain home. Rising Sun had stayed with her then, while her mother accompanied Joshua to church. Today Cassia stayed home alone.
After the midafternoon meal, her father went into the bedroom to take a nap while she and Amanda sat in the parlor, working on an embroidery piece. At that point Brodie still hadn’t called her or come over, and her concern level rose.
“Give him time,” Amanda advised.
“I’m trying,” she said, forcing her focus on her sewing.
By late afternoon there was a knock on the back door. She took the call, her ankle much better and only giving her a slight limp. When she opened the door, she found Brodie standing on the stoop. His emerald green eyes still looked tired, and his russet curls were in disarray. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I love you, Brodie,” she whispered against his mouth before capturing his lips with a kiss.
His immediate response eased her heart, as he pulled her close and deepened the kiss. “Cassia, honey…marry me.”
She giggled. “I am, in October.”
“No, I mean sooner…much sooner.” He pulled back to search her face.
“Come into the garden where we can talk,” she advised. Once they were seated upon a bench, she probed further. “Why don’t you want to wait until October as planned?”
He took a deep breath. “Because I need to be beside you each night, not three streets away, wondering if you’re all right. I need…no, I want to touch you, make love to you, and be your family…the one called upon to take care of you…the only one you turn to when you need comfort.”
“But Brodie, I do turn to you,” she protested.
“No, no you don’t, Cassia… You didn’t… You turned to Gabriel. And I understand, because we’re not wed.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair and took another deep breath. “But you see, as your husband, I would rightly have been the one you would have turned to. I would have rocked you in my arms, carried you home, placed you in our bed, examined you, and bathed your wounds.”
Suddenly everything became perfectly clear. This incredible, loving man had killed for her, saved her life in the process, and yet she turned to her brother. “Brodie, my Brodie,” she whispered, taking his face between her hands. “If you only knew how much you mean to me, how many times I think of you when we’re not together. How I trust you and admire you, depend on you, need you, want you, and love you, you’d be so overwhelmed.”
“Then overwhelm me. I’ll welcome it. I want it. I want you.” He placed his hands over hers. “I want you in my arms, all night—every night, and then waking with you in the morning.”
“All right,” she decided. “When, then do you want to make me your wife?”
“Within six weeks…just enough time for me to fix up the apartment behind the General Store, and for you to have Olivia Beachum finish your gown.”
“What of the family members far away, especially my sister-in-law, Riley and niece, Anita and your best man, Paul? None of them will be able to attend on such short notice,” she pointed out.
“I talked to Gabriel this morning, and he’s leaving for England in two days to escort his wife and daughter back home. He said he needs her with him—feels empty without her around, and I can’t blame him. And as far as Paul goes… Well, the truth is, with all that’s been going on, I’ve yet to contact him. But I’ve decided I want family standing witness to my marriage instead. Someone who shares how much I love and care for you. So, I asked Gabriel to be my best man, and he agreed. Besides, in October, when your sister in England and the one in Ireland, and their families can travel here, we can have another big party.”
She smiled. “You’ve put a lot of thought into all of this.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else.”
Her smile broadened. “I can help with the apartment renovations, and I’m sure we can count on friends and family to chip in as well.”
His eyes twinkled, mirroring her excitement. “I’ve already decided on asking P.J. He’s devastated about forgetting his obligation to see you home, blames himself for it all. So, helping with the apartment can be part of his amends…outside of not being able to sit so well since his father gave him one hell of a thrashing.”
Moving her hands to fold in her lap, she lowered her gaze. “Poor P.J. In truth, he isn’t at fault for any of wh
at happened. I am.”
He lifted her chin with a finger. “That’s not true, honey.”
“Yes, Brodie, it is. I am completely responsible for leaving the Boyd home on my own. Trudy offered for me to stay, said John Tyler could drive me home when he got off duty, but I didn’t listen.”
“And because of that you were in the right place at the right time to save a woman and her baby,” he defended.
“Though that part may be true, I’m still responsible for Alma Lee’s death,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
He frowned. “How can you believe that?”
“Because it’s the truth, Brodie. That Friday afternoon, I encouraged Alma Lee to come along to buy material at the General Store. She was doing so well, had returned to her old self. And Ruth Ann wanted to make us all sundresses for the Strawberry Festival in two weeks. So, I thought it would please Alma Lee to pick her own material pattern. And all went well for the better half of the outing until Nora came into the store pushing her baby in the carriage. Alma Lee’s happy face dropped to her knees. So crestfallen and sad were her features, I wanted to cry. She neared Nora’s little son with a longing in her eyes, then admired the child with heartbreaking admiration.”
“Saints preserve us,” he whispered. “That poor, poor woman.”
“On the way home she didn’t talk, went back to staring as she’d done before. All the weeks of working with her, the challenges she tried to overcome, were all for naught,” she went on.
“You had no idea Nora would stop by the store with the baby,” he defended again.
“True, but I did know Alma Lee was very vulnerable. I should have given it more time before suggesting an outing.” Then, with the realization again of Alma Lee’s fragile state of mind, something horrible struck her thoughts. “Brodie, didn’t you say her body was found by the creek?”
“Yes,” he said.
She gasped. “Oh dear Lord, I think Alma Lee meant to drown herself, her depression and sorrow just too much for her to bear any further.”
The Last Bloom Page 27
