My Forever Love

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Slowly, he looked around her bedchamber, seeing a pretty blue night robe trimmed in white lace hanging from the back of her door. Her scuffed riding boots stood in a corner by an oak armoire, and beside that sat the small chest he’d made for her out of rosewood and cedar. She said she kept his letters in the trunk, and he wondered if she’d reread the notes and lingered over them as he had done with her letters.

  A small mahogany flip top dressing table stood against the wall opposite the bed, and Adam imagined Rebecca sitting there brushing her long hair. A small and worn book sat on the right side of the table, with her worry stone resting atop it. He picked up the small nugget, noting that it was lighter than his own stone, that the shape and the grooves had a different flow, a different feel than the ones he knew so well in his own stone. Knowing that Rebecca had held and rubbed the stone, worried the smooth channels as she faced her problems and challenges, made him ache.

  Adam didn’t like to think that Rebecca had worried or hurt or wanted for anything, but he knew she had. She’d probably kept most of those concerns to herself, mulled them over right here in her room. This had been her chamber for two decades, and her light lavender scent lived in the bedding and the rose colored curtains and the floral wallpaper. In this pretty little room, she slept, dressed, read his love letters, and studied the veterinarian skills she was learning. She daydreamed here about marrying him, having their children, and traveling to Crane Landing and the other places Adam had told her about. To realize that all her dreams could end in this tiny room made Adam’s throat constrict around a wad of grief.

  He clutched her stone in his hand, remembering their last moments together.

  Rebecca’s pain-filled groan snapped him around. He leaned over and clasped her hand, the worry stone between their palms.

  “I’m here, love.” He said the words with strength and purpose, hoping that she could hear, could understand that he would help her bear whatever agony and discomfort gripped her.

  For a moment, she seemed to listen, but her eyes didn’t open. Her forehead scrunched, and she released another moan and rolled her head left as if trying to escape the pain.

  Adam couldn’t bear to see her hurting. He shot to the top of the stairs. “Doc Milton! Rebecca is stirring!”

  Before the doctor could heave himself from the wingback chair, Radford raced to the top of the stairs, his eyes filled with dread.

  “She moaned, sir,” Adam said, regretting that his shout had scared Radford. “I hope it means she’s waking up.”

  In three strides, Radford ducked into Rebecca’s room. He sat beside her and cupped her face. “Come on, sprite. Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

  Adam leaned in the doorway, watching Radford plead with his daughter. Seeing the man’s anguish twisted Adam’s gut. He, too, felt that helpless feeling, that intense love, that sickening fear that was reflected in Radford’s eyes.

  Doc Milton stepped past Adam and quickly tended to Rebecca. He checked her eyes, her breathing, her heart, and her head wound, then sat back on the edge of the bed. “She’s still out, but she’s feeling pain now. Might mean she’s coming around. Might just mean she’s hurting. I’ll give her a small dose of laudanum to ease her suffering a bit.”

  After he administered the opiate, the doctor checked her pulse and looked down in surprise. “What’s this?” He turned Rebecca’s palm toward the ceiling. Using his thumb, he inspected the object wobbling in her lightly closed fist. “It appears to be a... rock of some sort.”

  Adam’s heartbeat doubled. Their worry stones had been one of many secrets the two of them had shared. He would hate to have something so special be revealed under such awful circumstances.

  Evelyn, who had entered the room behind the doctor, shrugged and said she didn’t know what it was.

  Radford shook his head, appearing as confused as Evelyn and the doctor. “Maybe one of the children put it there.”

  Doc Milton harrumphed. “Whatever it is,” he said, “it seems to bring her some comfort.”

  A sad smile lifted one corner of Radford’s mouth. “I’m sure this is one of her treasures,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “From the time she was a baby, she dragged in more sticks and stones and leaves than an old hound dog. She’d make a fuss about every item and show me in detail why they were worth keeping.” He stood silent for a minute as if lost in thought. “She sees beauty in everything around her.”

  “She’s a special young lady, for certain.” The doctor left the stone resting between Rebecca’s palm and lax fingers as he turned his attention back to her head dressing. “There is some good news, Radford. The bleeding has stopped.”

  Layers of white muslin dressing wrapped Rebecca’s head. Her long hair flowed from beneath the bandage and down over her pillow and shoulders where it formed a shiny black pool. Adam ached to stroke her face, hold her hand and comfort her, but it was Radford’s time now, so Adam stepped aside.

  Adam’s grandmother took the three youngest children home with her to spend the night. Will and Josh tended to chores in the livery while Adam talked with Radford.

  They waited in the parlor while Evelyn freshened Rebecca’s bedding and gave her a sponge bath, neither of them having much to say.

  Throughout the last decade, Adam had spent many hours in this parlor talking with Radford about the sawmill business. They had discussed Adam attending university and how he planned to build a house for Rebecca. They talked about helping neighbors and just about every subject one could think of. Their conversations had always come so easily. Now, they seemed to have nothing to say to one another, each of them lost in thought and emotionally exhausted.

  Will came inside and joined them in the parlor. He told his father about a loose shoe on one of their horses and that he had gotten the last stall repaired. After getting a nod of thanks and little response from his father, and even less conversation from Adam, the boy gave up and headed outside to the porch.

  The hours deepened into dawn. By turns, Radford and Adam drifted off until their chins hit their chests or their loud snoring jerked them awake. The silent house smelled of over-brewed coffee, but Adam got up and poured himself a cup. He took it to the porch where Will was asleep on the porch swing.

  Adam sat in a wide chair at the opposite end of the porch and watched the sun rise. The pale light lit the apple orchard between Radford’s home and his mother’s house on the other side. Evelyn Tucker and her parents had been neighbors with the Graysons for several decades and had raised their children together. They must have faced hard times like this, times when they were scared and the future was uncertain. Maybe that’s why Grandma Grayson was able to keep everyone from falling apart. Maybe those other times had taught her how to handle the fear and uncertainty.

  Maybe it was simply age that helped a person learn that skill. Doc Milton had that ability to take charge and tend to the necessary without the jangled nerves and emotional upheaval that Adam and the others were experiencing.

  Or was it simply because they weren’t eaten up with guilt?

  The dark coffee settled like acid in Adam’s empty stomach. He should have never let Rebecca come to the mill.

  Chapter Six

  She came awake slowly, to the fragrant smell of coffee and an unbearable ache lodged deep in her head. Something cold touched her lips, and she searched with her mouth, welcoming the coldness that wet her tongue.

  “I’m here, Rebecca...”

  His calm voice and cool hand flowed over her like a deep, soothing river. She concentrated on the gentle stroke of his fingers, willing the claw around her head to unlock its painful talons.

  “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.”

  She fought to open her eyes, to resist the shadows that flickered at the edge of awareness. Coolness washed over her face, and she licked the dew from her lips.

  “Please... wake up while I’m with you,” he requested, a gentle urgency in his voice.

  She basked in the comfort his hands offer
ed, instinctively seeking his tender touch.

  His voice drew her, compelled her to see the man stroking her cheek. She peered at him through slits, as though peeking between the cracks of an old horse stall.

  His image burned into her mind like an etching on a daguerreotype plate. Sculpted cheekbones. Proud nose. A solid chin in need of a shave. Brown almond-shaped eyes that seemed to look into her soul.

  She glanced beyond his shoulder to the fading light outside the curtained window and then returned to her surroundings. She lay in a bed in a pretty room with floral wallpaper and three tall doors that led to who knew where? To her right was a small vanity with a small mirror and a nightstand holding a pretty lamp. Beyond that stood an armoire and on the floor beside it sat a heavy wooden chest of some sort.

  “Rebecca, please talk to me. I need to hear your voice.”

  Rebecca? The intensity in his eyes kept her silent.

  She struggled to push herself upright, but a jagged bolt of pain cut through her head. She fell back on the pillow, panting, her skull feeling as if it was splitting into two halves.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” he said.

  She grasped his hand, but she couldn’t hold onto him as he stood. “Who you are?” she croaked, her voice strained and hoarse. She rolled her throbbing head, wondering at her jumbled words, her muddled thinking.

  His eyebrows lifted as if she’d just surprised him. “Who am I?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Are you playing with me, Rebecca?”

  She shook her head, but the movement sickened her and the edges of her vision grew black. Dizziness washed over her and her head lolled.

  Somewhere a door closed and slow footsteps approached. She struggled to open her eyes, but her lids were weighted. Her fingers twitched and she tried to lift her arm, but it, too, felt leaden. The footsteps stopped beside her.

  “My love, you have a lot of people waiting for you to awaken.”

  The man's voice came to her like soft rain upon her face, cool... soothing... gentle. An image appeared in the mist. Brown, compassion-filled eyes beckoned her, compelled her to trust him.

  The gentle touch of his palm on her forehead eased the tension in her shoulders. Coolness washed over her face, and she tasted water on her tongue. She sucked the wet cloth into her mouth, wanting more of the precious liquid.

  “Just a little for now.” Cool water dribbled over her dry lips into her parched mouth. “Does that help?”

  She tilted her face and welcomed the dribble of water that crossed her lips. Sighing, she lifted her lashes and looked into his dark, worried eyes.

  “It's good to see your eyes open. You’ve been sleeping a very long time.”

  She blinked, but his image remained blurry. Who was this man sitting on her bed, gazing at her, all rugged and handsome? And who was the woman standing behind him who seemed to be on the verge of tears?

  He set the water glass and cloth aside and smiled down at her. “You think you might remember me now?”

  She didn't dare answer.

  His smile faded. “Rebecca, you’re scaring me to death. Please tell me you know who I am.”

  She struggled to sit up, gasping in pain as her head throbbed and the muscles in her aching body protested. She gritted her teeth and forced herself up on her elbows.

  He and the woman assisted her and then propped two fat pillows behind her shoulders. “Lean back and rest,” the woman said, her voice kind and comforting. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”

  In too much pain to argue, she watched the man as intensely as he was regarding her. “What happened to me?” she asked, her voice little more than a croak.

  “You were unseated by your horse and cracked your head on an oak log.”

  It felt as if her head had been split in half. She tried to remember, but everything was a jumble, and her mind was as empty of memory as her body was full of pain.

  She couldn’t remember one single thing from before the man had awakened her. Not one thing. She lurched upright, trembling with weakness and fear as her thoughts ran straight into a black hole. She began to panic.

  The room began to spin.

  Sick to her stomach, she sagged forward against him. Questions rolled through her like the waves of nausea creating havoc in her stomach and her mind.

  He held her gently as her head lolled against his chest. “I’ve got you, darling.”

  As waves of dizziness washed over her, she clung to him, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat beneath her ear. Sweat prickled her face and neck. Her head lolled forward and her stomach rolled. She gagged and raised shaking fingers to her mouth, sagging fully into his arms.

  “Are you ill?” He reached out and lifted an empty wash basin from the nightstand.

  She gritted her teeth against her rising nausea, but lost her battle.

  Deftly, he lowered her to the mattress and held her hair as she retched bile into the hand basin.

  “I'm sorry, love.”

  Sweat burst from her pores and washed her with chills as dry heaves overtook her. Fire shot through her ribs each time her stomach contracted with long, agonizing shudders that stole her breath.

  He stroked her shoulder and arm, whispering apologies each time she moaned from the excruciating pain that wracked her body. Even when she fought to keep the sound inside, he seemed to know, to touch her, to cup his palm over her tender shoulders. Tears streamed from her eyes and cannons seemed to explode in her head.

  An eternity passed before the dry heaves subsided. Finally, she wilted onto the mattress, wasted.

  He wiped the perspiration and tears from her face with his bare palm.

  She placed a trembling hand on her chest. “Who I am?” she asked, struggling with the slippery words.

  His eyes darkened. “You don’t know?”

  For several seconds she frantically tried to summon her name, but every query for an answer disappeared into the black void where her memories should be. Every piece of her life that came before she’d opened her eyes with this man at her side was gone... including her name.

  She rolled her head from side to side as pain hammered her skull.

  His face paled and a sick look filled his expression. “Oh, Rebecca...”

  “You are who?” she asked, keeping her breath shallow to spare her aching head. She needed to know who he was, and more importantly who she was.

  He sighed and moisture brimmed in his eyes. “You’re Rebecca Grayson, and I’m Adam—the man you’ve promised to marry.”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think past the gut-punch of shock. She’d never seen him before in her life. Everything was sideways and mixed up in her head and she hurt so badly she wanted to weep from the pain.

  A pretty woman entered the room dressed in a plain spring green, day dress. “The doctor will be right up.” She clasped Rebecca’s hands in her own, her eyes filled with tender concern. “You have given us a terrible scare, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca... Her name was Rebecca? The throbbing pain in her skull made it difficult to think, but apparently she belonged here with these kind people.

  A very tall, very handsome man entered the room and stopped cold when her eyes met his. “Sprite...” He’d whispered the name as if he couldn’t get his breath. He leaned down and cupped her cheek in his large, warm palm. “You have scared twenty years off my life.”

  Her gaze bounced between the three of them hovering over her. Confused, overwhelmed, and filled with pain, she shrank back into the damp bedding.

  The man named Adam got to his feet and spoke to the tall man at her bedside. “You should know that Rebecca doesn’t remember me,” he said, as if someone had just died. “I don’t think she remembers any of us.”

  The tall man’s jaw dropped.

  The woman’s green eyes widened. “You know us, don’t you, sweetheart?” she asked.

  The only thing she—Rebecca—knew was pain. Her head pounded and her words were so jumbled all she could manage to sa
y was, “No.”

  Adam stood on the porch, staring into the twilight with his thoughts whipped into chaos like debris in a whirlwind.

  Rebecca didn’t know him.

  She didn’t remember their love or the million small moments they had shared together.

  There was no recognition in her eyes when she looked at him, no friendship, no playful flirting, no love. To her, Adam was a stranger. They had never met, never shared their dreams, or laughed together. All he’d seen in her eyes was pain.

  “Am I interrupting?” her brother, Will, a dark-haired, brown-eyed younger version of Radford, asked as he sat on the porch railing across from Adam.

  Shaking his head, Adam released a weary sigh.

  “I know Doc Milton warned us that head injuries are tricky, but I never expected this.” Will shoved his fingers into his dark brown hair. “It just seems... impossible.”

  Adam nodded. “I know.”

  “I can’t forget my father’s expression when Rebecca said she didn’t know him. I stood in the doorway with Doc Milton feeling as if I’d been punched in the forehead. That look on my father’s face was... it was just...” Will shook his head as if to snap himself out of his stupor. “I’ll never forget it.”

  Neither would Adam—because he felt that same terrifying despair that had been in Radford’s eyes.

  “Doc Milton warned us to take this a day at a time,” Will said, “but it’s like being trapped in a nightmare. All I want is for it to end.”

  It was worse than a nightmare because it was real. Adam’s mind flashed back to Rebecca’s accident, seeing her tumble backward, being too far away to save her, and he wanted to weep with regret. Instead, he met Will’s concern-filled eyes. “There is nothing easy about this, but we have to be strong and help Rebecca. She’s hurt and scared. Hopefully a couple days of healing and bed rest will put her mind right and ease her pain.”