The Thorn Keeper

by Pepper D. Basham

  She faced him, her breath shallow. “I think you ought to change the subject.”

  “Excellent notion,” he agreed, pulling his gaze from her lips and back to her eyes. “What if we talk of war?”

  “Well, that will certainly cool the conversation to a proper temperature.” She laughed and looked up at him.

  Her face had grown so precious, her conversation and friendship a necessity in his life. How could he convince her of his choice to leave her behind and help his father? His country?

  “What is it?” She studied him, a sudden wariness tightening her expression. “No, I don’t think we should talk of war, after all. Let’s speak of the beauty of the day or the welcome change of Mrs. Brock as the cook over the one at Roth, but let’s not talk of war.”

  “We must.”

  She stood and walked to the entryway of the gazebo, her fingers to her head. “Why must we? People volunteer to serve. They’re not forced to go.”

  “But some are compelled by the love they have for their family, for their country. It’s a sense of duty and honor to serve.”

  She turned on him, eyes on fire. “What about your duty to the hospital? And the ones you love who are here?” She gestured toward the house. “Isn’t this also your duty?”

  “Catherine.”

  “We see the horrific results of this war every day. The pain, dismemberment, the death.” She gripped the railing, her hands shaking. “What if you…”

  He stood and walked toward her. “We could die anywhere, any day. Whether on the battlefield, in an automobile, by a Zeppelin attack. None of us are promised the next breath, but we are expected to do what we can with the breaths we have.”

  She searched his face, the pain in her eyes searing like a knife through his chest. “Can’t you do those things here? With me?”

  “Oh, Catherine.” He attempted to take her into his arms, but she stepped out of his reach.

  “You shouldn’t have given me hope of your love and a future when now…now—”

  He took her by the shoulders. “You still have my love and our future. Don’t kill me off and bury me before I even leave.” He gave her shoulders a little shake. “I serve to secure our future, not to end it, and I plead for your blessing.”

  “My blessing?” She closed her eyes, and tears slipped from beneath her lashes. A shudder passed through her, trembling his hands and resolve. “When do you hope to leave?”

  He drew in a breath for strength. “I plan to be off within a week.”

  Her hand went to her chest, and she released a sound like a whimper. “A week?”

  “The sooner I can help, the better.”

  She turned away from him, her shoulders bent to bear this burden, and he felt her pain. All the way to his core.

  “You mean to leave before Christmas?”

  “Lives are lost, lives I might save if I can treat them early enough.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, attempting to comfort her in some way. “Which brings me to another request.”

  Her body tensed. “I don’t know that I care to hear anything else from you.”

  He leaned his cheek against her head and whispered near her ear. “Marry me?”

  Well, that certainly evoked a response. She turned and blinked up at him as if he’d gone ’round the bend. “Marry you?”

  “Before I leave.” He took her face in his hands, trying to make her understand. “Let me be your husband and father to this child.”

  “You’re mad if you think, just because you’re leaving, that I will drop everything and marry you.” The fight in her words didn’t match the concern in her eyes. Perhaps she didn’t have much fight left.

  One could pray.

  “This war is only influencing the speed at which we marry, not the reason. I love you. I’ve loved you since I took your hand to pray at your sister’s bedside.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb and dashed away a few more tears. “You already have my heart, let me give you my name as well so that the baby will have a name too.”

  The glint in her furious resolve crumbled a little. “Exactly how is a woman supposed to say ‘no’ to a request like that?”

  “She’s not.” He grinned, touching his lips to hers for a moment. “She’s supposed to say yes and put the poor fool out of his misery, then kiss him to ensure there’s no doubt.”

  She looked down at his lips with a raised brow, then stepped out of his arms. “It is my understanding men do ridiculous things when they’re off to war.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, warming her cheek with his lips. “I’m not someone who makes rash decisions.”

  “I seem to influence your impulsivity.” Her voice turned breathless.

  “Only in the best ways.” Without hesitation, he drew her close until their faces were inches apart. “This is the right choice, Catherine. You and me. I’ll leave knowing that when I return, you’ll be here.”

  She touched his face, her gaze pleading in ways her words didn’t. It tore through him into a gaping wound, an ache.

  “And your dream? This hospital?”

  “I’ve only waited to leave until the hospital reached a stable place. It’s found that here at Beacon House. We have plenty of staff to cover my absence and—”

  “What?” She pushed out of his arms, shaking her head. “Do you mean to tell me you’re leaving because of Beacon House?”

  “It’s what we all wanted. A new hospital, closer to town, with the space and facilities we need.” He’d just asked the woman to marry him, and she was angry over Beacon House?

  “I can’t believe this!” She stepped back until she hit the gazebo railing. “If I’d known securing you a site for the hospital would send you off to war, I’d never have given you my house.”

  “Your house?”

  She pinched her mouth closed, her eyes circling to the size of a two pound. “I mean…”

  “Beacon House is yours?”

  Her shoulders sagged forward in resignation. “It was my inheritance from Grandmama.”

  “You’re the benefactress?” He stepped back, trying to digest the news. All this time, he’d thanked God for the generosity of this unknown patron, while Catherine stood before him, giving away her inheritance. “You’re wealthy now? You made all this happen?”

  The truth about Beacon House confirmed her love more than words ever could. She’d given him a dream, and now…now he wanted to return the favor. His smile grew with a realization. By not only making her his wife, but fulfilling her dream.

  Love.

  How could he make her see?

  “I didn’t plan on you leaving as soon as the hospital became more established, I can assure you of that. I just wanted you to be happy.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, the tears in her eyes a contradiction to the defiance in her stance.

  “And if you married me, you’d make me the happiest man in the world.”

  Her lip quivered, but she made no other response. His beautiful, broken, stubborn woman!

  An idea emerged into a plan. “I see the way of it. The reason why you won’t marry me.” He had to convince her of how ridiculous her arguments were.

  “My reason? For what? For being angry at you for stealing my heart only to break it by leaving?”

  “No,” he sighed, backing away and looking down at the floor. “Why you refuse to marry me.”

  She dashed a tear away and sniffled. “Pray tell, what is the reason then?”

  “A wealthy lady such as yourself wouldn’t wish to marry a penniless surgeon.”

  She stared at him a full five seconds before responding. “Oh, David, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s true. Perhaps our relationship was fine when we were equals, both struggling, but now…” He gestured toward her and the house beyond. “How can I compare to what you have? I see I’ve truly been played the fool.”

  She marched up to him and placed her hands on her hips, her gaze a fiery blue. “David Ross, I have neve
r heard anything so utterly preposterous in all my life. I fell in love with you well before my inheritance, and I shall love you far beyond this war. I’d marry you if I was the queen and you were a pauper, and there’s nothing you can say about it.”

  “You love me?” He pulled her into his arms.

  Her eyes widened, caught. “I…”

  “That’s what I heard. I also heard you’d marry me.”

  She frowned, but didn’t fight him. “Love you? Of course, I love you. It’s the only thing keeping me from slapping this idiotic notion out of that stubborn head of yours.”

  He nudged her chin up with his thumb and snuck another kiss. “How soon could you be ready, because I’m fairly certain, war or not, I have no desire to wait any longer to make you mine?”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, an embrace he inwardly declared as his personal favorite. He lowered his lips to her hair and drew in a deep breath of lavender and Catherine.

  “Three days,” she whispered, tightening her hold. “I’ll marry you in three days, but promise me one thing.”

  He leaned back to see her face. “Anything.”

  “You’ll come back to me.”

  It was an odd experience, preparing one’s heart for a wedding with a cloud of sadness nipping at one’s heart. Catherine plucked at the delphiniums in the garden, gathering the last ones to use as decoration for the ceremony tomorrow. The days moved too quickly toward David’s inevitable departure. Each glance, each moment, became suddenly more meaningful and tender. The ‘stolen’ ones were filled with more whispered endearments than breathtaking kisses, though David still managed to inspire many of those.

  But in the late afternoon, Catherine reveled in the solitude.

  The weather had turned steadily colder since David’s proposal, a chill to hint at the upcoming distance, but she couldn’t ponder on the future beyond the wedding. She refused the tears any more access and snipped away at the lovely purple-hued flowers with renewed vigor.

  “How are you?” Ashleigh knelt down beside her.

  Catherine swiped the back of her hand over her brow. “I’m trying to keep my mind preoccupied.”

  “I can see how that might be less painful.”

  Catherine sat back, glancing up at the sky. “I don’t know that anything can make this less painful.”

  Ashleigh placed her hand over Catherine’s. “You’re getting married tomorrow. Married, dear sister. You’re beginning a beautiful journey with a wonderful man.”

  Catherine looked down at the scattered flowers. “For how long? We have three days together before the train takes him away.” She challenged the hope Ashleigh peddled. “What if three days is all I’ll ever have?”

  Tears glistened in her sister’s eyes. “Do you love him?”

  “Yes.” Catherine’s breath shuddered out in a quiet, broken sob. “Yes, I love him.”

  “Then celebrate these days enough to last a lifetime instead of grieving a lifetime in these few days.” She took the clippers from Catherine’s hands and placed them in her basket. “God has given you one of the greatest blessings a human can know—the opportunity to love someone, truly and deeply. Don’t squander your love on fears and worries. Seize the moments you have.”

  The tears came then, hard and uncontrollable. Ashleigh wrapped her in her arms. “Do you know what I’m celebrating tomorrow? I’m celebrating having my sister again. I’m celebrating God’s redemption of all the time we lost and the healing power of this love He’s showered on us.”

  Catherine pulled back to look at her, blinking against the tears. “He has.”

  “I’m celebrating how He’s used your passion and past to make miracles happen, not only for the women in this town, but for this hospital.”

  “Miracles?”

  Ashleigh nodded through her tears. “And I’m celebrating the sweet union of two amazing people who plan to spend the rest of their lives together, no matter how long those lives may be.” She rested her palms on Catherine’s shoulders, steadying her. “But I plan to celebrate, because those moments of celebration are the balm of comfort in our heartaches, and a sweet caress in our sufferings.”

  Catherine lowered her gaze, the realization a healthy reprimand. Only a few weeks ago, she’d raged against David’s love for her, feeling undeserving and scarred, and now? Now she fought against Providence with a fury because she thought he wasn’t giving her what she deserved. Oh faithless heart! “You’re right. I’m wallowing in what might be instead of reveling in what is.” She smiled. “I’ve so many things to celebrate.”

  Ashleigh reached for the clippers and perched a brow. “And a man who desperately loves you.”

  Catherine’s smile grew, the revelation dawning fresh and strong to beat against her fears. “Yes, he does, poor man. Thank you.”

  “It’s what sisters are for.” She wiggled her brows with anticipation. “So, let’s finish these flowers and decorate a church.”

  Catherine looked up at the sky, sending a silent prayer to Heaven, her heart full with forgotten gratitude. “And let’s have a wedding.”

  David would never forget his first look at his bride as she approached him down the aisle of the small country church. Her simple white gown made such a stark contrast to her ebony hair and red lips, and somehow reminded him of Christmas. And the French tulle veil, a gift from Madame Rousell, hung like an intricate halo over her beautiful face.

  Apart from grace, God couldn’t have given him a better gift.

  The gathering had been small, the service unpretentious but filled with assurances from Scripture about the promise they made to each other. And then, the most remarkable thing happened. When the pastor made the final announcement, something in David shifted. A deep-set awareness of not only his promise, but also his freedom.

  Catherine became his wife. He now reserved the honor of protecting her, providing for her, loving her, and enjoying her with abandon. He took his time appreciating every curve and dip of her body as they rode from the church to her cottage, their haven for the next three days. Mr. Coates brought the car up to the door and then left them alone.

  Alone with Catherine, and it was perfectly acceptable—in fact, the idea awakened an odd combination of longing and sweltering anticipation. He took her hand and drew her through the narrow doorway into a cozy sitting room. The fireplace already flamed with a healthy fire and someone, most likely Mrs. Bradford or the new housekeeper for the cottage, Miss Potter, had made certain to leave a meal on the table in the adjoining room. A few chairs stood by the fire, as well as an elegant settee, large enough for two. The thought inspired a grin.

  He took her coat and hung it on a hook by the door, appreciating anew the beauty of his bride as she stood before him in her gown for his own private viewing.

  His thoughts spiraled into uncharted territory.

  “I believe Mrs. Bradford and my sister thought of everything.” Catherine filled the silence, her gaze faltering. “It seems all we need to do is…enjoy each other’s company.”

  His plans exactly. He drew her wrist up to his mouth and placed a lingering kiss against the lavender scented place. Her intake of breath each time he performed this simplest of pleasures encouraged him to trail kisses up her arm to the elbow where her sleeve began, and this time, he did. There was no need to stop with one touch or kiss. No need to listen for voices in the hall or fear a disruption. “I think we can manage that, don’t you?”

  He’d expected a little of the feisty Catherine to appear, so this nervous bride awakened a somewhat predatory flint inside of him. The lover. The pursuer. Oh yes, he’d manage just fine.

  “I have music.” Catherine whispered, her smile softened with shyness. “But first, let me help you with your coat.”

  He turned to remove his coat and suit jacket, but before he could face her again, she stopped him by wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her body pressed into his back and her breath warmed his shoulder. “I l
ove you, Dr. Ross.”

  Those words, uttered so sweetly, turned him around and soothed a bit of the inner-predator. He tipped her chin up and brushed a kiss against her lips. “I’ve loved you since our first prayer together. You stood there, bearing your soul, challenging my faith, with beautiful authenticity—”

  “And lostness.”

  “Not anymore, my dear Kat.” He chuckled. “And all that time, my heart knew you were meant for me from the start. My hard head took some time to catch up.”

  She cupped his cheek, touching a chaste kiss to his chin. “We both suffer from the same malady, I’m afraid. A solid dose of stubbornness.”

  He grinned and looked at her beautiful hair, swept into a mass on her head. “May I take down your hair?”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  He took a loose tendril hanging by her temple and slid it between his fingers. “Please, allow me the honor of taking down your hair.”

  She stared up at him, her smile halted by surprise, and then she took his hand. Slowly, she guided him through the small dining area and up a narrow flight of stairs to a door which led into a large bedroom. The bed took up most of the room and offered much more space than the settee downstairs, and tempted his imagination. She brought him to a dressing table and then she took a seat in front of the mirror.

  “Do you know what to do?”

  Having a mother and sister helped him a little. Carefully, he began the process, reveling in the intimacy of this touch and distracted by watching her reaction in the mirror.

  Each pin released another strand of loose, black curls falling around her shoulders against the white gown. If his fingers brushed the bare skin around her neck, she’d shiver and close her eyes, as if the touch brought pleasure with it.

  It did to him too.

  As he removed the last pin, he stepped back, captivated. “You’re beautiful.”

  Her breath shivered, holding his gaze through the reflection. “You make me feel beautiful.”

  He trailed a hand through her hair, loose and heavy. “It’s no hardship, I assure you.”