His brows rose. “I’ve heard going back to the location of memories can encourage them to return.” He stood. “Perhaps it would be worth a try?”
His answer brought her smile back, which kept him agreeing to ridiculous things like following her into a bedroom. Then the thought of a bedroom had his rebel gaze taking inventory of her body with the same vulture thoughts of the soldiers.
“If location inspires memories, I know the perfect place.”
“Yes?” He couldn’t look away, somehow feeling a connection to her. It didn’t make sense.
“Come with me.”
He hesitated and then followed her through the house. They stepped back to the terrace and wound down the stairs, walking over the pebbled path of the garden. A gazebo stood in a solitary corner of the garden, and a flash of memory shot through his mind. Miss Dougall sitting on the bench, looking up at him in surprise.
“We’ve been here.”
She turned and followed his gesture to the gazebo. “Yes, in fact that’s where you—” She stopped and continued her walk. “We had an intense discussion about The Front and the future.”
And much more in between, he’d wager.
She opened the garden gate, and sudden fear seized him. The open field beyond the garden wall, and the surrounding forest, brought on a panic.
“I can’t.”
She turned. “What?”
He shook his head, backing away from the gate. “I can’t go out there.”
She took his hand, giving it a gentle tug. “Of course you can. You’ve done it many times.”
“No. No, I…I can’t.”
She tightened her grip on his hand, her eyes pleading. “Please. I know it will help you. It’s an important place for us. If the gazebo—”
“Leave me alone.” He jerked his hand free and ran toward the house, half in fear of the forest beyond the wall and half from the pain he’d caused Catherine Dougall.
Catherine slammed the door to her cottage and marched to her desk. A small white pot, filled with peppermint, sat on the table nearby. She stared at it through a haze of fury and tears. With one quick movement, she snatched up the pot and flung it across the room. It crashed into the opposite wall, spilling mint and dirt onto the wooden floors.
She raised her palms to the ceiling. “Why?”
She dropped to her desk and shoved her hands through her hair, squeezing her throbbing head. “How can you love me and do this? How can you love David and leave him with this gaping hole in his past?”
Her violent scream crashed into sobs as she lowered her head back into her hands. “Why?”
She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, her heart warring with emotions of every color, every rage. In the silence, a question whispered through her spirit. Have you forgotten also?
She straightened, searching the room for something, someone. The whisper washed through her spirit again. Do you love me?
Her eyes shot wide, and she blinked back a new rush of tears.
A knock at her door sent her to her feet, her pulse in her throat.
“Catherine?”
Ashleigh rounded the doorway, taking inventory of the room. “Oh, Catherine, I’m so sorry.”
Catherine turned away to the window, her fist pinching into her palm. “There’s nothing to be done.”
“Of course there is.” Ashleigh walked over to the decimated pot and began gathering the shattered pieces from the floor. “I’ve read some things about head injuries, and there is a great deal of hope with David. It will take time and support. Your support.”
Catherine kept her back to her sister, pressing her fist into her chest to stay her tears. “I hurt him when trying to help. He…he looked terrified of something beyond the wall, and then he…” She sighed. “He doesn’t want to see me.”
“He may have random paranoia associated with head injuries.”
Catherine turned as Ashleigh swept up the dirt from the floor. “I…I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You’re not, sister dear.” Ashleigh took the mint plant’s remains and brought a soup bowl out of the cupboard. “He’s confused right now.”
She shot her sister a glare. “He’s not the only one.”
Ashleigh replanted the mint in the soup bowl. “I know you want to fix this. That’s what you do. You fix things.” She rounded the table. “But you can’t repair this. None of us can. The only thing we can do is wait, trust God, and….”Ashleigh took a deep breath. “And love David.”
Trust God? Catherine turned back to the window. He allowed this to happen. How could she trust him?
“Do you love him?”
“Of course I do.” She answered with enough venom to send Ashleigh back a step.
Ashley hesitated, and then drew close again. “Then love him.” She placed her hand on Catherine’s arm, her eyes glazed with a sheen of unshed tears. “God works miracles through love.”
“Miracles? Why would he work a miracle in something he allowed to happen in the first place?” She scoffed, but the wisdom in her sister’s eyes, the scars she tended beneath a past of pain, humbled Catherine. Who was she to complain when her sister didn’t? “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“I love you, but even more than my love or David’s love, God loves you.” She took Catherine by the shoulders. “He pursued you to make you his own. He sacrificed his life for you, even in your sin. His love for you”—she smiled—“his love for me, is far greater than your pain or anger or questions. You may feel alone and forgotten right now. But you’re not alone, and you’re certainly not forgotten.”
Catherine raised a brow.
“Not by God.” Ashleigh reached to Catherine’s desk and picked up the Bible, spinning through the pages to a spot near the middle. “Read this, Catherine. David might have forgotten many things, but so have you.”
Ashleigh placed the Bible down and slid a small piece of paper in to hold the place she’d chosen. She walked to the door. “Whether love restores his memory or not, it will definitely touch his heart…and yours.”
Catherine walked to the desk and took the Bible into her hands.
Isaiah 49 fell open.
But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.
Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Catherine’s hand rested on her stomach.
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands...
“I thought you were serving at the Front.” David sat in his study with his father in a nearby chair.
His father took a sip of tea. “I was.”
“And they released you to come help me when you learned of my injuries?”
His father paused and took another sip, biding time if David knew him. “No. I came back to Ednesbury for a very different reason. It just so happened it was when you and your sister needed me most.”
“From your cryptic reply, I assume you’re not going to tell me the true reason?”
His father grinned over his cup. “Not yet, son. In time, but there is only so much you’re ready to take in at once.”
David released an angry burst of air and placed down his cup. “I’m not a child. Just because I can’t remember a few things doesn’t mean I’m to be treated with kid gloves.” He stood and gestured toward the door. “She…she’s tiptoeing around me now, like I might break.”
“She, meaning Catherine, I suppose?”
David’s shoulders sagged from the weight of his frustration. “She wants me to know her, and I…I want that, but she craves a familiarity I cannot give. And then I keep hurting her by just speaking to her. She’s trying to be strong, but I see the hurt in her eyes. I can’t make my mind remember.”
His father studied him, sending David back to primary school when he’d missed an answer on a test he should have known. “David, you’re a smart man, but you’re broken. It’s going
to take time.”
“I know that.”
“Catherine is a remarkable woman. The few images you do recall, those you refer to as the flirt, were of a different time, a different woman. Your memories may not be available to assist you, but I’m certain your judgment is intact. You haven’t lost your intelligence. What do you think you should do?”
Music filtered into the room from the hallway. A familiar melody.
“Do you hear that?” David walked to the doorway.
His father took the newspaper from the table. “It’s most likely some of the patients enjoying the radio.”
David followed the sound. He knew this song. His smile spread. If I Had My Way. He looked around the room, frantic. The song continued as he went down the hallway to another room with patients, looking to each nurse without success. He burst into the next room, and Catherine glanced up from her place by a man’s bedside, gauze in hand.
“David?”
His breathing pulsed out in short spurts, and he stared at her. “Are you…are you all right?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “I am.”
His breathing slowed. He kept examining her face. She turned to the patient. “Mr. Mabry, please excuse me.”
David followed her out into the hallway.
“I…I don’t know why, but I had to find you. To see you.”
Her lips slanted. “You see me.”
“Yes.” He took a step closer, studying the color of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, scratching for a memory just out of reach. She was beautiful. “Do you know the song If I Had My Way?”
She blinked as if stunned. “Yes, I know it.”
He frowned. “Good.” He stepped around her. “Good.”
Her emotions bounced like a yoyo. One moment, she closed off her heart to keep his ‘stranger eyes’ from completely ruining her, and the next he asked if she knew a song…their song? She pushed back the coverlet and got dressed, sleep useless.
She slipped past her desk downstairs, pausing to reread the verses Ashleigh had marked. She felt forgotten…she was forgotten. If God had engraved her on his hands, what did that mean?
Beacon House lay quiet in the darkness of early morning. She walked noiselessly through the halls, listening for a need or cry. Sometimes, the nightmares seized a soldier so badly, it would take her an hour to calm him. As she passed the door to David’s study, a light flickered awake and urged her forward. A dying fire sent long shadows across the room and filtered over the figure in a chair. David. Asleep.
A swell of tenderness pushed her beyond her fear. She took a blanket from a cupboard in the hallway and approached him quietly. Moonlight sent a pale glow through the tall windows and battled with the fire’s golden hues. He’d fallen asleep sitting up, newspaper in hand. She grinned, carefully taking the paper and placing it on the table. With slow deliberation, she drew the blanket over him from neck to shoe tip.
The scent of peppermint hit her with breathtaking force. So painful. So sweet. She filled her lungs with another breath.
“What are you doing?”
She’d expected him to be alarmed, angry even, but he merely watched her.
She leaned closer to hear him, her fingers brushing his chin as she tucked the blanket secure. “I’m taking care of you.”
His eyes, twinkling in the pale light, examined her face, half in awe, half in curiosity.
“You fell asleep reading. I didn’t want you to become chilled.”
“Is it morning?” He whispered in keeping with the mood of the shadowed room.
“Five, I think.”
“And you’re not asleep?”
“I don’t sleep well right now, anyway.” She gestured toward her abdomen. “So I volunteered for the early shift.” She turned to walk away.
“Wait…Nurse Dougall?”
Her heart wept at his formality, at the use of her maiden name, but she mentally whispered a prayer for strength and patience. “Yes, Dr. Ross.”
He gestured to a chair near him. “Would you care to talk?”
She fought against the desire to run away. The exhaustion, both emotionally and physically, put her feelings much too close to the edge to bear another flailing of disappointments, but the earnestness of his expression and the child-like lostness in his eyes pulled her into a seat. “Of course.”
The crackle of the fire split the silence.
“I...I won’t deny, I’m attracted to you. And I understand that you are a different person now than you were from the memories I have. But I can’t force myself to remember things.”
She stared back, meeting his honesty head on. “I know.” Her stare never wavered, and every ounce of love she felt for him boiled up from her heart into her words. “And…perhaps you may not recognize me now, but you once told me love has an amazing power to turn people ’round.”
He tilted his head, a grin almost lighting his somber features. “Why…why did I have a vision of Aunt Maureen in my head?”
Catherine smiled. “We were having a conversation about your Aunt when you spoke those words.”
“I remember her wager, and…and I understand she’s caused quite a bit of trouble for the two of us.”
“She’s tried, but we’re made of some pretty strong stuff.”
His grin twitched again. “I believe you are.”
“We both are.”
Silence enfolded the moment, an aching silence of words unspoken and sweetness forgotten.
“Catherine?” His whisper called out into the darkness. The way he said her name, breathless in the moonlight, sent liquid warmth running up her arms to her chest. Almost as if he knew her, recognized something in their togetherness.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I can’t remember. Will you help me try?”
She swallowed down her tears. “With all my heart.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Hello, Catherine dear.”
Catherine looked up from her menu for cook and smiled at Alexander Ross’ greeting. “Good morning, Dr—” He raised a warning brow. “Alexander,” she corrected.
“And how is my other daughter today?”
She’d shunned the endearment after finding out about her father’s lurid and base past, but the way Alexander Ross called her ‘daughter’ gave her a newfound appreciation. Even if his son didn’t have one clue who she was.
“She’s managing. How about you? Have you been out to Ednesbury Court to…”
“Not yet. I’m biding my time to see if my grandfather will confront Lady Cavanaugh instead of an outcast like me.”
“I know well the role of outcast.”
“Not anymore, Catherine.” He patted her arm. “And my son shall see it soon enough. He’ll remember you. Even if his mind cannot, his heart will.”
“I want to believe you, but…but it’s difficult to hope.”
“We live off of this thing called hope, and my son is no fool.” Alexander nodded and reached for a scone off the sideboard. “There’s clear proof of his affections in his letters to you.”
Catherine sighed. “There’s so much of him in those letters.”
“Exactly.” Alexander shot her a wink and took a bite of the scone. “And in his own words.”
Hope dangled a precarious thread to her heart. “I’m going to take my list to cook.” She tapped the scone on its way to Alexander’s mouth. “And I’ll ask for more of the blueberry since you are so fond of them.”
His moustache twitched up on one side. “Good girl.”
Catherine walked down the hallway where a few patients gathered in small groups.
A new soldier, with a pronounced limp, sidled up to her on her way. “Hello, doll.”
“Hello, boy.” She emphasized his youth, ignoring the way his gaze moved down her body.
“I’m enough of a man to know what a woman wants.”
Catherine turned, brow raised, and took inventory of the scrawny lad. “Peace and quiet, usually. Perhaps a
good chocolate here or there.”
He stepped closer, and Catherine curbed the urge to roll her eyes. Arrogance mixed with ignorance created many a fool. “Surely a doll like you could give a poor soldier a kiss.”
He gripped her arm, and she tried to pull free, but he proved stronger than he looked.
“Release me, sir.”
“Name’s Langley, and it’s been too long since I had a kiss.” He jerked her against him.
On impulse, she brought her fist around with such force, it sent him stumbling back.
Catherine took a deep breath, shaken and a bit stunned by her own behavior. Then she felt it, the sting of pain in her knuckles from the impact.
Langley growled and covered his wounded eye.
“I told you, most women prefer peace and quiet.”
He started back toward her when David plowed out of nowhere, seizing the boy’s collar. “Don’t. Touch. Her.”
She’d never seen him angry, his jaw tense, eyes flaring, shaking the boy with a power she didn’t even realize he possessed. She grinned. It was terribly romantic and produced a delicious thrill.
“Did you hear me?” His voice thundered as he lifted the boy from the ground.
“Yeah.” The boy pulled free and sent Catherine a scathing glance before returning to the patient room.
David turned to her, taking her hand in his good one and examining it. She couldn’t help but stare at him, a little dazed that he’d emerged like a prince in a fairy story to her rescue. Even if she could have sent Langley flying again, what romantic adventure was there in that?
“Let me see to your hand.”
She wasn’t sure whether to find more pleasure in his chivalry or his gentleness, but for a few seconds, she embraced his attention without reserve.
He called to one of the nurses. “Would you bring some icings please? To my study.”
He placed her in a chair and knelt beside her, his gaze intense. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Truly.”
The Thorn Keeper Page 31
