“The ogre.” David growled. “Doesn’t he know how to treat a woman?” He examined her knuckles. “You’ll have a bruise here, I think.”
“His will be worse.”
He chuckled and stared at her, holding to her gaze so long the air around them became thick and mesmerizing. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly brought her red knuckles to his mouth and pressed a kiss to them.
Her breath congealed to a halt. Did he realize what he was doing?
Then, as if the most natural thing, he pressed a gentle kiss to her wrist, breathing over it as he’d done so many times.
She nearly swooned, the longing and ache rising in a fury of blurred vision.
His eyes rounded and he dropped her wrist. “I’m… I do apologize for taking such liberties.” He cleared his throat and looked back at her, searching her face for some hidden answer to his behavior.
Her poor David. His heart recognized things his mind didn’t, like a strange and horrible game of hide-and-seek.
“It wasn’t an offense.” She cradled her hand against her chest and offered him a small smile, holding to the lingering sweetness of his touch on her skin.
“Catherine.” Oh, how gentle his voice was. “I recognize we knew each other very well, and my sister confirms that we had a particular closeness.”
She wanted to touch his face, feel his skin against her palm, and wipe away the confusion from his brow. “Yes.”
“In a romantic way?” He asked cautiously.
“Yes.”
He continued his intense stare, curiosity mixed with a distant kindness. He had no memory of their first kiss in the medical supplies room, or their walks in the garden arm-in-arm, or their wedding night.
His gaze drifted back to her hand and a look of utter horror paled his features. “My mother’s ring?” He looked up at her face. “Good heavens! We’re married?”
“Yes.” She braced herself, his questions delving into unpredictable territory.
He stumbled to his feet, running a hand through his hair and sending his golden locks into as much confusion as the look on his face. “How can I not remember something so…so…?”
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
His pained gaze came back to hers. “Was it?”
“And much more.” She stood and offered more faith in her smile than she felt. “I believe in miracles, Dr. Ross. What God did between us was beyond any earthly means, so I have faith He’ll make a way, whether by old memories or new ones, to help us find each other again.”
David stared at the bookshelves of medical journals and groaned. Both Jessica and his father strongly encouraged him to remain in his study until he felt more comfortable around unfamiliar people, but the same walls and windows, day in and day out, grew painfully monotonous. Three weeks since the injury, so Jessica said. Over the past two days, he’d recalled a few images of being in a war hospital near the Front, but then the images randomly switched to the inside of a women’s dress salon. Maybe he was losing what mind he had left?
Then there was Catherine. He held more images of her in this foggy unknown than anyone else. Her face filtered in and out, some staying to form a memory, but more often than not, they alighted momentarily and then faded away, leaving a sense of tenderness behind. One very clear picture emerged with welcome repetition. He had Catherine against a wall as if to kiss her.
And he wanted to kiss her, even now, but it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t she with child? Yes. He remembered their first full conversation by her sister’s deathbed. Another man’s child. His head hurt from the incongruences. God, make it clear.
“Excuse me, Dr. Ross.” The very subject of his quandary emerged through the doorway, her usual nurse’s uniform replaced with a suit of deep purple—beautiful. “I’m on my way to town, but your sister asked me to change your dressings since she’s in surgery.”
He sat up straighter. “Of course.”
She patted a satchel at her side. “I brought a few letters too. Your father seemed to think they might help spark a memory.”
“How is your hand?”
She smiled and placed her satchel on the floor, dropping to her knees before him. He should have stood. A woman with child didn’t need to be kneeling at his feet like a beggar.
“It will heal.”
He looked down at it, remembering the softness of the flesh at her wrist. The scent of lavender. The taste of her.
Her touch on his bandages brought his attention back to her face. Her fingers moved gently over the cloth, and he recalled a vision like liquid, of her running her hands up his arms to link around his neck. Her. With him…in an intimate way. His throat constricted. He tried to capture threads of the memory, but it slipped away, branding his mind with residual curiosity and interest.
She unleashed the last bit of bandage. His second and third finger bent in an unnatural way, and his fourth finger had been removed to stave off infection, all from a fight with a spy, he’d been told. His stomach tightened. Would he be able to work again?
Catherine seemed to guess his thoughts. “You will heal too.” Her brow rose. “You might have to resolve surgery in a new way, but I have no doubt of your capabilities. You’ve always been remarkable.”
He searched for the undercurrent of manipulation her past suggested but saw none. Felt none. “You’re kind.”
She grinned and went back to work. “I’m not. But you are.” She chuckled. “I’ve seen you charm the most disgruntled patient into submission, quiet a fearful child, and soothe the anxiety of a pregnant woman.”
He could drown in such sweet adoration. He saw her then, hair down around her shoulders, eyes-wide, asking him to pray, and a tenderness drew him closer to her.
“You….you loved me?”
“I still love you.” She inched back from his closeness. He frowned. He didn’t want her to move away. He wanted her to stay close enough to smell. Touch.
A faded sentence passed through his mind. “But aren’t those words too small…for what you feel?”
Her gaze shot to his, and she dropped the fresh gauze.
“You said that, didn’t you? To me?”
She moved to pick up the gauze, the fire blazing behind her.
“Wait, Kat.” He stood and reached for her. “Get back from the fire.”
He pulled her into his arms, her breath against his neck sending heat radiating through his body.
“What did you call me?”
“Kat.” His grin tipped a little, looking down at her and enjoying her warmth against him. “Is that a name I gave you?”
Her breath grew shallow, and she stepped out of his arms. Why did she keeping pulling away? Wasn’t she supposed to stay near him, as his wife? “Y…yes.”
“I’m sorry, again. Jessica keeps telling me I’ve become a storm cloud. Always fearful of something bad happening.”
She finished her care of his hand. “After all you’ve been through, I can imagine the fears you’ve known. I wish…I wish I could help carry them for you. To keep your nightmares at bay.”
“They’ve grown less frequent with time.” He took a random curl of her hair into his fingers, the touch sparking another blurry vision of gliding his hands through her loose hair. His throat tightened, and he released the lock.
His tenderness emerged almost-but-not-quite. It was like trying to catch water in one’s hand, and Catherine’s emotions were strung to the breaking point. To take his pain! To be his wife again.
He helped her stand, his gaze soft. “This must be difficult for you. Caring for a man who cannot remember you.”
Tears burned in her eyes, so she lowered her head. “Caring for you has never been difficult.” She took a deep breath and looked up. “You always had the hard part. I’m not an easy person to love.”
He studied her. “I’m not certain I believe you.” Then his grin perked. “Well, after the shiner you gave Langley, there may be some truth in your statement.” His gaze distanced. “And…didn’t you
give quite the tongue lashing to old Dr. Carrier?”
Teasing? Well, that was a good sign. “You remember that conversation?”
“Only just.” His smile grew to a dimple. Her breath caught in appreciation.
“Perhaps you are good for my memory.”
“I’ll be glad to answer any of your questions.” She gestured back to her satchel. “And I brought your letters.”
A long pause followed her statement. “I…I have one question, but it may seem…impertinent.”
A thread of hope drew her closer. “Anything.”
“If the child you carry isn’t mine…” He paused.
She braced for the blow.
“Why did I marry you?”
His words stabbed into all the grieving places in her heart. She made a futile attempt to maintain some composure, but a hot tear spilled from its place. She drew in a quivering breath and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “That’s a good question, Dr. Ross. One I’ve asked often enough.” She blinked away the gathering tears and backed toward the door. “I think…somehow, you’d convinced yourself love was bigger than…than my past.”
“Catherine, please—”
“I can’t.” She stumbled toward the door. “Excuse me.”
She moved as quickly as her cumbersome stomach allowed, dashing tears from her cheeks as she went. How could she stay? How could she win him and lose him at the same time, and repeat it day after day? Seeing herself through his unknowing eyes brought back all the shame she thought she’d overcome. Every scathing comment from the women in the village, every upturned nose, every lash of Lady Cavanaugh’s tongue, every humiliating remembrance bit into her confidence as if she stood naked on the street. She had ruined her own life and believed God redeemed her out of the darkness?
Not her. She deserved this horrible end for all the wrong she’d done – for all the hurt she’d caused. No wonder God allowed this type of heartbreak. She’d even screamed in abject defiance to Him! Him, who had promised to snatch her away from her pain.
She dipped into the small empty tea room and dropped to her knees. The silence swelled around her and welcomed a sudden stillness, a stillness filled with an embracing presence.
Do you love me?
“God, please. Help me.” Her voice split the tiny space, a shaky whisper into the blackness.
Am I enough?
She bent under the weight, the conviction. She’d allowed her lost love for David to shake her faith in God’s love, even placing David’s opinion above God’s. David might see her as a fallen woman, but God… God made her whole, even when she’d deserved it least. She had to let David go…and trust God beyond the pain. Just as she’d told Annie to do when Clara died.
Trust the strength of His hands. Trust His love.
“Forgive me. Please…” The ache of her own helplessness swelled and throbbed with her pulse. “Hold me with your love.”
Silence answered her. Tears cooled her cheeks and then the verses, those Ashleigh had shared, whispered in response. These may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.
His perfect memory secured her. His unfailing love held her. And though she’d forgotten His truths and lost her way, He’d gathered her close. Engraved. Protected. Loved. Forever.
A renewed awareness poured over wounds. He redeems, restores, and…and finds lost things…even lost love.
“I don’t understand your plan.” A sob shook her shoulders before she took another calming breath. “But I know you love me…and you love David.” She placed a palm to her broken heart. “I give my dreams of David to you. Help me love him, even when love isn’t returned. Help me find hope, even in this darkness, because though David may forget me forever”—her voice trembled—“you never will.”
David stared at the space Catherine had vacated, his mind and emotions clamoring for clarity. He couldn’t deny the draw he felt toward her, this desire to protect and comfort her. The pain his question inflicted created a residual ache in his chest, but he couldn’t make logical sense of his choices.
She loved him. Every decision to stay by him as his unawareness stabbed fresh wounds to her heart confirmed it. Love was the one explanation. But how had he grown to love her? All he remembered were his aunt’s disapproving comments, a reputation, prayer, and liquid memories flowing in and out of his hold.
Her satchel lay spilled on the floor, kicked in her hurry to leave the room, scattering papers. Letters. His letters. He reached for them. Some had his writing, others—returned—had hers.
He brought the papers to his face and closed his eyes, filling his mind and lungs with the faint scent of her. Lavender. A warmth poured through his chest, and a flash of memory awakened for a second. The public park in Edesnbury, sitting with her on the bench, holding her hand. The memory strengthened another connection, a wordless bond, but nothing he could grasp. Nothing that stayed clear for long.
But he’d seen her handwriting before.
He rushed to his desk and drew his satchel from a bottom drawer where he’d stored it for later. When he opened it, the scent hit him again. More letters.
These told a story he didn’t understand, and he needed to know. Not just for himself, but for Catherine and the little child she carried. Whether it brought them together or pushed them apart, he needed an answer.
Chapter Thirty
“Mother has decided she’s to marry Dr. Pike.” Catherine followed Madame to her small office at the back of the shop. “She’s hosting a reception afterward at Roth Hall, and the entire town is invited.”
“At your sister’s expense, no doubt.”
Catherine laughed. “Well, I’m helping too, and Dr. Pike brings a bit with him.”
“It will be a good match?”
“I think so. It’s nice to know she’ll have someone.”
Madame examined Catherine with keen eyes. “You seem more…at rest than when I saw you a last week.”
Catherine offered a sad grin. “I…kept trying to take things into my own hands and make David love me. Force him to remember, but there’s nothing I could do. So…I gave up.”
“Oui, je comprends.” She nodded. “You fix things. I fix things. We do not like the unfixable things, non. But God is in them, changing us sometimes more than changing the wounds.”
She ran a palm over Catherine’s hand, her smile a sweet comfort. “Do you know? Had you been a very good girl, you would not have sought to rescue those wounded in the same way as you do now. Nor come to my shop and become like a daughter to me. Or restored Lord Ross to his family. Or offered Beacon to the good doctor as a hospital.” She touched Catherine’s cheek, her eyes a misty brown hue. “You see, He knows. He loves. We weep, laugh, rest, trust, and He loves…and works miracles through us.”
“Ashleigh.” David ran up beside her as she made her way down the hall to surgery.
“David.” She glanced at his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you.” He moved in step with her, carefully choosing his words. “Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”
She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes as kind as he remembered. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” He rubbed his hands together, wondering where to begin. “I recall working with you and your sister in the hospital before the Zep attack. I even remember you training her at Roth Hall.”
“Yes.” Her smile encouraged him. “And she became a furious advocate of your work.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.” He grinned, nearly overwhelmed by all he’d learned about his wife. “But then things become hazy and out of order. There was a fire?”
“Yes, it took out part of the house.”
“And Catherine?”
“She helped you rescue the children.”
Which explained his reaction with her when she’d moved close to the fire a few nights past.
“I…I remember pieces. A fire, and Catherine with a baby in h
er arms. And there’s a memory of the gazebo.”
Ashleigh smile softened. “You proposed to her there.”
His gaze locked with hers, another blurry moment clearing for a second. Catherine burying her head against his chest, her whispered words coming clear. Of course I love you. It’s the only thing keeping me from slapping this ridiculous notion out of that stubborn head of yours.
He suddenly laughed. “She’s quite the corker, isn’t she?”
“That’s quite an accurate description.”
“And how did we find our way from Roth to Beacon House?”
Ashleigh hesitated. “She inherited Beacon House from our grandmother.”
The air whooshed from David’s lungs, awareness opening floodgates of her care. “And she gave it to the hospital?”
Ashleigh shook her head. “No, David. She gave it to you.”
“Me?” Catherine amazed him, more and more, with each new detail of her personality.
His gaze flitted to the window where her cottage roof rose above the garden wall. Words from the letters came to mind. He’d taken down her hair. The image emerged unbidden, and he could even feel the silk of it on his fingers. “So she lives in that small cottage when she could be in this large house because of her love for me?”
“Love does some amazing things, Dr. Ross.”
David’s emotions pressed into his chest, understanding piercing his foggy memories with gratitude. “Where did we marry?”
“The stone church in the village.”
“The small one?” He raised a brow, almost expecting some elaborate production, but not anymore. Not the Kat he’d unearthed over the past few days. “Thank you, Ashleigh. You’ve been quite helpful.”
Catherine pushed the knife through the chicken breast, carving it with the finest precision.
“Don’t you go ruinin’ my chicken for the soup now, Mrs. Catherine. When we have to feed a flock of wounded, every bit counts.”
“Of course, Mrs. Brock. And I appreciate all your efforts. Is the new kitchen maid working out for you?”
The Thorn Keeper Page 32
