by Ann Yost
“You know, I love your mother’s dream catchers,” Sharon said. “I plan to buy one for each room at the Garden of Eden. I like the tradition behind them and I think they really reflect the Native American culture of this area.”
Molly was surprised. Most of the business owners in Eden were tolerant of the reservation’s residents but few actively sought out ties to the Blackbird community. The redhead seemed to read her mind.
“I’ve learned quite a bit from Daniel’s research,” she said. “He’s been kind enough to share it with me.”
Molly nodded. “Daniel’s a kind man. I have to say, though, as long as I’ve known him, he’s never offered to share any research with me.” She smiled at Sharon. “It sounds as if you two are getting along.”
The lovely smile faded and the bright light went out of Sharon’s light brown eyes.
“We are good friends,” she said. “That’s all.”
“That’s a shame.” Molly spoke impulsively. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to get personal.”
“It’s okay. I think it’s a shame, too. He doesn’t think we’d suit.”
“Men,” Molly said, with asperity, a comment that made her companion laugh.
“What about you and Cam? I understand you knew one another a long time ago. When I realized he’d spent the night at your cottage I couldn’t help thinking maybe something was starting up again.”
A familiar lump formed in Molly’s throat and she shook her head.
“You know how it is with your first love,” she said, lightly. “There’s always a fantasy that it was the most important relationship. We spent a little time together at the casino and, I think, found some closure.”
She couldn’t believe what she was saying to Sharon. Lies, all lies. And for no apparent reason. It sounded as if things were finished between Cam and Sharon.
“Did they ever find the money that was in the casino safe?”
Molly shook her head. “Not as far as I know.”
“I suppose Dwight Winston must have hidden it somewhere.”
Molly had a sudden vivid memory of Winston’s furious last words.
Get in the house, bitch. Get me the money!
“I don’t think Winston had it,” she said, thoughtfully.
“Well, maybe it was Big Ed.”
“Maybe.”
But if it had been Big Eddie, wouldn’t someone have found the money after he died? If not for the money, why was he killed? It didn’t make sense.
“I keep thinking about poor Sandra Tall Tree,” Sharon said. “People are saying she was Dwight Winston’s lover. Not only did she witness him shooting himself but now her husband knows all about her affair.”
“I’m hoping things will settle down out on the rez,” Molly said, noncommittally. “When the casino reopens we’ll get a fresh start.”
“A fresh start.” Sharon repeated the words as if trying them out on her lips. “Molly, I’m going to ask you a really personal question and you don’t have to answer me. Is there any chance you and Daniel might remarry?”
Whatever she’d expected it wasn’t that.
“No. No chance at all. Daniel married me when I was seventeen to help me out of a situation. He’s always been like an older brother to me.”
Sharon nodded. “That’s what he said. And yet, I know how much he loves you. And, Molly, again I know this is none of my business, but a family—a child—would mean so much to him. And he’d make such a fine father.”
Molly ached for the other woman. She wanted to wring Daniel’s stubborn neck for refusing to see the gift being offered. She realized, suddenly, that she and Daniel suffered from the same belief that the cultures wouldn’t mix.
“I’ve always thought he’d be a good dad,” she said. “I hope he’ll get the chance. But, Sharon, there’s no chance that it will be with me.”
The hazel eyes searched hers.
“And that nausea you had last week?”
“The flu,” Molly said, firmly. “Just the flu.
She could hardly explain that it might have been morning sickness without raising the question of how, exactly, she might have gotten into such a delicate state. She should never have helped herself to that sperm but she knew if she had a chance to rewrite history, she’d do the same thing again. She still wanted Cam’s baby.
And she still wanted Cam.
Molly drove slowly through the small town. Preoccupied as she was, she couldn’t fail to notice the commotion in the town square. People were hauling bales of hay, preparing to build scarecrows. She remembered that the first annual Harvest Festival was scheduled for tomorrow. Long tables borrowed from St. Luke’s Congregational Church were set up to display home-baked pies and pastries, bushels of apples and early fall vegetables. Fat, orange pumpkins provided brilliant slashes of colors on the emerald grass. A temporary wooden dance floor had been erected near the gazebo. Molly knew the Green Mountain Fiddlers would come from Vermont to entertain the crowds.
The festival was one of Cam Outlaw’s ideas and something they’d talked about during their undercover days at the casino. All of that seemed far behind her now. Even the threat sent with the dead raven. It seemed that little Daisy was safe.
As Molly waited at Eden’s only stoplight, she glanced at the old Commerce Bank Building that now housed Cam’s Community Bank. Since he’d returned to Eden he’d made loans available to small businesses, created jobs, helped develop the resort and casino and revived the chamber of commerce. He had turned into the pillar of the community his dad had wanted him to be. He was thoroughly respectable with a darling daughter and an extended family. The dalliance at the casino and again in her bedroom was merely closure to old, old business for Cam but he’d been honorable enough to cancel his engagement. He, like Daniel, was a good and decent man.
Molly made a sudden and momentous decision. If the E.P.T. was positive, she would have to tell Cam about the baby.
The prospect of dealing with his justifiable disappointment and anger made her shake. Tears filled her eyes and she could barely see to drive as she turned left on Maple Street on the way to Rural Route Two. As she passed Sharon’s yellow clapboard inn, she spotted a tall, lean figure wearing a long, gray braid, torn jeans and an old brown cardigan with holes in the elbows. He was intent on clearing the leaves from the inn’s garden. He looked so familiar, so safe, so much like home. Molly parked the Jeep intending to throw herself in Daniel’s arms when she saw him turn in response to the sound of another car. His sudden grin reminded her of the Fourth of July fireworks. Molly stayed where she was and watched Daniel gazed at the tall redhead walking toward him. When Sharon reached him they did not touch but he leaned toward her, his broad shoulder curved protectively and she tilted her head so that if she had dropped it another inch it would have rested on his shoulder.
Molly pulled her car away from the curb and made a U-turn. Daniel Grey Wolf was no longer her haven. Whether he accepted it or not, he belonged to someone else now. It seemed that, like the Penobscots of old, both she and her ex-husband were making a portage to another life. She hoped and prayed he would be happy.
Chapter Thirteen
Cam sat in Sarah Lanham’s empty office in the Spotswood Fertility Clinic and waited for the director to reappear with his file. He hadn’t questioned her request that he drive to Boston. He had a feeling he was about to be treated to another unpleasant truth about his ex-wife and he understood Mrs. Lanham’s reluctance to impart that information over the phone.
Damn. What had he been thinking to marry Elise Larkin? He’d met her that first semester of freshman year and she’d stuck around, hauling his drunken body home again and again during that nightmarish second semester after he’d found out Tiger Lily was married.
He’d dated a lot of women in college but he’d never fallen in love again and when Elise suggested that since they were “best friends” they could have a good, workable marriage, he’d agreed. It hadn’t seemed to matter. He didn’t believe
he’d fall in love again.
What he hadn’t bargained for was that he’d never fallen out of love with Molly Whitecloud. The ever present, helpful Elise of college days had turned into a demanding princess and their short marriage had been one of the worst periods of his life.
Except there had been one saving grace. Daisy. He hadn’t appreciated the child at first. She’d been a disappointment to Elise and he had spent most of his time avoiding the big house on Beacon Hill. And then Elise had died and Cam had brought the little girl back to his father’s house in Maine and he’d learned, belatedly, how much he loved her.
Molly loved her, too. Would it be possible to cobble the three of them together as a viable family? Or would old hurts intrude and make life miserable for the child at the center of it?
“Thank you for waiting,” Mrs. Lanham said. The well-upholstered lady was slightly out of breath. “This whole situation is rather irregular and I thought it would be better if we met, well, in person.”
“I understand. You remember that I wish to withdraw my consent to the use of any, er, leftover sperm?”
“Yes.” She sat heavily in the chair behind the desk. Sarah Lanham’s graying blonde hair frizzed out like a halo and her kind, intelligent eyes softened her severe features. She stared at Cam.
“There is something I should tell you about that.”
In spite of her words she didn’t speak again immediately. Instead, she shuffled the pieces of paper in front of her. Cam waited, briefly, then took the opportunity to ask his question.
“I’d also like to see all the papers in the file, particularly the documentation on the fertility tests and issues. Until now I haven’t needed to know the specifics but I’ve decided to remarry.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” The announcement surprised him but he realized he meant it. What had happened in the past had hurt Molly at least as much as himself. It was water under the bridge now. He would ask her as soon as he got back to the rez. A surge of excitement swamped him and he was anxious to get home.
The clinic director sifted through the papers, placed one on top and handed him the stack. He scanned the page to the salient line, “Sperm viability adequate.”
“So they aren’t lazy, after all.”
An odd expression flickered across the woman’s face.
“Didn’t you know?”
He shook his head. He didn’t intend to tell Mrs. Lanham or anyone else about Elise’s lie but he suspected the director knew.
“I was under the impression that we were using the clinic to make a mixed drink, a cocktail, if you will, of sperm because mine weren’t up to the job.”
Mrs. Lanham frowned.
“The sperm, which was yours, was injected into a donor egg,” she explained, gently. “I’m afraid your late wife had suffered a very early menopause.” She studied his face. “How did you remain in ignorance of that fact?”
Cam felt the warmth of a telltale flush in his cheeks.
“I’m afraid I was inattentive. Just starting a career and, well, I left it all to her.”
“I’m surprised she would mislead you on such a subject,” the director said, in a slightly disapproving voice, “and even more surprised that she got away with it.”
Cam did not try to defend himself. He had not been a good husband. Perhaps he deserved what he’d gotten. It occurred to him, suddenly, that Daisy hadn’t been Elise’s biological child. Had her father known that? Was that why he’d never shown much interest in the little girl?
Cam rubbed the back of his neck. He’d come down here intending to be disgusted with Elise and wound up disgusted with himself.
“How old is your child now, Mr. Outlaw?”
“Five. Her name is Daisy.”
“Lovely. And you plan to give her a brother or sister?”
He nodded. “It’s something of a relief to find out there’re no fertility issues. My fiancée will be pleased.” I hope. “And you will destroy any remain specimen samples?”
She looked grave.
“I’m sorry to tell you that request comes too late. Your sample was chosen by an applicant several weeks ago.”
More negligence. Cam winced, knowing this was his fault, too. “Oh well. Who would have believed a child could be this much trouble before he was even conceived?”
Mrs. Lanham did not return his grin.
“The client’s request matched up with your description in ninety-five percent of the categories. And she was such a sweet young woman. It occurred to me to double check with you but, in the end, I couldn’t deny her. If it’s any consolation I’m certain she’ll make an excellent mother.”
Something twisted in Cam’s gut.
“And her husband?”
Mrs. Lanham looked away from him.
“We made an exception in her case. She wasn’t married. But she’s thirty years old and extremely responsible. She had all kinds of references and she knows all about babies. She’s a midwife, you see.”
A midwife? A MIDWIFE?
For an instant, Cam went completely still as he tried to absorb the damning information.
“Was she a Native American?”
Mrs. Lanham went pale.
“I can’t answer that. I shouldn’t have told you anything about her.”
Cam’s lips thinned into a straight line and his lashes hooded his eyes. He knew he had to maintain control until he was out of the clinic. It wasn’t Mrs. Lanham’s fault that this had happened. He’d been unpardonably careless. It was his fault. His and Molly’s. He recalled Molly’s graceless lunge at the toilet bowl the morning he’d been at her cottage. It wasn’t necessary to ask the question but he did, anyway.
“Just tell me one thing,” he said. “Is the sperm recipient pregnant?”
“Well, we don’t know.” Mrs. Lanham was nervous now. She’d probably detected the hint of a lawsuit in his hiss. “The clients usually call to tell us but often not until the second trimester because of the risk of miscarriage.”
Cam shut out the memory of Molly’s long ago miscarriage. Nothing excused this. She’d found out about his sperm and she’d swiped it. It would be funny if it wasn’t such a betrayal. Cam gritted his teeth.
“Thank you,” he said, getting to his feet. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”
She got to her feet.
“I hope you don’t mean to take legal action,” she started to say. He waved away the words.
“No. It’s not your fault. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
Red, yellow and orange leaves lined the sides of the road and provided brilliant, flaming color against the clear, blue sky. It was scenery worthy of an Oscar-winning movie but it might as well have been the unrelenting black of a dungeon cell for all that Cam cared.
During the entire duration of the drive north Cam fed his fury. He fought the temptation to look at this from her point of view. She was trying to replace the baby she’d lost. But what about him? What was he, a stud bull? It was Elise all over again trying to manipulate circumstances to fit her dream. Whatever happened to the old custom of a couple sleeping together and getting a child as a byproduct of that pleasure?
He couldn’t shake the notion that Molly had acted no better than Elise. Worse, in fact. They’d both lied but at least Elise had been married to him.
Pain shot up his forearms and he realized he was gripping the steering while tightly enough to turn the hard plastic into liquid.
Fury pounded through his blood combined with a soul-deep regret. They’d been so close to a happy ending. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel of the Mercedes, heard the horn shriek and admitted to himself what was really bothering him. She’d wanted the child without the complication of a man who didn’t belong to the rez. His eyes closed, briefly, in anguish.
Tiger Lily.
****
The sun was low in the sky.
Molly stood in her bedroom and contemplated the pink-and-white car
dboard box.
Why had the manufacturers made it pink? Shouldn’t it have been yellow or green? Something neutral? Half the babies born were boys. Pink seemed like a ridiculous color to choose for such a product. Probably somebody in some marketing department decided it was a color that would appeal to the prospective customers, all of whom were women.
She realized she wasn’t just stalling. She was babbling. In her head. She was stuck in the mental weeds of irrelevance.
Who cared what color the box was? What did it matter?
Molly felt her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. In another minute she’d hyperventilate. The outcome of this test would change her life. Maybe. If it were negative nothing much would happen except she’d be honor-bound to tell Cam what she’d done. If it were positive, she’d be tied to him for the rest of their natural lives. In either case he’d hate her.
And he’d be right to do so.
She’d been insane. She could have tried to adopt a child or gone through an ethical insemination. She’d have loved any child who came into her home. Why had she done this? It was a question she’d asked herself a lot lately. She was not proud of the answer. She had wanted to hold onto a part of Cam. Despair welled up in her heart and leaked down her cheeks. Hormones. Dang. She was almost certainly pregnant.
She wiped her eyes with her hands, opened the box and dumped the contents onto her unmade bed. The same bed she had shared with Cam only a week earlier. She glanced at the sheet of instructions typed in an ant-sized font and read them carefully. She’d administered plenty of early pregnancy tests in the past ten years but reading the directions would give her a few more minutes of protection against the future. She held the featherweight plastic wand with a tiny empty window that, minutes after she peed on it, would give her the news in plain English: “pregnant” or “not pregnant”. She wondered if the words would be capitalized. They should be. They were such important words, such life-changing words.
Life changes. A picture of Sandra Tall Tree flashed into her mind. What an absurd moment to think about the confused young woman who was not nearly as innocent as her husband believed. Sandra had broken her marriage vows and broken Davey’s heart and, very probably had broken the law. It seemed more and more likely to Molly that Sandra had the stolen money. There simply wasn’t anyone else who’d been near the casino that night. No one else who could have scooped the money out of the safe after Big Eddie was killed.
