by Dorothy Love
The first rush of hailstones needled her face. The wind dislodged her clothesline and sent it snaking across the yard. In their coop, the chickens flapped and squawked. Abandoning her ladder, she dragged two full baskets to the porch and wrenched open the door. The room spun before her eyes. A poker-hot pain ripped through her, bringing her to her knees. She yelled, knowing there was no one to hear. She staggered to the mattress in the corner, fighting for consciousness. Luke would be back in a few hours. All she had to do was hold on until then.
The pain, the ragged wind, the deafening pounding of hailstones on the tin roof became as one. She drifted into the blackness.
Chapter Ten
She was dreaming, and in her dream George was cradling her against his broad chest and she was safe and warm and free of the blinding pain. She tried to speak his name, but speech eluded her. Something niggled the edge of her consciousness. Luke. Where was Luke?
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Thank God, Luke was home. There was so much she wanted to tell him. So much she wanted to share. She opened her eyes and started. “George?”
He looked down at her with the same devil-may-care smile she remembered, but his blue eyes were red-rimmed and full of concern. “Praise God you’re all right. I was afraid I might lose you too.”
Too? What did that mean? She blinked and sat up, her heart beating like a trapped bird in her chest. And what on earth was she doing in Delia’s house? How had she gotten here?
She looked around. “Where’s Luke?”
“I don’t know, Olivia.”
“What day is this?”
“Wednesday.”
“He should have been back from Laurel Grove two days ago.” She threw back the pale-blue coverlet and attempted to rise from the feather bed. Her head swam.
“Stay put,” George said, his voice raspy with fatigue. “You’ve just lost a child.”
She was too stunned to cry. Until she’d seen the cradle in the barn, she hadn’t allowed herself to think too often about motherhood. About how a child would change her life, and Luke’s. But knowing he cared enough to lavish such effort on a cradle that soon would be outgrown had given her a hope—unacknowledged until this moment—for their shared future. Now that hope was lost.
George busied himself straightening the room, no doubt wanting to give her time to absorb the news. She noticed then a pile of soiled linen on a chair in the corner, a washbasin and ewer. A pitcher of water and a cut-glass tumbler. Now she remembered the hailstorm, the ladder, the stunning pain. The black oblivion.
“How did I get here?” She clapped a hand to her forehead as a wave of nausea rolled over her.
“I found you half-conscious in that disgusting hovel across the creek and carried you here. There was no one home, but I figured that under the circumstances they wouldn’t mind.” He cleared his throat. “By the time I found you it was . . . too late for the child. Not that anything I could have done would have made a difference. It was just too soon for him to come into the world.”
She forced air into her lungs, and the nausea subsided. “A boy, then.”
“Yes.” He poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “I took care of the burial yesterday. I thought it would be best for you.”
She nodded and sipped the water.
“When I was in the barn looking for something to make a coffin, I noticed the milk cow was about to explode. I took care of her and fed the chickens.”
She frowned. “Samuel was going to ask Mr. Sutton’s boy to take care of things while Luke was away. He’ll be glad you looked after the poor cow.”
He drew a chair near to the bed and sat down. “I received your letter last month.”
“I shouldn’t have sent it. Luke deserves far better from me.” She set the glass aside and raked her sweat-matted hair from her eyes. “It was a foolish impulse. I realize now that I meant nothing to you.”
“That isn’t true. I was . . . am . . . very fond of you.”
“I see. Then why did you disappear after we . . . after that afternoon in your cabin?”
“I had some business of my father’s to attend to. I was gone for several weeks and found your letter waiting when I got back.” He shook his head. “I don’t know which news was more shocking—the child or your marriage to Luke.”
He seemed completely unaffected by the loss of his child. She searched his face, waiting for him to say something that would make sense of the mess she’d made of her life. And Luke’s.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry this happened, Olivia. I can imagine you’ve had a bad time of it. But—”
“But what?”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “How do I know it was mine?”
She gaped at him, stunned into momentary silence. Did he really believe she was that kind of woman? “If that’s what you think of me, then why come here at all?”
“Your letter sounded so desperate I had to come. And I wanted to see my little brother.”
“He’s twice the man you are.”
“And yet you still sent for me.”
“I thought you loved me. I thought I loved you. But it turns out I was wrong on both counts.”
He shook his head. “You’ve been through a difficult time. But perhaps it’s for the best.”
“For the best?” Her throat felt hot and raw. “A little child is dead. How can you say that?”
“I know you, Olivia. I know the kind of life that pleases you. It would have been impossible to pursue your art and your books and your entertainments with a squalling infant hanging onto your skirts. But I deeply regret my behavior.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. I should have been more mindful of your tender feelings for me and more careful of your virtue. I should have called a halt before things went too far. And I apologize for my thoughtless remark just now. Of course the child was mine.”
She should hate him for everything he had taken from her—her honor and self-respect, her future. But all she felt was a deep, empty sadness and the conviction that, regardless of what happened next, she would be haunted by this forever. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Do you still care for me, Olivia? Because in spite of everything, I’ve been thinking that maybe it isn’t too late for us.” The light came back into his extraordinary eyes. “I’ve got plenty of money, and when I inherit my father’s land I’ll have even more. If you’re willing to give me another chance, we can go someplace new and start over. Out west, maybe. Or even Europe. You’ve always wanted to see Venice. We can pack up and go. No one has to know about any of this.”
Outside the window the waters of Sweetbriar Creek glimmered in the hard sunlight. Olivia felt numb. Hollowed out. How had she ever fancied herself in love with such a feckless man? Would this be the way he conducted his whole life, making messes for others to set right and then walking away to start over? How could she trust his word, even if she wanted to? Even if there wasn’t someone else to consider.
“George, I’m married.”
“To someone who can barely support you. Is this the kind of life you want, living from hand to mouth in a falling-down cabin that won’t keep the rain off?” His eyes held hers. “If you hadn’t been so desperate to save those peaches, maybe your child would still be alive.”
So she was to blame? She went rigid with anger. “Thank you for taking care of me. But I want you to leave. Now, before Luke gets home.”
“I admire your loyalty. And I wish my brother no harm. I suppose I owe him a debt of gratitude. But surely you must realize how ill-suited you are. Two such different people can never make a proper marriage.”
Olivia thought about the recent Sundays in meeting when she and Luke had sat among the Quakers, seeking peace in the holy silence. The quiet summer afternoons fishing in the creek. The way he smiled when she showed him her drawings. The countless small things he’d done to please her. The way his hopes for the future had kept her goin
g even when she’d been too miserable to recognize it. The cradle he’d made in secret. And her heart cracked open. “Luke and I are more alike than you might imagine.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry about the baby. But there’s no reason now for you to stay. There’s nothing to keep you here.”
A dove swooped down from its perch and settled on the window sill. They find another steady dove and stick together no matter what. Olivia studied the face of the man who had once embodied all her hopes and dreams. He was nothing to her now. A stranger.
“Nothing except honor. And love.”
Chapter Eleven
The door flew open and Luke, covered in mud and wearing a three-day growth of beard, strode into the room. “Olivia? I went by the house and you weren’t there. I—” He glared at his brother. “What are you doing here?”
“Luke.” Olivia swung her feet to the floor and perched on the edge of Delia’s feather bed. “We—”
He took in the rumpled bed, her bare feet, George’s jacket draped over the back of the chair. “Never mind. The answer is obvious.” He spun toward her. “I should have known you’d run to him the first chance you got.”
She bit back her tears. “It isn’t what you think.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Luke,” George began, “Please just lis—”
“You stay out of this. Do not say a single word. All my life you have walked all over me and my dreams. Taken everything. Turned our father against me because I am not as clever as you. But this—” He swept one arm toward Olivia, the meadow, the cabin, the shining creek. “This is mine.”
“Luke,” Olivia said. “I . . . lost the baby.”
He went still, his anger ebbing away. “Why? How?”
George crossed the room and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sometimes babies come before they ought to,” he said with a gentleness that surprised Olivia. “Mama lost a baby girl the year before you were born. The baby was early. Too little to make it.”
Luke shook off George’s arm and stalked to the door. With his back to them he said, “Boy or girl?”
“A boy,” George said. “I buried him on that little knoll back of the orchard. You can move him to a churchyard later. I thought it would be easier on Olivia to bury him right away.”
Luke leaned against the door frame.
“I found her in that cabin, half-conscious and soaked to the skin,” George said. “I didn’t know where you were or when you’d get back, so I brought her here, but there was no one home. I’ve been taking care of her since Monday evening.”
With a deep sigh, Luke turned back to them. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing here.”
George glanced at Olivia before he spoke. “I heard you moved here, and I just decided to—”
“I sent for him.” Luke might hate her. He might send her away, and she wouldn’t blame him if he did. But she was through with secret longings for a man not worth the effort. Through with trying so hard not to love Luke, who had proved himself worthy of her affections, only to be repaid with thoughts of abandonment. She was finished with lying to him. To herself.
“I . . . thought George should know about his child.” She braided her fingers together in her lap. “I thought I loved him. But I was wrong.”
Luke nodded slowly. “I see.”
“I’m desperately sorry, Luke. For so many things. I pray you can forgive me, but I understand if you can’t.”
“I never should have left you alone, even for a day. I didn’t figure on getting caught in that storm, and then the bridge washed out. If I’d made it back home sooner—”
“I shouldn’t have been climbing a ladder in the middle of a hailstorm. But I knew how much that crop meant to you, and I tried to save it.”
His eyes brimmed. “You still don’t realize that nothing is as important to me as you are.”
George bent and kissed her cheek. “Good-bye, Olivia.”
She turned her head and looked out the window, sick with grief and with the knowledge of just how deeply disappointing life could be. How steep the price of making one’s own rules. Repentant tears streamed down her face.
George extended his hand to his brother. “If you ever need anything—”
Luke shook him off. “We don’t need anything from you. We’ll be just fine.”
George retrieved his hat and riding gloves. At the door he paused, his eyes seeking Olivia’s. “Perhaps you will.”
When George had gone, Luke turned to Olivia. “Should I get Dr. Chadwick? Will you be all right?”
“I think I’m all right. I haven’t any fever. I’m tired.” She blotted her face with her sleeve. “And terribly sad.”
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have accused you of—”
“It’s all right. I can imagine how it must have looked.”
He let out a long breath. “You might as well sleep here another night. You’ll be more comfortable. Samuel and Delia won’t mind.”
“No, I want to go home and change out of these ruined clothes. I never want to see this skirt again.”
He scooped her into his arms, and in the soft afternoon light, carried her across the bridge spanning the creek and into the cabin. He deposited her on the settee and handed her a thick brown package.
She removed the string and folded back the paper. “You got the blue and white check for the curtains.”
“Just in time too.” He made his voice light as he headed for the kitchen to put the teakettle on. “It was the last bolt of gingham they had.”
After a short time he was back with the tea. “Do you . . . would you want to go see the baby’s grave?”
“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. And he needs a name, Luke.”
“We’ll think of a good one.” He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “Would you like a bath?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’ll bring in the tub and heat more water.”
He carried the tub into the kitchen. While the water heated he found a cake of soap and a towel. At last he looked up, an uncertain expression in his eyes. “Should I fetch your . . . underthings?”
She smiled. “I think I can get them.”
The kettle shrieked. He poured the water into the tub and tested the temperature. “Feels about right. Not too hot.”
“Thank you, Luke. For everything. I—”
He looked away, his face flushed. “You’d better get that bath before the water starts cooling down. I need to make sure the Sutton boy came by to look after Samuel’s animals. I won’t be long.”
She listened to his footfalls as he crossed the back porch, the sound mingling with the tuning up of the crickets in the meadow grass. She shed her soiled clothes and piled them in the corner, then stepped into the warm water. She washed her hair and scrubbed away the outward vestiges of her ordeal. Ridding herself of the inward effects wouldn’t be so simple. But she was willing to wait for forgiveness.
When the water cooled, she stepped from the tub, dried off, and changed into clean clothes. She combed her damp hair and made another cup of tea. She took it to the back door and stood looking out over the meadow alive with fireflies and the dark shape of the mountain beyond. Amazed at how Luke’s steadfastness had changed her. The cabin no longer seemed like a mean hovel, but the place where her future began. The valley no longer felt like a prison, but like the upturned hand of God, holding her loosely but with infinite love.
Presently Luke returned from the Millses’ place, his ax swinging loosely in one hand. She watched as he entered the barn and brought the cradle into the yard.
“No!” She set down her cup and rushed into the yard just as he lifted the ax. “Don’t destroy it. Please.”
He let the ax slip from his grasp. “I didn’t want you to see it. Not now.”
“I found it when I went to get the ladder, and that was when I realized how much I love you. As hard as that might be for you to believe, given all of my grievous mistakes.” She ran
a hand over the satiny wood. “It’s beautiful, Luke. I want to keep it.”
“I don’t. Every time I look at it, I’ll be reminded of what we lost.” He raked a hand over the stubble on his chin. “We don’t need it now.”
“No.” She stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his lips. His arms came around her, and she leaned into the safety of his embrace. “We don’t need it now. But we will. Someday.”
Reading Group Guide
1. Children within families are often given labels such as the smart one, the athletic one, the lazy one, the pretty one. How are Olivia and Luke perceived within their families? How do those perceptions influence the choices they make? Have you experienced this within your own family?
2. What strengths and weaknesses do Olivia and Luke bring to their marriage?
3. Luke’s brother George is the quintessential “bad boy.” Have you ever known someone like George? What makes such men attractive?
4. How does their stay in Sweetbriar Creek influence Luke? Olivia?
5. How did people define a proper marriage a century ago? How would you define it today? Do men and women define a proper marriage differently?
6. What do you think happens to Olivia and Luke in the future?
Acknowledgments
I’m an avid fan of classic films. One of my favorites is Casablanca and one of my favorite lines is spoken by the French military officer, Captain Renault when the German officer, Major Strasser, is shot: “Round up the usual suspects.”
Sincere thanks to the “usual suspects” at Thomas Nelson who so brilliantly bring all of my books to life: my smart and gracious publisher, Daisy Hutton, my equally smart and gracious editors, Becky Philpott and Anne Christian Buchanan, my dedicated marketing and publicity team, Katie Bond and Elizabeth Hudson. Thanks to Kristen Vasgaard for another beautiful cover, and to the entire publishing team. It’s a joy to work with you.
My wise and caring agent Natasha Kern believed in this story from the beginning and shepherded it through the acquisition process. Thank you, Natasha.
