Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) (10 page)

Maggie’s eyes blurred with tears.  “A girl.  A little girl.  She’s so perfect, Abby.  What happened?  Why did she die?”

Flynn’s head appeared in the opening.  “What’s wrong?”

Maggie looked away.  She couldn’t bear to look at the fear in his eyes.

Flynn limped across the floor and touched their child.  “She’s dead?”

Maggie nodded.

Flynn’s breath caught in something very close to a sob.

She turned back to him.  “Flynn, I’m sorry.”

He turned away and bowed his head.

Maggie tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her.  She fell back on the bed, still cradling her daughter in her arms.

And then the bleeding started.  It felt like a river of blood, rushing out of her.  “Abby!”

Abby ran to her.  She tore up rags to staunch the bleeding.

Maggie tried to call out to Flynn, tried to reach him, but she was too weak.  Her vision swam, and darkness swallowed her.

*  *  *

Flynn stood in the back of the wagon and stared at Maggie as her blood soaked the bedding.  He shut his eyes and remembered the dream he’d had, the dream of Maggie’s grave.

Maggie O’Brien Anders Flynn

Born
September 3, 1854

Died
August 27, 1873

He turned and ran.  He jumped onto Wakta’s back and lashed the little horse with the reins.  Wakta whinnied in protest, but he leaped into a gallop.  Flynn rode blindly, not seeing where he was going, not caring.  A full moon lit the desert, and Wakta was sure-footed.  Otherwise, the little horse probably would have fallen.  Terror burned along his arms and legs as he remembered the day Scout fell.  But he could not bring himself to rein in Wakta.  He continued to ride his horse hard until Wakta stumbled.  Then, he reined him in and dismounted.  He walked beside Wakta until they came to a spring.  He let the horse drink a little and then pulled him away from the water.  The moon sank toward the mountains.  Flynn stared at it.  He knew he should go back and attend her funeral.  Maggie deserved at least that much from him.  But he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t bury his wife and his child.

He bowed his head.

Wakta nudged him.

Flynn unrolled his blanket and lay down, but the memory of Maggie’s face, so terribly pale, haunted him.  He lay awake until dawn, and then he saddled Wakta again and rode eastward.

*  *  *

Maggie’s stomach cramped again, and again she felt the flow of blood.

She didn’t care.  Her baby was dead, and Flynn was gone.  She grew weaker and weaker.  Darkness rose up around her, like the water of a lake, and she floated away on the darkness, above the pain, above the loss of her child, above the wagon.  She flew high, like an eagle—except eagles don’t fly at night.  And it
was
night, a beautiful moonlit night.  She looked up and saw the stars, sprinkled across the heavens like spilled salt.  She looked away and saw the plains, stretching beneath her like a patchwork quilt.  She saw the mountains, standing like sentinels against the arid desert.  She rose higher and saw the whole continent below her.  She saw the green and fertile land that was Missouri, with the river winding through it like a silver thread.  She knew that Sam and Kate were there.  She could almost feel them.  She yearned to hear Sam’s voice telling her that everything was going to be all right.

Except everything wasn’t all right.  Her child was dead, and Flynn was gone.

Pain stabbed her, but even that seemed distant.

Maggie looked down at the train.  She saw the lanterns burning against the darkness, but there were other lights, lights she had never seen before.  They shone fuzzily, like the gaslights in San Francisco when the fog was thick and the foghorn sang mournfully.  Some of them moved, slowly.  Suddenly, Maggie realized what they were: the people of the train.  She found her wagon and saw one light burning brightly.  She smiled.  That was Abby.  Her smile faded, and she looked north, the way Wakta had gone.  Even Wakta had a light, strong and clear.

Flynn’s light flickered dimly, like a candle in the wind.  He rode Wakta hard, so hard that she feared for the life of his horse.

And then she felt it.  She felt Flynn’s pain, like a knife in her own heart.  She soared across the plains until she hovered over him, paced him and the galloping horse.  She tried to reach him, to touch him, to comfort him and ease his pain, but it was as if there was an invisible wall around him.

And then, she felt Something else, Something bigger than she was, bigger than the plains or even the ocean that glinted in the moonlight, just beyond the mountains.  It wrapped her in love and comfort.  It tried to wrap Itself around Flynn, too, but the invisible wall that kept her out seemed to keep It out, also.

“Flynn!”  She cried out, and suddenly, she was back in her own body.

Maggie felt weak, drained.  She shut her eyes.  “Flynn.”

Abby took her hand.  “Flynn’s not here.  But I am.  I’m right here.”  She held Maggie’s hand and stroked her hair.

“Oh, Abby!”  Maggie clung to the older woman’s hand.  She drew a deep breath.  “What happened?  Why was my baby born dead?”

Abby sighed.  “The cord was wrapped around her neck.  Even if you had carried her full term, she would have been born dead.”

Maggie heard the words, but they were meaningless to her.  “Flynn’s gone, Abby.”

“I know, Maggie.  I know.”  Abby squeezed her hand.  “But I’m here.  And Ben and Frank.  And we love you, Maggie, so much.”

Maggie shut her eyes.  “It’s not enough, Abby.  I need him.  I need Flynn.”

Abby said nothing.

Maggie’s pain was almost unbearable.  She thrust it out of her, the way she had learned to do when she was a child.  She felt numb.  She hadn’t felt numb in years.  It frightened her a little, that numbness, but it was better than the pain.  She built a wall of ice around her heart to keep out the pain.

Then, she shut her eyes and slept.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

In the morning, Maggie woke with Abby sitting next to her, still holding her hand.  She heard Ben’s voice outside, barking orders.

Abby brushed her hair back from her face.  “Maggie?”

Maggie turned away from her.

“Maggie, we need to bury your baby.”

“No!”  Maggie tried to sit up, but she was too weak.  The pain in the corner of the wagon crept closer.

Samantha Worthington stuck her head into the wagon.  “Maggie, I’m so sorry.”  She bit her lip.  “Would you—would you like me to baptize your baby?”

Maggie throat ached too much for her to speak.  She nodded.

“Where’s your medical bag,” Samantha asked gently.

Maggie pointed to her old, battered trunk.

Samantha took the bag out of the trunk.  Maggie shut her eyes for a moment.  She saw Tess, her grandmother, sitting on the front porch. 
We buried five babies before your mother was born
.  A little of her grandmother’s strength, her grandmother’s courage seemed to flow from the memory.

Samantha squeezed her hand gently.  Maggie opened her eyes and saw the sadness in Samantha’s face.  She looked away.  “I’m sorry.  This must be hard for you.”

Samantha cleared her throat.  “Did you and Flynn decide on a name?”

Maggie shook her head.  She shut her eyes again.  “We thought we had plenty of time.”  She opened her eyes and drew a deep breath.  “But we talked about calling her Sarah, after Flynn’s mother.”  She drew a deep breath.  “Sarah Flynn.”

“Sarah it is, then,” Abby said firmly.

Samantha trickled a little of the water over the baby’s head.  Her hands shook as she stoppered the bottle again.  “I baptize thee Sarah Flynn in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”

“Amen,” Abby said softly.

Maggie said nothing.

Abby and Samantha helped her dress.  Then, Ben and Frank climbed into the wagon.  They half-led, half-carried Maggie outside.  All of her people were there, waiting for her.  Samantha squeezed her hand gently.  Maggie felt the touch of Samantha’s hand, but the wall of ice kept out comfort as well as pain.  She looked for Flynn, but he wasn’t there.  For a moment, the pain nipped at her heels, but she used the skill she had learned as a child to keep it at bay.

Someone had already dug the tiny grave.  Frank had made a miniature coffin out of pine boards.  Maggie’s throat tightened at the sight.

Ben turned to the grave and bowed his head.  “Lord, we don’t always understand why You do a thing, but we try to trust that You have Your reasons.  Two days ago, You took Maggie’s child.  I don’t know why, but I’m trying to trust You, Lord.  We all are.  Please help us.  We know you’re taking care of Sarah.”

Maggie watched, dry-eyed, as Frank placed the tiny coffin into the grave.  She winced as the first clod of dirt struck the small wooden box, but she didn’t cry.  Ben lifted her back into the wagon, and Abby climbed in behind her.  Exhausted, Maggie lay on her back with her arm over her eyes.

The wagon lurched forward.  She shut her eyes and let darkness take her.

She woke when the wagon stopped moving.  For a moment, she thought it had all been a nightmare.  She touched her belly.  Tears burned her eyes.  The baby was really gone.  And so was Flynn.  She rolled over with her face in the crook of her arm and slept again.

Maggie woke before dawn as usual.  She felt restless.  She got up and went to the back of the wagon.  Ben hurried over to her.  He helped her out of the wagon and held her arm as he escorted her to the fire.  “Feeling a little better?”

Maggie nodded and looked away.  She sat down on a barrel and winced.  She was still a little sore.  The night air felt hot one moment, and cold the next.

“Maggie?”  Abby came over to her and put her hand on her forehead.  “Ben, she’s burning up.  Help me get her back into the wagon.”

Ben picked her up and carried her back into the wagon.  Abby laid a cool, damp cloth on her forehead.  Maggie shut her eyes.  The pain loomed over her, like a snowdrift waiting to start an avalanche.

Maggie whimpered and sought solace in darkness.

*  *  *

For days, she was out of her head.  Finally, when they reached the pass at Mount Doloroso, the fever broke.

“Flynn?”  Her eyes opened, and she looked around.  “Flynn!”

Abby took her hand.  “He’s gone, honey.”

Maggie shut her eyes.  “I remember.  I tried to follow him, but there was blackness all around him.”

Abby hesitated.  “You had a fever.”

The wagon lurched and jolted as they descended the western side of the mountain.

Maggie shut her eyes and held on.  She heard music and laughter, and her pain slid closer.  She gritted her teeth and forced it away.

Three days later, they arrived at Ben’s ranch.  Maggie stared at the small house as if she had never seen it before.  She let Ben help her down and walked stiffly into the house.

Emma took her arm.  “Would you like me to make a bed for you down here, Maggie?”

Maggie shook her head.  She walked up the stairs to the room they had given Flynn when he lost his leg.  She sank wearily onto the edge of the bed and sat there until Emma called her down for supper.  She forced herself to eat.  She couldn’t taste her food.  She was utterly numb.

When supper was over, Maggie climbed the stairs and lay down on the narrow bed.  She lay awake, staring into the darkness.

*  *  *

Morning came.  Maggie still lay in the bed without moving.  She felt nothing, not even hunger.  The sun rose, and still she lay there.

Finally, Emma opened the door.  She sat on the edge of Maggie’s bed.  “I know how you feel, Maggie.  You feel as if life isn’t worth living.”

“It isn’t!”  Maggie’s hands curled into fists.  “My baby is dead, and Flynn left me!”

Emma nodded.  “Ben left me for three years after our last child died.  He just packed up and left.  He didn’t speak, and he didn’t write.  I didn’t know if he was alive or dead.  And then he came back.”  She smiled sadly.  “I almost didn’t let him into the house.”  She shook her head.  “I stood in the doorway with my shotgun aimed at his chest.”

“What happened?”

Emma smoothed Maggie’s hair.  “I remembered that I loved him.”  Color touched her cheeks.  “And now we have Jessica.”

Maggie’s throat tightened.  “Please, Emma, don’t.”

Emma turned and faced her.  “You’re not ready to feel your grief yet.  I understand.  It took me a long time to grieve, but you will, child.  You will.  And when you do, please let me help you.  I’ve been through this three times, and I can help you get through it, too.”

Maggie shut her eyes.  She rolled over with her face to the wall.

That night, Maggie dreamed of her parents’ death.  They fought, and she couldn’t stop them.  Michael struck Lucy, and she fell, striking her head against a crate.  Her blood ran across the floor of the wagon.  Michael cried out in anguish.  He grabbed his shotgun.  His finger squeezed the trigger.

“No!”  Maggie sat up.  Her face was wet with tears, and her throat was raw from screaming.  She waited for Flynn to come, but he didn’t.

Maggie shut her eyes.  “I need you, Flynn,” she whispered.  “I need you.”

Emma knocked on her door and opened it.  “Are you all right?”

Maggie nodded.  “I just had a nightmare.”

She heard the sound of Emma’s footsteps as she walked back to her room.  She heard the rumble of Ben’s voice.  Envy stabbed her, as sharp as Romeo’s dagger.

But she pushed her pain away and held on.

*  *  *

Day followed day, and Maggie remained listless.  She spent most of her time in bed.

Then, one morning, she heard Sam’s voice.  “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, Sam.”

Maggie heard her father’s footsteps on the stairs.  He knocked on the door.

Tears filled her eyes.  “Go away!”

The door swung open, and Sam filled it, not just with his body, but with the force of his personality.  “Maggie O'Brien Anders Flynn, I’m ashamed of you!”

Maggie blinked.  “But—”

He came over to the bed and pulled her out of bed.  “I expected better than this from you.”

Maggie stood, trembling, in her nightgown.  Tears blurred her vision.  “My baby is dead, and Flynn is gone.”