Elizabeth Meyette (21 page)

“Mornin’ Miss Emily,” he said, stopping to greet her. “You jus’ go back inside the parlor; you don’ need to see all of this blood. It be bad for your baby.”

“Thank you, Jedadiah. I saw plenty of blood last night.” She smiled at him as she sidestepped the area he was working on.

Climbing the stairs, she proceeded to Andrew’s room and opened the door. Joanna was sitting beside him pressing water-soaked cloths to his forehead and neck. When she turned to her, Emily saw the lines of concern on her face and the circles under her eyes.

“Has his fever broken?” Emily asked.

Joanna shook her head and continued bathing him with cool water from the porcelain bowl. Her exhaustion was evident in every move, and Emily knew that Joanna had tended Andrew throughout the night allowing her to sleep. Emily walked over to the bed. Leaning down, she felt Andrew’s forehead and gasped.

“He is burning up!” she exclaimed. “What else can we do, Joanna?”

Shaking her head, her sister-in-law looked at Emily with tear-filled eyes.

“I do not know what else to do, Em.” One tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

“No,” Emily cried. “No, he cannot die. There must be something more.”

Joanna stood and eased Emily down on the bed. She took a fresh strip of cloth, wrung it out and gave it to Emily.

“We can pray,” she said simply, and she walked out of the room.

Emily felt tears course down her face as the reality struck her. She looked at Andrew’s white face and watched his shallow breathing. How could she lose her last family member? Her baby brother who had shared her life, her memories, her adventures? How could this happen? Feeling dreadfully alone, Emily sobbed. She prayed desperate prayers for her brother. She begged him to be strong, and she washed him with her tears.

Through the open window she heard the approach of several riders. Her heart raced as she ran to the window to discover who was arriving. It was a group of five including Jenny and Mr. Gates. But no Jonathon. She pressed her palms into her eyes and fought back the despair. How could she lose her brother and possibly her husband? Where was he? But hope ignited within her at the sight of Mr. Gates for both Andrew and Jonathon owed their lives to his medical knowledge. She hastened downstairs to greet the party.

As she descended the front steps of the manor, Jenny ran up to her eagerly.

“Is everyone all right? Is Andrew all right?” she asked.

Emily looked at the younger woman, her heart heavy. She watched as Jenny’s smile faded to disbelief as she looked past Emily to the door, her eyes searching.

“Where is Andrew?” she asked, her voice small.

“Jenny, Andrew was shot; he is not doing well.”

“No!” she cried looking at Emily for denial. “NO!”

“I will bring you to him,” Emily said softly.

Robert Gates approached her, concern showing in his eyes.

“Mrs. Brentwood, you look exhausted.”

“Oh, Mr. Gates, please come and examine Andrew. He has been shot; his fever is high, and I believe — ,” she could not continue.

Jenny’s tears ran unchecked down her face as the three hurried into the manor. Leading them upstairs, Emily was surprised at two things: her sudden exhaustion and the realization that Jenny was experiencing what she had aboard the
Destiny
when she believed Jonathon was dying. Their love had been new then, too, but even then her desolation at the thought of losing him was overwhelming. How odd that someone would feel that way about her little brother. She saw Jenny as if for the first time. Yes, she was a woman in love, and her brother was a man now. Too drained to follow this train of thought any further, she entered Andrew’s room. Jenny ran to Andrew’s bedside followed by Mr. Gates. Emily stood where she was, unable to take another step. Feeling dizzy, she grabbed the arm of a nearby chair and sat down. The scene before her brought back memories of tending Jonathon aboard the
Destiny
and she watched Jenny leaning over Andrew, tears spilling on the sheets and Mr. Gates telling her what needed to be done. With an overwhelming sense of relief, Emily leaned back in the chair and knew that if Andrew were to live it would be because of the skill of Mr. Gates and the love of Jenny Sutton.

• • •

The subdued group crowded around the supper table. The day had been busy with burying the dead, caring for the wounded and assessing the food stores remaining after the British occupation of the estate. David planned to visit neighbors to barter with them for food, but he was reluctant to travel far from the plantation so long as Captain Walters was at large and Jonathon was in danger. Jenny had been caring for Andrew all day, and Emily had noticed the strain in her face, the lines around her mouth and eyes. David could not take his eyes from Joanna, and Emily could feel his love for her like a tangible entity in the room. She remembered when Jonathon would look at her like that, and it had been as if a shield of love protected her from any harm. But at this moment, she felt cold and empty. Mr. Gates was still at Andrew’s bedside with Jenny, administering remedies that had proven effective after sea battles.

Emily felt rested after a long afternoon nap, and her appetite seemed to have returned. Upon waking, she visited Andrew, who was still running a fever and was becoming delirious. She watched Jenny apply cool compresses to his forehead and neck, following Mr. Gates’s instructions, just as she had for Jonathon. Her heart went out to the girl, for if Jenny loved Andrew as she had Jonathon, her heart was breaking right now. Looking again at the girl, the sadness conveyed in her eyes confirmed Emily’s thoughts.

Still no word from Jonathon, no sighting of him or Walters. Emily shifted in her chair, hungry to know how he was faring. Hungry for any knowledge of him at all. Gazing across the table, she caught David watching her. His eyes were soft and caring.

“David, may I have a word with you?” she asked.

“Of course, Emily,” he bowed slightly.

The two excused themselves and rose from the table. Emily needed to know about Jonathon and Deidre; despite the havoc of the last days, she was ready. It was time.

Emily sat at her dressing table brushing her hair, pondering all that David had told her about Jonathon and Deidre’s encounter. While relief washed through her like a soothing stream at the knowledge that Jonathon had been coerced, still a distressing image of them lying together nagged at her mind. It was not a new image, for the picture had haunted her since Deidre’s shocking accusation the night Jonathon had returned to Brentwood Manor. But until now, the image had included soft words whispered, gentle caresses building to passion consuming and welcomed by both. At last Emily’s fear was assuaged knowing that Jonathon’s love was hers alone.

She imagined what it must have been like for him when Deidre threatened her life and that of their baby. Remembering how weak he had been, even at her last visit when they had made love, she knew he must have felt vulnerable and powerless. He had still been unable to rise from the bed for any length of time, and Emily had found it necessary to assist him even in undressing. How they had laughed and teased each other, and then how gentle and tender their lovemaking had been. Even in his weakened state, Jonathon had been a wonderful lover, and Emily felt a flush seep through her at this memory. She longed for him with all of her being, hungry to feel his arms around her again. A familiar stirring started low and spread throughout her body. She laughed at herself, looking down at her rounded midsection, and then she sobered as she wondered if perhaps he would not find her attractive now.

The stillness of the summer night wrapped the room in serenity. Yielding to the humid air, Emily had donned only a light, silk robe left open for any cooling effect. Feeling the baby kick and move within her, Emily’s hands instinctively went to her belly. She gently prodded encouraging return kicks and smiled as she felt the life of her child so enthusiastic and flourishing. Rubbing her skin with jasmine-scented oil, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the aroma that she loved. The reality of the situation was confusing at best. How would they heal from this? How would they go on from here? Had her rejection of Jonathon the night of his visit turned him from her and straight into Deidre’s waiting arms? She had been so angry, so hurt. Unable even to recall what she had said to him, she knew that she had dismissed him — perhaps he had given up on her. It was not the first time she had said hurtful things to him. There was much forgiving to be done by both.

Hearing the soft sound of her bedroom door opening, she opened her eyes and again looked in the mirror. Jonathon’s eyes reflected back at her from where he stood in the doorway, motionless and tentative. Their eyes held, and a jumble of emotions ran through her: fear, longing, relief, joy, hope and desire. His gaze held hers as he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly. Emily watched him, transfixed. He came to her and in the mirror’s reflection each studied the other. Slowly, he raised his hands and placed them on her shoulders; she gasped softly as she felt his skin on hers. They were frozen in the moment. Silence enshrouded them broken only by the night sounds of crickets and the sputtering of the candles. She felt a silent tear brim then trace along her cheek, past her lips leaving a salty marker of its presence. Leaning forward, Jonathon bent and kissed her shoulder, his lips soft and warm, his breath like a feather teasing her skin. Emily trembled. He knelt beside her, and she turned, facing him. His eyes searched hers, and, taking her hands in his, he bent his head and kissed each palm.

“Emily, I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I ask your forgiveness; I will do whatever it takes to win back your love.” His voice was soft in the still air. When he looked up, his eyes found hers once more. Silvery tears caught the candlelight as they streamed down his face, and his eyes glistened in its glow.

Seeing him before her was so unreal for Emily, and she felt as though she were moving in a dream. Nothing felt real, and time seemed to creep. While she heard his words, she seemed unable to comprehend them, much less fashion a response, so she simply gazed at him, trancelike.

Jonathon lowered his head again, his voice barely audible.

“I know I have hurt you beyond telling, Em, but I pray it not be beyond repair.”

Feeling the desperation in his voice, Emily reached below his chin and raised his face to hers. Was he really here, kneeling before her? How long had she waited for this moment? Why was she unable to respond and assure him of her love? She saw the crease between his brows, anguish evident in his eyes.

“I love you.”

The simplicity of her statement was all she could manage, yet it held within it the hope of their future, the promise of their life together.

Jonathon crumpled into her arms, shaking. He buried his head against her shoulder, and his tears dampened her robe.

“My love,” he breathed into her hair. Straightening, he held her face in his hands and gently kissed her. He leaned back and looked at her, his eyes shining. Brushing back her tawny hair, he let it flow across her shoulders and down her back. He took in her body enlarged with the evidence of their love, and with wonder in his eyes, he traced the curve of her belly, a soft smile playing on his face. A hearty kick surprised him and he laughed out loud looking back at her. Joy mixed with pride glowed on his face.

“Em, our baby! How he has grown!”

She laughed with him and covered his hands with hers. “Indeed he has! I waddle like a duck when I walk!” Her words tripped over the giddiness rising within.

Jonathon bent to her belly and spoke. “Good day, my fine fellow, I am your father.” The baby kicked at the sound of Jonathon’s voice. “Oh-ho, so you recognize me, I see. I have been away, but I shall be here when you make your appearance, my lad … “ He looked at Emily as he continued. “ … I give you my solemn oath.” His eyes burned into hers with love and promise.

Emily reached out to caress his face and smiled softly. “We know you will be here, Jonathon.”

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. His hand reached up and stroked her hair, and then he leaned in and kissed her. Fire burned within Emily as his lips sought hers, and she pressed herself to him, yielding to his embrace.

He kissed her as a starving man, hungrily tasting her sweetness. He lifted her from her chair and carried her to the bed laying her down gently and lying alongside her. He covered her face, her neck, her breasts with kisses, his hands searching, roaming, caressing her body. Emily threw her arms around his neck pulling him closer, wanting to climb inside his skin, to unite forever. Her hands slid across his back seeking any part of him within her reach. Hungry for each other and stirred with pent up desire and longing, they moved in the frenzied dance of lovers long parted.

Suddenly, Jonathon moved away and looked at her in alarm. Emily met his eyes, confused.

“Em, am I hurting you, or our baby?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

Emily laughed. “No, Jonathon, as long as you do not throw me in the air or toss me on the ground, I believe I will be fine — as will the child.” She smiled into his eyes and drew his face to hers. She kissed him softly, and smiled reassuringly. Then she kissed him with a passion so familiar, so dear, so urgent, that he stifled a cry in his throat.

“My God, Em. My God,”

He kissed her throat, along the swell of her breast, the soft pink tip of her nipples. He traveled down to her belly and covered it with kisses, then returned and rested his head on her breasts. She stroked his hair and pressed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Emily, I need to tell you — ” he began.

“Hush, Jonathon. David has already told me about what Deidre did.”

“I could not … I was unable to … I did not want to … ”

“I know, Jonathon.”

He buried his face in her neck. “I should have been able to stop her. Damn the woman — I should have been able to hold her back!” he cursed.

Emily continued stroking his hair. Images of that encounter invaded her mind, and she fought them with all of her being. Even after David had told her how Deidre had exploited Jonathon, the question of why he reacted as he did, physically, haunted her … as it did now. Awkward and uncomfortable, David had tried to explain the physiological differences between men and women causing some embarrassing moments for the two of them. While Emily had accepted what he had said, she was still bemused. Jonathon was her first and only lover, and the workings of men, beyond her knowledge of him, remained a mystery. Awareness crept into her mind. What had happened between Jonathon and Deidre was a fact that could not be cancelled or altered. The result, Deidre’s pregnancy, was a fact, too. It was not a matter of understanding what had occurred with Jonathon; it was a matter of trust. Understanding it would not change it, but not forgiving it could destroy them. What it came down to was this: did Emily trust Jonathon? Did she love him enough to overcome her lack of understanding? Could she forgive him and move past it? The last would be difficult with the evidence of his encounter with Deidre growing within the woman everyday … right under Emily’s roof. Emotion was not the only requirement, love alone would not be sufficient; Emily suddenly knew that she must go beyond love to a decision, to conscious acceptance of Jonathon and the consequences of this encounter. She had to delve into herself, into her spirit and rise above doubt, above jealousy, above mistrust. Her spirit must love at her core, selfless and forgiving.