Paradise Falls (23 page)

When the horse and wagon finally pulled up the lane and turned into their yard, the two women could see that there were only two figures aboard.

Before it had even come to a halt Rose launched herself off the porch and raced toward her older son, who climbed wearily from the wagon seat. “Where is Fleming? I told you not to come home without your brother.”

“Come inside, Ma.” He helped his father down.

The moment Broderick was out of the wagon he caught his wife’s hand and led her toward the house. Though she protested, she moved along at his side.

Gray reached into the back of the wagon for his carpetbag, before turning. When he did he caught sight of Fiona standing alone on the porch, twisting her hands together nervously.

He climbed the steps and avoided her eyes as he held the door, leaving her no choice but to walk ahead of him. Once inside he seemed to take forever setting down his bag and stripping off his heavy coat before carefully hanging it on a peg by the door.

When he turned, he took a deep breath before saying, “I think you should all sit down.”

Rose was suddenly wary. “What is it, Grayson? What terrible things do you have to tell?”

“Ma.” He glanced at his father, who eased Rose into a chair.

Fiona followed suit, her eyes never leaving Gray’s. Gray got down on his knees in front of her.

His voice lowered. “I went to the home of your aunt.”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. “You saw my mother?”

“I’d hoped to. I was...” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was too late.”

“Too late? I don’t under—”

He spoke quickly, hoping to spare her any more pain.

“You were right in surmising that your mother had become ill. Your aunt said it started with a fever, and quickly moved to her lungs. The doctor said it was pneumonia.” He reached into his pocket and removed an envelope. “Your mother had begun a letter to you when she took ill. Your aunt thought you might want to read her last words.”

Fiona stared at the envelope in his hands without reaching toward it. “Her last...?”

“Your mother is dead, Fiona. She was buried two days before I arrived.” Gray thrust the envelope into her hands and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Your aunt sent along a box of her belongings. I’ll bring them to your room later.”

Fiona clapped a hand too her mouth, her voice little more than a whisper. “This is my fault. I should have been there with her.”

Gray reached for her, closing his big hands over hers. “It was nobody’s fault. Your aunt said your mother seemed very frail when she arrived in Chicago. It was her belief that your mother lost her will to live after losing your father.”

She shook her head in denial. “But I could have given her some of my strength, if only I’d been there with her. Don’t you see? I was all she had left. And I deserted her.”

“You didn’t desert your mother. You did what you had to do.” Gray could see her eyes glazing over with shock and grief. At a loss for words he stood and filled a cup with water before handing it to her. “Drink this.”

She did as she was told, emptying the cup in one long swallow without even being aware of what she was doing.

In the silence that followed Broderick turned to his wife. “Grayson found where Fleming was living.”

“Oh, praise heaven.” Rose lifted a hand to her quivering lips. “Tell me it was worthy of him. How did he look? Is he happy? What sort of job did he find?”

Gray exchanged a look with his father, and it was plain that they had already spoken at length about how much to tell Rose. Even though they would sugarcoat the truth, her heart was bound to be broken.

Broderick spoke for both of them. “Fleming has changed, Rose.”

Her head came up. “What do you mean, changed?”

“Grayson found him playing a piano in a club.”

“A gentleman’s club?”

“Of sorts. He’s staying in a room above it, with a group of pretty unsavory people.”

Rose sniffed. “How many people?”

“Maybe a dozen or so.”

Her eyes narrowed on her son. “In one room?”

Gray thought of the rat-infested tenement, the stairs littered with filth and broken bottles and sleeping drunks, and merely nodded.

She got to her feet, her eyes blazing. “Why are you spreading such lies about your own brother? Fleming has no need to live in a crowded room. He has plenty of money.”

“Rose.” Broderick put a hand over hers. “His money is all gone.”

“Gone?”

Broderick said softly, “Tell your mother.”

Gray glanced at his father before saying, “Flem might have been good enough to beat the farmers in Little Bavaria out of a few dollars at poker, but he was no match for the gamblers he met in Chicago.”

She pulled away from her husband and fisted her hands at her waist. “They cheated him of his money? And you did nothing to stop them?”

“By the time I got there, the money was gone. Not that Flem seemed to care.”

“How can you say such a thing? Why wouldn’t he care?”

“Like Papa said, he’s changed.”

Her chin lifted. “How has Fleming changed?”

Gray shrugged. “Whiskey can dull a man’s mind.”

“Whiskey?” Rose stiffened as though she’d been struck. Slowly her shock turned to righteous anger. “How could you return without the brother who needs you, now more than ever?”

“I did what I could, Ma. I told him I’d been sent to Chicago to bring him home. We had a pretty nasty time of it.” Gray paused, and decided not to go into details about the vicious, knock-down, drag-out fight that had ensued. At one point he’d found himself facing half a dozen pair of fists. The only salvation for Gray had been that most of Flem’s friends had been too drunk to do too much damage, but at one point he’d found himself facing the tip of a razor-sharp knife in the hands of a hulking gambler who’d threatened to carve him into pieces.

“When I left that day, I told Flem I’d be returning in the morning to take him with me to the train.” Gray turned to Fiona, who had listened to the entire narrative without expression. “That’s when I went to locate your aunt’s house.”

He saw her fingers tighten around the envelope.

With a sigh he returned his attention to his mother. “The next morning, when I went back to Flem’s room, he was gone. One of his roommates told me that Flem said he’d rather live in the meanest of Chicago’s gutters than return to Paradise Falls.”

Rose’s anger was so palpable, she was trembling. She pointed a finger at Gray. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you even found your brother.” She nodded her head for emphasis as she turned to her husband. “That’s it. That’s what this is about. He couldn’t find Fleming, and he decided to cover it up with this horrible lie.” Her voice lowered for emphasis. “He’s always been jealous of Fleming. Even when they were just children, he knew.”

“What did I know, Ma?”

She turned to Fiona, completely ignoring her son. “Did you know that when Fleming was born, people used to stop me just to admire my beautiful baby? By the time he was two he had long golden curls and the face of an angel.” She paused for a moment, remembering. “He was seven when Broderick took him to the barn and cut off all his beautiful curls.” She rounded on her husband. “I thought I would never be able to forgive you for such a cruel act.”

“Cruel? Rose, the boy was being taunted by the other boys in town.”

She nodded. “Because they were jealous.” She turned back to Fiona. “I knew that he was special. I always told him so. He’d been blessed with so much more than other children, and as he grew to manhood it became obvious to everyone. No man in Paradise Falls was more handsome, or charming, or talented. Women, no matter what their age, couldn’t help falling under his spell. If the men were cool to him it was only because they were jealous of all that he had. You know what I’m saying is true. I saw the way you looked at him.”

Fiona was too shocked to do more than shake her head in denial, but Rose had already turned away to flick a dismissive glance at Gray. “I should have never sent you to fetch your brother, knowing that your jealousy would only cause you to spread vicious lies about him.”

Broderick closed a hand over her upper arm. “Rose, listen to me.”

“No.” She pulled away, her eyes glittering with fury. “You listen to me. I refuse to believe anything Grayson has said about his brother. Fleming will return home one day, rich and successful. And when he does, he will prove the lies that have been spread about him.”

Gray turned his back on his mother and picked up his carpetbag. Without a word he strode out of the kitchen.

Moments later they heard his footfall on the steps as he climbed the stairs to his room.

In the silence that followed Broderick clasped Fiona’s hands, and noted that they were as cold as death. “I’m so very sorry about your mother, Miss Downey.”

She said nothing as she bowed her head.

Broderick glanced at his wife, who stood with arms crossed over her chest, staring blankly out the window. “Our young guest has suffered a grave shock. She needs something to warm her.”

Rose didn’t turn. “And what about my shock?”

He sighed and crossed to the stove, spooning cabbage soup into a bowl. When he placed it in front of Fiona, she merely looked at it. Placing a spoon in her hand, he said gently, “Eat.”

She dipped the spoon into the bowl and lifted soup to her mouth.

“Good.” He sighed. “Again.”

She did as she was told, as he’d known she would.

He continued coaxing her until the bowl was empty. Then he helped her to her feet and said, “Go to your room now, Miss Downey, and read your mother’s letter. It will help you to deal with your loss.”

He led her out of the kitchen and waited until he saw her door close. Then he returned to his wife’s side, wishing he could force Rose to behave the way he’d just now forced their young houseguest.

But perhaps it would be easier for Fiona Downey in the long run. She was merely dealing with death, while Rose was facing something far worse. The waste of all those fine, bright dreams for her favored young prince had now gone up in ashes and smoke.

Dearest Fiona

With every breath, I feel my strength slipping away. I hate the thought of leaving you. But you will never be alone. You have your father’s sure and steady purpose, and his fine mind, and his strength of will. Know also that you have all my love. Your father and I will remain with you in spirit always.

Gray knocked on Fiona’s door and waited. When he heard no response from inside her room, he tentatively opened her door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, so as not to muss it, holding a single piece of paper.

“I’ve brought your mother’s things.” He crossed the room and set down a trunk.

When he straightened, she barely glanced over. “Thank you, Gray.”

He knelt in front of her and could see that her eyes were dry. She was sitting perfectly still, as though holding herself together by a mere thread. He could see the effort she was making to dam up all of the feelings threatening to break free.

He took her hand in his. “Your aunt wanted you to know that your mother didn’t suffer. She just closed her eyes and went to sleep.”

When Fiona said nothing he added, “And she particularly wanted me to tell you that your mother’s last words were about you, and how proud you made her.”

Despite her efforts one big wet tear slid from the corner of her eye and spilled down her cheek.

She wiped at it with her free hand until he stopped her. “Let the tears come.”

She turned her head away.

“Don’t be ashamed to cry.” He drew her up and gathered her against his chest. “When we lose someone dear to us, we have a right to our grief.”

“Oh, Gray.” The cry was torn from her lips before her slender body shook with great, heart-wrenching sobs.

Now that she’d begun, she wept from the depths of her soul, letting all the pain and anguish of the past months mingle with the razor-sharp pain of this latest loss. She cried for the father she had adored, and the gentle mother who had been her angel. She wept for all the fine, loving memories of her past that could never be repeated in the future. And she wept for herself, giving vent to all the loneliness of the past months, and her fears for the unknown that lay before her.

Finally, when the tears had run their course, she took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped back. “I got your shirt all wet.”

“It doesn’t matter. It will dry.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

She dried her tears and began twisting the pale linen square around and around her finger. “Thank you, Gray.”

Now that he’d offered his comfort, he looked ill at ease. “I’ll leave you now to go through your mother’s things. Papa said you should come later and eat something more.”

“How is your mother?”

He paused in the doorway, amazed that even now, in the depths of her own grief, she would care about another. “She’s in her room. Papa is with her.”

“Gray.”

He turned.

Fiona took a deep breath. “I’m truly sorry for all that you had to go through. It must have been horrible for you, not only learning about my mother’s...” She swallowed. “My mother’s passing, but then to have to deal with Flem living in that horrible place and refusing to come home.”

His expression never changed. But there was a softness in his tone. “You believe me?”

“Of course I believe you, Gray. Why would you lie about your own brother?”

He merely stared at her for long silent moments before saying softly, “Thank you.”

He spun away and closed the door.

Fiona stood listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps, before turning her attention to her mother’s trunk. Now that she’d shed her tears, her mind seemed dearer, sharper—as was her pain.

She sat back on her heels and thought again about that scene in the kitchen between Rose and her son. Though Fiona could sympathize with Rose’s loss, her heart went out to Gray.

She admired his stoic acceptance, even while she cringed each time he was forced to endure yet another lashing of his soul at the hands of his own mother. What kind of man could survive such torture without once striking back? And what, she wondered, would happen if he should finally reach the end of that long-suffering patience?