Within My Heart (39 page)

Rand watched her, admiring her strength and courage, and her love for Ben and Lyda.

With Ben in the wheelchair, dressed warmly and with extra blankets tucked around him, they headed for the lobby. Guests of the resort mingled in small clusters, drinks in hand. Some looked their way and smiled. But every employee they saw paused from their work to come and hug Ben and Lyda and say their good-byes.

The bellman held open the doors, and Rand pushed Ben’s wheelchair through, readying himself for a chilling blast of wind. But none came.

The night was absolute stillness. Not a breath of wind stirred. Snow continued to fall, but the flakes drifted lazily downward, unhurried and unhindered, cushioning every footfall and muffling their voices.

“Well, I’ll be,” Ben said softly.

Rand wasn’t sure whether Ben was referring to the night’s quiet, or to the huge sleigh wagon Charlie Daggett stood beside, but he shared the reaction.

Lyda turned to Rachel. “Where on earth did you find that wagon?”

“I didn’t.” Rachel gestured. “Charlie did. It belongs to a family in Little Italy. They were kind enough to let us borrow it. That’s what took us a little longer.”

Charlie stepped forward. “We got you a nice, warm spot back here, Mr. Mullins. You too, Miss Lyda. We warmed up some bricks and stuffed them down beneath so it’d be nice and cozy for you.” Charlie ran a hand along the oversized wagon bed layered with hay and blankets. “It’s gonna be nice havin’ you back in the store, sir.”

Once Ben and Lyda were comfortable, covered up and toasty, the boys burrowed in with them. Rand assisted Rachel and claimed a spot beside her. He leaned closer. “Why do I have a feeling this isn’t everything you and Charlie have planned?”

She laughed softly but said nothing.

After a jerky start, the sleigh glided across the fresh-fallen snow like warm butter over homemade bread. A myriad of stars twinkled above, and the blanketed ground reflected the moonlight, making it easy to see the path ahead.

Rand kept an eye on Ben, recognizing the sedating effects of the laudanum and watching for anything unusual that might indicate a problem.

“Hey!” Mitch rose up on his knees, pointing skyward. “There’s Orion!”

Rand felt a nudge in his ribs and caught Rachel’s smile. His attention immediately swung to Kurt. He knew the boy would be frantically searching the night sky, not wanting to be outdone by his older brother. And sure enough, Kurt stared up, tongue doubled between his teeth, eyes darting this way and that. Feeling for him, Rand began to pray. Not just that Kurt would find a constellation he knew, but that he would discover that certain
something
within himself that all boys needed to find before they could begin to realize who they were, as well as the man they would grow to be.

Kurt’s face lit. “I see it! I see the Big Dipper!”

Rand nodded his approval, wishing God answered all his prayers so quickly.

They reached town and Charlie slowed the horses’ pace. It soon became apparent why.

Bordering Main Street and leading all the way to the Mullinses’ store were oil lamps, spaced at regular intervals, burning bright in the night, casting a warm glow across the snow. It looked like a scene from a painting.

“What on earth?” Lyda said, rising up to look. She nudged Ben, who did the same.

“Oh . . .” Ben sighed, blinking. “Would you look at that. . . .”

Rachel leaned forward. “People heard you were coming home tonight, Ben, and they wanted to do something special for you. It’s their way of welcoming you back.”

The closer they got to the store, the more people were gathered on the boardwalk, James and Molly among them, little Josephine in James’s arms. Josiah and Belle Birch and their son, Elijah, waved and called out greetings as the wagon passed, as did countless others.

“Good to see you back, Mr. Mullins! We’ve been missin’ you!”

“Hurry up and get back behind that counter, Ben!”

“We love you, Ben! You too, Lyda!”

Lips pinched tight, chin quivering, Ben raised his hand and waved. Lyda leaned into him and slipped her arms around his waist.

With Charlie’s help, they got Ben inside and upstairs, taking time to let Ben see the renovation the store had undergone. “Wonderful,” he whispered, taking everything in. “Just like I pictured it.”

Ben groaned as Charlie laid him into bed. He held his chest as Rand checked his pulse. Shallow. Erratic. Rand administered more digitalis and supported Ben’s head as he drank, telling himself again that he’d made the right choice in bringing Ben home.
“The person
dying gets to choose.”
Seeing the silent affirmation in Rachel’s pained expression helped.

Lyda took the empty cup and set it aside, staying ever close by her husband.

“I know”—Ben struggled for breath—“what you’re thinkin’, Doc. And . . .” He shook his head. “You stop it . . . right now. If you’d said no to bringin’ me home, I . . .” He grimaced. “I woulda had to call you out, son. Like I said I would. Remember?”

Rand gripped Ben’s hand, willing the digitalis to act quickly. “Of course I remember. Why do you think I said yes?”

Eyes closed, Ben smiled.

Moments passed and his breathing evened, though his inhalation still sounded congested and moist. At least his pain had eased. For now.

Rand leaned closer, wanting Ben to hear. “That scene outside a few minutes ago, when we drove up . . . I’d think that would make a man look back on his life and realize what a
fine
job he’s done with the time God gave him.”

Eyes still closed, Ben gripped Rand’s hand tighter, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

Later, with Ben resting comfortably, Rand made a trip to the clinic for more medicine. His latest shipment had finally arrived from Denver, but several of the bottles had broken in transit, and the vendor sent smaller quantities than he’d ordered. So his supplies were running low—again.

When he returned to the store, it was nearing eleven o’clock. He found Lyda reading a story to the boys, one nestled on either side of her. The boys yawned, their eyelids heavy.

Lyda paused from reading. “Rachel’s upstairs with Ben,” she said softly. “She insists that she and the boys are going to stay the night, but . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve encouraged her to take them on home and get some rest.” She patted each of the boys on the leg, smiling as they stared up at her. “These sweet boys have already said good night to their uncle Ben.” She looked back at Rand, her weary smile fading.

She didn’t have to voice the question. Rand understood without her saying a thing, and wished he had the answer. “I don’t know,” he whispered, then reached down and pinched the toe of Mitch’s boot, then Kurt’s. “Did you boys give your uncle Ben a good hug tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered.

“But not too hard, like you said,” Kurt added.

Nodding, he rose, seeing Lyda’s tears, feeling his own. As much as he loved Ben, he hoped for Ben’s sake that it wouldn’t be long, and knew that Lyda would begin to hope the same, as it soon became more and more difficult for Ben to breathe.

He climbed the stairs, each boot step heavier than the last. He placed the pouch of medicine on the hallway table and took a moment to gather his emotions, knowing he needed to be strong. For Ben, for Lyda. For everyone.

The door to Ben and Lyda’s bedroom was slightly ajar, and as he reached to open it farther, he saw Rachel seated on the edge of the bed, her back to him, speaking to Ben in a halting whisper. He couldn’t hear what she said, but judging by the fatherly way Ben lifted a hand to her cheek, he gathered it was a private moment and stepped back into the hall.

“I’ll tell him, honey.” Ben’s voice was gentle, yet held unwavering certainty. “He already knows, I’m sure. But I’ll tell him.”

Rachel whispered something else Rand couldn’t quite make out, and then he heard the soft tap of her boots. He stepped farther back into the hall, not wanting her to think he’d been standing there listening, even though he had. Or had tried.

The door opened. Her face was wet with tears. Seeing him, she quickly wiped them away. “I think the boys and I are going to stay. We’ll make pallets downstairs in the—”

“Rachel . . .” he whispered, shaking his head.

Her face crumpled, and he pulled her to him. Her arms came around his waist.

“There’s nothing else you can do tonight.” He stroked her back, kissed the top of her head. “Go on home and get some rest. I’ll be here.”

She took a hiccuped breath, then finally nodded. “We’ll be back in the morning. First thing.”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her forehead, lingering, praying, wondering what message she’d given to Ben. And if it was meant for him.

32

H
er shoulders burning from exertion, Rachel thrust the pitchfork into the hay, hefted the load, and lugged it to the last stall. The first hint of morning shone through cracks in the plank wood as she heaved the feed over the stall with more force than necessary. The horse whinnied and stamped, but Rachel paid the animal no mind. She shoved the pitchfork back on the nail and grabbed the mallet from the workbench as irretrievable moments ticked past.

She should have been with Ben and Lyda at that moment instead of taking care of her
confounded
animals—she hammered the layer of ice on the water barrel—on her
blasted
ranch—shards went flying—that she’d never really wanted Thomas to—

The mallet slipped from her grip and sailed into the air behind her, hitting the barn wall with a crash. Rachel bit back harsh words as angry tears rose.

She sucked in a breath and dragged her fingers through her hair, slowly exhaling, her breath fogging white. What was she doing? She looked around the barn. Was this what she wanted to do with the rest of her life? She clenched her jaw, remembering what Ben had said last night.
“Don’t be afraid of being happy again, Rachel.”
She brushed away a tear, sick of the conflict inside her, wanting to be true to Thomas while also being honest with herself.

During the night, she’d awakened and decided that she would ask Ben what he thought about her selling the ranch—right now, as it was, before she bought the cattle from Mr. Westin’s colleague. Ben had known Thomas, and Thomas had confided in him, apparently more than she’d realized at the time. Ben would give her an honest answer and good counsel. He always had. But she needed to hurry. If there was one thing she knew, time wasn’t guaranteed. And Ben didn’t have much left. He’d told her so last night. He’d said he could feel the days slipping away.

Chores done, for the morning at least, she retraced her path through the snow back to the house and was halfway up the porch stairs when she saw something from the corner of her eye. Someone coming up the road. Her brain registered who it was first, and then it registered with her heart. She grabbed the porch railing, her legs losing strength. She shook her head, unable to catch her breath.

In the moment Rand’s arms came around her, she knew it didn’t matter whether death came suddenly, without warning, or whether it came slowly, giving you time to memorize the sound of its footsteps and the hollow cadence of its march. Whichever way death came, and however much she believed that the grave held no lasting victory, the same terrible rending tore down deep inside, severing what was from what would never be again.

At least, not here on this earth.

Lyda sat in the rocker, staring at the now-empty bed, weeping. Not in a wailing way, but in low, lonely sobs that were somehow even worse. Rachel set the cup of hot tea on the dresser beside her.

Rand had stopped by James and Molly’s on the way out to her ranch and had told them about Ben’s passing. James had been by some time ago and, with the help of Deputy Willis, moved Ben’s body to Rand’s clinic as Rand requested.

Rachel knelt and took hold of Lyda’s hands. “I’ll see to all the details. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Lyda gestured. “His suit . . . It’s in the chifforobe. And his tie is in the top drawer.” Her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, she took a deep breath, held it for the longest time, and then gave it release. “One of the last things he said to me was . . .” She pressed her lips together, fresh tears coming. “ ‘I feel like there’s a big surprise comin’. ’ ” She said it the way Ben might have, then smiled softly. “I told him he was right, that there was. He asked me, ‘Reckon what it might be?’ And I said . . .” Her gaze lowered to the bed as though she could still see Ben lying there. “I said I couldn’t tell him . . . or else it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Rachel smiled, and held tighter to Lyda’s hands.

Lyda dabbed her eyes with one of Ben’s handkerchiefs. “I told him that . . .” She sniffed. “That when he saw Jesus, to run for Him with everything he had . . . and that I’d be right behind him . . . soon enough.” She looked upward, another low sob breaking through. “And I think that’s what he did.”

Rachel laid her head in Lyda’s lap. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her chest tight with grief.

Lyda stroked her hair. “He’s with them now. . . .”

Rachel nodded, knowing whom she meant.