Part 30 (1/2)
”I got Wrangler almost inside, but lightning struck again and spooked the herd. I think one of them must have pushed him into me.”
”I'm sorry, Annie,” he said, his voice raw. ”Sorry I wasn't there for you.”
”What day is this?”
”The same day,” he answered. ”You've only slept a few hours.”
She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but she was a bigger coward than he was. Admitting her failure was too difficult right now. ”What was our baby, Luke?” she had to ask. ”Did you see him?”
He nodded. Swallowed. ”A boy.”
”Where is he?”
”I buried him on our land while you were resting. I wrapped him in one of the blankets you made. I called him John when I said a prayer, is that okay?”
Tears rolled from her eyes and fell back into her hair. ”Yes.”
”I love you, Annie.”
She closed her eyes and heard him breathe.
After what seemed like hours later, voices sounded outside the room. Luke raised his head from the bed and listened.
The door opened and Annie's mother and father entered the room. Her mother covered her mouth with a handkerchief and wept when she saw her. They rushed forward and Luke stood and backed away. Her father took her hand. ”Annie,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”I'm so sorry.”
”We're here, darling,” her mother said, and stroked her forehead with a soft cool hand.
From the corner of her eye, Annie noticed when Luke left the room. Her gaze went to her mother, found her eyes. ”You were right, Mother. I did disappoint him.”
After their visit, Annie instructed the doctor that she didn't want to see her husband.
”But he wants to be with you,” the man said.
”I don't want to see him.”
”He needs you,” he told her. ”Shutting people out won't do you any good.”
”I don't want to see him!” she said, more emphatically.
He studied her for a moment. ”All right.” He turned and left the room.
She rested listlessly for days, showing no interest in the books her mother brought, only eating because she didn't have the strength to resist. She had never been worthy of Luke's lofty expectations and his idea of her. Losing his baby had proven it.
It was easy to fall back into the familiar routine of being an invalid, of not having to make decisions and letting her mother direct her days. Mildred was kinder and more attentive than ever, seemingly glad to have Annie in her charge, but occasionally Annie caught her looking at her with a sad strange expression.
She didn't want to face Luke. Didn't want to see his disappointment in her or the regret she knew he must feel.
When she was able to be moved, she said to her mother, ”I want to go home with you.”
Her father came for them in one of Luke's buggies, and Burdell left work to a.s.sist him.
Burdell carried her into the Sweet.w.a.ter house, to her old bedroom and placed her in the bed her mother had prepared. ”What are you doing, Annie?” he asked.
”I'm grieving.”
”What about Luke?”
”What about him?”
”He needs you. You have us to comfort you, but he has no one.”
”Fine thing for you to be thinking about Luke Carpenter's feelings all of a sudden,” she stated flatly. ”He'll do just fine without me. He's better off without me. I've been a burden to him since the day we met. Just look at him if you don't think so. He's thin and tired and worked half to death because I never carried my share. And now he's lost his son because of me.”
”That's not true.”
”It is true. I'm tired, please let me rest.”
Burdell walked from the room slowly, exchanging a look with his mother at the doorway.
A heavy sense of loss and self-blame wrapped around her like a shroud. Annie glanced at the gaily dressed porcelain dolls lining the window seat, allowed her gaze to find her wheelchair, then closed her eyes against the sting of tears. She was back where she'd started-where she belonged.
Eldon returned the buggy, his face pulled and drawn. ”She asked to be taken to our home. She's settled into her bed and quite comfortable.”
Luke had spoken to the doctor that morning and had been delivered the crus.h.i.+ng news. Annie didn't want to come home with him. He wanted to stomp into her room and confront her, but the doctor had warned him about upsetting her.
So he'd returned to the livery, taken out his fear and frustration over the searing forge, on the glowing iron, pounding...pounding.
Luke didn't know what to say to Annie's father. ”Thank you,” he returned, knowing it was a lame sentiment.
”I'm sure she just needs some time,” Eldon said.
”Yes.” But why didn't she need him? Did she blame him? Did everyone blame him? ”I thought I could take care of her,” he said.
”You did.”
Luke shook his head. ”No, I didn't. The wolves. She would have needed to know how to use a gun, and I never showed her.” He stared at the mountains in the distance. ”She thought the horses were more important than her own safety.”
”Maybe she just needs some time,” Eldon said again, as though trying to convince them both.
Luke wanted to believe it. In the days and nights that followed he tried to believe it, tried to understand why she needed time away from him, why her heart didn't ache for him like his did for her.
After several nights of sitting in front of the fire, looking at the pins and needles sticking out of the arm of her chair, touching her clothing and her hairbrush while his guts wrenched, staring at the empty cradle until the wee hours of the morning, he packed his clothing, strung the horses on a tether rope, and moved to the livery where there were fewer memories.
Even here the nights were endless, filled with regrets and worries and dry-eyed mourning.
On Thursday morning, he went to see her and found her on the porch in the sunlight, a shawl draping her shoulders. She sat in her wheelchair and the sight slammed him like a punch in the chest. Had something gone wrong that he hadn't been told about? Why hadn't someone let him know?
”Annie?” he said. ”What is it? Was your leg hurt? Something broken that I didn't know about?”
Her head raised. She'd been studying a book in her lap. Her gray-green eyes flickered over him and shuttered quickly.