A Veiled Reflection (34 page)

“She told you?” Mac questioned in startled bewilderment. “I didn't figure she'd tell anyone. I mean, it's kind of embarrassing.”

“Her conscience was hurtin' her somethin' fierce. I'd imagine your own conscience wasn't feelin' too healthy these last few days.”

“Ah, but I wanted to marry Jillian.”

“Then why didn't you just ask her?” Mary questioned. “Why all these games and lies?”

Mac shrugged. “I was afraid she wouldn't feel the same way about me. I guess I was just so overwhelmed by feeling something so strong for a woman after all these years, and it scared me to think that she wouldn't feel the same way. When she told me that she'd been writing letters back home to her parents, telling them that she'd fallen for me and that we were going to get married, well, frankly, I was as pleased as punch. I just didn't see it going this far. I didn't plan on her father thinking untrue notions about her, and I didn't figure on forcing her into a wedding she didn't want.”

“Well, at least you haven't got that to worry over,” Mary said with a mischievous wink. “I ain't never seen a woman more happily married.” “Are you sure, Mary? Don't tease me about this.”

“I'll let Jillian come and tell you herself. She's practically bustin' at the seams to do the deed,” Mary said, getting to her feet. “Zack Matthews doing okay?”

“He's too stubborn to stay around long enough for me to make certain, but I think he's doing fine. He rode out of here earlier, much to Miss Carson's consternation.”

“Well, that's what love'll do for you,” Mary said with a laugh.

Mac got up and walked out with her. “Why don't I accompany you to the hotel? That way, I can walk my wife back home.”

Mary nodded. “Sounds like a reasonable plan to me.”

The sunlight was fading against the horizon, where purple streaks shot out against the burnt orange, gold, and crimson skies. Thick, billowy white clouds lazed across the skies heading east into the navy blue of twilight. It seemed to Mary that the artistry of this land was often overlooked because of its seemingly barren state, but how could anyone not find God's glory in a sky such as this?

Mac kept a tight grip on her arm as a number of cowboys rode hard and fast down Main Street. They were heading for O'Sullivan's Saloon or the Mad Dog Saloon or any number of other drinking establishments. If they had one thing in abundance, it was places to get a drink and play a hand of cards. Mary was grateful for Mac's escort, but she couldn't help but feel her age as the cowboys went by, yelling and acting up for the sake of impressing the few ladies who were actually out on the streets.

I was young once too,
she thought and smiled.
And I wouldn't go back
to being young again for all the gold in Arizona
.

Mac helped her inside the hotel just in time to come face-to-face with Gretchen and Colin Danvers.

“Why, Mr. and Mrs. Danvers,” Mary said, greeting them with genuine warmth.

“Mrs. Barnes,” Colin Danvers replied coolly. “Dr. MacCallister.”

“You gonna call him that now that he's your son-in-law?” Mary questioned. She knew Danvers' type. She knew that asking a bold question such as this, one that would put him on the spot, was the only way to deal with him.

“I hardly think calling him ‘son' would be appropriate,” Danvers replied, scarcely missing a beat.

“How about Mac?” Mary suggested. “Everyone else calls him that. You might as well.”

Danvers ignored her. “Where's my daughter?”

Mary smiled. “She's upstairs in my room taking care of Hope.”

“That Indian baby?” Gretchen questioned in horror.

“That would be the one,” Mary replied. She felt sorry for Jillian's mother. The woman looked as though she might faint, and from the sight of her narrow hourglass figure she could probably manage that easily enough without a shock to the system. Why these women of high-bred society insisted on lacing their corsets so tight as to be unable to draw breath was beyond Mary. She herself might sport a thick waist, but at least she could breathe. Besides, at her age, nobody was going to be caring about her waistline.

“See here, Mrs. Barnes,” Colin Danvers began, “I don't appreciate your putting ridiculous notions in my daughter's head. It is completely unacceptable for her to even consider raising that baby as her own.”

a Ve i l e d R e f l e c t i o n
“
Our
own,” Mac corrected.

Danvers eyed him harshly. “You have no idea what you'd be up against. Society will never accept her. She'll never be white enough to pass as white, and her darkness will separate her from everyone in our social circles.”

“But as we've discussed before, we won't be living in your social circles,” Mac replied, his grip tightening on Mary's arm.

“Look here, gentlemen,” Mary said, hoping to smooth things over, “the life of one infant shouldn't cause so much upheaval. Not to say that children don't manage to cause a ruckus when they come into a household, but this baby needs parents. Her ma is dead and her pa might as well be, for all he cares.”

“And her people have rejected her,” Danvers added.

Mary nodded quite soberly. “That's true enough. No one outside of me and your daughter and son-in-law cares enough to keep this child alive.”

“Well, maybe that should have been considered before now.”

“Danvers, I'm going to try to forget you said that about your new granddaughter.”

“She's no granddaughter of mine. She's a half-breed!” Danvers replied angrily. “Better she would have died at birth. Better she'd be taken into the desert and left to die,” he growled. “She'll never know anything but suffering. She'll be mocked and taunted no matter where she goes.”

“So was our Lord, Mr. Danvers,” Mary replied, “but He proved himself to be of great value.”

Colin Danvers narrowed his eyes but said nothing more. She felt sorry for the man—even more so for the poor woman who stood teary-eyed at his side.

But then Mary began to truly wonder if giving Hope over to Jillian and Mac was such a good idea. The Danverses would obviously shun the child, and when Mac and Jillian started having a family of their own, it would be evident to Hope that she wasn't being treated the same.

“Mac, I guess we've worn out our welcome. If you'll see me to my room, you can collect your wife.”

Mac nodded. “Come on, Mary.”

They moved to the stairs, ignoring the fact that Danvers' face was turning beet red in anger. He obviously wasn't used to being dismissed, Mary decided.

“I wouldn't pay him much mind,” Mary told Mac. “Fellows like that usually come around. You've just taken his daughter away from him and he's lickin' his wounds.”

“He's just as rude and demanding as Jillian ever painted him. How could he be so cruel to Hope?”

“Many folks have made their own thoughts clear in that area, and, Mac,” she said as they reached the top of the stairs, “your father-inlaw is right about one thing.”

“What?”

“Hope is going to have a tough life ahead of her. She'll never be easily accepted. No matter where she goes, someone is going to make trouble for her.”

Mac nodded. “I know. It's just so unfair. She didn't ask for this, Mary. And Little Sister wasn't responsible for the rape. She had no power over Cooper.”

“Speaking of Mr. Cooper,” Mary questioned, “where did he get himself off to? I don't even remember seeing him at the fire.”

Mac shrugged. “I can't say. He hasn't been showing his face much since Jillian's little outburst.”

Mary laughed. “Good thing that wife of yours doesn't carry a gun.” She reached out to unlock her room door but felt it swing open.

“That's strange, I thought for sure I locked this. Jillian,” she called, “I'm back, and look who I've brought.”

Both Mac and Mary stood completely dumbfounded, however, when they caught sight of Jillian tied to a chair and gagged. Tears were streaming down her face as she struggled against the ropes that bound her.

“Jillian!” Mac declared before Mary could speak. He rushed to his wife's side and quickly untied her gag. “Who did this to you?”

“Oh, Mac,” she cried in earnest now. “He's taken her.”

“Taken who?” Mac questioned.

“Hope,” Mary said, looking around the room to see where the baby might have been. “Someone has taken Hope.”

Jillian nodded. “Mr. Cooper. He came here shortly after Mary left.” Mac finished untying her as she told them the story. “He was so angry. He said he wasn't going to have anyone holding his mistakes over his head for the rest of his life. I told him to leave, but he . . . he . . . slapped me—” “I'll kill him,” Mac declared.

“You'll do no such thing,” Mary replied calmly. “Jillian, how long ago did he leave with Hope?”

Jillian shook her head. “It seems like forever. I know it was still light outside.”

Mary nodded. “Maybe half an hour to an hour ago?”

“Yes, that would be about right,” Jillian replied.

“Did he say where he was taking her?” asked Mary gently.

Jillian's tears came anew as Mac took her into his arms. “He said he was going to eliminate his problem. That's all he said. Oh, Mac, what if he kills her?”

Mac held his wife tightly and looked at Mary over her shoulder. Mary wished she could comfort them, wished she could convince Jillian that there wasn't anything to worry about, but she was scared half out of her wits herself.

“We need to pray about this,” she suggested. “We need to pray good and hard.”

TWENTY-FIVE

MAC TOOK JILLIAN BACK TO THE HOUSE and wondered how they would ever manage through the night. He worried that if left alone, Jillian might cry herself into hysterics—or worse, try to sneak off to find the baby.

“I want to go look for Hope,” she said as Mac went around the room lighting lamps.

“Jillian, we can't. It's the dead of night and there are wild animals, angry Navajo, and soldiers out there, none of whom will care that you are on a mission of mercy. We'll do something about it in the morning.” “But morning might be too late. Oh, Mac,” she started to tear up again. “What if he just leaves her out there in the desert to die?”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Mac said, barely containing his anger. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “But right now we're going to pray and give it over to the good Lord.” “But—”

He put a finger to her lips. “Listen to me, please.” She nodded. “I left a note for Zack with Gwen. She'll see to it that he comes here and checks in with us when he gets back. I've scouted around town, and Cooper is nowhere to be found. Mary wouldn't hear reason, and she's headed back out across the desert, in spite of the hour. So we've done all we can do—tonight.”

“I know,” Jillian finally managed to say.

Leading her to the sofa, Mac pulled her down with him. He put an arm around her shoulder and eased Jillian closer until her head rested against him. “Jillian,” he breathed her name and sighed. “I want you to listen to me now. I have to say some things. Some things that should have been said a long while back.”

“I'm listening,” she said, her voice sounding very much like a child's.

“I love you. I think I've loved you since you first walked through my door. I didn't think I could ever love another woman after what had happened to me, but I love you so much it scares me.”

She rose up and touched his cheek. “Oh, Mac, I love you too. Everything I told my mother in those letters was true. I fell in love with you, but I didn't know how to go about making it a mutual feeling.”

He smiled and took hold of her hand as it caressed his cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, the feeling was already mutual. I got the cold sweats every time I saw you. If I hadn't known the truth, I would have thought I had malaria.”

“So falling in love with me made you sick?” she asked, giving him a weak smile.

“Fearing that I'd lose you, that you'd go back to Kansas City—that made me sick. Then when all this happened, I worried that you'd just married me out of being forced into it.”

“I wanted to marry you, Mac. I've never wanted to marry anyone but you.”

“And you didn't just do this to avoid your mother's other suitors?” he questioned lightly, but inside he desperately needed to know that she felt as committed as he did.

“I kept wondering how I was going to pull it off,” she began softly. “Here my parents were expecting a wedding, but you knew it was just a game to put them off. The days were narrowing on me and I wanted to tell you the truth, but I was so afraid of being . . .” She paused, seeming to search for the right word.

“Rejected?” he questioned, understanding that kind of heartbreak.

She nodded. “Yes. I was worried that you would laugh and think it great sport that I had lost my heart to you. I worried that you'd make light of it and then I would have to make light of it, too, in order to save face with everyone. But mostly I worried that when it was all said and done, I'd have to get on the train and head somewhere else in order to try to forget you.”

He lightly kissed her mouth and shook his head. “I would never make light of your feelings, and had you left town, I would have had to follow because I cannot imagine life without you.”

“Oh, Mac,” she whispered, laying her head on his chest.

In one fluid motion, Mac pulled her across his lap, cradling her in his arms. “No regrets, Mrs. MacCallister?”

She looked into his eyes and shook her head. “Not where you are concerned.”

He knew her mind had drifted back to the baby. How could he expect it to be any other way when his own heart was still contemplating whether there was something else to be done?