Dove's Way (29 page)

“Wait for me,” the child called out.

When she came up to her side, Finnea looked at her sternly. “I thought you were in your room. What are you doing in the Gardens?”

“You and I come here all the time.”

“Yes, but we come here together. You shouldn’t be out alone.”

Finnea had yet to find a governess. She was failing to see to Mary’s needs. The truth whirled around in her head maddeningly as they headed into the wind, neither speaking before they came around a bend to the frozen lagoon. Finnea felt frustrated and inadequate. She wanted solutions she didn’t have.

A scream bubbled up inside her as a long ray of sun slanted out of the clouds and caught on the ice, beckoning like a friend.

She started to walk toward the lagoon, slowly, steadily.

“Finnea?” Mary called out nervously.

But she hardly heard as she began to walk faster, away from a world of things she didn’t know how to handle. Her feelings for Matthew. Her responsibility to his daughter. The memory of her own.

With each step she took she went faster until she started to run. She hit the ice with a satisfying bang. Her hands came out as she skidded across the crystalline surface, her head thrown back, her hair fluttering behind her. For one pure and sacred moment, she was free. Free of fear, free of worry. Free of the little voice in her head that filled her with doubt.

On the opposite side of the lagoon, she slid to a halt. Mary got there at the same time, having run over the bridge and around. Tears spilled over on Mary’s cheeks, her face a battlefield of emotion.

“I hate it when you do that!” the child cried, her voice echoing in the crisp, late-winter sky.

Finnea climbed off the ice with conviction spurring her on. She took Mary’s hands and dropped to her knees before her. “Why, Mary?”

Finnea felt sure that there was something to this, something deep inside, and if she could dredge it up, surely she could help the child—no longer fail her.

Mary tried to pull away.

“No. Tell me why, Mary.”

“Because it’s dangerous! And it scares me,” Mary cried through her tears.

“It’s not dangerous. It’s harmless and fun.”

Finnea tried to pull her out on the ice. But Mary jerked away from her. “No! It is dangerous. I know! I saw my mother fall, and Daddy’s friend Reynolds had to help her.”

Finnea stilled at the mention of Matthew’s first wife and her lover. “She was hurt?”

“Her knee. But I didn’t see any blood.” Mary dashed a blue mitten over her eyes, and her voice grew strained. “Though Reynolds had to kiss her to make it better. Mama said.” She grew quiet. “He had to kiss her a lot.” She looked at Finnea, her eyes desperate. “If we hadn’t been on the ice, it never would have happened!”

And then Finnea understood Mary’s fears. Of men kissing mothers. Of mothers unexpectedly dying. Of fathers suddenly changing. Life turning upside down. And somehow her world must have started tumbling out of control that day on the ice.

Finnea sighed. “Oh, Mary. You can’t run away from things that scare you—like this ice, or children who tease you. Or your father.”

Mary tried to pull free, but Finnea held her there.

“We can’t bring your mother back, but your father is still here and he loves you.”

“I told you, he doesn’t!”

“You’re wrong. He loves you very much.”

Mary looked at her defiantly. “Why do you think that?”

Finnea pulled her into her arms, holding her tight, thinking of her promise to heal Matthew and his child, a promise to herself, a promise to fulfill a debt that she owed. “Because I saw it in his eyes. He loves you, Mary; he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. It’s the truth.”

Pushing back, Mary looked at her, hope seeping in. “Are you sure?”

Laughter bubbled up over the tears that swelled in Finnea’s throat. “I’m positive. He loves you, just as I know you love him. Show your father that you care, Mary. Show him by helping me make him better.”

“Time to get up.”

It was the next morning when Finnea walked into Matthew’s room. Mary followed timidly behind her, a tray of all the concoctions, compresses, and teas they had made in her hands.

Matthew lay in the middle of the huge bed. “Go away,” he muttered into the downy pillow, dragging the covers over his head.

“Sorry, can’t do it,” Finnea replied, her voice chipper as she whipped back the heavy velvet curtains, bright, late-winter sunlight flooding every corner. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“You might, but I’m finished.”

“Tsk, tsk. I never thought of you as a quitter.”

Matthew only grunted. Then silence.

“Matthew?”

A weary sigh came from beneath the blankets. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

He lay there for long seconds.

“Matthew?” She walked up to the bed, concern knitting her brow.

“I can’t move.”

“What do you mean you can’t move?”

“I hurt all over,” he lamented with a groan.

Relief. It was nothing too serious, and she chuckled. “I told you that you overdid it yesterday.”

With a sudden roar, Matthew whipped back the covers, his face contorted with pain. “I barely did anything!” he raged. “I’m an invalid! Do you hear me!”

Finnea remained still, shocked by the outburst, and then she thought of Mary. She turned to the child, who stood frozen, tiny knuckles whitening from her grip on the handles, before she wheeled away, her face a mask of terror. But the edge of the tray caught the doorjamb, and the concoctions and teas tumbled to the hardwood floor in a crash. Tears starting to flow, Mary fell to her knees as she tried to clean up the mess.

“Oh God. Mary,” Matthew breathed.

At the words, Mary leaped up with a strangled cry and fled the room.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Finnea accused.

“Me?” he raged. “Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

“How was I supposed to know you were going to come out of the bed like an enraged bear?”

“How could you bring her here at all? I’ve told you she’s afraid of me. Did you need proof for yourself?”

Finnea clasped her head in her hands. “No, no, I didn’t think.”

“Hell,” Matthew said in a scathing tone. “You have a staggeringly dependable ability to not think.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But you can’t blame Mary for being afraid of you. Have you ever tried to show her that you care?”

His face went hard.

“Have you?”

He wouldn’t answer.

“Matthew, she loves you. She’s afraid of you because she thinks you don’t love her anymore.”

He whipped around. “That’s not true! I love her as I’ve always loved her.”

“You know that. And I’ve tried to tell Mary that. But you need to show her. Especially now. Go to her, Matthew.”

His eyes bored into her as he rubbed his bad shoulder. He looked every inch the Wild Man, and she thought he’d say no.

“It’s time, Matthew.”

His chest rose and fell.

“She’s afraid of you, yes; I won’t deny that. But it’s not your scars that scare her.”

With a strangled roar, he whipped a robe on over his night-clothes, sucking his breath through gritted teeth at the pain. Then he stormed out of the room.

Dear God, what had she done, she wondered, afraid that in his rage he was simply going to try to make a point.

Finnea followed behind him, racing to keep up. “Matthew, calm down. You’re only going to make things worse if you act like this!”

But she need not have said anything. The minute he saw his daughter standing at the window in the hallway, holding her doll, all the anger swept out of him. His body grew quiet; his face filled with such intense love, it was painful to see.

“Mary,” he whispered.

The child turned at the sound, and her eyes flared with fright.

Matthew faltered and Finnea began to panic. Was she wrong? Was Matthew right and she was only making things worse?

But Matthew wouldn’t back away this time. “I’m sorry that I frightened you this morning.”

Something flickered in Mary’s face.

“I love you, princess,” he said adamantly, his heart in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Finnea willed Mary to race into her father’s arms, to hug him tight, and wished the three of them would hold one another close like a family.

But Mary didn’t race forward. And they weren’t a family.

Mary watched him, her fear not so easily assuaged, and Finnea was crushed with foolish disappointment.

“Mary,” Matthew said, “I was thinking.”

The child pulled her doll closer.

“I see that it snowed last night,” he persevered. “Remember what we used to do after a new snow?”

Her eyes danced with excitement before they dimmed. But still Matthew didn’t give up.

“Let’s go to the Public Gardens. Just like we used to.”

Mary stood quietly, not uttering a word.

His lips crooked up at the corner. “It will be fun, I promise.”

Mary’s brow furrowed. “But you said you were hurting.”

Finnea cringed, but Matthew surprised her even further when he smiled as if this tiny concession from his daughter was enough.

A laugh surged up in him, a sound both joyous and relieved as he glanced back at Finnea, then gave Mary a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll soak in one of Finn’s hair-raising baths, sure to scare away every malady known to man from the smell alone. After that we could go. How about that?”

Her tiny mouth twisted with indecision, and Finnea was sure Matthew held his breath. “Okay,” the child finally whispered.

Matthew nodded and started to reach out but stopped himself when Mary flinched, covering his hurt with a smile. “Perfect. We’ll meet in the foyer after lunch.”

They left Dove’s Way and headed for the park at a quarter past one, Matthew hiding his pain beneath his chiseled countenance. But Finnea knew better now.

The day was cold and sunny, the night’s snow making everything look bright and clean. Upstairs, when Finnea had said that Matthew shouldn’t be out in the cold, he waved off her comment. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I mean no.”

“Which is it, Finnea?”

“I want you to spend time with Mary, yes, but inside, where you won’t tax yourself.”

He didn’t look pleased with her comment, as if she had insulted him. “You said yourself that sitting around wasn’t helping me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Besides,” he cut her off, his voice growing oddly soft, “Mary and I always used to go to the park to build a snowman after a new snow. And there won’t be many snows left. Spring is just around the corner. I want to go there with her now, just like before.”

As if their world hadn’t been turned upside down. How well Finnea understood the desire.

So they set out, the three of them bundled up and quiet, the only sound coming from the crunch of their footsteps over the shoveled walkway.

“Is that a new coat?” Matthew asked Mary.

Mary glanced down at herself and looked up, at first excited, then wary. But no longer with terror.

“Yes, it is. Grandmother bought it for me. It’s made from a fine cheviot and is all the rage in Paris.”

At the words, Matthew’s expression grew tight. “You sound just like your mother.”

Mary’s step faltered and she peered up at her father. But he said nothing else, just looked straight ahead looking hard and fierce. Finnea could have kicked him.

“I think it is an absolutely smashing coat,” she said.

But Mary wasn’t appeased.

They continued on. At the entrance to the park, Matthew ushered them through the gate. They walked side by side, Mary quiet between them. After a few steps, Mary raced ahead.

Matthew stopped and stared at her back. “This isn’t going well, is it?”

“What do you expect after that coat remark,” Finnea stated.

“The last thing I want is for Mary to turn out like Kimberly.”

“Good God! Mary is the sweetest child.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “And regardless of how you feel about her mother, no child deserves to believe anything but the best about her parents. Either of them,” she added pointedly.

He stared at her, his eyes like blue ice. But they both were caught off guard when Mary’s unexpected laughter floated back to them and a snowball smacked Finnea square in the middle of her chest. Finnea stood dumbfounded with surprise, and Matthew started to laugh.

“Haven’t you seen a snowball before?” he asked.

“A what?”

“A snowball!” Mary chimed, giggling.

“Yes, a snowball,” Matthew added, tossing another at Finnea that was softly packed.

Finnea shook like a dog shaking off water.

Matthew and Mary exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

“Let’s get her,” Matthew said in a mock whisper.

Finnea held out her hands to ward them off. But it was too late. They charged her, and before she could think she was lying on her back, staring up at a brilliantly blue sky.

“Oh my.”

She didn’t move, and Matthew and Mary exchanged another glance, this time of concern.

“Finnea?” Mary asked pensively.

No answer.

“Finnea!”

They dropped to their knees and leaned over her.

With that, Finnea let loose with two fully loaded hands, catching each of them in the face with snow.

After that it was a free-for-all. Tossing and rolling around, until each of them looked like powdered-sugar-covered cookie cutouts. They built a snowman and played snow bowling.

“Let’s make snow angels!” Mary exclaimed.

Matthew helped Finnea up from the ground, then didn’t let go. He held her hands and pressed his forehead to hers. They stood locked together, a moment of perfect peace wrapped around them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he whispered.

Pleasure and a sense of wondrous joy rushed to Finnea’s cheeks.

“Come on, you two!”

Matthew dusted snow off Finnea’s nose, then turned to Mary. “I think the two of you should make snow angels. I’m going to sit over here.”

Instantly Finnea grew concerned. She could see the strain etched across his face. But when she would have said something, he quickly shook his head. “No, Finn. Not yet. Just a little while longer. Besides, I’m no angel,” he joked. “And I want to watch.”