Janet Quin-Harkin (45 page)

“What about you?”

“Just do it!” Libby yelled. She had already turned to run back to the little shack that housed Gabe, the shack that was farthest from the house and closest to the river. She slithered in the mud and turned to look in fear at the advancing water. It was moving much more quickly than she could have believed. She heard the sound of trees snapping, of rocks tumbling, all adding to the deep roar which grew and magnified as the water approached.

She had just reached the steps to the cabin door when it caught up with her. It swallowed the front gate, the cactus hedge. The outer swirl of water struck at the little building and knocked it off its foundations like a child knocking over a block building. It was thrown onto its side in the swirling water and its walls split apart like matchsticks. Libby fell face down in the icy water and struggled to get to her feet. As she came up spluttering and choking she saw Gabe’s white body disappearing. With a cry she flung herself at him and grabbed at his leg. She could feel the force of icy water snatching at him but she clung on grimly as they were both dragged forward, scraped on rocks and tumbled like pebbles. Then the surge passed. They lay there, both coughing and gasping.

A
S SOON AS
Libby could raise her head she saw that her house was untouched. The water had taken the first two cottages, the fence, and driveway. It had flattened many of the willow trees but her house still stood. Black mud and tree limbs covered a wide swath of the valley. Among the debris was a grandfather clock, its face smashed beyond recognition. On the slope above she could see the figures of her children running toward her, Noel safe in Ah Fong’s arms.

“Thank God,” she murmured and staggered to her feet, her head swimming dizzily. Gabe lay motionless on the mud, sprawled like a rag doll. “Must get him inside . . . he’ll die,” she muttered.

As she attempted to drag him by one arm, he opened his eyes and glared at her. “I didn’t want a bath,” he said angrily. “The water was too cold.”

“I didn’t intend to give you one,” Libby said. “I just saved you from drowning, but you don’t have to thank me.”

Gabe reacted to the sound of her voice. He seemed to be trying hard to focus on her. “Libby?” he asked. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the middle of a field,” she said, wanting to laugh with relief. “We just escaped a flood.”

“Whose field?” Gabe asked. “The last thing I remember I was at a hotel in Sacramento and my head was hurting like the devil. What are you doing here?”

“You got smallpox, Gabe,” Libby said. “I found you at the fever hospital and I brought you home with me.”

“You brought me home—with smallpox? Are you out of your mind?”

“You would have died,” she said simply. “You nearly did die. You might still die if I don’t get you warm and dry quickly.”

“You should never have taken such a risk,” Gabe said angrily. “What about your own family? What did your husband say when you brought me home?”

“Firstly, I’ve kept you apart from my family, in one of my worker’s huts,” she said, “and secondly, I don’t have a husband.”

His eyes focussed on her, puzzled but clear. “Hugh?” he asked.

“He died, a long time ago.”

Ah Fong and two of the Chinese workers came running up to her, shouting with concern and joy at finding her alive.

“Water come right up to porch of house,” Ah Fong yelled. “Now you happy you didn’t build house where you wanted? You’d be floating down to Sacramento right now, just like I tell you.”

Libby looked down to the shapeless area of devastation which had once been the willow-lined riverbank. “Yes, Ah Fong, I’m very glad,” she said quietly. “Now for goodness sake let’s get Mr. Foster into one of the huts quickly and bring him hot water and dry clothes.”

“You look like you could use hot water and dry clothes too,” Ah Fong said. “You look like drowned rat.”

“Did I ever mention you were very impertinent for a hired hand?” Libby asked.

“You say Ah Fong not like hired hand. You say Ah Fong manager.”

“Then you’re very impertinent for a manager,” she said, laughing.

Ah Fong grinned. “I go,” he said. “I make hot tea for you and I better bring brandy too.”

Soon Gabe was installed in one of the remaining worker’s huts. With Ah Fong’s help and Gabe’s protests, she had taken off his wet clothes. He was now wrapped in warm blankets, sipping hot tea with a generous amount of brandy in it. She changed into dry clothes in the hut next door and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, but found she was still shivering from shock as much as from cold.

“I think we’ll both try your chicken broth now, Ah Fong,” she said. “You better make enough for everyone. We’ve all had a shock. And tell the children Mama’s just fine but can’t come to visit them yet.” She poured brandy into her own hot tea, cradling the cup in her hands as she sipped it.

After they were left alone, Gabe lay back among his blankets and she sat beside him in silence, feeling the warmth from the hot liquid gradually warming her body.

“I think I’ll try some more of that tea. I’m cold,” Gabe said.

“At least the dowsing got your fever down,” Libby said, helping him up and holding a cup to his lips. “You were burning up until this morning.”

“I remember feeling I was on fire,” Gabe said. “I thought it was all one long bad dream. You were in the dream too.”

“I hope I wasn’t a bad dream,” Libby said dryly. She took the cup from him and put it down.

“Did you really come to see me in a big, dark room?” Gabe asked. “I didn’t want you to see me, because I knew the room was a bad place. I remember thinking if I hid under the covers you’d go away. Was that a dream or was it real?”

“It was real,” Libby said. “I came to get you out of the hospital and you wouldn’t see me. You always were a stubborn man, Gabe Foster.”

“And you always were an equally stubborn woman,” he said. “I can’t get over your bringing me here. The risk, Libby? Weren’t you terrified of catching smallpox?”

“You don’t think I was going to leave you there and let you die?” she demanded.

There was a long silence, then Gabe said, “So tell me about Hugh.”

“We were only together a couple of months,” Libby said quietly. “He died that same summer I brought him home.”

“But I saw you with him last winter—you were dining at Browns in San Francisco,” Gabe said in astonishment. “I didn’t imagine it, did I? It was you?”

“It was I,” Libby said, “but not my husband. I was dining with an old friend, Mark Hopkins.”

“Mark Hopkins—you know him? I thought there was something familiar about him,” Gabe said, “and I remember being surprised that Hugh looked so old.”

“I’m surprised you noticed anything at all,” Libby said dryly. “You were in a hurry to meet somebody, if I remember.”

“I was?”

“A beautiful blond, or have you forgotten already?”

“Oh, Marcella,” Gabe said with a smile. “Did you spy on me?”

“I just wanted to say hello to you, but apparently you were too busy to stop and talk.”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I thought I’d be an embarrassment if I greeted you and you had to explain me to a jealous husband.”

“Oh, Gabe,” Libby said, laughing hopelessly. “If you’d only known . . .”

“So what happened to Hugh?” Gabe asked.

“He was conscripted to put down an Indian uprising and he wasn’t fit to go.”

“Old Hugh went out to fight the Indians?” Gabe asked with amusement in his voice. Then, “I’m sorry. That was very undiplomatic of me. It must have been terrible for you.”

“I survived,” Libby said. “I’ve had to survive a lot of things since we last saw each other.”

“But you seem to have survived well,” Gabe said, “You’ve a string of workers at your beck and call and a property of your own.”

“I’ve had to fight for that too,” Libby said. Then it suddenly dawned on her that she had won her battle after all, at least for the time being. Nobody would be building a dam again in a hurry. “I’m supplying San Francisco with fruit and vegetables,” she said proudly, “and I’m planning on doubling my acreage next spring.”

“Who would have thought it when we first met in New Orleans and you wouldn’t call me by my first name?” Gabe asked.

“I should have stuck to my principles a little harder,” Libby said. “It would have caused fewer complications in my life.”

Gabe laughed, then started coughing.

“You better rest until that chicken broth is ready,” Libby said, “and I could do with a rest too. I’ve had no sleep for the past two nights and now an unexpected cold bath.”

Gabe lay back and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Libby. You’re an angel,” he said. Libby smiled and tiptoed out, closing the door behind her.

After that, Gabe made a swift recovery. As news filtered down from the properties above, they heard the details of the tragedy. The continuous rain had been too much for Sheldon Rival’s lake. It had overflowed its banks, sending flood waters swirling through his house. Rival had rounded up men to reinforce the dam with sandbags, but it was no use. The dam had suddenly collapsed, sweeping the men away with it. Pieces of furniture littered the whole length of the valley. Some of Rival’s workers were never found. One or two lucky ones escaped death by grabbing passing trees or clinging desperately to floating timbers. Sheldon Rival’s own body was not discovered for almost a week. It was wedged high in the fork of a tree and was bloated almost beyond recognition.

As Gabe regained his health Libby dared to hope that there was now nothing that could stop their reunion. Yet she sensed, as Gabe returned to his normal self, that there was a distance between them, a certain coldness that had not been there before. Tentatively, she asked one day, “Gabe . . . is there someone in San Francisco who should be told you are here? Someone who’d worry about you?”

“Not that I can think of,” Gabe said. “I was on my way up from San Francisco—a small matter of a duel. I had to make one of my hasty exits. Besides, San Francisco bored me after a while. I was going to pay another visit to the mines. A lot of miners idled by early rains with nothing to do all day. . . .” Libby smiled, but he went on seriously. “I ought to get on my way again as soon as possible. I wonder what happened to my horse?”

“I expect it’s still in Sacramento,” Libby said, “but I could lend you one if you really want to go?”

He sensed the unspoken meaning in her question. “You’ve already done enough for me, Libby,” he said. “I can’t impose on you any longer.”

“Do you really think you are imposing on me?”

Gabe looked away. “I don’t want your pity, Libby,” he said.

“Pity?” she demanded. “Do you think I did this from pity? Do you really believe all I feel for you is pity?”

Gabe continued to look away. “I’m not a fool,” he said. “I know what smallpox victims look like. Anyone who survives is horribly disfigured. You don’t have to pretend any longer—I’m ugly as sin, aren’t I?”

Libby sat down on the bed beside him. “You told me once that I didn’t know what love was all about,” she said quietly. “Now I’m telling you that you don’t have much idea about love yourself. I love you, Gabe. Do you think I’d really care if you had half a face or one leg or no eyes? Do you think I’d love you any less?”

“But when a man has been blessed with good looks, it’s a sore blow to realize that he will be gazed upon with revulsion for the rest of his life,” Gabe said, still staring at the wall. “I wouldn’t want you to be put through that test again and again and eventually to find yourself wondering whether you shouldn’t have deserved better. . . .”

“Gabriel Foster, you are, without doubt the vainest man alive,” Libby said, laughing. “Stay there. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going, Libby? Come back,” he called after her. She ran to the main house and soon returned, carrying a little hand mirror. “Look,” she said, handing it to him.

“I’d rather not.”

“Coward.”

“Very well,” he said with resignation. Slowly, he brought the mirror to his face. Then he let out a great whoop of joy. “It’s fine,” he said incredulously. “My face is fine.”

“Of course it is,” Libby said, laughing.

“And all this time I’ve been lying here, imagining I looked like the ugliest man on God’s earth,” Gabe said, joining in her laughter. He reached out and took her hand. “I feel that I’ve been reborn, I’ve been given another chance. Do you believe in second chances, Libby?”

Libby looked into his eyes with longing. “I believe in miracles,” she said. “After all that’s kept us apart, Gabe, this is truly a miracle. Unless, of course, you still want that horse to ride away from here?”

His grip around her hand tightened. “You know what I’ve wanted from the moment I first saw you in that alleyway in New Orleans,” he said. “I knew you were the woman for me right then. You’ve never been out of my thoughts or out of my dreams since. God knows I’ve tried hard enough to forget you.”

“And I you,” Libby said. She put her hand up to her cheek and brushed away a tear. “This is stupid,” she said. “I’ve come through so much without crying and now I can’t seem to stop.”

Gabe put his finger to her cheek and brushed away the next tear himself. “There will be no more need for tears, my love,” he said. “It’s been a long hard road but it’s all behind us now. We can make a fresh start together.”

“Does that mean you’re going to give up gambling and lead a good life this time around?” she asked, looking at him with a smile.-

“Anything to make you happy,” he said. “I’ll become a missionary. I’ll go around doing good works.”

“Don’t you dare change,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I love you just the way you are, Gabe Foster.”

“And I you, Libby Grenville,” he said gendy. “Do you think I am free enough from disease for you to risk giving me a kiss?”

“I’ll risk it,” she said and bent her head towards him.

Gently her lips met his, their eyes both open and gazing at each other with infinite tenderness. Then Gabe gave a choking sob, cupped Libby’s head in his hands and crushed her mouth against his. Their lips remained locked together for what seemed like an eternity until Libby drew shakily away.