Northern Star (37 page)

Both turned as Hunter burst into the room. For a moment he looked confused, not believing what his eyes told him. He darted to his grandmother and lifted her into his arms, holding her tenderly, as a father carries a sleeping child.

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” the old doctor whispered through his tears.

Hunter placed her on the bed beside his grandfather’s body. He stared down at her in disbelief.

Something fell from Mary’s lap as he lifted the body. Perry bent and picked up a tattered old pink bonnet and handed it to Hunter. He turned the old hat in his hands as if examining a great treasure. “He said he fell in love with her when he first saw her at church in this.” He lay the bonnet beside Mary.

“Hunter,” Perry whispered, “I’ll go downstairs and tell the others.”

He nodded sharply as she watched his self-control stretch tight. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring at
the bodies of his grandparents. “They were my shelter from the world when I was a child. I thought they would live forever.”

Stepping away, she was unable to watch the pain in Hunter’s face any longer. She moved slowly downstairs, in no hurry to share her heartbreaking news. Her mind ran over all that must be done. She knew that Hunter and Wade were the Williamses’ only living relatives, so there was only one to notify except those already in the house.

Midnight had passed to the steady pounding of Hank’s hammer in the barn by the time all the plans were made. Perry instructed Eva and her daughter to begin cooking for any company who might come in tomorrow. They were thankful for something to do. Perry said good night to the doctor and returned to the main room.

Hunter sat in a comfortable chair, staring at the fireplace. She admired how he had handled the minister earlier. Hunter had been much nicer than she could have been.

Kneeling at his knee, she whispered, “It’s very late.” Her hand rested lightly on his leg. She could feel his leg muscle tighten to her touch, as if he resented her closeness.

For a moment he looked at her as though she were a stranger he remembered seeing somewhere. “You need to go up and get some sleep,” he said matter-of-factly. “The room at the end of the hall, on the left, was my mother’s. You can sleep there.” With a tired sigh he leaned back, resting his head against the back of the chair. His handsome face was outlined in gold by the firelight. The desire to touch him was a deep ache within her, but there was a coldness about him she’d never seen before. She’d seen the young boy of years ago in Hunter’s face. Gray eyes so capable of fire showed only the frozen coldness of steel now. He must have withdrawn like this when his mother died. He would cry out for no one, and no one would touch him.

“You need some rest too.” Perry’s words were soft and
filled with concern. “The minister will be back in the morning. You handled him wonderfully.”

“I learned a long time ago never to antagonize a fool. You never know which way he’ll react. He’ll be useful tomorrow to read over the graves. Then we can forget him.”

Hunter grew silent once more. When he spoke again, his voice sounded far away. “My grandparents told me years ago where to put them to rest. At the time I never thought much about it. There’s a little hill a few hundred yards up the stream. Grandmother used to have picnics up there. I remember playing by the stream as they sat on the grass watching me.”

“That sounds like a wonderful place,” Perry added, not knowing what else to say.

He reached over and covered her hand with his own. “Thanks…for being here.”

“I cared for them a great deal…” She wanted to add, “and for you,” but she wasn’t sure he’d welcome her caring now.

He spoke into the fire. “It’s very late.” He seemed to have pulled away into a shell. “I think I’ll sit here for a while.”

Perry moved away, knowing Hunter wanted time alone. She climbed the stairs. Suddenly the house seemed cold and bare. She found her room and within a few minutes was curled into bed. The room was small but homey. A large patchwork quilt was spread over the bed and a shelf of poetry books lined one wall. A worn, overstuffed chair sat beside a small table by the window. Perry guessed Hunter’s mother must have spent hours reading in that chair. Perry could picture in her mind what this farm must have been like thirty years ago. Love must have warmed the house as death cooled it now. Maybe Hunter was right, Perry thought. Pulling away from people is less painful in the end.

She’d have to wake up very early to get everything ready
for the funeral, but sleep eluded her. She kept listening for Hunter’s steps on the stairs but they never came. Finally Perry fell into a fitful sleep.

By five the next morning, Perry was dressed and ready to go downstairs. She heard Hunter moving about in the room across the hall from her and wondered if he’d slept at all. With Mary gone, Perry quietly supervised the running of the house. She felt strange doing so, but she knew there was no one else to do it. The two maids were lost in grief and barely any help at all. Some people bear their grief on the outside, Perry realized, while others, like Hunter, hold it deep inside.

As the sun marked almost noon without giving any warmth, the funeral passed like a slow-moving dream. The small procession walked from the house, following the wagon carrying the coffins up the hill. Though the day was cloudy and cold, all except the minister were too numb with grief to comment. The maids cried in waves, first wailing loudly, then whimpering and sniffling. About the time everyone believed them quiet, another wave of wailing would resound.

As the minister read from the Bible and prayed, Perry glanced around her. In spring this spot would be beautiful, with trees shading it on the left and the stream babbling on the right. Her attention was brought back to the funeral by Dr. Moore blowing his nose. She knew not a day of his life would now pass without him remembering and missing John and Mary. He had not enough time left on this earth to build another such friendship.

As the little group walked slowly back to the house, Perry silently slipped her hand into Hunter’s. She needed to touch someone, even if he didn’t seem to need her. He looked at her in surprise, as though he’d forgotten her presence. She could feel the distance between them even as they touched.

Hunter’s hand was warm to Perry’s fingers. As they walked, he brought her hand to his face and blew his warm
breath over her icy fingers. Though his actions were caring, his mind seemed far away.

After an almost untouched lunch he began pacing the large living area, as though he’d been assigned it as duty. One by one the neighbors came to pay their respects, each telling of his own sorrow. Hunter listened quietly and thanked each for coming; yet he remained detached. Perry stayed in the background. She had Eva serve tea and greet the guests while she moved about in unnoticed silence.

By mid-afternoon, clouds covered the sky, the wind grew colder, and the visitors stopped coming. When a door slammed somewhere in the front of the house, Perry moved to the kitchen window in time to see Hunter heading toward the barn. In another minute she watched him ride out like a man being chased. He vanished into the foggy gray air.

She worked around the house the rest of the afternoon, making an early supper, then sending the exhausted maids home. They were anxious to reach their small cottage before the dark clouds began to vent their wrath. Perry told them to sleep late tomorrow, for she would prepare Hunter’s breakfast.

As night came, so did a steady rain, slamming into the house with vigor. Perry paced in front of the windows after she’d given up all other efforts to keep busy. Minutes dragged by as she studied the darkness for any sign of Hunter.

At ten Perry gave up waiting downstairs and decided to go up to her room and read. Hunter may have stopped somewhere for the night, she reasoned. Maybe he didn’t want to return to this house filled with memories. Whatever his reason, Perry thought, he probably would be no more interested in seeing her tonight than he had been all day. She felt she’d been of little comfort to him.

Removing her shoes, she curled her legs underneath her in the comfortable chair in her room. She picked up one of the books of poetry and began to read.

The old clock in the hall was chiming midnight as she heard the front door open and close. At first she sighed with relief at Hunter’s coming in from the storm. Then the thought occurred to her that it might not be him. Suddenly the realization that she was alone in the house struck her.

Slipping silently off her chair, she reached for her derringer on the nightstand. A noise echoed from across the hall. She moved out of her room and into the darkened hall without making a sound. What if someone had been watching the house? They might think this is a good time for a robbery.

She saw a dim light coming from the room across from hers. She cautiously moved to the half-open door. Peeking in, she breathed a sigh of relief. Hunter sat by the small fire, his legs spread wide as he relaxed in a chair. He’d removed his boots, and a soaked coat lay on the floor beside him. His hair was wet with rain and his face as stormy as the clouds outside his window. He watched the fire, studying its every pattern.

After a few minutes he glanced up at her with tired gray eyes. “Come in if you wish,” he said flatly. Looking down at her gun, he laughed without humor. “Planning to threaten to shoot me again with my mother’s gun?”

Perry looked surprised and lowered the gun. “Oh, no, I thought you might be a robber.” She moved closer. “I didn’t know this belonged to your mother.”

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to have it.” He stared into the fire, yet his body seemed oblivious to its warmth.

“You’re dripping wet.” She grabbed a towel from the washstand. “You’ll catch cold.” Moving behind him, she rubbed his hair with a towel. “You need to get out of those clothes. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

An iron hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. He pulled her arm down, away from him. “Something hot to drink would be nice, but don’t mother me.” He almost spat the words.

Anger flared in Perry. “I’m not mothering you, but someone needs to take care of you. You haven’t slept in two days, and then you go out riding in the middle of a storm—”

“Stop!” Hunter shouted as he stood and leaned close to the fire. His clothes clung to his hard, muscular body as he gripped the mantel. “I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

Perry threw the towel down. “Fine, Hunter Kirkland, don’t let anyone feel anything for you.” Her hands balled into fists at her side “You’ve made it plain you don’t need anyone, so good night.”

“And you’ve made it plain that you only take people on your own terms,” he shouted at her retreating back.

Perry whirled to face him, her eyes wide in anger. “If you weren’t so headstrong, you’d see that I just want to help. Why is it so terrible to believe someone cares for you?”

“Cares? Cares on your terms,” Hunter said, his anger flashing. “I’ll not come begging for handouts of caring. Every time I’ve looked up today, I’ve expected you to say you were leaving. I thought you would be gone by now, glad to have a damned Yankee like me out of your sight.”

“What do you want of me, Hunter?” Perry asked, exasperated.

“No, madam, the question is, what do you want from me?”

A long silence fell between them as Perry’s heart burned with a mixture of pride and pain. Finally Perry gave up any hope of understanding. “I want nothing from you, Hunter. Nothing you are capable of giving.”

She would have moved away, but she heard Hunter whisper to himself, “I want you to stay with me. But you’d accuse me of trying to molest you again.”

The sadness in his words brought tears to her eyes. His loneliness mirrored her own as he stared into the fire, unaware he had voiced his thoughts. He’d lost two people
he loved dearly, and he was too tired to fight with her anymore. He moved across the room to his bed, threw the covers wide, and dropped on his back onto the sheets.

Perry turned slowly. “It’s cold in here,” she stated matter-of-factly. She crossed to the fire and put another log on, then waited for it to catch. She moved to his wet jacket and carefully dropped it over the back of a chair.

Hunter watched her with a frown, resenting her kindness. He placed his hands under his head but made no comment. No matter how tired he was, he would never tire of watching her move. Even through his anger and grief he was aware of her beauty. She seemed so kind and caring, yet he knew that if he touched her, she’d vanish like a dream.

To his shock she didn’t leave, but stood for a moment beside his bed. Then, with a determined suddenness, she crawled, fully dressed, into the other side of the bed and reached for the covers he’d thrown aside. She spread the blankets carefully over them both and lay down on the pillow opposite him.

When she turned her face toward him, he didn’t miss the challenging look in her eyes. She was daring him to say anything. Her chin was high and her eyes were bright in the firelight. As usual she’d made her decision and would stand by it. She was telling him by her action that she cared and, more importantly, that she trusted him.

Hunter slowly pulled his arm from under his head. She lifted her head off her pillow and moved under his arm to lie closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder. Hunter’s body tensed as her warm breast pressed lightly against the cool dampness of his shirt. He reached with his free hand and pulled the ribbon binding her hair. As he gently spread her curls over his arm and onto the pillow, he whispered, “Are you sure you hadn’t rather sleep with a bolted door between us?”

Perry’s voice was soft, barely audible. “Do you need me here, Hunter?”

He lay silent for several minutes, holding her in his arms. He wanted to say he needed no one, but he couldn’t lie. If he admitted how totally, truly, and desperately he needed her, he might frighten her away. Finally he stopped the battle within him by whispering against her velvet hair. “I need you, my angel, as dearly as man needs air.”

In response she molded closer to his damp clothes, sending a warmth through him that no fireplace could provide. Placing her arm lightly over his chest, she whispered, “Good night,” and her body relaxed next to his.