White Dawn (22 page)

John’s grandfather followed him into the trees. When they were out of sight of the others, Gascon stopped. For an awkward moment, the two men stared at one another.

“Hell,” Gascon said. Then he stepped forward and hugged his grandson. “You be careful.”

“I will, Gramps. I’ll see you in St. Louis—next year.”

“Yeah, well. That lovely lady of yours might have something to say about that.”

Pretending that there wasn’t any strained feeling between him and Emily, or that his grandfather didn’t know about it, John forced a smile. “Maybe. But I’ll find you. Wherever.”

Gascon stared around at the forest. “Might stay here. Was only going to leave so you could find a life. You need a woman and young’uns.” He leveled a hard stare at John. “Figure you got lots of time to work things through now. Don’t waste it. I want to hold great-grandbabies before I die.”

John sobered. “I hope to give them to you, Gramps.”

Taking a leather pouch from inside his shirt, the old man tossed it to him.

John caught it and frowned at its weight. He opened it and glanced inside. “This is more than what I had,” he said. His grandfather had agreed to go and dig up John’s hidden cache of money.

“Don’t argue. Use it for whatever you need.” Gascon backed away. “If I don’t see you in St. Louis next year, I’ll be here.”

John nodded. He hated to take the money. He had more than enough of his own. Trouble was, most of it was in a bank in St. Louis—and he didn’t know how much he’d need to take Emily to her mission. Or after that. He nodded to his grandfather and vowed to pay him back next year.

Gascon walked away as Ben emerged from the trees.

“You know what to do?” John asked the big trapper.

Grinning, his friend helped him unload the rocks in his pack, leaving enough food for two days. “We’ll be there. You sure you don’t want me to make the trip to the post instead?”

“Nah. My thigh doesn’t give me too much of a problem anymore.”

“Liar.”

John shrugged. After nearly two months, it had healed. Still, if he did too much the muscles tended to ache, and he still had a bit of a limp—especially when tired. With his grandfather’s horse, though, he should be able to make the trip to the nearest trading post, get what he needed and return to the rendezvous point in plenty of time. He patted his friend on the shoulder and shook his head.

Mounting, he rode off. He set himself a fast, punishing pace.

Two days later, in their usual morning bathing ritual, Emily and Mary went down to the river. “I hope this works,” Emily said. She kept her voice low though she knew Willy wouldn’t dare follow, not with Ben standing guard and his grandfather keeping him busy chopping wood.

“It’ll work,” Mary replied. “Tomorrow you’ll be with John and on your way. By the time Ben and I return, you two will be long gone.” She grinned with satisfaction.

Emily looked worried. “What if Willy is so angry he takes it out on you or Ben?”

Mary burst into peals of laughter. “Not to worry. William won’t try anything. Ben scares him. And so does his grandfather. ’Sides, all he really wants is the old man’s money. He’ll be angry about losing you, but there won’t be anything he can do about it.”

The woman wiped her eyes, then got down to business. “Now, ’bout you and John.”

Groaning, Emily gave her friend a look. “Not again, Mary. I told you, it won’t work.”

“Why are you so set against this?”

Feeling the warmth of her mother’s locket against her heart, Emily stared up into the treetops. “Such an arrangement didn’t work for my mother. How can I ask John to sacrifice himself for me or the baby? There’s too much at stake. It’s too great a risk.”

Mary leaned forward and grabbed Emily’s hand. “Listen to me. You are not your mother. John is not your father. Don’t judge yourselves by the actions of weaker people. I know John. If he says he loves you, he does. And if he says he’ll accept your babe as his, then he’ll love him or her like his own.” She waved up into the trees, where a hawk perched staring down at them. “Does a man who takes the time to care for wounded birds or wolves seem like a man who’d treat a child the way Timothy Ambrose treated you?”

“No. But how can I be sure?” Emily whispered. She wanted so much to believe John could accept her child and love it. But experience told her it wasn’t likely.

In response, Mary smiled. “It’s called trust, Emily. There are no guarantees in life. You of all people should know that. But you’re going to have to find it in yourself to trust John—and yourself. And to trust the love you share. Those are worth the risk. Trust and love are your answers, Emily. If you have both, then you have a future.”

Emily thought about that while they finished bathing. At last she rose, and they headed back. As soon as they returned and were safely under Gascon’s eagle eye, Ben went about his duties. Emily knew he had a lot of work to do before morning and her escape.

For the rest of the day, Emily had to fight to hide her nervousness from Willy. Tomorrow she’d be gone. She didn’t want him to be suspicious. Sitting on a log, she stitched the seam of a new dress she was making herself. Already she missed John: food had no taste; she couldn’t sleep from worrying about him out there alone.

What if something happened to him? What if he didn’t make it back? She shoved the thoughts away, realizing her silliness. She couldn’t allow the fear of losing another loved one to paralyze her. Noticing her sloppy work, she ripped out her stitches and admitted that she couldn’t concentrate. Even thoughts of the baby couldn’t keep her mind from straying to John. Where was he? Was he all right? Would he succeed?

A shadow fell over her. She glanced up…and saw Willy standing over her. “Want to—”

“No,” she interrupted. She refused to be bullied.

“Hey, you don’t even know what I was gonna ask,” he complained.

Emily resumed her sewing. “Doesn’t matter. The answer is no.”

“What if I just want to sit here beside ya and keep ya company?”

Emily stood. “Feel free to sit if you want.” She turned to leave but John’s cousin grabbed her arm.

“Be a shame if something happened to John. Then ya might have to be nicer to me.” Willy’s features held a cold fury.

From the comer of her eye, Emily saw Gascon rise from where he was cleaning his rifles. “Unhand me, Willy,” she said. She wanted to handle this herself.

He made no move to do so. Furious, Emily jabbed him in the arm with her sewing needle. Willy yelped and jumped back, allowing her to stalk away. She didn’t bother to tell him that if he was the last man on earth, she’d have nothing to do with him.

She waved Gascon off, then joined him at the table. Neither spoke, but they both heard Willy crashing off through the trees.

“You got spunk, girl,” John’s grandfather said. There was admiration in his voice.

Startled, Emily glanced up at him. She’d never thought of herself as strong or spunky. “I guess I do,” she agreed, realizing she was becoming spunkier each day.

“Good. That keeps a man on his toes.” His eyes softened and filled with unshed tears. “Like my dear wife. Kept me in line, she did.”

Emily reached out to cover his hand with hers. “You still miss her?”

Gascon smiled. “Yep. Someday soon, I’ll join her.” He shot her a stem glare. “But not before I see my grandson settled.”

Flushing, Emily took up her sewing and applied herself to her needle, making tiny stitches to make the seams of her dress stronger. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“Don’t be stubborn, girl,” Gascon said. “Listen to your heart. You love my grandson.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Then keep an open mind and heart. Things’ll work out between you.”

Staring at the kind old man, Emily tried to smile. He meant well, but he likely didn’t know all the facts. “I wish I had your faith,” was all she said.

He replied, “Before you can have faith in someone else, you have to have faith in yourself.” He resumed cleaning the gun. “Think about that.”

Emily did. And, as she went back to her sewing, the rest of the afternoon passed peacefully. Willy returned shortly before they sat down to eat. Over supper, Emily put the second part of her and John’s plan into action.

She addressed Gascon. “I want to go and visit the graves of my parents.” She didn’t have to fake the tears of grief that welled in her eyes for her mother. “I need to go and see them once before winter comes. Ben and Mary said they’d take me.”

Gascon played his part. “Noticed you’ve been looking a mite peaked lately. Do you good to get away for a day.”

“That’s a great idea. We can all go. Have a picnic. That’ll cheer you up,” Willy said, daring anyone to protest.

His grandfather just lifted a bushy brow. “Thought you said you’d go with me to check the traps we laid this morning? Business isn’t going to wait, boy.”

“You don’t need me to go,” Willy complained. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze coming to rest on Emily.

She responded, “I don’t think I’ll be in the mood for a picnic or a lot of conversation. This is something I need to do, and I’d rather do it alone.”

“
They’s
goin’ with you.”

Emily set her nearly untouched plate of food down. Nearby, Fang waited eagerly. John had left him. “I’m not sure I could find the spot by myself, but Ben thinks he knows the area.”

“Seems that as we’s almost family, I should take ya.” He glared at Ben and Mary.

Gascon shook his head. “Our traps won’t wait.”

Willy sat back, looking disgruntled, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do to change the old man’s mind.

Relieved to have the fight over with, and seemingly without too much argument, Emily escaped with Mary to go wash the dishes. Fang followed, knowing he’d get to eat the leftovers.

Some mornings dawn raced across the sky, flooding the world with color. Other times it bloomed slowly, like a rose unfurling its petals one by one in the dewy air. Today it crept across the horizon, a shy maiden teasing her lover.

Normally John loved each incarnation of Lady Dawn—slow or fast. Today he impatiently awaited daylight. He paced, a dark shape in the gray morning as he waited for the hour that would bring Emily to him. Each sound of the awakening land made him spin around to peer through the trees.

Going to the log in the glade where he’d found Emily, he sat and rubbed his thigh. After three days of hard travel, his body was letting him know he’d overdone it.

This plan was worth it, he reminded himself. He knew his cousin well, and if he didn’t take Emily away, Willy’s advances would continue. The fact that she was “engaged” to him wouldn’t matter. Only if they were married—maybe—would Willy give up. Still, John had never seen his cousin so set on one particular woman before.

Of course, John couldn’t blame him. Emily was special. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman. Though she’d been listless and full of anguish when he’d first found her, she’d quickly recovered to reveal her true nature. Beneath her soft, angelic looks lay a core of steel. He rubbed his thigh, feeling the ridge of scar tissue. It’d taken courage on her part to save his life, to cause him pain to ensure his survival. And in the days following, she’d shown dogged determination in her care of him, refusing to let him die.

More than anything, it had taken courage to overcome her broken heart and allow herself to love again. John frowned. Had she really done that? With love came trust, and he realized she hadn’t learned to trust again. The pain of her father’s hatred, of being abandoned by her parents, had left her afraid to trust. Combined with the circumstances of her conception and birth, those facts made John suddenly fear she might never find it in her to trust him.

Somehow he had to convince her that he could love her child as his own. For three days he’d thought of her, the baby and himself. Over and over he’d searched his heart, mind and soul, asking himself if he could truly accept another man’s child as his own. For her sake—and his own—he wanted to be sure. He never wanted to hurt her or hurt an innocent child.

The answer was yes. Yes, he could love this child. Yes, he would love Emily forever. What convinced him was the fact that he’d never felt resentment for her past—for the man who’d been her first love. The past mattered nothing to him. Only the present—and the future.

Standing to resume pacing, John stared up at the rose-gold sky wondering how could he prove his love and devotion. Words alone couldn’t convince her, yet what else was there? It all came down to one word:
trust.

He was back at the start. It was a vicious circle. Without Emily’s trust there was nothing, and sadly that was the one thing he had no control over. Either she believed in him and trusted him with her heart, her soul, her life and her child, or she didn’t. And if she didn’t, then there was nothing more he could do. His happiness lay in her ability to overcome her past and learn to love and believe in their future.

The realization left him despondent.

A swish of wings overhead drew his attention. He saw a hawk sitting on a branch. It was the one he’d healed. In the weeks since its release, the bird had often returned to sit near the humans who had helped him recover. The hawk had learned to overcome its fears. During its time of captivity while it healed, the hawk had learned to trust John. All it had taken was lots of patience and time. Time to soothe the bird. Patience to prove he only wanted to help. Pushing his shoulders back, John decided he just needed time. And he had that aplenty.

A low whistle from deep among the mist-enshrouded trees around the glade broke the morning stillness. Fang broke from the underbrush, running toward John, barking happily. The hawk rose up into the sky, then dipped one wing as if bidding John goodbye forever.

John waited, his breath held, his body still. On the wolf’s heels, Ben stepped into the clearing, followed by Mary. Then came Lady Dawn, the sunshine of his life. She stepped into the midst of the small glade. The nut browns, tawny yellows and russet reds of falling leaves rained down on her. Like tarnished jewels, several formed a crown of color on her head and shoulders. Absently she brushed the leaves from her and slowly glanced around. John went to her.