Banner O'Brien (36 page)

Banner went to the tree as Adam stumbled after his brother. Below, Sean and Daniel lay far apart on the lethal rocks, both of them still.

Banner turned her head and fought down the bile that rose in her throat. They were dead, both of them.

When she dared to look down again, Jeff was kneeling beside his father, reaching for him.

Adam caught Jeff at the shoulders, pulled him back. His words rose to Banner on the warm spring wind. “Don’t, Jeff. Don’t touch him.”

Something primitive moved through Jeff’s formidable frame, lifting him back to his feet, giving him the power to turn on Adam in his fury. “You
knew!”
he bellowed, thrusting his good hand into his brother’s shoulder. “God damn you, you bastard,
you knew!”

“Jeff—”

Jeff seemed almost maniacal in his anger and his pain. He shoved Adam again and Adam stumbled backward, not raising a hand to defend himself.

“I’ll kill you!” Jeff wept, bitterly, brokenly. “I’ll kill you, Adam—”

Banner took her brother-in-law at his word and scrambled for the rifle Sean had dropped. In another moment, she was grappling down the same steep path Adam and Jeff had taken. Sharp rocks scraped open her knees, her elbows, the side of her face. Still, she kept going, clutching the rifle in one numb hand.

When Banner reached the bottom, Jeff was still trying to prod his brother into a fight. But this was no good-natured brawl in the front yard, no game.

“Hit me, goddamn you!” the younger brother roared.

Adam did not lift his hands. The wound in his head was seeping blood, and his face was crimson with the stuff, but he seemed unaware of that, unaware of everything but Jeff’s pain.

“I’m sorry, Jeff.”

“Sorry?
You’re
sorry?!
My God, Papa was alive all this time and you knew it and you stand there and tell me you’re
sorry?”

Adam wiped some of the blood from his face with the cuff of one shirtsleeve. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

There was a spasm of fury in Jeff’s face. He muttered a vicious word and lunged at his brother, closing his unhampered hand around Adam’s throat. “You lied—all these years—”

Adam displaced his brother’s hand easily. “I had to lie, Jeff. Papa wanted that, and he had good reason to.”

“No!”

At this point, Banner cocked the rifle, as Adam had taught her to do one day when he was still recovering from his last confrontation with Sean, and pointed it squarely at Jeff’s head.

“Touch my husband again,” she said quietly, “and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Jeff did not even seem to see Banner, but he was deflated all the same. He sank fluidly to his knees, his hand over his face, his weeping a sound that she would never forget. She lowered the rifle as Adam crouched before his broken brother and drew him into an embrace.

They had to talk now, and weep together; Banner left them to that, laying down the rifle and making her way back up the cliff path alone.

After a very long time, Adam and Jeff came up, too. Their faces were cold and closed, and neither of them seemed to know that Banner was there at all.

Working together, in strained silence, they managed
to bring the two bodies up from the base of the cliff. After that, they buried Daniel and Lulani beside each other and then dug another grave for Sean.

By the time this gruesome business had been completed, it was well past sunset.

For the first time, in Banner’s hearing, Jeff spoke to his brother. “The cabin?”

“It has to be burned,” replied Adam. “I’ll do it.”

Jeff shrugged, his face expressionless, and turned to stagger toward his horse, which had been grazing nearby. After risking one look at Adam, who nodded, Banner followed her brother-in-law.

“Jeff, wait,” she pleaded softly.

He stiffened beside his horse, the reins in his hand, but he did not turn around or speak.

“Adam did what he had to do,” she told him, her words soft, but firm, too.

“Yes. He stole five years that I could have shared with my father.”

Banner closed her eyes. “Your father had
leprosy.”

“He was still my father,” Jeff retorted, and then he swung onto the horse’s back, and the flames from the rapidly ignited cabin glowed on his face like the light of hell.

Quickly, she caught hold of the horse’s bridle, desperate to stall Jeff somehow, to keep him from riding away from his brother now. “H-How did you happen to come here when you did, Jeff?”

“I saw Malloy follow Adam away from the house,” he answered, his eyes fixed on some unseeable distance. “Goodbye, Banner.”

Defeated, Banner let go of the bridle. “Goodbye,” she said.

Banner went back to Adam slowly, trying to deal with her own feelings so that she could then help with his. She thought of Sean—she had not loved him, but she had not wished him dead, either. She hoped that he would find peace now.

Adam’s gaze was fixed on his rapidly disappearing brother, and the light of the blazing cabin flickered on his face and the broad, blood-smudged expanse of his chest.

Banner found water and a cloth and began to wash her husband’s face. “Did you explain?”

“I tried,” he said with a ragged sigh, submitting to the washing with uncharacteristic patience. “He won’t tell anyone—that’s the important thing.”

“Maybe you should have told him sooner, Adam,” Banner ventured, laying aside the wet cloth.

But Adam shook his head. “The risk of infection was too great. Besides, Jeff isn’t the sort to keep a secret—the concept of deception is beyond him.”

After that, there seemed nothing more to say. They waited until the cabin had consumed itself and then mounted their own horses to go back down the mountain. The mounts Sean and Daniel had ridden trotted obediently along behind.

*  *  *

Banner sighed. Saints in heaven but it was hot, even in Katherine’s shaded garden. And she was so big.

A tear slid down Banner’s face and shimmered like a diamond on the marble bench she sat upon. Within her enormous belly, the baby moved like a small, furious gladiator.

It was late August, and Adam had not lain with her since June. Was he really content with the limited pleasures they could offer each other now, or was he making pilgrimages to the
Silver Shadow
as well as rounds?

“O’Brien?” Adam’s hands came to her shoulders, gently kneading. “What are you thinking?”

“That I am an elephant,” she sniffled, “not a wife.”

Adam sat down beside her on the bench and traced the length of her neck with a tender finger. His blue eyes fell fondly, possessively, to her stomach. “You are beautiful, Shamrock,” he said.

Banner sighed and wiped her face. “I wish the baby would come,” she muttered. “I want to be able to sleep on my stomach again.”

Adam chuckled. “I’d like to be able to sleep on your stomach again, too.”

Suddenly, Banner sat bolt upright; dampness was spreading around her, soaking her skirts. “My waters!” she gasped. “Adam, my waters—”

Instantly, he was on his feet, sweeping her up into his arms, striding into the house.

*  *  *

All sorts of strange emotions rushed into Adam’s throat from some fount in his heart as he looked down at the furious, redheaded infant boy squirming in his hands. Tiny arms and legs flailed, and a strong little back arched.

“Adam?” whispered the mother of this bristling wonder. “Adam—the baby?”

“The baby is fine,” he said, surrendering the child to Maggie so that he could tie and sever the birth cord. “A boy with red hair like yours.”

Banner should have been resting, but suddenly she was writhing and tossing her head from side to side. “Adam—there’s another! Saints in heaven—there’s another!”

Adam felt her stomach with both hands, muttered in amazement. Sure enough, a second baby was on its way.

Even in her labor, Banner was beautiful. “I love you, Adam,” she said, over and over again. “I love you.”

Finally, after much ado, a girl child made a glorious, outraged entrance, wriggling in her father’s hands just as her brother had, squalling when her bottom was slapped and her mouth was cleared.

“We have a daughter,” Adam marveled hoarsely.

“
We
,” smiled his weary wife, relaxing at last. “I did all the work, Adam Corbin!”

“Twins!” The word bubbled up out of Adam, like a
cry of joy, as he went to the other side of the bed to wash his hands.
“Twins.”

For all her exhaustion and her residual pain, Banner laughed. “Look at him, Maggie! He’s swaggering like a rooster!”

“He has the right to be proud,” said Maggie in a quavering voice, as she washed and wrapped the two infuriated infants. “And so do you.”

Adam dried his hands and bent to kiss his wife’s damp brow. “I love you, O’Brien,” he said, feeling no shame for the tears in his eyes.

Maggie wrested him aside to place one baby in Banner’s arms, and then another. Then she left, and the Corbins set about naming their children.

The boy, it had been long decided, would be called Daniel Jeffrey, but the girl, having come as a complete surprise, posed a problem.

“What was your mother’s name, O’Brien?” Adam asked, frowning at the small delight that was his daughter.

“Bridget.”

“That’s it, then. Bridget.”

As if glad to have a name, Bridget Corbin made a cooing sound and settled against her mother’s breast to sleep.

*  *  *

It promised to be a very fine Christmas, indeed, with all the family home and concentrating on spoiling the babies as thoroughly as they could, and Banner hummed as she finished putting the examining room in order.

The door opened, closed again.

Banner turned to smile at her husband. “I’m through now, so we can—”

Adam was grinning at her, pressing her against the examining table. Her skirts began to slide upward under the deft guidance of his hands.

“Adam Corbin!”

He chuckled, knelt. Banner felt her drawers slide down over her hips, her thighs, her knees. She made to flee, and his hands locked around her ankles, holding her fast. He lifted one of her feet, and her lacy undergarment was crumpled around one shoe. If she ran now, she risked dragging her drawers ignobly behind her.

His hands caressed the satiny skin of her thighs, widening her stance as they did so.

Banner trembled. Someone was approaching the examining room, she was sure of it. Someone would walk in at any time—

“Adam!”

She felt a coolness as he parted her, braced herself for what would come next.

His mouth closed over her, and her knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the table she was leaning against. Beneath her dress, Banner’s nipples hardened, chafing. Her face was aflame and her breath was too quick.

Adam chuckled, the sound muffled by her skirts, and menaced her sweetly with his tongue. An incomprehensible heat surged through her, followed by a brutal, grinding release that left her groaning.

Adam blithely patted her bottom, slipped her drawers back over her feet, pulled them up to her waist, and tied the tie. Before aligning her skirts again, he kissed her muslin-sheltered sweetness once, in parting.

“I’ve got a house call to make,” he announced, grinning. Damn him, he was completely calm, while Banner could barely trust her knees to support her.

“I’m going with you,” she said.

Adam shook his head and gestured toward the window, where a dense Christmas Eve snow was falling. “It’s cold outside, O’Brien, and I won’t be gone long.”

Banner put her hands to her face, in an effort to cool her passion-charred cheeks. “If you think you’re going
to leave me behind, Adam Corbin, and on our anniversary . . .”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back soon enough to”—he assessed her mischievously—“celebrate. Besides, the babies need you.”

“Danny and Bridget are busy holding court in the parlor. I’ve fed them and they’re just fine.”

Adam was ignoring her, walking out, crossing the outer office, catching up his coat and his bag as he passed them. Banner scrambled into her own cloak and scurried after him, unhampered by the slight ache in her right ankle that was the result of a fall at that day’s skating party.

Adam looked back over his shoulder, heedless of the snow, and tried to seem angry. But a smile curved his lips as Banner fell stubbornly into step beside him.

Author’s Note

Here in Washington, as in many states, the fight for women’s suffrage was a long one, fraught with disappointments. The vote was twice given, twice taken away again. Finally, due to the efforts of such crusaders as Emma Smith DeVoe, May Arkwright Hutton, and Abigail Duniway; among others, suffrage became a reality in November of 1910.