Louisa Rawlings (57 page)

“That night…you know. I’m so ashamed.”

He pulled her over to the bed to sit beside him. “What do you remember about that night?”

“I…I remember having supper. And then…Arthur and I…I think we went to look at the rest of the car.” She frowned and rubbed her eyes. “I remember taking a rain bath. I felt giddy. Like a kid. It seemed too silly. Oh, it’s all such a blur.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“And then?” he prodded gently.

She covered her face with her hands. “I thought it was you. I don’t know how I could have been such a fool, but I thought it was
you
!”

“I was the fool. A jealous fool! To think you could…”

“But I
let
him,” she moaned.

He pulled her hands from her face, put his fingers firmly under her chin, turned her to face him. “You couldn’t help yourself. He put something in your drink.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What?”

“It was a plot. To drive me away from you. And because I was a damned idiot, it succeeded.”

She still found it incomprehensible. “Something in my drink?”

“Some kind of drug. Possibly laudanum. It didn’t much matter if you were conscious or not. I only had to think you were unfaithful.”

“But why would Arthur do such a thing? He’s your sister’s husband!”

“Was. He was killed the other day. Though I can’t say I mourn his passing.”

“Why would he do it?”

Drew sighed. “It was my mother’s idea. She thought I’d be better off without you.”

She frowned unhappily. “And maybe you would be, with your painting. I know how important it is to you.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes like blue flame. “Dammit, Marcy, don’t talk that way! It means nothing without you! These last couple of months…I had to force myself to pick up my brushes. And in Paris I was so discouraged. It was your strength, your joy and love, that kept me from losing heart.” He kissed her hard, then softened his kiss, his lips moving gently on hers, until she began to tremble with love and renewed longing.

She pulled away from him, her heart pounding, her breath coming in little gasps. “Tarnation, Drew Bradford,” she whispered. “I
do
love you.”

“Come back with me, Marcy. I want you with me. I need you with me.”

She stood up and turned away. It was what she’d dreaded, knowing what her answer must be. “No. I belong here. This last week, up on this mountain, I’ve had a chance to think. I belong here. I feel the seasons in my bones. In my blood. In Paris the time seemed to drift away; the seasons blended together. Oh, I don’t know how to say it. I guess I can use a word you and your artist friends would use. My days had no
form
. My life had no form. I’m
connected
to these mountains, Drew. Even my name. From Mount Marcy.”

“There’s no reason why we can’t come back here sometimes.”

“No. I belong here. Forever. I thought the mountains could hurt me, the way they hurt my parents. But the world out there is the real wilderness. Nature can be cruel, but she doesn’t mean to be. Out there”—she gestured toward the open door, to the cities beyond the night sky—“the wickedness isn’t blind chance. It’s planned. Like your mother and Arthur. Like Mr. Stewart in Paris. I never saw an animal attack that wasn’t hungry or scared. Only people hurt one another for no reason.”

“Maybe they’re scared too,” he said quietly. “I think my mother was.” He shook his head. “That’s not a good enough reason, Marcy. Unless you intend to spend the rest of your days in this cabin. Like a hermit.”

“Of course not.”

“Then you’ve got to be with people. What’s the difference between living in Long Lake and living in the city? Especially if you and I are together? And we come back here sometimes?”

She twisted her hands nervously. “It’s just…the temptation.”

“What temptation?”

She’d had plenty of time to think about this too, to curse her own weakness. “Dang it, Drew! Maybe I
am
a fortune hunter!”

“What?”

“I
liked
that railroad car. I liked Arthur’s attentions. I felt like a fancy lady. And I liked it when you brought me presents.”

He pushed impatiently at his black curls, stood up, and paced the small cabin. “For God’s sake, Marcy! Why the hell shouldn’t you like nice things? Especially after last year. The hard times. The miscarriage. You’d have to be a saint not to enjoy nice things after that!”

“Well, but if I stay here, I’ll be away from temptation.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and glared at her. “Have you done anything in the past two months besides dream up daft reasons why we shouldn’t be together? What else? I can see from the look on your face that you have more doubts. Come on. What is it?”

“You don’t need me,” she said sulkily. “You have your painting. You don’t really need me.”

“I just told you I did!” he huffed. “What more can I say?”

“No. It’s more than that. I’m not good for you. You nearly gave up your painting for me. You feel obligated to me.”

“You’re my wife and I love you!” he explained through clenched teeth. “I’m
supposed
to feel obligated!”

“Then what would happen if you couldn’t support me? You’d give up your painting again. And I couldn’t stand that.”

“I swear to you I won’t. I have high hopes for my exhibit. And even if it isn’t a success, I can still get a job while I continue painting. I can teach at the National Academy or the Cooper Institute. The important thing is that we’d be together.”

She stuck out a belligerent chin. “And what kind of job could
I
get? I can’t hunt or fish in the city. I can’t be a guide!”

“You won’t
have
to work! We’ll manage.”

“You see?” she said accusingly. “You don’t need me. I’m no helpmate.”

“Dammit, I’d forgotten what a stubborn devil you are! You’re my helpmate just by being my wife and my love! If that isn’t need, I don’t know what the hell is!” He took a deep breath, cooling his anger. “I’m going back to the city. Are you coming?”

“No.”

“You’ve made up your stubborn little mind, haven’t you? No matter what I say! Well, I’m going down. I expect you in Long Lake.”

She wavered. Maybe he was right. Maybe her arguments were foolish.
No
! She’d had plenty of time to think about it. It made sense for her to stay here. “I’m not coming.”

He ignored that and turned toward the door. “I’ll be waiting.”

Oh! He made her so hot under the collar! Who did he think he was, bossing her around like that? “You can’t go down tonight,” she grumbled. “It’s already night. The trail will be dark. You’ll have to stay here.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said sarcastically. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I won’t change my mind.”

His eyes narrowed in fury. “Then you just might wind up with the sorest backside my right arm can give you!”

“Oh!” She glared at him and turned away.

“I left my knapsack and blanket down the trail. I’ll go get them,” he growled.

“Take the lantern.”

“There’s enough light. I’ll be able to see. My things are just down the trail.” He went out the door.

“Consarn him,” she muttered. She slammed the kerosene lantern onto the table and pulled out a tin of matches. She struck one and touched it to the wick. No matter what he said, it was too dark out to see. She’d hear him crashing around in a minute, and then she’d go out with the lantern. Spank her, indeed! Dang him! She wouldn’t be bullied into going back with him!

A terrible sound tore through the stillness. She gasped. She heard Drew’s voice—half shout, half cry of pain. A long, drawn-out howl that turned her blood to ice. “
Drew
!” she screamed. She snatched up the lantern and her double rifle and raced out the door. The sounds were coming from the trail—Drew’s groans and cries, and an ominous growling noise. Hurtling down the path, lantern held aloft, she stopped in horror.

Drew knelt on the trail. Above him loomed a giant black bear, at least six hundred pounds, that reared up on its hind legs and slashed at him with razor-sharp claws. The contents of the knapsack lay scattered on the trail. Blood poured down the back of Drew’s neck, staining his shirt; he raised his arms to ward off the bear’s attacks. “Get back, Marcy…” he gasped.

“Lie down and play possum, Drew!” Roughly, Marcy set the lantern on the trail in front of her and raised the rifle to her shoulder. Drew flattened himself to the ground. The bear growled once, prodded the prostrate form, then turned his attention to Marcy. In that moment she aimed and fired. The great creature roared its pain as the bullet smashed through its shoulder, then advanced on her, swinging its huge paws in fury.

Drew struggled to his knees. “Marcy…”

“Dang you, Drew! Stay down!” She aimed again, feeling the cold sweat trickling down her back. She had only the second barrel to depend on; she’d left her cartridges back at the cabin. She murmured a prayer and squeezed the trigger. Straight for the heart. The bullet slammed into the bear. The beast staggered backward, grunted once, and crashed into the brush at the side of the trail. Marcy advanced cautiously; then, certain the animal was dead, she threw down her rifle and knelt to Drew. She gasped at the sight of him. His face and shoulders and arms were covered with scratches, deep gashes that traced bloody lines across his flesh. But the most serious injury was to the back of his head; the bear, in its rage at being surprised with the knapsack, had torn a great patch of his scalp away from the skull. Blood poured from the flap of skin, drenching Drew’s shirt.

He laughed unsteadily. “I should have taken the lantern. The damn thing didn’t like my disturbing his supper.”

“Oh, hush,” she said gently. She brought the lantern closer and examined his head. The skin, though badly torn, was still attached. But the bleeding was fearful. “We’ll have to get back,” she said. “You can’t stay here.” There had to be some way to retard the flow of blood. Gingerly, she lifted the skin flap and pressed it tightly against his head. “Can you hold this, Drew? Until I can get a bandage from the cabin?”

“I’ll try.” He put his hand to his head. “Lord, that hurts!”

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’ll leave the lantern here for you.” She made her way back to the cabin, treading carefully up the trail until the light from the open cabin door showed her the way. She left her rifle; it would be impossible to carry. She picked up a roll of linen bandages and stuffed it in her pocket, filled her canteen from the water bucket and slung it across her shoulder. Drat! She would have liked some biscuits; Drew might need his strength before they got to Long Lake. She had a few toffees. She shoved them into a pocket.

She hurried back to him. Working quickly, she wrapped the bandage about his head, pulling it as tightly as she dared to stem the bleeding.

He smiled up at her. “I guess I
am
a greenhorn. You always warned me not to leave food around. Let’s go back to the cabin. I’ll be all right after I rest for a little while.”

“No. You’re losing too much blood. Even with the bandage. We’ve got to get down to Long Lake, so your head can be stitched up properly. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” He hauled himself to his feet, clinging to Marcy for support, then let go of her. “I can make it on my own.”

She turned and picked up the lantern. “I’ll walk in front of you. But if you feel your knees giving way, holler.” They started down the trail. It was slow going. The path was steep. Twice Drew slipped, managing at the last minute to clutch at a sapling tree, and once he tripped on an exposed root and tumbled to the ground. Marcy noted with dismay that the blood had already begun to seep through the bandage. She helped him to his feet. “Can you go on?”

He shivered and smiled thinly. “Damn, it’s cold!”

She frowned in dismay. “I should have brought your coat. I didn’t think of it!”

“We’ll manage.” They continued on down. Drew was breathing heavily. Marcy turned to watch him, noticing the beads of sweat on his face, the pallor of his skin even by the dim light of the lantern. At last he stopped and sat down on the trail. “I’m getting awfully light-headed, Marcy.” His voice was beginning to slur. “You go on without me. I don’t think I can make it.”

She set down the lantern. “Oh, bosh, Drew Bradford! There’s no good my going without you!” She knelt to him and gave him a drink of water, then unwrapped the toffee. “Here. Suck on this. It’ll keep up your strength.” She helped him to his feet. “Put your arm around my shoulder and lean on me.” The trail was wider here. They proceeded side by side. She held the lantern in one hand, lighting the path; her other arm, firmly wrapped about his waist, was soon wet from the blood that continued to pour from his wound.

By the time they reached the bottom of the trail, Drew was staggering. He blinked his eyes, desperately trying to stay conscious. Marcy let him rest while she pulled her canoe out of the brush and righted it. Drew’s boat was here as well, but the canoe would be faster. She pushed it partially into the water, then turned back to Drew. Grunting with the strain of his weight, she managed to help him into the canoe. She waded into the water, hooked the lantern onto the bow of the canoe, then scrambled into the stern, launching the canoe at the same time. She paddled quickly around Clear Pond, straining through the darkness to find the entrance to the creek that led to Long Lake. The sky was black, thick clouds scudding across its dark expanse. Despite her years in the wilderness, her eyes that had grown used to seeing in the dark, it was difficult to make out shapes. She cursed softly as she saw the lean-to on the shore of Clear Pond; she’d gone too far, missed the creek. She turned the canoe about and headed back. She looked down. Drew lay in the bottom of the boat, his eyes closed. “Drew,” she said. “
Drew
!”