Love on the Mend Page 8

  After dismounting, Jacob led Galen to the trough for a much deserved drink, all while doing his best to subdue his rising panic. He couldn’t lose her. Not when he’d just given his heart to her. Please, God. Don’t take her from me. He had to look harder. Longer. She was out there somewhere.

  “I spoke to the boy while I was waiting for you to come in,” Curtis said, striding forward to meet him. “I hoped he could help us narrow the search.”

  “And?”

  “Well . . .” Curtis scratched at his beard. “All he could tell me was that Mollie was planning on making him a treat. Usually that means baking something. The boy has a powerful sweet tooth. But I don’t think that is going to help us. The only kitchens she might use are mine and Mrs. Peabody’s. She’s in neither.”

  Jacob paced along the corral fence, staring down at the dirt without really seeing it. “Maybe she needed something special for the treat. Something she had to retrieve before she could make it.” He swiveled to face Curtis. “Could she have gone to the grocers or the restaurant?”

  “Possibly, but that would have taken less than an hour.” He glanced up at the sun’s sinking position in the afternoon sky. “I guess it’s been closer to three hours now.”

  “Did you check the bed in the spare room, just in case she came back while we were gone and cozied down for that nap?” Jacob knew he was grasping at straws, but he needed so badly for her to be safe.

  Curtis held his gaze, understanding and shared concern connecting them in a way Jacob could not dismiss. “I checked. Checked every room in the place. Even the cellar. Mrs. Grady hasn’t seen her. The other kids haven’t seen her. Mollie’s not here.” He pulled off his hat and scrubbed at his short, graying hair. “We could go back to town and ask after her there, but my gut tells me that would be a waste of time.” He plopped his hat back on his head. “Mollie has never broken a promise. If she told Adam she’d bring him a surprise, something would have had to physically hold her back to keep her from following through.”

  That was his Mollie. Impetuous. Self-sacrificing. Loyal to the bone. Jacob closed his eyes and saw again how she had dropped through the busted church floor to get to Adam the day he’d met her. No hesitation. No caution. No care to her own well-being.

  Ah, Mollie. What scrape have you gotten yourself into this time?

  “So what kind of treat would she make?” Jacob asked his uncle, determined to work the problem instead of getting hung up on worrying over possible outcomes. “Cake? Cookies?”

  Curtis looked back toward the house, a thoughtful look on his face. “The boy loves pound cake, but none of those ingredients require any special effort.”

  “What about pie? I had a slice of fresh blackberry pie at lunch today. Would Adam—”

  “Blackberries! Of course. I should have thought of that hours ago.” Curtis’s face split into a grin as he staggered excitedly over to his horse and started pulling himself into the saddle. “Mollie makes blackberry cobbler every year when the berries ripen.”

  Jacob snagged Galen’s reins and mounted in a single motion. “Where are we headed?” Not that it mattered. He was just thankful to have a direction. Any direction.

  Curtis jerked his head toward the east. “The creek.”

  Something nudged Mollie’s shoulder. With the nudge came a reminder of the pain. She tried to snuggle back down into the darkness that had cushioned her from the agony in her head, but then someone called her name. Someone she knew. Jacob. He sounded far away. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she just slipped back into the warm darkness for a little while.

  “Mollie Tate. Don’t you dare leave me.”

  Goodness, he sounded demanding. And worried. And perhaps just a tad panicked. Mollie frowned at that. Or she would have if she could’ve remembered how. The darkness made everything fuzzy. But one thing she did remember—Jacob never panicked. She’d never met a man so calm in a crisis. So what had him rattled?

  Hands roamed over her arms and legs. They prodded and probed and seemed to jab every sore spot on her body. She wanted to scream at them to stop, but she only managed a pitiful little whining sound that barely even vibrated her throat. The hands must have heard it, though, for they stilled.

  “Mollie? Can you hear me?”

  Jacob. Heavens, how she loved that man. She’d gladly be his nurse for the rest of her days just to be close to him.

  “Curtis, hand her up to me after I mount.”

  Uncle Curtis was here, too? They were working together? The thought made her want to smile, but some kind of heavy blanket hung over her, weighing down all her muscles.

  “She’s hasn’t broken any bones, just a bunch of small lacerations from the blackberry thorns. It’s the injury to her head that has me concerned. I need to get her back to the house to examine her more carefully.”

  Arms slid under her back and beneath her knees. Agony shot through her skull. She fought the pain, needing to remember something. Something important.

  The arms lifted her high and jostled her.

  Oh, yes! The blackberries. They had to take the blackberries with them. She couldn’t disappoint Adam.

  Just as the thought materialized, a new set of arms claimed her, and the motion of the transfer shook the well-fought-for memory right out of her head. Thinking hurt too much.

  “Hang in there, Mollie.” Jacob’s voice rumbled just beneath her ear. She tried to pick out his words as the darkness rose to claim her. “I’ll patch you up, I swear it. Don’t leave me, sweetheart. Please. I love you too much to lose you.”

  She reached through the pain to grab on to that last statement, then tucked it against her heart before the darkness could steal it from her. Once she was sure the treasured words were safe, she surrendered to the black oblivion.

  The next time awareness stirred, the pain wasn’t quite as piercing. And when she heard Jacob’s voice mumbling something, she strained to push through the fog to listen. Would he tell her he loved her again? Or had she just imagined those words?

  “Go get some sleep, Curtis. I’m going to try to get another cup of willow bark tea into her. I can’t risk morphine or laudanum in her condition. I need her to wake up.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Mollie’s heart thumped.

  He needed her.

  She had to crawl out of this wretched darkness and get back to Jacob. It would hurt more, but since when had she ever taken the easy road? She had to assure him that she wasn’t going to leave.

  “It’s been hours, son.” Footsteps echoed in the room. “Let me sit with her for a few minutes while you go—”

  “I’m staying. I have to. I love her, Uncle Curtis.”

  There were the words again. Only this time instead sounding like a promise, they sounded like torture.

  “I want to have a family. With Mollie.” He paused. “With you, too.”

  “Jacob.” It seemed to be all Uncle Curtis could say.

  Mollie couldn’t blame him. It was the only word she wanted to say, too. “Jacob.”

  He was at her side in a flash, taking her hand in his. “Mollie?”

  She focused all her energy on lifting her eyelids. They cracked just a bit, enough to let a sliver of lamplight in. Slowly, her lashes parted and she saw him. Red-rimmed eyes, stubbly jaw, hair a wreck. Her man.

  “I won’t leave you.” She gave him her promise before exhaustion once again overtook her and dragged her back into unconsciousness.

  Jacob remained by Mollie’s side throughout the night, clinging to her hand as well as to her vow. She wasn’t going to leave him. She’d given her word, and Mollie never broke a promise.

  He prayed. He tended the cuts she’d suffered from the blackberry brambles when she’d fallen. The vines had grown entangled within a cedar’s branches, and as best he could tell, she’d climbed the tree in order to reach the ripe berries that other pickers had left behind. Unfortunately, the limb she’d shimmied out on had been weak and had broken beneath her weight.

  “You know, this t
ree climbing and dropping through busted church floors is going to have to stop after we’re married. My heart won’t be able to take the stress.” He smiled and ran the back of his finger down the smooth line of her cheek. “Not that I expect any dictate I give you to have much effect. My only hope is that you’ll grow to care enough about me that you’ll take pity on me and cease taking unnecessary risks with your life.”

  He gently ran his hand over the lump at the back of the far side of her skull. The swelling had gone down a little. A good sign. He knew he just had to be patient and let God heal any swelling on the inside that he couldn’t see, but he longed to have her open her eyes again and renew her vow not to leave him.

  Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over her forehead. “I love you, Mollie.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, her skin.

  “I love you, too.”

  Jacob started. His eyes flew open. Mollie blinked at him, her beautiful dark hazel eyes glowing with a clarity that sent relief surging through his chest. She was going to recover.

  “I love you, Jacob Sadler,” she repeated. Then her lips curved into a smile so sweet it made his teeth ache. “And if you promise to help me pick blackberries for Adam once my head stops pounding, I’ll promise not to climb any more trees once we’re married.”

  Jacob grinned. “Deal.” He bent down and touched his lips to hers to seal their pledge. The gentle contact sent waves of triumph gushing through his veins.

  She loved him, and she’d just vowed to be his wife. True, it had been a rather unorthodox proposal, since he’d thought her unconscious at the time. But she’d agreed, and he aimed to hold her to it.

  As he dropped tender kisses on her eyebrows and forehead and drew a line of them down to her jaw, he silently made vows of his own. Vows to protect her, to cherish her, to give her the family she’d never had: in-laws who would adore her—Darius and Nicole Thornton would welcome Mollie with open arms, of that he had no doubt; children of their own to nurture and love; and an uncle they would share a life with, free of bitterness or grudges. He owed that much to Mollie. Shoot, he owed it to himself. But perhaps most of all, he owed it to God who’d found a way to mend the broken pieces of his life and taught him to love again.

  Keep reading for a special sample of

  A Worthy Pursuit

  by Karen Witemeyer.

  Excerpt from A Worthy Pursuit

  Prologue

  FEBRUARY 1891

  AUSTIN, TEXAS

  SULLIVAN’S ACADEMY FOR EXCEPTIONAL YOUTHS

  “I’m closing the school, Miss Atherton, and that’s my final word on the subject.” Dr. Keith Sullivan closed the attendance ledger on his desk with an ominous snap and pushed to his feet, forcing Charlotte to stand, as well. “I’ve sent wires to all the students’ parents, informing them of the closure and offering to reimburse a percentage of the tuition to compensate them for the inconvenience of ending the school term earlier than expected.”

  A reimbursement of funds? From the man who’d refused to purchase a single new text in the last five years? It was all Charlotte could do to keep her jaw from coming unhinged. There must be another source of income—one large enough to overshadow the loss of tuition. Dr. Sullivan charged exorbitant fees for his exclusive school. Only the most noteworthy students were accepted into the small academy—unless, of course, a particularly wealthy family sought entry for one of their children. In that case, a well-placed donation seemed to make up for any lack in giftedness. Charlotte could only imagine how large a donation would have to be to convince him to close the school entirely.

  Backing out of the way as her employer strode around his desk, Charlotte fiddled with the cameo at her neck, then marched after him. “What of Stephen Farley? His parents are in Europe. They couldn’t possibly collect him before we close the doors. And John Chang is an orphan here on scholarship. He has no place to go.”

  She paid the Chinese boy’s tuition herself out of her monthly stipend and had for the last three years. She’d fought to get him into the school after one of the women from St. Peter’s Foundling Home had brought him to her attention. John had been only four at the time, but when he’d climbed onto the worn bench of the secondhand piano in the orphanage parlor and flawlessly picked out every note of Fanny Crosby’s “Safe in the Arms of Jesus,” she’d known she had to tutor the boy. God had bestowed a rare gift on the child and placed him in her path for a reason. She couldn’t have him torn away from her now.

  “Arrangements have been made for them to board at St. Peter’s.”

  Charlotte fought down the protest tearing at her throat. Stephen wouldn’t last a day there with his penchant for finding trouble. And John. Dear heaven. The boy had been picked on mercilessly by the other children because of his foreign heritage, even as a toddler. He’d been so traumatized, he hadn’t spoken a word for months after coming to the academy. He was still much too withdrawn for Charlotte’s liking. No telling how far the boy would retreat into himself if he were forced to return to St. Peter’s.

  And what of Lily? Ice shards speared Charlotte’s heart as a new, more sinister possibility cast its shadow over Dr. Sullivan’s bizarre behavior.

  “Miss Dorchester will stay with me, of course,” Charlotte asserted, any other contingency being untenable.

  Dr. Sullivan pivoted to face her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Atherton. You are headmistress, not mother, to these children, regardless of that piece of paper Rebekah Dorchester had you sign. Lily will return to her grandfather where she belongs. He plans to be here in the morning to collect her. You,” he said with a suddenly beneficent smile that did nothing to thaw the ice impaling her chest, “will surely find a new position in record time. Here.” He pulled a paper from a thin stack of folders in his arms. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a list of potential employers for you. These are some of the finest female academies in the country.”

  Charlotte took the paper from his hand and willed her own hand not to quiver. “Chicago. Boston. Charleston.” Her eyes continued down the list. “All so far away.”

  Dr. Sullivan beamed at her. “You are a brilliant music instructor, Miss Atherton, and have proven yourself quite capable at administration, as well. I’ve already sent glowing letters of recommendation to each of these institutions. Any of them would be lucky to have you.”

  But none of them would accept her if she had a child in tow.

  Charlotte glanced up from the page to meet her employer’s eyes—not a difficult task since the man stood an inch below her in height. Neither was it difficult to read the guilt behind his smile. The list of prestigious schools, letters of recommendation, unnecessary compliments—all appeasements for his conscience. He knew how unlikely the staff were to find replacement positions mid-term, just as he knew how wrong it was to turn his back on the pupils he’d promised to educate. Yet he was closing the school anyway. Closing the school and narrowing her options so that she had no choice but to give Lily Dorchester into her grandfather’s keeping if she wished to retain a teaching position.

  Well, he might think he’d herded her like a heifer into a chute, but if she’d learned one thing in her twenty-eight years, she’d learned that even when backed into a corner, one always had a choice. Always.

  After Dr. Sullivan nodded to her in that condescending way of his that always made her skin itch—as if she hadn’t a brain for herself and would be lost without a man to give her guidance—he swung the office door wide and gestured for her to exit. Biting her tongue, Charlotte passed through the doorway and silently resolved to toss his list of schools into the belly of her stove the moment she returned to her room. Her career could be sacrificed easily enough. Protecting Lily took precedence.

  With the dark of night cloaking the halls of the school, Charlotte placed her two carpet bags outside her door and gave a final glance over her room. The rug lay properly aligned with the angle of the floorboards. No stray papers across the desk. No wrinkles in the coverl
et atop the bed. All as it should be. She gave a little nod of approval, a nod that would have to serve as good-bye, as well, for she would not be returning. She’d been at the academy for seven years—five as music instructor, two as headmistress. A tiny part of her ached for the loss of the familiar, the safe. Yet she had no time for sentimental attachment. She’d made a promise—a promise she intended to keep, no matter the cost.

  Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte turned her back and pulled the door closed, clicking the latch silently into place. Then, careful to stay on the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t click against the wooden floor, she made her way to the staircase that led to the boys’ dormitory. She crept up the stairs and then down the hall, easing open the door to the sleeping chamber.

  “Stephen,” she whispered into the darkness, her eyes not yet adjusted to the full-black of the attic room.

  “Here, Miss Lottie.”

  Charlotte sucked in a startled breath. Heavens, the boy was practically on top of her. How could she not see him? She pivoted her head in the direction of the sound and squinted until she made out two small shadows a few steps from her elbow.

  “John’s with me.”

  A telltale rattle had Charlotte gritting her teeth. “Stephen,” she scolded in a hushed tone as she ushered the boys into the hall and closed the door, “you were supposed to leave that paraphernalia behind.”

  “I only brought the essentials, Miss Lottie. I swear. Just like you said.” The boy clutched the sack to his chest and glared up at her. One would think he carried gold coins in that bag, not a collection of gears, bolts, and baling wire. “I can’t leave them behind. Miss Greenbriar will throw them in the garbage.”

  Where they undoubtedly belonged. Nevertheless, Charlotte couldn’t deny the boy his treasures. With absentee parents who couldn’t be bothered to visit or even write, heaven knew the boy had little enough to call his own.