Chapter Sixteen
Meggie was going to die.
Garret buried his face in one shaking hand, fighting back the sick fear building inside him as he leaned against the wagon and peered up at the coming dawn.
Three more days had crept by, the path of sunrise and sunset excruciatingly slow, leaving him haunted by memories of another small, innocent face framed in a pinewood coffin, dark braids so neatly plaited, lashes dusting pale cheeks as if in slumber.
Beth.
Sweet Jesus, Garret thought, exhaustion and grief eating away at his nerves. It was as if he were losing her again. Losing her in the guise of this little girl who had silently, stealthily worked her way straight into his soul.
He pressed his fist against his chest, as if the pain there were a tangible thing, as though he should be able to feel something broken there, shattered by the woman with the anguished blue eyes and the child whose life lay in the balance.
It hurt. Worse than anything he'd ever experienced. Worse than Kennisaw's death. Worse than the first terrible shock of his parents' murders. For he'd been too damn young when disaster had struck at Stormy Ridge. And though he'd loved Kennisaw, they had both stared reality square in the eye, knowing, with the lives they led, that one day there would be a bullet too swift, an arrow too true, a bear whose claws might rip life away in one greedy swipe.
This vigil with Meggie Kearny was infinitely different, for Garret had damned well known better than to let the child burrow in so close to his heart, had known the hole she'd leave when she was inevitably ripped away.
It would be soon now. Soon. He was certain.
And he had not only his own searing torment to endure, but the suffering that was wasting away the face of the woman he loved.
He sagged against the wagon box, fighting down the emotions tearing within him, trying to muster the strength to return to the lean-to, to sit with Ashleen during these last precious hours.
He'd always been best at good-byes. But this was one that would tear his damn heart out.
"Mr. MacQuade?" Liam's voice made him peer down into the little boy's face. "I thought if you were going up to Meggie, well, that you could bring her this." The child extended a piece of paper. Garret took it and swore under his breath as he recognized the boy's rendition of Meggie's rag doll as seen with the rosy vision of a child's eye. Liam had drawn the plaything as it might have been long ago, before Meggie's small hands had loved its newness away.
It was sitting amid a spray of lopsided daisies, no smudges where the dirt was, it’s yarn hair smooth and untangled.
"That's real good, Liam," Garret managed to squeeze out.
"Shaded it just like you showed me," the boy said, coloring with pleasure at the praise, a light of hero worship in those open, honest eyes. "My hand got a little wobbly here," he said, pointing with a grubby finger, "an' I couldn't remember where the light hit on her shoulders, so I had to just guess."
"Meggie'll like it right fine." Garret couldn't tell the boy the little girl no longer had the strength to open her eyes and see it at all.
"You can put it up there with the other ones I sent. The dragons an' the princesses, an' the magical rocks with wings. Meggie always listened real close when Sister Ash told us stories. I know she heard 'em, 'cause her eyes'd get this real misty-like look, like she was right there with the evil dragons an' stuff."
Garret ground his fingertips into his eyes, and he could picture the pages he had pegged up on the lean-to's slanted wall, messages sent up by Shevonne, drawings by Liam. It had seemed to comfort Ashleen to know that the others were thinking of Meggie, praying for her, and so Garret had whiled away the huge gaps of time, caring for the restless children by teaching them to draw or helping them create stories they grudgingly acknowledged were almost as good as Sister Ashleen's.
He had expected to be bored out of his mind, had intended to merely grit his teeth and do his duty by Liam and Shevonne—and Renny, if the stubborn little cuss would let him. But he hadn't expected to be touched by their concern for the little girl on the hillside, hadn't expected the thoughtfulness that was mingled with the usual childish squabbles. And he damn well hadn't expected the little snippets of enjoyment he had found while in their company—even when things in the lean-to were growing grim.
Yet of everything that had touched Garret or hurt him in the past week, nothing had cut more deeply than the flowers. A fresh bunch to tuck on Meggie's pillow every day, supposedly picked by Shevonne.
Yet despite the children's attempt at deception, it hadn't taken Garret long to discern who had really spent hours combing the prairies for the sweetest blossoms.
Garret sensed Renny would find the loss of Meggie the most devastating of them all.
Garret hazarded a glance down to the creek bank where the boy sat, trailing his toes in the water. The siege between the two of them had been as relentless as that of the Alamo, the boy speaking to him as seldom as possible, and then only with unmistakable loathing.
Three times Garret had gone to the boy, wanting to offer him some comfort, or at least to listen. But each time the child had closed him out with a cold effectiveness Garret knew only too well.
Garret wondered just how much pain, just how much emotion the boy kept closed away, and when it would break free, tearing out everything in its path. God help anyone in its way, Garret thought. And God help the boy when it happened, for there would most likely be nothing left of him.
Something small and warm slipped into Garret's hand, and he looked down, surprised to find Liam still standing there, his little fingers clinging to Garret's own.
The boy had followed the path of Garret's gaze, and he peered over at Renny, a look of perplexity crossing Liam's usually tranquil features. "Renny gets mad a lot. He likes to crack me in my nose."
Liam stopped to touch his finger to that much-offended part of his anatomy. "Right now, though, Renny's real mad at himself. He was terrible bad the night Meggie got sick. Was yellin' at Sister Ash an' makin' her cry. She hit him."
