The dark masses were pulled away from his lean cheekbones, revealing every plane, every curve of his face, a study in strength and sensitivity, raw animal power and vulnerability.
Ashleen wanted to go to him, to draw his head down onto the soft pillow of her breasts. She wanted to stroke his hair and kiss him and tell him that everything was going to work out. Instead she let her gaze sweep the tiny grove. Moonlight glowed on the weathered crosses, the silvery rays picking out crude lettering carved in a childish hand. A lump knotted in Ashleen's throat as she read the single word on the marker nearest her. Pa.
She could see Garret's child hand clutching the knife, carving the letters, tears streaming down his cheeks. She could feel the sense of abandonment that must have streaked through him, could feel his anger, his agony, the question that must have torn him apart. Why?
"It's beautiful here," she said softly, wanting to break through the vast circle of his aloneness. "So peaceful. So quiet."
He didn't turn to look at her. "Ma loved it here. Sometimes she'd pack dinner in a basket, and we'd come up here to eat. Beth and I would play hide and seek. I always let her find me."
"If I had had a big brother, I would have wanted him to be like you."
Garret gave a soft, bittersweet laugh. "Beth thought I was Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett all rolled into one. Thought I could do anything. When the Garveys came she cried out for me. But I couldn't help her, Ash. Hell, I would've given my life, and gladly, to spare her."
"I know."
"When Kennisaw dragged me up the cliff ledge, when I saw what—what was left of Ma and Pa... and—and Beth, I passed out. Went all feverish, delirious. For a time Kennisaw thought I'd lost my mind. I'd scream and sob and fight anyone who tried to touch me. Wouldn't eat. I wanted to be with Ma and Beth. Wanted to die. He wouldn't let me, Ash."
Hand trembling, she reached out, stroking his spun-midnight hair.
"Finally I guess he couldn't stand it any longer. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me up onto this hill with the dirt all fresh and turned from the burying. Told me I owed my pa and ma better than what I was giving them. I was Tom MacQuade's son. A MacQuade. I owed it to Beth and my parents to grow up strong, make them proud. I owed it to them to live."
Ashleen cringed at the vision of the battered, heartbroken boy he had been. Tears dampened her cheeks for Garret, and for the desperate Kennisaw, who must have been half crazed watching the boy he loved waste away.
"Kennisaw laid me down, leaned me against this tree, and put a knife in my hand. There were sticks of wood he'd cut, three crosses, lying by me. He asked me if he'd need another one."
Garret reached back, kneading the muscles at the back of his neck. "I thought about ending it. Taking the knife and plunging it deep. Knew it would be over, then, the pain, the grief, the loneliness. I held the knife ready, crying, but Kennisaw's words kept echoing back to me. I owed my family more than that. I was Tom MacQuade's son." His voice broke on a bittersweet laugh. "Pa had no tolerance for weakness. And killing myself—in his eyes, that would've been the most unforgivable cowardice of all. I hated Pa then. Hated Kennisaw for making me go on when I didn't want to, when I couldn't stand the pain of it."
He let his hand fall again to his knee, his voice low, racked with remembered grief. "After a while I picked up the crosses Kennisaw had made, and I started carving. Beth's name, Ma, Pa. It was hard as hell with one arm in a splint, but I didn't stop till I'd finished them all." He stared up at the moon through the tree's tangled branches.
"We had to stay at Stormy Ridge three more weeks, until I was strong enough to travel. I never came up here again until now." He was silent a moment, then he turned his grief-lined face to hers. "I miss them, Ash," he said in a tight voice. "I miss them so damned much."
Ash put her arms around him. "Don't you see, Garret? They'll always be with you. Here." She pressed her palm to his heart, felt its precious beating. "Like I will be." Her eyes stinging, her heart aching, she pressed a kiss to his temple. "I miss you, Garret. What we have together. Come to bed."
He pulled away from her, eyes still stark with pain flooding with anguished love. She took his hand in hers and led him down to the cabin, to the warmth of patchwork quilts and children's sleepy sighs, and to the life in her arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sunlight streamed over the hillside, the sounds of children's laughter rippling through the trees. At dawn they had poured out into the fields, reveling with joyous abandon in exploring the place that was to become their home.
Only Garret and Ashleen had been subdued, each moment bittersweet because they knew that when the next dawn melted away Garret, too, would vanish, ride out, maybe never to return.
Garret sat upon the slope of the roof, the new shingles he had used to replace those torn away by time showing as bright as a patch on a little boy's breeches. The hammer he had used had hung limp in his hands for almost an hour, but he hadn't been able to tear himself away from the sight of the little ones frolicking about.
There was still a dizzying amount of work to be done to get the place in shape, but Ashleen had insisted that the children be given a day free of anything but pure enjoyment. She had claimed it was in honor of little Meggie's saint's day, but Garret knew better.
She had wanted to give the children a day to remember. Maybe their last with him.
Garret tugged at the sweat-damp cloth of the shirt Ashleen had mended for him at first light, his chest burning with the thought of leaving them. He had wanted to talk to her about it, had wanted to talk to the little ones, but Ash had been adamant that he wait until the celebration was finished that night.
It would be better that way. He knew it. But it was so damn hard. Time and time again, whenever little ones had passed him, he had reached out to touch them—rumple Renny's hair, caress Shevonne's cheek, give Liam a fierce hug. He had wanted to scoop up Meggie as well, to bury his face in her sweet little-girl hair and hold on as if he would never let her go.
But the progress the child had made before she had gotten sick had disappeared. Maybe it hadn't really been there at all.
Garret winced at the thought of her once he was gone. He wondered if she would wander about, searching for him as she had for the doll. He had hoped to God he could fill up one hole in her life before he left. Yet when he spurred the paint down the wagon track tomorrow, would he be leaving another gaping void to add to the silent misery in the little girl's eyes?
A flash of blue pinafore caught his gaze, and he saw the child disappearing yet again into the root cellar's door. Musty, cool, Garret could remember the allure it had held for Beth so long ago. Huge, fat pumpkins had been chairs and tables in a make-believe house; garlands of dried peppers and onions had served as crown jewels. The whole place had smelled spicy-good, the light from the open door setting the dust motes to shimmering like fairy dust.
It had been Beth's secret place, and Garret had rarely intruded there. Everyone needed a place to belong.
