“I’ll be right back.” Peter quickened his steps and found Martin in the bed. The man was delirious with fever.
“He took my store...” he mumbled. “He took my store...”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beaufort.” He covered the man back up and went to put some water on to boil. As much as he wanted to confront Judas Reynolds at this moment, these people needed his attention more. Which was good.
Because he was quite certain he’d punch the man in the face if he saw him right now.
Whitney sat by the fireplace and stretched her aching muscles. Everyone was asleep, and Peter had come back from town with supplies and wanted to check his patients. Something was clearly bothering him because he hadn’t stopped frowning since he got back.
She hadn’t seen Havyn and John since Bethany first got sick. John had been handling the entire farm by himself, with the help of the hired workers.
Thank heaven Havyn was well, if not a bit restless.
Then there was Dad.
He’d helped Whitney take care of everyone. Never balking at anything she said. Never scolding her when she got short with him.
Guilt had nudged her many times. So far, though, she hadn’t done anything about it. Which was wrong. She’d have to make things right with him once and for all. And soon.
Good thing she’d dumped out the rest of the whiskey.Admitting that she would’ve given in to the temptation was awful. But true.
If only Mama was still here. She could really use her shoulder to lean on right now.
“Mind if I join you?”
Peter’s husky voice broke the silence of the room. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. The deep frown still creased his forehead.
“Not at all.” She scooted over to give him room to sit.
“You look deep in thought.”
She shifted her attention to her hands. “I guess I was. I was thinking about my mother and how much I wish she were here.”
“That’s understandable. Especially at a time like this.”
“I miss her every day. I realize that I wasted so much of the time I had with her and wish I could get some of it back.” She dared a look at him.
Their eyes met and his softened. “After my mother died, I battled those same thoughts. I thought of the ways I hadn’t been there for her. How I could have been a better son.”
“I definitely could have been a better daughter.” How many times had she exasperated her mother with her strong will and independence? The woman had been a saint ... but Whitney hadn’t truly understood until Mama was gone. “She was my confidante and confessor. My guide and encourager. I always thought I was so strong, but once she was gone, I knew I hadn’t been the strong one. Not really. I’d relied on her for everything.”
Peter put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Hindsight always helps us to see the what-ifs and could-have-beens. But it’s not a good place to dwell. Charlotte was my best friend since childhood. We’d known each other solong, and then ... she was gone. I didn’t know who I was without her.”
His words struck her heart. It had been the same way with Mama. “Same here. Who am I now? And I have no idea how to let her go.” She clamped her hands between her knees and squeezed.
“I’m beginning to see that maybe it’s not about forgetting and letting go ... maybe it’s more about giving ourselves permission to love again. So you can allow yourself to love your father ... and maybe a husband one day.”
“And you ... a wife?” Did she really just say that out loud?
“Yes.” His eyes bore into hers. Searching. Caring.
The connection between them was like a jolt of lightning. And she wanted nothing more than for him to take her into his arms––which made her glance down and then back up. Still there. Her stomach swirled. “We know how to go straight to the tough parts, don’t we?”
“That’s what good friends do.” He raised his eyebrows at her and stared.
Good friends. Why did that no longer seem like enough? Was he taking his own words to heart? Would he be able to love again one day?
Why did it matter so much to her? Did she want to open up her heart to Peter? As the thought took root, she swallowed. Hard.
