Soon enough he deposited Moxham, collected his few ledgers into his satchel, and took off toward Newcastle for the last time.
As he rode, Alex noted the last glimmering stars fading into day. Seeing their beauty reminded him of his conversation with Charlotte. He’d never see her again. And he was nearly powerless to improve her plight. An anguished breath escaped his mouth.
God alone possessed power to help her now. But even He couldn’t change Christopher. It was one of life’s most perilous truths: people acted for themselves.
Closing his eyes, Alex murmured a prayer—first for Charlotte’s happiness, second that George would heal, and finally, that somehow Christopher’s heart would soften. Though the words tasted bitter in his mouth, Charlotte needed someone to speak those words.
Chapter 36
The cheery morning sun mockedCharlotte as she washed her face and called for her maid. As soon as she changed from her filthy gown into a fresh one, she made her way back to George’s room. Christopher sat still as a statue in a chair next to George’s bed; he hadn’t moved from that very position for several hours. Upon noticing the door open, he turned his head, his face a mere shadow of what it once was, like his soul had been sucked out of him. Deep lines creased his dirty brow, and he appeared to have aged ten years.
Charlotte glanced toward George’s red cheeks and the compress that lay across his forehead. His was a face contorted in pain and covered in sweat, and his leg jerked under his sheets. She turned back to Christopher. “How... ?” She winced, the mere task of speaking with this brother she hated almost unbearable. “How does he fare?”
Christopher looked to the floor and heaved a sigh. “The doctor said it was a very jagged skin and quite prone to infection, but he’s removed the bullet and sewed the flesh the best he can.”
“Does he think George will live?”
“Only time can tell. He’s already begun to fever.”
She pressed her eyes shut. “Has mother been here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “She is still sleeping off all she drank yesterday.”
Heat rose in Charlotte’s cheeks, and she found she couldn’t restrain her tongue. “You have an obligation to your family, Christopher, and you have failed. George may still die, and it will be at your hands. You may try to hide what happened, but that will not change what you have done.” She sucked in a courageous breath. “Mother will be distraught—she’ll know it was more than a horse when she sees this. Then there’s Joseph. What did he learn last night? What did he suffer? For you as an example, how will he know how to become a good man? Father is gone, and we don’t know when he will return. Our brothers look to you. I didn’t explain everything to Walter last night, but he too wants to see George, and he feels so alone and left out—in short, Christopher, thingshaveto change.”
Time seemed to stop. Christopher remained frozen, avoiding her eyes. Then, slowly, he met her gaze, his own eyes wide and hollow and devoid of any luster. “You are right, Charlotte.”
It was the first time he’d ever admitted she had done anything right. Something about his gaze, about his admission, caused her breath to stop and her heart to hope. She could almost feel his pain, his remorse, and his recognition of his wrongs.
But she couldn’t let go of all the pain and anger she felt toward him. “You ought to wash up,” she managed. “Let me sit with him.”
He didn’t argue but nodded, stood, and walked past her.
She spent the rest of the day at George’s side, except when she made a point to find Walter in his tree house. George’s fever seemed to worsen every hour, despite the poultices Cook had made for his wound. By evening, weary and distraught, she collapsed into the chair near George’s bed and tucked her feet underneath her, falling into an exhausted sleep.
In the middle of the night she woke to the sound of George’s restless legs thrashing. His eyes were clamped shut. She changed the cloth on his head and wiped the side of his hot neck. She then exchanged the salve on his wound, wincing when she took in the redness of the jagged wound on his exposed shoulder.
But did it seem a mite less puffy than earlier that evening, or was the moonlight deceiving her eyes? He settled again, and now wide awake, she sat back in the same chair she’d occupied all day.
Outside her window, the stars glimmered, and she remembered the strength they’d given her just the day before, before she’d been too late to the duel and everything had fallen apart. Wasn’t it supposed to be her words that saved Alex? And George? Her words hadn’t mattered then, just like Alex had told her long ago. This time they had come too late. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She again looked upward, ready to curse the heavens.
Then movement caught her attention, and she searched the grounds below until she saw a dark figure pacing, his hands covering his face, in a never-ending circle. From the heaving shoulders, the person seemed to be sobbing.
It was Christopher.
She glanced up again in anger when a forceful thought pressed into her mind.Forgive Christopher.
No! That was the last thing she wanted. Christopher needed to feel the weight of his actions and pay for ruining their family. He hadn’t apologized to her or George or anyone. He obviously felt some remorse, but he deserved to feel it and much more. His pacing didn’t prove he’d repented.
The heavy weight that had been her constant companion these last weeks threatened to crush her. She managed a shallow breath, her chest tight. Anger had gnawed at her constantly since the duel. As she explored her feelings now, she admitted she’d hated Christopher long before that. All that he had done, all that he’d said, implied, imposed on her—those hateful things couldn’t just be washed away with a few of his tears.
Those were thingshehad done, and she knew she’d never be able to control him. She didn’t condone any of his terrible actions, but holding on to her grievances, to her remembrances of his harsh words and actions, only made those deeds fester. Clinging to them, cherishing their improper influence, gave them power, perpetuated more hate, and that was what had gotten Christopher to the state he was in now. If she harbored them, too, collected them, fed them, was she any better?
Christopher had admitted for the first time today that she was right. Maybe, in time, he would see that he was wrong. But even if he didn’t,sheneeded to let go.
As she glanced at the stars once more, they seemed to glow and twinkle brighter. Maybe shecouldforgive him. Drawing on the only strength she knew still cared and still listened, she bowed her head and asked God for forgiveness and that everyone—Christopher, George, and herself—might be healed. Really, truly healed, inside and out.
***
