Page 45 of Wagon Train Song
“Then he said, ‘Take care of the family and promise me you’ll be happy.’” She breathed slowly, determined not to cry. When she was certain she could continue without breaking down, sheadded, “I promised him I would.” Air stuttered into her lungs. “It sounded like he was saying his final goodbye, like he knew he wasn’t going to see me again. I was upset. Even though he suffered, I didn’t want him to leave.”
She rocked her head back and forth. “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it was how I felt. I rushed away, tears clouding my vision. And I forgot about the laudanum.”
Needing comfort, she pressed her head to his shoulder.
He shifted so he could put one arm around her. A welcome gesture of comfort.
“It sounds like he would have passed with or without the laudanum.”
“Perhaps.” Silence lingered for a heartbeat before she could continue. “I came home and saw he wasn’t breathing and the bottle lay tipped over beside him.” She sat up, forcing him to lower his arm, and shifted to face him. “I assumed he’d taken it and I was responsible.”
Her breath rushed in and out. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Twice. Her jaw hurt.
“So, you can’t be certain he took it?”
She swallowed. Blinked hard. “I guess I can’t.”
“And if it eased his last few minutes on earth, wasn’t that a good thing?”
She tried and failed to strangle a sob.
“Oh, Marnie.” He pulled her to his chest where she cried, great heaving sobs that tore through her chest and poured from her mouth. “You’ve carried a load of false guilt far too long. I hope you’ll let it go now.”
Her crying stopped as suddenly as it’d begun. She clutched his shirt, keeping her face turned down. “I hope so too.” She leaned back, a breathy chuckle parting her lips. “I’ve cried more the last two days than I did after Norman’s passing.”
With gentleness, he wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. “I hope that’s not my fault.”
“It’s entirely your fault.” She tried to look stern but couldn’t keep back her smile. “And I thank you for that.”
He studied her, his gaze searching hers. “Thank me? Why?”
“Because of you, I realized I’m not guilty of—” The word stuck in her throat, but she forced it out. “Murder.” The word stung her tongue.
His finger warm and gentle, he trailed it down the side of her face and then with a muffled groan pulled her into his arms and held her. She exhaled tension and inhaled peace and forgiveness. Forgiveness for herself.
How long would she have carried her load of guilt if Gabe hadn’t listened to her and made her see the whole picture?
Marnie fitinto Gabe’s arms like they’d been made to hold her. He dared not voice that thought. And yet… Perhaps this was what he’d been waiting for.
It had been years since Ellen had passed on. Yes, he’d thought of remarrying. But never had he found anyone who seemed to fit into his heart. And now he might have. But they were old friends. They’d been married to each other’s best friends. Was it a barrier they could cross? Or had they already crossed the first hurdle? Moving West meant new dreams. Could her dreams include him? Was there room in her future for more than her children and her responsibilities?
She shifted, eased away from his chest, sat up, and studied him. Her gaze probed deep. What was she looking for?
He sat still, held her gaze, let her look as long and as deep as she wished. Perhaps she’d see what was in his heart.
Color stained her cheeks. Was it awareness of his feelings, or was it the last slanting rays of the sunset?
“We better return before they send out a search party.” He rose and helped her to her feet.
“I’ll go first.” She snickered. “How ludicrous to sneak around at our age. But—” She shrugged.
“We don’t need to.” Nothing would please him more than for her to hold his hand as they returned to the camp, informing the others they belonged together.
“I don’t want to face a barrage of questions.”
“I understand.” Though he would gladly answer each question and every objection. “You go ahead.” The branches parted before her and closed again. Sort of like the way things were between them though she might not even be aware of it.
He waited until the leaves no longer rustled in her passing. Someone called a greeting to her. Then he made his way through the trees to where the animals grazed. Bertie sat near them, deep in conversation with the closest oxen. He glanced up as Gabe’s footsteps announced his presence.
