Chapter 11
“Almost there,” Oliver said when they’d traveled the better part of three hours.
Caroline peered out across the rolling fields, her pulse taking off like a startled bird. The carriage wheels strained as it edged around a curve. A homestead loomed ahead, lifeless and shuttered.
Oliver steered the horse to the water trough in the yard and drew the carriage to a halt. “Where would you like your trunk?”
“Could you wait to unload it until I speak with my brother-in-law?”
“Sure. I’m going to need his help anyhow.” He looped the reins and stood, but she waved him off.
Caroline climbed down from the seat, her boots landing with a jolt on hard-packed earth. Jackson’s house, unsurprisingly, was in a state of good repair, yet it wore a veil of sorrow. A windmill stood a few yards away, its blades turning at the tempo of a dirge.
Steeling herself, she scanned the yard and outbuildings. Her lungs froze when her gaze landed on Jackson standing a few yards away, leaning against a corral.
His sandy blond hair still gleamed in the sunlight, and he’d regained the weight he’d lost during the war, but he was at least three days unshaven, and his eyes weren’t bright with dreams as she remembered.
The strong shoulders that had carried the weight of war were now burdened with a different battle.
Jackson’s jaw tightened as he pushed away from the fence and approached them.
Powerful muscles moved beneath his clothes, and his limp was almost imperceptible.
“Oliver,” he said with a subtle dip of his chin.
His gaze cut back to her. “I wish you’d sent word.
” His voice wasn’t much softer than the earth beneath her feet.
Caroline hadn’t expected an apology the moment she set foot on his land, but she also hadn’t expected such rudeness.
It snuffed out the lingering flame of affection and hardened her heart.
“I came to mourn my sister and meet her children,” she said flatly, “but if I’m not welcome, Mr. Ames can take me back to town. ”
Jackson stood there, mute, which was odd for a man who was rarely left speechless. Perhaps he hadn’t expected such backbone from a woman he’d crushed.
“May I visit Amanda’s grave, at least?”
The stiffness drained from his posture. “Of course. And you’re welcome to stay. Amanda would want you to meet the children. She did want it. From the day they were born.”
His last words came with a wave of regret. Caroline had wanted it, too. If only she hadn’t let anger get in the way.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll take you,” Jackson said. He helped Oliver carry the trunk into the house and walked with him back to the yard.
Oliver climbed back onto the carriage and took a seat. “If you know the date you’ll be returning, Mrs. Bennet, you can tell me now, and I’ll come retrieve you.”
Caroline looked to Jackson at the same time he looked to her.
“We’re not sure yet,” Jackson told Oliver. “We’ll let you know.”
Oliver gave a friendly salute, backed the horse up enough to clear the trough, and drove away.
“Mrs.?” Jackson asked, looking back at her.
“The livery owner assumed, and I didn’t correct him.”
Jackson tilted his head in concession and gestured toward a hill in the distance, indicating she should walk with him.
She started to, until she spotted the freshly turned mound of dirt. She hadn’t lied about her reasons for coming, but she wasn’t ready to fall apart. “I haven’t had a drink of water since Fort Kearny. Is your well nearby?”
A crease played between his brows. “It is, but why not come inside?”
“All right.”
Jackson turned and lifted an escorting elbow, but—whether the gesture had been intentional or borne of habit—Caroline didn’t want it. She crossed the yard to the house and climbed the steps of the porch without his aid.
He paused at the rejection then trailed a beat behind.
Caroline stood to the side of the door and let him open it. She walked inside and blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Save for one window near the stove, it was lit by shuttered sunlight. Dust motes drifted in narrow, slanted beams without dancing.
Jackson crossed the room and lit a lone candle on the dining table, its flicker casting erratic shadows across his features.
He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on him, as he poured two cups of water and took the seat opposite her.
Caroline drank until her thirst was quenched. “Where are Noah and Jewel?” she asked as she set the cup back on the table.
“A friend took them for a couple of days, so I could get some work done. They’ll be home in time for supper.” He took a sip of his water then slowly spun his cup on its base with his fingers. His hands were rough and tan, just as she’d imagined.
He lifted his index finger and pointed to her cup. “Want some more?”
“Later, perhaps.”
Caroline wasn’t sure which was worse, the anger or the awkwardness.
There wasn’t much she could do about the latter, but she could set aside the former for the nonce and stop distressing a grieving man.
“Thank you for allowing me to stay,” she said in a quiet voice she hoped he’d interpret as a truce.
Jackson gave a single nod.
“Your telegram said Amanda fell ill suddenly. What happened?”
His gaze dropped to the worn surface of the table before rising back up to meet hers. “She had a stomachache that went on for several days, but she didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t until it got bad enough to hinder her movements that I noticed and pressed her to tell me what was wrong.
“She insisted it was a case of dyspepsia and that she just needed to rest, so I gave her a dose of elixir and sent her to bed. The next day, she seemed back to her usual state of health. We both thought whatever had afflicted her had run its course.
“But the following morning, she... um.” His voice cracked, and he paused, swallowing hard. “She awoke with a fever, delirious and seeing things that weren’t there. I rode to town and fetched the doctor, but by then, there was nothing he could do.”
Caroline fought back tears at the thought of what her sister had endured. And Jackson, too. Regardless of his sins, it was clear he loved Amanda. “Did the doctor know what the illness was?”
“Not with certainty. His best guess was an infected appendix.”
Caroline dropped her voice to a near-whisper, fearing the answer to her next question, but wanting to know it, all the same. “Did she suffer?”
Jackson shook his head. “Only a little, now and then, when the opium wore off.”
He shifted his gaze and stared, unfocussed, at some random spot beyond her shoulder. “If I’d paid more attention…” he murmured, his blue eyes filled with torment. “If she’d seen the doctor sooner…”
Caroline reached out and laid her hand on his wrist. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”
Jackson’s eyes cut to her hand, and he withdrew from her touch.
Did she have the faintest clue how her presence had affected him when she appeared without warning? His first words to her were curt and few—not because he meant to be rude—but because he was barely able to retain control of his emotions.
He was already raw with grief, and now he was forced to face the woman he’d hurt when he made the hardest decision of his life.
He scooted his chair back and rose. “I’ll take you to the grave.”
Jackson didn’t offer his arm this time. He led Caroline across the fallow meadow and up the hill, stopping a few yards away from Amanda’s resting place.
“I ordered a marble headstone from a mason in Omaha,” he remarked, not sure what else to say.
“He’ll send it by train to Fort Kearny, but it’ll be a while before it arrives, and longer, still, before I can make the trip to retrieve it. ”
Caroline nodded, her eyes moist and her jaw tense.
“I’ll leave you to pay your respects.”
He started walking as they went their separate ways then turned around. As much as it hurt to look at Caroline, he felt compelled to do it, anyway. She was the same person he’d known most of his life, and yet, she was different.
Her mahogany mane that used to fall loose from its pins at the slightest provocation was now cinched into a tight chignon, and she carried herself in a way that radiated poise and maturity.
To a degree, she always had, but—even if her face hadn’t been pale and drawn with mourning—he’d lay odds the girlish smiles she used to flash were a thing of the past. Caroline had changed.
She’d attained the epitome of womanhood, and it rendered her more beautiful than ever before.
As Caroline reached the humble mound of earth marked by a simple wooden cross, the remnants of anger towards her sister faded away. She knelt beside the grave, her fingers tracing the roughly hewn letters that had been carved into the wood.
Amanda Maguire
Beloved wife and mother
“Oh, Amanda,” she wept, her heart heavy with sorrow that was no longer tainted by bitterness. “I should have written to you,” she choked out. “I should have visited you, been here to take care of you.
“I was angry... for so many things. But I should have given you a chance to tell me what happened.”
Caroline covered her face and cried into her hands until her sobs subsided. Then she sat, listening to the wind drone over the dormant grass, begging both God and her sister for forgiveness.
Once her cheeks had cooled, she rose and brushed the dust and chaff from her skirt.
Jackson stood several yards away at the fence line, staring at one of his fields.
As she approached, the muscles of his back flexed and tightened under his shirt. His hands were gripping the top rail so tightly, the bronze was completely blanched from his knuckles, and his arms quivered with strain.
The trip to Amanda’s grave must’ve stirred his grief.
Caroline lifted her arm to offer a comforting touch.
“Go away,” he growled like a surly snapping dog.
She withdrew her hand and stared at his back. No man liked to be seen crying, but he didn’t need to be so rude.