Chapter 34
Nearly six weeks after Mary’s birth, Mrs. Thrupton finally relinquished her protective watch-care and allowed Sophie to go for a walk alone. She had been cooped up indoors too long and longed to enjoy the remaining autumn sunsets before winter’s chill returned.
She did not bother with easel and paints.
She only wanted to walk, to see, to absorb, to breathe.
Reaching Castle Rock, she simply stood there on the precipice, cape flapping around her, hair whipping in her face, watching the sun lowering on the horizon over the sea.
She had done the same dozens of times over the years, but now she stood there with a new stillness.
A new gratitude. A new appreciation for the one who had created this spot, and that sun, and her, and her daughter.
Everything. He had created the whole vast, astoundingly beautiful world and yet knew ordinary little her personally.
Loved her. Sent His Son for her. Sent Captain Overtree too.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you for Mary Katherine. For Stephen. For allowing me to reflect just a tiny bit of your creative power in the talents you have given me. Whatever happens with Captain Overtree, please help me to raise my daughter and live my life in a way that pleases you—that adds a little stroke of glory to your vast display.”
It rained hard that night, but the next day broke sunny and beautiful.
Her father walked up to Mavis’s and delivered the welcome news that he had sold her landscape painting, and for a very good price.
Sophie beamed in pleasure. She and Mary Katherine would be all right on their own for a time, if need be.
Late that afternoon, leaving her baby with trusted and doting Mavis for the second time, Sophie struck out along the cliff path, her legs a little stiff from her first long walk the day before, after so many weeks of idleness.
She had neared Castle Rock before she glanced up and noticed a man standing on its summit. Her heart lifted. Was it him? Had he come?
The man turned and she saw his face.
Wesley.
She stopped on the path where she was, heart sinking.
Had Stephen given up? Was he not coming for her after all?
Or not able to? Sophie turned, deciding to hurry back the way she had come before Wesley saw her.
She knew he would show up at Mavis’s door, but she would rather not face him alone.
But she had no more than turned, when she stopped again.
A second man was approaching from the other direction.
Stephen.
“Sophie!” Wesley’s voice, calling her from behind. From the past.
Yards ahead, Stephen raised a hand, his other bound in a sling. She raised hers in turn, barely resisting the urge to run to him, which would not be safe on the narrow path high above the sea, slick from last night’s rain.
She glanced over her shoulder. Wesley strode quickly toward her. She stood there, feeling more and more trapped as the brothers neared, closing in on her.
“Stay back, Wesley,” Stephen commanded.
“I don’t take orders from you, Captain Black.”
“You do if you value your life.”
Worried for them both, Sophie turned toward Wesley, searching for the words to release him—and convince him to release her—once and for all.
“Wesley. It’s over. You have to let me go.”
“Not without a fight,” he growled.
“That can be arranged.” Stephen fisted his good hand.
Sophie knew Stephen could easily defeat his brother in any fight under normal circumstances, but at the moment, with the captain’s arm bound, his face pale, and his legs slightly trembling, Wesley might for once have the advantage.
“Stephen, don’t. Your shoulder.”
Wesley lunged past her and pushed Stephen’s chest. Stephen grabbed him in a wrestling hold, sling forgotten. They struggled back and forth, grunting and cursing, heedless of the cliff and turbulent sea far below.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “Before you both get yourselves killed.”
Stephen’s grip loosened at her words, and Wesley shoved hard. Stephen lost his footing and they both fell. Sophie screamed.
Arms clutching each other, the two men tumbled over the edge, Wesley slamming into a boulder protruding from the cliff side and stopping their fall, Stephen stretched headfirst down the slope.
Sophie dropped flat on the path and reached down, wrapping her arms around Stephen’s legs. She had hold of him, and he had hold of Wesley as he clung to the rock.
The rock shifted.
Fear for his wife gripped Stephen’s heart. “Sophie, don’t. Let go,” he called in warning.
“I won’t.”
“You’re not strong enough to pull us up. It’s all right, love. Let go.”
“I won’t. If you go, I go.”
“No! Think of your child. Our child.”
The rock shifted again, loosening. It would not bear their weight indefinitely.
Wesley gritted out, “You can’t save me this time, Marsh. All you’ll do is wreck your arm and pull Sophie down with us.”
Stephen tightened his grip, muscles trembling. “Hang on. I’ve got you.”
“Not for long. She’s made her choice. Now, let go.”
Stephen felt his stitches straining and his grip on his brother weakening. Was this the future Winnie had warned against? Would Wesley die here today, leaving Stephen their father’s heir? Rather than his own death being imminent?
No, Lord. I don’t want it. Not like this. Help me save him. . . . Pain burned through his shoulder and down his arm. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
A scramble of rocks from above, and Stephen felt himself drop lower as Sophie slid forward.
She panted, “I’m . . . slipping.”
Stephen pressed his eyes close. God, no. . . . He would not risk her life.
Heart breaking, he released his brother.
Wesley fell away from his grasp down the steep slope. Lord have mercy on his soul.
Stephen forced himself to look. Wesley slid, then rolled, then jerked to a stop. A stubborn gorse shrub several yards down snagged him with its sinewy arms and thorny branches. The thing was apparently stronger than he was. Surprise and relief filled him. Thank you, God!
With Sophie’s help, Stephen clawed his way back up to the path. His torn sling blew away in the wind.
“Don’t move, Wes,” Stephen called down to him. “We’ll go find a rope and come back to pull you up.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Wesley replied, humor and fear thinning his voice. “At least I hope not.”
Together Stephen and Sophie hurried back to the village for a length of rope and help. Half an hour later, with the aid of two strong men, they pulled a sheepish, scratched, and bruised Wesley to safety.
The three of them returned to Mavis Thrupton’s cottage. As they walked in awkward silence, Sophie longed to put her hand in Stephen’s but resisted, afraid to goad Wesley into another fight.
At the door, Mavis looked in surprise from one man to the other, but quickly regained her composure.
She sternly told them to be quiet, because the baby was sleeping.
Then she looked significantly down at the men’s boots, muddied in the fight, along with their outer coats.
Both men took the hint and removed coats and boots inside the entry porch—Stephen struggling with his injured arm but managing without help.
Wesley had cuts on his face and hands. Mavis ordered him to sit at her table while she cleaned the wounds and applied salve.
While they were thus occupied, Sophie drew Stephen aside and said, “Wesley is right about one thing. I have made my choice. I hope you know that.”
“I still like hearing it.”
“Now I need to ask you to do something difficult for me. I need to ask you to let me take Wesley in first to meet Mary Katherine. I feel as though I need to resolve things with him. Let him say his piece, to me, to her, before I introduce you. Will you trust me?”
“I trust you completely, Sophie. But Wesley?” He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“You can stay right here. In calling distance, if need be. But I doubt you have anything to worry about. And I don’t think we’ll be long.”
“Very well. If you think it best.”
“All right, Captain, your turn,” Mrs. Thrupton announced, cloth in hand and patting the back of the chair Wesley had just vacated. He acquiesced.
Sophie turned to Wesley. “Will you come in and meet Mary?”
He stilled. “Of course I will. It is why I came here after all. Well, one of the reasons.”
Sophie opened the bedchamber door and held it open for him. She walked to the cradle and scooped up her daughter in her arms, then turned and presented her to her natural father.
“Here she is.”
Wesley leaned near, his golden-brown eyes taking in every feature. “Well, look at you, young lady. You’re right, she does look like Kate. Oh . . .”
His brows lowered as his attention was snagged by the purplish-red mark on her neck.
“That is . . . unfortunate. For a girl, I mean.” He could not quite hide a wince at seeing it.
“It is only a birthmark,” Sophie said.
“I know. It’s just . . . Ah well. At least it is on her neck and not her face. A well-placed collar or shawl shall easily conceal that little flaw, never fear.” He raised the blanket to Mary’s chin and kissed her perfect cheek.
Then his eyes shifted to Sophie, his expression more sorrowful and humble than she had ever seen it. “I am sorry, Sophie. Sorry for everything. When I thought I was about to die, so many regrets filled me. So many mistakes. . . .” He wearily shook his head.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “God has turned our mistakes into something good. Something better than I deserve.”
“Don’t say that. You deserve every good thing life has to offer. Someone better than me. But are you sure this is what you want? Marsh?”
“Never more so.”
Wesley sighed and lifted his palms. “Well then, I surrender. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Taking the child awkwardly in his arms, Wesley used his shoulder to push the door open wider. “Marsh? Come in here, if you please.”
Captain Overtree rose from the table, left arm wrapped, but forgoing a sling. He entered the room, looking from one to the other. Then his eyes lit on the child.