Chapter Eleven
Anastasia took an immediate liking to Roman’s sister, and when Mrs. Kendall finally stepped out of the room for a breath of air, Anastasia liked her as well.
Both women were careworn but kind, and they held themselves with the sort of dignity that comes from the weathering of life’s harshest trials without becoming hardened.
Leola took Mrs. Kendall to the side and they spoke earnestly for several minutes before coming back to rejoin the group.
“I asked the hotel to arrange a room as close by as possible,” Leola said. “Lacy, you and Roman should get some rest. I would advise you to do the same, Martha, but I know you’ll want to stay near Timothy.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you for seeing to the arrangements, though,” Mrs. Kendall replied. “Having the option is nice.”
Leola then turned to Anastasia. “Your father and I are going to bed. Try not to be up too late, my dear.”
“I can wait down here with the Kendalls?” Anastasia asked just to be clear.
“Yes, but not all night,” her father said. “An hour or two should suffice.”
“Thank you, Father. I know it’s unusual . . .”
He waved a hand. “Just don’t give me cause to regret it.”
Lacy excused herself and went into the nearby room, saying she was exhausted. Mrs. Kendall had returned to sit with Timothy, and that left Roman and Anastasia.
She felt so helpless. She wished she could do something to ease this family’s burden, most of all Roman’s, but there was nothing that could be done. Timothy would either recover or he wouldn’t—only providence knew the answer.
“May I sit with your mother for a little while?” she asked. Sometimes a woman needed the strength of another woman to rely on, and while she had no power to change anything that had happened, she could be there.
“I . . . I’m sure that would be fine.”
Roman led her to the room, although she knew perfectly well where it was, and she entered to find Mrs. Kendall sitting at Timothy’s bedside, her head bent in prayer.
It was such a tender moment, such a personal moment, that Anastasia felt as though she’d stepped onto holy ground, and she paused in the doorway. She wouldn’t interrupt for the world.
A moment later, Mrs. Kendall lifted her head, glanced toward Anastasia, and gave a faint smile. “Come in,” she said quietly.
“I don’t mean to intrude . . .”
“Not at all. You’re a friend of Roman’s, and that means you’re welcome here.”
Anastasia sat on the other vacant chair in the room. After taking off his suit coat and draping it over the washstand, Roman leaned up against the windowsill. Anastasia worried that he’d be uncomfortable, but he’d deny it if she asked, so she decided not to worry about it.
Mrs. Kendall reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Timothy’s forehead. He was a good-looking young man—not quite as good-looking as Roman, but there was a strong family resemblance.
Almost as if she’d followed Anastasia’s thoughts, Mrs. Kendall smiled again.
“My boys,” she said, looking back and forth between Roman and Timothy.
“I remember how the two of you would play together, Lacy always tagging along and wishing she could do all the things you did. And she did do a lot of them too until the little girls at school teased her for always being muddy. What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days. ”
“You’d go back?” Roman asked, his voice incredulous.
Mrs. Kendall nodded. “Those were hard, hard years, but you children brought me so much joy. You kept me going when I thought I had nothing left to give. And you always took such wonderful care of your brother and sister, Roman. You were a support to me, too—you did your best to protect our whole family. Thank you for that, and thank you for everything you still do.”
“Timothy was a lot easier to protect when it was just a matter of tumbling down a ditch or stepping in a hole,” Roman said. “I couldn’t protect him from this at all.”
“I’m not sure anyone could because it was a choice he made himself,” Mrs. Kendall replied. “It wasn’t your job to save him from it.”
Roman didn’t reply, and Anastasia wondered if he believed his mother’s words or if he was still blaming himself, only silently.
He needed to understand the truth—this wasn’t his doing, and it wasn’t his to fix.
And she had no business adding to the conversation, so she sat quietly, looking for ways she could help.
As the minutes ticked by, Mrs. Kendall sat with her hands folded on the coverlet, the perfect embodiment of patient and believing mothers everywhere sitting by the bedsides of their children.
The tender look on her face and the obvious love she had for her children was inspirational, and Anastasia got an idea.
She rose from her chair and joined Roman at the window.
“I wonder . . .”
“Hmm?” Roman seemed lost in a world of his own thoughts and wasn’t paying much attention to her.
“May I draw a picture of your mother with Timothy just as they are now? She reminds of an angel of mercy, come to ease his pain, and I would like to give that to her as a gift.”
He nodded. “I’m sure that would be all right.”
“I don’t have my sketchbook and I don’t want to disrupt my parents by going back to the room to get it.
Do you think there might be some paper .
. .?” She turned and looked at the small writing desk in the corner.
It had a drawer in front, and she opened it eagerly to find some stationery inside. Now if only . . .
Her wish was granted before she’d even fully formed it. A pencil rolled around at the back of the drawer.
These supplies weren’t designed for sketching, and she would have preferred her own materials. But in this moment, she was grateful for what she had. She placed the paper on the desk, turned the chair just a bit so she could see the scene more clearly, and she began to draw.
This time, she didn’t worry about the technique or her feelings of insufficiency. She just moved her pencil, allowing the moment to guide her hand, and when she was done, she was worn out, but very pleased with what she saw on the page.
“My time here is up,” she said to Roman, whispering because she saw that Mrs. Kendall had dozed off while holding Timothy’s hand. She didn’t want to wake either of them. “Please give this to your mother.”
Roman took the drawing and nodded. “I will, but please let me walk you to your room.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” It had nothing to do with safety—she just wanted a little more time with him.
Their evening together had been interrupted in the most horrible way, and while she didn’t resent dropping everything to help Timothy, she was grateful for any extra minute she could spend with Roman.
As they walked down the hallway, she said, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m bringing this up . . . I overheard some chatter about this being a warning,” she said. “Gambling?”
Roman nodded. “As near as we can tell, yes. We’ll know more when Timothy wakes up.”
“I wish there was something I could do. It’s all a matter of waiting now, I suppose.” She reached out to touch Roman’s hand, wanting to encourage him, to show him that he wasn’t alone, but he flinched away as though she’d burned him.
Anastasia couldn’t understand it. A few hours ago, he’d kissed her with such tenderness and sincerity, she’d allowed herself to believe they were at the start of something real and beautiful and lasting. Now it was as though he could hardly stand to be around her.
“Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted, so I’ll go the rest of the way myself so you can relax,” she said. “Perhaps you could let us know how your brother is doing in the morning.”
Her words were friendly, but her tone was filled with ice.
“Anastasia, wait.”
She paused, hoping he would apologize and explain himself.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done. Getting help, sending for my mother, sitting with us . . . but I think it’s best if we parted ways now.”
That didn’t sound like an apology. “I don’t understand.”
He waved toward Timothy’s room. “Things like this—they show me that I was right to begin with. I have to stay the course. I need to grow my business and save up my reserves so I can do things like pay my brother’s medical bills and protect my mother.
I can’t allow myself to become distracted—it would cost me too much in the end. ”
And if that was his idea of an explanation . . .
“Mr. Kendall, I know you’re overwrought, so I’m going to pretend that you did not just refer to me as a costly distraction.
That’s offensive and untrue. I distracted you from nothing that could have saved your brother from the consequences of his own actions.
You’re using me as an excuse to creep back behind your mask where you feel safe.
I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself or to me, but neither of us deserve it.
Goodnight. I wish you well with your brother—I hope he heals quickly.
And as for you . . . I told you once that there was something wrong with your eyes.
We fixed that, but now there’s something wrong with your ability to see. ”
She spun on her heel and strode away, more angry than she could ever recall being.
This was not the Roman Kendall she believed she’d come to know, and she couldn’t believe that he’d allowed himself to be pulled back in to his old insecurities after finally showing her his true self.
It was like a diamond choosing to hide in the shadows rather than sparkling in the light.
Then she remembered the way she’d first seen him, with his face lifted to the sun, and she began to cry.
Thankfully, she was nearly to her room, where she could cry for hours without a soul to interrupt her.