moving in the right direction. "Where did you learn these things?"
Precious sat up straight and stared into Clara's cheery eyes. A comfort gripped her. For once, saying the truth aloud didn't make her fear. No, there were much bigger things than ghosts of the past filling her head right now. "My pa. He did doctoring in South Carolina. He used to take me with him on his rounds sometimes."
Clara smiled and shut her lids. "That's nice. It's the first nice memory you shared of growing up."
Precious drew her shawl up tight about her. A chill set in her bones but she didn't crumble. As good as it was to say the truth, it still didn't change things. There would always be a hole on the inside for not being able to call Old Doctor Marsdale, Pa or Eliza, cousin. A sigh leaked out. "There weren't too many good ones."
"Please, dear friend. Beautiful precious friend, get some rest. In a couple of hours, you will hear me yelling for you."
In her heart, Precious knew this was true and she feared it. Clara was so nice and caring. And she'd lost so much. She and the baby had to survive. Sunday God. Well, it wasn't Sunday, but Thursday. Sometimes God, please save these two. "Lord, tell me what I need to do."
A tear sprinkled from Clara's lashes. "I said go get some sleep."
Precious put a hand over her mouth and popped up. "I…I think you are right."
She leaned over and batted a red curl back from Clara's brow. "You rest. Then you and I will fight for this baby."
Clara lifted her palm from the bed sheets and clasped Precious's. "You promise to put this baby first. If things go wrong, my husband's legacy must survive. And you will love him just like Jonas."
Another deathbed promise. Her heart ripped as she nodded. "But don't talk like that. Just focus on this baby coming out the right way."
Clara's fingers became light and slipped back to the mattress. Precious bent and kissed her forehead. Leaving the room, she gently closed the door. Thirty more minutes and it would be fifteen hours since her water broke. By dark, the labor should start again and this time that baby would come out or Precious would lose another dear friend and the babe. "Oh, Sometimes God, could this be one of those times you showed up."
She slipped down the stairs into the parlor. The sofa, the dusted mantle, Gareth's orderly desk, everything looked in place. A portrait of him sitting in his chair, going over correspondences, would've made the room complete and as fine as anything in Charleston or London. Well, maybe not as fancy, but it was good, solely good. No bad memories here. This place had to survive. But how?
Flopping onto the sofa, she tried to close her eyes, but every creak of the wind made her lids open wide. She could lose Clara and the baby tonight. If Mzwamadoda didn't find Gareth, he could be lost too. She'd never have the chance to tell him how much she cared for him or how angry she was at him for leaving, even if it was to save everyone. Stupid, heroic, lovely man.
Turning again and again for comfort, she fell off the cushions onto the floor. Sleep wasn't to be hers. She stood, dusted off her skirts and went to the window. Maybe sitting there, watching the sun set on Port Elizabeth would restore her calm.
Parting the curtains, she saw a familiar blur. The blur took form, a decidedly masculine form. Before she could stop herself, she fled the parlor, slid through the hall and unbolted the front door. She started running.
"Precious!" he called out to her. She ran straight to Gareth.
She hugged him, enjoying the strength of his arms, the earthy musk of his neck, but the pent up fear for his safety, the angst of him walking away, merged with her easy temper.
She beat on his chest. "I told you trouble was to come. You didn't listen."
Instead of saying anything, he wrapped his arms about her tighter. She wanted so much to just melt into him and feel that strong heart of his. But how could she get past her hurt? "I told you things
Precious sat up straight and stared into Clara's cheery eyes. A comfort gripped her. For once, saying the truth aloud didn't make her fear. No, there were much bigger things than ghosts of the past filling her head right now. "My pa. He did doctoring in South Carolina. He used to take me with him on his rounds sometimes."
Clara smiled and shut her lids. "That's nice. It's the first nice memory you shared of growing up."
Precious drew her shawl up tight about her. A chill set in her bones but she didn't crumble. As good as it was to say the truth, it still didn't change things. There would always be a hole on the inside for not being able to call Old Doctor Marsdale, Pa or Eliza, cousin. A sigh leaked out. "There weren't too many good ones."
"Please, dear friend. Beautiful precious friend, get some rest. In a couple of hours, you will hear me yelling for you."
In her heart, Precious knew this was true and she feared it. Clara was so nice and caring. And she'd lost so much. She and the baby had to survive. Sunday God. Well, it wasn't Sunday, but Thursday. Sometimes God, please save these two. "Lord, tell me what I need to do."
A tear sprinkled from Clara's lashes. "I said go get some sleep."
Precious put a hand over her mouth and popped up. "I…I think you are right."
She leaned over and batted a red curl back from Clara's brow. "You rest. Then you and I will fight for this baby."
Clara lifted her palm from the bed sheets and clasped Precious's. "You promise to put this baby first. If things go wrong, my husband's legacy must survive. And you will love him just like Jonas."
Another deathbed promise. Her heart ripped as she nodded. "But don't talk like that. Just focus on this baby coming out the right way."
Clara's fingers became light and slipped back to the mattress. Precious bent and kissed her forehead. Leaving the room, she gently closed the door. Thirty more minutes and it would be fifteen hours since her water broke. By dark, the labor should start again and this time that baby would come out or Precious would lose another dear friend and the babe. "Oh, Sometimes God, could this be one of those times you showed up."
She slipped down the stairs into the parlor. The sofa, the dusted mantle, Gareth's orderly desk, everything looked in place. A portrait of him sitting in his chair, going over correspondences, would've made the room complete and as fine as anything in Charleston or London. Well, maybe not as fancy, but it was good, solely good. No bad memories here. This place had to survive. But how?
Flopping onto the sofa, she tried to close her eyes, but every creak of the wind made her lids open wide. She could lose Clara and the baby tonight. If Mzwamadoda didn't find Gareth, he could be lost too. She'd never have the chance to tell him how much she cared for him or how angry she was at him for leaving, even if it was to save everyone. Stupid, heroic, lovely man.
Turning again and again for comfort, she fell off the cushions onto the floor. Sleep wasn't to be hers. She stood, dusted off her skirts and went to the window. Maybe sitting there, watching the sun set on Port Elizabeth would restore her calm.
Parting the curtains, she saw a familiar blur. The blur took form, a decidedly masculine form. Before she could stop herself, she fled the parlor, slid through the hall and unbolted the front door. She started running.
"Precious!" he called out to her. She ran straight to Gareth.
She hugged him, enjoying the strength of his arms, the earthy musk of his neck, but the pent up fear for his safety, the angst of him walking away, merged with her easy temper.
She beat on his chest. "I told you trouble was to come. You didn't listen."
Instead of saying anything, he wrapped his arms about her tighter. She wanted so much to just melt into him and feel that strong heart of his. But how could she get past her hurt? "I told you things
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