Some Enchanted Season (34 page)

It took more than a minute, of course. Nearly half an hour had passed by the time she heard his footsteps in the hall. Though it was early, she was already in bed. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing as he came in.

He undressed in the bathroom, then made his way through the dark to the bed, sliding in behind her, fitting his body to hers. “Maggie?”

She wanted to remain unresponsive, but honesty forced her to answer. “What?”

“You’ll get those babies you want. I know it’s hard to wait, but it’ll happen.”

“I know.” Maybe she would get them the old-fashioned way—by falling in love—or she might find a suitable man willing to make the necessary contribution as part of a mutually satisfying business arrangement. Maybe she would have to resort to artificial means, but she
would
have her babies.

“I’m sorry I never understood how important it was to you.”

“So am I.”

“I was a selfish bastard.”

This time she kept her agreement to herself.

Pushing back the covers, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then ran his hand down her bare arm to the soft cotton of her nightgown where it covered her hip. His body’s response was slight but noticeable. Wanting nothing less than to share such intimacy with him when she was feeling so blue, she claimed his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, then held it securely in hers. “Good night, Ross.”

His sigh was soft with acceptance and regret. “Good night, Maggie.”

I
t was the middle of the night when Ross awoke, instantly aware that something was amiss. He moved his arm—the one that should have been draped over Maggie’s middle—and felt nothing but cold sheets, then lifted his head. She sat in the
rocker across the room, feet tucked on the wooden seat, all bundled up in a quilt.

Another bad dream? Or just sleeplessness?

He slid out of bed, wrapped the top blanket around him, then crouched in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I just had a little trouble sleeping. Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t. But you should have.”

“That would have been rather selfish, don’t you think? If I can’t sleep, then you don’t get to?”

He smiled at the suggestion. “You’ve never been selfish a day in your life.” Clutching the blanket tighter, he sat on the floor. The position put him in shadow, but moonlight touched her face—her incredibly lovely, sad face. His smile faded, and his voice turned serious. “What’s wrong, Maggie?”

She remained silent, staring out the window for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, she looked at him. “I was just thinking about the dreams I had for my life back when I was in high school. I was going to go to college someplace far away, where I could be free of my mother’s rules and her pressure. I would get my degree, find a job that I liked, and marry a man whom I loved. We would have a pretty little house, three kids, and a dog, and we would live this incredibly normal, incredibly satisfying life.”

And instead, the only way she’d been able to afford college was to go in Buffalo and live at home. She’d sacrificed her degree so he could get his, her jobs had been drudgery, there’d been no children, and she’d wound up in a huge house that she’d hated.

“I never, ever dreamed I would be thirty-five, about to be divorced, and childless,” she murmured. “My goals weren’t impossible. Women achieve them every day. I just don’t understand how I failed so miserably.”

“You didn’t fail, Maggie. You just showed poor judgment in marrying me. I’m the one who let you down on everything else.”

As if she didn’t hear him, she slowly shook her head from side to side. “I’m a smart woman. I’m capable. I’ve never been afraid to work hard. Those qualities are supposed to pay off. But here I am, almost divorced and alone.
Divorced
. God, when I was a kid, I saw what that did to my mother and I swore it would never happen to me, and now …”

Ross’s fingers clenched tightly around the blanket. Ignoring the sharp fear in his gut, he forced his jaw open, forced the words out. “It hasn’t happened yet, Maggie. Maybe …” He thought of the things she didn’t know—his affair, the depth of his betrayal, the real reason for her accident—and the fear intensified beyond ignoring, but he ignored it anyway. He forced it back and pushed ahead. “Maybe it doesn’t have to.”

She stared at him. “I saw the papers in your office.”

“What pape—” The file Tom had brought Monday. The file he’d had no reason to take back with him.

“You’re a generous man, Ross.”

“You think so?” he asked cynically.

“I saw how much you’re willing to pay to get me out of your life.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll pay to keep you in it.”

His mouth went dry and his hands turned clammy and he wished he could call back the words. Even more, he was glad he couldn’t.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“You’re not the only one whose life didn’t turn out the way you imagined. When I was a kid, I wanted wealth and power. I wanted to
be
somebody. I knew it would take hard work and commitment and struggle, but I didn’t care because it would be worth every sacrifice. I was wrong. It hasn’t been worth the biggest sacrifice of all. I never wanted to be thirty-seven and living without you, Maggie. Hell, I don’t even know
how
to live without you. You’re my wife—the best part of my life. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“But—the papers you gave Tom—”

“I gave him those weeks ago, before we left Bethlehem. When he came to discuss them Monday, I told him I’d changed my mind.”

“But how can we be married?”

“We’ve been doing a pretty good job of it.”

“What about your job? It’s in Buffalo. I’m here.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t think I can leave here.”

“I can build an office and transfer the people I need most here. I would probably have to spend a few days a month in the city or traveling, but I could be here the rest of the time.”

Her gaze narrowed and an accusing note entered her voice. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Since last weekend.”

“Here I’ve been
mourning
the day you’ll leave, and
you’ve been making plans to stay. Why didn’t you
tell
me?”

“What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘Hey, Maggie, lunch was good and so was your fudge, and oh, by the way, I love you and I want to live the rest of my life with you in this house’?”

The accusatory look relented, giving in to a faint, sweet smile, as she slid to the floor in front of him. “It would’ve worked for me.”

“Would it have?” he asked wistfully. “Does that mean you’re considering it?”

He waited uneasily for her answer. It shouldn’t be so hard. If she didn’t want a divorce, then, by default, she must want him. It should be a simple yes.

But there was nothing simple about the look on her face, nothing simple about the heavy silence or the response she finally gave. “What about babies?”

He swallowed hard. “I know you want them—”

“And you don’t.”

The absolute absence of hope in her voice left him cold inside. “I’m not sure what I want, Maggie—except you. I love you.”

“And I love you.” She squeezed his hand tightly to emphasize the words. “But I won’t give up my chance to be a mother for you. I’ve waited sixteen years, Ross. I can’t wait much longer.”

The smile he intended to be reassuring felt shaky and frightened instead. “We’ll work it out. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s negotiating.”

She smiled too, a curious, happy-sad hybrid. “There are a lot of things you’re good at—but there’s not much to negotiate here. I’m going to have children,
Ross. The only questions are when … and who will be the father.”

He drew her into his lap, underneath the warmth of his blanket, and held her close. “We’ll work it out,” he said again. After all, he loved her.

That left him no other choice.

Chapter Fourteen
 

T
wo hundred years earlier, when Bethlehem was little more than a collection of ragtag buildings scattered about on a muddy road or two, Ezekiel Winchester had donated a plot of land as well as stone from his own quarry and the manpower to build its first official place of worship—hence, its simple name, the First Church of Bethlehem—and there had been Winchesters in the pews ever since. Corinna had been baptized here, had walked down that long center aisle to marry her Henry, and had made the same long walk forty-four years later behind his casket. Some of her most joyous memories were associated with this church. So were some of her most sorrowful.

This Sunday evening, though, would be counted among the joys. The Christmas pageant was one of the highlights of the season. Melissa was a talented director
and coaxed the best out of those she recruited. It was always an inspiring event.

Attendance was much higher than usual for a Sunday service. Fifteen minutes before the opening prayer, the church was practically filled, but Corinna was in no hurry to go inside. No one would sit in the pew she regularly shared with her sister. If anyone tried, Reverend Howard’s wife would be quick to point out that the bench was reserved.

“Evening, Miss Corinna.”

“How are you, Miss Corinna?”

She smiled and returned the greetings of the sheriff and the fire chief, both students of hers years back. In one way or another, she knew every soul to walk through the door, but she was waiting for two in particular. When she’d gone across the street that afternoon to issue an invitation to the pageant, Maggie had enthusiastically accepted. She’d been baking cookies and had flour on her nose and dusted over her sweater, and she had looked happy and confident—a great improvement over the young woman who’d come to Bethlehem nearly a month ago.

The heavy doors swished open, and Maeve and Harry, accompanied by her daughter and granddaughter, came out of the cold. They made a handsome family—which they would be if Harry would only recognize the love Maeve couldn’t begin to hide. The old man was stubborn, though, and believed his only reason for loving had died with his wife. Perhaps the good Lord would open his eyes before it was too late.

And perhaps Corinna would give the good Lord some assistance with the job.

The door swung open again, and Ross McKinney followed Maggie through. He helped her off with her coat, then removed his own coat. He wore a steel-gray suit and looked handsome and more relaxed, more at ease with his life and himself, than Corinna had imagined possible. Like his wife, he, too, looked as if he’d experienced Bethlehem’s own special healing.

Upon seeing her, Maggie crossed the stone floor and gave her a hug. “We’re not late, are we?”

“Not quite.”

“I have a closet full of clothes, and nothing suitable for church that provides adequate camouflage.”

Corinna’s gaze swept over her—long crimson turtleneck sweater, black wool skirt, matching tights, black flats. “Well, the outfit you’ve chosen is perfectly suitable—though I can’t help but wonder what a lovely woman like you has to hide.”

“Scars,” she replied candidly with a shrug.

Of course, Corinna thought, regretting her thoughtless remark. Maggie couldn’t have suffered such life-threatening injuries without a few visible reminders, which might explain why she always wore pants, long sleeves, and high collars. “I’m sorry, dear. I should have realized—”

“It’s all right. I’m getting over them.” She gazed around the entry hall with its soaring ceiling of roughhewn timbers, arched stained glass windows, and rugged stone walls. “What a great building—so solid and strong. It feels as if it’s been here forever and always will be.”

“ ‘The Rock of Ages,’ ” Corinna said, patting one
hand against the wall. “That’s what they called it when we were children. After the hymn.”

Maggie took another long look around. Her manner shifted, became more serious. “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?”

“You came to the pageant with Agatha and me last year. You also brought canned and baked goods—various breads, I believe—for the baskets we distribute to the needy a few days before Christmas.”

Maggie nodded slowly. “I remember … ” As her voice trailed off, she closed her eyes, the better to concentrate. Corinna waited expectantly, Ross uneasily. “Candles … dozens of candles … an organ … and the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ ”

When she opened her eyes again, Ross gestured impatiently. “Someone’s playing the organ right now, you can smell the candles burning, and everyone sings the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ at Christmas.”

For just an instant, Maggie looked pleased, then acceptance swept across her face. With one blunt sentence—some might even say cruel—her husband had dashed her hopes that she might have discovered an actual memory. Why? Was he trying to protect her from false hope? Or did he mean to discourage her from trying to remember?

And was it her place to point out that Maggie just might be right? Not every choir sang Handel’s masterpiece at Christmas. In fact, except for last year, the church choir never had. They generally preferred songs with which the congregation could sing along. Last year, though, the song had been a special request from Reverend Howard, and they had obliged.