The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (8 page)

“Even without this, Èmie, I need to see my family. I need to be near them. I was crazy to think otherwise. I love you and Mae, but . . .”

Èmie squeezed her hand. “I understand.”

Covering Èmie’s hand with her own, Carina drew her closer. “I want you to have the restaurant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, all of this.” Carina waved her hand to indicate the extent of her property.

“But, Carina . . .” Èmie shook her head, overwhelmed.

Carina shook her. “You don’t want it? After all you’ve learned and mastered?”

“I . . . of course, but . . .”

“Is it Robert? Won’t he want you to continue? At least until he’s successful?”

“It won’t be the same without you, Carina. I can’t be you.”

Carina spread her hands. “It will be yours. Whatever you make it.”

Èmie sat very still. Then, “You’re kind, Carina. I know what this restaurant means to you, the good you’ve done with it. I’d be honored to carry on. I’ll speak to Robert.”

Carina squeezed her hand. “There’s room to add a clinic on the other side by Fletchers.”

Èmie grinned. “So there is.”

Carina folded her hands together. “Signore, you know my friend Èmie of whom I’ve spoken many times before. I want her to have this restaurant, so would you kindly arrange it with her husband who’s not too sure yet what he is or should be doing?”

Èmie laughed. “That’s not fair, Carina. Even a doctor can be bitten with the mining bug.”

“Oh,
sì
.” Carina waved her hand. “And maybe he’ll think twice about risking his life when he has the skills to save others.”

“He already is.”

“Then take this gift; add a clinic. If your cooking is bad, he’ll have the treatment.”

They laughed until Èmie suddenly threw her arms around Carina’s neck. “You’ve changed my life.”

Carina squeezed her back, too emotional to answer. It would not be easy to let go. As much as she wanted to go home, needed to, it would not be easy to let go.

S
IX

Take heed before you give your heart, for given once, ’tis ere more lost.

And though it beats within your breast, each steadfast beat now bears a cost.

—Quillan

Q
UILLAN ENTERED THE SHOP
for the third time. Since there was still no reply from D.C., he would mark the day with another gift. This shop was down the street from the Italian market where he’d purchased Carina’s supplies, but it was full of feminine fripperies. He vaguely recalled her pausing outside its window the one time they went to Fairplay together.

The first day of this trip he’d purchased a lace collar, the next a parasol, though it was definitely not parasol weather. He finagled a good price because of that. The third day he chose a different shop and bought a box of hand-decorated velum stationery. But today he was back to the first shop. He went straight to the glass case and eyed what he already knew he would purchase even though it was priced at a usurer’s cost.

The clerk noticed him immediately. “So you’ve decided on it?”

Quillan frowned. Not even an offer to budge on the extravagant price. “Thought maybe you’d come to your senses and were ready to charge a realistic fee for a nice but certainly not irreplaceable item.”

The man smiled. “Don’t you think she’s worth it?”

Quillan glared. “She’s worth it, but the pin’s not.”

The clerk shrugged his beefy shoulders. “It’s what it is.” He knew he had Quillan trapped, and Quillan resented it. He’d looked in the other shops. There were trinkets plenty, but none so perfect for Carina as the amethyst stickpin in the case before him.

“All right, package it.” Quillan pulled out his money, wishing he could wipe the grin off the storekeeper’s face.

The man leaned close with a conspiratorial whisper. “Bitten bad, are you?”

Quillan didn’t answer.

“Hoping to get somewhere with this one, I’d wager.” He showed yellowed teeth the shape of stalactites.

Quillan said, “It’s for my wife.”

“Oh.” The clerk tapped his nose. “Never hurts to lay it on thick.”

He wrapped the pin in tissue and handed it over.

Quillan snatched it. If any more days passed, he’d do his shopping elsewhere. But he knew Carina would love the things he’d purchased. If only D.C. would answer the telegram and the weather would clear. He went outside and looked into the sky, gray with more impending snow.

“Two things, Lord. A telegram and a blue sky.” He brought his gaze down to a bearded man watching him. Was it so foolish to stand in the street and pray? Quillan tipped his hat, and the man walked past. Quillan went to the telegraph office.

The clerk looked up. “Nothing yet.”

Quillan thanked him and went back out. What could be taking D.C. so long to answer? Was he upset Quillan would even consider selling? Couldn’t he understand the position they were in? He went back to the hotel to secure Carina’s gift in his pack with the others. The parasol, of course, stood in the corner.

Quillan walked over, picked it up, and opened it. He looked up through the ecru lace and imagined Carina standing beneath it. He closed it abruptly, before the longing for her became painful. He tore a sheet of paper from his journal and found his fountain pen, which he’d filled with ink from an eyedropper the night before. With it, he now wrote a letter to his foster father. Reverend Shepard would be ecstatic to know he was at last seeking the Lord’s wisdom.

Quillan also inquired after his wife, Leona. He pictured her curled in her bed like a skeletal infant, bawling and picking at the covers. The image evoked a wrenching sympathy. Was she still alive? Frequently insanity left its victims physically tenacious, though she’d seemed so frail.

He would likely not receive a reply before he left the area with Carina. He wrote as much to the reverend. Then he thanked him for the years of care he’d been given in their home. He might never see the man again, and he wanted his foster father to know his gratitude, though those years had been the most painful of his life.

Setting the letter aside, Quillan took out his journal. He’d filled three pages with Scripture verses that had spoken to him in his reading, his own ramblings that had followed, and some poems he’d written to share with Carina. His most recent he read now.

Without you time escapes its rule and lingers overlong,

Yet were I there with you, my love, t’would skip and bound and leap.

The distance stills the hands of time, the days the hours prolong,

As one by one the minutes put the sun and moon to sleep.

But time, it cannot halt for long without the Lord take heed,

And God will spin it soon, my love, and set the earth aright,

Then to your waiting arms I’ll run with haste and all due speed,

To set the stars adance again to brighten up your night.

Time had once had no hold on him. But now it seemed a force he battled daily.
It’s only that I miss her, Lord
.

It is good for the heart to hunger
. This time Quillan didn’t wonder at the words. He’d grown accustomed to the answers coming to his mind. And he knew they were the Lord, especially when they weren’t what he wanted to hear.

But he governed himself, using the time to write in his journal, long stretches of still time he’d never allowed himself before. Mae was right; it was something he should learn, though patience and peace were slow in coming.

It seemed a blessing straight from heaven when on the eighth day, the telegraph clerk reached into a cubby behind him and held out D.C.’s reply. Quillan paid the man and hurried out to the street. He unfolded the paper and found the text.

Sorry delay. On retreat. Sell mine. Treasure in heaven. D.C
.

Quillan clutched the paper to his chest, picturing Cain’s scapegrace son. From the sound of it, he’d matured, and his faith still upheld him. He’d make a fine preacher. Quillan wished he could tell him he’d found his own faith. Wished he could have found it before old Cain was killed. But he supposed Cain knew somehow. Maybe there was some portal through which Cain watched them both, knew that even if hard times were not behind them, at least they were on the right path.

He folded the telegram. Now he would take Carina home. He closed his eyes in silent gratitude, his sense of purpose keen. He went to the Italian market and purchased items they could stock in the wagon for their trip: jars of olives, dried spicy sausage called pepperoni and another named Genoa salami. Both beat jerky by a long shot. He bought her semolina flour and olive oil, a string of garlic, and pickled anchovies.

He carried the crate to the wagon, then loaded the other gifts he’d amassed for her. He gave his horses one last lookover. Jack and Jock, his leaders, were well rested and fresher from an eight-day rest than they’d been in years. His wheelers, Socrates and Homer, he’d leased to a driver for two short trips, but they were strong Clydesdale blood and were fresh enough after two days’ rest to make the trip over the pass—supposing the weather held and the trip was indeed short. Quillan worried a little that the recent snow might have reached a depth and softness that would make the road a nightmare. But whatever the case, he was going.

Carina felt good to be out of bed and dressed in her blue chintz shirtwaist and full linen skirts. Her corset was tied, but bearably, and
Nonna
’s shawl warmed her shoulders. Ah, to stand and walk. It was ten days since Quillan had left her door, and her concern had risen. But it was out of her hands. So what good was fretting?

But fret she did. She walked to the table where he had sat and studied. She sat in the chair he had used. She took out her own journal, flipped to a new page, and wrote her frustration, her fears, her longing. Then she closed the journal.
Signore, have mercy
. Per piacere,
Signore. Have I
not learned patience?
She rushed on before she could hear an answer to that.
You know I am trusting you. Is it so much to—
She jumped at the knock on the door and hurried to open it.

Nothing. No one. Then she realized it was the other door.
Sciocco!
Chiding herself for a fool, she closed out the cold and went to the side door. Why would Quillan knock? Would he not let himself and Sam inside? She opened the door to find Mae and threw herself into the woman’s arms. She felt Mae’s laugh rumble inside her chest.

“Gracious, Carina. Is it as bad as that?”

Carina clung to Mae’s softness. “I’m
pazzo
with waiting.”

“A little cabin fever, too, no doubt. Well, I see the doc gave the go ahead for you to be up.”

Carina drew back and waved a hand. “Standing and walking. No riding, no jostling, no overexcitement. Doesn’t he know I’m dying of unexcitement?”

Again Mae laughed. “Well, sit yourself down and tell me what’s all this about Èmie taking over for you.”

“I can’t sit.” Carina crossed the room, wringing her hands. “But yes, isn’t it wonderful? Robert agreed she should oversee the restaurant. He might attach a clinic to the side, and she’ll be close to you, Mae.”

“A lot I care about that.”

Carina crossed back to her and snatched Mae’s hands between her own. “You will be there for each other, won’t you? I’ll miss you both so much.”

Mae’s voice grew thick. “We managed fine before you, Carina.”

The words were gruff, but Carina saw the pain behind them. “Oh, Mae.” Once again she flung herself into Mae’s arms.

“Land sakes.” But Mae held her close and stroked the hair hanging down Carina’s back. “Lot of fuss.”

“I feel like I’m tearing part of myself away. I’ll miss you. I’ll think of you.”

Mae softly peeled Carina’s arms from her neck. “You’re not gone yet.”

“I already miss you.”

Mae shook her head, laughing. “Well, I’ll miss you, too, for what it’s worth. You sure have livened things up. But I think it’s right, you going with Quillan. He needs a new start somewhere himself. Outside of Crystal he can be his own man, not under the shadow of Wolf and Rose. Just the two of you starting fresh.”

Carina walked anxiously to the window. “When will he come?”

“He’ll come when he comes. He’s Quillan.” Mae chuckled softly. “Some things don’t change.”

Carina threw up one hand. “
That
will change if I have anything to say.”

“And I’m sure you will. But remember, Carina, he’ll tame better with honey than vinegar.”

Carina spun. “Do you think me sharp tongued?”

“I’ve heard you draw blood.”

Carina clutched her hands at her breast, feeling an agonizing ache.

“Not to say he doesn’t need it sometimes, the way he goes on with that ne’er-do-well pose and that smile like a—”

“Pirate.”

Mae paused, then laughed. “Never thought in those terms, but that is what it is. Oh, you two will be flint and steel. But I’m not sure that doesn’t make for a better flame in the end.”

“If only he’d come.” Carina spoke more to herself, looking once again toward the window. And then it seemed as though she’d wished him there, for she watched Quillan climb the step, Sam at his heels. With a cry, she rushed forward, jerked open the door, and threw herself into his arms. “I was so wishing for you!”

Loaded down with his pack, he lost his balance, then recovered. “Carina, what are you doing out of bed?” His breath was white with every word.

“Is that all you can say?” She caught his cold cheeks between her palms.

Suddenly he crushed her into his embrace and buried his face in the crown of her hair. He groaned. “Oh, I missed you.” He half carried, half swung her inside and kicked the door shut with Sam jumping around them in eager jubilation. He cupped her head, raised her face, and kissed her. Carina forgot everything else. What else was there?

When Mae left, she didn’t know, but when they at last parted, Carina was alone with the man she loved with aching force. “What took you so long? Every day I looked for you. Every day I prayed, ‘Signore, bring my husband home!’ ”

Quillan laughed. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear from D.C. until two days ago. I tried to get back that very day, but the road was impassable. I had to dig through.”