Heaven Sent (39 page)

Becky was still sick. She’d been
crying, Callie saw at once, and she was tossing fretfully in her
bed. As soon as the door opened, she cried out in a pathetic voice,
“Where have you been, Miss Prophet? I’m sick.”

“
I’m so sorry, darling. I’m
here now.” Rushing to the bed, Callie glanced at Aubrey and saw
that he shared her concern for the little girl. She gave her head a
little shake, and he seemed to understand its meaning: They’d save
their news until Becky felt better.

“
You’re still sick,
pumpkin?” Aubrey’s deep voice drew his daughter’s gaze. Her cheeks
burned with fever, and she nodded soulfully.

“
Yes, Papa. I feel
icky.”

He smiled at that. “I’m sure you do,
and I’m sorry Becky.” After leaning over to kiss her hot forehead,
he glanced at Callie. “Is there anything I can bring you,
Callie?”

“
Yes, please. If you could
bring some water. And maybe a glass of orange juice, if Mrs.
Granger has any oranges left. I think I’d better have this little
trouper take another dose of salicylic powders.”

“
I don’t want to!” Burying
her face in Callie’s bathrobe, Becky started crying
again.

Callie knew she only did so because
she felt wretched, and she held her tightly, rocking her back and
forth. When she glanced up at Aubrey, he appeared worried. “Don’t
fret, Aubrey. I believe it’s only a bad cold. Maybe a touch of
influenza. Myrtle told me that some of her other students were
ailing. She says this always happens this time of year.”

“
Good God,” Aubrey muttered
as he turned to do his errand. “I didn’t know school was bad for
one’s health.”

Callie chuckled.

Becky sniffled and knuckled her eyes.
She watched her father leave her room and turned to Callie. “Why’d
he call you Callie? And you called him Aubrey, too.”

Fudge. Callie wished they’d been more
careful. Yet it probably didn’t matter much. She wasn’t going to
spring the news on Becky until she did so accompanied by Aubrey,
but she could prepare her. “Your father and I are good friends,
Becky. We decided it was silly to call each other Miss and
Mister.”

Becky’s fevered cheeks pressed against
Callie’s shoulder, and Callie felt the little head nod. “Can I call
you Callie?”

Why not
? Callie thought. She’d like Becky to call her Mama, but
couldn’t very well tell her so now. Besides, Aubrey might not like
it. She sighed. “Of course, you may, sweetie.”

“
Thank you,
Callie.”

A coughing and sneezing fit followed
Becky’s thanks, and after producing a clean hankie, Callie hugged
her more tightly. “Poor Becky. I’m sorry you feel so rotten,
sweetie.”

“
Me, too.” Becky sniffled
disconsolately.

“
After you take your powders
and I eat breakfast, why don’t I bring up some books, and I can
read to you when you feel like being awake. But when you want to
sleep, please tell me, because that’s the best thing to
do.”

“
All right.”

She didn’t sound enthusiastic about
Callie’s plan of action, but Callie chalked up her lack of interest
to her illness. She was surprised when Mrs. Granger bustled into
the room a few minutes later, since she’d expected
Aubrey.

“
Mr. Lockhart’s changing
into his clothes,” the housekeeper explained. “I told him he had no
business in the sick-room.”

“
But I want my papa!” Becky
wailed.

“
Tut, child,” Mrs. Granger
said. “He’s coming right along. He needs to change his clothes
because he’s going to ride to Santa Angelica and fetch the doctor
to come out here and see you. He can’t very well do that in his
bathrobe and slippers, now can he?”

Slightly mollified, Becky sniffled
some more. “I guess not.”

“
I expect they’ll bring back
a dose of quinine for you, too.”

“
I’m glad he’s going to get
a doctor. Which doctor do the Lockharts use?” Callie took the glass
of orange juice from Mrs. Granger after the older woman had stirred
in the powders.

“
Dr. Marshall comes when
there’s a need. Well, except for—well, you know,
Callie.”

“
Yes. I know.” Except for
illnesses outside his scope, such as the late Mrs. Lockhart’s
illness. “Here Becky, let me hold the glass, and you sip the
juice.”

Every time Callie turned around,
Anne’s tragic death seemed to slap her in the face. But that’s the
way life worked, she told herself with a dash of practicality
borrowed from some hidden cache of sanity still dwelling inside
her. She went on to remind herself that she wouldn’t be the first
woman in the world to marry a man because he needed a mother for
his children. Love didn’t necessarily add happiness to a marriage;
Callie had lived long enough to learn that much.

Why, just a few years ago one of
Callie’s dearest friends had married the man she loved, and he’d
turned out to be a miserable specimen. He drank and ran around with
other women, blamed it all on Sylvia for not being perfect, and
even hit her occasionally. Sylvia had finally left the brute and
returned to Santa Angelica.

Fortunately, there’d been no children
to suffer from the separation—or from the marriage—but Sylvia’s
reputation had been marred. Divorce was an ugly word, but as far as
Callie was concerned marriage to a man like Sylvia’s ex-husband was
a far uglier fate than divorce. And, in the end, Sylvia had married
Mr. Ambrose two year ago, primarily because Mr. Ambrose needed a
woman to tare for his children. The last Callie had heard, the
couple were doing very well, and Sylvia was much happier than she’d
been in her first marriage.

Callie wasn’t unanimously supported in
her opinion about divorce being preferable to a bad marriage—or, in
Sylvia’s case, a dangerous marriage. Still, Callie had done what
she could for Sylvia, remaining her friend and not avoiding her as
some folks did, It really wasn’t fair.

But, there. It was silly to be
thinking about men like the one Sylvia’d had the misfortune to
marry for love. Callie already knew that Aubrey had been an
exemplary husband to his Anne, and, even if he couldn’t love
Callie, she knew he’d be a considerate husband to her. That would
be enough for Callie. It would have to be.

“
Can you drink any more
juice, sweetheart?”

“
It tastes
horrid!”

Callie lifted the glass away a second
before Becky’s hand would have knocked it out of her own. This show
of temper was a product of Becky’s illness, Callie knew, and was
uncharacteristic of the usually compliant child. “I know,
sweetheart, but you need to drink it because it will make you feel
better.”

“
I like plain orange juice,”
Becky wailed. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“That tastes icky!”

Callie felt awful for her. “Maybe Mrs.
Granger can get you a fresh glass of juice, sweetheart. To drink
after you finish this one.”

“
I’ll run right downstairs
and squeeze another couple of oranges.” Mrs. Granger suited her
action to her words, and whirled around to go downstairs to her
kitchen. She called back, “I’ll bring some breakfast for you, too,
Callie.”

“
Thank you.” Returning her
attention to Becky, Callie said, “There. Now you finish this, and
you’ll have some good-tasting orange juice in a jiffy.”

“
I don’t want
to.”

She sounded too pitiful for Callie to
be angry with her over the rebellion. She was about to try to jolly
her into drinking the rest of the medicine-laced juice when Aubrey
returned, dressed for the road.

“
What’s this I hear about my
girl not taking her medicine?” He pitched his voice to sound
mockingly severe, but Becky evidently heard the steel in
it.

Whimpering miserably, she lifted her
huge eyes and gazed at her father. If that look had been directed
at her, Callie figured she’d melt, but Aubrey was made of sterner
stuff. Becky’s pretty mouth trembled. “But it tastes horrid,
Papa.”

He smiled at her, and Callie decided
if that look had been directed at her, she’d also melt. Merciful
heavens, but she loved that man. How strange, considering how much
she’d disliked him in the beginning.

“
Why don’t we let Callie
wash up and get dressed, Becky, and I’ll force that stuff down your
throat?” Aubrey winked at Becky, but it didn’t help much. She
started crying again, softly.

Callie looked up at him, a question in
her eyes, but Aubrey nodded. “Go on, Callie. Mrs. Granger’s fixing
your breakfast and squeezing some more oranges. I hate to rush you,
but I want to get to Dr. Marshall as soon as I can. You’ll probably
feel better after a wash up. After all . . .”

He didn’t have to finish his thought,
because Callie understood perfectly. Instinctively, she lifted her
hands to her hair, which probably looked like she’d swept a floor
with it. Her face felt hot when she arose, Becky still held in her
arms.

“
Right. Absolutely. Here.
You’ll probably have to strap her down.”

Becky threw her arms around her
father’s neck and buried her small face on his shoulder. “He won’t!
Don’t strap me down, Papa! Please don’t.”

“
Callie’s only teasing,
Becky,” Aubrey said in so loving and gentle a tone, Callie would
have swooned if she’d been the type of female who did such
things.

She did stare, though, for far too
many moments. When Aubrey sat on the bed and lifted an eyebrow at
her, she realized she was in a trance and jerked out of it,
swirling around and dashing for the door. “Right. I’ll hurry. Be
right back.”

“
Take all the time you
need,”

She heard the laughter in his voice.
It made her want to cry. Which only went to prove what a besotted
fool she was.

Aubrey had been absolutely correct,
however. She felt much better after she’d taken a quick
bath—praising the Lord the whole time for having allowed people to
discover the benefits of indoor plumbing—brushed and knotted her
hair into a French coil, and donned a clean frock.

She was a little disconcerted to
discover bloodstains on her nightgown. They were mere spots,
really, and could probably be chalked up to her monthly courses
having started during the night. God alone knew what Delilah would
make of any blood stains on Aubrey’s sheets, but Callie couldn’t
very well take the time to do anything about the sheets with Becky
feeling so poorly.

With a sigh, she decided she and
Aubrey weren’t the first couple—and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the
last couple— who’d anticipated marriage by a few days or weeks. She
didn’t know when Aubrey wanted to wed, but he’d mentioned sooner
rather than later, which suited Callie.

First, however, they had to get Becky
well.

And Callie had to confess about having
read his letters to Anne. She didn’t want to. But she’d rather be
pilloried in the Santa Angelica public square than begin marriage
with the man she loved with a big guilty secret on her
conscience.

Perhaps he wouldn’t be as upset as she
feared he would be.

“
Not very likely,” she
muttered as she glanced in the mirror to make sure everything was
in place and buttoned, and that her hair wasn’t lopsided where
she’d pinned the coil up. “He’ll probably hate me.” Or at least be
angry.

With a sigh, Callie knew she couldn’t
very well blame him if he did get angry with her. She’d be pretty
darned annoyed if anyone read her private correspondence. And she’d
be downright furious if anyone read her love letters.

Not that she had any to
read.

Bother. She was borrowing
trouble again. Making only one further detour, down to the library,
where she quickly selected
The Adventures
of Tom Sawyer, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
, and a volume of Edgar Allan Poe stories, she
darted up the stairs, taking them two at a time,
and hurried
to Becky’s room. She felt much
more the thing when she
entered and saw
Aubrey’s smile of approval.

“
Excellent,” he said,
standing. He’d settled Becky back into her bed. “You look lovely
this morning, Callie.”

And, by gum, he walked over and gave
her a quick kiss on the cheek. Callie felt herself blush. “I’m glad
you made me take the time,” she muttered, feeling outrageously
shy.

“
Yes, well . . .” He turned
and rubbed his hands in a gesture, Callie supposed, meant to
instill confidence in and support to his sick child. “I’m going to
town now, Becky, and I’ll be back as soon as I can be with Dr,
Marshall. Do you remember Dr. Marshall, Becky? He came to our house
when you had the measles.”

Becky, whose tiny flushed face looked
pathetic against her sparkling white pillowcases, nodded. “Yes. He
gave me awful-tasting medicine.”

Aubrey chuckled. “I expect he’ll do
the same thing today, sweetheart. That’s what happens when we .get
sick. We have to take awful-tasting medicine to get
better.”

“
I brought you some books,
Becky,” Callie said. “Maybe reading a rousing tale of adventure
will make you feel better.”