14
MATTHEW STOOD at the French doors in the O’Learys’ parlor, staring out at the barren landscape. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the insidious sense of foreboding that had plagued him since he’d awakened. Perhaps it had something to do with the drastic change in the weather—the almost oppressive gray clouds that hung in the sky, the fierce wind that whipped the last leaves from the nearly bare branches.
More likely, it had something to do with the time of year. November was the month when his younger brother, George, had succumbed to polio, and then—one year later—in a haze of grief, his mother had taken her own life, leaving Matthew and his father alone.
Matthew turned away from the window. Phoebe had started going to the Whelans’ every day to do her lessons with them, a fact he’d gradually gotten accustomed to. But today, he hadn’t wanted to let her go, fearing the bitter weather would prove detrimental to her health. To allay his concerns, Deirdre had made sure that when the Whelan children arrived to walk with Phoebe, she was bundled up warmer than an Arctic explorer.
“It might snow today, Papa,” she’d said, her eyes bright with excitement beneath a borrowed red beret and matching scarf. “Betsy says we can make snow angels.”
Faced with such childish joy, Matthew found he couldn’t deny Phoebe the opportunity for such an adventure. “That sounds fun.” He’d kissed her cheek before the children had scurried out the door.
Now, in the waning afternoon light, Matthew fought the urge to rush over to the Whelan house and carry his daughter back here where he could ensure her safety. Would he ever overcome this paralyzing fear of losing her?
“There you are, Doctor.”
Matthew turned to see Deirdre wheeling Kathleen into the room.
Deirdre’s beaming smile could almost chase away the gloom of the day. “I’d hoped you’d be able to join us. Mama wants to try a few notes on the piano.”
Determined not to let his despondent mood affect them, Matthew forced his features to lighten. “I’m glad I’m here, then.”
Deirdre moved the bench away and wheeled her mother over to the keyboard. She lifted Kathleen’s affected arm and laid her fingers on the ivory keys. Kathleen flexed her good hand and placed it in position.
Matthew couldn’t help but worry at the impact this might have on his patient. If Kathleen failed to accomplish what she hoped, the disappointment might set her progress back. Still, he had no right to stop her from trying.
Kathleen raised tentative eyes to him. “Well, Matthew, let’s see if all our hard work has paid off.”
Words of encouragement froze on his tongue. He couldn’t seem to do or say anything.
Sudden warmth encompassed his hand. He looked down at Deirdre’s fingers entwined with his. His gaze moved to her face, where he found a subtle anxiety in the shadows of her eyes and knew he wasn’t alone in his concern for Kathleen.
Keeping her hand discreetly linked with his, Deirdre peered over her mother’s shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Mama.”
Kathleen inhaled and let out her breath. At first, only her right hand moved, eliciting lovely notes from the magnificent instrument. Matthew wished he knew more about music, for he had no idea when to expect her injured hand to join in.
Finally, the bent fingers shifted on the keys. Matthew held his breath. Would she have enough strength to make the notes sound?
Her fingers slid in silence over the instrument, only the keys under her right hand making any noise. Still Kathleen played on. The tense muscles in her back and shoulders spoke of the effort she was making. After several excruciating minutes, her left hand struck a note. She continued as though filled with renewed purpose, and a few more notes became audible. Some of her fingers had more strength than others, but the fact that she could move them at all thrilled Matthew.
When at last her fingers stilled, Kathleen turned her head. Tears streamed down both cheeks.
“You did it, Mama!” Deirdre swooped over to embrace her mother.
A smile bloomed, followed by a laugh of triumph. “It needs a lot of improvement, but it’s a start.” Kathleen reached out a hand to Matthew. “Thanks to you, Doctor.”
Matthew swallowed a lump of raw emotion and squeezed her hand. “It’s all your doing, Kathleen. You put in the time and effort. I merely guided you.”
“Mama’s right. We owe her success to you.” Moisture glistened in Deirdre’s eyes, making them shimmer like leaves in a summer rain.
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “How can we ever thank you?”
Her whispered words fanned his ear, sending a thrilling vibration through his torso. The intoxicating scent of vanilla surrounded him. As his arms tightened around her, the overwhelming urge to kiss her rose through his chest.
The discreet clearing of a throat broke the spell, and Deirdre pulled away, her cheeks flushed. “I’d better take Mama back to her room for a rest before dinner.”
Matthew clasped his hands behind his back, certain they must be shaking. “Congratulations again, Kathleen.”
Kathleen’s answering smile made her appear years younger. “Thank you, Matthew.”
He remained in the parlor for several minutes, willing his system to settle. Never had he experienced such a powerful reaction to a woman, and indeed the force of his longing for Deirdre had shocked him.
He walked to the window once again, not entirely surprised to see fat snowflakes falling over the dormant garden beyond. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Surely Phoebe would be back any minute. If the weather worsened, he’d ask Deirdre about going to the Whelans’ home by horse to retrieve her.
Still unsettled, not only by his reaction to Deirdre, but by the impending snowstorm, he headed out into the hallway. Perhaps some fresh air might restore his sense of equilibrium. He could start walking toward the Whelans’ and perhaps meet the children halfway.
In the front hall, he retrieved his coat from the closet. As he started to don it, the door burst open. Rose, Betsy, and Phoebe piled into the foyer, snowflakes clinging to their hats and coats. The look of terror on Rose’s face stilled Matthew’s hand.
“Dr. Clayborne,” she gasped out. “We need help.”
Content that Mama was settled in her bed, Deirdre stepped out into the hall and closed the door with a quiet click.
Immediately noise from the front of the house drew her attention. Deirdre hastened to the foyer to caution the children not to disturb their grandmother, but the wide-eyed fear on the girls’ faces chased all reprimands from her mind.
Deirdre frowned and rushed forward. “Rose, Betsy, what is it?”
Tears spilled down Rose’s cheeks. “Aunt Dee-Dee! Sean’s hurt. You have to come and help him.”
Betsy nodded, biting her lip as she often did when agitated.
Deirdre glanced at Matthew, who bent to pick up Phoebe. He met Deirdre’s gaze, his brows tugged together over turbulent eyes.
Forcing herself to remain calm, Deirdre bent down before her nieces. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Sean took us on a shortcut through the woods,” Rose said. “He saw a fox, and we tried to follow it.” She paused to wipe her nose with her mitten. “But Sean slipped and fell all the way down to the creek.” More tears brimmed. “He’s stuck on a branch in the water.”
Alarm shot through Deirdre’s system. In this cold, the boy’s life could be in danger. She kept her tone even. “Where did this happen?”
“At the cutoff. Where Papa takes us fishing in the summer.”
Deirdre straightened. “I know the place.” She reached into the open closet for her overcoat. Today of all days, the men were away from home. It would be up to her to rescue Sean before the cold claimed him. She stuffed her arms into the sleeves and addressed her nieces. “I want you to go into the kitchen and ask Mrs. Harrison for some hot chocolate. Wait there with her until your daddy comes to get you.”
The girls nodded, more tears flowing. “We’re sorry, Aunt Dee-Dee.”
She bent to kiss them each on the cheek. “You did the right thing coming straight here. I’ll find Sean. Don’t worry.”
Matthew set his daughter on the ground. “Phoebe, go with the others. I’ll be back soon.”
When the girls scurried off, Matthew began to button his overcoat. “I’m going with you.”
A rush of relief nearly buckled her knees. She wouldn’t be alone, and if Sean was badly hurt, she’d have a doctor with her.
Wordlessly, Deirdre fastened her coat. They grabbed boots, hats, and gloves, and moments later they dashed out into the snow toward the stables.
Deirdre ran inside the tack room. She weighed the option of foregoing saddles, but given the fact that Matthew was so inexperienced, coupled with the weather conditions, it would be safer to take the few minutes necessary to equip the horses. She grabbed two saddles and bridles and headed to her mare’s stall, where Ginger peered out over the door as if expecting her.
Matthew came up beside her and without a word lifted one of the saddles from her.
“Take the same mare you used last time,” she said. “Cinch the saddle under her belly. I’ll put on the bit.”
Within minutes, they had mounted and were heading across the far pasture. The heavy snow forced Deirdre to keep blinking the flakes from her lashes. She tried not to think about how long Sean had already been out in this weather and the length of time it would take to reach him.
Cold talons of fear gripped her heart. Please, Lord, protect Sean. Let us be in time.
She glanced over her shoulder every few minutes to check on Matthew. He seemed to be managing, though riding at a slower rate than she. The pond came into view, and Deirdre veered hard to the right, toward the opening in the trees she remembered. With her vision obscured by the falling snow, she prayed she could locate it.
She waited until Matthew was close enough to see where she entered the woods, then ducked beneath the branches and guided the horse in. She kept her head tucked low over Ginger’s back, impatient at the slower pace she was forced to endure. But she couldn’t chance an injury on the slippery, uneven ground.
Behind her, Matthew’s horse moved even slower, and other than the clop of hooves over the ground, a hushed silence filled the space. At last, the trees thinned out and she could hear the faint sound of trickling water.
Deirdre slid from Ginger’s back and looped the reins over a branch. Moving forward on foot would be safer. She couldn’t wait for Matthew, so she forged on alone, knowing he’d find Ginger and figure out where she’d gone. Her feet made little sound as she hiked through the trees to the slope that led to the creek below.
At the top of the incline, she stopped. “Sean! Can you hear me?”
She waited but received no response. Looking down the steep slope, Deirdre inhaled sharply. With the added impediment of slick snow, the descent would be treacherous. If only she’d thought to grab a length of rope before leaving.
She’d have to navigate as best she could.
Grasping bare tree branches, Deirdre slowly inched her way down, her skirts making the descent even more treacherous. She called out again, then waited, praying Sean would answer.
Still no response.
She searched the terrain as she approached the flowing water, looking for anything out of the ordinary—a color, a fabric—anything to let her know Sean was near. When she reached the edge of the rushing creek, she scanned the bank and called out again.
A whimper came from somewhere downstream. Was that Sean or an animal?
“Sean, where are you?” she called.
A heartrending cry was her only reply. Relief filled her chest. At least he was still alive and conscious.
“I’m coming!” she yelled, but the wind snatched her words.
Deirdre scooted toward where the sound had originated, heedless of the branches and brambles tearing at her face. At last she spotted a flash of color—Sean’s blue knitted hat. She scrambled toward it as quickly as possible.
Sean laid on the edge of the creek, part of his body pinned under a tree trunk.
Dear God, let him be all right.
She kept moving until she reached him. “Sean, it’s Aunt Dee-Dee.”
He opened his eyes. The pallor of his face and the blue tinge to his lips caused Deirdre’s heart to hammer hard against her ribs. She laid her gloved hand on his shoulder. “Where are you hurt?”
“My leg,” he moaned.
She inched farther down the slope. The lower part of his body was submerged in the freezing water, his left leg trapped beneath the tree. To release him, she’d have to lift the heaviest portion of the trunk. She bit her lip against a rush of hopeless despair.
It would take a miracle.
Matthew’s thighs burned from clamping his legs against the horse beneath him, but his injured leg pained him worst of all. Bent low over the creature’s neck, he gripped the reins with frozen fingers, concentrating every ounce of his attention to stay on the beast, not letting his mind stray to the alarming idea that he might be required to save Sean Whelan’s life.
All Matthew could do was pray the boy would be found unharmed, suffering nothing more than a mild case of frostbite. Yet no matter how much he dreaded this journey, he could never have let Deirdre come out here alone.
Wiry branches whipped his neck and face as the horse plunged on. He’d lost sight of Deirdre and only hoped his mount knew enough to follow her trail. Finally, when the trees thinned, Matthew lifted his head. Deirdre’s horse stood alone—riderless—on the path before him.
Where had she gone?
His own horse slowed to a stop, as though one animal had conveyed a silent message to the other. Matthew uncurled his stiff fingers, unclamped his thighs, and slid off the horse’s back. His bad leg almost buckled beneath him, but he grasped the saddle to steady himself.
He took a moment to find purchase for his unsteady limbs, then forged onward, following the trail of footsteps in the snow, which led to a small rise that overlooked a running creek. The footprints continued down a steep incline to the water.
Matthew inhaled a deep breath, the cold searing the insides of his lungs, and started down.
Three feet from the creek, he heard his name.
“Matthew, I need help. Over here.” Deirdre’s voice held a touch of panic.
He picked his way over snow-covered tree roots until he saw Deirdre beside a fallen tree. His heart stuttered like an engine deprived of gas. Deirdre stood knee-deep in the icy gray water, her overcoat billowing out around her. She looked up, her forehead pinched.
“Sean’s trapped. I need help to lift this tree.”
Matthew stiffened his spine, steeling himself for the task at hand. He’d do whatever necessary to get this boy safely back to his mother.
He half-slid down the slope toward them, skidding to an awkward stop at the sight that met him. Wedged under the tree, Sean’s legs were submerged in the creek. A cold lump of dread formed in Matthew’s gut.
The boy has been in the water all this time.
Matthew held out his hand to Deirdre. “Here, you get on the other side of the trunk.” He wanted her feet out of the numbing water.
She grasped his hand, and when he pulled her up, she landed against his chest, staring up at him with anguished eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, as much to reassure himself as her.
She swallowed hard, nodded, and stepped away.
Matthew gritted his teeth and plunged into the frigid water, keeping his attention glued to the boy’s fear-filled face. The icy sting of the water threatened to steal his breath.
“Okay, Sean, we’re going to lift this tree. When we do, I need you to pull your leg out. Can you do that?”
The boy gave a slight nod, his teeth chattering. Matthew glanced up, dismayed to note the snow was falling faster and thicker now. They’d have to hurry.
When Deirdre was in place, Matthew gripped the tree. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” He grunted and heaved with as much strength as he could muster. With Deirdre’s efforts, the tree surged upward.
“Sean, pull your leg out.” Matthew couldn’t release a hand to help him or the tree would fall. “You can do it.”
“I—I can’t feel my legs.”
Matthew caught Deirdre’s eye and shook his head. His muscles burned under the weight, and they had to lower the tree. He fought to ignore the sharp needles of pain in his feet and calves in order to devise another plan. Sean’s legs were numb, whether from the cold or a spinal injury Matthew didn’t know, but he would need help to get out.
“Deirdre, the next time I lift the trunk, you pull Sean out.”
Her brow furrowed, but she positioned herself closer to the boy’s trapped leg.
Matthew took two deep breaths and found himself praying for God’s help to shift the weight of the tree on his own. “Ready?”
At her nod, he thrust all his might into his arm muscles, straining to raise the trunk. His arms shook, but finally the tree moved. “Now!”
Deirdre yanked hard. Nothing happened.
Matthew groaned, his arms shaking from the exertion. His fingers burned. The wet gloves slipped a fraction, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to hold on. “Hurry.”
Deirdre wrenched harder. This time, Sean’s pants tore and his leg came free.
The tree fell from Matthew’s grip and crashed back into the water, spraying him with icy droplets. He crawled onto the creek bank, his lungs heaving. The piercing wind bit at his face and neck. Wet snow seeped through his pants, adding to the hot stab of pain in his bad thigh.
With Sean’s head on her lap, Deirdre stared at Matthew, an anxious question in her eyes.
He made his way over to them and peeled off his sodden gloves to run his fingers over the boy’s near-frozen limbs. Nothing appeared to be broken. He paused to gauge his next actions. If the boy had a spinal injury, he shouldn’t move him, but it wouldn’t matter if Sean didn’t get warm. He’d die of exposure.
As gently as possible, he lifted Sean into his arms. “We’re going to take care of you, Sean. Hang on a while longer.”
The boy’s eyes had fluttered closed. Was he even conscious?
By unspoken agreement, Matthew and Deirdre began to ascend to the path above. Deirdre kept a supporting arm under Matthew’s elbow as they climbed, pulling on branches and pieces of brush sticking out from the snow to assist them.
“Is there any type of shelter nearby?” Matthew asked when they reached the top, hoping she understood the urgency of his message.
Deirdre looked around as though she might find something amid the trees, then nodded. “There’s the old hunting cabin.” She frowned. “I think it’s a bit farther to the west. But it hasn’t been used in years.”
When they reached the horses, Deirdre grabbed the reins and swung up onto her mare’s back. “Give me Sean. I can handle the horse better holding him than you can.”
Matthew knew there was no point in arguing. He handed the boy up to her and mounted his own horse. His thigh and arm muscles screamed at him, while his extremities burned with the beginnings of frostbite.
As the horses plodded forward, Matthew prayed they could find this cabin quickly.
It was their only chance to survive the encounter with the icy creek.