The floor was hard, and a splinter had entered his cheek, but Gerald did not care. All he wanted to do was lie on this floor, face down, and never move.
How long had it been: an hour? More? Grunting slightly at the effort of pulling out his pocket watch from his waistcoat without moving from his bedroom floor, he glanced at the hands. Six and a half hours.
Time flew when you had naught but despair for company.
Well, it had happened at last. He had been a fool to hope the news of that terrible day at the lumber mill would not get anywhere. Sooner or later, justice would reach him, and he had been a fool to think otherwise.
But to have it spoken about like that – shouted at him, hurled at him across a dining table of such refined and good people . . . to hear such terrible accusations with Mariana right there beside him, turning to him in disbelief and fear . . . and worst of all, to discover the woman opposite him had been the wife of –
Gerald screwed up his eyes and tried to concentrate on not being sick. The feeling of nausea subsided slowly, and only then did he relax the tension in his eyes.
Phoebe Bryant had been Phoebe Vazquez – and she had been Eduardo’s wife. Did God’s cruelty know no bounds? And Sophia – and here Gerald had to rise from the floor and lurch towards the empty chamber pot in case he did vomit – Eduardo was Sophia’s father. Sophia’s father had died in his arms, and he had not saved him.
Panting, sitting on the end of the small bed and sweating despite the cool of the early morning, Gerald spat into the chamber pot and was relieved to find it clear.
Devastated did not encompass it. He knew he had done absolutely everything to save that man – as he did with every patient – and in the decade long history of his medical practice, but one man had succumbed to death.
One mistake. Not even a mistake: one tragedy.
It was a tragedy that appeared to be following him wherever he went. There was nothing for it. He would have to leave.
Gerald Anderson had not brought many possessions with him when he had arrived at Sweet Grove. He had not owned many possessions to bring, and the process of packing would not take him long. Two large cases and his medical bag, and that would be enough. Leaning down, his fingertips pulled out the first of the cases, threw it onto the bed, and placed the chamber pot down.
It was still early; if he was quick, he could disappear completely, vanishing in the night. No one would ever know where he had gone, and he would never have to face the pain of Mariana’s words ever again.
“But Doctor Anderson, I do not love you. Who could love a murderer?”
A fierce tear fell from one eye, and he brushed it away. From an overflow of emotion came such a statement. What had he done to deserve this? Why had the Lord given him the joy of Mariana’s company just to rip it away from him at the moment of – when he thought he would ask her – when all of his hopes and dreams seemed coming together?
As Gerald reached for a linen shirt to fold and place in the case, he tried to block out the shocked and appalled expression that had been Mariana’s parting glance. To think that if Thomas had entered the room ten minutes later, it could have been his fiancé storming away from him, rather than just a woman to whom he was willing to hand over his heart and soul.
And then it was done: the cases were packed, and his medical bag downstairs was always ready, in case of an emergency. Like the one at San Marco lumber mill.
“Doctor, quick, there is a man injured down by the mill!”
Gerald shook his head, as though shaking his head would rid him of the painful memories. No, there was no sense in dwelling in the past now. He had to face the future, and it would be a future without Mariana Bryant. No future at all.
After stumbling down the stairs with tiredness, Gerald surveyed the little house where he had spent the last few months. Had it become a home? It had felt like one, but now it felt strange, alien almost. As though the Bryant building had turned its back on him also.
It took him three minutes to check he had not left anything behind and lock the front door, placing the key on the step.
A few quick steps to his left were halted as a thought ricocheted through his mind. Was he happy to just leave Sweet Grove, without seeing Mariana? His heart beat fast as he stood rigid in the road, trapped by indecision.
And then another thought seeped through his mind, and his shoulders sagged. He could not, in all honor, go without seeing her. It would pain him, undoubtedly, but if it could relieve the pain she felt herself, that was more than enough of a reason...
God, give me strength, Gerald prayed silently as he turned slowly on the spot towards a different house. Give me the strength to say what I must, and help me to hear her words without fear or anger.
It was going to be difficult. Five minutes was the length of time he spent walking slowly up the verandah, but it was not going to help him, dawdling like this, and the sooner that he saw her, the sooner that it would be over.
With his two cases put to one side, and his medical bag still in one hand, Gerald Anderson raised the other and knocked quietly.
It was still before seven o’clock in the morning, after all. Heavy footsteps could be heard on the other side, and when the door opened, it was not the woman he had knocked for.
“What do you want?” Aaron growled roughly. “Have you not done enough damage here, Anderson?”
Gerald swallowed. “I wish to see her – just for a moment.”
“No,” said Aaron simply, and went to shut the door.
“You must let me!” Gerald said, and his hand shot out and stopped the door’s path to the frame. “Please, Aaron. Have you never made a mistake? Have you never looked back on your life and seen a blemish you never thought you could be rid of?”
Aaron stopped. He stared at the doctor in amazement, and his eyebrows puckered into a frown.
Finally, he said in a low voice, “What have they told you?”
“Told me?” Gerald blinked and shook his head. “No one has told me anything. Why?”
At first, he did not answer. And then: “When I left Sweet Grove, I was a gambler. An addict. Someone so far from redemption I never thought there was even a chance for me – not even at long odds.”
This had been so far from the direction Gerald had expected the conversation to go that his mouth fell open.
Aaron laughed darkly. “Yes, that is the typical reaction I get. Yes, Doctor Anderson, I know what it is like to make a mistake. More than one. Countless. But no one ever died because of my mistakes.”
“Just let me talk to her,” Gerald pleaded. “It will take but five minutes, and then I swear I will be on my way.”
Aaron looked at the two cases lying beside him, and at the travelling cloak wrapped around the doctor’s shoulders. Then he nodded curtly and walked away.
Gerald tried to calm his breathing. This was the right thing to do – he could not have lived with himself if he had simply disappeared in the night and not spoken to her. She deserved to hear from him – even if it pained her.
“Doctor Anderson?”
Phoebe Bryant stood there, sleep still in her eyes and her husband’s greatcoat over her nightclothes. She stared at him, confused.
“Doctor Anderson, have you come to the wrong house? Mariana lives but next door – ”
“I came to see you,” he blurted out, and felt daggers of pain and confusion and hatred for himself flow through his body.
She stared at him, almost fearfully. “Me? Why?”
“Because . . .” Gerald thought his words would fail him, and then he burst out, “Because I had to apologize, Mrs Bryant – I had to tell you how sorry I was that Mr Vazquez – that your husband had . . . I promise you on my honor I did all within my power to – to save him, and – ”
“Doctor Anderson,” Phoebe said gently.
“And I know nothing I can say can make reparations,” continued Gerald, not able to stop now he had started. It had been a declaration of sorrow weighing on his heart too long. “For you, and for Sophia – that poor child, and you, alone for so long, Mrs Bryant, I cannot express how sorry I – ”
“Doctor Anderson,” said Phoebe a little more firmly now, and Gerald fell silent. “I do not want to hear your apologies.”
Gerald physically slumped at her words. “Of course you do not,” he mumbled. “I am sorry to disturb you, Mrs Bryant.”
Without waiting to hear another word, he picked up his cases and began stepping down the verandah.
“No – Doctor Anderson, wait!”
He turned to see she had taken a few steps towards him, and there was a sad smile on her face.
“Doctor Anderson, you misunderstand me,” she said quietly. “I have no wish to hear your apologies because they are unnecessary. I had already forgiven you, years ago. I knew it was an accident; you had done all you could for him.”
This did not seem real; Gerald could barely comprehend the words she was uttering. “You . . . you do not blame me?”
Phoebe smiled sadly. “Who am I to tell the Lord what is to happen? Who am I to judge a doctor who lost a patient? Who am I to allow a man to leave Sweet Grove, a place where it seems he has been happy, under the mistaken belief that he is unwanted?”
Now Gerald laughed dryly. “Unwanted? Mrs Bryant, I have been unwanted as a medical man the moment I left that lumber mill – fear not, I am under no illusions.”
“I think you are,” said a deeper voice, and Gerald looked upwards to see Aaron Bryant in the doorway. “Doctor Anderson, after you and Mariana left yesterday evening, the rest of the family stayed to discuss things.”
Now not only was his laugh dry, but his mouth and throat also. “Dis – discuss things?”
Phoebe smiled. “You do not know us all that well, Doctor Anderson. What would you say if I told you that amongst the Bryant family, there was a thief, an heiress, and brothel worker?”
Gerald almost fell over in shock. “You cannot be serious, Mrs Bryant!”
She and her husband laughed.
“But Doctor Anderson,” Phoebe said with a smile, “we all of us sit and listen to the thief in the pulpit! Even Pastor Thomas Bryant has a past.”
“Forgiveness is a powerful thing,” Aaron said with a smile. “After so many in our family have received a second chance – ”
“Or more than one,” interjected Phoebe.
“ – who are we to deny a man his own second chance?” Aaron shook his head. “Not us.”
This did not feel possible, and for a moment Gerald had to feel the heavy weight of the cases, and the whistle of the wind across his cheek, to establish he was not, in fact, dreaming.
“Even Pastor Bryant?” he said nervously. “What does he say?”
Aaron snorted. “Thomas Bryant received a firm reminder of the forgiveness he received from myself last year. You do not need to worry about him: the person you need to worry about is Mariana.”
Mariana stroked the cool linen she was folding, and it struck her that now no one would ever see her nightdress.
She never would, and now neither would Gerald.
A blush spread over her cheeks at the wanton thought, but she could not help but dully lay down her folded clothes and sigh. Of course, it was not to be.
There was no way she could marry him now. A doctor. A murderer. Had she not always believed the two were the same?
Every moment they had spent together, every laugh her ears had caught, the musky reassuring smell of him, the callus on his thumb as he took her hand in his: had that all been a lie? A pretense?
Mariana walked across the room, almost without thinking, and nicked her shin on the end of the bed. The pain radiating from near her knee was nothing compared to the pain and confusion swirling around her mind.
And then as she stepped down the stairs, limping slightly, she remembered Phoebe.
Phoebe Bryant – Phoebe Vazquez, as was. To think she had loved a man before as she had loved Aaron, and he had been taken away from her.
Now the emotion swirling within her was anger, not pain. What sort of man leaves a wife a widow? A child an orphan? Her sorrow for Phoebe almost overcame her as she entered the kitchen and found it, mercifully, empty.
Six o’clock had not been chimed by the clock in the hallway, and Abigail had not stirred. She was alone with her thoughts, upsetting and confusing as they were.
Gerald Anderson. He was a mystery to her, Mariana admitted silently. That day when Thomas had been injured, what great care he had taken: staying up night after night, losing his own rest to keep another safe. The injury could truly have been severe, and yet Gerald had nursed him back to health.
How could the man she cares for be so good and so bad?
And then the full complexities and hurt and anguish and pain washed over her, and Mariana buckled under the weight, physically bending and kneeling on the kitchen floor. Gerald: a man, a murderer, a medic, a monster, a marriageable partner, a mistake, a mystery.
Surely a man could not be all these things?
“Mariana – Mariana, are you hurt?” It was Abigail’s voice, and she sounded anxious. A small hand rested on her shoulder. “Did you fall? Have you hurt your knee? Do I need to take you to Doc – to . . .”
Mariana almost laughed at the irony of it. “No, I am quite well, Abigail.”
She rose gingerly, and then reached out questing fingers for the doorframe. There.
“Have you had some breakfast?” came Abigail’s voice, now the other side of the kitchen table. “I was about to have something myself.”
Mariana did not even turn her head. “No, thank you. I am going out.”
“Out?”
It did not take sight for Mariana to see that Abigail was astounded by her words. “Out? Out where?”
“Out,” murmured Mariana.
Until she took a step outside, she had not determined where she was going. And then her path lay clear for her, as though she were a train with one set of tracks, moving her unendingly towards her destination.
She heard them buzzing before she reached the fence, and the gate was not locked. Aaron never locked it. There stood the beehives, always waiting for her, never judging her. The dry grass beneath her feet told her she had forgotten to put shoes on. It didn’t matter.
The unbreakable hum calmed her, slowed her breathing. Lord, she prayed, I have asked you to take away the darkness for years; to cure me. Why do you leave me in darkness?
If she had expected an audible reply, she was to be disappointed. She could hear nothing but the droning of the bees, lazy now at the end of summer.
I am crying out to you, she prayed silently, almost scolding her God who did not answer. Why will you not hear me?
And then something Gerald had said to her, months ago, almost the first time they had ever met, floated into her memory:
“Only God should have the power of life and death. ‘Tis not something that we, as mere mortals, should even touch. Sometimes I worry that . . . some doctors are too proud of their power.”
Mariana’s heart was racing again, as the memory of his bitter laughter filled her very soul.
“There are few who have suffered like I have.”
In all of her thoughts about herself, and about Phoebe, and about Eduardo, she had forgotten completely about one victim who had not received a cure from his painful memories either: Gerald Anderson.
His suffering, unable to save a life – for surely she had seen enough of him to be convinced he had done all in his power to save Eduardo – and having to live with the knowledge that due to that moment, a family lost their father, husband . . . it was a wonder he was not mad. As she sought for a cure to her blindness, she had been equally blind in her understanding of him.
Her love for him swelled up, finally unrestrained, and she laughed aloud at the power of it. Had she ever loved another like this? Had she ever known such joy with another as with him?
Lord, take away my blindness to Gerald’s pain, she prayed, a quiet smile now on her lips, and take away my fear – give me strength to find him.
For find him she must: how could she let him leave, now that she was starting to understand?
But Mariana hesitated. Where was he? Had he already left? Was she brave enough to wander around Sweet Grove in the mere hope of stumbling across him?
What choice did she have? Now she knew she would never be happy again, if she was not with him. It is time, she thought to herself, to be free of fear.
A large hand grabbed her elbow violently.