Carina glanced at the newspaper lying where she had dropped it. What had Mr. Pierce written about her husband? Would it hurt too much to read? Could it hurt more than she already did?
She took up the paper and unfolded the pages. There was the headline. A Hero for Today? She wanted to cry all over again. Signore, why won’t they see? She gathered herself and read Mr. Pierce’s account of their adventure aboard the Union Pacific. He had highlighted Quillan’s role, and he did capture the essence of her husband, his straightforward, dauntless courage, his ability to lead by example.
Then she read the part she was responsible for, his previous association with Shane Dennison. Mr. Pierce had sensationalized it, but not scandalously. He told a story of a boy enamored with a man, then left with the stark truth of that man’s nature, how the boy had redeemed himself and now taken action on the side of right against the very one who had shamed him.
It was a good story, with a sprinkling of Mr. Pierce’s wit and humor. He had told it well. Did that mean Quillan would let him tell the rest? She couldn’t fathom it. She read the story again as Quillan might, saw his wry smile at Mr. Pierce’s description, This stalwart man of doughty countenance. She brought the paper to her breast, pressing it to her heartbeat. Oh, Quillan.
She ached to see him. But it could only make it worse. What she wanted and what God wanted were no longer aligned. She must force her heart away from the one she loved. But how? Surely not by reading of his doughty countenance. It only made her picture his face, every shadow and angle that she had come to know.
“Dio, how can I stop loving him?” She turned at the tap on the door.
Divina tucked her head inside. “May I come in?”
Carina wanted to refuse. She did not have the strength to ward off Divina’s cruelty. But she nodded.
Divina came inside and closed the door behind her, then sat down on the bed with a frank, but not unkind, expression. She said, “Carina, I’m sorry.”
Carina stared. Was this some trick to expose her for the barb? She shifted on the bed, bringing her knee over and settling the other beside it. “Sorry for what?”
“For the way I’ve been.”
Carina still did not trust her. “Why are you saying this?”
“Because you’re my sister, and I’ve been hateful.”
Something in Divina’s tone, in her earnestness, melted away Carina’s resistance. “You were hurt.” And she knew from her own ugliness what hurt could make one do.
Divina dropped her eyes and nodded. “I thought Flavio would love me in your place. I was glad to have his child.” Her eyes flashed up. “Yes, Nicolo knows.”
But that wasn’t right! Carina thought. A child should have his own papa, a family united in love, not necessity. Could Divina ever love Nicolo, when she’d pined so long for Flavio?
“I wanted so much to take what you had.”
Such bare honesty. Carina hadn’t thought Divina capable of such.
Her heart stirred as she laid a hand on her sister’s knee. “I forgive you, Divina. You and Flavio both.”
Divina moistened her lips. “Then you’ll have him back?”
Carina shook her head. “I can’t.”
“But why?” Divina caught her hand between hers.
Carina drew herself up. “Even if my marriage is annulled, I will love Quillan forever. And he will love me, too.”
Divina started to cry, buried her face in her hands. “Then I can’t ever make it right.”
Carina took her sister into her arms and held her a long time while she cried, stroking her hair and patting her back. “Divina, you must trust that God will make it right.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can. He is always there, always willing to take a broken heart.”
Again Divina sobbed, but Carina simply held her. How many times had she felt such woe herself? But, Signore, you have borne our sorrows. Even now, when He was asking her to surrender her marriage, she knew God suffered it with her. And somehow, though it didn’t seem possible, He would bring good of it. “Divina, God works all things together for the good of those who love him.”
“How can He?” Divina sniffed painfully. “Oh, Carina, I’m afraid for him.”
Carina had to guess what Divina meant. “Flavio?”
Divina nodded, fresh tears starting.
“Why?”
Divina swiped the tears from her nose. “You heard what he did?
To the old man?”
“Yes, I saw.”
“You know how he hates violence. If he is so angry he could do that . . .” Divina gripped her hands tightly. “Carina, you must not push him further.”
“It is my fault he has a temper?”
“No, no, of course not. But he’s so desperately in love with you.”
“No.” Carina shook her head. “I know what real love is.”
“Mamma mia, Carina. Can you persist?”
Carina stood up, walked to the mirror, and turned back. “I’m sorry for Flavio, for everything he’s suffered, for what he suffers now.” And she was. She thought of what Papa had told her, felt the weight of it. And she thought of the deep melancholy inside Flavio . . . the wrongful loss of a father. Did Flavio’s spirit know his papa might have lived? Even so, that didn’t excuse his cruelty, his arrogance, his violence. She had only to think what Quillan had suffered in his life, yet he had grown to champion the helpless.
Slowly she shook her head. “I am sorry. But I can never love him as I once did.”
Divina hiccupped. “Then God help the man you do love.”
Quillan climbed down from the wagon inside the livery. The paper crinkled inside his shirt, and he pulled the newspaper loose. He wished he didn’t want to read it, but his eyes searched for and found the column at once. He could at least see how accurate Pierce had been. He read the article, cracking a wry grin at several turns of phrase, but Pierce hadn’t laid it on as thick as he might. It was quality journalism, and he could see why it had found appraise.
Quillan tucked it under his arm and reached beneath the box for his journal. He felt about, farther back, then walked around and felt around the other side where it must have slid. He climbed back up and looked underneath, but the space was empty. Had he left it on the hill? No, he recalled putting it under the seat when he climbed in, before Pierce climbed in beside— He clenched his jaw. Not even Pierce could be that low. Or could he? Quillan stalked from the livery to the Traveler’s Home Hotel just across the street. He asked for Mr. Pierce’s room.
The clerk searched the register. “That would be room four, but I believe he’s at dinner. Just a short while ago he asked if anyone had inquired for him. Is he expecting you?”
“Without doubt.” Quillan went into the adjoining dining room and searched the tables for Roderick Pierce. The man was seated by the window, dining alone. Quillan crossed the room and stopped. “Where is it?”
Pierce stood. “Have a seat, will you? The meal’s on me.”
Quillan held out his hand. “My journal.”
Pierce smiled. “Sit first. Man alive, you’re a hard nut.”
“I’ll take that from a cheat.” But Quillan sat.
“Steak?” Pierce indicated his own plate. “It’s passing fine.”
“I didn’t come here to eat.”