The look she gave him, well, it would’ve been better if she’d punched him in the gut. “How can you say that after what I just told you? Didn’t you hear anything I said? I don’t deserve to be cared for, Travis. Can’t you see?”
“Then what do you deserve?” Every fiber of his body ached to take her in his arms, show her exactly what she did deserve. Love. A second chance. So, she’d made a mistake. She’d punished herself for nine long years, lashing herself over and over with ropes of guilt and condemnation. Wasn’t that enough, even in the eyes of God? Didn’t He promise forgiveness, if one presented a contrite heart?
“Nothing.” Her face was a cold, hard mask, beneath which simmered a layer of raw pain. “Please leave, Travis. I’m grateful for your friendship, but don’t expect anything beyond that. Not from me. Not ever.”
Chapter Six
She wasn’t sure where the storm brewed most. Within or without. Outside, rain mercilessly pounded the roof, the torrent punctuated by a sudden flash of lightning. Inside Annie’s heart, the tempest blew with equal fury. Four days had not lessened its blast, nor softened the remembrance of Travis’s expression as he’d strode from the room and out of the house, not once looking back.
The taste of her words still lingered in her mouth. She’d confessed it all—leaving out only the identity of the man whom she’d centered her thoughts upon during her marriage to Stuart. Travis Hart had been the cause of her sin. Not his fault, only hers. She couldn’t blame him for his charm, that dimpled smile. How strong and warm and perfect his hand felt, twined within hers.
She turned in bed, punching her pillow with a ferocious thump. Sleep had become a stranger, night a prison.
“Oh, Travis. I didn’t mean to wound you. How could you have hoped—thought—that there could ever be anything between us again?” The words were muffled against the well-worn fabric of her quilt. A wedding ring pattern, done in her favorite colors, lavender and white, given to her by a friend upon the occasion of her marriage to Stuart.
God, turn my thoughts from Travis. Help me to think only of Stuart, the man I have wronged. Help me to right the past, so guilt no longer haunts me. Thank You for Your faithfulness. And for forgiving such a wretched sinner as I. Amen.
The prayer salved her soul and sleep finally came. Yet after what couldn’t have been more than an hour, a knock on the front door shook her awake.
Only one reason why anyone would knock on a midwife’s door at such an hour in such terrible weather. Dressing took only moments. Her bag found its way into her hands, and she hurried down the hall, creeping carefully so as not to wake Robbie.
The door open, she looked into the face of a drenched young man, water sluicing off the brim of his hat like an absurd sort of fountain.
“You the midwife?”
Annie nodded.
“Come quick! It’s my Rachel. She’s in a terrible state.”
Thankful she’d never been squeamish about a soaking, Annie followed the man to the barn, where he assisted her in saddling her horse. They headed in the direction of town. Despite her shawl and bonnet, Annie’s teeth chattered.
As was often the case, the house of the laboring mother was the only residence with a light shining. Annie dismounted, landing on the ground in a bone-jarring instant, splattering herself with mud. She headed inside, mentally going through her list of patient notes about Rachel Monroe. First-time mother. Three weeks ahead of due date. Young woman of only twenty. Pregnancy normal. Last checkup two weeks ago.
Upstairs she went, heading in the direction of the moans. A single candle sputtered out its last breaths and left the room in darkness. Annie hastened to light another. In the dimness, Rachel’s features were startlingly young. Everything in the room was new, from the shiny dresser, to the polished brass bedstead. A sure sign of a newlywed couple, married barely a year. With a single sweep of her arm, Annie removed the coverlet. No sense spoiling that, seeing as it was white and lace.
“I’m so glad to see you.” Rachel’s eyes were huge, terrified blue discs against a complexion that was probably peaches and cream but at the moment blanched whiter than the comforter. “I never thought it would hurt like this. I’m scared. I wish my ma wasn’t in San Antonio. She’s supposed to visit next week. Why won’t the baby wait till then?”
Rachel groaned as another contraction took hold. Suddenly wetness doused the bed. Rachel began to cry. “I don’t want to die. I’m only twenty. Bill told me he was going to take me to Austin next year for my birthday and take me to the theater. I don’t want to die before I’ve done that.” The girl sobbed.