Sarah's Baby. Margaret Way
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though. It’d been something else. Things hidden in a young girl’s soul. All he knew was that she’d stepped away from him as if it was the only possible way she could protect herself. As if this perilous new dimension in their lives could only damage her. Of course, she would’ve feared having a child; any young girl would have. But their child. Wouldn’t that have been the most wonderful thing? That was his spontaneous reaction, years later of course, although he realized it would have changed their lives.
Ultimately he’d discovered that Sarah had wanted more for herself. And why not? She’d gone away. Withdrawn her body, her mind and her heart. In effect, his own family’s money had sealed her off.
A few moments more and he saw his mother and grandmother turn away, both formidable figures, as Miss Crompton returned to Sarah’s side. She was a spare, birdlike woman, but elegant, erect, albeit dressed like a woman from another era—Edwardian?—with hairdo to match. There was a troubled look on Harriet’s face, her English skin weathered to crazed china by an alien sun. It was a face that would’ve been outright plain except for a fine, glinting pair of gray eyes that were normally filled with sardonic humor. He liked and respected Miss Crompton. Many times he’d sought her out in the late afternoons when he was in town and knew she’d still be in the schoolhouse, her second home. He felt with certainty that she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers. She was a very interesting woman with a keen mind. As a boy she had taught him, reined in his high spirits. During those years he thought she took as much notice of him as Sarah, showing her pleasure in their learning skills, knowing he would soon go away to his prestigious private school to complete his education. What had she called him?
“The princeling.” That was it, although she never said it to hurt him. It was more like taking a shot at his grandmother for whom, he came to realize, she had a deep, unspoken distrust. It had been strange growing up knowing most people regarded his iron-fisted grandmother as a terrible woman. No, not a woman at all. A vengeful deity. Get on the wrong side of her and all manner of afflictions would be called down on you. He had never wanted to believe it—since he was completely unafraid of her—but he came to see over the years that it was true. Yet it was due to his grandmother that little Sarah Dempsey, who lived with her mother over the shop, was now the well-respected Dr. Sarah Dempsey. Her aura of calm poise and balance, of caring, would inspire confidence in her patients. Yet the sparkle, the vivaciousness, the youthful high spirits he remembered in his Sarah now lay below the surface.
Hell, would the pain ever stop?
He made his way across the packed room, the press of bodies raising the temperature to an uncomfortable degree. Sarah looked cool, though. Was that because she was so blond? Or maybe the hot blood no longer raced through her veins….
“Sarah. Miss Crompton.” He stood in front of them. Sarah didn’t raise her eyes. Hadn’t she told him she didn’t want to see him again? But pride, and he had plenty of it, didn’t seem worth bothering about where Sarah was concerned.
“Good to see you, Kyall.” Harriet Crompton smiled up at him—encouragingly, he thought. “I’ll leave you and Sarah alone, although I’d like to speak to you later, Kyall, if you can spare me a few minutes.”
“Of course,” he said, his faint smile sardonic. Acknowledging what they both knew: it didn’t do to keep Ruth McQueen waiting.
“I want you to know how sorry I am about your mother, Sarah,” he said, trusting that his voice carried his utter sincerity.
“Thank you, Kyall.” She flushed, then paled. “My mother always thought the world of you.”
“Did she?” he asked quietly, his skepticism plain. “Estranged wouldn’t be an overstatement. Our relationship became extremely complex after you left. When I was a boy, I knew your mother liked me. She said so. I made her laugh. But once you were gone, she presented a different face. She couldn’t have been more distant. No, not distant,” he mused, looking over Sarah’s golden head. “What? As though the whole situation overwhelmed her.”
“Perhaps she was afraid your grandmother would turn really nasty if your friendship with her persisted,” Sarah answered, as the dark whirlpool of the past swept her on.
“What else could have accounted for her nervousness?” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, I never lost my affection for her. And she did love you, Sarah. I’ve never felt that kind of love.”
“No. You just have to get along on idolatry.” She spoke without thinking, her words dredged up from that deep well of bitterness.
He stood looking down at her, knowing this yearning to do so would never stop. “If that was said to hurt me, it missed the mark. Idolatry, as you put it, isn’t something I crave. It’s not easy living up to a million expectations, either.”
“But you do. I’m sorry, Kyall. I know you wanted none of it. But your grandmother’s and your mother’s fixation on you left your father and Chris out in the cold. How is Chris?” Sarah had a lot of affection for Christine, who was three years younger, feelings that were reciprocated. But she’d never been tempted to confide in Chris. That really would have started something.
Kyall turned toward the cool breeze blowing in the window and fluttering the filmy lace curtains. All in keeping with the house, except that the windows were flanked by two pretty-scary wooden witch doctors from New Guinea. “Chris is in the States at the moment. She gets plenty of work.”
“She’s stunning,” Sarah said, carefully pushing a few tendrils of hair away from her face. “I always said she would be. She’s got a ton of grit. She paid me a visit the last time she was in town—it has to be a year ago now.”
“She told me.”
Sarah nodded, knowing how much Christine loved and confided in her brother. “It says a lot for Chris that she never resented you because of your mother’s attitude—endlessly, openly criticizing Chris while lauding you. Chris would’ve given anything for some love and encouragement.”
Fire sparked in his brilliant blue eyes. “She got it from me. And Dad. It wasn’t all terrible.”
Sarah started to apologize. Stopped. It was much too late to forgive the McQueens. “No, I suppose not.” Sarah sighed deeply, knowing she was only doing damage to herself by standing there talking to Kyall. Their problems would never be resolved. “I’ve spoken to your father. I always liked him. But I find it difficult to speak to your grandmother and your mother. You know that.”
“So nothing’s changed?” What was that expression flickering in her eyes? She wasn’t as indifferent to him as she pretended.
“Nothing can change, Kyall.”
“Why is that?” he challenged, desperate to get somewhere near the truth. “You’ve never had the guts to tell me.”
She lifted a hand, let it fall. Wordlessly.
Somehow that broke his heart. “Forgive me.” Swiftly he reined himself in. “This is hardly the time.”
Someone else, a male mourner, was approaching. “Sarah, are you willing to spend a few hours with me?” he asked urgently. “There are so many questions you’ve never answered. I know I made one terrible mistake, God forgive me. But, Sarah, I loved you. I shouldn’t have touched you until you were a woman. I’ve had to live with that. Excuses are no good. I know that. When are you leaving?” He held up a hand to stay the other man—he didn’t know him—who appeared determined to speak to Sarah.
“Two or three days. I have things to attend to.”
“Tomorrow. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Kyall, there’s nothing more to say. You’re wasting your time.” Was she a total emotional coward? Simply that? Loving Kyall McQueen was like a terminal illness.
“Look at me.” He knew his demeanor was pressing, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re not looking at me. Why? Does my face upset you? Do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate