I hate parties. Always have. First of all, parties involve nothing but standing around, making small talk and eating absurdly small food. Nothing "appetizing" at all about tiny samples of food. Just give me a good undercover assignment, a horse, a steak, and, most importantly, nobody else, and that's all I need. Although, tonight was a decent party – Carson is a respectable individual and he's done good things for Hope Valley.
Also, he's not a criminal. Which is always a good thing.
I hate criminals.
But tonight I'm enjoying myself. A very little bit. Hope Valley is full of good people and, I have to admit, that Rosemary Coulter can put on quite the party, even if she's rather…..much? And I always delight in seeing Abigail Stanton. That hasn't always been the case.
What happened with her and me…. was a mistake. One I was completely responsible for. Had I not been my normal secretive self and just told her about Nora and Martin, I could have avoided the whole situation. I confess, I'm not comfortable speaking openly of such private matters and, even though we were getting close, I wasn't ready to expose that part of me. Not quite yet. But I did and it blew up in my face.
It was a cowardly move and she had every right to be angry with me. I admit, I'm surprised that we're getting along as well as we are right now. After that fiasco, I never thought that she'd speak to me again. Watching her get close to Frank Hogan too was….disquieting. If I am to be truly honest with myself, I will admit that their friendship troubles me still. I don't trust him.
But I trust her judgment. So I will trust her to know what she's doing. Abigail does not relish interference in her personal life – especially from me. Elizabeth Thatcher, on the other hand, could probably burn down Abigail's café and she wouldn't be upset. Not that I would blame her too much. Elizabeth means well. And, truth be told, the woman she is today is very different from the woman I met a few years ago. I was truly delighted when she and Jack got married.
My only frustration with the pair of them was how long HE took to put a ring on her finger! I've told him that too. Many times. He just laughs. He knows he was as slow as a turtle trudging through molasses. Speaking of Jack, the town isn't quite the same without him. It'll be nice to have him back, I'm a bit weary of running Hope Valley on my own. The jail can be very boring at night.
I almost wish that AJ… NO, NO, I DO NOT. That woman's presence in my life has caused quite enough commotion. I really must be going a little mad if I am wanting her company back!
I wonder where Elizabeth and Abigail have gone – they've been out there for awhile…
All of a sudden, I hear a piercing shreak.
Instantly, my blood runs cold.
I've heard that kind of scream before. Too many times. Over too many good people.
No, no, no, it can't be.
Even though I'm not much of a praying man these days, I whisper what prayers I do remember as I grab my jacket and bolt out into the cool night. The days are starting to grow shorter now and the light a little less bright. While the warmth of Indian summer still lingers, the nights are chill.
"Abigail? Elizabeth?" I call, trying to keep the note of fear out of my voice.
"No, no, no, no, no…" I hear, just a frantic wailing and keening. I could barely recognize Elizabeth in this primal, mournful cry.
Even through the darkness, I could see the huddled mass of two bodies. And near them, just standing, hat in his hand, holding onto the reins of his horse, I recognize the familiar figure of a Mountie.
As soon as I see him, I know the truth.
Something I had not wanted to admit was possible, that could be.
And the night grows colder still and the wind doesn't feel as friendly as it used to be.
I'm numb and, for a moment, I can't move. I can't breathe.
I didn't expect it to hurt like this. I didn't expect this sharp, twisting pain – like a leatherworker's awl punching holes in his material. I never even got to tell him…
Taking a deep breath, I pull myself together. Now is NOT the time, I whisper to myself, pull yourself together. I walk over to Abigail, who is holding a sobbing Elizabeth in her arms.
The Mountie is young, probably not much older than twenty. He's awkward and uncomfortable and I understand. This isn't an easy assignment (because that's what it is – no Mountie ever volunteers for tasks such as these.) It's clear he's not done this before. I wonder who trained him….and if I know him so I can tell him to prepare his Mounties better.
"Abigail," I say softly, touching her shoulder. She looks up at me from the darkness and tears shine bright in her eyes. She's not weeping yet and I can still she's trying to keep herself together to support Elizabeth. "Is it…" I ask, trailing off, wanting to know but, at the same time, not wanting to know, what I knew in my heart was the truth.
"It's Jack," her voice was a thread, a faint whisper of its normal self, "there was a landslide…" And her voice catches. Her hand continues to stroke Elizabeth's hair but I can see the faint tremble in her fingers. Most people wouldn't catch that but I do. I see more than people think. Which is usually their undoing.
"Is he?" I already know the answer but I need to hear it. A truth unspoken is a truth non-existent. If something is unspoken, maybe it can be untrue…. Such a foolish hope – but the heart often makes fools of us all.
"He's gone." The tears she leaves unshed are in her voice. Upon hearing those words, Elizabeth, who, up to this point, has said nothing coherent, just keeps keening over and over and over… the pain is almost too much for her to bear. Abigail just keeps whispering words of comfort automatically, trying to press down her own pain.
"No…" Elizabeth cries dry, wracking sobs. Abigail whispers to her, "Let's get you somewhere safe and warm."
Elizabeth clings to Abigail like a sailor to a life preserver.
"Let me help," I say hoarsely, my voice almost unrecognizable. "Please."
Abigail looks at me, really looks at me, and she must see something in my face, because she nods immediately.
I gently put my arm around Elizabeth's waist.
"Let's take her to the infirmary." Abigail whispers. "It's closer – and there's privacy. Lord knows the word will be out soon enough but, for now, let them enjoy their celebration." She closed her eyes briefly.
Her arm slides around Elizabeth's waist too, helping her up. And her hand touches mine quickly. It's just a flicker of a moment, just a brief clasp, but I feel strengthened by it. And it's a comfort to know that she knows, without me having to say a word, the ache we both feel. And perhaps later we'll speak of it – but for now, the knowledge is enough.