From Flash and Ash

— Chapter 5 —

One Tear Became As Many

HER REFLECTION stared back at her.

Tears. My old friends.

These new tears were as ice against her cheeks. But the salt on her lips was the same.

The lone tear of earlier had become many in the silent refuge of her bedroom.

From the reflection, swollen eyes, with darkness gathering beneath them like grey smudges against the pallor of her skin, cast back silent witness. Cheekbones that were slowly becoming more gaunt than delicate. A hollow spirit that peered out from her visage.

Smoky in the filtered moonlight that blanketed the room through sheer curtains, the mirror nevertheless told a truth that unsettled her. Not, however, as much as seeing Nathan Grant in a midnight field had.

She had wanted to go to him. For what, and why, evaded her. But go to him, she'd wanted, and go to him, she had. Those fragile truths were the reality staring back at her. She absorbed them as one would so many shards of cold, feeling the muscles in her neck begin to tremble under the strain.

"Why?" she whispered almost despairingly, her vocal cords straining. "WHY!?" There were no answers from the woman in the mirror. For she had none to give.

Why had she wanted to go to him? To set things right between them? She couldn't fathom it, couldn't fathom herself, couldn't fathom much these days. The grey clouding her eyes seemed to be seeping into her mind. Her need to see him this night had been as mysterious as the empty field, the empty road, that had greeted her eyes of trepidation as she'd flown out onto her porch searching desperately for him, half-hoping, half-petrified.

When Jack had awakened from a bad dream and she had gone in to him, the last thing she ever dreamed she'd see outside the window was the man with haunting, soulful blue eyes, looking in at her from under a moonlit sky. The sight had made her go stock-still, knees locking rigidly under her. The truth was, these days Nathan Grant caused her more sleepless nights than her son. And she knew, with a weary certainty, tonight would be no different. Her body craved warmth, craved rest; her soul craved peace. Whence was it to be found?

And falling to her knees beside her bed, she raised her tired eyes to the crucifix that hung above its headboard, and there in the silence of the night, she turned the conflict of her tumultuous mind over to the One whose likeness hung there.

And Elizabeth Thornton prayed.

—ooO0Ooo—

God heard many things from her that night, he and him — never a name — chief among them. But the name echoing silently in her heart after each he or him was never Jack. It was always, ever, Nathan. And in His eternal patience, He waited for this child of His to see the light of that truth which her spirit had yet to accept. He had sent her lights to illumine her path. It was up to her to lift her blinders and choose to see them.

—ooO0Ooo—

The bells on the wooden door tinkled pleasantly, announcing her arrival ahead of her.

Elizabeth wobbled for a moment in the doorway, her hand grasping the door frame to steady herself, then gathering herself together, she stepped in, praying the friend inside wouldn't notice the clamminess coating her cold palms, or the exhaustion under her eyes — caused by too many nights of falling asleep, fitfully, and all too briefly, only as the sunrise began to trickle through the window.

The neatly coiffed blonde head bent over the desk lifted, and Hope Valley's only doctor rose to her feet, a smile on her face, but a newfound gravity behind her eyes.

"Elizabeth! Come in." Dr. Faith Carter gestured her in with one fair hand. "This is a pleasant surprise." She led Elizabeth behind a curtained section and patted a soft chair behind the exam table. "Come, sit, please; tell me what brings you here."

Elizabeth didn't waste any time. "I think something is wrong with me, Faith. I'm cold, all the time, and cannot seem to get warm no matter how I stoke the fire or how many layers I put on."

The doctor — for so she was, albeit only for a short while, and despite her gender and youth — made an examination, all the while asking questions in a calm, unhurried tone. When it came time to Tell me when this all started, Elizabeth glossed over exact details, giving her a vague approximation of the timing. Her legs were jittery under her. She clenched her fingers tightly around her knees, trying to control the tremors. The fabric of her skirt was soft against her. Pink. A sturdy cotton elevated by its vibrant color. It seemed strange to wear such color when grey still dominated her vision.

"How are you emotionally, Elizabeth?" The doctor's voice penetrated her meandering thoughts. "Have there been any upsets to your nerves of late?"

Emotions? Nerves?

Nathan Grant was the only answer to those questions. But how could she say that without revealing —

"Perhaps a bit." The words were blurting out of her mouth before she could stop them. At the doctor's encouraging nod, she ran a fingernail across the inside of her palm, hard, to curb her wayward tongue before it revealed anything more incriminating. Lord, please, please set a seal before my lips. "I'd rather leave the details unspoken if you don't mind, Faith."

The other woman nodded quietly. "I understand. Well, you seem to be healthy physically, if a bit thinner than usual and more tired, and while I'd like to run a few more tests" — her eyes were keen — "I rather think the cause may be one of emotions, perhaps manifesting through the nervous system."

Elizabeth's toes curled spasmodically inside her shoes. Emotional!? Not physical? But . . . hadn't she known as much — deep down? Her stomach lurched sickeningly. If Faith only knew. Would she then diagnose her with a case of Nathan Grant?

"Please try to eat more," the doctor urged her. "Get plenty of sleep and sunshine, and I'd like to see you back here tomorrow for those tests."

You won't find anything . . .

Elizabeth swatted the voice in her head away like one would a pesky fly. But like a pesky fly, it returned. Ignoring it, she followed Faith to the front door, pausing momentarily to open her reticule and discreetly deposit payment on the office desk. Faith opened the door and followed out in her wake, pausing to draw a deep lungful of breath, hands planted on either side of her neat waist.

"Smell that air, Elizabeth, just see that sunshine!" she enthused. Elizabeth knew it was for her benefit. "It's a perfect day to get some of that sunshine I was talking about."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to offer a wan affirmation to the young doctor when both their heads were turned by the sound of a horse approaching at a fast clip. Headed in a straight line toward the infirmary, was a dusty man on horseback, hat pulled low on his brow, riding his buckskin like it was an extension of him.

"Whoa, whoa," he could be heard saying as he pulled the horse to a stop and slid off its back, booted feet kicking up dust as he moved to tie the reins to the rail with hands that were no strangers to hard work. He seemed to have a slight hitch in his step as he turned toward them.

Elizabeth turned to glance at Faith, a silent question on her eyes, but the parted lips and slowly dawning look on the doctor's face gave her pause. It almost looked as if —

"Hello again, Doctor Faith." With a pistol strapped to lean hips and shoulders broad under a rugged work shirt, the man stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of them. He removed his hat, tipping his head in silent greeting to Elizabeth, who felt a startled zip of recognition go through her. She spoke impulsively.

"Aren't you the man who — "

" — let me drive his wagon into town when I came back, yes." Faith affirmed, finishing and answering her sentence all in one breath. "Gunner, right? How are you? The ranch?"

The man nodded his head, sun-lightened hair the color of chestnuts tumbling shaggily with the movement. "That's right. And thank you, I'm well enough, although" — Elizabeth watched as his dark hazel eyes, clear as a summer stream over mossy rocks, moved over Faith's face — "you seem somewhat altered, doctor."

Faith's cheeks blanched and the face of the man opposite sharpened into alertness.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am." His voice was sincere, pitched low as if talking to a hurt animal. "I didn't mean to overstep." His eyes were observant, but his voice stayed calm, as, almost without pause, he carried on, sparing Faith the consternation of having to respond to his observation. "But if it's not too much trouble, could you take a look at this? I think it needs more than cowboy doctoring."

His hand, which had been holding his dusty hat against the side of his leg, lifted, and Elizabeth gasped at what it revealed.

The fabric on the side of his knee was torn in a jagged tear that left threads dangling freely, and beneath it, she caught a glimpse of flesh, bloody and ragged. How had they missed that all the while they stood there watching him and talking to him?

Faith exclaimed softly and hurried to his side. "Why didn't you say so immediately?" she scolded sternly. "Come, let's get you inside so I can take a look at this. How did it happen?" She slipped an arm around his waist as she spoke, her shoulders barely reaching mid-chest on him. The contrast of height and build was stark, but she seemed not to notice, her comely figure, with its plain white apron cinched in at her small waist, straining as she tried to leverage her diminutive weight as a support. The man looked down at her, and something that looked suspiciously like wry amusement flitted around his lips before he firmed them straight as he said something about barbed wire being an occupational hazard.

Elizabeth moved out of the way to let them through the doorway as the man murmured words that she could have sworn sounded like I'm really alright to walk, doc.

"Elizabeth, don't forget to come by tomorrow!" Faith's voice carried over the sound of their feet on the floorboards as the duo disappeared into the recesses of the infirmary, seemingly not hearing the wrangler's quiet protest.

It was only then that Elizabeth slowly realized that she had not once asked Faith how she was doing in the aftermath of her medical partner — and near fiance's — somewhat recent departure from town. She bit her lip and glanced inside, but seeing Faith, scissors in hand, preoccupied with cutting the man's pant leg to the knee, she turned away in silence, leaving the infirmary and its occupants behind her as she moved off down the boardwalk.

"Elizabeth!" From seemingly out of nowhere, Rosemary appeared. "I'm glad you're here. There's something I wanted to speak with you about." Remembering their last conversation, Elizabeth felt a swirl of dread begin to manifest in her being. But the other woman only took her arm, her hands ever so much gentler than usual, and looked back at the wide open door of the infirmary, her eyes brightly inquisitive. "But first, who was that rather dashing cowboy?"

Elizabeth heard the stiltedness in her own voice, but couldn't seem to remove it. "You remember that wagon Faith drove into town when she came back from medical school, the one that caused such a commotion?"

"Yes . . . ?"

"That was the man who handed the reins over to her and let her drive in."

Rosemary's blue eyes grew bigger. "Ohhhh. He seemed rather to admire her, if memory serves. What brings him here now?"

"A work injury. Barbed wire to his leg." She knew her reply was clipped, but it felt distorted and odd to be talking about everyday affairs with the echoes of their last conversation still weighing over them.

Rosemary halted. Her hands on Elizabeth's arm forced her to stop also.

"Elizabeth . . . " Her gaze was serious, her tone evenly compassionate. "I hope you know that I do want to talk to you about what's going on — or not going on — with Nathan, and I want you to feel like you can talk to me as well. But I can't do that if I cannot speak my mind. I've stayed silent for too long." Sincerity shone from her eyes. "But I only want what's best for you and anything I say comes from that motivation. Please know that."

It would have been so easy to reach out, to take the olive branch offered by her dearest friend in all the world, but she could not shake the things Rosemary had said, or the way she'd said them, from her mind and so kept silent, knowing that she was appearing stiff and obstinate, but her mind was whirling with thoughts too chaotic to be voiced.

Rosemary sighed very softly and her hands fell away from her arm.

"Alright. Well, if you wish, I'm here." Her smile was restrained, a certain tension visible in the set of her slender shoulders. "Now, there was something I specifically wanted to mention to you. I've been talking to some of the folks around town, including our business owners, and we were thinking it would be lovely to hold an autumn harvest festival. Bobbing for apples, dancing in the evening, a pie contest, hayrides for the children" — she twinkled, looking more like the old Rosemary for a second — "children small and large, and a whole slew of exciting things. With all the new faces around town, we thought it might be a good time to band together and do something special to remind ourselves of how very blessed we all are to live here. Would you be interested in helping at all? We could use someone to organize the pie contest? I know you have a little time yet before school starts."

Cooking and baking were still not her strong suit, but Elizabeth had improved quite a bit since her early disastrous attempts at the domestic art. "I think I could do that," she said reservedly.

A part of her wanted to rail at her friend, to ask her how dare she talk to her the way she had about Nathan, to ask her why she couldn't just support her position on the subject as her best friend. But another part of her was shaking and anxious and wanted nothing more than to flee home to the sanctuary of her room, close the door, and go over everything Rosemary had said to her that day about Nathan, looking — for something, anything, that might help her.

"Good. We'll be in touch then, Elizabeth." Rosemary stood there for a moment longer, a kind of patient waiting about her, then seeing that Elizabeth had nothing more to say, she gave her a small head-tilt in silent good bye, and turned away, her stylish heels making neat clop-clop sounds against the wood.

Elizabeth shifted somewhat aimlessly on her feet, barely noticing Wyman Walden come out of the mercantile, stopping to talk to several people at the base of the steps. A pinprick of pain throbbed behind her temple as she felt a headache, which had been slowly coming on, start to ramp up in intensity. She massaged her head, her fingertips cold against skin that felt even colder. A horse whinnied, startling her, and she felt a finger of dread touch her as she realized the direction it was coming from.

In one of his increasingly rare appearances outside the NWMP office, there was Newton, tossing his dark head as he whinnied again.

The finger of dread became two as she slowly lifted her eyes to the office door beyond the massive horse. It was standing open in the autumn afternoon, and inside, she could see Bill standing with some papers in his hands. Slivers of red, that red, his red, played peekaboo with her eyes until she could hardly stand it. She knew it was him, Nathan, but could never see more than bare glimpses of a long arm or flashes of a wide shoulder as he gesticulated, talking to Bill.

Turn around, her traitorous cold heart whispered, for it wanted a respite from the chill.

But Nathan did not turn around. And still, no more that slivers of red met her eyes through the window or the door. Bill Avery, he saw her. But she barely registered his intent look upon her, so great was her distress over the tease of red.

Throat gone so tight with frustrated misery that she could hardly swallow, she looked to the left where her best friend was walking away from her. Looked to the right, where the man with the slivers of red never looked her way. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay.

Her breathing was tight in her lungs.

But in the end, her rooted feet uprooted themselves and surreptitiously moved her away from her vantage point. For what could she say to him?

—ooO0Ooo—

Author's Note: Elizabeth is locked pretty deeply inside her icy denial, isn't she? She's hiding inside herself, from herself. While she's nowhere near where she needs to be, she's at least acknowledging that she'd wanted to go to Nathan when she saw him through her window. She's not lying to herself about that aspect of it. For her, that's big right now. Rosemary is sure trying with her, but as you can see, their friendship is going to take some time to heal as well. What did you all think of the wrangler Gunner who showed up in need of doctoring? I'm curious what you guys thought of my bringing his character back. Hopefully, you liked it because he's going to be around. ;)
Also, don't worry, Nathan & Elizabeth can't stay forever not talking or in contact, and that will be slowly changing in the chapters ahead. So thank you for hanging in for their tumultuous journey here. And thank you so much to all those who've left a review and let me know what you think so far! So appreciated! As are all those who have favorited or followed this (or any of my stories!) — thank you!

Missela: I know, I'm sorry. :( But I needed Nathan to be gone when she got outside for it to play out the way it did and to keep a certain tension. More glimpses of Lucas & Fiona will be coming, perhaps involving an autumn festival . . . ;)
tw8624: Welcome! I'm so happy you found this story and are enjoying it. You'll have to let me know what you think of the latest update. Hope you liked it!
Guest (from Aug. 2): Chapter 5 has finally landed! I hope you like it as much as the other chapters. And I can't tell you how blessed I feel that this story resonates with you enough that you re-read the previous chapters! That makes me so happy (it made me smile from ear to ear to read it!). More to come!
BeccaKay64: You hit it right on the head — both about Lucas and about Nathan & Elizabeth. They were the epic love story, it had all the hallmarks of one, and then someone went insane and decided Professional Lurker & Teacup King Bouchard was her lifetime love. Ugh, makes me gag just typing that. Anyway! TY for your words, they mean the world. And yes! Lucas Bouchard is going to be given some depth, and an edge, in my story. Something the show stripped him of in their quest to make him this bland sweetie pie suitor for E. (I guess my opinions on these topics aren't exactly "hidden", huh? ;p )
Kcrow125: It is hard to read (and write) Nathan in pain. I just want to wrap him up in cotton and protect him, but . . .
Jacki Foster: Nathan staying away from Elizabeth is certainly stirring tumult inside her, and as you saw in this chapter, tiny slivers of truth are starting to be seen by her. She hurt a lot of people. And she needs to repair the damage and apologize (something the writers of "perfect Elizabeth" seem loathe to have her do . . . ugh.) S8 made my eyes bug out of my head how they had Elizabeth all over town dispensing all this "perfect" advice to others that actually applied to herself re: Nathan, and she — somehow! — never saw it! I totally hear you on that.
heather4cu: I think I can satisfy you re: your wishes for Elizabeth. ;) The girl has major humble pie to eat. I agree with you on Allie, Bill, and the Tinkers. (Don't even get me started on the Tinkers! Grrr.)
Dez284: I don't/won't watch That Show anymore either. "boring, humdrum milksop" — I love the way you describe Mr. Bouchard! haha! And so true. I really disliked (and was so BORED by!) who they turned him into by S8. But on a happier note, I'm so touched my writing is resonating with you, Dez.
elizabethB88: Your eyes do not deceive you — Lucona is coming! :D I'm going to leave the motivation behnd Lucas's reaction to/eyes following Fiona's hand petting Newton . . . open to interpretation. ;p Agreed; I like the relationship Bill has with Nathan best, out of all his friendships. I'm glad you're enjoying the tension between Nathan & Elizabeth . . . because it's not over yet! Not by a long shot.