Author's Notes

Hi everyone!

This next part of the story has been the most challenging to write so far. Things are about to get very tense! This was originally one looong chapter that I split up into two sections... BUT—I will be posting both parts straight after each other! So, as you all read, there's a little break between the two—a chance to get a coffee or tea refill, perhaps :)

Thank you all again, members and guests, for continuing to review, I love reading your thoughts!

Chapter 23

As the next few days went by, Madeline and Adam were locked in their own private struggles.

Madeline only left her uncle's house to go to the restaurant but kept to herself when she was there. She went around the kitchen and did her work, baking breads and cakes, but even though she was physically present, her mind was elsewhere. The other cooks and waiters left her alone—everyone thinking that she and Adam had fallen out. It explained his sudden absence and the fact that she was quiet and distant, not engaging with the customers as she normally would.

The gossip ran rampant about the doctor's niece and the Cartwright and soon the latest rumors had spread all over town. There were many versions of the lover's quarrel that had apparently taken place between the two, but no one confronted Madeline directly about it. Sally did express her concern a few times by commenting on the sickly pallor that had settled on the younger woman's face but then she backed off and Madeline was relieved. She knew that by talking to anyone, she might inadvertently be putting them in danger. Those were Ray's rules. And she didn't want anybody to get hurt.

So, she went about her days as usual, but showed no outward signs of emotion. She felt like an empty shell—acting polite and proper as always but the warmth and the light had left her, as if the very life had been drained out of her. She was like a beautiful ghost; her skin had turned whiter, ivory-pale like moonbeams, and she walked around looking so delicate, so fair—it seemed like the tiniest touch could make her shatter—her ghostly fragility haunting those around her. All traces of that genuine, brilliant smile had disappeared from her face, taking the brightness with it. And her eyes had become dull as though the natural sparkle had been clouded over. She was empty and so was her presence.

When she came home from work, she dreaded Ray's visits, but he checked up on her every afternoon without fail. It became a sort of surreal routine; they would sit in the kitchen together and he would talk while she remained quiet, looking at anything else in the room other than him and only speaking when he demanded it of her. Part of her wondered at the restraint he was actually showing. Such behavior from her side would not have been tolerated a year ago in Georgia. Not without punishment. Something else puzzled her too. He was alone with her in a house with four bedrooms, yet he hadn't tried so much as once to leave the kitchen. Even when she wasn't facing him, she knew it whenever that look came over him. She knew exactly what he was thinking as she felt his eyes trail down her body, and she would sit in her chair with a sickening feeling spreading in her gut—expecting him to grab her and force her down the hall and up the staircase at any second. Only he didn't. He just watched her quietly, and she was sure he was smiling at those moments. Because they both knew that should he decide to do that, there would be absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. He let the minutes stretch out and her panic rise, but ultimately, he would always just start talking again. And she was all too aware that it was yet another way he'd found of tormenting her.

He talked a lot about his plans of where they would go once he had the money for them to travel and start over again. She had the sense that this so-called business he was involved in wasn't the legal kind, but she didn't ask him about it. He would never tell her anyway. He mentioned something about going to Canada, but Madeline didn't really take it in. Ray's words floated around somewhere far away while in her mind, she was with Adam. She kept him there and in her heart, along with her love for him. Where he was safe. In the one place Ray Bradshaw couldn't control.

Meanwhile, Adam stayed on the Ponderosa though it took all his will-power to stop himself from going into town. After Wednesday, where he'd gone to Paul's house and Madeline hadn't opened the door to him, he'd decided to keep his distance like she'd asked of him. He tried to busy himself with work, but his thoughts were on her at all times. The consequence of that was, that he began to make mistakes. One day, he forgot to secure the corral gate, which several audacious steers took advantage of. On another occasion, he misplaced a number of tools in the newly tidied tool shed and that sent him and his brothers on a thirty-minute hunt for the missing equipment which was eventually found by Joe at the forge. They were clumsy mistakes—and thankfully they were pretty harmless—but it still frustrated him, and Adam pushed himself harder, taking on more work and allowing himself fewer breaks.

His family looked on in complete helplessness. He'd shut them out again and paid little mind to their pleas for him to slow down. When the three brothers came home from being out on the range, Adam retreated to his room immediately after supper which he hardly touched in the evenings.

Ben was trying to be patient with him, but his concern increased, and he was surprised, even a little shocked at just how badly Adam was taking the whole thing with Madeline. It seemed like a month of steady progress had been undone in just a few days and although he made an effort to remain strong for his two other sons, it unnerved the father more than he dared admit to them. Or to himself. At times, Adam seemed just as depressed as when he'd first come home from the war and Ben was fretting about how this setback might affect not only his oldest son but the whole family. Joe and Hoss were deeply affected by their brother's mood and they were very disappointed when he refused to go with them to the big August dance on Sunday afternoon.

There was no hiding the fact that the young man's nightmares had returned to plague him anew. While he kept quiet about it, the dark circles under his eyes said everything for him. By Monday, there was no evidence of the long hours he'd spent every day working in the burning heat. Instead, Adam looked fatigued and drawn as if some sickness had kept him cooped up inside for a week.

At that point, Ben was seriously considering going to see Madeline. Although he hated to interfere in their business, he held onto the belief that she would want to know about Adam's deteriorating state. After all, she loved him, Ben was sure of that. With Paul still out of town, he also felt a certain responsibility for his friend's niece and he worried about her too. He hadn't seen Madeline since that day of revelations when Paul had informed him of her marriage, and he was convinced that whatever had made her withdraw so suddenly from Adam, was connected to her past and perhaps some present insecurities.

He had actually been to town on Friday the previous week to take care of some bank matters and he'd stopped by Roy Coffee. Like most folks, the sheriff had overheard some of the rumors about Madeline and Adam and he said that he'd only seen her once, heading for Sally's restaurant, but he'd gotten the impression she was in a rush. Roy had seemed a little apologetic that he hadn't taken the time to go and visit her since she was on her own, but Ben knew how busy the sheriff had been and still was with all the newcomers in town. A lot of men were out of work and had too much time on their hands which kept Roy and his jail more occupied than he would have liked. Ben had very nearly gone by to visit Madeline himself that day, but in the end he'd decided that butting in and going behind Adam's back probably wasn't the best course of action.

Still, that was three days ago and on Monday afternoon as Ben sat behind his desk considering his options, it was one simple fact that made the decision for him. Adam had gotten worse—a lot worse over the last three days. And there was no indication that things would improve until he'd talked with Madeline again.

Ben was actually on his way outside to saddle up Buck, when Adam came down the stairs, announcing that he was going into town. The father tried not to let his relief show too much and whether Adam noticed it or not, he didn't comment on it in either case. The cautious offer to accompany his son was firmly declined, but Ben didn't mind that much. As long as Adam went to see Madeline and got her talking, things would start to get better again. At least he prayed they would.

Seven o'clock in the evening, Adam arrived in Virginia City—six days since he'd last seen Madeline. He headed straight for Paul's house, offering only small nods in return for the acquaintances who greeted him on the way. He disregarded everyone else.

Pulling up outside the doc's house, Adam stayed in the saddle for a full minute. He looked down at himself and wiped the worst of the trail dust off his black shirt. It was one of the shirts that Madeline had mended for him. The buttons, sown neatly onto the cuffs, still had a shine to them.

His dismount was slow and without its usual grace and as he climbed the porch stairs, he dragged a hand down his cheek, releasing a sigh when he felt the coarseness of heavy stubble after several days without shaving. It probably took another minute of standing at the front door before he actually got himself to knock on it. And then, only a few seconds were needed to deplete the hope that had managed to build up inside him over the last two hours. He knocked again. And the same silence met him. He knocked harder and for longer—even tried the door handle twice. But the door remained closed. Mocking him.

"Madeline . . .?"

On some level, he knew that he'd said her name so quietly that she would never have heard him unless she was literally standing just on the other side of that door. He rested a palm against the wood, closing his heavy eyelids for a moment—trying to sense her, feel her. But there was nothing. Just plain, smooth wood under his hand.

He turned back around and looked out at the street. The sunshine had lost its brightness and the colors of the buildings were softer. Supper smells from all directions floated through the air, but didn't tempt him in the slightest. He plodded back down the stairs, leaning a hand on the porch rail and Sport walked over to meet him. The horse hadn't been tied to the hitching post, but even that didn't register with Adam. He stroked Sport's neck, oblivious to the people whispering about him as they strolled on down the street.

When he did mount up again, Sport set off back up the road, unwilling to wait for his master to make a decision with the weird mood he was in. It wasn't until they came to the Bucket of Blood that Adam pulled on the reins. An ordinary Monday evening, and the establishment was already swamped with a crowd of people and horses outside. The chestnut tossed his head a few times but complied with his master's wishes and crossed the street, moving closer to the piano music and rumbling laughter.

xXXx

Madeline walked down the boardwalk opposite the Bucket of Blood only five minutes later. She was absorbed in her own thoughts and went right past the saloon without even glancing up. If she had, it probably would have been difficult to spot Sport by the crowded hitching rail anyway.

She had stayed at work late to help Sally out with the preparations for a special dinner party that was being held this evening at the restaurant. It had been her natural instinct to offer her help, but now as she was heading home, the worry that Ray would be angry with her made her pulse speed up. She gathered her checkered blue skirt and picked up the pace, ignoring the constant shadow trailing behind her.

At her uncle's home everything seemed peaceful and she slowed down while going up the stairs to the porch. Once inside the house, she went through her now set cycle of checking—then rechecking—the lock and door handle on the front door before going through the same procedure with the back door. Afterwards, she stayed in the kitchen, waiting for Ray to show up. She got the stove going to boil some water for making tea. Her appetite had been nonexistent the last few days, but she'd had nothing since early morning and knew that she needed to eat a little something at least.

She was just getting out a bit of bread and honey when there was a sudden noise behind her. Immediately, she looked to the back door, but Ray wasn't there. Her eyes darted frantically around the kitchen, searching for the source of the sound and then it dawned on her that it was coming from the foyer. It was coming from the front door.

In a split second, a hundred thoughts of who's, how's and why's shot through her head and she was totally paralyzed by it all. Hearing the front door open smoothly, however, effectively narrowed down the possible who's. All sense of feeling had left her legs as she crossed the floor to the kitchen doorway, holding a hand to her belly—pressing against the hard knots within as she peeked out into the hallway.

". . . Uncle Paul!"

Paul was just stuffing his house key in his vest pocket, when he broke into a broad smile of open delight.

"Hello my Belle! Yes, indeed, it is I."

He set down his carpet bag in the middle of the foyer and briskly strode down the hall to her.

"Well, what must an uncle do to get a welcome home hug?"

He put his arms around her, but she was so flabbergasted by his presence that she barely responded to the embrace.

"I . . . I don't understand," she said as he drew back, "you weren't due back until the weekend . . ."

"Yes well, I was there for the main part of the conference and it was fascinating, truly, it was. But I ah . . . I simply felt that I'd had my fill of the big city. So, I thought I'd surprise you. I took the night stages."

"Oh . . ."

He gave her a curious look-over, but she just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. He was really here. Suddenly, it was as if something came loose inside her and a wave of intermingling emotions rolled through her body. She moved forward and without thinking about anything else, her arms promptly looped around him.

"I am so happy that you're home."

His hands settled on her back again and she savored his comforting scent, feeling the soft fabric of his vest against her cheek.

"Madeline, is everything all right?"

With that question, the brutal reality ripped her back from her short-lived relief. She was struck by a moment of terrifying clarity as she realized just how complicated and dangerous the situation had now gotten with her uncle's early return.

"Yes, I . . ." She pulled away, but kept her face pointed to the floor. "I was just surprised and . . . things are fine, Uncle, but I have missed you."

She'd given herself enough time to school her features and when she looked up at him, managed a small smile. Paul watched her with a down-turned mouth, but she noticed the fine lines by his eyes and took advantage of it.

"You must be tired from your trip. Come into the kitchen and sit down." She went back through the doorway, hearing him follow her. "Are you hungry? I have water boiling, I can make you some coffee?"

"No, not hungry, but a cup of coffee sounds like just the thing for me."

She walked to the stove and peering over at him through her lashes, she saw him sink down in one of the chairs. He rubbed two fists against his eyes, then surveyed the kitchen.

"Well, at least he hasn't moved in during my absence, by the look of things."

Madeline's hands stilled by the pot of water and filled with apprehension, she turned back towards her uncle.

"What . . . what do you mean? Who hasn't moved in?"

"Who?" Paul scoffed, "Why Adam, of course! I was half expecting my house to be infiltrated by that Cartwright by the time I got—"

His speech came to an abrupt end when he focused on her face and he jumped from the chair. "Madeline! Are you ill?"

She quickly lowered her head. She knew that she didn't look her usual self, but she hadn't taken into account that her uncle hadn't seen her in a week and judging by his reaction, her appearance must have changed quite a bit in that time. The shadowed hallway had probably hidden the worst of her paleness but there was no escaping the soft evening light shining in through the kitchen window.

"No, I am all right," she said as he rushed over to stand in front of her, "I am just a little tired. The restaurant has been busy lately."

"Let me remind you just who you're talking to here." He took hold of her hand. "Now, out with it. What did he do this time?"

"Oh, Uncle Paul, he didn't do anything. Adam has done nothing wrong at all."

"Come now, clearly, something's up. You look like you have a world of trouble on your mind. And I have an inkling that Adam Cartwright is responsible for at least part of it."

Her thoughts were racing as she nibbled on her lip. Everything was bursting inside her, it wanted out, it wanted to be told. She needed help—so desperately. But the fact of the matter was, that the minute she said anything about her husband, she would be breaking the rules. The chances were that her uncle would get hurt, she might even be signing his death warrant by telling him. As it was now, it would be hard enough convincing Ray that she hadn't told her uncle anything. She had no doubt that he was watching the house this very instant, and that he knew about Doctor Martin's arrival in Virginia City. He might even be right outside the back door just a few feet away, listening . . .

If her uncle left this house, intending to see Sheriff Coffee . . . No, she couldn't tell him, it was too risky right now. But she needed to give him something, that much was clear.

"I have come to a decision . . ." Each word was said with slow emphasis as she took a careful half-step backwards. "I need some time to myself, without Adam. That is . . . I do not wish to be with him. At least not right now."

A flash of uncertainty entered Paul's narrowed eyes. He eventually looked away from her and that was something that didn't happen often.

"I'm not quite sure that I . . . understand." He released her hand with a squeeze. "What exactly do you mean that you . . . don't wish to be with him?"

"It's hard to explain, I just . . . I feel that things have been moving very fast and that I need—" she hesitated and her mouth was so dry, she had to moisten her lips to continue. "Time. I need time to sort through all the things in my mind and"—her hand came up to rest against her chest—"in here."

"I see . . . well, I'm sure that Adam would be understanding of that and willing to slow things down a bit."

"Uncle Paul, I have asked Adam not to come by here to visit me at all. I felt it was best that we didn't see each other for a while."

Paul gawked at her for several seconds. Then he winced and scratched an earlobe.

"I imagine that he was less understanding of that part."

"Yes, I am afraid he was . . . quite upset by it."

"How did all this—" The doctor cut himself off, deciding on another question instead. "When did you last see him?"

"On Tuesday last week . . ."

As Paul watched her, well-defined wrinkles emerged, extending across the expanse of his forehead.

"Are you sure that this is what you want? You really don't look well, Little Belle . . ."

"It's for the best. For now, it is," she said, trying to keep the heartbreak out of her voice. "Please, let's not talk of it anymore now, you have been traveling all day. Let me get you that coffee."

She turned back to the stove, hoping that it would be enough. With every second he remained standing behind her, it seemed that her facade got closer to crumbling. She sensed him heave a big breath and her nails dug sharply into her palms.

"We will leave it for now then, but only for now, Madeline. I want you to sit down and rest. Just let me get cleaned up a bit and put my bag upstairs. I'll see you in the sitting room in a few minutes."

She didn't trust herself to reply, and when his reluctant footsteps traipsed across the floorboards and out into the hall, her hands dropped to the workbench as she bent forwards. Only a brief moment later, her head shot back up when there was a tiny noise, this time, by the kitchen's back door. She looked over at the empty doorway to the hall, then rushed to the back door, unlocking and opening it quietly ajar.

"Ray, I didn't tell him anything, you must believe me!" she whispered urgently.

"You have just five seconds to convince me of that."

A wry sneer graced his mouth and he pressed closer to the door. "I was out here the whole time, you told him something, don't lie now."

"He knew that something was wrong, but I only told him about the situation with Adam! I didn't say anything about you, if you were out here, you must know that . . ."

She held onto the door, her features tightening in distress when Ray let out a hushed curse and half-twisted around to the backyard.

"Well," he finally mumbled, "your uncle's untimely arrival certainly complicates things."

"Ray please, this is madness! It is only a matter of time before somebody finds out." She glanced behind her but everything was quiet in the house. "My uncle knows me so well . . . if you leave now, I won't say anything for a few days, I promise. You can go on to start a new life and I can stay here, where I want to be."

"No. I am still in control of this situation." He stared at seemingly nothing with widening pupils, stroking his mustache. "The business my associates and I have to conduct here is taking longer than expected, we've run into some complications . . . but once it's over, we will have the money to leave here, start over." He faced her again. "And you and I will be leaving together."

"No, I . . . no!" she breathed, her cheeks suddenly growing hot. "Don't you understand that you don't have a chance? I know that you are planning to do something illegal—if I revealed that you are here, what you are doing, you would be up against the Cartwrights, all their friends, the sheriff—everyone! However many men you have working for you, it would never be enough!" She finished in a hissing whisper. "You can't win, Ray."

His lips parted in what was perhaps supposed to be a smile, but something was terribly wrong with it.

"You are the one who doesn't seem to understand, Madeline. I wouldn't have enough men to win, no. But I promise you this . . ." His face neared hers and he spoke with a chilling calmness. "I would have enough to get to that Yankee captain and your uncle. And after that, I would go after as many other people you hold dear as I possibly could before it was over for me. Tell me, do you dare risk that?"

The blue had almost gone from his irises because they had been taken over by his pupils now, by blackness. She saw her own horrifying realization reflected in that black sheen as it hit her. His face relaxed into a satisfied smile and he touched her hair, stroking it back.

"You will carry on as you have done until now. The only difference is that your uncle will be here with you too. Let him go about his work, fill him with whatever lies you must. Just convince him that the only problem you have is with that Cartwright. There are plenty of gossipers around town who will feed that story. Bear in mind that the closer you are to anyone, the more danger you'll be putting them in."

He lowered his hand from her head and she clung to the door, her fingers white as she clutched the door handle.

"And remember . . . I'll be watching you. Every second."

The ends of his mustache curved up and she recognized that this smile was both a promise and a threat. Then he moved down from the door step and crept along the picket fence around the side of the house.

Everything was somewhat hazy as Madeline closed the door and turned back to the kitchen. Her eyes were vacant, lifeless as a doll's. The pot with water was boiling over. It was making a mess on the stove. Her uncle would be down soon—he'd want his coffee.

Tears would solve none of those things.

And so, she allowed none to fall. She walked towards the stove, reaching up a hand to brush away her husband's lingering touch.