Clay turned his attention back to the churchyard. Holding onto Robert’s arm, Meg walked toward the wagon, with people swarming around them like bees to honey.
Clay took a deep breath. She was going to hate him all the more for what he was about to do, but his heart gave him no choice. He settled his gaze on her and started walking.
He ignored the gasps, curses, and stares that pummeled him as people moved aside. He didn’t like the way Robert shielded Meg as Clay neared the wagon, but then there wasn’t much that he did like lately.
He swept his hat off his head, and his gaze caressed her face while she stared at a button on his shirt. She looked so tired that all he wanted to do was carry her home and rock her in his arms until she fell asleep. “I was sorry to hear Mama Warner has taken ill. I hope you’ll tell her that she’s in my prayers.”
Meg nodded slightly, a tear glistening in her eye. “I will.”
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he dared under the circumstances. He nodded toward Robert, returned his hat to his head, and walked away, cursing himself for the coward he was.
Standing in the shed doorway, Meg couldn’t take her eyes off the man who was carefully chipping away small bits of stone. He looked as tired as she felt, and she wondered if he’d slept as little as she had this week.
She tended to Mama Warner’s needs all day. In the evening, when Robert took her home, she was too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed, but even then she seldom slept. Her body ached, and it felt as heavy as stone.
In her dreams, Clay chipped the stone away and glided his hands over her body. While she dreamed, she longed for his touch. While she was awake, she longed for the safety of her dreams where she could have what she wanted without suffering through the scorn of her family or neighbors.
Robert had been unusually quiet on the ride back to Mama Warner’s, and Meg wondered what her face had revealed when Clay had walked up to her. She’d tried to keep her expression impassive, but all she’d wanted was to fall into his arms.
Clay stopped carving and wiped his brow. Then his gaze fell on her, and he became as still as the stone.
Meg walked to the stool and looked up at him. “I didn’t think you were going to work on the details until you’d cut away all the stone.”
“I felt a need to carve Kirk’s face. Do you want to touch it?”
She nodded, and Clay stepped off the stool. He transferred the chisel to the hand holding the hammer. Then he held out his hand to her.
She slipped her hand into his and felt his strong fingers close around it as he helped her climb on the stool. When he started to release her hand, she stopped him, clinging to his fingers. Slowly, she trailed the fingers of her other hand over the edge of a triangle that would one day be Kirk’s nose.
“I still have a lot of work left to do,” Clay said.
“I know. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”
“I’m hoping in another week or so I’ll have his face as it should be.”
Nodding, she squeezed his hand and stepped down from the stool. “Robert went to see his uncle. Mama Warner would like to see you while he’s gone.”
“I’ll go clean up.”
Silently, Clay stood in Mama Warner’s bedroom and studied the withering body. Mama Warner’s request to see him had not come as a surprise. He had known that as death approached, she would want to discuss her marker with him. She wasn’t one to let others handle her affairs.
Meg eased onto the bed and took Mama Warner’s hand. “Mama Warner?” Gently, she shook the older woman’s shoulder. “Mama Warner? I brought him. Remember, you asked to see him?”
“Him. Him. Him.” She opened her eyes. “Before I pass to the next world, I want you to say his name.” She waved her hand. “Let Clayton sit here.”
Rising from the bed, Meg smiled uncertainly at Clay before moving into the shadows. Clay sat on the bed and took the frail hand within his larger coarser one. He wished he had worn gloves.
The aged woman smiled and patted his hand. “You didn’t come to see me when you got home.”
“I thought it best.”
“You never was a smart one.” She touched his hair. “You’ve grown older … older than you are. I remember the last time I saw you. You were with the army. They’d stopped here for some water. Remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I asked that nice young lieutenant if you could come into my house and hang a picture over my fireplace.” She chuckled. “I didn’t have a picture for you to hang. I brought you inside and took you to my kitchen door. You and Kirk used to play in the woods behind my house. No one would have been able to find you if you’d hidden in the woods, but you told me you wouldn’t run. A coward would have run. Ever wish you’d run, Clayton?”
“No, ma’am.”
