Chapters (28)
“And no wonder,” Roger said with a shrug. “One almost killed him.” He felt a lingering shudder himself at the memory of an endless night in a dark forest, listening to Jamie telling him—with what both of them thought would be Jamie’s last few breaths—what to do and how to do it, if and when he, Roger, found himself suddenly in charge of the whole Ridge.
“A lot of things have almost killed him,” she said, the laughter gone. “One of these days …” Her voice was husky.
He put a hand round her shoulder and massaged it gently.
“It’ll be one of these days for everyone, mo ghràidh. If it weren’t, people wouldn’t think they need a minister. As for your da … as long as your mother’s here, I think he’ll be all right, no matter what.”
She gave a deep sigh, and the tension in her body eased.
“I think everybody feels like that about them both. If they’re here, everything will be all right.”
You feel that way about them, he thought. And in fairness, so did he. I hope the kids will feel that way about us.
“Aye. The essential social services of Fraser’s Ridge,” he said dryly. “Your mother’s the ambulance and your da’s the police.”
That made her laugh, and she turned to him, arms about him, smiling.
“And you’re the church,” she said. “I’m proud of you.” Letting go then, she turned back and waved a hand toward the ghostly door.
“Well, if Mama and Da can rebuild from ashes, so can we. Will we rebuild here, or do you want to choose another place? I mean, I don’t know whether people would be superstitious about it being destroyed by lightning.”
He shrugged, feeling warm from her words.
“It’s not supposed to strike twice in the same place, is it? What could be safer? Come on, then; Lizzie and her ménage will be waiting.”
“Surely you mean her menagerie,” Bree said, kilting up her skirts for the hike to the Beardsley cabin. “Lizzie, Jo and Kezzie, and … I’ve forgotten how many children Mama said they have now.”
“So have I,” Roger admitted. “But we can count them when we get there.”
It wasn’t until the forest closed behind them and the path rose before them that he thought to ask. She hadn’t wanted to look beyond day-to-day survival during the worst of their journey, but he was sure that her vision of the present wasn’t limited to washing clothes and shooting turkeys.
“What do you think your own job might be? Here.”
He was following her; she turned her head briefly toward him and the sun touched her hair with flames.
“Oh, me?” she said. “I think maybe I’m the armorer.” She smiled, but the look in her eyes was serious. “We’re going to need one.”