Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Tara could not have been more pleased, and she was looking forward to telling Doctor Reardon what had happened when John had tasted the coffee. It made perfect sense, of course—memory could come from any sensation, and through taste and smell, this vivid memory had returned.

"You've done so well, John. I'm proud of you," Tara said as she pushed the wheelchair along the street.

Their progress was attracting considerable interest from those around them. John was the talk of Freemont, and several people stopped them in the street to enquire after his condition.

Now, they found themselves outside the saloon, where the sound of piano music drifted out from inside.

"Do you think you ever played the piano?" Tara asked, as the sound of the music filled the air.

"I don't know. I'd like to think I did. I love the idea of being able to sit down at an instrument and play it without even thinking," he replied.

Tara played the piano to a rudimentary level. As a child, her father had sent her to lessons with a friend of his, Mrs. Dubose, an elderly woman who had long since died. Tara would sit in her parlor, listening as Mrs. Dubose explained how to play the instrument rather than allowing her to do so. Only once the supposed wisdom was imparted would Tara be allowed to play.

But there was never any sense of freedom to experiment or get things wrong. If a note was out of place, Mrs. Dubose would make Tara repeat the piece from the beginning.

It was always her way or no way, and Tara had eventually stopped going, telling her father she had no desire to continue learning what she was obviously so bad at. But part of her still longed to play, and as she listened to the music, it brought back memories of her father, who himself was a keen amateur.

"But I can't teach you," he had once told Tara. "I don't know how I play. I just do."

"Perhaps you should try," Tara said now, and John smiled.

"I wouldn't want an audience," he said, glancing through the window of the saloon, where a number of patrons were gathered around the piano.

The pianist was playing a jolly tune and several people were dancing a jig, with one woman holding up her skirts, much to the delight of the onlookers.

"No… perhaps not in there," Tara said, blushing at the sight.

"Do you like to dance?" John asked.

Tara did like to dance, though it was usually with Gina or Tiffany after dinner at the Fentons, when Thomas would sit down at the piano, and the women would push back the furniture in the parlor and career around with one another, falling about laughing as they whirled and twirled.

"I don't normally have a partner to dance with," Tara admitted.

"Would you dance with me?" John asked, smiling at her as he held up his hands.

Tara blushed, glancing around. The street was quiet, and fresh snow was beginning to fall. The wind had dropped and in the stillness of the chill air the sound of the piano rang out loud and clear. Tara could see no harm in taking John's hands in hers. They could not dance, of course, but she had so much enjoyed his company on their walk that day, and to take his hands in hers felt natural.

"I'm so glad you've remembered more about your past," Tara said as they swayed their hands gently together in time with the music.

"It's all thanks to you. You're the one who's helped me remember," John said, gazing up at her and smiling.

Tara felt embarrassed. She hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. She had wanted to help him—first on the pass when she had found him injured, and then in the hospital in the days following the accident. He was her patient, and it was her duty to help him.

And yet the more time she spent with him, the more she was realizing how close they were becoming. His recovery meant something to her—more than just what it should to a nurse treating a patient.

"I really haven't done anything. You're the one who's remembered. It's your recovery. I've just tried my best to help," she said, but John shook his head.

"You've done so much more than that. You've been there for me when no one else was. I don't remember my family or my friends. I don't remember anything. But you've been my friend," he said.

Tara's heart skipped a beat. There was such sincerity in his voice, even as Tara hadn't thought of herself in those terms. She—along with the others at the clinic—was all John had. She was the one point of familiarity in what was surely a confused and even terrifying existence.

"I'm glad. And you've become my friend, too," Tara said.

As she looked down into his eyes, she realized there was something more growing between them, even as she knew she could never act on those feelings. But the more time they had spent together, the greater her affection for him had become. She didn't pity him, or merely feel sorry for him. There was more to it than that, and as she gazed into his eyes, she could see that same affection gazing back at her.

Her heart was beating fast, that same feeling she'd felt when first she had set eyes on Kyle. She tried to pull it back, fearing the hurt she would experience if what she truly felt was allowed to express itself, yet still her heart pounded, her whole body trembling under his gaze.

"That's kind of you to say. I know it's difficult. I know you're not supposed to… well, I'm so grateful to you," he said, and Tara smiled.

"You really don't need to be. I'm happy to have made a friend. I want you to get better, and I'll do whatever I can to help you. I promise," she said.

The music coming from the saloon ended, and a round of applause went up from those gathered around the piano. Tara and John didn't immediately let go of one another's hands, even as Tara knew she should not keep holding onto him. If Kyle saw them together, he would surely jump to the wrong conclusion.

Was she falling in love with him? Her heart had been so set on Kyle, and yet the past few days had shown her a different side to him, one she felt confused by and uncertain over. As John finally let go of her hand, Tara felt a sudden sense of guilt at what they had shared, even as she did not regret the fact they had done so.

"And I'll be forever grateful to you for doing so," John replied.

Several people now emerged from the saloon, and the same interest was now shown in John as before.

"We just raised a glass of bourbon to you for a swift recovery, Mr. Smith," one of them said, and John thanked them as Tara turned the wheelchair for them to return to the clinic.

"I'm certainly well known, aren't I?" he said, shaking his head as his well-wishers hurried off down the street.

"The whole town wants you to recover," she said. "We're all rooting for you. Prayers in the church, toasts in the saloon. You're the talk of Freemont. I think Katie and Peter had something to do with that. You know how it is in a small place—rumor spreads like wildfire, even in the depths of winter."

"I suppose so, though I can't say I do know. I don't know anything, really. Not about the past, at least. But I do know I enjoyed our walk, and I know I'd like to go on another, if you'd be willing," he said.

Tara nodded. Despite her better judgment, she did want to go on another walked with John. She wanted to spend more time with him. Kyle was behaving strangely—secretively—and the more she came to know of John, the more it felt as though she knew nothing of Kyle, save for what he had told her.

John might not remember his past, but there was no doubt in Tara's mind that the man in the wheelchair was the man he was supposed to be. With Kyle, Tara was beginning to have her doubts. Was the man who even now was feeding her animals or sitting in her parlor really who he made himself out to be?

"If Doctor Reardon lets us, we can go every day. We need to tell him about the coffee. I think he'll be pleased. Perhaps there're other things we could try—a slice of juneberry pie might bring back another memory, or going into the church. It's worth it, isn't it?" Tara said, and John nodded.

"If you'll take me, it is. I hope you didn't mind me drawing the picture of you. Your… man from Chicago didn't say anything, did he?" John asked.

It was the first time John had mentioned Kyle, and she wasn't certain how he had come to know about him. She suspected Katie might be responsible but didn't want to ask in case it embarrassed John, or made him feel as though he had said something wrong.

"Oh… I haven't shown him. He's been busy," Tara said.

In truth, she had placed the picture by the side of her bed, admiring it each evening. She planned to have it framed. But as for telling Kyle…

"As long as he doesn't mind. I just wanted to draw something—someone—familiar. I was getting bored of drawing that dream and getting nowhere," he said.

"It was a lovely gesture. You're a great artist. Perhaps you could draw a picture of Gina? I've been trying to think of a gift for her for Christmas, but I just don't know what to get," Tara said.

They had arrived back at the clinic yard now, and on seeing them, Peter had brought out a ramp to get the wheelchair up the steps.

"I'll gladly draw a picture of Gina. That's the advantage of having so few memories. The one's I've got now are clear as crystal," John said as Tara and Peter pushed him up the ramp.

Back in the warmth of the ward, they helped John into bed, and Tara brought him a clean blanket. His cheeks were rosy red, and she took his hands in hers to warm them.

"It's always the same when you come in from the cold, isn't it?" she said, rubbing his hands to get the circulation going.

"Thank you," John said, and Tara smiled.

"It's all right. It'll only take a moment," she said, but John shook his head.

"I don't mean for that. I mean for everything," he said, smiling up at her.

Tara smiled back at him. She wanted to thank him, too, though it seemed wrong to do so. She wanted to thank him for being himself, for not hiding his fears and anxieties, for being truthful. He had done the very opposite of Kyle, who had hidden more of himself with every passing day.

Tara was beginning to feel foolish for her enthusiasm about him in those first days—what Gina might call her "besotted stage." She had allowed her own hopes to get the better of her, and ignored the nagging questions, the doubts, she had. John was different, and though he couldn't remember anything about his past, Tara knew she was getting to know the real man who wanted so desperately to remember.

"That's very kind of you to say so. We'll go for another walk tomorrow. But for now, I'd better get back to my other duties. I don't want Doctor Reardon to put a stop to our walks," Tara said, squeezing John's hands for a final time.

He nodded, smiling at her as she turned away from the bedside. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, and she looked back at him and nodded.

"Not for a while, perhaps. But eventually, you will. I promise," she replied.

***

Watching Tara go, John sighed to himself. Had he overstepped the mark? Had he embarrassed her? To be in her company and share what they had shared had made him happy—happier than he'd been at any point since arriving at the clinic. Her presence gave him hope, and despite what she said, it was Tara who had helped him remember.

Had it not been for her, he wouldn't have remembered writing the letter, and had it not been for her, the smell of coffee wouldn't have helped him remember that definite place, a true memory of his past. Then there was the mountainside, too—Dawson's Nose—and the sense he had heard a description of the feature and was familiar with it.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" Katie asked when she brought John his dinner later that day.

"I did, yes. We stopped at the coffeehouse and the smell reminded me of a coffeehouse I used to go to at some point in the past," John replied.

Katie smiled, setting a tray with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread on it down in front of him.

"I overheard Tara telling Doctor Reardon about it. The two of you are certainly getting on well."

John didn't know what she meant by that. Was she implying something? Had someone said something untoward about the nature of his relationship with Tara? They were friends, and John would never do anything to put Tara in a compromising position. The fact she had a beau was a disappointment, but as he reminded himself, he might well have a sweetheart, too.

"I like Nurse Culden, just as I like you," John replied.

"That's kind of you to say, but you and Tara have something special. She rescued you. It's bound to make a difference," Katie replied.

"I suppose so, but… well, there's nothing more to it than that. She's got her beau from Chicago, hasn't she?" John replied.

"Kyle? Yes, I suppose she has. It's a strange business. I wouldn't want someone from all that way away to move here for me. Not without knowing anything about him," Katie said. "I couldn't trust him."

She left John to eat his dinner, but as he ate, he pondered Katie's words. It was a strange situation—to have a man you had never met journey all the way from the East to be with you. Still, he felt certain Tara knew what she was doing, even as it seemed something of a disappointment.

Who knows, you might be one yourself, John thought to himself, smiling at the idea he was someone's mail-order groom.

But as the night drew in, John found himself unable to sleep, wondering again who he really was, and if there was someone else who had once made him as happy as Tara had done that day.