Chapter 19

Chapter 19

When Tara awoke the next morning, she found she had overslept. The first rays of dawn were creeping over the mountaintops and—much to Maisy's annoyance—Tara rushed downstairs to boil water to make coffee. John would be waiting for her, but as she emerged from the house, wrapped in a shawl against the cold, she was surprised to find the door to the outbuilding where the goats were open.

"John? Where are you?" she called out, just as John's head appeared above the stable door.

He was with Stanley, and he grinned at her as she hurried over with his cup of coffee.

"I've just been feeding Stanley. I hope you don't mind. But I've got something wonderful to tell you," he said.

Tara looked at him in surprise. She was amazed he had been able to walk unaided, and she hoped he hadn't done any further damage to his leg by putting too much weight on it.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Well, I was lying awake this morning—the bed was very comfortable, by the way—and I started thinking about horses, and cattle, and everything to do with farming," he said. "And I found I could remember things. I don't mean specific things, like people and places, but how to do things. I knew how to tie a honda knot—that's not easy, but I could do it. And I knew how to saddle a horse, and how to ride. I could just remember it. Does that make sense?

Tara was overjoyed. It made perfect sense. Like the smell of the coffee, being around the animals had awakened new memories in John's mind. He was remembering something about his past, and about who he was.

"That's wonderful, John. I'm so pleased to hear. I remember my father trying to teach me all those cowboy knots. I was all fingers and thumbs, though I've gotten better at it since I started nursing. It's always useful to know a few knots," she replied, completely forgetting the awkwardness of the previous evening.

"I really can remember a lot. I was just telling Stanley," he said, smiling as he patted the horse on the back.

"He's a good listener," Tara said, and John nodded.

"He certainly is. You're lucky to have a horse like that. Some horses just understand. I remember my old horse, Dewy, he was a—" he began, but Tara now let out a cry, causing him to paused in the middle of his words.

"What did you say?" she exclaimed, staring at him in astonishment.

"I said I remember my old horse, Dewy," he replied.

"But don't you see? You remembered something. It's not just how to tie the right knot or saddle the horse. You actually remembered something. That's what you said—you had a horse called Dewy," she said.

John looked at her in surprise, the expression on his face changing as he, too, realized what he had said. A smile came over his face, and Tara flung her arms around him in delight at his having remembered something—something from his past, and a memory of something he had previously forgotten.

"You're right. I can see him," he said as Tara stepped back from embracing him. "He was a real character. My first horse. I had him from a foal, but he was unruly, too. He'd buck at the slightest thing. No one could ride him but me. Oh, but he was a fine creature. Spirited and free."

"Just like you must've been," Tara replied, and John laughed.

"Well, I don't know about that. Perhaps I was, yes," he said.

Tara was overjoyed. This was the first time he had remembered something so definite. The memory he now described was not a vague one of a letter, or the mixed-up images of a dream, but something real and definite. Dewy had existed, and if John could remember Dewy, Tara felt certain he could remember more, too. They finished feeding Stanley before turning their attentions to the other animals, too.

The goats needed feeding, and there were eggs to collect from the hens. John walked unaided on his crutches, though there were a couple of times when Tara had to help him. After they had finished their jobs, they returned to the house, and Tara made them porridge, followed by fresh eggs boiled in their shells with slices of bread and butter.

"I'm so pleased for you, John, I really am. You've remembered something you'd forgotten. And that means it's only a matter of time before you remember more," Tara said, topping up his cup of coffee.

"It's things that help—smells, tastes, sights. If it feels familiar, it's almost certain to have a memory behind it," John said.

"Then we need to find more things that are familiar to help you," Tara said.

Anything was a possibility—something in the mercantile store, a reading in church, a style of clothing. Tara had lots of ideas, and when breakfast was finished, she suggested the two of them take a walk to the coffeehouse.

"If you're feeling strong enough, that is. I can help you," Tara said, but John shook his head.

"It's a good idea, and if I fall, you can catch me, can't you?" he said, causing her to blush as he smiled at her.

"I'll try," she said.

They cleared away the dirty dishes and, with Maisy sleeping peacefully by the stove, stepped out into the chill of the morning for their walk. John was somewhat unsteady on his crutches as they left the homestead; at several points Tara had to grab hold of him to stop him falling.

Finally, he relented to allowing her to support him as they walked, and arm in arm, they made their way slowly through the snowy streets. They passed several people as they went, enduring the occasional raised eyebrow or long hard stare.

"Tara? Wait up, Tara," a voice behind them called out and, turning, Tara saw Tiffany hurrying toward them.

She had hoped not to bump into anyone she knew well, not wanting to have to explain herself or have assumptions made as to what was going on.

"Tiffany… how nice to see you. This is my friend, John. The man I've been looking after at the clinic," Tara said.

Tiffany smiled at John, who held out his hand to her, lurching to one side as he did so. Tara caught him, steadying him as he stood back upright.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. The whole town's talking about you, of course," she said. "My husband's the sheriff—perhaps Tara's told you that—and he's doing everything he can to find out who you are and what happened to you."

Tara didn't want John to feel embarrassed, or to think he was being talked about by others. But being the polite and gentle man he was, he merely smiled and nodded.

"That's very kind of you, thank you. And very kind of your husband."

"Oh, but Tara, won't you talk to Gina? She's very upset about your argument the other day," Tiffany said.

Tara felt embarrassed. She didn't want John to think she was an argumentative type, but Gina's words had upset her, even as she was beginning to realize they were true. She had been unwilling to listen to her best friend, and yet Gina had been proved right, for at the very least Tara knew she should have found a way of getting to know Kyle better before inviting him to stay with her on such a permanent basis.

"It wasn't really an argument. It's just… well, she was… some of the things she said weren't very kind. But I was wrong, too. Tell her I'll see her soon," Tara said, for she didn't like to think she and Gina were at odds with one another.

Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's music to my ears. But is everything all right with you and Kyle?" she asked.

Tara blushed. Kyle was something else she didn't want to talk about in front of John, and now she merely nodded and excused them.

"We should be getting on our way. John's leg needs… circulation," she said, hoping Tiffany wouldn't question her over a medical fact, true or not.

"Certainly, yes. Don't let me keep you," Tiffany said. "It was nice to meet you, John. I really hope you start to feel better soon."

She hurried off in the opposite direction, and Tara and John continued their walk along the street toward the coffeehouse.

"Have you had an argument?" John asked.

Tara blushed. She wasn't an argumentative person by any means, nor did she bear grudges. She and Gina had argued before, and usually it was Tara who was in the right, only for Gina to realize as much and make an apology. But this time, Tara knew it was she who was in the wrong, and she was beginning to feel terribly guilty for having spoken to Gina as she had done—particularly over Randy, when she knew how upset her best friend had been at the possibility of him leaving Freemont for good.

"No… well, yes. I'm afraid I was in the wrong over something," Tara said.

She didn't know whether to confide in John or not over the nature of her disagreement with Gina. If she told him they had argued over Kyle, and that she had been in the wrong, perhaps he might take it as a sign of a possibility of something more between them. And yet Tara couldn't deny the fact she would rather like to give that sign, even as she knew she would be doing something terribly wrong in giving it.

"It wasn't about me, was it?" he asked. "I seem to be the talk of the town at the moment."

Tara shook her head. "Oh, no. It wasn't anything to do with you. It's silly, really. Gina didn't think the idea of my having a mail-order groom was a very good thing," she said.

To say the words herself made her almost think the same. She was beginning to regret inviting Kyle to Freemont and was wondering if she had gotten herself into something she was going to find it difficult to get out of.

"Kyle, you mean? And is she right?" John asked.

Tara blushed. She didn't want to say yes, and yet that was the answer. Gina was right, and the more Tara thought about it, the more she felt certain she had made a mistake in inviting Kyle to Freemont. There was something not right about him—the way he disappeared so often, the manner of his behavior toward others, his evasiveness when it came to questions…

"I… oh, I don't know. I think she is, yes," Tara said, and tears welled up in her eyes.

They had paused now, standing by the mercantile with the coffeehouse opposite. The people sitting in the window could see them, but John—as best he could—put his arms around her as now she sobbed on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying. It's just… Gina told me to be cautious, and I wasn't. I should've held back, but I was so desperate for… well, I don't know what. It's not been easy since my father died. But now he's here, I just don't understand why…" she sobbed.

"It's all right. You're allowed to cry. You don't always have to be the one saving other people, Tara," he said.

There was something so comforting in his words—a permission to say how she was truly feeling, and to be listened to as she did so.

"I know, but I shouldn't be saying all this to you. I'm sure Kyle and I can work things out. It's just a matter of time and patience," Tara replied, taking a deep breath as she drew back from his embrace.

She felt embarrassed, knowing they were being watched from the windows of the coffeehouse, and fearing word—or a version of the actual events—would find their way to Kyle. Would he be angry with her? Had she betrayed him? But the more she thought about it, the more Tara realized she had no feelings for Kyle, even as she knew she should do.

"But not if it's going to make you feel like this," John said.

His voice was gentle, and he placed his arm reassuringly on her arm. Tara took a deep breath and forced a smile to her face.

"Really, it's nothing. There's nothing more to say. He'll be back in a few days, and I'm sure it'll all be fine," she said, offering John her arm.

"But I can see it won't be. You're hurting, Tara. It's not just broken bones that need healing. Sometimes, the worst wounds are in here," John said, tapping his heart.

Again, tears welled up in Tara's eyes. She thought of her father, and the fact she had struggled to mourn for him. There had been no time after the funeral. She had worked extra shifts at the clinic and spent the rest of her waking hours taking care of the animals. She hadn't given herself time—or permission—to be upset.

Now, it was as though all those emotions were welling up inside her, and here, standing in front of her, was a man who had offered her comfort, a listening ear, and kindness when she needed it the most. He was there, and Kyle was not, and that fact brought with it a surge of emotion and intensity she hadn't felt for him before.

"You're right. The heart's a remarkable thing, isn't it? It can break, and it can give us a joy more profound than we could possibly imagine," Tara said, gazing into his eyes as she spoke.

She imagined what it would be like to kiss him, for him to hold her in his arms, unencumbered by crutches—to sweep her off her feet and bring his lips to hers. She would gladly have kissed him there and then, but something held her back—not just the fact they were being watched, but the fact that her feelings, torn between John and Kyle, still possessed of a loyalty to the man whose letters had so charmed her.

"I… you're right. And I feel like perhaps… my heart's been broken. I don't know, maybe I'm making it up—just imagining things. But I must've fallen in love once, don't you think? I'm old enough to have fallen in love five times over," John said, and Tara smiled.

She wondered if he had fallen in love with her, and if he had, what did he intend to do about it? Was there a spark of feeling there? She felt certain there was, and yet it seemed he, too, held back, fearing there was someone else—someone who already had his heart.

"How many times can a person fall in love?" Tara asked.

John smiled. "I suppose it depends if they ever truly find the one they're meant to fall in love with. Then the rest don't matter, do they?" he said.

Tara shook her head, more confused than ever as to her own feelings. She had been infatuated with Kyle, and she had imagined him to be something he had turned out not to be. It was the Kyle of her imagination she was in love with, the Kyle she had forced herself to glimpse despite her growing doubt about him. But John was different.

She had known nothing of him, and yet in coming to know him as she now did, her feelings for him had grown as they might for any couple in the first throes of romance. It was as it should be—or so Gina would probably tell her.

"I told you so. John's a much nicer man," she could hear Gina say…

"No, they don't," Tara said, still smiling at John, who held her gaze, even as they were disturbed by a couple coming out of the coffeehouse.

"How are you, Mr. Smith?" Peter, the orderly, called out, and Tara looked up to find him and his sister Marilyn walking arm in arm.

Marilyn was fifteen and harbored ambitions to be a nurse. She was forever at the clinic, asking to watch or help. But her heart was in the right place, and now she came hurrying over, eager, it seemed, to speak to John. The moment was lost, and perhaps it was a moment that should have been lost, as Tara was now returned to her senses by the presence of Peter and his sister.

"Oh, I'm getting better, thank you, Peter. I'm starting to remember some things," John replied.

"Oh, that's wonderful news," the orderly replied.

"Is it true you can't remember anything?" Marilyn asked, staring wide-eyed at John, who smiled.

"Well, not exactly. I can remember how to speak," John said.

"It's going to take some time, Marilyn. But little by little, that's all we can hope for," Tara said.

Marilyn was still staring at John, but Peter now excused them, tugging at his sister's arm as he did so.

"Come along, Marilyn. It's getting cold. We should be getting home."

They parted ways, and Tara now offered John her arm, thinking back to just how close the two of them had come to something more. There had been a moment—just before Peter and Marilyn had interrupted—when both of them might well have betrayed whatever past or future was meant to be theirs.

And yet something about that moment had felt right. Tara knew where her feelings lay, and they were not with Kyle, whose disappearance was now making her wonder if he would ever come back.

"Shall we go into the coffeehouse? Peter was right—it's getting colder out here," Tara said, as an icy blast of air blew along the street.

"That sounds like a good idea," John replied, and with Tara's help, he was able to get up the steps and into the warmth of the coffeehouse, its familiar scent of coffee welcoming them.

To any observer, they might well have been a courting couple, and their behavior did nothing to dispel the myth. But behind the picture was a far more complex story, and Tara knew if their feelings for one another were ever going to be expressed, a great deal had to change.

"Thank you," John said, as they sat together at a table in the corner. "This has been lovely."

Tara smiled. It had been lovely, and even if it could not last, his company was a memory she would treasure, whatever the future held.