Chapter 28

28

Four weeks, three days, and eight hours. That's how long he'd been away from Enya.

Yes, he'd been counting. He couldn't help himself.

Sullivan peered eagerly at the St. Louis waterfront as the Morning Star churned closer. As with the last time he'd arrived at the harbor in April, it was busier than previous years, likely with steamers still heading to the west side of Missouri filled with more gold seekers. It would be late in the season for the overland travelers to head to California, but no doubt they were too excited to care about the hazards.

The late-afternoon sunshine combined with the warm breeze made the day particularly pleasant. Compared to the gray skies and barren landscape from last month, the warmth of May had brought with it an abundance of color. Though the streets were still muddy, the few trees that hadn't been cut down to make room for warehouses were green and full of leaves. The grassy portions along the waterfront were also vibrant. Here and there, he spotted flowers in bloom.

He expelled a breath of relief that he was back. He hadn't been sure he could last another day away from Enya. The longing had been so keen, his body had ached.

How was it that he'd become so attached to her in such a short time?

Oh, he'd tried hard to get her out of his system over the past month away. He'd done everything he could to stop thinking about her and longing for her. He'd worked himself hard every day until he was utterly exhausted in order not to dream about her. He'd avoided all piano playing because it only reminded him of her. He'd even tried to make himself angry at her by replaying their last exchange a dozen times.

But after plenty of time to think about what had happened, he knew he'd never really been angry. He'd been hurt because he thought she was rejecting him. But he realized now that she wouldn't have kissed him the way she had that night if she were rejecting him.

No, she cared about him. The feelings and passion had been present. Maybe it would continue to grow. But even if it didn't, he would still love her. Because the truth was, he couldn't stop loving her any more than he could stop the Mississippi from flowing.

The shrill blast of the Morning Star 's whistle echoed in the air—two shorter, one long, then two shorter—as the pilot guided the steamer into the space between two other vessels—tight enough that a person could climb from one boat to the next without much effort.

He tugged at his cravat, loosening it even more. The warm breeze soothed his neck and the puckered skin. The mortification of letting the scars show had lessened over the past weeks, but it still wasn't easy to reveal his flaws to the world.

Regardless, he'd wanted to do as Bellamy had encouraged, to accept himself and stop worrying about people rejecting him. He hadn't known any other way to overcome his insecurities except by facing them head-on. And baring his neck and the ugly skin there had been his first step.

Through it all, he'd begun to realize that Enya had always accepted him more than anyone else. When she'd seen his burn marks, she hadn't pitied him, hadn't been bothered by them in the least.

She also hadn't been put off by his quiet, reserved personality or his social awkwardness. In fact, their personalities fit together, almost as if they'd been made to be together.

Even so, he hoped in the process of stretching himself that he'd gained confidence. Especially so that when he visited Enya, he wouldn't give way to the feelings that he wasn't good enough or didn't deserve her. Instead, he wanted to stand before her, knowing that even with all his flaws, he was a man worth having.

The Morning Star sidled into the spot and began to shift to allow for the lowering of the landing stage. Dockworkers waited along the bank, and passengers lined the decks, readying themselves to disembark.

Unfortunately, he'd had to stop more than usual during the journey northward to bury people dying of cholera. After the disease had diminished earlier in the year, it was awakening with the warmer weather, like a creature coming out of hibernation, and now fresh graves lined the riverbanks.

Everyone was speculating what course the disease would take next, and the latest news Sullivan had heard was that the cases of cholera were surging again in St. Louis. He'd gotten a copy of the St. Louis Daily New Era a couple of days ago at a port city, and the top story had been about cholera causing 181 deaths in the past week, which was more than double what it had been a month ago.

If the situation became worse in the city, he'd have to reconsider where to have Enya live. Perhaps she'd be safest residing on his family plantation outside of New Orleans. There she would have plenty of fresh air and good food to eat.

Longing tugged at him—the longing to jump into the river, swim the final distance to the shore, and then run the rest of the way to the house, to her.

But the real question was—would she be happy to see him?

Maybe after the way they'd parted, she'd be less than eager for a visit. Maybe he'd lost the ground he'd gained with her and would have to start over and work hard to make amends.

He released a sigh, one that contained all the worry that had been building.

As much as he wanted to see her this evening, he probably ought to wait until the morning. He'd stop by the bathhouse, get a haircut and shave, and then go when he was at his best.

In the meantime, though, he'd send her something to let her know he was back, a way to prepare her for his visit. Or was the delay the coward's way? A tactic for avoiding his fear of more rejection?

He shook his head. No, he had work to do tonight....

He didn't glance behind him at the door of his cabin. Thankfully, Roan Whistler hadn't been able to find any evidence of his helping runaways during his stopover in St. Louis in April.

But now that Sullivan had become a suspect, he'd had to use even more caution for this voyage, especially because he didn't have Enya to play the piano and drown out noises.

Yes, it was for the best if he stayed on the steamer one more night and made sure his cargo was safe.

Enya leaned forward and jotted an A-sharp quarter note onto the sheet music. Then, sticking the pencil between her teeth, she replayed the bar with the change.

The melody crescendoed just the way she'd envisioned, poignant and yet joyful at the same time.

She paused again, took out her pencil, and drew in a series of eighth notes.

"Mrs. O'Brien?"

At the call of her name and Alannah's touch on her shoulder, Enya startled and fumbled with her pencil. She caught it and tucked it behind her ear before she shifted on her stool to find the maidservant standing beside the piano.

Enya splayed a hand over the rising swell of her baby, feeling a fluttering that was becoming more common each day. "I didn't see you there."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I could tell you were lost in your composing." Alannah was beginning to fill out and looked healthier than she had when she'd first started her job, even prettier, if that were possible.

Her face had lost the pallor and gained a rosy pink. Her blond hair was more lustrous. Even the fearfulness had dissipated, although the maid never ventured far beyond the yard and always stayed out of sight when visitors came to the house.

"Aye, I'm nearing the end and am too focused." Enya shifted back to the sheet of music, one that she'd been composing for the past two weeks. She'd found solace, even contentment, in creating again. And she'd filled her days—and even some of her nights—with music.

Maybe she'd never be a concert pianist. Maybe she'd never have a career in music. But she appreciated knowing that Sullivan believed in her and that he hadn't tried to control her or stop her from her aspirations, and had instead encouraged her to keep utilizing her musical talent in whatever way she chose to employ it.

That he supported her so completely meant more than he would ever know, and she was looking forward to sharing her composition with him.

With each passing day, her mind filled with more of Sullivan until at times he was all she thought about. She'd relived their weeks together and the many ways he'd shown her that he cared, not for what he could get from her but out of genuine concern for her as a person. Because that's the type of man he was. He had a deeply caring heart and helped others without expecting anything in return.

She should have tried harder to connect with him.... She vowed to do so when he returned.

Now that he'd been gone four weeks, she expected him to be back in St. Louis any time. Every day she prayed he would come walking in the door and forgive her for continually pushing him away. But every night she lay in her bed disappointed that another day had gone by without a word from him.

She could admit, her desperation was starting to mount. But she'd done her best to stay busy and not entertain the possibility that he wouldn't want to see her.

Of course, he had sent her the piano. And she wanted to believe it had been his way of letting her know he wasn't giving up on her. Even though she tried to silence the doubts that still lingered, Bryan's voice still whispered in her head that no man would ever want her again.

"What do you need, Alannah?" Enya leaned closer to the sheet and examined the few notes she'd just drawn.

"Something arrived for you, ma'am." The maid's tone held a note of excitement.

Enya swiveled back around, her heart beginning to flutter like a bird trapped in a cage needing freedom. "What is it?" The last time something had arrived for her, it had been the piano. She didn't dare hope Sullivan sent something again, did she?

Alannah smiled, and her blue eyes lit with encouragement.

The wings inside Enya's heart beat harder.

"You'll have to come into the dining room and see." Alannah held out a hand to help her up.

Enya didn't wait for the assistance. She hopped up and raced out of the room, stopping short as she entered the dining room. There at her place was a meal perfectly arranged, the chicken dinner that the Morning Star cook made so well, the one Enya had craved often during their travels. Lying on the table next to the plate of food was a bouquet of flowers, one that reminded her of the simple bouquets Sullivan had picked for her from time to time from the flowers along the river.

She cupped a hand over her mouth to catch the half sob and half gasp that escaped.

Alannah was standing in the doorway, gazing at the items on the table too. "The messenger said it was from Captain O'Brien."

"Then he must be back." The ache inside swelled. She needed to see Sullivan now. Right away.

She slipped past Alannah into the hallway. She'd ride down to the levee this very moment and find him. If he'd sent her the dinner, then surely he'd be willing to see her, wouldn't he?

She made it one step toward the coat-tree before halting.

"What's wrong, ma'am?" Alannah had moved to her side, her delicate brows crinkling together with concern.

"Why did he have the meal and flowers delivered? Why didn't he bring me everything himself?"

"Maybe he's busy."

"Maybe." But she'd watched Sullivan enough to know that he didn't let anything stop him when he wanted something. If he'd wanted to see her, he would have made a way to visit, no matter how busy he was.

"You should come eat before it gets any colder." Alannah slid an arm around Enya to draw her back into the dining room.

This time Enya complied and allowed Alannah to guide her to the table and her chair. But as she sat and took in the meal and the flowers, she couldn't keep worry from mingling with her excitement that Sullivan was in St. Louis.

Maybe he hadn't come because he wasn't sure if she'd welcome him. What if first she had to somehow show him that she was finally ready to open her arms and heart to him?