The Forever Man(59)

"Outside." His grin faded, and he opened the bedroom door, waiting for her to precede him.

"All right." At this point she'd be willing to follow the man anywhere, she decided, even when most folks were sound asleep.

They left the house in silence, the moon lighting the yard and the  meadow beyond. Tate took her hand and led her in the other direction,  toward the hillside where the graves of Fred and Mary Patterson were  marked by hewn pieces of granite. In the pale glow of moon and stars,  they lifted toward the sky, small markers barely visible from the house.

Tate's arm was around her shoulders as they walked, and Johanna felt the  familiar fullness in her chest when they approached the small  graveyard. And yet there was a difference, a lightening of the load  she'd carried for so long. As if this man had taken part of her burden  upon himself, and in the sharing had eased her grief.

"Look, Jo. There, by the baby's grave." He halted her just yards from  their goal and stood behind her, his arms around her, firm beneath her  breasts as he held her against the warmth of his body.

And ahead of her stood a graceful wooden slab of hickory, marking the  grave of a baby who had been mourned only by his mother, up until now.

"What does it say?" There was lettering on it. She could see that the  surface was cut, engraved with a series of letters, indiscernible in the  dim glow of moonlight.

"It says 'Beloved Son.' Just that, Jo. If you want more, I can carve something else on it."

"When did you make it, Tate? Was it that piece you showed me the other day?"

His head nodded, brushing against her hair. "Yeah. I finished it last  night and put it into the ground this afternoon. It sanded up real nice,  Jo. I put a finish on it and set it up with concrete so it won't  budge."                       
       
           



       

"What if the boys ask?"

He leaned to kiss her cheek. "We'll tell them the truth, if it's all  right with you. Just that once, a long time ago, a baby was born and  died, and his mama remembers him."

She waited for the terrible pain to descend. But found only the warmth  of his embrace filling her with joy. She rubbed her face against her  arm. "It doesn't hurt like it used to, Tate."

"It'll hurt less as time goes on, honey. It's easier when someone shares the sorrow."

She shuddered, visualizing what her future had contained before Tate  Montgomery entered her life. Turning in his arms, she curled against  him, secure in his embrace, tucking her face against his throat,  inhaling the male scent of him.

"I love you." She rose on tiptoe, tilting her chin to capture his mouth, sealing her vow with a blending of lips.

His hands slid up to cradle her face, and he tipped his head to one  side, allowing the moonlight to shed its glow, illuminating her. "And I  love you. Have you forgiven me for the bull, sweetheart?" His grin was  rueful, but the hesitation he offered as he awaited her reply was  telling.

She nodded, her own smile an answer. "I trust you, Tate. That's the  bottom line. I wouldn't have gotten so bent out of shape if you'd told  me first."

"Bent out of shape? You were madder than a wet hen, honey."

"I suppose I was, at that," she conceded. "Don't ever pull another stunt like that, Tate Montgomery."

"From now on I'll know better, Jo. I've never had a partner before, you know."

"Well, you've got one now, mister."

"Yeah." He hugged her against him, quickly, firmly, as if he were  sealing their bargain anew. And then whispered against her ear a  proposal so blatant, so filled with promise, it elicited a smothered  gasp of disbelief as she pushed against him, sputtering her protest.

"All night? You're crazy, do you know that?"

He turned her, his arm pinning her to his side, her feet skimming the  ground as he hauled her down the sloping hillside. Behind them, the moon  caressed the barren hilltop, softening the edges of the markers that  guarded the graves, lending a silvery glow, as if the heavens were  gathering up the grief inherent in such a place, leaving only peace  behind.





Epilogue


Selena Phillips was a beautiful bride, and her matron of honor was  equally lovely, wearing a striped taffeta dress that had been let out at  the waist for the occasion. Leah Ibsen and the barber, Jacob Nelson,  walked the same aisle two months later, on the hottest Saturday in July,  providing the residents of Belle Haven another opportunity to  celebrate.

Three weddings in one year, one gentleman had been heard to remark, as  if such a thing were unheard-of. The town was growing by leaps and  bounds, what with the new babies being born. And from the looks of it,  Tate Montgomery's wife would be providing him with another mouth to  feed.

The summer provided a bumper crop of corn, Tate's new seed proving to be  dandy. The apples were ripening up, the transparents bringing in a tidy  amount for Johanna's bank account. She'd hired on a boy to help pick,  and Mr. Turner had taken every bushel he could get. Tate had not allowed  her to climb a ladder, and she'd contented herself with gathering up  the windfalls and watching.

They'd tried their hand at cider-making and ordered in some jugs to hold  product. Tate predicted a real future in cider, once the trees were  full-grown and they could figure out a better process of making the tart  drink.

It was while the Baldwins and snows were at their peak that Johanna left  the orchard one hot late-September afternoon to climb the stairs to the  big bedroom on the second floor of the farmhouse. And it was there that  Tate found her a little later, garbed in her nightgown in the middle of  the day.

He'd cast one look in her direction and known that the months of waiting  were almost at an end. But it was nightfall before the tiny, perfect  form of his daughter was placed in his hands.

Merry Johanna Montgomery, named for her grandmother, but with the name  spelled to reflect the promise of the joy she would bring. The first of  four children Johanna would bear her husband, a living harbinger of  happiness yet to come.