If You Believe

But Jake didnt know what it was.

Mariah heard the buggy driving up the yard. She flew out of her bed and ran, hair flying, down the stairs and through the kitchen, bursting onto the dark porch.

Mad Dog reined Cleo in, bringing the buggy to a creaking halt.

She didnt look at him. Instead she stood there, stiff as a rail, her hands twisted together at her midsection. "Hes dead, isnt he?"

"No . . . hes not dead. "

Mariah lifted moist, hopeful eyes to Mad Dogs face. Her fingers uncoiled, fell back to her sides. "Hes okay?"

Mad Dogs face crumpled, and Mariahs budding hope crashed all around her. And somehow the pain of losing that second of hope was more devastating than the hours shed spent believing he was dead. "What is it?" she asked dully.

Mad Dog gave her a look of intimate sadness. Quietly he said, "Is his bed ready?"

She nodded. Fear and desperation closed in on her, in her chest, her heart, her throat. Her insides twisted and writhed, her pulse pounded in her ears. She was close to shattering, close to losing what precious little control she had. She drew in a sharp, shaking breath and tried to hold on.

Mad Dog jumped down from the buggy and scooped Rass into his arms. Her fathers head lolled back, his arm slipped lifelessly downward.

Mariah gasped at the sight of him, so pale and wan. Her father, whod always been there for her, always been healthy and robust, looked small and old . . . and dying.

Jake jumped down from the buggy and walked toward her. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and his skin was the color of candle wax. His mouth was drawn into a tight, trembling line.

She felt his sadness, knew he was as miserable as she was, and doing his adolescent best to hold back tears. Deep inside her, something stirred, some remnant of the woman shed been a few hours ago, and she wanted to reach out to him. But she didnt, she couldnt. There was nothing inside her, nothing to offer to a young boy who needed comfort.

Sickened and saddened by her own weakness, she looked away from Jakes teary eyes.

Mad Dog cradled Rass in gentle arms and walked up the porch stairs. He stopped beside her, looked down at her through eyes filled with tender understanding. "Lets take him to bed. "

She tried to nod, but even that simple action was beyond her.

"Jake," Mad Dog went on, "you go get a pitcher of warm water, a washrag, and a spoon. Doc says were supposed to keep him drinking if we can. "

Mariah knew she should feel grateful to Mad Dog for taking over, but she was so sick and numb, she didnt feel anything.

"Show me the way," he said gently.

She turned away from him and stumbled up the stairs, clutching the wobbly handrail for support. He followed slowly, his every footstep heavy and thudding on the creaking steps.

She stared through wide, gritty eyes at the darkened hallway and forced herself to keep walking. But every step caused a twisting spasm in her stomach. Her fingers trembled, her throat went dry.

The closed door loomed in front of her. This was her fathers bedroom, and once, long ago, her mothers. It was their place, their sanctuary. She didnt want to go in there, didnt want to place her dying father in his bed and try to pretend she could survive.

Shaking, she reached for the knob and opened the door. Pale moonlight slithered through the lacy white curtains and puddled on the fringed, dark blue carpet. A shadowy, four-postered bed huddled against one wall, its center a mass of white sheets and black blankets.

She moved woodenly into the room, her hands twisted nervously together. The quiet, shadowy room smelled of lingering lamplight, freshly washed sheets, and . .

.

lavender.

The unexpected scent almost brought Mariah to her knees. It was impossible, she told herself. It was only her imagination that added a hint of lavender to the air.

She lit two lamps and went to the bed, yanking back the blankets. The harsh scent of burning oil filled the shadowy room, obliterating the impossible fragrance of lavender.

Mad Dog followed her into the room and laid Rass down on the bed. He bent over, carefully tucking the blanket around Rass, drawing it up to his chest.

Mariah got her first real look at her father. Golden lamplight wreathed him in an amber, almost ethereal light, but even that couldnt add color to the bluish hollows of his cheeks. Shadows clung beneath his closed eyes, giving them a deathly, sunken look. His lips were gray, almost invisible against the lifeless pallor of his slack skin.