There seemed to be uniforms everywhere. Bailey held a hand to her bleeding forehead and tried to make sense of the confusion.
Mercifully, no one had been seriously hurt in the crash. The car had come to rest in a ditch, one fender crumpled against a tree, the windshield and one side window shattered by branches, but there was no real damage to the inside of the vehicle. Everyone had been belted in, so the injuries were relatively minor.
Mae was shaken, but recovering with the help of an oxygen mask and the solicitous care of paramedics. Casey’s arm had slammed against her door, and would require X rays. Cara was bruised and dazed, her eyes huge in her colorless face as she hovered over her frightened child.
Mark stood very close to Cara’s side, his arm locked protectively around her waist. Mark had reached the car only moments after the impact.
Someone touched Bailey’s arm as she was watching her aunt being helped into the ambulance. “Ma’am? We’re taking everyone to be checked out at the hospital now. Let me help you into the ambulance.”
“I’m fine,” Bailey said, her voice tremulous. “Really.” But she could feel the warmth of her own blood on her face, the throbbing of her shoulder where she’d slammed against the driver’s door before being jerked back by her seat belt. Her left ankle felt hot and swollen; she hoped it was only sprained.
Despite her brave words, she was grateful for the support of the paramedic as she walked toward the ambulance in which Mae, Cara and Casey already sat.
“I’ll follow you to the hospital,” Mark said. “Chief Peavy’s going to meet me there for a description of the truck that broadsided you. I hope they catch the son of a bitch soon. I want to personally smash the guy’s face in.”
Bailey bit her lip as she climbed into the ambulance, remembering that moment when she had swerved and the truck had so swiftly followed. Though she found it hard to believe, she couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that the crash had been no accident.
7
March 1, 1903
Ian ran away from home yesterday. He was missing for almost five hours before a neighbor found him. I was terrified that something had happened to him.
He simply can’t accept that I am going to marry Gaylon. Ian keeps saying that he knows it’s a mistake, that he is afraid that something terrible will happen if I marry him. I can’t convince him that he is letting his imagination and his fear of change influence him. I don’t believe he really intended to be gone for long—he would never have left Mary Anna—but he wanted to upset me. I suppose he thought I would now understand how deeply opposed to this marriage he is, and perhaps change my mind about going through with it.
I do understand. I still have my own doubts about the wisdom of my decision, but I can’t let myself be influenced by a willful child’s tantrums Perhaps I have spoiled him. Maybe the others are right. Ian needs a father. I can no longer handle him alone. He is so stubborn, so convinced that he knows what is best for all of us, as young as he is. He has taken his role as the man of the household very seriously. He doesn’t want to give it up. I wish he could understand that I want him to be a child while he still can. He will have to grow up all too quickly.
Mary Anna is the only one who can truly reach him. She was very angry with him for frightening us. She made him promise both me and her that he would never do such a thing again. He finally told me that if I am determined to marry Gaylon, he will try to accept it. He looked so unhappy that it broke my heart, but I’m sure everything will be fine now.
At least, I hope it will.
BAILEY MADE SURE her aunt was comfortably tucked in for the night before giving in to her own exhaustion that evening. Mae had recovered from the ordeal with amazing fortitude, and she resisted Bailey’s efforts to hover over her.
“You go to bed and get some rest,” Mae said flatly. “You were hurt worse than I was. In fact, I wish you’d stay in the inn tonight so we could keep a close eye on you “
Bailey shook her head, then regretted it when her battered temples pounded in protest. “I’m fine, Aunt Mae. I’ll be more comfortable in the bed I’ve been sleeping in for the past two weeks. If you’re sure you won’t need me during the night, I’ll go on out to the cottage.”
“I won’t need you,” Mae said. “Elva insisted on spending the night when she heard what happened, and I’m sure she’ll be in here half a dozen times checking on me. Cara will keep a close eye on Casey, but Elva will probably look in on them, too. You’ll probably get more rest in the cottage. But you will call if you need anything, won’t you?”
“I’ll be fine. My ankle’s only twisted and the cut on my head didn’t even need stitches. No concussion, no broken bones, nothing at all for you to worry about tonight.”
“It’s a wonder no one was more seriously injured by that crazy drunk,” Mae said with a sigh as she settled into the pillows.
Bailey nodded grimly, trying to hide her lingering misgivings about the so-called accident.
The police had failed to find the truck or its driver, though they were still looking. Everyone seemed to accept that the driver had been intoxicated, the crash merely a drunken miscalculation of speed and distance.
Bailey was having trouble accepting that explanation. She couldn’t stop picturing those overbright lights heading steadily, certainly, in her direction.
She bent rather stiffly to kiss her aunt’s pale cheek. “Good night, Aunt Mae. Sleep well.”
“I’ll certainly try. But it will be a while before I can forget the sound of that truck hitting us” Mae admitted.
Bailey shuddered. “Me, too.”
Mark was waiting for Bailey outside Mae’s bedroom. “I’ll walk you to the cottage,” he said.
“Cara’s putting Casey to bed.”