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Show Page 222 water, we met. My free hand flew to my throat as I halted, and the water sloshed over the sides of the bucket and onto my shoe. John reached out, gently removed the bucket from my hand and set it upon the ground. "You are a stubborn woman, Sarah Douglas," he said, his eyes pleading with me, his face drawn down as though in sorrow. Even the scar upon his cheek seemed to curve downward. I realized I had never asked how he came to earn it. Without thinking, I reached out and traced the scar with a fingertip. John brushed the back of his hand down my cheek, wiping away my tears. I did not know I cried. Tell him! my heart, my mind commanded me. Tell him! 'Tis nonsense to think you will send him to his death simply by loving him. Tell him, and if he does indeed die on the expedition, 'twill be with a contented heart, knowing your heart is his. "Give me a reason to live through the days ahead," John whispered then, pulling me into his arms. How wonderful it felt to stand thus. Yet even as I thought this, I felt myself stiffen and draw back. I longed to remain within the circle of his arms, longed to tell him all that was within my heart. Yet I could not. I broke free, grabbed up the bucket and fled homeward. When I was safely inside, my skirts were wet with spilled water |
