Forever Phoebe by Chalon Linton
Chapter 19
It had all happened so quickly. Phoebe had bounced in her saddle, awaiting the sure moment she would be thrown from her horse and have her head dashed against the rocks. In the next panicked breath, she’d found herself free of her horse and wrapped in the cocoon of Mr. Everly’s arms.
She had screamed as he leapt from his horse’s back. How he had managed to pull her legs free from the saddle and twist himself beneath her she could not fathom. Perhaps an angel had guided Mr. Everly in her rescue, as even now, he cradled one hand around her head and another across her back to shield her from the rocky terrain. Somewhere in Phoebe’s subconscious, she knew she needed to move, but her heart beat so quick and loud, matching the pounding of horse hooves and the explosion of panic from her brothers, that the shuddering of her body would not subside. Phoebe pressed her face farther into Mr. Everly’s chest, forcing herself to breathe in his warmth, to acknowledge that she was safe and whole.
The sound of racing hooves drew near. Phoebe tensed, and Mr. Everly’s arms tightened, but he did not otherwise move.
“Phoebe!” She recognized Geoffrey’s voice. Then she felt a hand on her back. “Phoebe, are you injured?” Her brother touched her shoulders, then her spine, and gently turned her outward.
Mr. Everly lessened his hold, and as Phoebe turned with Geoffrey’s urging, Mr. Everly choked out a sputtered gasp.
“Everly?” Abraham called.
Phoebe shifted and scrambled to her knees where she could observe Mr. Everly. His head lolled to the side, and his long blond hair fell across his face. Phoebe’s hands continued to shake as she used a single finger to brush his hair aside so that she might better see him. “Mr. Everly?” Her voice caught, and when he did not answer, she touched his shoulder and repeated his name louder. “Mr. Everly?”
Mr. Everly winced, and his eyes pressed tighter. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Peter,” Geoffrey said. “Fetch the doctor.”
Peter sprinted to his horse and raced toward the house.
Geoffrey knelt beside Phoebe and turned her away. He placed a hand upon each of her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms. He then moved his fingers to her face and turned her chin to evaluate both sides of Phoebe’s head. “Are you certain you are not injured?”
Phoebe blinked, and more tears fell, but she shook her head. “I am all right.” She batted Geoffrey’s hands away and turned back to her rescuer.
Abraham squatted beside Mr. Everly. “Turn just a bit.” Abraham helped roll him onto his right side to expose his back.
A rock the length of Peter’s chessboard lay buried in the dirt with a single jagged edge protruding six inches above the ground. Sticky blood coated the toothed granite.
Phoebe gasped and moved her shaky hands to cover her mouth. Her knees felt wobbly, and she sat down on the soil.
Geoffrey shot off another command. “Mason, bring a cart from the stables.” Mason nodded, and Geoffrey barked again. “Rush, man!”
Abraham and Geoffrey exchanged a worried glance. Abraham held Mr. Everly on his side and pointed to where blood had saturated his jacket above his left hip.
“Blast.” Geoffrey ran a hand over his face. Then, with a deep breath, he pulled his arms from his jacket, folded it in half and pressed it against Mr. Everly’s wound. “Everly?” Geoffrey asked. “Can you hear me?”
When Mr. Everly did not reply, Phoebe whimpered through several shuddering breaths. Geoffrey shot her a look. Phoebe knew her hysterics did not aid the situation, but it could not be helped. Mr. Everly had sacrificed his own well-being to save her. She would most likely be sore and sport a few bruises—nothing that time and rest would not heal. Mr. Everly, however, lay bleeding and unresponsive.
Abraham continued to hold Mr. Everly on his side while Geoffrey tried to staunch the blood. Phoebe blinked her tears away and took two deep breaths. She scooted closer to Mr. Everly and pulled off her soiled gloves.
Once the blood had been discovered, Phoebe’s brothers had focused their attention to Mr. Everly’s back. Phoebe now looked over the rest of his body. His chest rose and fell with slow, desperate breaths. His legs lay straight, though his trousers were covered with bits of grass and dirt. A bruise had begun to form on his right cheek, and a thin cut above his left eyebrow bled pinpricks of red. Mr. Everly’s left upper arm rested parallel on his side, his elbow nearly touching his hip bone. But where his forearm fell across his abdomen, it twisted at a sickly angle. Phoebe pressed her knuckles to her lips and turned her head away to gather her composure.
This man had saved her life. She would do everything in her power to help him, and as they sat waiting for the cart and the doctor, the only balm Phoebe could offer was comfort.
She reached forward to touch Mr. Everly, tentative but determined to help. She slowly placed her hand upon his left shoulder, resting her palm lightly at first, then applying enough pressure to ensure Mr. Everly knew she was there.
“Mr. Everly?” Her voice broke on his name. Phoebe swallowed and tried again. “Mr. Everly?” She lifted her hand from his shoulder and moved it a few inches lower, where she again pressed her palm to his bicep. “Help is on the way.” She moved her hand lower again, to a place just above his elbow. “You saved my life,” Phoebe said. She sucked in a shaky breath but regained her composure before she spoke again. “You have to get well so . . . so . . .”
“So I can claim my prize.” Mr. Everly’s voice was barely a whisper.
Phoebe leaned close. Close enough that her breath drifted over his cheek. “Yes,” Phoebe said softly. “Your prize.”
Mr. Everly’s fingers twitched, his middle and pointer finger extending as if reaching for something. Phoebe looked at both of her brothers. Then she reached forward and twined her fingers with Mr. Everly’s. “Help will arrive soon,” she said.
Mr. Everly tightened his fingers around hers, and then he passed out.
***
Phoebe paced the length of her room two hundred and seventy-three times before Peter knocked on her door. She had counted. Miriam sat on the chair near the window, twining her hands as Phoebe had taken turn after turn.
Peter pushed the door open, and Phoebe rushed to him. “How is he?” she asked and grabbed her brother’s arms. “What does Doctor Daniels say?”
“Everly’s arm is broken, and he needed several stitches in his back. But, thankfully, the wound was not as deep as we feared. The doctor expects a full recovery.” Peter pulled Phoebe to him. He crushed her in his arms, squeezing her shoulders and shaking his head. “Watching your horse sprint away . . . I was so frightened you would fall.”
Phoebe struggled for a breath. “Peter, you’re suffocating me.” She wiggled back and forth and managed to move her hands to his shoulders, where she pushed and created some distance between them.
Peter kept hold of her arms. “I don’t know how Everly caught up to you. But I am grateful he did.”
“Poor Sundance. She was simply spooked,” Phoebe said.
“We are to blame for that.” Peter released Phoebe and sighed loudly. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Thinking back, I believe Everly tried to warn us. We were too caught up in our banter to recognize that we’d put you in danger.”
“Do not blame yourself. It was a mistake.” Phoebe slipped her arm through Peter’s. “Come, let’s go see Mr. Everly. I need to verify for myself that . . .” Her breath stuttered. “That he is well.”
Peter nodded. “Come.” He led her to the library door, where he paused. “Let me make certain he is able to receive you.”
“Nonsense.” Phoebe planted her hands on her hips. “I am not afraid of a little blood.”
“There was more than a little. And I cannot verify Everly’s state of dress.” Peter should have known better than to issue his sister a look of challenge. Phoebe had yet to balk at one of her brother’s dares.
“I’ve grown up with three brothers. A visit to Mr. Everly will not shock me.” She pushed past Peter and opened the library door even as he called for her to wait.
She should have listened. Mr. Everly sat upright on the sofa. Shirtless. He leaned forward as the doctor, assisted by Mrs. Adler, wrapped bandages around his torso. His hair had been haphazardly tied. Loose strands framed his face, and he rested his right arm on his knee. A brace of wood and cloth covered Mr. Everly’s left arm, which he held carefully while his bandages were secured. Tight muscles spread across his back and shoulders. Phoebe remembered clinging to him and feeling his strength as he’d carried her through the rain into his home. Mr. Everly winced as the doctor tied off the fabric.
“Phoebe!” Peter called to her with a harsh whisper. “Let him be.” He placed his hand on her arm to turn her around, but Phoebe shook free.
Doctor Daniels gave Mrs. Adler instructions, then excused himself. He nodded to Peter. “I shall speak with Mr. Jamison before I take my leave.” He made his way out.
A maid worked alongside the housekeeper, collecting the medical instruments and soiled linens. Mr. Everly sat upright now, staring at Phoebe. He seemed to look her over, but she kept her eyes focused on his face. Her cheeks warmed. She took one step, then stopped. “Mr. Everly,” she began. His chest rose and fell. His face remained stoic while a turbulent gale roared through her veins. “Why did you . . . ?” She paused, considering what she wished most to say. In her room, she’d composed countless thoughts and questions, and now they all felt like a frivolous mixture of nonsense. Was he in a vast amount of pain? How had he managed to mitigate her injuries? And why did he choose to jump rather than let her horse tire? In the end, she knew his choice had saved her from a grave injury. Sundance had stumbled on the rocks, and Phoebe would have fallen with her.
She forced herself to stand still and clasped her hands near her waist. The most important words were the simple ones. “Thank you,” she said.
Mr. Everly’s jaw tightened, and he moved to stand.
“No, you don’t.” Mrs. Adler bustled around the couch and pressed Mr. Everly back down to his seat. “The doctor said you are to remain abed for a fortnight, and I intend to follow his orders.” The housekeeper continued her mothering, situating a pillow behind Mr. Everly. He leaned back against the arm of the couch, and Mrs. Adler covered him with a blanket and forced a cup of water to his lips. “I’ll not stand for stubbornness, Mr. Everly, so don’t even think of trying to get up or move about on your own, or I’ll be having to set a footman to watch you.” She ordered the maid to continue to tidy the room and gathered Geoffrey’s blood-soaked jacket. “Now, I’m going to provide some refreshment for Doctor Daniels in the drawing room, and then I’ll bring you a nice bowl of broth.” She shook her finger at Mr. Everly. “I’d better find you exactly where you are and not disturbed.” Mrs. Adler turned and glared at Peter and Phoebe. “Do you understand?”
The corners of Mr. Everly’s mouth turned up in amusement. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then he sobered. “Thank you, Mrs. Adler, for your kind attentions.”
Mrs. Adler huffed, and as she passed Peter, she said, “Behave.”
Peter chuckled and sauntered to Mr. Everly’s side. “She’s a bit demanding, that one. But she’ll take good care of you. By the end of your convalescence, you’ll proclaim her a saint.”
Phoebe followed Peter closer to where Mr. Everly lay. She looked him over again, seeing all the things she had not before. The bruise on Mr. Everly’s cheek had darkened to the color of a plum. The scratch above his eye had been cleaned, but another trailed from behind his left ear, down his neck, and burned angry red. A series of smaller, fist-sized bruises marred his left side, and Phoebe’s eyes wandered again to his broken arm. Emotion welled inside of her, and like the steam in a kettle, she could not contain it. Tears filled her eyes, though she tried to offset them with a smile.
“Phoebe?” Peter asked.
“I’m sorry,” Phoebe whispered. She turned her head aside and covered her cheek with her hand.
“Miss Jamison? Are you unwell?” Mr. Everly asked.
She quickly swiped at her tears and shook her head. Peter handed her a handkerchief. Phoebe sniffled and laughed. “No. I am quite well . . .” She dabbed the remaining moisture from her eyes and met his earnest gaze. “Thanks you to, Mr. Everly.”
He shifted. “Truly?”
Phoebe nodded again. “Yes. Yes. I’ll surely be sore tomorrow. But nothing more.”
Mr. Everly shoulder’s relaxed. “Jamison told me as much, but I am grateful to see for myself that you are not injured.”
“Where are Geoffrey and Abraham?” Phoebe asked.
Peter shared a look of trepidation with Mr. Everly before facing Phoebe. “Sundance broke her leg. Mason remained with the stablemaster, and they determined she had to be put down. Geoffrey and Abraham went to see to it.”
“Oh.” A new feeling washed over Phoebe. She searched for the closest chair and sat down. Guilt cast her eyes to the woolen cream carpet. “This is all my fault.”
“Nonsense.” Peter walked near and laid a hand on her shoulder. “We should have waited.”
“I should not have ridden. Father was right. If I’d stayed home, Sundance would be happily munching hay in her stall and Mr. Everly would be contentedly reading in his study at Ravencrest.”
“I doubt I’d be reading,” Mr. Everly said in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.
“Oh, very well, then,” Phoebe snapped and jumped to her feet. Her arms flew as she spoke. “You’d be managing your ledgers or consulting with the gardener or having to clean up after Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. But you certainly would not be laid up on the couch with a stitched wound, a bruised body, and the inability to use your left arm!”
Peter’s eyes widened, and he tried to cover his amusement with his fist. Phoebe frowned at him.
“I’ve no regrets, Miss Jamison,” Mr. Everly said.
Phoebe turned her attention back to him. He held her gaze. The gray-blue of his eyes reminded Phoebe of the crystal edges of a snowflake, the kind she would catch in her palm as they slowly melted. She wanted this moment to be as still and delicate as those treasured memories. Instead, she felt like a piece of down tumbling on the wind.
“Come, Phoebe.” Peter stepped beside her. “We should do our best to avoid Mrs. Adler’s wrath. Let us leave Mr. Everly to rest.”
Phoebe let Peter lead her away, thinking on how after the snow melted in her palm, she would often bring the tiny droplet to her mouth and let her lips absorb the moisture. The jagged icy edges softened and offered cool refreshment. Her opinion of Mr. Everly had transformed in much the same way. He had arrived with all his beauty, and slowly, he had melted Phoebe’s heart, drawing her in until she wanted more. She would see to his care, meet his every need herself. He had saved her life, and it was the least she could do.