The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Shannon Farrington

  Rebekah rocked Kathleen, hummed a soft tune. The music and the ice water did little to help. The fever continued to rage. Sadie came to report that she and James had delivered the necessary items for Grace to Julia Ward. Hannah brought fresh cloths and food, but neither he nor his wife could eat a bite. Rebekah kept her vigil. He silently kept his.

  By nightfall, what they had fearfully suspected was confirmed. The area around little Kathleen’s mouth was as pale as cream, but her cheeks blazed red as if she’d been burned by the sun. Her back and her chest bore the telltale rash, as well.

  “Dr. Stanton was right,” Henry said. “My sister looked just like that when she had scarlet fever.”

  “D-did the fever weaken her heart?” Rebekah asked in a thready voice. “I-is that why she d-died?”

  “Don’t,” Henry immediately said. “Don’t think that way. Kathleen is not Marianne. She’ll come through this.”

  Rising, Rebekah quickly walked to the opposite side of the room, but not before Henry saw the conflict on her face, saw the fear, the pain, the longing. His heart ached for her.

  “I don’t know what to do for her,” she said.

  “Yes, you do. You are doing it. You have treated fevers before. You are an accomplished nurse.”

  “No, I’m not!” Tears sprang from her eyes, ran down her cheeks. Her words tumbled out like a confession. “My commendations at the hospital were for following orders, Henry, for keeping the ward tidy! My soldiers died.”

  He approached her slowly. “Wounded men often die, Rebekah. It’s a sad fact of war. You can’t change it.”

  “My father thought I should be able to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said if I were a more successful nurse, I’d be transferred to a ward with US officers rather than rebel prisoners...that I’d be assigned to more respectable men.”

  How could Van der Geld say such things? How could he place such unspeakable blame on his own daughter? Henry forced himself to swallow back his disgust. He could not allow what he felt toward her father to invade this moment with her.

  “The army kept you where you were needed,” he said, “among the prisoners of war. They outnumbered wounded US officers greatly.” He paused, taking her hands in his. They were so delicate, so warm, and again, they were trembling. “Is that why your father made you give up nursing?”

  Rebekah drew in a ragged breath. She had never looked more vulnerable. “He said I was becoming too attached. He said he wouldn’t abide tears for traitors. He never stood for tears...” She pulled her hands from his, quickly wiping her eyes, as if he were the one who couldn’t abide her crying. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You needn’t be.”

  He slid his hands up her arms. Her cotton dress was soft to the touch, but the limbs beneath were taut with fright. “Rebekah,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.”

  She stared at the floor. “But this is all my fault.”

  Henry gently lifted her chin, looked into her eyes. They were vacant and glassy. “What is your fault?” he asked.

  “Kathleen...”

  “Kathleen? You think you are responsible for her illness?”

  She nodded, sucked in a breath. She was trembling all over now. “I should have realized. I should have known last night something was wrong. And now if Grace—”

  She started to pull away. He refused to let her go. “Rebekah, I was here, as well. I didn’t know anything was wrong, either.”

  “But today...if I had not been busy with the sewing circle... I was the one that invited them this time. If I had only—” She hung her head. “Surely God is punishing me.”

  She had never really spoken to him about her faith, and to Henry’s shame, he had never asked. He’d seen her reading the Scriptures, overheard her more than once speak of God’s role as creator and sustainer of the universe to Kathleen in the garden. She bowed her head at mealtime and when putting his nieces to bed. But for all of that, her faith is apparently more out of fear and duty than joy. His heart squeezed.

  “Rebekah, please look at me...”

  She slowly raised her eyes. They were full of shame.

  “Why do you think God is punishing you?”

  “I-I am n-not as I should be.”

  “Neither am I. You are fully aware of my sins.”

  “But... I am your wife. I am to please you. I am to obey, not challenge your authority, nor flinch when you touch me.”

  “Rebekah, that is not a wife. That is a slave, and you know how I feel about slavery.” Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close. Despite the circumstances, it felt so good to hold her. She was so fragile, so in need of protection. Henry vowed he’d spend the rest of his life proving she had nothing to fear from him.

  “I know what your father did to you,” he whispered. “I know he struck you...repeatedly.”

  “Only when I deserved it.”

  At those words, Henry didn’t know what he felt more—anger toward his father in law, or pain for his wife. “My dear, you never deserved it. And it’s over now—you are safe here. You are safe with me. I will never let anyone hurt you again, and I will make it known to your father that he is never to step foot in this house again.”

  He could feel the tension draining from her body. She sagged against him, overwhelmed by emotion and exhaustion. Henry tightened his arms about her. “And Kathleen’s illness is not your fault. God is not punishing you. He loves you. I—”

  He stopped, realizing Rebekah’s stance had moved well past surrender to his embrace. She was limp in his arms. “Rebekah?”

  Her eyes were closed, and the flush on her face was due to more than tears. She was hot with fever, as well.

  Sweeping her into his arms, Henry raced for the hall. “Hannah! Hannah!”

  The cook came running, meeting him at the door to Rebekah’s bedroom. A cry escaped her throat the moment she saw them, instantly recognizing what was wrong.

  “Help me,” Henry pleaded.

  He placed his wife upon the bed, then reached for the water pitcher. “I’ll fetch the ice.”

  An apron, a dress and a collection of ladies’ underpinnings littered the floor by the time he returned to the room. Hannah had somehow managed to get Rebekah into a nightdress and pulled the pins from her hair. A long chocolate braid now tumbled down her shoulder. Embroidered pink roses encircled her neck.

  Henry set the pitcher of water on the table beside the bed and helped Hannah cover her with blankets. Rebekah was now shivering uncontrollably, yet like Kathleen, she burned with fever.

  “I’ll fetch you another blanket,” Hannah said. “Then I’ll look after Miss Kathleen. Sadie can mind the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.”

  The woman hurried off. Henry laid the cold cloth upon Rebekah’s forehead. She opened her eyes. “Grace... Kathleen...”

  “Grace is safe,” he told her, “and Hannah will see to Kathleen.”

  She uttered something unintelligible, then suddenly twisted as if she were about to be violently ill. Henry immediately reached for the washbasin. He was just in time.

  Rebekah collapsed back upon her pillows, eyes glazed and vacant. Evidently she was now oblivious to his presence.

  “God...please...forgive me!”

  Her cry broke his heart. Henry grasped her hand. “He does forgive you. Rest easy, my dear.”

  “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...please...”

  She gripped his hand tightly but drew the blankets close to her body with the other, as if she was trying to hide from someone. Her words soon revealed whom. “Father, please... I’m sorry. I’ll try harder...”

  Once more Henry felt his emotions swirl. “Rebekah, you’re safe. I’m here. I will protect you. I will neve
r let your father hurt you again.”

  The hours wore on. She continued to toss and turn. The rash that marked Kathleen now covered Rebekah, as well. She was in full delirium, calling out, writhing in fright and pain. Down the hall, despite Hannah’s care, Henry could hear as Kathleen cried again and again for her mother.

  His heart rent in two. Was he to lose them both? God please, please spare my family. My wife...my children...

  As far as Henry was concerned, Grace and Kathleen were now his daughters. And as for Rebekah, he could no longer imagine his life without her, any more than he could live without his own breath.

  Once he had pledged to her his fortune, his freedom and his life. Now he did so not out of a sense of obligation but because she was the woman he had come to love. Love...he was certain of it now. He loved her for the affection and care she bestowed upon Grace and Kathleen. He loved her for staying with him, despite his failures. He loved the strong spirit she tried so desperately to keep chained inside her delicate carriage. He loved the honest, sometimes overly frank, vivacious creature struggling so to find her place in this world.

  Henry carefully drew her feverish body close to his. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not, but he prayed she could. “Rebekah, my dear, darling...please...do your best to get well. I love you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rebekah rubbed her eyes and blinked but could not clear her hindered vision. A mist seemed to shroud the room, and though it was early morning, the hospital ward seemed uncommonly dark. She could barely see the beds before her, but she could hear the moans of pain from the ill and wounded soldiers in her care.

  “Maggie, before you go, you must light the lamps,” Rebekah ordered.

  But the young nurse paid her no mind. She was tugging at Rebekah’s apron and her oversleeves, as if she would take them from her.

  “Maggie, stop this foolishness! Unhand me! The soldiers...can’t you hear them? We must help them!”

  But Maggie didn’t listen, and she wasn’t any help with the wounded. She flittered off, giggling, as if the disfigured men around them were something to laugh about. Rebekah tried to reach the suffering soldiers, but now the attending physician blocked her path. He took hold of her arms. He called her by her Christian name. “Rebekah... Rebekah...you must rest...”

  But she couldn’t rest. She had to help those men. She had to do her duty. Billy, the Kentucky private, was gasping for breath. Corporal Clark was shuddering with fever. A Virginia sergeant whose name she did not know was writhing in anguish because of infected wounds. Tommy, the young drummer boy missing the left side of his face, swore he would take his own life.

  She pushed against the physician but could not break free of him. “Please! Help me! God, please! Help me!” But neither the Almighty nor anyone else came to her aid. Rebekah watched in horror as one by one the soldiers met their ends and were covered with their sheets, their emaciated faces hidden from view.

  Silence blanketed the ward. Her father then desecrated the stillness. His booming voice was like a cannonade.

  “No tears! I forbid you to return to this hospital! You are useless! You will stay at home. You will learn to manage a proper household!”

  Proper. Yes, proper... Rebekah tried her best to do so, but tea was spilt and statesmen’s frock coats were stained. Her manners were never refined enough, and her apologies did not suffice. She felt his fist against her jaw. Her ears began to ring.

  But somehow, someway, she at last found her courage. “I will not stay here any longer!” she shouted. “I will run! I will escape! I will go where you cannot find me!”

  Rebekah took off through the darkness. The city was a maze of twisting streets, and soon she lost her way. Buildings were draped in black. Little children were crying. Paralyzed by the heartbreaking sound, she wanted to comfort the children but didn’t know how.

  Shame pressed heavily upon her. “I’m sorry! I want to help you...”

  She heard a voice. “Rebekah... Rebekah...this is not your fault.” The voice was firm but kind. It spoke of promise. “I will never let him hurt you again.”

  She turned toward the direction from which the soothing voice had come, but suddenly her feet and hands were bound. She could not move, could not even breathe. Rebekah tried to cry out, but her tongue was parched. Her throat was so sore.

  Then she heard other voices, other whispers, soft and kind. Who were they? Did they know she was in trouble? Please...please help me... Don’t leave me in this darkness...

  Soon a pair of hands, ones that commanded strength and authority, took hold of her. Rebekah was frightened but far too overcome, too exhausted to resist. She felt herself being lifted. She was again being called by name.

  “Rebekah... Rebekah... I love you.”

  Darkness still surrounded her, but a warmth now flooded through her. Rebekah was powerless to move, yet she no longer feared, no longer questioned. Wherever she was, she was safe. She was valued. She was loved.

  * * *

  Rebekah’s fever had continued to climb, but at long last, she appeared to be resting a little easier. Her breathing was less labored. Her body was not as tense. Whether it was holding her close that gave her a measure of security or simply God’s mercy, Henry did not know, but he prayed the effect would continue.

  James and Sadie moved in and out of the room, bringing fresh water and clean cloths. Henry sponged Rebekah’s forehead, held her and prayed. Dawn brought Dr. Stanton’s return, but he had little encouragement to give. Kathleen continued to burn in one room, his wife in the other. The physician felt Rebekah’s wrist while looking at his watch.

  “She’s been seeing things,” Henry told him. “She’s calling out for people at the hospital, nurses, doctors, dying soldiers.”

  The man nodded gravely as he placed Rebekah’s arm beneath the blanket. “That’s to be expected with a fever this high.”

  “I pack her head with ice. All it does is melt. Is there nothing else I can do?”

  “I suggest you cut her hair.”

  “Cut her hair?”

  “To cool her head.”

  Henry would do what the doctor ordered, of course. He knew the command had been issued in Rebekah’s best interest, but the thought of robbing her of her crowning glory seemed tantamount to sacrilege. Would she forgive him? Could he forgive himself? Henry grieved the fact that he’d never run his fingers through those long, dark tresses, never fully appreciated her physical beauty until now that sickness sought to destroy it.

  Sadie brought in a tray of tea and toast for him and a bowl of broth for Rebekah. Henry knew neither he nor his wife could swallow an ounce, but he thanked the young maid just the same.

  “Fetch you anything else?” she asked.

  Henry hesitated, but he knew it had to be done. He would seize on any remedy that might lessen even a degree of Rebekah’s fever. “Please bring me the scissors.”

  The look on Sadie’s face was one of immediate pity. She must have known why he wanted them, what he intended to do. Silently she left the room. When she came back a few moments later, she handed him the scissors.

  “Poor Miss Rebekah,” she breathed, and with that, she quickly fled.

  Rebekah’s long dark braid lay upon her left shoulder, the one nearest to him. However, Henry couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He instead handed the scissors to Dr. Stanton. In an instant, the physician had snipped the bound locks, laid them on the bedside table. “It will grow again,” he said, sensing Henry’s lament.

  If she survives, he thought. God, please...please...

  “Keep watch over her,” Dr. Stanton said. “Sometimes patients become so delirious, they wander from their beds. She could unintentionally harm herself.”

  She had already tried twice to do so. Thinking she was still on duty in the wards, Rebekah had t
hrown back the covers, insisting she must tend to the wounded prisoners. Henry had caught her both times and restrained her before her feet had hit the floor.

  “Be assured,” he said, “I will not leave her.”

  The examination finished, he rang for James. The man quietly escorted Dr. Stanton out. Henry returned his full attention to his wife. She was once again shivering. What remained of her hair now curled about her ears.

  Sighing, Henry wrapped a chocolate-colored ringlet about his finger. He couldn’t help but remember the feel of her hair as it had brushed his chin, how their breath had harmonized when he had held her. For those few brief seconds, Rebekah had seemed at peace. Henry wanted desperately to offer her that forever, but he wondered if he could truly give her what she needed. He knew all too well what emotions bubbled inside him.

  He despised her father. For that matter, he despised his own. And the Scriptures testify repeatedly that love and hate cannot coincide. But how did one go about forgiving someone who had intentionally inflicted pain upon another? Her father should have protected her, loved her. My father should have done as much for my mother. I’ve done so for Grace and Kathleen...

  But he knew full well that ability hadn’t come from within. Henry’s attempts at procuring a loving, stable home for the girls had been disastrous. He’d made decisions based on fear, not love, and he had reaped the terrible consequences. And God has forgiven me. I need to extend the same grace to Theodore Van der Geld. He sighed heavily, knowing it would take even more of the Almighty’s grace for him to do so. Lord, help me... Help me to forgive her father... Help me to forgive my own...

  When James returned to the room to see if he had need of anything else, Henry asked him to bring paper and a pen. He felt he should notify Rebekah’s parents of her illness, regardless of their lack of a relationship. It was only right. And the presence of sickness will surely keep Van der Geld from reentering this house anytime soon. He also needed to send a message to the city council, letting them know he would not be joining them today.