“Bingo.”
“Oh, I just knew it!”
“We’re real happy for you, honey,” Dolly said. “Now keep a-readin’.”
Andrew and I said our vows immediately following the Sunday sermon—which Father mercifully cut shorter than usual. I wore a frock I didn’t like, to marry a man I didn’t know, so we could both pretend to be happy as all the church ladies fluttered around us and insisted we have some of this cobbler or that pie. I could barely swallow.
There was one moment, though, that Father couldn’t control. Nor could I. After he pronounced us man and wife, he nodded to Sister Phipps, the organist, to begin the recessional, but she wouldn’t do it. Instead she began gesturing to Father—no doubt trying to get him to say, “You may kiss your bride”—when Andrew, in one smooth motion, took my face in his hands, bent down, and softly kissed my mouth. The congregation applauded, and Sister Phipps began her recessional. I was so stunned that my new husband had to offer his arm and lead me out of the church just to get me moving again. I had never been kissed before—except on the cheek by cousins and aunts and uncles. Never by a man outside the family. And never on the mouth. It was so warm. And fleeting. Did I like it? I don’t know. I think so. It happened so quickly. This much I’m sure of: it did not feel like hoeing the garden.
The women laughed with delight.
“Now I did read that part,” Reed said. “What’s hoein’ the garden got to do with anything?”
The women all looked at each other and burst out laughing again.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’m not man enough to stay in here with y’all.”
They all laughed once more as he fled to his porch.
“We were mean to scare him off like that,” Daisy said.
“Isn’t it just so romantic?” Anna said.
A collective sigh went around the room.
“We’re gettin’ distracted, y’all,” Dolly protested. “Keep a-readin’, honey.”
Anna turned the page and continued.
When the fellowship finally ended and we prepared to leave, Andrew escorted me to his carriage, took my hand, and helped me in. It was so confusing. All this time, I had been half drawn to and half terrified by the man being forced upon me, yet whenever he touched me, whenever I felt the warmth of his skin against mine, I wasn’t afraid at all. It made no sense.
The congregation threw their rice when we left the church, and then . . . silence. Not two hours ago, the man sitting next to me on that carriage seat had kissed me—his mouth and mine touching, sharing breath—and now we were strangers again. How can that be? How is it possible for the space between a man and a woman to expand and contract so?
Andrew looked down at me as if he had heard what I was thinking. “If I ask you a question, Catherine, will you tell me the truth?” he said.
I couldn’t find my voice just then, so like an idiot, I only nodded.
And then he asked me, “Is it anger or fear that you’re trembling to contain right now?”
Never in my life had a man asked me what I was feeling or thinking. I looked down at my hands, which were indeed trembling in my lap, and considered my answer. For whatever reason, it was important to me, in that moment, to tell my husband the truth.
Finally, I looked into his chocolate eyes and said, “I thought I might die of both at the church. But my anger is all for Father, not for you. I am afraid, though, of what I don’t know. That’s it, truly—I’m afraid of what I don’t know.”
Andrew stopped the carriage and looked at me, searching my face as if he needed more information and would eventually find it there. In that moment, I had to ask him why, with every pretty girl in the church flirting with him, he had chosen me.
“Men are forever trying to kill or cage the most beautiful things they find,” Andrew said. “I’d rather set them free.”
“But you bought me,” I said.
“No,” he said, “I paid your ransom.”
Once we reached the edge of his property, he drove the carriage off the main road and stopped before a tall iron gate. He jumped down from the carriage, opened the gate, and gave the horses a command I couldn’t understand. They dutifully walked through and stopped on the other side of a fence that began a few yards north of us and stretched as far as I could see to the south. Andrew climbed back in, and we followed what looked like a new road through the woods.
In a clearing on the banks of Tanyard Creek, he stopped the carriage again, turned to me, and said, “You have nothing to fear, Catherine—least of all me.”
And then he told me the most incredible story. A year ago, there was a great convention of Presbyterian ministers held in Montgomery. Our family traveled there with Father. As he and the other ministers held camp meetings on the Alabama River, Andrew had passed through on a paddle wheeler bound for Mobile. It dropped anchor just a stone’s throw from Father’s camp.
I remember walking along the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of freedom and wishing with all my might that I could board that beautiful boat. All the while, Andrew was watching me from the upper deck. Something about me caught his attention, he said, and he had called to a porter to fetch him a telescope. He was looking at me through that lens as I sat on the bank, tossing rocks into the water and watching the ripples roll out to nothingness, before Mother interrupted my reverie. She was carrying a small bowl of turnip greens, which I loathe. She had noticed, she said, that I hadn’t taken any during the afternoon meal. Did I want to appear ungrateful to the hands that prepared them? Did I think myself above eating them? She handed me the bowl and said she intended to stand there and watch me swallow every bite.
Mercifully, one of the ladies called to her about then, and she had to leave me to my own devices. I waited till she was out of sight and then threw the horrible greens into the river.
Andrew watched the whole silly scene from the upper deck of that fine boat. He said he made up his mind, watching my face as I threw those greens into the water, to learn my identity—which wasn’t difficult, given Father’s position in the church. Andrew had already decided to leave the “vagabond life,” as he calls it. And so he thought he might as well settle in Blackberry Springs—and find me.
Can you imagine? The whole time Father was trotting me out to the supper table, trying to convince Andrew of my worth, my suitor already knew what he meant to do. He had known all along.
Now here we were, a year later, two strangers on our wedding day, making our way home.
“You know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you,” I said.
That’s when he said the strangest thing. He said he didn’t think anyone knew me because Father hadn’t allowed me to show myself. He told me bluntly that he despised Father for that.
I admitted that I despised Father too, and that I was praying about it. He said I should devote my prayers to a worthier subject. I told him I believed he had secrets—a specific one, actually—something I could feel but could not name.
For a moment, he looked not so much at me as inside me—as if he were probing my heart and soul to determine whether he could trust his own wife. Abruptly, he stood up and climbed down from the carriage, then held his arms up to me and asked me to walk with him.
He lifted me down and took my hand. We began following the creek deeper into the woods. Never in my life had my heart raced so. Was he about to tell me everything or nothing? Had he truly ransomed me, as he said, or was he about to murder me in the woods? I had just married this man without knowing enough about him to gauge whether he might actually do away with me. But he was holding my hand, and I loved the strength of his long fingers around mine. I loved the height of him and the way he looked down at me. I only wished that I knew what was about to happen.
“Daisy?” Anna stopped reading. Daisy had become restless, moving around in the bed as if she couldn’t get comfortable, and pulling the covers up tighter around her.
“We’ve tired her out,” Dolly said. “Ever’body,
come on and let her rest. Daisy, honey, don’t you worry. We’ll send Reed right in.” She ushered Evelyn and a reluctant Anna out of the bedroom.
“Don’t you think I should go in there and see if I can help?” Anna asked Dolly in the kitchen.
Dolly shook her head and smiled. “Let’s see what comes o’ lettin’ the two of them get through this together.”
CHAPTER
twenty-seven
Sitting down at Daisy’s bedside, Reed laid his hand on her forehead and felt the heat. Then he held her wrist and found her pulse, timing it with his watch. “Pain’s pretty bad?” he asked.
Daisy nodded.
“It’s my fault. I shoulda made you take somethin’ earlier.”
Daisy gave him a weak smile. “Good luck tryin’ to push me around.”
He smiled back at her and prepped a syringe.
“Will you stay with me till I go to sleep?” she asked.
“I’ll stay with you after.” He swabbed Daisy’s arm with alcohol and gave her the shot that would stop the throbbing in her foot and let her rest.
Reed waited until she was sound asleep and then started organizing a tray of bandages and supplies so he could dress her wound while she couldn’t feel anything—and also to keep her from seeing it. Snakebites always looked horrendous.
Folding back the covers at the foot of the bed, he was startled by what he saw—blood and infection seeping through Daisy’s bandage. The wound had likely abscessed and would need to be excised. He hurried into the kitchen and found Dr. Sesser’s number by the telephone, only to learn from the nurse that the doctor had just left to deliver twins.
After returning to Daisy’s room, he opened the bottom drawer of his chest of drawers and pulled out the backpack he had carried across battlefield after battlefield. He’d thrown his medals aside but held on to the lifesaving tools that had allowed him to earn them. He didn’t know why exactly, but he couldn’t let that canvas bag go. The smell of it instantly stirred up The Dust Storm, constricting him so tightly he couldn’t—
“No!” he said out loud. He could stew in the war later, but right now Daisy needed all his skills, and he prayed they would be enough.
He removed the instruments he would need, carried them into the kitchen, and sterilized them. He paused to listen for the women, who were all in the front parlor. That was good.
Reed locked both doors to the bedroom to keep Anna or Dolly from walking in on what he was about to do. He took out one of the last three IV bags in his kit, “overlooked” by the buddies who had packed up his gear when they shipped him home, and started a morphine drip. It would keep Daisy completely unconscious while he worked. He put a stack of clean towels under her infected foot and began.
CHAPTER
twenty-eight
Anna was sitting on the bed next to Daisy, holding her friend’s hand. For two days now, Daisy had barely stirred. The feverish red of her cheeks would fade to white as her temperature climbed and dropped over and over again. That, at least, had stopped. Daisy was now breathing easy, and her long sleep appeared more restful than before.
“There’s something wrong, isn’t there, Reed? Why did she start running a fever again and sleeping all the time? And why are you checking her pulse so often? Please tell me.”
“I didn’t wanna scare you, but her wound abscessed.”
“What? When?”
“Two days ago. It was full of infection that had to be, well, removed. And the doctor was deliverin’ two babies when it happened. So I didn’t have any choice but to do it myself, or she could’ve—it just had to be done.”
“Why didn’t you call us?”
“You didn’t need to see that, Anna. Dr. Sesser brought over some antiseptic and antibiotics, and I’ve been changin’ her bandage and treatin’ her wound several times a day like he showed me. He wanted me to keep her on a higher dose o’ morphine till the pain settles down. That’s why I’m watchin’ her so close—to make sure I don’t give her too much.”
“You ought to be a doctor, do you know that?”
“Not me.”
“Yes, you. If Daisy gets through this, it’ll be because of you. You want to go get some breakfast while I sit with her?”
“I really don’t wanna leave her till the doctor gets here.”
“Then I’m bringing you a breakfast tray.”
As Anna left for the kitchen, Reed checked Daisy’s pulse one more time, just to be on the safe side.
“Are y’all plannin’ my funeral?”
“Daisy! You’re awake! Oh, thank goodness!” Anna was sitting at Daisy’s bedside, clutching her hand. All the women of Dolly’s house were circled around the bed.
“How . . . how long have I . . . been asleep?”
“Two days,” Dolly said.
“We were beginning to think a bucket of water might be required to awaken you,” Evelyn said. “Fortunately, it never came to that.”
“I’m . . . so crazy-headed,” Daisy said, blinking several times as if to clear the fog. “Am I still . . . at your house, Dolly?”
“Yes, honey, you’re still at my house, sleepin’ in Reed’s room.”
“Well . . . what about Ella?”
“Joe and Harry have taken good care of her,” Evelyn reported. “They check on her every morning and evening—and of course, Dolly has been sending her food.”
“Why have I been . . . sleepin’ so much?”
“Daisy, it was amazing,” Anna said. “We all can’t believe it. The wound on your ankle abscessed and had all kind of infection in it that needed to come out, but Dr. Sesser was delivering babies when it happened. So Reed did it. He did surgery on your foot to keep you—to get you well.”
“Surgery?”
“It’s true, honey,” Dolly said. “Without tellin’ a one of us, that brave boy operated on you. And the doctor said it looked like a trained surgeon at the hospital had done it. Said he couldn’a done no better hisself. And he said you’re gonna heal up just fine now. That’s the only way we were able to pry Reed away from you and make him go upstairs to sleep.”
Daisy slowly took in everything the women were saying, and then she began to cry.
“Oh, honey, don’t cry!” Dolly hurried to her side. “You’re gonna be fine now.”
“She’s right, Daisy,” Anna assured her. “Everything’s going to be alright. You’ll start getting better now.”
“It’s not—it’s not that,” Daisy said as Dolly handed her a handkerchief. “Don’t you see? I made him—go back there. Back to all those bleedin’ soldiers—an’ all his awful nightmares.”
“Maybe so, but you did something else,” Anna said. “You showed him that he can beat those nightmares. If he had let them take over, that infection could’ve taken you away from us, and he knew that. You gave him his fight back, Daisy.” She took the handkerchief and wiped Daisy’s tears away. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
“I don’t feel very brave.”
“Well, you are. You want some water?” Anna helped her sit up in bed and drink. “Are you in pain?”
“Not too bad.”
“The doctor gave Reed something to deaden your foot so you can start coming off the morphine,” Anna explained. “You think you could eat something?”
Daisy shook her head. She looked around the room as the fog in her brain began to clear and spotted Catherine’s journal on top of Reed’s chest of drawers. “Guess I missed the rest of the story.”
“You did not,” Evelyn said. “We all refused to read one word without you.”
“Really?” Daisy smiled.
“Really,” Anna said. “You just rest, and when you’re up to it, we’ll all read Catherine’s story together.”
It was pouring outside. Anna had just finished helping Daisy eat a bowl of chicken and dumplings when Evelyn and Dolly came in.
“Honey, does that feel like it’s gonna stay down?” Dolly asked.
“I think so,” Daisy answered. “Sure tastes g
ood, Dolly.”
“Well, you haven’t eaten much o’ nothin’ since you got bit, honey. I ’magine anything would taste pretty good right about now.”
“Do you feel as if you might enjoy a story?” Evelyn asked Daisy.
“I think I’m ready for Catherine and Andre,” Daisy said.
“Okay, ladies, pull up your chairs.” Anna took Daisy’s empty bowl away and fetched the journal. She climbed onto the bed and fluffed the pillows behind Daisy’s back as Evelyn and Dolly pulled up two chairs. When everyone was situated, Anna began to read.
April 25, 1844
I must apologize, dear self, for all the interruptions. I have had little time to write. Obviously, my husband did not murder me in the woods, or I would not be writing to you now. What he did there was change me.
We walked silently along the Tanyard until it opened into the most beautiful little slough I’ve ever seen—a sunlit, glassy pool with grand oaks shading the banks. Andrew took both my hands, turned me to face him, and told me that he did indeed have secrets. A man where he came from was trying to do him in. But Andrew said he regretted nothing in his past, and he promised that no dark shadows of his would ever fall on me. Then he asked me whether I trusted him. I said yes—and I meant it.
Even so, there was something I had to know—was his name really Andrew Sinclair? It wasn’t, he said, but for both our sakes I should call him that. And then I asked the hardest question of all—was our marriage even legal if he had used a false name on the license he wrote for Father to sign? His answer astonished me. He had written his real name on the license but had made it so illegible that Father couldn’t tell what it said. My father held my husband’s unreadable identity in the great wooden cabinet where he kept all the church records in his office. Meanwhile I—Andrew’s wife—had no idea who he actually was.
He took a few steps away from me and said, “As long as we’re in the confessional, I should admit that I only dressed this way to impress your father, which I don’t see the need to do ever again.”
He took off his hat and sent it sailing into the slough. We watched it drift toward the creek as he removed his jacket, vest, and ascot, then tossed them into the water as well. He unbuttoned the collar of his white dress shirt, removed his cuff links and pitched them in the water, then rolled up his sleeves.
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