by Debra Diaz
She didn’t wake until she felt Ethan move and leave her side. After a moment she crawled painfully out from under the wagon, carrying the blanket and tablecloth with her, and looked around. The overcast sky gave only a sullen gray light, and a mist rose from the ravine below, hovering like a cloud just across from them.
Ethan looked up from hitching the horse to the wagon. “Good morning. Are you feeling better?”
“I have a sore throat. And I hurt all over.”
“I’m going to get you home just as fast as I can, Genny. It’s going to rain, and there’s no shelter between here and my house.”
Before she could begin to straighten her straggling hair, the snapping of twigs and the sound of movement through the trees sent her running to Ethan’s side. He reached with calm deliberation for the pistol and moved to stand in front of her. Then all at once he relaxed and she saw Finney, on horseback, coming toward them through the mist.
“We set a place for you at the table,” Ethan called to him. “You’re late.”
“Ye shoveled so much dirt out of the ground, took me half the night to fill it back up,” Finney replied, in a jocular tone. “Don’t worry. It’s our little secret that the two of ye were without a chaperone! Now where’s the fine dining ye were talkin’ about?”
“Here’s bread and cheese, but we’ve got to hurry. I’m going to let you drive the wagon back, Finney, and I’m taking Genny on ahead. She’s not feeling well — we need to travel light and fast.”
Genny nibbled without appetite on some bread (Finney ate with considerably more enthusiasm) while Ethan loaded everything into the wagon, then he handed her a cup of water and waited inexorably until she’d drunk it all. Before she knew what was happening he had lifted her up on back of the horse Finney had been riding. He tucked the blanket around her, gave Finney some brief directions about finding his way, then mounted the horse and they were off.
A rabbit scampered out of their path. The sound of rushing water gradually diminished, and then the only sounds were those of the muffled tread of the horse, the sighing of the wind in the treetops, and the creaking of the wagon far behind them…which grew fainter and fainter and finally stopped.
“You must be cold,” she murmured, realizing she still wore his coat.
He said lightly, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Stuart, but you warm me up considerably. Go ahead and lay your head down and rest as much as you can.”
She obeyed simply because it was what she wanted to do. Her arms were around his waist and she relaxed against him, her cheek resting against his back. She felt too ill to mind the discomfort of riding, and the fast, rhythmic gait of the horse was actually soothing.
A long time had gone by and she must have dozed, for she came to herself with a start when a large, cold raindrop pelted her forehead. Others immediately followed.
“Pull the blanket over your head,” she heard Ethan say. “We’re almost there.”
She reached up to catch a fold of the blanket and covered her head. She leaned over a little to see past him. They still had to get out of the woods and cross a large field before they would come to Ethan’s house. The rain began to fall in torrents and in no time the blanket was saturated; water seeped through her clothes and seemed to go clear through to her bones. As soon as they left the woods, Ethan urged the horse into a smooth gallop.
She must have dozed again. She was dimly conscious that he held onto her arms at his waist lest she fall off the horse. The next thing she knew she was standing on the ground and Ethan was pulling the drenched blanket away from her. His hair was wet and dripping, his wet clothes stuck to his body. He lifted her in his arms and carried her swiftly inside the kitchen door. She heard him call for Agnes, heard him giving orders to get hot water, to bring blankets, to light the fire in her room.
Then, for a long time, that was all she knew…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Genny sat up against two plump pillows and riffled through the pages of yesterday’s edition of the Nashville Banner. Rising crime rates, state debt — the news was all depressing. The society pages were missing. Probably Valerie had them, for though she had practically no social life, she enjoyed reading about other people’s affairs.
She was heartily bored.
She sighed and tossed the newspaper to the end of the bed with a quick, fretful gesture. Agnes had come in earlier that morning and helped her wash her hair and don a fresh nightgown. Valerie had been extremely kind to her over the past week, bringing her books and magazines to read, but there was a strange aloofness in her manner that didn’t change, even after Genny had expressed her gratitude for that kindness. Oh, well, Valerie just didn’t like her and there was nothing she could do about it.
Her hair had dried in thick, shiny waves, tumbling over her shoulders and falling almost to her waist. She had regained some color in her face, though there was still a wan thinness to it. She had been alarmed by her appearance upon viewing it for the first time since her illness, noticing the lack of vitality and sparkle that had always been an essential part of her beauty.
She had only a vague recollection of the past two weeks. She’d been told she had pneumonia in both lungs. Her ears, too, had been infected and both eardrums had burst — though after the first few days it didn’t seem to affect her sense of hearing. The days and nights had passed very much the same, sleeping, waking, drinking down a broth and then some awful-tasting medicine, sleeping again. She remembered waking one night and seeing Ethan sitting in a chair beside the bed, his long legs stretched out before him, his arms resting on the arms of the chair and his head leaning against its back. For a baffled moment she couldn’t think what he was doing there, until she remembered that he was a doctor.
She looked up in quick anticipation as someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
Ethan stepped into the room. She hadn’t seen him for two days. She felt a flush of color come into her cheeks.
“Good morning, Genny. We had a lull in the office and I thought I’d come and see how you’re feeling.” He approached the bed and laid his fingers over her wrist.
“I’m fine,” she said irritably. “I’m just sick of reading and sick of sewing and sick of staying in the bed.”
He smiled. “I can see that.” He sat on the edge of the bed, took his stethoscope out of his pocket and listened to her chest. Genny endured it silently, taking deep breaths and letting them out as he directed.
“When do I go back to the office?” she asked.
He stood up and pushed the stethoscope back into his deep trouser pocket. They were nice trousers, she noticed, fawn-colored, with a matching waistcoat, a dark blue coat, and a blue and fawn striped cravat. He was always well groomed, and here she sat, pale as a sheet with her hair hanging loose. Her temperament grew steadily worse.
“I’d say about two more weeks,” Ethan said.
“Two weeks!”
“I didn’t say you had to stay in bed,” he replied sternly. “But you have to be careful, Genny. You’ve been very ill and you’re going to be weak for a while. I want you to rest and build up your strength before you come back to work.”
“Well, who’s taking care of your patients?”
“Valerie felt that her students could do without her until you come back. And she’s not very good with figures so she’s not keeping the books.”
Genny felt a sharp stab of jealousy that someone else was sitting at her desk, writing in her record books and greeting the patients. She threw Ethan a look of resentment, but he was walking toward the window. He raised it up a little, saying, “It’s a little stuffy in here, isn’t it?”
It was, but Genny wanted to be contrary. “Isn’t that supposed to be dangerous for a convalescent?”
He smiled and sat down again on the edge of the bed. “That’s as much an old wives’ tale as — as the wandering womb theory.”
“The what?”
“Actually, I think the ancient Greeks started it — can’t imagine
how it got this far. I once treated an old mountain woman who was positive her uterus had somehow worked its way up her throat and was choking her to death. It took something of an effort on my part to convince her that she should stop chewing tobacco, hence the choking sensation — and that she was still as much of a woman as she could ever hope to be.”
“I never know when to believe you, Dr. Carey! You are full of the most outlandish stories.”
“All true, I assure you. Now, there’s something serious I want to discuss with you.”
Genny looked at him. “If it’s about your bill, I do have some money saved, and — ”
He made a gesture, stopping her. “You’re not going to get a bill. It’s my fault you were sick, and for that I’m sincerely sorry. I hope you will forgive me.”
“I never blamed you,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “And thank you.”
He hesitated, his eyes never leaving hers, and said, “It occurred to me during your illness that I really do need to know more about you. I thought Geoff had more information — well, that’s beside the point. I don’t know your parents’ names or how to get in touch with them. Suppose you had died, Genny? I know it’s something you don’t like to talk about, but you must tell me.”
Genny stared at him, aware that her heart seemed to be sinking into the pit of her stomach.
“Are you really married?” Ethan went on relentlessly, his face very serious now. “Is Stuart even your real name?”
There was a long silence. Genny closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. But she didn’t look at Ethan.
“My name is Virginia Romayne. My father is Philbert Romayne of Knoxville. I’ve never been married. I only said that so that — well, I just thought it would make things easier for me.”
“I see.” Ethan’s voice was grave and gentle, but still she couldn’t meet his gaze. “And why did you leave home?”
“My father was going to make me marry someone. I just — he doesn’t care about me. Neither does my mother. I left them a letter saying that I had eloped with someone and—I just came here.”
There was another long pause. Finally Ethan said, “Genny, look at me.”
Reluctantly she did so.
“You will have to let them know where you are.”
Her eyes widened, and unexpectedly she burst into tears. “I can’t! You don’t understand! They’ll make me go back. And — and there was a man. He tried to force himself on me. I don’t ever want to go back there!”
“What are you talking about?” There was a note of steel in Ethan’s voice. “You’d better tell me about it.”
Tearfully, she told him how she’d been abused in the carriage. No, she hadn’t told the police, she hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t bear for anyone to know.
“And tell me about this man they wanted you to marry.”
“Well, he really did collect butterflies,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“The truth is usually better than a lie. Your parents are probably very worried about you.”
Genny shook her head. “No. All they care about is marrying me off to some rich man. You don’t know them! You mustn’t write them, Ethan. They’ll come and get me, and I couldn’t stand it!” Another sob broke from her.
Ethan said nothing. After a moment, Genny ventured a peek at him. He was watching her intently, with a sober, measuring look as if he didn’t quite know what to think. She fumbled for a handkerchief in the bedside table, and wiped her nose.
At last he got to his feet. “All right, Genny. I’m going to wait until you’re fully recovered, and then we’ll talk again. In the meantime, I want you to think very carefully about what you’ve done, and what possible repercussions there might have been. And if I ever find out that you’ve lied to me again — you’ll have cause to wish you hadn’t. Is that clear?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
He turned and walked out the door, leaving her to her misery.
* * * *
The following day, after everyone had eaten supper and gathered in the parlor, Genny was allowed downstairs. She had dined in her room, she hoped, for the last time. She descended the stairs with Agnes’s assistance, wearing a light yellow dressing gown, and everyone got up to greet her as she entered the parlor.
This was her favorite room in the house, with its comfortable chairs and large thick-cushioned sofa, the rich carpet of deep blue, olive green and gold, the tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the mahogany whatnot with its beautiful French vases, a Bohemian glass candy dish and two matching bowls full of pecans. The piano Valerie used occupied a place of prominence in front of the long windows. Over the Italian marble mantle hung a portrait of Ethan’s mother, a lovely, dark-haired woman, faintly smiling. A fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth.
After greeting her and inquiring as to her welfare, everyone settled back into whatever they’d been doing. Valerie and Geoff sat at the round card table, she going over some lessons and he somewhat disinterestedly perusing a legal document. Ethan reclined in a chair reading the newspaper. Genny took out her crocheting; she was working on a new shawl. The room grew quiet except for the hissing of the logs and the occasional rattling of paper.
“What are you looking so serious about, Ethan?” Valerie asked, breaking the stillness.
He glanced up. “It looks like Memphis got through another year without an outbreak of yellow fever. And that worries me.”
“Why?” Valerie asked.
“Because it tends to give people a false feeling of security. They’re apt to forget about all the precautions they’ve taken, and those were few enough. Parts of Memphis are really filthy, and it’s a shame, because with its location and natural beauty it could be one of the greatest cities in the country. In fact, before the war it was one of the commercial centers of the world.”
“Well,” said Genny, puzzled, “what does being dirty have to do with yellow fever?”
“Nobody knows,” Ethan replied, frowning slightly. “No one has yet isolated the cause of yellow fever. I personally don’t believe it’s contagious from person to person. There are theories, of course — one of which interests me very much. There’s something about waste and water left stagnating in the streets that seems to breed it.”
“Then they should clean them up,” Genny stated, with an air of dismissal.
Ethan began to smile. “Why don’t you write the city officials a letter, my dear Genny? You might spur a little more action than we doctors who aren’t exactly popular with the government. I think they’re waiting for proof — like an epidemic, either of yellow fever or cholera, or typhoid. Unfortunately, such proof would come with too great a price.”
“Seriously, Ethan,” said Valerie, “if they’re aware of the problem, why don’t they do anything about it?”
“Oh, they’ve tried once or twice. Years ago the government attempted a clean-up campaign and even sent a man around to check out the local privies. I understand he was shot at, threatened, and even chased off by an enraged harridan wielding a dirty mop, or some such lethal weapon. We southerners don’t like the government poking its nose into our business.”
“But that’s silly,” Genny said, “not to even try to clean up when they know they might get sick.”
“Human nature,” Ethan said shortly.
“You’d think people would use common sense,” Valerie remarked. “Even the Bible, especially the Old Testament, is full of instructions about cleanliness and ways to avoid disease.”
Ethan looked as if he were about to make some glib reply when he stopped, looking into Valerie’s face, and instead smiled at her and turned his attention back to his newspaper. Geoff excused himself and went into Ethan’s study.
After a while Ethan rose, saying he wanted to have a few words with Agnes before she retired for the night. As soon as he left, Genny put down her crocheting and stood up to walk restlessly around the room. She sca
nned the newspaper without much interest, stood briefly before the fire, then as she was passing by the small waste basket something inside it caught her eye. She bent down to retrieve what proved to be the framed photograph of a beautiful woman. She held it toward the light so she could see it better, then walked over to show it to Valerie.
“Valerie, do you know who this is?”
The other girl wore a startled expression. “Why, I think that’s a woman Ethan used to know. I’ve seen that before.”
“The girl he was engaged to?”
“Yes. How did you know about that?”
“Oh, someone mentioned it to me once.” Genny felt a surge of avid curiosity, but tried to appear nonchalant. “What happened? Didn’t she run off with another man?”
Valerie stared at the papers before her and a furrow appeared between her brows. “Men, actually.”
“But, how strange,” Genny remarked, in a wondering tone. “That she should do such a thing, I mean. Is he — is he still in love with her?”
Valerie shook her head. “He never speaks of her.”
Genny noticed the grim look on Valerie’s face and decided to change the subject. “I’ve never heard you speak of your mother, Valerie. What happened to her?”
“She died when I was just a baby. Then some Carpetbagger took our house, and Ethan asked Father and me to come here. And loaned him the money to go to law school. Ethan’s practice has always been very successful. There were plenty of rich Yankees to take care of, after the war. Southerners couldn’t pay, and he didn’t ask them to. Some of them insisted on giving him corn, or watermelons — whatever they had. He is — generous. I don’t know what my father would have done without him.”