The Vow

by Lindsay Chase

  Surely God couldn’t be so cruel. She whirled on Reiver. “The doctor is lying.”

  He swung to his feet. “I wish he were.”

  She howled in agony, raking her nails down her own cheeks in madness and despair. Reiver swore, maneuvered behind her, and pulled her close against him, pinning her arms helplessly to her sides. Hannah screamed and struggled.

  “Hush,” he crooned, even as she flung her head back to butt his jaw. “Easy, Hannah, easy.” In spite of the pain that made his eyes tear, he kept up wordless, soothing mutterings until her struggles ceased and she finally went limp with exhaustion.

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  Reiver swung her into his arms and carried her upstairs.

  He laid her on the bed, then mixed a sleeping draft the doctor had left. He turned back to find Hannah shivering and hugging her knees to her chest, her hair loose and streaming out wildly across the pillow. Her eyes were open wide but glazed and unseeing; her lips moved soundlessly in a conversation only she could hear.

  “Drink this,” he said, managing to hold the glass to her lips. “It will help you to sleep.”

  After Hannah drank, Reiver moistened a cloth and gently cleansed the angry red scratches scoring her cheeks like an Indian’s war paint.

  “You needn’t worry that they’ll leave scars,” he told Hannah. “Mrs. Hardy will put her special salve on them and they’ll disappear.”

  Suddenly Hannah’s vacant stare sharpened and focused on Reiver with such malevolence that he instinctively recoiled. “You did this to me!”

  “No, you scratched yourself, remember?”

  She fought against the powerful sleeping draft. “You didn’t want me to have another child of Samuel’s, so you and the doctor did something to me so I couldn’t.”

  Reiver reared back. “You think that I…?”

  Her eyelids fluttered, then closed.

  Reiver rose, breathing hard, feeling as though she had just accused him of murder. How can she possibly think that I would do such a thing to her?

  The answer hit him like a physical blow. She had lost her mind. Reeling, Reiver staggered from the room.

  Hannah heard faraway voices.

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  “…Samuel gone, then she lost our child. And now I fear the shock of learning that she can’t have any more has driven her mad.”

  Mad? Was this gray corner of her mind where the soothing snow quietly fell madness? She retreated, letting the snow envelop and warm her, but a second voice intruded.

  “Your wife can’t afford the luxury. Her husband and children need her. No, Mrs. Shaw has had a terrible shock, but she’ll soon be herself. Give her time.”

  Would she? Samuel was gone. She had lost their baby. And now she could never have another to fill the loneliness inside. God was punishing her swiftly and surely.

  Hannah let the snow drift higher and higher around her until the voices grew fainter, and fainter, then died, smothered by the snow.

  Reiver sat at his desk and watched the snow fall listlessly outside his window. He tried to concentrate on his accounts, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Hannah.

  Their lives had changed so much in the two weeks since she retreated into a world where no one else could follow. Mrs. Hardy now distracted Reiver from important mill business with petty, annoying household matters that had once been Hannah’s province. The boys fought constantly, as if their fractiousness could startle their mother from her waking sleep. And Reiver, who had always taken his wife for granted, found to his surprise that he missed her.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sighed. He hated feeling so helpless.

  A knock sounded at the door, and it opened to reveal Mrs. Hardy, her solemn silver eyes matching her expression.

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  “No change, Mrs. Hardy?” Reiver asked.

  “None. She just sits there by the fire and doesn’t hear a word I say. I wash and dress her as if she were a rag doll. At least the scratches have healed, so she won’t be ugly.” The housekeeper coughed. “Is she going to stay that way for the rest of her life?”

  “We can only pray that she doesn’t.”

  “She needs Samuel.”

  Reiver searched her wrinkled face for any sign that she knew Samuel and Hannah had once been lovers, but saw only innocence.

  Mrs. Hardy added, “Samuel always could make her laugh. Maybe he could bring her back to us.”

  “My brother must have reached South America by now. There’s no way a letter could reach him until he arrives in California. Hopefully Hannah will be well by then.” His voice sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

  Mrs. Hardy’s hand dipped into an apron pocket. “We may not be able to write to Samuel, but he’s able to write to us.” She handed Reiver a letter. “This came in the post today.”

  A letter in Samuel’s sprawling handwriting, addressed not to Hannah or Reiver, but to Benjamin.

  Clever of them, Reiver thought.

  He opened and read it. Satisfied that the contents were innocent enough, he said, “When Benjamin comes home from school, he can read this to his mama.

  Perhaps it will help her to get well.”

  Several hours later Reiver gave Benjamin his letter and told him what he must do.

  “Mama?” Benjamin said when he and his father went up to Hannah’s room and gathered around her rocking chair.

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  “Uncle Samuel sent me a letter. Would you like me to read it to you?”

  No response.

  Reiver knelt by her side, stroked her limp hands, and stared into her blank, unseeing eyes. “It’s a letter from Samuel, Hannah. Samuel. You remember him, don’t you?”

  A flicker of awareness shone deep in her eyes, but it disappeared before Reiver could dare hope.

  He rose. “Benjamin, read the letter.”

  Benjamin sat cross-legged at his mother’s feet and began reading, his young face bright and hopeful, his voice confident.

  Dear Ben,

  I hope this letter finds you and the family in good health. Except for a bit of seasickness at the beginning of the voyage on the Orion , I am now as fit as ever.

  He glanced up to see if his words moved this silent wraith that had once been his mother, and when he saw that they didn’t, he continued reading about a storm at sea and the antics of the cook’s pet monkey.

  When Benjamin read the closing, Reiver watched Hannah carefully.

  “‘Give my love to everyone,’” Benjamin said, “‘especially your father and mother.’” He placed the letter in Hannah’s lap. “And look, Mama. Uncle Samuel drew a little picture of the cook’s monkey. Isn’t he a funny fellow?” His face shone expectantly.

  Blink, look at the boy, do something! was Reiver’s silent plea.

  Benjamin tapped his mother’s hand. “Isn’t he?”

  Reiver watched and waited, then placed comforting hands on his son’s slumping shoulders. “Come, Ben. We’ve done all we can for her today.”

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  Benjamin rose, his lower lip trembling with a manly effort to keep from crying in front of his father. They turned and left the room, neither of them seeing Hannah’s face light up like the sun suddenly breaking through roiling dark clouds. But the determined clouds devoured the sun, relegating her once again to the oblivion of swirling snow.

  The snow was going away.

  Hannah tried to gather the drifts around her again, but to no avail. Bright pictures of people and scenes flashed through her mind, slowly at first, then faster and faster. A man with dark, curly hair…another man with sorrow in his eyes…a little boy seated at her feet, mouthing words she couldn’t hear.

&nbs
p; Then she could hear quite distinctly, “Uncle Samuel drew a little picture of the cook’s monkey. Isn’t he a funny fellow? Isn’t he?”

  The man who drew the funny monkey… Uncle Samuel…her Samuel. His features came into sharper focus, and Hannah saw dark, curly hair and ghostly pale eyes brimming with love and laughter. He had loved her once. He still loved her. Now Hannah remembered.

  Then she heard the scream.

  Something snapped. The snow disappeared. Hannah awoke to find herself shivering in her own bed, a softly burning oil lamp illuminating her own bedroom, with another scream shattering the night silence.

  “Benjamin!”

  Hannah tumbled out of bed, grabbed the lamp, and ran down the hall barefoot toward the boys’ bedroom, unmindful of a door opening behind her and a man’s voice obliterated by another scream.

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  She flung open the bedroom door at the far end of the hall. “Benjamin, what is it? Are you having a bad dream?”

  By lamplight, she saw her two sons sitting up in bed and staring at her with wide, incredulous eyes, as if she were a stranger. She set down the lamp and went to the eldest, enfolding him in her arms.

  “It’s all right,” she crooned, hugging his trembling body.

  But Benjamin pulled away and studied her face, his nightmare forgotten.

  “Mama?”

  When Davey flung himself out of bed and into Hannah’s arms, she hugged him and nodded at Benjamin through her tears. “Yes, I’m your mama.”

  “Hannah?”

  She turned her head to see Reiver in his nightshirt, standing in the doorway, disbelief written on his face. She sighed heavily and nodded, then hugged her clinging children once more before gently disengaging herself and turning to their father.

  “What happened to me?” She clasped her arms and shivered. “I feel as though I’ve been asleep for a long time.”

  “You’ve been sick.” He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

  “I still feel so tired.”

  He took her arm. “Then why don’t you go back to bed, and we’ll talk in the morning?” He looked over her shoulder at his sons, wide-awake now and bursting with questions. “You boys go back to sleep.”

  “But, Papa—”

  “I said, go back to sleep. I have to tend to your mama now, so whatever you want to say will have to wait until the morning.”

  Hannah kissed them both and wished them pleasant dreams.

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  Both boys went to bed and pulled the covers up to their chins, but their eyes remained riveted on their mother as she left with their father.

  Once back in Hannah’s room, Reiver helped her into bed, then smiled and turned.

  “Reiver, please don’t go.”

  He turned back and hesitated, remembering all too well her vituperative accusations before she withdrew into her mind. But judging by the pleading in her eyes, she didn’t remember. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you like.” He blew out the lamp, climbed into bed beside her, and drew her into his arms to comfort himself as well.

  She fell asleep with her head pillowed against his shoulder.

  Hours later, in the gray light of dawn, Reiver awoke to the sound of muffled sobbing and Hannah no longer in his arms.

  He felt the bed shudder. “Hannah, what’s wrong?”

  “I remember now…what you told me the doctor said.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know that now. I’ve been so selfish. All I could think of was myself and my own pain, but now I see that it must have hurt you deeply as well.”

  He knew he should say that he was sorry she had lost the baby, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

  Hannah rolled over on her side to face him, and even in the weak light he could see her tears had stopped, though her cheeks were wet.

  “But even if I can’t have another child, at least we have Benjamin and Davey.”

  Reiver squeezed his eyes shut and uttered a silent prayer of thanks. “Yes, at least we have the boys.”

  Hannah paused. “I frightened them, didn’t I?”

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  “You frightened us all very badly.”

  “But I’m better now.”

  Reiver prayed she would stay that way.

  Hannah awoke the following morning feeling as though she had awakened from a long, soul-deep sleep. She was alone and glad of it. She needed solitude to come to terms with what had happened to her.

  Shivering, she sat up, hugged her knees beneath the thick covers, and looked around her bedchamber, savoring the reassuring familiarity of the chest at the foot of her bed, the washstand with its plain white pitcher and bowl, and the rocking chair keeping vigil by the frosty window.

  Hannah took a deep shuddering breath. “This is the day the Lord hath made,” she said aloud, in humble thanks that her sanity had been restored.

  The bedchamber door opened slowly and Mrs. Hardy peered in. “You’re awake.”

  Hannah smiled. “In more ways than one.”

  The housekeeper bustled in with a breakfast tray and set it on the bureau so she could lean over and hug Hannah. “Reiver told us what happened last night,”

  she said gruffly, trying not to cry. “It’s about time.”

  Hannah fought back tears of her own. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Mrs. Hardy.”

  “And it’s a lot of trouble you were, I’ll have you know.” She walked around the room opening curtains to let in the daylight, then set the breakfast tray on the bed. “Now you eat this while I get a fire going. I swear it’s warmer outside than it is in here.”

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  “What time is it?” Hannah asked, pouring herself a cup of hot chocolate to warm her shivering insides.

  “Almost eleven o’clock,” Mrs. Hardy replied from the fireplace, ignoring Hannah’s gasp of shock. “The boys wanted to see you before they left for school, but Reiver told them you needed your rest and weren’t to be disturbed.”

  She wished they had come to see her. She felt an overwhelming need to hold her precious children in her arms again and let them see for themselves that their mother was well.

  The fire lit, Mrs. Hardy turned and walked back to the bed. She reached into her apron pocket and removed a piece of paper. “Benjamin wanted me to give you this. He said he didn’t think you heard him when he read it to you.”

  Samuel’s letter.

  The toast turned to sawdust on Hannah’s tongue, but she took the letter in trembling fingers and tucked it beneath the rim of her chocolate cup’s saucer.

  “I’ll read it after I finish breakfast.”

  Mrs. Hardy nodded her silver head. “I’ll have Millicent bring up hot water so you can wash.”

  When the door closed behind Mrs. Hardy, Hannah ignored her cooling oatmeal and opened Samuel’s letter with trembling hands. She read part of it through her tears, then set the rest aside unread. The Samuel she knew had not written this impersonal account of shipboard life and a storm at sea. The letter contained none of his passion, none of his humor. It was written by a stranger.

  Hannah swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. What did she expect?

  Samuel couldn’t tell her that he still loved her and missed her in a letter that was sure to be seen and scrutinized by everyone in the family, especially Reiver. Still, she wished he had said something to keep her hope alive that he would return one day.

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  She thought of the child that she had lost—the one she knew was Samuel’s—

  and felt a chill down to the marrow of her bones. Samuel had left for California without even knowing about it. She remembered how solicitous he had
been when she had miscarried those other times, and she knew no man alive could have stopped him from returning to her side, if only he had known of the hell she had been enduring.

  She had lost so much and had never felt more empty.

  Hannah downed the remainder of her cooling chocolate, then rose and dressed quickly. There was much she had to do if she wanted to keep the snows of madness from ever returning.

  The moment she walked into the noisy mill, everyone stopped working and stared.

  “Good morning,” Hannah said with a bright smile. “Or should I say afternoon?”

  She saw surprise registered on the workers’ faces, followed by relief mixed with happiness that their employer’s wife had finally recovered.

  Hannah smiled and exchanged greetings with Constance and Mary, making her way back to the machine shop where she knew she’d find James and Reiver.

  The moment she walked through the door, Reiver raised his head and looked at her in surprise.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling much stronger this morning,” she replied. “And I wanted to show the workers that I’ve recovered.”

  Reiver nodded. “A day didn’t pass that someone didn’t ask about you.”

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  James, who had been bending over a collection of mysterious belts and gears, looked up and started to say something, but obviously couldn’t find the right words. Finally he came over and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you up and around.”

  Touched, Hannah smiled. Then she turned to Reiver. “May I speak to you for a moment?”