“My estimation is that you’re normally a stalwart soul,” the doctor said. He took a glass of water from Duncan and added a few drops of something to it. “Drink this.”
She evaded the rim of the glass. “What is it?”
“Laudanum.”
“Oh Doctor, no. I don’t think—”
“Don’t quibble, Emily.” She twisted a bit and realized John Newcomb was back. His dark countenance made her worry about what else had upset him. “Drink the stuff. You’re not a brave little soldier; you’re a hurting woman.”
The doctor’s whiskers spread apart as he grinned. “If you were a brave soldier, you’d be demanding a stiff whiskey.”
Emily started to curl and set her elbow and hand on the settee to help push herself upright. Weak as she felt, she didn’t mind John’s silent assistance. He smoothly sat her up, then braced her as she fought a wave of dizziness. The men exchanged a few words, but Emily couldn’t quite distinguish them. Everything sounded muffled and far away.
“Here.” John Newcomb’s voice registered. So did the sensation of something pressed against her lips.
Emily opened her eyes again. At least the dizziness had passed.
“Drink it. Come now, Emily. Every last drop.”
She gave him a wry look but obeyed. For smelling so sweet, the contents of the cup tasted acrid. She suppressed a shudder. “How is Anna?”
“She’s weak and malnourished,” the doctor stated baldly. “Her milk is coming in, but she’ll have to eat like a horse to build up a good supply.”
“That won’t be a problem,” John stated crisply as he handed the cup to Duncan and pointed toward the kitchen drainboard in a silent order to set it out of the way.
“She told me you’ve been brewing fenugreek tea for her,” the doctor said. “That’s precisely what I prescribe to increase milk, so you’re to continue to give it to her thrice daily.”
“Otherwise—” Emily cast an embarrassed look at John as he took a seat in the striped wingback chair she’d fallen asleep in a short while earlier. She then focused back on the doctor as she lowered her voice to a flustered whisper. “Is Anna going to fare well?”
“From the looks of things, she suffered through a difficult birthing.”
“The midwife said as much.”
Dr. Quisinby let out a small huff of air. His face and tone held a hint of sadness. “Judging from her condition and comparing it to my previous cases, I anticipate hers will be a lengthy recovery. In truth, you’d best prepare her gently for the fact that this son will be her only child.”
Emily bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her reaction. Part of her wanted to scream at the injustice. The other part wondered if God had done this to save Anna from further humiliation since she was already a shunned wife.
“Her blood needs to be built back up,” the doctor continued.
Emily nodded. Fretting over truth never changed the fact. Best she keep her mind set on the things that would make a difference and leave the rest to the Almighty. God would get them through. “Just tell me what my sister needs. I’ll do whatever you instruct.”
“Plenty of sleep for both of you ladies. Generous portions of decent food to regain some strength.”
“I’ll have my cook see to them,” John said. “What do you suggest?”
“Beef. Buttermilk. Egg custards and the like. Your cook is redoubtable—set the situation before her, and she’ll see to matters.” The doctor rummaged in a black leather satchel and produced a tall, square bottle. “This tonic should work nicely. Nasty tasting, of course, but the best ones tend to be that way. All three of you are to take a spoonful each morning.”
Emily eyed the bottle. If I don’t take any, it’ll last—
John Newcomb leaned forward and rasped, “I don’t like the calculating look in your eye, Emily O’Brien. You’re not going to forgo your own doses so Duncan and Anna have more.”
Emily felt her cheeks grow hot with guilt.
“Do I have your word?” John folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.
Grudgingly, Emily nodded. “Aye, ’tis my word you have.”
John gestured toward her ankle. “Is it broken?”
“Badly sprained,” Dr. Quisinby said. “Very badly sprained. Pity of it is, sprains can take longer than a break to heal. She needs to keep off it. No gadding about.”
John rose. He shook the doctor’s hand. “I thank you for coming.” He escorted the doctor out. Emily slumped into the corner of the settee. Minutes later, the echo of John Newcomb’s fine knee boots on the wooden floor made her open her eyes.
“Here.” A damp cloth draped from his fingertips.
“I’m thanking you,” she whispered as she took the cloth and lifted it in both hands to bury her face in it. The spicy scent clinging to the cloth registered as both foreign and comforting. She inhaled deeply and proceeded to wash her face and hands. “Aye, I’m thanking you, John Newcomb, for seeing to my dear ones. Duncan and our Anna have suffered terribly. I’m ever so grate—”
“Hush.” He whisked away the cloth and shoved a plate into her hands.
She whispered a prayer, then silently ate the slice of cold roasted beef, a dried fig, and a small chunk of bread, and drank a bit of pomegranate juice. “Oh, that was a fine feast.”
“How is your, ah, foot feeling?”
Such a gentleman. Even if she was just a dirt-poor immigrant, he’d not mentioned her ankle. “It’s much better, thank you.” Emily manufactured a grateful smile as she looked at him. Both of him.
He took the plate from her hand and set it down on a nearby table. “You ought to sleep quite soundly now that the laudanum is starting to work.”
“Anna—”
“Young though he is, Duncan is quite adept at assisting her.” John fleetingly touched her cheek, and her heavy lids fluttered shut.
For the first time in years, she felt safe. Gratitude and relief flooded her.
“Emily, I’m going to carry you to your bed.”
She forced herself to look at him again. “No, thank you.” She patted the arm of the settee. “Sleep here … don’t want”—she blinked—“bother Anna.”
“As you wish.”
The room started to melt sideways; then Emily realized it was because John had somehow moved her to the center of the settee. “Lie down, little one.” He coaxed her to tilt back, then guided her shoulders onto the inviting seat cushions.
“That’s the way of it,” he praised in a croon as he lifted her limbs and tucked them onto the seat. Even muzzy as her mind felt, Emily knew he took great care not to bump her ankle.
“But the ba—”
“Stop fretting and sleep.” He took the blankets he’d used earlier to cover her and draped them gently over her and tucked them about her shoulders. “Do you want a pillow?”
She sighed in pure bliss and shook her head. She’d been sitting by Anna’s bed to sleep for so long that just lying down on something soft and having her own blanket felt like heaven on earth. Anna could keep the fine feather pillows. As the fingers of sleep reached for her, Emily remembered to mumble, “Thank you for everything.”
A few days later, the vicar paid a call. His arrival came as no surprise since Emily had asked John if he could send word to the vicar that they’d welcome a visit.
She’d been too worried to leave Anna and the babe alone for the few hours it would have taken to go to church. Indeed, she missed going to worship something fierce; but since she’d taken over both jobs at the asylum, she’d been unable to attend.
Emily consoled herself with the knowledge that this was only a temporary situation and that God had promised to be with her at all times. John Newcomb had entered their lives and displayed such generosity and kindness to Anna and Duncan—a fact that Emily counted as proof God still hovered close enough to hear and answer her constant prayers.
Duncan was off at the stables, and Anna lay napping soundly on the wondrously soft, big bed when t
he vicar arrived. For the first few moments, Emily fought with herself. Edward had brought along what might well have been a man simply posing as a parson. Could John Newcomb have taken a page out of that copybook and done the same thing? She knew she could put her trust in God; putting it in man was another issue entirely.
Emily invited the vicar to have a seat and tried to carry on polite small talk. Instead of plowing to the heart of the matter, he pleasantly carried the conversation, invited her to attend church, and spoke of how the choir would begin practice for the Advent services soon. His kindly concern and gentle spirit proved him to be a true man of the cloth. Swallowing her pride, Emily told him of their predicament.
“Well, now, why don’t you show me the marriage certificate?”
She reverently took out the parchment and prayed ever so hard he’d tell her all was well. When Edward and the priest had brought the certificate with them, she and Anna had been thrilled with it. It wasn’t simple paper—no, ‘twas made of fine parchment, and the words were scripted on it in a fine hand. Roses crowned the top of a gold-embossed square that framed the whole affair, and she and Anna had been careful to sign their names on the lines with their very best penmanship. John’s comment about Edward’s signature rang true though—’twas little more than a scribble.
The vicar accepted the page and carried it over to the window so he could read the script more easily. Clouds were rolling in so even that light seemed questionable.
“I’ll fetch a lamp.”
“No need, no need,” he murmured.
Emily watched as his lips moved in silent reading. She couldn’t determine any particular reaction. Finally he looked up. “Child, I’m sorry to tell you this is no marriage license. Someone went to a bit of trouble to create a beautiful imitation, but that’s what this is: a counterfeit. It holds just enough liturgical words to fool someone who doesn’t read Latin, but most of it is sheer babble.”
Emily pressed her palm to her mouth to hold back a scream. Rage pulsed through her.
“Now, then, it’s a crying pity.”
“It’s more than a pity—’tis a crime!” She wound her arms around her ribs. “I never suspected he was a scoundrel. He courted our Anna and charmed us all. When he brought the priest, I trusted that a man of God wouldn’t do something amiss.” She cast a horrified look at the bedchamber door, then looked back at him. Until now she’d hoped all of this was a case of John Newcomb’s simply being wrong.
The full reality hit, and Emily knew she couldn’t deny the awful truth any longer. “Poor Anna! Oh, my poor sister! What are we to do?”
“There’s nothing to be done,” the priest answered gently. “Some things in life you set behind you. Much as it pains me to speak the truth and even more pained as you’ll be to hear it, this will have to be one of them you not only set behind you, but close the door on. As far as I can see, there’s only one hope. John Newcomb is a righteous man. If the Edward Newcomb who signed this is John’s brother, you can count on John to rectify the matter.”
The fraudulent wedding parchment crackled as he set it aside. After a time of thick silence, he shook his head sadly. “The past is the past. We must now deal with the present. Why don’t you bring the babe to me?”
Emily smiled at him gratefully. “Even if the marriage isn’t real, you’re willing to acknowledge him?”
“Every child deserves to be welcomed into the world. I’d be honored to pray for the boy. Perhaps, given the circumstances, it would be best if we simply tended my giving a blessing here.” The kindly old man gave her a sad, aching smile. “With your sister ailing, I’m sure she’ll find peace knowing we’ll love and accept her son.”
Indeed, that is precisely what they did. Emily served the priest tea until Duncan came home and Anna woke. Because Anna couldn’t move without hurting, Emily went into the bedchamber and opened the curtains and windows so she wouldn’t feel as if the visit were being conducted under cover of dark and shame. The damp smell of coming rain filled the room. She hastily combed and braided Anna’s hair and tried very gently to let her sister know the vicar had confirmed John Newcomb’s evaluation of the wedding parchment.
Anna’s pretty eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t say a word.
“Ach, now. You know Duncan and I love you. We know you didn’t do a thing wrong, and the vicar said the selfsame thing. I’m supposing we could spend all of eternity being upset, but that won’t change a thing. You have a babe—a sweet one at that. We love him dearly—all of us.”
Anna cradled the little one closer to her bosom. She choked back her tears and agreed weakly, “Aye, we do.”
“So let’s forget entertaining regrets and make sure he grows up to be a young man who follows the Lord.” Emily then gave the baby a quick swipe with a damp towel, popped him into a fresh nappy, and wrapped him in her own shawl.
“Are we ready?” Duncan asked from the doorway.
“Aye, I’m supposing we are,” Anna answered in a hushed voice.
The vicar and Duncan came in. As they did, the clouds in the sky blocked out the weak sun. The vicar peeped at the babe, gave Anna a few kind words for herself, and exclaimed over what a fine child she’d borne, then took out a prayer book. Though she’d heard the words before, Emily listened even more closely this time. It was so very precious, having someone speak to the Lord about this beloved little child. The vicar paused briefly. “What name have you given him?”
A moment later, he repeated the name Anna tearfully decided upon. The skies opened up, and all heaven cried for the travesty.
Chapter 8
Very good, Duncan!”
Duncan beamed and clutched the edges of the slate. He turned it so Anna could appreciate his work, too. “See? I knew that one, too!”
“Oh, now, aren’t you a smart lad,” Anna praised.
Emily had found a slate tucked beneath a stack of moldy books. Ever since Anna had started having trouble carrying the babe, they’d stopped giving Duncan his lessons. They’d gladly plunged back into them, and the slate made it all that much easier.
“Give me another one,” Duncan begged.
“Hmm.” Emily closed her Bible, then opened it. Her finger landed in the upper third of the page. She started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Anna asked.
“Yes, please do tell me. What’s so funny?” John asked. He leaned on the bedroom window and peeked inside. He grinned. “I don’t mean to invade your privacy, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Emily laugh before. I had to see if my ears were playing tricks on me.”
“Oh, it’s our Em, all right,” Duncan said. He galloped over to the window and held up the slate. “We’re playing a game. Em finds a verse in the Bible, and I’m to copy as many words out of it as I can spell correctly.”
“There’s a novel game.” John looked at the slate, then reached in and rumpled Duncan’s hair. “You did a fine job on that one. I still don’t see why Emily laughed though.”
“Neither do we,” Anna agreed. “What’s so funny, Em?”
Emily looked back down at her Bible and spluttered into laughter again. “You’ll never believe this,” she warned. Her eyes shimmered with glee.
“I’m ready,” Duncan declared as he poised the stylus over the slate. “Try me!”
“‘Jesus wept.’”
John watched through the window as Duncan’s face twisted with confusion. Anna started to giggle, and Emily set aside the Bible and dissolved into hilarity. His own laughter boomed in, though it was more a result of the pure joy of seeing them all happy than at the fact that she’d happened to give her little brother such a simple verse.
Duncan set aside his slate, propped his chin on the windowsill, and asked in a bewildered tone, “Why are you all laughing when it says Jesus was crying?”
John grabbed him, dragged him through the wide-open window, and flipped him upside down. He playfully shook the lad until he laughed, then set him on his feet. “We laughed because Em wanted
to stump a smart boy like you with a hard verse, and the best she could do was give you two little words.”
“Em’s a giggle box today.”
“Oh, she is, is she?”
“Uh-huh.” Duncan led him into the house and straight into the bedchamber, where Anna and Emily still battled to subdue their chuckles.
John watched Emily try to paste on a serene expression, but her lips twitched a bit. He wanted to start laughing all over again, too. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, then winked at Anna. Autumn sunlight filled the room, and the day seemed far more golden and warm than the calendar dictated. “So what set you into this jolly mood?”
“I’m afraid I started it. My pillow got a wee hole in it last night. I woke up wearing feathers in my hair,” Emily began.
“And Anna said she looked like a loon,” Duncan added.
“Then the baby got the hiccups,” Emily said.
“And I got a funny brown mustache from drinking the hot chocolate,” Anna confessed sheepishly.
“Duncan somehow accidentally got a nappy tucked into his waist and walked about like he had a tail for ever so long before he realized it,” Emily said, her voice quivering with laughter. “And then he spelled ‘beloved’ as ‘B-loved’!”
John belted out a laugh. “You’re having quite a silly day!”
“So it’s your turn. What have you done today?” Duncan asked.
John simply couldn’t let the delight of the day fizzle just because he didn’t have a confession to make. He theatrically tapped one finger on his chin, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m having an ordinary day. I can’t think of a single, solitary thing that’s happened to me that warrants any laughter at all.” Just as he finished speaking, he sat on the edge of a chair and let his elbow bump the side table so he’d have to bobble to catch the flower vase he’d upset. The laughter in the room was ample reward for his intentional clumsiness.
Soon the gaiety extended to their playing tic-tac-toe on the slate. Instead of using O and X marks, they drew pictures of animals. “Your cat looks more like a rat,” Emily told John.
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