Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  I saw my Horse looking at me in the weary-eyed way Pomme did when I asked him to traverse heavy brush. I sighed to myself and resolved to hack my own way to the truth: I would not have protected her, either. We did little enough for the women in our cart. I was a piss-poor brother and husband; and saying it was because I truly loved none of them as I loved my man was not a good excuse—or rather it was merely an excuse.

  Civilization and society are structured such that women cannot care for themselves like a man can. If a man took a woman into his life, he had best be up to the added responsibility and not do as I did and simply expect her to behave like a man. A woman literally and figuratively could not.

  “We have always said we must take better care of them,” I sighed, “but truly, we must…”

  “Take better care of them,” Gaston finished with me and chuckled.

  “I keep forgetting they are not men,” I said. “Even if they possess education and money, there are still hurdles of law they cannot leap.”

  “True,” he sighed. “I think it sad.”

  “It is. And a bloody bother. I am Sarah’s only trustworthy relation. If her husband—and his matelot—cannot care for her, she is my responsibility—or rather, I am responsible for her—or to her. And I do not wish it. Just as it angers me that Yvette is now in our care. They should be able—non, they should be allowed—to care for themselves.”

  “We are responsible for Christine, too,” he mused.

  I gave an incoherent groan of frustration, and Pomme glanced back at me with concern.

  I sighed. “When I feel my responsibility for you—to you—it makes me walk taller. When I think of them—and the babes—I just feel pressed down.”

  “So do I,” Gaston whispered reassuringly, “but perhaps it is a burden we will grow stronger under; just as we have grown stronger ever pulling uphill.”

  “I suppose it is. I suppose I hope it is.”

  “I think it is much the same as being a lord,” he added with a thoughtful frown I could hear.

  I frowned, and was glad he could not see it. He was a lord now, and from a long line of them who purportedly took the welfare of their people quite seriously: as opposed to very nearly all the other nobles I had encountered. I tried to recall my own thoughts on lordship—from when it had briefly loomed as a possibility in my life. The plantation had been a failure of my good intentions. Nay, I had simply failed them by not giving them my undivided attention. I had met Gaston and all others had been tossed from… Well, I had not even considered myself to have a cart then.

  “It is good I am not a lord,” I said. “I am slow in accepting responsibility—very slow. It is as if my journey to manhood was detoured when I fled England as a youth. Only since returning there have I begun to traverse it again. It could be said I have the cares and attentions of a man barely in his third decade.”

  He embraced me tighter and sighed. “The same can be said of me. In all that truly matters, it is as if the years I lived before you did not exist.”

  When I viewed it in that manner, we were doing very well indeed. “We should be kind to ourselves,” I said with amusement. “We are barely past being earnest boys filled with idle dreams.”

  He snorted. “Will, we are still earnest boys filled with idle dreams.”

  “Oui, and it is sad for those who must depend on us.”

  “Non,” he said and kissed my neck. “We are very earnest.”

  I smiled and felt a little of the weight lift from my heart. We were trying, and we did mean well. Though it chafed, we were taking responsibility for those who depended upon us. That had started with little Jamaica last year.

  Still, I fancied I would end up as swaybacked as Pomme from the weight of it all. I was heartened that he still managed to bear us with little trouble. It bode well for my future.

  We did not see Pete and Striker that eve. Initially, I saw this change as an end to their days of frolicking; but then I realized that since Striker’s drinking was brought about by his worrying—essentially his inability to frolic—perhaps the potential end of his drinking would allow him to choose a new path—one that involved frolicking. Or perhaps, he would go mad without rum to drown in, and take off for England to do things I did not wish to think about. In the end, I prayed the Gods wished for men to frolic and lead good lives of love and caring; and that They did not value war and valor as much as the poets of old seemed to think They did. After all, did the Gods not spend Their days frolicking?

  Ninety-Five

  Wherein We Pray for the Unborn

  By March fourth—the day before Gaston’s birthday—I could barely contain my anticipation. I had informed the priests who assisted at the hospital that Gaston would not be available on the fifth unless there was a dire emergency. I had arranged with Henrietta to have a yearling pig roasted and a brandied cheesecake prepared. I had even obtained Sarah’s permissions for Pete and Striker to attend the fete.

  I had wanted Sarah to attend, but with both her and Rachel as big in the belly as whales, it was impossible for either to ride or walk the distance between the two houses. Sarah chose to forego the fete in exchange for our coming to visit the next day. She claimed that the unfamiliar mayhem of such a gathering would probably be a bit much for her anyway.

  Thus, I was prepared, and now the day could not arrive quickly enough. I sometimes laughed at my enthusiasm. It seemed I had very little to occupy my days; but in truth, even if my days had been full, the chance to finally honor my matelot properly would have eclipsed all else.

  My matelot appeared oblivious. As always, he said not one word about his impending change of age. By the time we finally retired to our room the night before, I had achieved that silly stage of anticipation that makes one want to sleep faster in order to bring the desired event closer. I was not even interested in trysting. I thought I would have enough of that on the morrow, once I got him up to the land and we had some privacy. I was even hoping there would be so much Horseplay we might forget to return for the fete—well, almost: that would trouble a number of people.

  I found him watching me with a frown as we undressed. I supposed it was no surprise he would realize something was amiss, as he knew me better than anyone.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked as I crawled into our hammock.

  “Non, there is nothing wrong,” I assured him.

  He remained leaning against the sea chests with his breeches around his knees. “Is something… correct?”

  I chuckled. “Oui, now come to bed.”

  He crossed his arms and kicked his breeches away.

  I sighed. “It is your birthday tomorrow. You will be thirty.”

  “Ah…” he said with sincere surprise. “I had forgotten.” He frowned at me anew. “Why are you excited?” Then he nodded with understanding. “I am receiving a gift. I cannot recall receiving a gift before,” he said with his Child’s smile. Then his face fell. “I am sorry I have already seen it.”

  I was crestfallen, and he moved quickly to my side to caress my slack face. “He is wonderful, and I thank you for him. I wish I could make as much use of him as you do.”

  I frowned until I divined his meaning. “Non, non, Pomme is not your gift.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “He is not?” His eyes narrowed. “You have another gift for me?”

  I grinned. “Oui.”

  “Truly? I will be surprised?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I will like it as much as the big, fat horse,” he teased.

  I laughed. “I hope you will like it far more than the big, fat horse.”

  In the spirit of the matter now, he eyed me speculatively. “It is not on your person?” His hand darted to cup my balls in case I was daft to his meaning.

  I snorted and batted his hand away. “Non. And you will have to wait.”

  “I cannot fuck you until I have my present?” he asked with a glitter in his eyes that stirred my cock; leaving it to tell me there were in
deed things that eclipsed even my matelot’s birthday.

  “Non,” I whispered huskily. “Never that. It is just not a gift.”

  “Because it is already a possession,” he purred.

  “Oui, just so,” I breathed. “Since it will be your birthday, what will you have of me?”

  He sighed and pulled away, the playfulness leaving his eyes. “I would very much like to take you somewhere and make you run,” he said seriously. “I have been feeling the need to run, Will. Would you…” He found his answer in my hungry and elated eyes. He smiled and the husky teasing returned. “Perhaps we can slip away tomorrow. We can go somewhere in the forest and I can make you beg and groan for hours.”

  “Perhaps.” I grinned until I feared my face might break in two.

  “We could go now,” he said with surprising earnestness.

  We could, though I was not sure if I could find the trail in the dark. “First light—any light,” I said quickly.

  He sighed and threw himself beside me like a disappointed child. “Now I must wait for Horseplay and my present.”

  “No one has been mistreated as much as you, my love,” I teased.

  “Non,” he said with mock seriousness. “No one ever has. Your treatment of me is abominable. You torture me endlessly with your naked body and empty promises.” He dove atop me to tickle me mercilessly.

  I laughed until my cackles achieved some imbalance with my breathing and I made a strangled snoring sound rather like a horse.

  We were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “What?” Gaston asked the shutters.

  “I am sorry to disturb you. It is Mistress Theodore, she is…” Theodore said urgently.

  Gaston had torn the shutter open before he could finish. One glance at our friend’s distraught face and we were scrambling for our clothes.

  “Does she labor? Has her water broken?” Gaston was asking as he began to dress.

  I had not seen her in days, and the last time I had, she had appeared paler and more listless than my sister; though she was not thin: she had actually grown somewhat plump these last months.

  “Nay, nay,” Theodore said hoarsely. “She is… Oh Lord… She is hysterical. I called Hannah to be with her. Rachel says the baby is dead. She says it has not moved in days. She has been lying abed claiming she was tired and professing there was no need for concern. She often rested a great deal with Elizabeth. I thought nothing of it. But then when I went to retire, I laid a hand upon her belly as I often do, and she began to weep. She is…”

  He stopped talking as Gaston ran past him, his bare feet thundering around the balcony until he reached their room on the far side of the house.

  I took Theodore’s shoulders and embraced him.

  “Oh Will,” he gasped as he clutched at me, “I cannot lose her. If we cannot have any more children, so be it. I will sleep elsewhere, but by God I do not wish to lose her.”

  “Stop,” I said gently. “And do not deny both of you… Now is not the time, but surely man, you know there are things you can do to please one another without it leading to babies.”

  “Rachel would not approve,” he said. He appeared a lost boy.

  “Later, we will cross that bridge later,” I assured him.

  “If there is a later,” he gasped with new tears in his eyes.

  “There will be a later,” I said as much for him as for myself.

  His belief in his impending loss was frightening. I took his hand and towed him back to their room; past the rest of the household who had begun to emerge from their rooms with worried faces. When we arrived and I saw her, Theodore’s fear settled into my bowels and twisted them.

  Rachel was indeed hysterical—and sickly. She sobbed and writhed feebly in Hannah’s arms. Her face was ghastly pale and her body bloated.

  I wondered how long she had been swollen. Had she been so the last I saw her? It had been at dinner several days ago, and all I could recall was her full bowl of soup. She had not eaten that night. I only remembered it now because Henrietta had teased her, saying there was no need to watch her waist now, she was already fat. Rachel had not laughed. Her only reaction had been a grim smile. I had assumed she was merely out of sorts as pregnant women seem to get. Rachel was often stern even when she was not with child.

  Gaston had her thin cotton gown pushed up to below her breasts and his hands on her naked, grossly-distended belly. It looked… wrong. Vivian’s belly had not even appeared so swollen when she birthed.

  “How long?” Gaston asked.

  Rachel did not answer and Hannah shook her head helplessly.

  Gaston slapped Rachel. Beside me, Theodore jumped, but he did not attempt to push past me into the room. His wife gasped, but her gaze did settle on my matelot.

  “How long has it been still?” Gaston asked again.

  Her face contorted with guilt and shame and a thousand other tragic emotions.

  “How long?” he roared.

  “Three weeks,” she at last gasped. “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought… I was afraid…” Her roving eyes found Theodore behind my shoulder and she turned away to bury her face in Hannah’s chest and sob.

  I turned to Theodore. He appeared stricken senseless. “She told me he was sleeping last week,” he whispered. “The babe did not kick and I asked and she said he was sleeping…”

  I shook him. “You go to her, and you hold her, and you tell her she has not failed you and that you want her to live. You do that, now!” I hissed until he nodded with understanding.

  I pushed Theodore into the room and followed him until I could kneel beside Gaston. “What do you need?” I asked. He took a deep breath and recited a list. I dove out the door, only to encounter a dozen worried faces a discreet distance away.

  “Does she labor?” Henrietta asked.

  “Nay, she… She is ill,” I said. “The baby may be ill. I do not know what will occur. Gaston wants several ewers of clean water and a kettle of boiled water. Beyond that, it would be best if you all went downstairs. She does not need to hear people standing about whispering, and this is not a time for anyone to pay their respects.”

  “Should we fetch the midwife?” Liam asked.

  “You might as well,” I said as I pushed past them to the stairs.

  “Should we fetch a priest?” Yvette asked with an ashen face as I began to pass her.

  “Not yet,” I whispered, “but perhaps Father Pierre should be informed that his services might be required… later.” I leaned close and dropped my voice further still. “The child will be stillborn.”

  She nodded with tears in her eyes.

  Then I was free of them and in the hospital. I took a moment to breathe and curse silently. This was going to make a fine present indeed. I glanced skyward and wondered what the Gods were thinking. How could They be so cruel?

  There was no time for my whining, though. I collected the things and ran back into the night. Thankfully the household had done as I requested, and retreated to talk quietly in the atrium. I was relieved to see a light in the cookhouse. When I reached the balcony I found Agnes standing with her hands in her hair, rocking back and forth. I was inclined to snap at her, but then I remembered her great fear after seeing Jamaica born.

  “See to Elizabeth if she should wake,” I told her gently. “Hannah will likely be busy with us.”

  “Muri and Sam are bringing the water. Muri and Hannah delivered Apollo, not the midwife.”

  “That is good to know. Do not worry. She is strong.”

  Her huge, tear-filled eyes trapped mine. “I am afraid,” she whispered, “of doing it again. It went well the first time, but…”

  “Then perhaps we should not. We can discuss it on the morrow. Your womb has not seemed to like my seed anyway, and maybe the syringe will never work. Do not worry. I am not… You need not do anything you do not wish.”

  “Oh Will, I’m sorry,” she breathed.

  “Do not be, now go and sit and drink some wine.�
� I gently pushed her aside and entered the room and closed the door.

  Gaston was concurring quietly with Muri and Hannah. The women regarded me as an interloper, but my matelot turned to me with grateful eyes and gave me the names of several medicinal roots and requested a mortar and pestle. “We are going to try and force her to labor,” he added as I mumbled through the list trying not to forget anything.

  “Do we want laudanum?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They are not familiar with it, and I am concerned it will calm her body such that she will not strain to pass the child.”

  I looked to Rachel where she laid with her head and shoulders cradled in her husband’s lap. She appeared much calmer now, but her grip on his hands showed white skin over every knuckle. Theodore met my gaze with desperate eyes. Well, if she could not have anything, he surely could; and he appeared to need a drink as much as I felt I did. I added brandy to my list.

  Agnes was thankfully not swaying outside the door. I spied her downstairs engaged in earnest conversation with her lady. They were in tears.

  Sam was on the closest staircase, heavily laden with two pails of water, a small tub, and a kettle. I ran around to the other stairs, passing the Doucettes’ rooms in the process. Dominic was standing in the doorway.

  He thrust out his cane to snag me as I passed. “What is happening?” he demanded.

  I shook him off. “Nothing you need be concerned about.”

  “Stupid cunt,” he snapped.

  I was not sure who he was referring to. I gave him a backhanded slap that knocked him into his room anyway.

  I was able to take the stairs closer to the Theodores’ room when I returned. I glanced up at the Doucettes’ door and did not see him. I thought perhaps I should tell Yvette to tend to him, but now Agnes and she were arguing. I swallowed a curse and returned to Gaston.

  Theodore was thankful for the brandy, as was Muri. I decided we would need another bottle. That one had not been full and I was surely getting none of it after it was passed to Gaston and he too took a hearty swig. He stopped me before I left and asked for two more things he had forgotten—and a syringe. Thankfully Doucette had possessed several and I did not have to ask Agnes for hers.