by Lorin Grace
It was going to be difficult to convince Lucy to marry him after breaking their engagement. Now that she’d become head of the Marden household, it might be impossible. This changed everything. Lack of a chaperone and the responsibility of raising her sister would provide ready excuses for Lucy to thwart his efforts. As if his stupid letter wasn’t enough.
Samuel slipped closer to his sleeping charges. Sarah was going to wake feeling stiff and sore from sleeping in the rocker. He needed to be able to sit near Lucy to force more liquid down her throat anyway. Scooping Sarah into his arms, he went in search of a more comfortable bed. Contemplating the narrow stairway, he decided moving Sarah to her parents’ bedroom would be simpler, so he pushed open the bedroom door with his back.
The smell of blood and death assaulted him, and he gagged.
The bed was unmade, its bare straw tick lumpy and stained. Samuel backed out before the odor overwhelmed him. He should have guessed. Lucy would not have had time to put the room to rights.
Upstairs, he tucked Sarah into the bed in the smaller room. He placed the rag doll next to her and covered her with a quilt. He glanced into the other room, relieved to find Ben’s old bed neatly made, as if waiting for Ben to come home and tumble in after a day of sledding. At least he would not need to sleep in the barn during his stay. The pegs on the wall no longer held Ben’s clothing. A slingshot lay on the top of a closed chest, homage to the little boy who had lived there. Samuel’s heart ached. He knew how hard it was to lose a beloved sibling.
After changing the cooling cloth on Lucy’s head for the hundredth time and coaxing some tepid ginger tea down her throat, he decided to take care of his dinner. Ma’s basket contained fresh bread and cheese as well as a good-sized chunk of ham. He toasted the cheese and warmed the meat over the fire with a long fork.
As he ate, he read the entries in the back of the family Bible. A few recently penned entries told the story he did not dare ask little Sarah. Ben had died as the blizzard started. James Marden had passed five days later, on Saturday. Both entries were written in the same hand that had recorded Benjamin’s birth. He assumed from the feminine flourish that Anna had written them.
If only I had come when the storm ended. Guilt threatened to choke him as he tried to swallow a bite of bread. Saturday morning had dawned clear. By afternoon, a light snow was falling, but visibility had been good until the full force of the next storm had hit after dark. On Sunday, only half the congregation had attended church, and no more snow had fallen. Old Brown could have easily navigated the few drifts that blocked the mile and half journey.
Unblinking, he stared at the writing at the bottom of the family list in disbelief. Lucy had written the next entry. After dozens of letters, he could not fail to recognize it. A baby had been born and died sometime yesterday. Sarah had not mentioned a baby. Perhaps Lucy had spared her the knowledge. He hadn’t asked Sarah much about the family, partially because he was unsure of what to do with her tears, which had fallen more than once since his arrival.
Lucy must have delivered her baby brother before Anna Marden had died. No wonder the large bedroom was in such a state. Between his mother’s birthings and medical school, he knew childbirth was not a clean process. And there was blood. Samuel put down food, unable to eat another bite, his stomach churning as he recalled the pungent odor and appearance of the bedroom.
It was a wonder Lucy had not taken ill sooner. She could not have slept much, if any, since Saturday morning. Then she’d managed to hoist the bodies onto the roof. Had Anna tried to help? Given her condition, hauling her husband’s body onto the roof could have triggered early labor even without the addition of illness. Why didn’t I come? He called himself every foul name he’d ever heard for the lowly coward he was. A few of them might earn a fine for swearing if said in the wrong company.
He pictured Lucy cradling the tiny infant. Had he cried? Had she? If he’d been there, would he have been able to hold her, or would he have absented himself? Lucy would have cleaned her mother and laid her out, placing the babe in her still arms before wrapping them both in a quilt. He tried not to picture what she must have had to clean.
It was no use. He raced to the privy, where he lost his dinner. Great, he thought sarcastically, now just imagining blood was enough to make him ill. Samuel didn’t understand this new aversion to blood. Until this past spring, seeing blood had caused him to flinch—a reaction he considered perfectly normal. But then his reactions had become stronger—nausea, shaking, and then fainting. He tried not to think of what would happen when his future wife struggled to present him with a child. He would be worse than useless.
Walking back to the house, he pondered the bundles on the roof. They could not remain there long as all around him the trees were shedding their snowy coverings. The sun had started to warm the earth. The bodies lay on the east-facing roof, which was fortunate, but if they got a full thaw, being out of the afternoon sun would not preserve them for long.
Samuel dumped the remains of his dinner in the slop bucket and returned the family Bible to the shelf near the fireplace. He doubted Sarah could read well enough yet, but he rather she not accidentally find out about her baby brother. He was at a loss for where to store the ornate writing desk. He decided to place it in the large bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he hurried into the room, setting the desk on the couch, then he threw open two windows in hopes the room would air out. He drew in a breath at the window before retreating from the room. He could not leave them open for long lest the entire house cool down, but he hoped it would be long enough to air the room sufficiently.
An hour or so later as he sat rocking in the chair next to Lucy, Samuel looked up to see a disheveled and blurry-eyed Sarah slip into the room. She climbed onto his lap. Clutching her doll in one arm, she stuffed her thumb in her mouth and settled into the crook of Samuel’s arm. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, so he kept rocking. His younger brothers had never curled up in his arms. Vague memories of his younger sister Beth cuddling with him nudged at his memory, but she had not yet been four when she’d died.
Creak, creak, the rocker sang. Samuel’s leg began to fall asleep, but he continued to rock.
Sarah pulled her thumb out of her mouth and placed her hands on Samuel’s cheeks. He tried to ignore the moisture there. She stared him in the eye and pronounced, “I like you too, Samuel Wilson.” Sarah hopped off his lap and ran to inspect the basket on the table.
Too? What did she mean? He rubbed his leg and flexed his foot before standing to supervise the gingerbread distribution, then he rubbed the back of his neck. Too could mean he had more of a chance with Lucy than he dreamed.
All afternoon he waited for one of his brothers or Pa to come riding into the yard. He needed Ma’s wisdom and more help in the barn. Perhaps they could fetch Widow Potting from town to stay the night with Lucy. Or the doctor might know which malady she was facing. He didn’t want Ma here. He could not risk exposing her to whatever had killed the Mardens. She was still tired from late nights caring for Mark and seemed to tire more easily since he’d returned home.
Lucy tossed and turned, winding the covers around her body, and her fever climbed. Samuel wished for his mother’s herb box. The herbs hanging from the ceiling here at the Mardens were useless to him as he was not sure what many of them were without labels. He remembered the Mardens owned a box, but the shelf where it had once sat was now empty. He’d only succeeded in finding the ginger tea. Using a teaspoon, he managed to get Lucy to take most of the cooled liquid. The laborious process of caring for the ill surprised him. Doctors diagnosed but rarely stayed for the duration.
The sun was setting when Samuel returned to the barn. Why had no one come to see why he’d not returned home? As he fed the animals, he contemplated taking Old Brown and running home for help. Lucy was sleeping soundly now, and the trip would take less than a half hour, even allowing ti
me for Ma to make a new basket. He could make it in fifteen minutes if he asked for help and returned without waiting. By the time he’d fed and watered the last of the animals, he decided the fifteen-minute option was his best. He would leave after checking on Lucy and Sarah. But as he stepped out of the barn, icy raindrops pelted his face and the wind caught his hat, tossing it into a snow drift. Samuel reconsidered his plans. Retrieving his hat, he ran for the house.
He was not leaving tonight.
Six
Thomas Wilson bowed his head, ready to say grace, and paused. He glanced around the long table. “Where is Samuel?”
“He hasn’t returned.” Emma worried her lip.
Thomas scowled and began the prayer.
When dinner was over, Emma made a show of fussing over the uneaten food. “Perhaps you should get the sleigh out and we can take this over to Marden’s. There must be something wrong to cause your son to miss supper.” She’d wanted to ask Thomas to go all afternoon and had cooked almost twice what they could eat in preparation for such a trip. Samuel’s prolonged stay had heightened the anxiety she’d already been feeling for one of her best friends and family.
“Sorry, my Emma.” Thomas took her hand. “The wind is picking up, and it has started to sleet. I don’t dare travel on a night like this. Our Samuel will be fine. He has a good head on his shoulders. James must have seen the danger too. No doubt that’s why he didn’t come home.”
Later, when Thomas was brushing Emma’s hair, they listened as the last of the sleet pelted their window and silence replaced the roaring wind. Their eyes met in the mirror, and they silently resolved to head for the Marden’s as soon as possible.
At first light, Emma and Thomas were gliding over the ice-frosted road toward the Marden farm, the snow-covered world sparkling around them. Sunlight danced and twinkled off every surface. Emma recalled the morning after her first sleigh ride with Thomas twenty-six years ago and wondered if he were thinking of it as well. He’d alluded to the sleigh ride the other night. She tightened her hold on his arm. The glance he gave her sent heat to her cheeks. He remembered. He moved the reins to one hand and placed the other on her knee. The horses slowed.
“Woman, if we are going to get this food to Marden’s while it is still warm, I think you’d better not look at me like that again. As I recall, there are lots of ways to stay warm in a sleigh mired in a snowbank.” Thomas winked and squeezed her knee before taking the reins in both hands again, speeding the horses back up. Emma stifled a giggle. She would arrange for a midnight sleigh ride soon to see if he could keep her as warm as he claimed.
Sarah danced around. “Company!”
She heard the sleigh bells before Samuel, who was trying to coax more tepid tea past Lucy’s parched lips.
“Sarah, don’t open the door,” Samuel cautioned, crossing the room. “Sit with Lucy.”
Samuel grabbed his coat and stepped out onto the porch just as his father reined the horses to a stop.
Emma stood, ready to jump down from the sleigh.
Samuel raised his hands. “Stop, Ma. Stay in the sleigh.”
She sat down, looking alarmed, her eyes raking over him. He knew how disheveled he must look. He imagined his hair stood on end and wondered if dark circles rimmed his eyes. Under the open coat, his shirt was rumpled and half tucked in.
“What is going on here, son?” Thomas shifted in his seat.
Samuel rubbed the back of his neck and glanced heavenward before answering. “James, Anna, and Ben are dead.”
Emma gasped.
Samuel winced. He should have softened the news. He continued before his parents could ask any questions. “From the dates in the family Bible, it appears that Anna died, along with a baby boy, Monday, before Sarah woke up. She hasn’t mentioned a baby, so I don’t think she knows. James passed Saturday, and Ben the Monday prior.”
“Sarah? Lucy?” Emma squeaked, her hand over her heart.
“Sarah seems well enough. From what she told me, she was the first one to take ill. Lucy succumbed sometime the night before last after putting Sarah to bed. When I arrived, she was fevered. It is bad. She alternates between fever and chills. She has been moaning and coughing all night and has yet to be fully conscious.”
“Well, then, I will stay and take care of her.” Emma stood to take herself out of the sleigh again.
Samuel held up his hands. “No, Ma. She is contagious. I can’t risk you getting it too.” He looked pleadingly at his father. Anna Marden had been his mother’s closest confidante; he knew convincing her to return home would be difficult.
“But, son, you can’t—” Emma waved her hands helplessly. Samuel guessed she was thinking of how his being a single man would prevent him from properly nursing a sick, unmarried woman in all the necessary ways. Bathing, chamber pots, changing…
“I trained to be a doctor. I may not be one, but I can take care of Lucy.”
“No, it’s not that… ” His mother’s voice trailed off again as she turned to Thomas for help.
“Son, what your mother is trying to say is it isn’t proper for you to care for Lucy alone.”
Samuel rubbed the back of his neck. He’d thought about this dilemma as he cared for Lucy throughout the wee hours. He hoped that almost being a doctor would be good enough, but he could not picture the Reverend Woods accepting it as an excuse.
“Surely people would understand,” he said. “I am not going to take advantage of a sick girl. And she is in no condition to throw herself at me. Sarah is here. That should be enough to keep tongues from wagging.” But his arguments sounded hollow even to his own ears. They had been more convincing in the predawn hours when he’d first made them. Elizabeth’s mother would waste no time creating a sordid tale for any who would listen if she got even a hint of his presence here. The gaggle of gossips who met under the guise of quilting for the poor would condemn Lucy before finishing their first square. He wouldn’t be shocked if a couple of the older women didn’t make Lucy a scarlet letter A as their Puritan grandfathers would have. Piety overruled charity far too often for his taste.
His mother lowered her head as if praying. When she looked up, she gave Samuel the expression he knew would compel him to do whatever she wanted.
“Samuel,” she began in the quiet pleading tone mothers used when they wanted their children to see reason. “You stayed the night without a chaperone. Most will forgive you due to the weather and her dire need. But if you choose to stay another night, there are some who will forgive you, but most will hold it against Lucy. She has always been a faithful young lady. She doesn’t deserve you ruining her reputation. I am going to stay.” Emma slipped out of the sleigh and came to stand before him, determination burning in her eyes. Samuel cast another glance at his father, who chose not to weigh in.
“No, Mother, you can’t. It could kill you, too.” Samuel was torn. He knew by staying he was risking Lucy’s reputation, which was already fragile because of her father, the notorious Mr. Simms. But Ma was not healthy. She had not been for some time. She tired easier than she had before he left for Harvard three years ago. His father might not see it, but to him his mother was not as vibrant as she had been in years past.
“Son, you are right. It could kill your mother, or it could even kill you. It might kill Lucy, but it might not. Only God knows. I appreciate you trying to spare your mother, but this is bigger than being ill. If you stay, what will it mean in two weeks?” Thomas paused, and Samuel hung his head. “If your ma remains here, no one will question Lucy’s character.”
Samuel rubbed the back of his head. “What can I do? I can’t leave her with Sarah to care for her. And, Ma, I can’t let you expose yourself to this… this… ” Samuel waved his arms wide. “I don’t even know what it is. Couldn’t Widow Potting come?”
“No, she is at a lying-in,
and we have at least two more in the coming week to attend.”
“There is another solution, son. Marry her.” Thomas delivered the sentence with a quiet air of finality.
“What?” Samuel dropped both arms and stared into his father’s face. Had he mistaken his father’s words?
“Marry her. If you care at all for Lucy or her reputation, it is the best way,” Emma agreed. “I don’t know what happened before you came home, but you were engaged. The reverend announced your intentions.”
Doubt filled Samuel’s mind. He couldn’t ask the question he wanted to. What if she despises me? So he asked the other difficult question. “What if she dies?”
“If she dies, you’ll be a widower with an instant family. Sarah will be your responsibility, as will this farm.”
Samuel grew uncomfortable under his father’s scrutiny. It had not occurred to him marrying Lucy would be a way to save her reputation. He’d thought if he could get the reverend to make some statement or something, then all would be well. Samuel opened his mouth, then shut it. Sarah, my responsibility? The Marden farm? I can’t!
Samuel swung his arm wide to encompass the barn and fields beyond, his frustration mounting. “People will say I married her to get the farm. It seems so mercenary. Marry a sick girl to gain a farm.” But now that he had no prospects, gaining the farm was the only way he could afford to marry.
“Then, son, you’d better be the doctor you were trained to be and make sure Lucy lives.” Thomas’s stare became sterner, if that were possible.
“Will you send for Dr. Page?”
His father shook his head. “We passed him on our way here. He was pushing that old horse of his south as fast as he could go. I doubt he could get here before tomorrow. What can he do that you can’t?”