by Lorin Grace
As soon as he’d finished his prayer, Reverend Woods asked Sarah to toss a bit of soil into the deep hole.
Sarah looked at the quilts, then at the minister. “They are not really there. They are in heaven.”
Reverend Woods gave the child a patronizing smile and turned to Samuel. “We will be down in a moment to handle the other matter. These men can finish the work.” Several of the men he’d indicated gave slight scowls. They’d come to report on the wedding and had been outsmarted by the clergyman. “Your brother and brother-in-law can witness. It would be best if you could bring Lucy outside. Just wrap her up. I will keep it short. I don’t want to make her worse, but I want to do this right.”
Elizabeth’s brother stifled a smirk, then he looked at the house and his grin faded. The porch was not visible from the hill. There would be nothing to report beyond the minister’s words.
Samuel picked up Sarah and waded through the snow back to the cabin. How can the minister claim to “do it right” when Lucy is sleeping?
Sarah’s singing drowned out his thoughts. “Samuel is marrying Lucy! Samuel is marrying Lucy!”
Joe stepped off the porch as they approached. “I didn’t hear a sound, Sam.”
“Thanks, Joe.” Samuel set Sarah down and went into the house.
Joe was right. Lucy was sleeping in the same position she’d been in when he’d left.
Samuel took the brush and tried to smooth her tangled hair. He winced for her when he caught a bad snarl, but Lucy didn’t even flinch.
“Sweetheart, this is your last chance to back out. I am going to wrap you up and carry you outside. When we come in, you are going to be Mrs. Samuel Wilson.” His efforts with the brush this time around did not match the results he’d produced earlier. No one but Sarah and he would see Lucy’s beautiful maple-syrup hair, but he sensed the need to make Lucy as presentable as possible. Or as presentable as an oblivious bride being wed in her shift could be. He knew his father brushed his mother’s hair one hundred strokes every night. What would Lucy think if I told her that on her wedding day I brushed twice that?
Lucy was going to toss a fit when she learned of her wedding and her state of undress. It would have been better had they said their vows verba de praesenti. But heaven knew a multitude of brides and grooms had wed in a less-respectable state of dress, married by unwitnessed vows through the ages, than Lucy was right now. At least there were no affronted fathers or firearms involved here.
Samuel wrapped a quilt around Lucy, making sure her feet were well covered. He hoped she would approve of his choice. The blue flowered print and green squares put him in mind of her song. Lucy’s face peeked through the gap in the quilt. He left another quilt over a chair near the fire to warm her when they returned.
“Don’t forget this.” Sarah held out the sprig of dried lavender they’d set aside. Samuel tucked it into Lucy’s hair.
Despite the bulkiness of the quilt, Lucy was still much easier to carry than he expected. Sarah held open the door for them to pass through.
Reverend Woods stood with Samuel’s parents flanking him, his younger brothers smirking. Thomas Jr. and Paul kept their faces schooled so as not to show their thoughts.
“You will need to take her hand.”
Using the porch rail, Samuel balanced Lucy while he fished out her hand. He tried not to let her shift show.
“Adjust the blanket so I can see her face, too, please.” Satisfied, Reverend Woods opened his book and started. “Being now assembled in the… Samuel Taylor Wilson the woman you now have by the hand , you take to be your wedded wife and you promise by Divine assistance to love and honor her… ” The familiar words flowed around Samuel until the reverend paused.
“Yes.” His answer was more of a squeak than the decisive ‘yes’ he planned to utter.
Reverend Woods continued addressing Lucy. Her inert form in Samuel’s arms grew heavier the longer the minister spoke, and he found it necessary to adjust Lucy a bit. As he did so, she moaned, and her eyes fluttered.
“Sa—?”
“Darling, Reverend Woods wants to know if you will marry me,” Samuel whispered as the reverend spoke.
“… you will cleave unto him only, so lo—”
“—es” Lucy turned her head into his shoulder and closed her eyes. The sounds she made were not much different than some spoken in delirium only an hour ago. Samuel doubted their validity even as he watched his ma dab her eyes.
Reverend Woods took Lucy’s mumbling as an affirmative answer to the question he’d posed and continued with the next section. “I then pronounce you to be Husband and Wife; married according to the laws of this Commonwealth… ” He looked up from his book and around to each member of the small gathering.“Ordinarily I would tell you kiss the bride, but considering… Reverend Woods said, faltering. This had to be the most unusual ceremony of his career.
Samuel nodded and placed a kiss on her brow. Or at least he meant to. His mouth caught the corner of the quilt and a wisp of her hair, causing him to gag and cough. Chuckles sounded around him.
“Congratulations, son!” Emma cheered. “Now get her back inside.”
Sarah followed him. “Now we can eat cake, right, Samuel?”
“Of course. Dolly should eat a piece too, don’t you think?”
She flung her arms around his legs, nearly causing him to topple and drop Lucy onto the bed.
“Sarah, will you get the quilt from the chair?”
Sarah laid her cheek on it. “Warm,” she purred.
Samuel unwrapped Lucy, taking care not to wake her, and covered her with the warmed quilt. Checking over his shoulder, he found Sarah more interested in the cake than in him. He placed a kiss on Lucy’s brow. One day he would wake Lucy with a proper kiss, but for now he let her sleep.
Ten
When asked later, Samuel could recall only generalities of the three days following the “wedding.” Bringing down Lucy’s fever. Guiding Sarah to the necessary. Chasing a raccoon from the necessary. He did remember that, but not which evening. It was hard to forget opening the door to a critter who’d decided to defend its territory. Sarah’s scream didn’t help. After banging on the back of the little building, Samuel had persuaded the raccoon to leave, but it had heartily chastised him from a nearby tree.
Too late, he found the Marden’s herb box, where it had slid under the couch in her parents’ room, nearly empty. The mortar and pestle were also there, but the mortar had been crushed by a misstep or perhaps a fall to the floor as Lucy had rushed about, caring for her mother. Each afternoon his mother or brothers came to exchange the emptied crocks for another one of his mother’s dinners. His brothers spent time in the barn as evidenced by the growing compost heap.
On the third night, Joe, or maybe John—Samuel was too tired to even attempt to guess which brother it was—brought the food basket over with notes for Samuel and Sarah. Emma asked Samuel to check his flour and sugar supplies and make a list for the next day’s trip to the mercantile. The portion addressed to Sarah caused Samuel to panic. “And, Miss Sarah, when the quarantine is over, I want you to help me with all of my Christmas baking. It should take three or four days, and you can sleep on our guest cot… ”
Samuel choked. Did his mother think getting Sarah out of the house for three days would… Samuel was not ready to be alone with Lucy. The problem was, he thought about it way too much. Every time it was necessary to cool Lucy down, he had to squelch his errant thoughts. When she shivered, he thought about warming her. When her dreams overcame her, ideas of protecting and soothing her filled his mind, which he did follow through on for the most part. He didn’t need those thoughts while staring at his mother’s handwriting.
Near midnight, Lucy’s fever burned hotter than ever before. Samuel hoped this would be the final crisis as he ran cooling clot
hs over Lucy’s face and arms. Her lips cracked despite his efforts to administer sips of broth often, and her face took on a hollowness.
“Come on, Lucy. Let’s fight it one more time. You need to wake up. You owe me a big slap across the face because what I did is worse than George under the mistletoe. I maneuvered you into matrimony.”
As he ran the cloth over Lucy’s feet, he admitted something he’d refused to acknowledge all day. The shift must be changed. There was a clean shift in the laundry his mother had returned. If Lucy wasn’t going to be angry enough at finding herself married, just wait until she learned he’d changed her shift. Sighing, he inched the shift up past her knees so he could pack snow around her legs.
“I’m her husband. There is nothing wrong with a husband changing his sick wife’s shift.” No matter how many times he repeated it, it sounded false. There was everything wrong with it if the wife didn’t know she was married. He would wait until after the fever broke. Maybe she would wake up. Or maybe Sarah would grow enough in her sleep to be able to do it herself. Doubtful. He’d learned to his embarrassment that Sarah couldn’t tie the strings to her own shift. She would be of no help.
Lucy’s fever continued to climb. Samuel needed to remove the shift she was wearing to cool her better. “If I don’t take this off, sweetheart, you could die,” he apologized. “Of course, if I do, you will kill me, so either way… ” He slipped the shift over her head, careful not to snag her hair.
Again and again he covered her with handfuls of snow, but each snowball melted as fast on her fevered skin as if it had been set on the hearth. Please, God, let her live. I promise to not be a foolish husband. He made several rash promises he knew he would break in time with the melting snow as his witness. How could he not admire her ankles?
“Lucy, I promise not to make you sad ever again.” Samuel followed that with even more unkeepable promises. Had Lucy heard any of his promises, she would hold him to them, at least until they drove her crazy. The one where he promised to do all the laundry for a year would result in all the whites turning pink and her red shawl shrinking to fit Sarah. Fortunately, that promise wouldn’t last the week.
As for his promises to God, some he would keep. Others he was probably forgiven for breaking even as he made them. Try as he might, part of his brain refused to see Lucy as a patient, even though his concern was to preserve her life by cooling her. Later he found images of her cooling skin burned into his memory.
After what seemed hours, though by the clock was not more than one, Lucy’s temperature finally dropped. Her breathing became less labored, and her face relaxed. As Samuel covered her with a blanket, he realized the damp and soiled linens must also be changed.
He stretched and pondered how best to complete his task. Moving her to the big bed wasn’t an option since the emptied tick still required filling. There was Ben’s bed upstairs, but carrying Lucy up the narrow staircase could easily result in him bumping her head or, worse, waking her. As much as he prayed for her to awaken, there were certain moments he was glad she wasn’t conscious as she would never allow his ministrations.
As he rubbed his head, the solution came to him. Samuel was pleased with this flash of inspiration. Perhaps baldness had its purpose. He dropped his palm from the back of his head.
Leaving the blanket over Lucy, he first rolled her toward himself, then removed the soiled bedclothes from the far corners and as much of the bed as he could. He worked as fast as he could to put on the fresh ones lest Lucy roll off the edge. He stood like an awkward marsh bird doing his best to try to block her in while reaching to tuck in the corners. He was thankful for his height. A shorter person would not have been able to reach the back corner and still keep hold of a sleeping body.
Samuel rolled Lucy onto her side so she faced the wall. Her hand came to rest on the wall. He’d finished removing the damp bedclothes when Lucy began pounding on the wood and screaming frantically.
“I’ll be good! I’ll be good! Let me out!”
Worried she would hurt herself, Samuel reached around and grabbed her wrist, hugging her to him as he whispered in her ear. “Lucy, it is all right. You are safe.”
He alternately sang the lavender song and murmured soothing comments, proclaiming his love and protection for her as she struggled, until each struggle became less violent than the last and she finally relaxed. Then he rocked her. He didn’t recall placing her in his lap as he’d sat on her narrow bed. He wasn’t sure how their struggles had brought them to this position, but there was something right about it. As she relaxed, her hand came to rest on his chest. He couldn’t resist kissing her brow, wishing for Lucy’s permission to kiss more.
To his horror, Lucy chose that moment to open her eyes.
“Samuel?” she questioned with a dazed expression.
“Hush, Lucy, you are very sick. Sleep now.” He brushed his fingers across her brow. The proximity of his palm forced her eyes to close. Please sleep. I am not ready to explain why you are in my arms in the middle of the night in nothing more than a quilt!
Lucy’s hand slid up from where it rested to cup his chin.
“Samuel?” she asked again.
“Sweetheart, I’ll explain everything in the morning.” He stroked her brow again. Please, please sleep. He was tempted to make more rash promises if she wouldn’t fully wake. Holding her in his arms and kissing her had broken at least one made that night. He had not waited for her to give her permission for such behavior. He doubted any new bargains would be believed or honored. Hadn’t the others all been begging her to wake up? He should have been more specific about the timing.
Lucy sighed and closed her eyes, snuggling into him. He froze, hoping she would slip deeper into slumber.
He was seven and she just three the first time he’d held her in his arms. Lucy had stayed with his family when her arm was broken. Hadn’t he held her almost this same way one night when she’d cried in pain as they waited for his mother to make some tea? Well, not quite the same way. He hadn’t wanted to kiss her then. He hadn’t even wanted to hold her. But the same feeling of protection and warmth he’d experienced as a seven-year-old boy swelled within him now. Lucy trusted him. Would she when she woke up? He leaned back against the wall and held her as she slept. He also dozed, dreaming a sweet dream not unlike what he was doing now but with a happy and willing Lucy in his arms.
After he was sure she was sleeping, he eased himself off the bed. The light from the fire cast a golden glow on the white cloth of the shift he’d placed over the chair to warm.
The shift! Samuel rubbed his neck. Could it wait? He glanced at the stairs. There was at least an hour before Sarah would wake up. Wife or not, changing Lucy was going to be embarrassing enough without an audience. Samuel shook himself awake. Best to do this now. And quickly. He poured some hot water in the bucket that held the melted snow he used earlier. If he was going to dress her in a clean shift, he ought to at least wash around her neck…
Oh, Father, please let me do this without thinking about Lucy in the way I am thinking. Help me to think like a husband—no, I mean a doctor. A doctor!
He rolled Lucy onto her side, facing the wall, careful to keep her from touching it lest trigger another nightmare. Then he dipped the cloth into the bucket of warm water and cleansed her neck and upper back where the broth and sweat had accumulated. As a doctor, he’d never appreciated the human back the way he appreciated it now. No. I am a doctor, he reminded himself half a dozen times. The doctor in his brain noticed the crisscross pattern on her back. The bumps felt a bit like those he’d gotten on his face after falling asleep on his arm while studying. He traced them, trying to smooth them. With so little light, he wasn’t sure, but they felt like scars. Why would Lucy have dozens of scars on her back?
He and his brothers sported a few ragged scars, but they were straight and even. He’d seen scars simil
ar to this once—on a horse—the horse that had thrown and killed Mr. Simms nine years ago. Mr. Simms had whipped his horse every time he raced down Hill Road. Had he done the same to his daughter? Why hadn’t Lucy told him?
The clean shift did not slip on as easily as the other had peeled off. Hearing stirring upstairs did not help Samuel’s nervousness. He found himself muttering an apology as he wrestled with the stubborn garment. Lucy, it is all right. I am your husband. Think doctor, not husband. It was a pointless exercise to continue to pretend the night’s events had not stirred him, but he continued to try.
When at last he wrestled the shift down around Lucy’s knees and covered her with a warm quilt, he sank into the chair. Embarrassed by the direction his thought had taken, he felt the heat in his face. He would well deserve more than a slap from Lucy for some of the thoughts occupying his mind. More like an entire week in the barn. Samuel ran his hands over his face. Lucy was going to be livid. He smiled. An angry Lucy would be welcome after this Lucy. Well, as long as she could forgive him.
With a kiss.
Eleven
A jabbing pain in his arm woke him. Sarah stood next to the rocker, finger poised to poke him again. She’d caught him dozing in the rocker—again.
“Samuel, you need a nap!” she announced, planting her fists on her hips, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just woken him from one.
Samuel pulled his hand down his face, trying to clear his mind.
Resting better than she had in days, Lucy still slept. Samuel was quite sure she would awaken sometime later today. He did need some rest before having to cope with the questions that would come. The foot stomping he pictured in his mind would not happen today. Lucy would not have the strength to stand. She wouldn’t need to. She was adept at throwing daggers with her eyes.