by Lorin Grace
“Will you come for dinner?” Emma asked as they left the building.
“Not today. I need to get back to Lucy.”
“Do stop at the house on the way. I made an extra pie to send home with you.”
“Sure, Ma.” Samuel hurried to his buggy. He wanted to get a blanket on Sarah and avoid any further conversations.
By the time Samuel pulled into his parents’ yard, Sarah was awake and talking and talking and talking. The temperature dropped, and snowflakes started to fall. There would be no time to ask his mother any questions. Telling Sarah to stay in the buggy, he hurried into the house after his mother.
“Here is the pie and a couple of biscuits to get you home.”
“Ma, I know we don’t have time to talk… ” Samuel cast a nervous glance out the window. “But I need to ask you about what you wrote in the Marden Bible.”
Emma’s face registered shock. “How do you know I wrote it?”
“I know your hand, Ma, and you just confirmed it.”
“You need to leave before the snow starts falling harder. If the weather is good on Tuesday, bring Sarah over for the day, and we will make a cake for Lucy.”
“And we will talk?”
Emma shooed him out of the door. “Hurry home, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Samuel was in the buggy before he realized his mother had not answered him. He hoped for good weather on Tuesday so he would have time to corner his mother again.
Emma spent the rest of the day worrying about what Samuel knew, or thought he knew. Had he heard the gossips mention Lucy’s birth as anything but normal? Or had he just read the entry in the Bible?
“Woman, you are going to tear the hair clean out of your head if you keep doing that.” Thomas eased the brush out of his wife’s hand. Emma had made such a tangle of it he’d needed an extra fifteen strokes to get it smooth and tangle free. He continued to brush her hair.
“So out with it. You have been tied up in knots since we returned from church. It wasn’t those old gossips, was it?”
Emma sectioned her hair and started to braid it. “No, it’s Samuel.”
“Again? I thought the marriage had settled everything.”
Emma turned to face her husband. “He read the Bible.” Seeing the confusion on her husband’s face, she amended, “Father Stickney’s Bible, where I wrote of Lucy’s birth.”
Thomas sat down on the bed.
“He wants an explanation.”
Thomas nodded.
“I don’t think Anna ever told Lucy.”
“That is quite a problem.”
“I was going to tell Lucy this past week, but she was so weak I didn’t dare. But I said enough that if she knew anything, I would have known.” Emma made a mess of her braid and moved to start over. Thomas stilled her hands and braided her hair.
“Lucy needs to know before Samuel finds out. Perhaps I can request his help later this week in the shop. Then you can ride over and have a long chat with her,” Thomas suggested. “I might even be able to lay some of the groundwork. Our boy isn’t old enough to remember how things were during the war.”
“Would you do that? Would Thursday work? Lucy’s birthday is on Tuesday, and I’d rather not deliver the news then.”
Thomas dropped a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Thursday it is.” He turned down the lantern and tugged her into bed. Emma burrowed into his side and tried to shut out the images of the night two Marys died.
Twenty-three
Monday morning dawned bright and clear. A dusting of the snow that had fallen last night had washed the world in white. Lucy studied her face in her mother’s mirror as she tied the end of her braid. She’d slept much of yesterday away, an excellent way to avoid being alone with Samuel, which also resulted in the hollows under her eyes fading. There was still the issue of their marriage. She was afraid he might convince her they were married if he kissed her again. She couldn’t remember Mr. Simms ever kissing Mama, but, then, she was so little she might have missed witnessing any intimacies they shared. They must have at some point.
Lucy stepped into the main room. A glance at the clock told her Samuel should be in the barn. Sarah had yet to arise. Finally, she had a chance to prove she was recovered and he could leave. She set about making a simple breakfast. She sliced some of the old bread to fry for breakfast. With the leftover boiled eggs, it would serve as a simple but hearty meal.
She considered baking bread for the dinner meal but settled on doughboys. The fried dough was one of Sarah’s favorite treats and didn’t require her to heat up the baking oven. Nor did they require as much kneading. They would be an excellent dinner addition.
Samuel had left beans soaking overnight in one of the pots. Some days Lucy detested beans, but food was food, and beans were what they had. Beans and doughboys for dinner it would be. Not fancy but filling. Maybe tomorrow she would feel equal to the task of making bread. She would set out the leavening tonight. Planning for tomorrow invigorated her. How long since she had planned for the next day? From the time Benjamin had taken ill, she had been just trying to get through each day before worrying about the next.
What day was tomorrow? Tomorrow was her nineteenth birthday! How had she forgotten her own birthday? Tears filled her eyes. It was ridiculous to cry because Mama would not be here to bake a cake or Papa Marden would not surprise her with a new set of slippers or a dress length of cloth. She put down her knife and leaned on the table as her sobs came in waves. The round loaf of bread blurred before her vision. She turned away from the table, blindly searching for the chair. Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, and she found herself nestled against Samuel’s chest. Where had he come from?
Samuel looked over Lucy’s head for a clue to her distress. Had she cut herself? He hadn’t seen any blood. More importantly, he didn’t smell any. Fainting with Lucy in his arms would be disastrous. Her arms crept around his waist, and Samuel stepped back into the rocking chair, bringing Lucy with him. He lifted her into his lap, and she curled up, clinging to his now-damp shirtfront. Having no better idea, he held her close and rocked her back and forth.
Finally, Lucy stilled. Her head came up, eyes red and face wet with tears. She moved to get out of Samuel’s lap. He tightened his grip, holding her in place.
He slowly shook his head. “No running off until you tell me what happened.”
Lucy used the hem of her apron to dry her face.
“It… uh… was nothing… really.” She fanned her hand as if waving the incident away and tried to get up again.
“Lucy… ” Samuel raised his brows. He didn’t believe her for a moment.
Lucy looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I miss Mama.”
“Of course you do, sweetheart.” Samuel pulled her head back into his shoulder and rocked her again. Lucy sank into him. Samuel would have rocked Lucy much longer, but Sarah came rushing down the stairs.
“Lucy, is you sick? Samuel, don’t you know Lucy is a big girl? Big girls don’t need to be rocked.”
Lucy worked her way off Samuel’s lap with a bit of his cooperation and by way of a little shove to her backside.
“You’ve been crying.” Sarah gave Samuel an accusing glare. “Did he hurt you?”
Lucy bent to eye level in front of her sister and put her hand on her shoulder. “No one hurt me. I was missing Mama and Papa and Benjamin. Samuel was letting me cry.”
“Samuel let me cry, too. He is a very good crier.”
Lucy smiled. “I think someone needs to get dressed. I was going to fry some of the bread for breakfast.” Lucy hurried to finish her preparations as Sarah ran back up the stairs.
“Lucy?” Samuel waited for her to look at him before continuing. “We need to talk.”
He wasn’t sure if Lucy nodded or just bowed her
head over the cutting board.
“Would this afternoon while Sarah is napping do?” Samuel waited for a response. The fire popped, the clock ticked, he could even hear the knife as it sliced through the bread. Lucy did not look up while he waited.
When she finished slicing the last piece of bread, she said, “We can’t put it off any longer, can we.” It wasn’t a question.
Samuel stepped up behind her. “No, we shouldn’t. It’s been a week since you first woke up. You avoided me all yesterday. We can’t continue like this.”
Lucy bit her lip and nodded.
Samuel turned her into his arms.
Lucy stopped him. “Samuel, no more kisses. I feel too mixed up when you kiss me.”
Samuel mentally shouted for joy. Lucy was just as affected by his kisses as he was hers. But he agreed. “I won’t initiate any kisses.” But I am not going to stop you.
Lucy let out a sigh of relief. They could take care of everything this afternoon and he could be moved home by tomorrow. She didn’t want him leaving on her birthday, but freedom was a gift she could give him.
The morning flew by. Every time Lucy glanced at the clock, it seemed to have moved by an hour. Perhaps the clock hands were broken, but the doughboys rose just as fast as the clock hands revolved. She practiced her speech over and over again. Samuel was not going to distract her from her plan. She would need to make sure she stayed far enough away that he couldn’t touch her.
It had been stupid to tell him he couldn’t kiss her. He would know how much his kisses affected her. Did all kisses do that? No wonder they wrote about them in the Bible. The verse should have warned how dangerous kissing could be. More dangerous than a viper’s den.
Samuel sucked on his thumb. It was the third time his hammer had slipped this morning. Since Sarah was nearby, he stifled the few choice words running through his head. The problem was, there was too much going through his head. He wasn’t sure he could convince Lucy to remain his bride. The troubling bit about her name might pose a legal problem, but the fact that Ma knew about it alleviated his fears. His biggest problem was that he couldn’t remember what he’d told Lucy when she was sleeping and when she was awake, or if he’d ever told her at all because he’d rehearsed all he’d wanted to say in his mind so many times it all blended together.
Lucy’s stipulation of no kissing made him wonder if he could have gotten by without talking at all. Lucy had been willing enough Saturday night but still far too weak for more than what they’d shared. If he did a thorough job of seducing her, there would be no question as to the status of their marriage. He smiled at the thought, even though he wouldn’t pursue it, yet.
“Samuel? Why are you smiling when you hit your thumb? Doesn’t it hurt? Papa’s thumb always hurt when he hit it. He would shake it and say funny things.”
Samuel studied his reddened thumb. Thinking of Lucy even dulled pain.
After three doughboys, baked beans, and ham, and talking for fifteen minutes straight. Sarah was ushered up the stairs for her nap.
Lucy toyed with her half eaten doughboy, using it to push the last of her beans around on her plate.
Samuel pushed his empty plate aside. “Would you like to walk up the hill to see the graves? It’s a bit warmer today.”
Lucy had not expected to start this conversation with the topic of death. She longed to see the graves. Just seeing that the blanket cocoons were no longer on the roof would be helpful. And she had not taken a single step outside since recovering. Lucy stood and started to clear the dishes but Samuel touched the back of her hand.
“Leave them. We can clean them up when we return.” Samuel pulled on his coat and held out Lucy’s cloak for her.
“Is this your muff?” he asked, holding up a soft fox-fur muff.
Lucy shook her head. “Mama’s.”
“Would you like to wear it?”
Lucy reached for the muff. If both of her hands were inside of it, she could not reach out and touch Samuel. The muff may be more useful than she realized.
Samuel held open the door.
Much of last night’s snow had already melted, and icicles now hung from the eaves.
Samuel cupped Lucy’s elbow as they stepped down from the porch.
A tremor moved up her arm. She should tell him no touching at all. But without his assistance, it could be difficult to ascend the hill behind the house. “What was it like the day you buried them?” The day you married me?
“Much like today. The snow was melting, and the sun shone brightly in an ice-blue sky. For the funeral service, Ma had me bring Sarah out, saying it would be better for Sarah to witness the funeral than always wonder, especially with your health so precarious.”
Lucy didn’t respond as she stepped up the icy slope. One of the drawbacks of the muff was that she couldn’t use her hands to balance herself when she slipped. Samuel’s hand moved to her back. He walked close enough that Lucy could feel his heat. He would not let her fall. He never had, not even when climbing trees or crossing streams as children. The one fact she had always been sure of was that Samuel would never let her fall.
Why did she doubt him now? He’d proven daily that he was nothing like Mr. Simms.
The path up the hill was slick with snow and mud. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all. She could stumble and twist an ankle. That would complicate things. He would have another excuse to stay.
Lucy’s boot caught on a snow-covered rock. Before she could even register she was falling, she found herself pulled tightly against Samuel, his arm encircling her waist. Lucy pushed down on his arm with her muff. He relaxed his arm, and she continued her climb.
Half covered with snow, the mounded dirt that marked the grave lay cold and uninviting.
“They are all in one grave?” Lucy did not lift her eyes from the snowy mound.
“Yes, even though the ground was not frozen through, the digging was difficult. They decided to dig one grave large enough for the four of them. The reverend was careful not to mention the baby during the service. Ma warned him that Sarah didn’t know.”
Lucy nodded, unable to speak for the lump in her throat. She blinked back tears. It would not do to repeat this morning’s performance. She concentrated on the breeze that rustled the branches and tried to imagine Reverend Woods standing there in his black coat, his Bible open in his hands. If Samuel had not been by her side, she would have been tempted to say something out loud to her parents. But there was nothing left to say that she hadn’t said when she’d put their bodies on the roof. Their remains were safe from the animals and elements now. She hoped that they were happy together in heaven.
A bird called from the branches high above them. Papa Marden could always identify winter birds from their call. Lucy needed to see them. As she tilted her face to the sky and searched the branches above, her hood fell back, exposing her face to the sun.
Samuel joined her in the search and spotted the mourning dove first. He pointed over her shoulder so she could locate it too.
Papa Marden has sent a mourning dove. A silly thought, she knew, but watching the plump, light-brownish-gray bird, it seemed to be a sign from above for her, just as the dove with the branch had been a sign for Noah. Papa Marden and Mama were still watching out for her. For a moment, she could almost feel the warmth of their embrace. After another mournful coo, the dove flew away. Lucy shielded her eyes and followed its flight toward the sun and out of her sight.
When she dropped her face and hand, she found she was looking into Samuel’s eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Ready to go back?” He held out a hand. Lucy knew the trip down the trail would be harder than the journey up. She extracted a hand from the muff and placed it in his ungloved one. He tucked it close, forcing her to step nearer to him.
No words passed between them as t
hey picked their way down the hill. At the base, Lucy slipped her hand out of his grasp and back into her muff. Samuel gestured for her to lead the way. She veered for the back of the house, stopped, and looked at Samuel.
“May I take a few moments?” She glanced at the privy.
Samuel nodded and continued to the house as Lucy stepped around the garden.
She needed to collect her thoughts before speaking with Samuel. Not an ideal location for thinking, but it guaranteed privacy. She closed the door and took a dozen deep, calming breaths, glad it was not summer. In the cold, the privy smelled much more pleasant.
Samuel had been considerate to show her the graves rather than starting in on a conversation about their marriage. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to see them buried. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. There had been enough tears today.
Not daring to stay longer lest Samuel come to check on her, she returned to the house through the lean-to. She found Samuel with his back to her, washing the dishes at the dry sink. She watched him for a moment. He sure seemed determined to stay. Removing her cloak, she sat down in the rocker knowing the closest he could get to her would be to pull up Papa Marden’s chair. She considered the bench at the table, but the risk that he would sit next to her rather than put the table between them was high.