P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

by Death

  "No doubt."

  "That were a righteous execution. 'E were a traitor."

  "Yes."

  "Curse ye... oh, God 'a' mercy." His hands clutched at the wound, unable to stem the outflow of blood or push away the pain.

  "Let it go," I told him, knowing exactly, exactly what he was going through.

  "Wha..."

  My eyes hard on his, I said, "Let it go. The pain will stop."

  "Stop?"

  "Yes..."

  We stared at one another for a long minute, me silent with concentration, he gasping out his last breaths. Then his breathing eased, the moans lessened. His eyes were growing distant, starting to focus on something else. I recognized the look. Knew what he saw. Had felt that comforting drowsiness stealing up. I'd been there. Briefly. He would stay forever.

  "Go to sleep, Mr. Ash," I whispered.

  And he did.

  I shut his eyes for him.

  I shut my own.

  But could not shut out the sights and sounds of what had happened. Of what I'd done.

  God have mercy on us all.

  "Jonathan 7"

  Only Elizabeth's voice could have possibly roused me from the blackness that had stolen its way so swiftly and completely over my soul. But I hardly recognized her. Could that thin and fear-filled whisper possibly belong to her?

  She called to me again, and I somehow found my feet and went out to the hall. She was at the top of the stairs peering fearfully down at me. She clutched a pistol in one hand.

  "It's over," I said.

  "I heard them... I heard everything-"

  Hurried up to her. Held her. "It's over. They're gone."

  "I wanted to help, but I-"

  "No, you did the right thing by staying out of it. God bless you for your good sense. If anything had happened to you..."

  She pushed away from me. "What's happened to James?"

  He'd been the lowest kind of scoundrel and though betrayed in every sense of the word, she had, after all, loved him.

  Still loved him, if I read her rightly. Such feelings don't die in an instant, no matter how great the killing anger may be. They linger on, full of pain and giving pain.

  She saw my answer in my face, then tried to break away from me to go to him. But I held her tight and kept her from rushing down into the hell-pit below.

  EPILOGUE

  Day by day, Elizabeth fought to regain herself. She spent a lot of time in Father's library, just sitting and reading, or sewing, or doing nothing much at all. He talked to her when she felt like it, or listened, or held her when she cried. On nights when she could not sleep, I took his place and kept her company.

  I was unable to attend the funeral, which was thought of as strange by those outside the immediate family. But if Mother worried about what people might think, she kept it to herself for once. I heard all this afterward from Father, as well as an account of how Elizabeth had startled not a few by insisting. that they call her by her maiden name again.

  "The man I married is dead," she told them. "I am content to bury him with his name and get on with things."

  Brave words, though it took a while before she was up to fulfilling them.

  But even the worst wounds can heal, given enough time and care. Father and I did our best for her. Her grief was genuine, her healing slow, but she had no want for support and sympathy from all who knew her.

  How terrible it was, they thought, wedded but a month and then to have her husband killed by rebels... and her poor sister-in-law gone simpleminded, too. It was wicked, outrageous. Something ought to be done. At least her brother had been there to roust the bastards. He'd gotten two of them, by God, that was something. Well done, Jonathan.

  That was the story that was put about, anyway.

  Nash had gone after the remaining men and the cook and her family. He missed catching them, which was just as well. We certainly had no need for any truth muddling up the facts at hand.

  "How could I have been so wrong?" Elizabeth asked us many, many times.

  "You weren't wrong, he was," Father and I would tell her.

  She wore mourning clothes and went through the motions and rituals expected of widows, and people assumed that her reason for not wanting to talk about Norwood was a measure of the depth of her grief.

  Given the times, other events soon crowded the tragedy from peoples' minds as the realization asserted itself that the war was not going to be over within the year as they'd hoped. More raids took place, more raids were staged, crops matured for the commissary to take away. Summer waxed and waned, and little by little my nights began to lengthen.

  I wrote to Oliver about the marriage and enjoined him to say aught to the rest of the family about the business of the false title. As far as they were concerned, she'd married "Lord Norwood" and he'd been killed by the war. His sympathetic answer assured me that they knew nothing of their Cousin Elizabeth's true plight and never would from him.

  He had no new word on Nora, except to say that the Warburtons had not seen her for some months. They did not know where she had gone. I grew restless with worry, snappish with unexpressed anger, and by the close of September had made a decision.

  I would go back to England.

  It had been a long year full of too much waiting. The time had come for me to look for Nora myself, to let her know what had happened to me, to ask her such questions as still remained. After much talk with Father about the practicalities of the journey, I won not only his consent, but full support. He and I began making arrangements for the passage.

  Elizabeth was anything but overjoyed. "But how will you feed yourself?"

  "I'll be taking along some livestock, of course, though Father thinks a sea voyage might be rough on them. But I shan't be doing any flying about, so each meal should last me a few nights."

  "I don't see how you can do it. You're utterly helpless during the day. You'll need a guardian."

  "That's why Jericho will be with me, but I should really like some more company, just to be safe... will you come?"

  That surprised her. In fact, it took all the speech away from her for some minutes. "Me go to England?"

  "You'd love it there. I did, when it wasn't raining. Damnation, I loved it when it was. Please say yes."

  "But what should I do?"

  "Anything you like. You're independent now."

  That won me a sharp look, but I knew what I was saying. Her marriage had been illegal, but the law did not know that, and to save face we were not prepared to say otherwise. She'd come into her inheritance money. I saw no reason why she shouldn't get some enjoyment out of it.

  "There'd be parties..."

  She shuddered. "I'm not sure I'm ready for those."

  "Sight-seeing, then. Cousin Oliver can take you 'round. You can skip Bedlam, if you like."

  "Oh, thank you very much."

  "You know what I mean. Please come."

  "Is this as company for you or to get me out of this house?"

  "Both and neither."

  "I don't know..." And she didn't. Not really. Not at all.

  My heart sank. She'd been like this for far too long, withdrawn, visibly hurting, and in doubt of herself. No matter how much help and love she had, it would never truly be enough. At some point she would have to learn how to help herself. Elizabeth had not yet reached it and I sadly wondered if she ever would.

  Then out of nowhere the idea came to me, or perhaps it had been thrown up from some past memory of a time when my sister had been a happy and confident woman.

  "Tell me this, then: if you had never met him, would you go?"

  She answered without really thinking. "Why, yes." Then she thought about it...

  And the thought surprised her.

  The End