by Lorin Grace
“I need to stay down here,” he mumbled. Ben’s bed was too far from Lucy.
“You can sleep in the big bed. Your brothers filled the tick this morning, remember?”
He remembered his twin brothers’ smirks and sly faces as they’d delivered the freshly filled tick to the door, and it still irked him. He enlisted Sarah’s help readying the bed. She oversaw the tightening of the ropes with the paddle and then proceeded to point out every lump and made sure he whacked them down.
She reminded him several times that Lucy had promised she could sleep in the big bed but then decided she would sleep there just one night with Lucy. ’Cause Samuel was married now, and married people slept in big beds. Thoughts fueled by memories of last night’s bathing filled his mind. He needed to stomp them down, and fast. After Lucy had her say, Sarah might end up spending months in the big bed while he lived in the barn.
“Come on, Samuel.” Sarah pulled him toward the bed. Knowing his brothers were taking care of the livestock and figuring Sarah was more than proficient at finding bread and jam than he was, he allowed himself to be led to the bed.
“Wake me up if anything happens,” he mumbled.
Sarah nodded as she pushed him onto the bed.
“Take off your boots, Samuel,” were the last words he heard as his head hit the pillow.
Lucy struggled to hold on to the fading dream as she always did when she dreamed of Samuel. This dream seemed almost real. His voice was deep and steady, and not once did he change into his younger self. Bits of other dreams fogged her mind—sick parents, Reverend Woods pronouncing her Samuel’s wife, flying over snow-draped trees, Mr. Simms yelling at her. Sarah covered with jam.
Lucy blinked.
Sarah remained covered in jam, her face illuminated by the light that filtered through the window. Lucy tried to sit up or say something to stop Sarah.
How often had Mama told Sarah not to eat without asking? Yet, there was Sarah, covered with red strawberry preserves and sitting in Mama’s rocking chair as if she were queen. And before breakfast! Or was it? The sun shone fully through the west window of her bedroom. It must be well past the noon hour. Why was she still in bed? Hadn’t Sarah tried to wake her? And why was the chair in here?
Memories and voices swirled around in her mind, some with crushing clarity. It was just her and Sarah now. Considering how weak she felt, she was thankful Sarah had taken the initiative to feed herself. Once wouldn’t hurt.
But who’d braided Sarah’s hair? Buttoned her stays? Sarah could not do it herself. And the fire was burning brightly. Who else was here?
Trying to sit up again, she found she lacked the strength. She must have been extremely ill. The Wilsons must have come to check on them. Emma must be around somewhere. That would explain the strawberry preserves as Lucy remembered how they’d eaten the last of theirs.
“Emma?” The sound came out as a hoarse whisper.
“Lucy!” Sarah jumped off the chair. “You are awake! I knew you would wake up today. Samuel will be so happy.”
“Samuel?” The confusion in Lucy’s mind grew. She knew she’d dreamed about Samuel—a lot. One particular dream of him cradling her in his arms lingered, more vivid than the rest. But if she was awake, why was Samuel still a topic of conversation? Why would he care?
Lucy closed her eyes. Maybe she’d experienced some type of brain fever.
“Yes. Samuel. You married him,” Sarah said matter-of-factly as she climbed back into the rocking chair.
Lucy’s eyes flew open. She stared at her sister. The jam on Sarah’s face made her smile appear ten times as big as it should’ve been.
“Married?”
Sarah grinned even wider.
Impossible. Lucy managed to roll over so she could see Sarah better. “To Samuel?”
Sarah nodded, bouncing in the rocking chair as she did so. The movement made Lucy dizzy. She closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning.
“Sarah, I’m not married.” There were few things Lucy knew with complete certainty, things that only changed in dreams. If she was flying, it was a dream, and whenever she married in her dreams, she always woke up before the kiss. She knew she’d never kissed Samuel. She must still be dreaming.
“Yes, you are. Reverend Woods camed here and everything. And the Wilsons and a bunch of people who helped bury Mama and Papa and Ben. Samuel held you in his arms in the blue-and-green quilt out on the porch, and you said “Yes, Samuel,” when the Reverend Woods talked. Then you was married! Samuel brought you back in and put you in your bed. And you have been sick ever so long. His ma has been bringing food, and they’ve been putting it in the basket on the porch, but we can’t talk to them because of the quarter-tine. And he said when you’re better, the quarter-tine will be all over, and then we are going to have to have a big long talk, and you’re going to be angry.” Sarah folded her arms to indicate she’d finished with her news.
Lucy’s head spun but no longer from dizziness. Following Sarah’s logic when she made sense could be difficult. Married? Impossible. Samuel had surely canceled the intentions when he’d called off the wedding. Or he should have.
“What is a quarter-tine?” Even as she asked the question, Lucy understood. Quarantine.
“Silly Lucy. That’s when folks are sick and can’t be visited by other folks. But Samuel came, and he stayed, and he didn’t get sick. But he is really tired. He stayed up all night with you almost every night. He says that since you are married now, he is my brother. And he is the nicest brother in the whole world! He is even nicer than Ben, ’cause he doesn’t tease me, but Ben is in heaven, so he isn’t in the world at all. You should have married him before so he could have been Ben’s brother too. Please don’t be angry with Samuel.”
Angry? The word didn’t explain what Lucy felt. Confused, lost, and something else she couldn’t name, but not angry. She hadn’t been angry with him for weeks. Saddened? Yes. Hurt? Definitely. Her disappointment that he’d ignored her when he’d returned from Boston this fall and in his apparent choice of Elizabeth had made her heart ache more than the loss of Mama. She had been angry when she’d heard Elizabeth had kissed him. But Papa Marden had talked with her, and that anger had dissipated. Mostly. After all, with Elizabeth, there could be another explanation. A devious one.
Which brought her back to the impossibility of Sarah’s story. How on earth could she be married to Samuel? Since he’d returned from Boston, he had not spoken a word to her. A man couldn’t marry a woman he hadn’t spoken to, even if intentions were published. Sarah must be mistaken. Or maybe Lucy still dreamed.
Before she could quiz Sarah further, Sarah bolted from her the chair and ran from the room.
“Samuel! Samuel! Lucy is awake!”
Thump!
“What?”
She knew that voice. She’d heard it often enough in her dreams.
Lucy knew she wasn’t dreaming. She was having a nightmare. She closed her eyes and tried to wish it away.
“Come on!” Sarah tugged on Samuel’s arm, attempting to yank him up from the floor. “Lucy woke up! You need to tell her all about being married. I told her. She doesn’t believe me.”
Samuel scrubbed his hand over his face. Of course Lucy wouldn’t believe Sarah about something so fantastical. Sarah explaining what had transpired was not the way he’d intended to tell Lucy of their nuptials. Using the bedpost as support, he pulled himself up, then rubbed his head, wishing the fall had rendered him unconscious. Gathering his courage, he walked out of the bedroom, steeling himself for the eruption he’d envisioned for days.
Lucy blinked several times. The image did not change. The man coming to her bedside with his shirt askew and a half a week’s worth of whiskers was Samuel. She never dreamed of Samuel unshaven and with holes in his socks. Didn’t Mrs. Wilson darn them?
Before she could open her mouth to speak, he asked, “Lucy, would you like some tea? Ma brought some of her herbs. I have some warm broth, too.”
He wasn’t giving her a chance to speak. It hurt so much to think.
Samuel picked up a cup, sat next to Lucy, and lifted her head to press the cup to her lips. Too weak to struggle, she allowed him to hold her.
The tepid mint tea never tasted so good. If she hadn’t wanted it so badly, she might have been tempted to push it aside and demand answers. She’d resolved to never let her anger get the best of her again after the Christmas ball. She’d even promised Mama. She would not let her frustration turn to anger and into a tantrum like when she was younger.
Samuel needed to leave. He shouldn’t be here. But she couldn’t help basking in his presence. His help was both needed and comforting—and confusing, very confusing. Too soon he took the cup away.
“Not too much yet. You will make yourself sick. Would you like some broth?”
Lucy shook her head. “M-m-married?”
“Yes, Lucy, we are.” He lifted a hand and brushed a few errant hairs from Lucy’s brow, pausing to cup her cheek. “It was the right thing to do, Lucy. It was the only way I could stay and care for you.”
She turned her head to break eye contact. “Samuel.” Lucy drew out the word until it contained an entire lecture. He removed his hand and scooted back in the chair.
“He asked me for permission. I said you loved him,” Sarah added, bouncing with glee at the foot of the bed.
Lucy cast a surprised look at Sarah, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. This must be a nightmare. Everything was impossibly mixed up. For years she’d dreamed of marrying Samuel, but that was before he’d sent the letter saying he couldn’t. Those dreams made more sense. Courting. Papa Marden giving his blessing. Reverend Woods’s stoic expression as he’d presided at her wedding.
Opening her eyes again did not change anything. Sarah still stood near Samuel with her ridiculously large jam-enhanced smile. Samuel still sat there, all warmth and kindness, looking as if he cared deeply for Lucy. The stubble on his face and the circles under his eyes testified he’d cared for her as Sarah said.
Lucy’s head pounded. The things she wanted to say battled for a chance to come out of her mouth. Everything seemed right and wrong at the same time. Lessons from Papa Marden on kindness kept her silent—not that she had strength enough to argue. Until she was strong enough to do something, it was better to do nothing. Besides, it took so much effort to change her thoughts to words. Her stomach turned. The tea was not enough.
“Broth?” The one-word question was almost too much effort. The confusion must be because I am so tired and ill. Maybe I’m delirious. A good explanation since nothing makes sense. I am delirious. Just like when Samuel was a boy and was ill and thought George Washington was looking for him. Won’t the family laugh about this one? “Remember when Lucy woke up and thought she was married?” This will be better than the General Washington stories.
Exhausted from the effort of trying to sort out the world she’d woken up in, Lucy closed her eyes after consuming four meager spoonfuls of the broth. The fitful slumber that awaited her was filled with dreams only slightly less confusing than reality.
Twelve
Emma guided the sleigh up the Marden’s drive. The sunshine sparkled off the diamond-coated trees around her, and the ground shimmered with sparkling crystals.
As she pulled up to the house, she saw that Sarah chased a barn cat across the yard. Samuel sat on the porch steps next to several empty crocks and lifted his head from his hands.
“Samuel? What is wrong?”
“The fever broke, and Lucy is awake.” He moved to help his mother down from the wagon seat.
“That is wonderful news.”
Samuel shrugged. “Sarah told her before I had a chance to explain.”
“I see.” Emma paused. “Did she kick you out?”
“Not yet.” Samuel stood and rubbed the back of his head. “She is sleeping again.”
“When did she wake up?”
“Last evening.”
“Has she been up this morning?”
Samuel shook his head and started loading the empty crocks into the back of the sleigh.
“Then it is likely you will have the opportunity to explain again.” Emma climbed down to join him. She touched Samuel on the sleeve, and he jumped back. “If she is well, you are out of quarantine. Give me a hug. I missed giving you one on your wedding day.”
Samuel stepped into his mother’s outstretched arms. Emma held on until Samuel relaxed. Stepping back, she rested her hands on Samuel’s shoulders and searched his face, her concerned-mother look deepening. He was sure she could see more than a lack of sleep.
“You’ll get your chance to explain. I’ve nursed my share of sick ones, and rarely did any clearly remember waking the first two or three times.” Emma smiled. “One son in particular kept waking up after having the measles, insistent on talking to General Washington. He wouldn’t believe General Washington wasn’t at our home.” Emma winked at him.
A grin teased the corners of his mouth. The story of his recovery from measles at the age of eight had grown into a family folktale. He had no idea why he thought George Washington had been there, but he’d been adamant and had insisted on talking to the general. The story had grown over the years to include him trying to leave the house in his nightshirt with a toy musket to turn Thomas Jr. over to the general as a spy.
“George Washington visiting during her illness might be easier for her to take,” Samuel said with a wry smile before continuing to exchange the empty crocks for full ones. “Searching for General Washington seems normal compared to waking up married.”
“I am mighty glad her fever has broken.” Emma smiled. “It will be several days before she is up and about. I’ll continue to bring you food for now.”
Samuel placed a basket on the porch, the aroma of warm dried-apple buns floating up from beneath the cover.
“Ma? Is there a morning you can sit with Lucy?” Samuel sounded more pathetic than he intended to. “I need to get my things that got left at the house, and I don’t want to leave her alone with Sarah for long.”
Emma raised her brow. “Let me see what I can do later this week. Your pa doesn’t think we are in for any more snow, so I should be able to get over here. Do you still need the twins’ help?”
“No. They did a good job of setting things to rights in the barn. It looks like Mr. Marden finished preparing for winter before he took ill. I needed help to clean up the mess that was created by his illness.” Samuel grinned. “The barn smells like a different place. They did a good job and didn’t complain at all. They finished chopping more than enough wood on Saturday to see us to January. The barn and coop are so clean they may even surpass Pa’s standards. What does he need them to do at home that they are so anxious to work over here?”
Emma laughed. “I believe it isn’t so much what they want to avoid as the hunting trip your father has promised them.”
Being able to go on the winter hunt would more than compensate for the work they’d completed. He would never tell them that Pa had asked him weeks ago to stay behind and take care of Ma and the little boys so the twins could go on the hunt this year. He wished now that he had not agreed. The cold hunting trip seemed warm compared to the reception he was likely to receive as Lucy gained strength. But running away, no matter how legitimate the excuse, would only make things worse. He’d learned that in the past three months.
Sarah danced across the yard, a gray kitten dangling from her arms. “Look, Mrs. Wilson, Sibby birthed kittens.” She thrust a mewing ball of fur close to Emma’s face for inspection. “She hid them in the loft. Did Samuel tell you? Lucy waked up. I don’t think she is happily married like
Reverend Woods said. She didn’t look happy at all when she waked. She is sleeping now.” Sarah paused for a breath. The kitten sunk his tiny claws into her arm. “Ouch, kitty! I need to take him back to his mama. He likes his mama better.” In a flash, Sarah ran off to the barn again.
Emma laughed. “It is good to see her happy. I need to get going. I promised Carrie I would be by today. I am staying the night, so I packed you extra food.”
Samuel assisted his mother back onto the sleigh seat. She paused to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll keep you and Lucy in my prayers.” She patted his shoulder, and, with a flip of the reins, left Samuel to sort out his problems.
Samuel thought she would jump at the chance to be with Lucy and smooth everything over. Now he wasn’t sure. He believed Ma would put off coming again as long as she was able.
How would he do it without her? He needed her to help Lucy understand that he cared.
Thirteen
Lucy heard Samuel come down the stairs.
“Good afternoon, sleepy head. How do you feel?” He filled the doorframe. Had she never noticed how strong his forearms were?
“Like a tree fell on me. The huge one down by the mill pond.” Lucy rubbed her head and sighed. Her head didn’t hurt as much as before, but the dull ache lingered. Several times that day she had been aware of Samuel waking her and forcing more tea and broth into her mouth. She hadn’t spoken because it took all her effort to swallow.
Samuel nodded as he sat down in the rocker. “Would you like some more broth?”