Waking Lucy (American Homespun Book 1)

by Lorin Grace

  The farm had long been a coveted piece of land. If Samuel liked farming, she would have thought he’d married her for the land. But he’d wanted to be a doctor for so long. He hadn’t explained why he’d given up that dream. Nor had they spoken of his relationship with Elizabeth. Lucy was too scared to ask. Owing that the tale involved Elizabeth, all might not be as the children reported the day of the kiss.

  So why would he marry her now?

  He’d always had a strong sense of duty. She’d once overheard Mrs. Wilson tell Mama that of all her children, Samuel was always the one she could depend on to finish what he started and to do it well. No denying Samuel was a good man. She knew he would stay with her until death parted them. The question in her mind was, would he be happy, or would he come to despise her like Mr. Simms had despised both Mama and her? She couldn’t live with the anger again.

  She harbored no illusions that he might have married her for love. Not once had he mentioned any feelings for her—just necessity, friendship, marriage being the honorable thing to do, and reputations.

  Well, that, and he’d brushed her hair and called her beautiful. Maybe he was daft. What had happened to everyone while she was sick? They were all as crazy as Old Man Gibson who ran around in his nightshirt last winter every time it snowed, tossing snowballs at everything he could.

  As for herself, she’d loved him for oh, so long. Crying in his arms this afternoon and being held so securely served to convince her there could be no other man for her. But she could not risk him regretting his choice, as Mr. Simms had. She would rather live alone than with such hatred again. She’d witnessed Samuel upset a few times but never in a rage. But he could change. She had been told that Mr. Simms had once been nice too.

  How long had she been ill? A week? Longer? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t recall the date. What day had she been married? How could a new bride not know her wedding date? Ridiculous! One more argument against this insane arrangement. Every bride knew her wedding date. But, then, every girl remembered her proposal, too.

  Samuel apologized for not waiting until she awoke. “You weren’t even aware, but I did kneel here by your bedside and asked you to please marry me. You were rude enough to not answer.”

  Even though he delivered it with a wink and one of his special smiles to lighten the mood, it didn’t help.

  He was still trapped.

  The last night she remembered clearly was the Monday night she’d recorded the deaths in the family Bible. Something tugged at her memory. Something did not make sense to her when she read it. The dates and names were incorrect. Her name was not listed as Simms. Perhaps she’d read it wrong or the dates were inverted.

  Lucy wondered at what she saw. Had she misread something? The night she’d written in the Bible her head had pounded, and her eyes were full of tears. She remembered praying the snow would not come and that someone would find Sarah. Her last thought had been that she would soon be in heaven with Mama.

  She vowed to check the Bible. There could be a complication. If she was right, it might mean she wasn’t married because her name wasn’t Lucy Simms. Both Samuel and the Reverend would need to concede she’d married under a false name. She may have found a legal way out. For once she blessed the lawmakers. She could set Samuel free.

  Her thoughts continued to wander. Like tadpoles in a pond, they swam about until it was impossible to focus on just one. They were so fascinating that she wanted to watch them as they wandered about, weaving and dancing.

  Yesterday, when she’d first awoken, Lucy was sure she still dreamed. But her dreams of Samuel hadn’t been of the haggard man who walked out of her parents’ bedroom sporting several days’ worth of facial growth. In her dreams, Samuel always appeared clean-shaven and go-to-meeting neat and never smelled of barnyard. He never smelled of anything in her dreams. When he touched her in her dreams, her heart didn’t skip, and butterflies didn’t race around her insides mixing up her feelings.

  She wanted to be furious. A few years ago she would have tossed a temper tantrum. She wondered if he expected one. He’d witnessed plenty. But she had grown up and wasn’t going to be like Mr. Simms and let anger rule her actions. Papa Marden had taught her better.

  Sarah was happy. The grim bundles she’d hoisted to the roof were now snug in the ground up on the hill. No doubt the animals were cared for and the barn in perfect order. How could she be upset over care he’d given them?

  But he insisted they were married. And he’d changed her shift! He’d seen the scars. Where not those reasons enough that she should be angry?

  He’d also held her while she cried. That brought a very different emotion, which scared her more than her anger, for she did not understand what she felt. She wanted to run. But where? Into his arms or out of his life?

  Samuel’s arms around her when she cried today conveyed so much more than they had when she was little. No longer awkward, they were strong and sure. Safety, understanding, and —

  Wait! He’d kissed her! She bolted upright. The quilt fell from her shoulders as her fingers flew to the spot on her brow where his lips had rested—more than rested. Caressed. Granted, he’d placed it on her forehead, but it was still a kiss. He never kissed her before when she cried. He never kissed her before at all.

  The kiss was more confusing than the marriage. The kiss seemed like he meant it to be a promise. She couldn’t even bring herself to be upset with the kiss. Her first. Or was it? Wouldn’t Reverend Woods have told him to kiss her after the vows? Of course, being so ill, he probably hadn’t kissed her on the lips, but maybe on the cheek.

  Too tired to continue sitting, Lucy slumped to her side and watched the flames through half-closed eyes, remembering the warmth of Samuel’s embrace and the tingle of the kiss.

  She still had not come up with a suitable answer to the central question. Why had Samuel married her?

  Duty? Maybe.

  Love? Not likely.

  The kiss? Her imagination. Undoubtedly.

  She could not allow Samuel to be forced to stay in this marriage. He’d studied to be a doctor. Doctors didn’t marry every patient they cared for. Surely no one in their little community would think ill of him for not marrying her. True, some of the old gossips would sully her name. But he would be free.

  Then what would the future hold for Sarah and her? She could not run the farm alone. If she sold it and moved to Boston to find work, no one would ever hear any sordid version of this winter. Samuel would be free to marry Elizabeth or one of the other girls from town. She must consider Sarah. Securing a job would be difficult with a child in tow. Maybe the Wilson’s would take her in.

  In the waning firelight, Boston became the perfect solution. If she lived in Boston, she wouldn’t see Samuel marry someone else, and no one would witness her heart breaking.

  Lucy watched the flickering flames dance her into her dreams.

  Samuel rolled over again on Ben’s old bed. Even diagonally it was a bit short for him. He recognized the bed from the days when Mr. Simms had been alive and the house consisted of a one-room cabin and lean-to. The bed that had once belonged to Mr. Simms was too wide for the narrow room James Marden had built in the addition for Lucy, and so it was moved upstairs. Lucy’s bed was longer. Maybe he could get Lucy to move into her parents’ room. Then he could take hers and have room enough to stretch out. Of course, sleeping in Lucy’s bed would thwart all attempts to sleep.

  This bed smelled of little boy and the creepy crawly things all boys hid in their pockets. If it smelled like the lavender sachet Lucy kept tucked under her pillow, he might not be able to control his impulse to run downstairs and hold her close. Not a bad idea. She might even agree. His other thoughts presented a problem. His “lead me not into temptation” prayer may have worked while she lay fevered and needing his constant care, but the petition didn’t help much now.
His mind remembered the fine feminine details in a different light now, and he found himself wanting to revisit those details and to have permission to claim them as his.

  Holding her this afternoon, while painful, felt wonderful. Holding his wife in that moment, he knew he could never let go.

  And the kiss.

  Had she even noticed? He’d wanted to lower his lips to hers and make it real, to try to make her understand their marriage was real. But he’d restrained himself, though not without difficulty. The timing was off, and she was too vulnerable. He’d wanted to kiss her again tonight when he’d recounted the wedding, to claim the kiss that should have ended the ceremony. He’d explained himself poorly. Her continued insistence that he be free was proof enough that she didn’t understand.

  Ugh! He flipped onto his back. The images of his beautiful Lucy would not leave him. There was no sin in a man wanting his wife. The big problem was his wife did not believe she was married. Admittedly, he would feel much better if they’d stood holding hands when they’d exchanged vows. The phrase “exchanging vows” wasn’t accurate either.

  When she fully recovered, perhaps he could talk Reverend Woods into repeating the vows so Lucy would have a chance to say yes and remember it. Or they could repeat them to one another as his parents had done.

  If she said yes.

  The look she’d given him while he’d explained the situation this evening did not instill much confidence that she would say yes. She hadn’t lashed out at him as he’d expected, but the emotions of hurt, anger, and confusion had all played across her face, each fighting for prominence. There was also the bone-deep sorrow. Neither talked about her parents, but the pain of her loss never left her eyes.

  He’d determined years ago to win her heart. At the time, he had not thought it would be difficult. The task may yet prove as impossible as becoming a doctor.

  When she was about nine, she’d blushed in his presence for the first time. Unlike other girls, she never giggled around him, but after that one occasion, she would occasionally become tongue-tied. Their friendship had shifted ever so slightly. He’d avoided her for a while, and she’d stopped coming over as frequently. At first he hadn’t missed her, and then Mr. Simms had died. After that, he saw Lucy frequently as he took his turn helping out with the livestock, but Lucy didn’t hang around him much. Ma told him to give her time when he asked if something was wrong.

  After James married Anna, Lucy started to smile again and even started to become a nuisance. Then one day something changed for him, and she was no longer an annoying tagalong. By the time he was fifteen, he set about to make her blush as much as possible. A year later, when he did try to make his feelings known, his plan went awry, with one gentle tug on a braid. But she forgave him that. Canceling an engagement, then getting married anyway? Not in his favor.

  How can I convince her I want this marriage?

  Sleep came, leaving his question unanswered.

  Fifteen

  Lucy leaned on her doorjamb and rubbed her eyes. Samuel sat plaiting Sarah’s hair. And Sarah was standing still. Sarah never stood still, not for anyone or any bribe. Why would she stand still for Samuel?

  Unbidden memories came floating back. Had she been three? Her arm was injured. She’d lived with the Wilsons for several weeks.

  “Stay still, Lucy. I can’t do this with you wiggling all over.”

  “I can’t, Sammy. It hurts.”

  “I’m not hurting you.”

  “No, you hurt hair.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be careful.”

  “Mama do it better.”

  “Mama isn’t here now.”

  “You are a boy. Boys don’t help girls.”

  “Well, I do.”

  His first attempt at braiding had been far from tidy, but every day for most of a month the scene repeated itself—Samuel braiding her hair while his ma attended to baby Carrie. He became her champion, and she his shadow. He taught her how to read her letters during the month her broken arm healed. After several difficult nights, Emma permitted Lucy to sleep with him in his trundle, knowing her seven-year-old son could do more to chase Lucy’s nightmares away than an hour of rocking could.

  Sarah’s giggle brought Lucy back from her reminiscing. “You did good, Samuel. Sometimes when Papa made braids it hurt. You never hurt my head.”

  “I’ve had lots of practice.” Samuel wasn’t looking at Sarah. He was looking at her—no, winking at her!

  Lucy was mortified to be caught staring, and the heat rose to her cheeks.

  “It appears we woke Lucy.” He turned Sarah about so she could see her sister.

  “Lucy! Are you better? Can you play?” Sarah bounded to the door, and for a moment Lucy was afraid her sister’s exuberance would smother her. At the last minute, Sarah’s leap was stilled by Samuel’s hand.

  “Gently, Sarah. Lucy is not quite well.”

  Sarah looked up at Samuel. “May I hug her?”

  Lucy held out her arms. “Always, sweet girl.”

  Sarah snuggled into Lucy’s arms, delivering a long, yet soft hug. When she let go, she turned to Samuel. “I was careful.”

  Lucy raised her brows. Sarah barely knew Samuel. He’d lived in Boston most of her young life. Why did the child seek his approval?

  Samuel nodded and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Will you set the table, please?” Sarah skipped across the room to the cupboard.

  “Resilient, isn’t she?” Samuel asked as he guided Lucy to the rocker near the fireplace. “I brought her out for the funeral at Ma’s suggestion. She seems to have accepted the changes in life, for the most part. Although at night when I read the Bible verse, she curls up in my lap and talks of her parents and Ben and sheds a tear or two.”

  “You’ve been reading to her?”

  Without asking, he spread a quilt over her lap and knelt to arrange it around her feet so they would not touch the floorboards. Samuel nodded. “I read to you, too.”

  Lucy gawked at him, her mouth forming a slight O. The look Samuel gave her was full of messages she couldn’t decipher. She could not turn away. Her heart raced faster than a frightened deer in a hunter’s sight. What she thought she glimpsed was impossible. It had to be the imaginations left over from her fever-fueled dreams. She saw the expression the Samuel of her dreams would wear. The real Samuel wouldn’t gaze at her that way, the way Papa Marden had looked at Mama.

  Samuel stayed on his knees.

  Lucy felt love radiating from him. Scared, she wanted to run again, but there was no place to run. Her resolve to send him on his way once she was up and about was being challenged, and she had not even been awake five minutes. It was so tempting to accept this marriage as her new life. But she would not trap him. Lucy never knew Samuel to express anger like Mr. Simms, but trapped in a marriage to her when he wanted to be with someone else, Samuel might change.

  Sarah dropped one of the pewter cups with a clatter, causing Lucy and Samuel to break eye contact.

  “Sorry. It’s not broke. See?” Sarah held out the cup for Samuel’s inspection.

  “No harm done, Sarah. You are doing a fine job,” Samuel commented before bringing his attention back to Lucy.

  Lucy pondered Samuel’s reaction to Sarah. Definitely not like Mr. Simms. Breaking a pewter cup was near impossible. At Sarah’s age, she would have been punished just for the noise.

  “Would you like some porridge this morning? Made it myself.” The corner of his mouth inched up into a lopsided grin. “Not bad with a bit of molasses.”

  Was Samuel flirting with her? The funny feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with hunger. Lucy didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

  He tugged the end of her long, messy braid. “Perhaps I should fix your hair today, too.”

 
Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm. She ducked her head. This would not do at all. How could she ever tell him to leave when he acted as if he liked her? The Samuel who’d ignored her in September and October would have been much easier to reason with. Not this one she wanted to… to… to what?

  Just wanted.

  Samuel lifted her chin with one finger until her eyes met his, then studied her face for a long moment. Lucy wondered if he were searching for something beyond her recovery.

  “Your color is much better today. Let’s get some food inside you and then decide about the rest of the day.”

  Lucy opened her mouth to protest. She needed to tell him before she got used to having Samuel around, but the words she needed to say would not come out.

  Samuel placed his thumb to her lips and shook his head. “Lucy, this discussion can wait until tomorrow, but getting you well cannot.” Samuel turned to the fireplace and retrieved the pot of porridge.

  Could Samuel sense her resolve to send him away?

  Sixteen

  As Samuel eased the yarn out of Lucy’s hands, her eyes fluttered open and she grabbed for the ball.

  “What? Oh.” Lucy looked sheepishly down at her wrapper. She’d intended to do something useful other than sleep. The knitting basket had been close at hand, so she’d started there, thinking to get up and dress after a bit.

  “Do you need help to your room?”

  Lucy reached for the yarn. “No, I am awake now. Where is Sarah?” She hoped the child hadn’t gotten into mischief.

  A teasing grin formed on Samuel’s face, and he pointed his thumb over his shoulder to where Sarah lay curled up with her doll on the rug. “I put my special sleeping potion in the porridge this morning. It worked.”

  Lucy returned his grin.