She sank into the rocking chair and gave in to her fear and exhaustion. Where had the snake gone? She must contact the vicar for help. Satan, in the form of a snake, was here.
Chapter Fourteen
Maggie dozed off in the rocking chair for a while. Upon awakening, she could barely button the bodice of her Sunday best, fatigue making her fingers stiff as a crone’s. Samuel and the vicar had made it clear she must attend services this morning. She sipped a cup of tea while the household still slept.
“I feel wonderful.” Sarah sat in bed and stretched her arms into the air, yawning loudly. The pale skin of yesterday had been replaced with the warm glow of health upon her cheeks. “I’m getting up.” She bounded out of bed.
“Sarah, be careful.”
Her sister stood at the cradle, put the babe to her breast, and sat in the rocking chair. She turned her head, grinned, showing the space where her tooth had been pulled. “She is a hungry little mite, isn’t she?” She sighed lustily. “It is good to be alive, Maggie.”
Samuel awoke and soon Ruthie clattered downstairs, eyes wide as Sarah now moved about the cottage, greeting Ruthie with vitality so pronounced from the night before that chills skittered up Maggie’s spine. How could she be so improved in one night’s time?
The serpent’s visitation from the night before crowded her thoughts as she and Ruthie walked to church, sliding into a pew at the last moment. Mae Miller, Ben’s mother, shot them a look of such venom she surely thought she must have imagined it. Others stared in similar fashion. She busied herself with the prayer book, heat prickling her face.
Mae leaned toward her. “Well, indeed we have experienced a miracle you are in our midst, especially after your eventful evening.” She sidled away as far as she could and whispered in her husband’s ear.
Worry lay like a hot stone in Maggie’s belly. To what was Mae referring, her shameless embrace with Ian or the horrid scene at the Siren Inn?
Fortunately, the choir began singing, and before long, Vicar Andrews walked to the pulpit. For the moment, she found comfort in the familiar words as the Litany began.
A rush of cold air swept down the aisle as the door burst open. The vicar’s eyebrows lifted as Ian slipped into the empty spot beside her. The cool wool of his cloak brushed her sleeve, bringing a refreshing change to the stuffy room.
Her face pulsed with heat. What could the fool be thinking? After the evening’s events, the last thing that needed to happen was for them to be seen together, adding fuel to the fire. Stupid man.
When the congregation knelt as one, he bowed his head, sneaking a sideways glance at her. She glared at him when they sat and attempted to concentrate on the vicar’s soothing voice. Ian’s foot tapped a silent staccato rhythm; the muscles of his thigh bulged and lengthened against her leg. His scent drifted out of the folds of his clothes, clove, salt of sea, and sweat. She imagined him on a ship’s deck, sun aglow on his face, the swell of the waves reflected in his eyes.
Later, as the congregation sang, he burst out in his tenor, all smiles and exuberance, earning shocked gasps from the people nearby. But a look of such innocence shone on his face, she could not help smiling and lost her place in the music. He nodded in rhythm to the music. Did he move even in his sleep? The hymn faded as the thought of watching him in his sleep, tousled and warm, filled her head. Her mouth grew dry.
She made a last feeble attempt to listen to the Lord’s word. She had a thankful heart, she did—he had given Sarah back to them, but what was happening to her now? She must speak to the vicar. She glanced at Ian and for one brief moment, peace and warmth enveloped her, whether it made sense or no.
Eventually, the service ended, and the townspeople brushed past hurriedly without meeting her eyes, and no one spoke a word to her but Ian, whom she did her best to ignore. She was good and truly ruined.
Vicar stood with Mae Miller and in a booming voice intoned, “Remember that Christ said, ‘Let ye who are without sin cast the first stone.’ Let us not judge others, my good lady.”
As she and Ruthie made their way home, Maggie tried to avoid Ian by walking ahead, but his legs were very long. He paid her rudeness no heed, instead attending to Ruthie’s enthusiastic chirping. When they arrived home, she was surprised to find Sarah had already laid out the table for noon meal.
She clasped Ian’s hand. He winced, grinning at the strength behind it.
“My good man,” she exclaimed, “nothing I say could express how grateful I am to you. Thank you for bringing me home.”
Ian bowed and kissed her hand.
Samuel’s countenance as they ate together indicated he had heard about Maggie’s behavior the night before. Between bites he scowled in her direction, but kept quiet. Perhaps he did not want to upset Ruthie and Sarah with his anger.
Ian amused Ruthie with talk of his time with King George II. His face shone with animation, eyes alive. He simply could not hold still. He drummed his fingers on the table, making Ruthie giggle, and Sarah’s lilting laugh filled the room. More than once the fool jiggled the table, meriting a venomous look from Samuel. He seemed oblivious to the strained atmosphere—or was he? His eyes followed Sarah with interest. Every so often he eyed Maggie with a warm, assessing gaze, making every inch of her skin feel bathed in cream.
Later, Sarah returned to bed to nurse the baby, and Ruthie trotted off to Joannie’s house. After they left, Samuel picked up the water bucket and motioned for Maggie to follow him out the door. She waited as he filled the bucket from the well.
Finally he spoke. “What has come over you? Have you no mind for your reputation or that of the family? Have you no morals, no...decency?”
She swallowed hard on her anger and strove for honesty. Why did Ian affect her so? When he touched her or merely looked at her, his eyes took her away to a place of respite, her body awakened and answered to his. Why was that wrong? Did she not deserve a measure of comfort when all around them chaos reigned?
“Samuel, I don’t care to discuss it. I assure you I had not intended this to happen. But I...”
He put his hand on her arm and shook his head. “If he is an honorable man, Maggie, he will marry you.”
“Marry me?” It was as if he’d thrown the bucket of water over her head. “I have only just met him. I do not know him. It is too soon. Marry me?” she repeated.
“You desire, er, feel an affinity for him, do you not?” He reddened, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his work-scarred hand. “These are women’s matters, and if Sarah was herself, I would not be discussing this with you.”
“I feel for him, yes, but I do not know him. What kind of a man is he? I do not know.”
“If he is any good at it, he can make a good living as an apothecary.”
“I make my own living and have done so for nigh on ten years.”
“Do you not want children of your own, Maggie?”
“I...yes, I don’t know!” The image of Mother rose unbidden in her mind, the day she learned Maggie had started her monthly courses and put her head on the table and wept. Is that what she wanted, to be like her? To be at the mercy of a man and the moon? Because were not all men much the same as her father, selfish at heart?
Samuel eyed the door furtively, shifting the bucket from hand to hand. “He seems a decent man. And Ruthie likes him,” he added.
“Oh, for that alone I should marry him,” Maggie drawled. “She is fond of him because he is continually in motion, like a child. Have you noticed? He’s like an organ grinder’s monkey, always scrambling about.”
The monkey himself poked his head out the door. “Can I assist you?”
She ignored Samuel’s chuckle. At least his mood had improved. “I must ask you a question.”
Samuel took the water inside. Ian followed her on the path to the barn, where they might talk more privately.
“What is it, Maggie?”
She told him about the visitation of Ixchel and the snake.
“I knew there was someth
ing you were not telling me.” He laid his hand on her cheek. “Sweeting, you do not have to struggle alone.”
“When you left me at the door last night,” she continued, encouraged he did not think her insane, “the snake was curled upon Sarah’s body, and I could not break my gaze from its eyes. It spoke to me! I did not imagine it.”
He smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. “No, I am sure you did not.”
Dread rose in her as she said the words aloud. “There is a serpent, the devil’s instrument, in the cottage. How do I cast it out? Do I summon the vicar? I do not know what to do.”
He grasped her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Maggie. The snake upon Ixchel’s head—in the Mayan civilization, it is a symbol of medicine, of healing.”
She stepped back. “It was a snake who tempted Eve with the apple. It is because of the snake’s temptation that my women must suffer so!”
“I have learned in my travels that there are many different ways of believing, Maggie, in civilizations more ancient than ours. For the Greeks as well, the snake is a symbol of medicine and healing.”
“But,” she sputtered.
He took her hands. “I have learned not to question the ways of other countries, but to accept.”
“That’s wonderful for you,” she retorted. “But how does that help now? Some of the people in this town think Sarah has risen from the dead like Christ. Others think it was Satan. I know neither one is true, and a childbirth goddess tells me I must avenge the death of the women whom this Edward Carter has killed? What am I to do?”
He wrapped his long arms around her. “Consider this, Maggie mine: Sarah is markedly improved. We can all see it. Perhaps the snake is not destructive but has come to heal her.”
“But why?” His touch gave her no small measure of strength, and she began to sense his logic. “Oh. This Ixchel means for Sarah to help in this endeavor. But how? She cannot be seen about in public yet, she must be churched first, and it has not even been a week since her travails. What must I do?”
“You are a most capable woman, Maggie. You will do what needs to be done, like you always do. And you are not alone. I am here.” He kissed her.
She drew in his breath like a baby draws its first.
He walked her to the cottage door, touched his lips to hers in farewell. “I will return this evening.”
Back in the cottage, she told Samuel about the snake.
His eyes grew wide with disbelief. “How can this be?”
“Look at her, Samuel,” she whispered.
She lay on her side asleep, hands under her chin. Her normally pale complexion glowed with vitality, as if lit from within.
“We cannot deny that she has improved. A day ago, she could not move about, and now she can scarcely be contained. There is something at work here, Samuel.”
He shook his head. “I do not understand such things.” Despite it being only early afternoon, no one could blame him for pouring a measure of whisky for himself and sinking into the rocking chair.
Chapter Fifteen
When Maggie opened the door for Ian later that night, her dark brows rose. Perhaps she approved of his attire: buckskin pants, top coat of dark green with a silk sheen to it, and a silk cravat he’d bought in Cathay. It is not every day a man like him proposes to the healer of his soul.
The room crackled with vigor as Maggie set the table for tea with quiet efficiency of movement and that single-minded way of hers. As he approached Sarah and grasped her hand, he felt the river of strength coursing from her into him. “It is wonderful to see you looking so well, madame.”
She laughed. “I would not be in this fine condition were it not for you.”
They sat down for tea. Samuel sat beside Sarah, sliding glances at her from time to time, brows puckered in concern.
Maggie leaned over the table slicing bread, cheeks flushed, making her eyes glow like the moon. She handed her sister a cup of tea. “Mind you it’s hot, Sarah.” She stared at her plate.
Sarah ate with the gusto of a sailor, devouring a slice of eel pie and looking inquiringly around the table before she cut another. “I could help you on your rounds tomorrow, Maggie.”
Maggie jerked her head up. “What? Sarah, you know you cannot leave the house until you’re churched.” She shook her head and exchanged a glance with Samuel.
He noted Maggie’s utter stillness as Sarah said, eyes glowing with cheerful defiance. “I see no reason to be idle when in fact I feel teeming with good health.”
Even he, a hapless bachelor (but hopefully not for long) knew that after childbirth, a woman must stay in her home for a month. After the baptism of the baby, she is allowed to return to society.
Maggie’s look of utter astonishment would have been comical if he did not feel her distress resound in his bones. “You cannot, Sarah. You know this!”
Sarah shook her head. “I could be helping you, Maggie. You have worked yourself to the bone of late, and why should I not work if I’m able?”
“This is not like you at all, Sister. We women must do things according to the tradition and for your health as well. Most women are not even out of bed at this point. Besides, we are under enough scrutiny from the townspeople already.” She scowled at him.
Sarah folded her arms and glared at all of them in turn. “You cannot keep me imprisoned here. I am needed.”
Samuel pushed up from the table. “Sarah, go back to bed. You are overwrought.” He took her arm. As he led her to the bed, she jerked it away from him. “I am not tired,” she snapped and stomped off to sit in the rocking chair. Samuel returned to the table, looking as if he’d been slapped.
Maggie’s eyes met Ian’s. Worry swam in the grey depths. “Never in all of my life have I seen her behave so badly. My sweet Sarah would never have spoken to her husband like that.”
“Ever?” It seemed hard to believe.
“I have always been envious of how my sister can control her temper. Indeed, nothing seemed to vex her.” Her high color began to fade. “I always tried to be more like her, but I never could.”
He resisted the urge to kiss her palm and hold it to his heart. “You should be no one but yourself, my Maggie.”
Sarah picked up the crying baby and returned to the rocking chair, humming in a monotone voice that matched the rhythm of her rocking.
Samuel shook his head. “What are we to do with her? What is happening to my wife?”
“She will have to be watched closely,” Maggie said.
Samuel nodded. “She must not leave the house.”
What an inopportune time to ask for Maggie’s hand in marriage. On the other hand, it might distract her from her troubles. The song he’d written for her beat against his heart and insisted he share it soon, whether he willed it or not. He had wanted to be at his best tonight, to present himself to her as a person worthy of her, but could not slow the blood bursting through his veins, could not stop fiddling with his neck cloth.
Ruthie came through the door, going immediately to her mother. She wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed her.
“Aunt Maggie,” she chirped, as she bounded over to the table. “You should have seen that boy of Joannie’s. My, his head is swollen.”
“Oh!” Ian saw the resolute focusing of her eyes on Ruthie. “Jimmy is the tall one, is that not correct? Will he be okay?”
“Certainly,” he said. “I had to stitch him up, but he’ll be recovered in no time.”
“We have need of Joannie.” Maggie lowered her voice. “She can keep an eye on things.”
Soon thereafter, Samuel helped Sarah back to bed and lit his pipe by the fire. Ruthie played with her dolly by the hearth. Maggie busied herself with tidying up, and he tried to avoid staring at her but could not help himself, for the more he saw her, the more he must breathe her in. A man of three and thirty, suddenly shy! He had travelled the world, met women beautiful and bounteous. But no one like Maggie. He missed his lute, for music helped his hands to still.
She bustled around the room, lifting things up, putting them down again. He grabbed her hand as she wiped down the table.
“Sit a moment, will you please, Miss Maggie? I must ask you something.”
She jerked her hand away. “I have bigger concerns than a conversation with you.”
“Please, I beseech thee.”
She plopped down, irritation wrinkling her forehead.
“You recall my request to court you.”
“Court me?” She blushed then scowled.
“I...” He faltered and she held his gaze.
“It seems that I have discovered that I...that I...” He, who spoke with a golden tongue to kings, sheiks, and fierce warriors throughout the wide world over, could not speak to this woman with the dark, winged brows, who stared intently at him as if she could unpeel him layer by layer. He could not put his thoughts together as she glared.
“It seems,” Ian croaked, “that with my full heart I know that I must ask...”
At that moment someone knocked upon the door. The vicar, again. Blast the man! His visits were as regular as a horse’s bowels.
He stood at the threshold. “I must speak with you, Mistress Maggie. I have spent this Lord’s day listening to the most horrendous rumors about your conduct last night, and again, I defended your virtue.” He eyed her expectantly.
She stood with her arms folded, lips pressed together.
“I would not give credence to them until I asked you if they were true. It concerns a parishioner who saw you and Mr. Pierce in a passionate, most indecent embrace. Late at night. Behaving in a manner most unseemly.” He paused. “In full view of the public.”
Maggie took a deep breath. “I will not lie to you, Vicar.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I am deeply disappointed in your conduct, although I do not think you are to blame.” He eyed Ian pointedly. “Miss Maggie, your reputation is most certainly ruined, but it’s much worse than that.”
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