Bittersweet Endeavors

by Tamara Ternie

  “I’ll not hear your excuses for her,” he said. He brushed passed Lucia when she attempted to intercede his way out the door. Ignoring her words of protest, he stormed out of the room.

  The path he traipsed on the way to the wigwam was covered knee-deep in snow from the storm that hit the previous night, but Seth didn’t notice enough to care. Anger starved his reason and his mind only focused on what he’d say once he encountered Myra. Tardiness wasn’t something his father would tolerate, and by God, he’d not either. Knocking and announcing his presence wasn’t even a thought. He barged through the door.

  “Myra,” he angrily summoned after breaking the door’s breach, but the sight of her still body on the floor stunned him. He had never seen anyone so pale and thought her dead. “Myra!” he rushed out.

  In two strides he was at her side. He bent down onto one knee and cradled her head between his two hands. The heat that expelled from her flushed cheeks burned his palms.

  “Dear God, you’re burning up.” Beneath her knees and back, he slid his hands underneath her, and in one swift motion, raised her into the protection of his arms. Her head snuggled beneath his chin and she mumbled a few unintelligible words. “Hush, Myra,” he soothed. “Rest easy, I’m here”

  “Father,” she cried out in hushed desperation.

  The embers in the fire had long since died, and Seth didn’t waste time before going to the task of rebuilding the fire. Once he laid her down and secured the blankets around her, he went forward with the chore. Within minutes, a roaring fire burned and soon chased the chill from the room. Myra moaned out as if pained, and Seth sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand into his. Her grip held him so tight that her nails cut into his flesh.

  “Nay,” she screamed out. Her limbs writhed beneath the covers and her head turned from one side and then the other. Tears emerged in the corners of her closed eyes. Seth took in the scene before him, overwhelmed by his helplessness. The fever gripped her and caused the horrendous nightmares, and he wanted to ease her fear.

  “Please, leave her be! Leave her be,” Myra pleaded.

  “Myra,” he softly called out. With a feathery touch, he lightly patted her cheeks with his fingertips. “Tis only a dream caused by the fever, Myra. Don’t fret, I’m here.”

  At the sound of his voice, she stilled. Her face, which contorted with torment and rage moments before, now found peace.

  “Much better,” he soothed. “That’s it, Myra, rest easy, and I promise I’ll not leave.”

  Seth looked at the door and contemplated his next move. Get the physician, sense urged, but he couldn’t leave her. He worried the dreams would return and he wouldn’t be there to chase them away. He knew Lucia would check on her friend and then she would help him. If not already aware of her illness, she’d still make her way back, set on protecting Myra from him since he left the kitchens with such anger. He noticed their friendship had grown insomuch that they were near inseparable. Aye, she’d come, he thought with relief.

  The door crashed open and biting whirls of cold wind delivered the warmth of the room to the outside. Seth used the bulk his body and shielded Myra, protecting her from the gust of cold that flooded the room. “Close the door, you little fool!”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Anvil shouted. Seth flinched at the intensity of his father’s anger. “You know better than being alone with this girl!”

  Seth was startled by his father’s sudden arrival and he quickly rose. A large lump in his throat quickly formed. “I didn’t know t’was you. I thought —” he started, but remembered his father’s order of never hearing Lucia’s name. It offered Anvil assurance that he’d not be reminded of his promiscuity—or reminded of the woman who bore her.

  Anvil reached the side of the bed and looked down at Myra. “What’s ailing her? Did she contract something from the ship, you think?” He hastily removed the handkerchief from his jacket and covered his mouth.

  “Nay, I don’t believe so. Too much time has passed, surely nothing would have lingered this long.” Seth frowned. “The week past, I carelessly soaked her with a bucket of water and believe she spent too much time in the cold afterwards. It must’ve caused an infirmity within her chest.”

  Anvil lowered the handkerchief and his face softened for a split second when he looked down at Myra’s helpless body, but he recovered his error. “Go,” he sternly ordered. “Find a servant who’ll care for her, Seth. Being here in her room isn’t decent, and for all we know, whatever she’s contracted mayhap be a contagion!” Anvil stepped back.

  Not once had Seth disobeyed his father in all his years, but he knew he must now. He was the one responsible for her being ill and he wouldn’t leave her. Not considering the deathly state that she now laid.

  “Father,” Seth began, but whether his father recognized his tone or saw the determination in his eyes, he cut him off.

  “I’ll hear no more, Seth. Leave now and go find someone to care for this girl. I’ll stay with her until someone arrives.”

  “I’m sorry, father, but I shan’t leave her.” Seth lowered his head and his fingers raked through his hair. “Tis my fault she’s taken ill and I shall stay and do whatever I can for her. My conscience shalt not allow otherwise.”

  “Are you sure tis only your conscience speaking, Seth?” he snipped.

  Seth didn’t answer and broke away from his father’s examining gaze. He’d not lie, but he wouldn’t admit the truth, either.

  Truth? He didn’t know how he felt. Something tugged at his heart whenever she came near. He’d taken numerous fancies in the past, but his feelings for other women didn’t amount into much, and his sentiments never came close in comparison of that which he felt when Myra was with him. His mind raced for explanation but nothing offered comfort.

  “Do what you must for now, Seth. However, do not let your heart fall prey to someone like her. Tis not wise, nor shalt I tolerate it!”

  Seth made start of an argument but his father waved him off. “She’s not of your station, Seth. I think no ill will upon any of these people due to their status, but this shall be a splendid, prosperous plantation once we accomplish our goals. I’ll not have it invaded by an outsider who is a thief. Think of the shame someone like that would place upon our family and our honorable reputation. I beseech you; do not be the cause of our family’s ruination, Seth.”

  How could he argue that? What father would want an indentured—a thief— as an object of his son’s affections, or worse, as his son’s wife?

  Seth nodded. “My only concern is with her health, father. I have no other intentions.”

  He didn’t lie. He couldn’t dispute his father’s argument, as her station was clearly beneath his. It was far from appropriate to have any thoughts of her, other than that of what she was, a servant. How could he destroy his father’s social class in the colonies? Wasn’t that their reasons for taking the journey across the sea? Despite not being paupers while in England, his father desired more. They were an upper-middle class family, at best, but the opportunity in surpassing that station was accomplished in the New World. With no title that backed his father’s name, and only the use of his hands that toiled and tarried for earning their wealth, he’d not have accomplished a higher status in England. Yet there, in the colonies, he had already climbed to the top of the social classes and gained respect of their fellow colonists. They valued him as a man of wealth and reason. He had even acquired a seat at the House of Burgess. None of that could’ve been possible back in England. Seth shook his head, defeated. Nay, he’d not be the one who’d destroy his father’s dream, especially since he had sacrificed and worked so hard to obtain it. It’d only jeopardize his father’s status, and for what? A journey led to the unknown by a foolish heart?

  “I’ll stay with her until someone else arrives, father,” he finally conceded. “Then I’ll take my leave and stay away her.”

  “I’ll have a servant sent who’ll care for her posthaste. As well as send a
field hand to fetch a physician,” his father called out before he departed.

  His father took his leave and Seth reached for Myra’s lifeless hand and caressed the smooth, silk-like skin between his thumb and finger. A pang of regret filled him. “Whatever these feelings are which erupt from my very being must be cast aside,” he whispered. He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I’m sorry, Myra.” He let go of her hand and it dropped to her side. Perhaps it was best if Lucia cared for her, he considered. “Dash it,” he said when his feet wouldn’t budge.

  How could his heart betray him and fall for such a woman? A woman. Only a few months ago he thought she was only a girl. But for some reason, when he watched her and Lucia celebrate what he had later learned marked Myra’s twentieth year, he saw her as a woman and no longer a girl. The curves on her body drove him into distraction, and not only had he began to view her as a woman that day, but he saw her through the eyes of a man.

  He pulled himself from his reverie and tried chucking the memory aside. He wished he still saw her as that girl. Yearnings for her didn’t haunt him then as they did now. He felt pained when he considered that he’d never feel her soft caresses or the velvety touch of her lips on his, and it intensified his torment. Even though his heart edged him forward, he couldn’t place himself in a position where he’d be forced to choose between her and his father.

  Temptation—more than he was able to bear—forced Seth into fleeing the room, vowing that he’d never return.

  * * *

  The next four days placed Seth in a torturous array of guilt, worry, and agony that raged within him. He did what he had said and avoided Myra’s hut on the hill, where she yet laid unconscious. Only three times had Lucia left the abode for longer than a few moments, and each time Seth stopped himself from secretly going and checking on Myra. No one in the servant areas talked about her after the first day. He ran out of excuses for entering the areas where the servant women worked and gathered. Although he hoped he’d overhear information about Myra’s well-being, their silence was all he received. He suspected his father had set orders that kept them silent. Household titter-tatter was the norm among the maids, and he now found their sudden restraint uncommon. Someone closed their mouths. Mayhap, he thought, he could send one of his sisters, surely they were concerned. They had taken to Myra the moment they met her, envied and impressed by her refinement, especially for someone born a common birth. It amazed him, too. His sisters often whispered about her, and his curiosity lured him into eavesdropping on many occasions. They once discussed that his sister, Rachel, claimed she overheard Lucia and Myra state that she was from the royal line. Of course they laughed and thought it pleasantly amusing, but it angered him that Myra didn’t heed his warning. Even with lies, she still received his sisters’ heartfelt affections. There was no doubt about it, she easily grew on a person and was able to warm them like a— “A fever!”

  His patience all but left him. With determined strides, he ascended the snow-covered hill and marched toward her bark-covered door. Before his hand reached the latch, Lucia scurried out the door. The hard expanse of his chest denied her exit.

  Fear gripped him when he saw the pain and tears in her eyes. He grabbed her by the arms and firmly shook her. “What has happened, Lucia?”

  “Tis Myra,” she cried out.

  “What is it?” he pressed. “She’s not—” He couldn’t say it aloud.

  “Please, we must retrieve a physician. She’s not faring well and I fear she’ll not survive another day.” Lucia sniffed back tears, but the effort moot, for the tears flooded down her cheeks.

  “What of the powders the physician gave in aiding the wheezing in her chest?”

  “Physician?” she asked surprised. “There hasn’t been a physician,” she said angrily. “He’ll not send for one.”

  Lucia tried walking around him but Seth wouldn’t let her leave.

  “What do you mean the physician hadn’t come? My father said he’d bid a worker to fetch him from town. Tis what he said after I left Myra that first day.” Certainly his father wasn’t so cruel that he’d allow her to suffer until death consumed her, all for the sake of separating them. Seth looked toward the lane that led into Jamestown, but because of the snow storms and accumulation of flurries, travel into town nearly became impossible. A horse couldn’t make the trip.

  “Stay with her,” Seth ordered, and he began walking away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going for the physician.”

  A horse couldn’t plod through the thick mass of snow that blanketed the ground, and mayhap not even a man. Yet a man in love, he would find a way to accomplish the task.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Is she better today?” Lucia asked, peeping around the door.

  “Her fever broke late last night and she’s resting much better,” he whispered. “The powders the physician provided are finally taking effect,” he added with relief.

  Lucia kept her head lowered and avoided eye contact, and Seth was grateful for that. Although Lucia’s care contributed greatly towards Myra survival, he couldn’t find it within himself to show his gratitude. He turned away from Lucia and swiped at the beads of moisture that formed on Myra’s forehead. He sat vigil at her side for many days but only then did he feel that she was likely to survive.

  “You can go about your duties, Lucia, I’ll remain with her.”

  As if a silent thank you, Myra’s fingers softly squeezed his hand. Seth leaned closer towards her. He waited for that moment—the time when she’d open her eyes and all doubts diminished if she’d recover. Yet her eyes remained closed and each intake of her breath came slow and even.

  “I shall return later with some broth,” Lucia said, and she closed the door behind her.

  “Aye, broth,” he considered. “You need your strength, Myra, and today I’m going to see to it that you get your fill of nutriment.”

  No response.

  He’d known many people who had taken ill, but Seth couldn’t recall anyone who had been sick for such a long period without awakening. Two weeks passed without a word from her soft, silken lips. It scared him. More so than anything he’d ever feared.

  Feelings for her grew strong, but he didn’t know what he would do about the emotions that welled up within him. The confusion brought forth his anger. Anger for the array of feelings that chewed at his gut when he thought of her, looked at her, or felt her sweet breath on his cheek when he leaned his head down on her bed for a moments rest.

  He bowed his head over the bed and kissed the palm of her hand. His lips lingered. Her skin felt soft and creamy upon his lips. A groan of frustration let loose. He wanted to respect his father’s wishes but he didn’t know how he’d accomplish that when everything in his heart told him that being with her was right.

  He startled when the touch of her hand swept over his hair. Seth raised his head and looked at her. Her amber eyes relayed confusion—hazy and clouded over—most likely from the tonics he had been giving her.

  “How do you feel, Myra?” Yet, again, she didn’t respond.

  “Myra,” he called out. She began closing her eyes and Seth made a more powerful plea for a response. Whether frightened, or her pity from his tone of desperation, her eyes opened wide. Myra squinted and adjusted her vision to the sunlight that came through the small window. She focused on Seth’s face.

  “Myra, can you hear me?” Dear Lord, let her mind be intact, he fervently prayed. The physician warned that in her state of disease, she may be forever addled if she came out of her long sleep.

  Myra’s head slowly nodded, but when she spoke, she winced. Her dry, blistered lips cracked opened, and Seth knew she was in pain. He frequently dampened her lips with hope to prevent the blisters that arose from the fever, but it was difficult to control.

  “It’s all right, Myra. You’re going to be fine now.” While one hand tightly held hers, his free hand reached for the cup of water beside the hay-filled bed. �
��Here,” he said as he placed it near her lips. “You must drink.”

  She drank with urgency. Although he was careful that she received regular fluids, she drank as if she was denied water for a month.

  “Slow. Slow down,” he murmured. “Too much so quickly shan’t be good. The physician said drips only,” he gently ordered.

  Her delicate fingers held tight onto the rim of the cup, but he pulled it away from her. She coughed and sputtered as he pulled the cup from her hands.

  “Tis my point,” he softly scorned.

  “I’m not surprised that you’d keep water from one who’s dying of thirst,” she dryly forced out. “Tis your way.”

  She tried sounding angry, but the attempt was poorly made when her voice didn’t produce much above a raspy whisper. Her head must also be sore, he deduced, when she grimaced from the sound of her own voice.

  He let out a loud sigh of relief. She was fine and would recover. An ornery gleam sparked within her golden eyes, and her wit revived anew. Albeit she aimed her jest at him, he didn’t care. She stayed alive, and from the way she looked, she’d be back to normal in no time.

  “Why are you smiling?” She looked at him with distrust and he nearly laughed. But more than let out his joy at her surviving, he wanted to kiss her. A proper reception for one brought back from the brink of death. He considered it a moment but refrained. How could he be sure of how she would react?

  Myra lifted the blankets and began removing herself from bed, but she was surprised by her nakedness and it stayed her movement. Her eyes closed slowly and she looked embarrassed. “Who undressed me?”

  Dear Lord, from the heat that rose within his cheeks, he actually thought he may break into a blush. Opening his mouth, he started his reply, but with a purposeful grin, he winked and leisurely thumbed his chest.