by Lorin Grace
“She has new tricks now. No wonder you avoided me. For the record, the kiss they saw—I didn’t initiate it. I never thought a woman could be so brazen. I pushed her away, but by then they’d left. I think she kissed me because she knew Sarah and Matthew were spying.”
Lucy shivered again. He pulled up the blankets.
“There is no way to apologize for this, is there? And I am going to have to repeat all of it when you awaken.” Samuel wished for the thousandth time that he had not come up with the stupid idea of avoiding Lucy. It hadn’t made anything better.
“I wish you would wake up. Even if you don’t want to be married, it would be ever so much better if you did.” He found himself praying that God would see fit to heal Lucy and that his poor doctoring skills would be enough.
“Remember when we could talk about everything? That’s why I knew you would be the only one I could ever tell about the blood. I am so ashamed. I thought I would get over it. Instead it got worse. A man can’t be a doctor and not deal with blood. I tried. Honest, I tried. We need a doctor, and I thought after helping you with all your scrapes that I could be one.”
Lucy moaned and started to thrash. Samuel laid his hand on her head. She was hotter than ever. He pulled off the quilts and rinsed her arms and face.
“Don’t you dare die on me. I promise I will be a good husband and you won’t regret living. Please wake up.”
For the next hour or so Samuel prayed as he worked to cool Lucy off as she writhed and moaned. Finally she calmed down. For a moment Samuel thought she might have died. He thought of listening for a heartbeat, but putting his head to her breast seemed a bit too intimate. After what seemed like minutes but was just a few seconds, Lucy sighed.
Samuel released the breath he’d been holding, then covered her with a single blanket against the chill of the room and rose to check the fire.
The wood box was almost empty. There was enough dry wood to last the night, but tomorrow morning he would ask his brothers to bring more wood into the lean-to.
Samuel yawned. He needed sleep. He stood in the doorway of the large bedroom. The room had lost most of its stench. Still, whiffs of death lingered in the shadows. The oversized four-poster mocked him. He knew better than to sleep on the straw tick without bedclothes, especially one that needed fresh straw and washing. Lucy must have removed the soiled linens and hid them from view, intending to wash them on the first sunny day. He hadn’t seen them about the house. She must have placed them where Sarah could not find them. His mind wandered about the house and barn, finally settling on the basket in the corner on the far side of the bed in her parents’ room.
He needed to find the outdoor kettle and wash the linens in the morning before his family arrived. After they were boiled in hot water, they could be ironed dry. He hoped he could get away without scrubbing them. Passing out while scrubbing sheets was not acceptable. His wedding day would not be the day to test his strength.
The faster the large bedroom could be back in order, the fewer questions Sarah could ask. Apparently Lucy had planned to put the room to rights and let Sarah sleep in the big bed with her soon. Sarah mentioned the promise every time she had the chance.
Samuel started to blush. This would be his bed—his and Lucy’s. Best not to let his mind wander in too far. It might tuck itself in and curl up for the night.
He backed out of the room. He didn’t belong there yet.
First Lucy needed to get well. Then she might forgive him for marrying her while she couldn’t even protest. Sarah and Lucy would share the bed for a long time while he slept in Ben’s bed. Or the barn.
Pulling the quilt from Ben’s recently freshened bed across his shoulders, he thought about the quilt-wrapped bodies on the roof. He’d recognized the quilt his mother had made for James and Anna’s wedding because he had been cajoled into helping with it. He was surprised she’d chosen the quilt as her mother’s shroud, yet, considering what the quilt represented, the gesture was fitting. He wondered if Lucy had made a special quilt for her marriage bed.
Samuel caught himself rubbing his head again. Yup. Bald by morning, or at least well before Lucy ever let him in the big bedroom.
Lucy moaned and started to thrash about once again.
Samuel leaned over her, attempting to calm her, his hand on her shoulder.
“No, no! Not Mama! I’m the bad girl. I’m the bad girl.”
A nightmare.
“Hush, Lucy. You’re safe.” Samuel brushed the hair from her forehead.
“No! No! No barn!” Lucy shouted and tried to rise.
Samuel restrained her by the shoulders. “Lucy, it’s Samuel. You’re safe. Hush, now. Hush.”
Lucy’s eyes fluttered open. “Samuel?” She gazed at him for a moment before taking a deep breath, then her face relaxed, and her eyes closed as the dream left her.
Well, at least in her nightmares she must not hate me. Hope filled Samuel with the thought that his presence had calmed her. At the same time, he worried about a nightmare so vivid it gave Lucy the strength to fight him and try to rise.
The mantel clock announced the time—three in the morning. Before the small hand of the clock completed a full rotation, he would be married. Then he would write his name next to hers in the Bible: Samuel Taylor Wilson married Lucy Simms, November 30, 1797. He hoped it would be the last entry he would pen for a while.
“Lucy, I know you are sleeping, but I still have much to tell you, or ask you.” Unbidden, his hand reached up to rub the back of his head. He jerked it back. He would not be bald for his wedding. “Elizabeth was a mistake. I kept hoping she could be more… more like you. Be my friend. She seemed so eager. I don’t know what all she seemed. Since you can’t agree with me at the moment, let’s just say I was an idiot to see anything in her at all. Ma tried to get me to see you first, but I was so ashamed. I didn’t want you to pity me. You had such faith in me being a doctor. I’ll make a much better farmer. And I still have woodworking.” He knew he was repeating himself, but if Lucy could hear him in her dreams, it might help later.
“People will say I married you for this farm. It’s not true, Lucy. I would marry you without the farm because, well, you are you. I am not doing this very well. Maybe it’s good you can’t hear me ramble on.”
For a while, Samuel rocked silently. Eventually he dozed, until Lucy stirred. He woke enough to adjust her quilts.
He still needed to ask her one question.
“I know you will never believe me later, but I am going to ask.” He unfolded himself from the chair and set his quilt aside, then knelt at her side and brushed the hair from her face. Gently, as if picking up a crystal vase in a Boston store, he cradled her hand in his. He ran his thumb back and forth over it, wishing she could feel the connection, and asked the most important question of his life.
“Lucy Simms, will you do me the honor of being my wife? You don’t need to answer right away, but I will take your living through the ceremony as a good sign.” He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to their tips, bowed his head, and prayed.
Eight
Samuel awoke to a little hand trying to pry open his eyes. When he did open them, he was greeted by a hug.
“You stayed. Is Lucy dead yet? Are you going to put her on the roof of heaven too?” Samuel had seen a glimpse of how talkative the little girl could be last night, but it had not prepared him for the onslaught of questions she had for him so early this morning. He opened his arms, and Sarah climbed into his lap. “Lucy is still very much alive. See, you can see her breathing, and she isn’t as hot as she was last night.
“Is that good?”
“Yes, little one. That is very good.”
They rocked for a moment. Samuel contemplated how to tell Sarah about the day’s plans and not create more questions than he could answe
r.
“I have something important to tell you. After we eat, my ma and pa are going to come with Reverend Woods and my brothers. We are going to go out on the porch, but we can’t touch or hug any of them because we are under quarantine.”
“Qu-or-in-tine?” Sarah’s mouth struggled around the new word.
“Yes. That means there is sickness in the house and healthy people must stay away.”
“But you came.”
“Yes, I came to take care of you and Lucy.”
“Then why is Reverend Woods coming? To bury Papa and Mama and Ben?”
“Partly for a funeral, but they are also coming so I can marry Lucy.”
“But you don’t want to marry her. I heard her tell Mama.”
“I do want to marry her.”
“But Lucy is sick. Sick people don’t get married.” Sarah gave him a knowing look.
“In this case, sick people do marry.”
Sarah scowled at him. Samuel raised his eyes heavenward. God? I could use a little help here if I can’t convince a five-year-old I should get married.
“But Lucy doesn’t have flowers. She needs flowers to get married. Your sister had lots and lots and let me hold some.” Sarah delivered this statement with all the authority of a mother of five eligible daughters.
Samuel remembered the little girl dancing about with her miniature bouquet. He had been more interested in her older sister, who’d stood up with Carrie. Lucy had radiated such beauty the morning of the wedding in his parents’ parlor. He’d envisioned himself saying his vows to her as he let his mind wander during the ceremony. Lucy had little flowers woven into her hair. Lavender. He had been tempted to propose on the spot. Instead, he’d proposed by post a month later.
“And she needs a dress. She was going to go get fabric, but you wrote her and made her cry. So she didn’t sew a new one.” Sarah’s brow furrowed a perfect imitation of his ma when she scolded him. Were women born knowing that pose?
“And she has to talk and say yes. Lucy is sleeping and can’t say anything,” Sarah continued, seemingly not needing to breathe between sentences.
“You may need to say yes for her. If Lucy was awake, do you think she would marry me?’ He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but better now than in front of witnesses.
Sarah studied Samuel.
“Do you know she is alive?”
“Of course she is alive. I helped her stay alive all night.” What inane questions five-year-olds asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I thought Lucy said you didn’t know… ”—her face scrunched up—“Why would she say you thought she was dead?” she asked.
It suddenly dawned on Samuel that Sarah was referring to a past conversation. One centered on his lack of attention. He could almost hear Lucy complain. “Samuel doesn’t even know I am alive.” His sister had expressed similar sentiments about more than one young man. He swallowed. “I think she meant I hadn’t been properly courting her.”
“Do you like Lucy? And will you be nice to her? No more making her cry?”
“I made her cry?”
Sarah held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “When you sent her that last letter. When you kissed Elizabeth at the cider pressing.”
“I did not ki—”
“When you didn’t come when the storm was done. You make her cry lots. That’s not very nice.” A scolding finger wagged in his face.
Samuel nodded. If he opened his mouth, he would blurt out the truth, and Lucy should hear it before her little sister did. He loved Lucy.
“Then you can marry my big sister, but only if you are very nice. My papa was nice. But Lucy’s first papa wasn’t. He yelled all the time and never smiled.” Samuel thought it peculiar she would know about Mr. Simms.
“I promise to be very nice to Lucy.”
“Forever and ever?”
“Forever and ever.” Tension flowed out of Samuel’s shoulders as he gave Sarah a broad smile.
“Where will you live?”
“Right here.”
“Where will I live?”
“You will live with us.’
“Will you sleep in Ben’s room?
“For now I will.”
“Lucy promised we could sleep in the big bed. When she gets well, I get to sleep with her. Do you want to sleep in the big bed too? It is the bestest in the whole house. Maybe you could sleep with Lucy too.”
Samuel nearly choked. A five-year-old had just given him permission to share a bed with her older sister. Oblivious to his dilemma, Sarah continued her questioning.
“Will you be my new papa?”
“No, I will be your brother-in-law. That is almost the same as being your brother.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed as she pondered this.
“Should I call you Brother Samuel?”
“No, you can just call me Samuel.”
“Will there be a cake? I like cake.”
Samuel laughed and tugged at the hair sticking out from under her cap.
Sarah hopped off his lap. “I better get dressed. Can I wear my church dress?”
Samuel nodded.
“And, Samuel? Will you brush out my hair all pretty? Mama’s brush is on the table in her room. It is the prettiest brush in the whole house.”
“You get your clothes, and I will get the brush.”
As he brushed the fine chestnut hair, he noticed his hands were shaking. Thankfully Sarah didn’t want any braids, just a ribbon.
Samuel sliced some bread and smothered it with butter. He gave it to Sarah and asked her to sit in the chair next to Lucy. He hurried to take care of the animals. In the barn, he found a large cauldron and hung it over the outdoor pit. After filling the pot with snow, he started a fire. Once it melted, he would add the bedclothes and let them boil clean. He hoped it would be done before everyone arrived.
After a more substantial breakfast, Samuel washed in the lean-to and changed into the fresh shirt his mother had sent.
“Lucy can’t get married in her shift,” Sarah announced when Samuel reentered the room.
“I am going to wrap her up in her quilts, so no one will see her shift.”
Sarah furrowed her brow, a sign Samuel now recognized as an expression of deep thought.
“Then we must brush out her hair. When girls marry, they don’t have braids. They have pretty hair. Can you put it up?”
“I don’t know how.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Well, brushed out it is pretty. Lucy has very long hair. If you can’t pin it up, better let it down.”
Samuel nodded. He untied the ribbon on Lucy’s braid, careful not to pull her hair. Sarah helped him unravel it. He brushed it, careful of any snarls, giving extra care to every rat’s nest he found, not wanting to hurt her. Then he arranged it around Lucy’s head. Samuel thought she appeared even paler against the contrast of her dark hair. He’d always loved her hair. It reminded him of making maple syrup in the big cauldron when the sun shone on it, with hints of red and the darkest of browns. The one time he’d teased her about it, he asked if it were sticky. It was not. It was silky, like a baby kitten’s fur. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to play with it much longer.
“She still needs flowers, like in her hair at Carrie’s wedding.” Sarah’s face twisted in concentration. Samuel bit his cheek to prevent him from laughing out loud. The little girl’s eyes popped open wide as inspiration came. “There is some lavender hanging on the ceiling. You can get some.” Sarah tugged Samuel out of the room and pointed to the cluster of lavender among the dried herbs and vegetables hanging from the rafters. He reached up and broke off a stem. The dried lavender was as delicate as it was fragrant. Samuel set it on the table. “Let’s leave it here until just before
we go outside. That way it won’t break.”
Sarah smiled at his choice.
Then he went back into the bedroom and stared at his bride. There was no blush to color her cheeks as at Carrie’s wedding. No sparkle in her eyes. Today he would not look into her eyes and be met with a shy smile as they said their vows. Her lashes wouldn’t lower demurely when he was given leave to kiss her, though he doubted that part would be said. If there were any color staining her cheeks, it would be from fever. Any color would worry his heart, not cause it to beat faster.
If Lucy would open her eyes, even looking at him in anger would be better than this deep slumber.
As if she heard his wish, Lucy’s eyes opened but focused on Sarah.
“Sarah?”
“Oh, Lucy, you waked up! Now you can marry Samuel. We fixed your hair.”
“Sarah, I told you Samuel doesn’t love me; I can’t mar—” Lucy slurred her words as her eyes slid closed once more.
“But he does, Lucy, he does.” Sarah’s pleas did no good as Lucy slept on.
Samuel led Sarah away from her sister’s side. “Did Lucy ever tell you she couldn’t marry me?”
“Yes, she said you didn’t know she was alive. Which is silly, because you see she is not on the heaven roof.” Sarah rolled her eyes at him. “She said you loved someone else. That is silly because Mama and Mrs. Wilson say she loves you and you love her but you are both fools.” Sarah added a nod of agreement to her statement.
Samuel rubbed his neck. The old saying was true—little pitchers did have big ears. He pondered what she’d said. “Samuel doesn’t love me,” not “I don’t love Samuel.” Did he dare quiz Sarah? Maybe, just maybe, Lucy would forgive him someday and come to see how he loved her.
“Hello in the house!” Samuel recognized the shout from one of the twins.
