Waking Lucy

by Lorin Grace

  “Stay with Lucy.” The command was unnecessary. Samuel grabbed his coat and hurried out.

  Both boys stood several yards from the house.

  “Ma and Pa said to expect them about noon,” John yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth.

  “Ma sent some food in the basket there.” Joe pointed to a basket Samuel hadn’t noticed on the porch. “Also your go-to-meeting clothes.”

  “Samuel’s getting married today! No, no, oh, so, no. Oh, oh, poor Samuel. Ooooo!” they sang in unison. Samuel groaned. He thought he’d erased the tune from his head.

  “No, John, we got it wrong! No, no, oh, so, no. Oh, oh, poor Lucy!” The teens’ laughter filled the air as they disappeared between the barn doors.

  Noticing the steaming caldron, Samuel retrieved the bundle of soiled bedding from behind the house. He tried not to examine the bundle too closely as he used the long paddle to stir the laundry. The Mardens, like most neighbors, had built an outside fire pit with a windbreak where laundry could be boiled, soap made, and lard rendered, along with all the other smelly jobs he’d detested helping with as a youth. Before returning to the cabin, he yelled at Joe, or possibly John, to give the vat an occasional stir and to let the hot water do most of the work.

  Inside, he hung his coat and glanced at the mantel clock. Ten. Two more hours and he would be a married man. Shaking his head in disbelief, he watched at his sleeping bride-to-be. No, no, oh, so, no. Oh, oh, poor Lucy. Indeed.

  “Samuel? Lucy is really hot.” Sarah’s worried face turned up at him expectantly.

  Samuel placed his hand on Lucy’s brow. Her fever had returned.

  He retrieved a bucket of snow, which he used to cool Lucy’s face and arms.

  “You should do her legs too. That’s what Lucy did to Ben,” Sarah shared.

  Samuel nodded. Even though he had done the same during the night by the dim light of the fire, to do so in the light of day with Sarah watching made him squirm uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lucy… it must be done.” He tried to concentrate on the benefits of the cooling snow. By daylight, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the magnificent curve of Lucy’s calf and delicate ankles.

  “Think like a doctor,” he muttered under his breath, trying to banish such thoughts. He concentrated on bathing Lucy’s face and her arms, cursing the part of his brain that again filled with thoughts of how nice it would be to fully take Lucy as his bride. Doctors didn’t think like that, but, then, doctors generally didn’t marry their patients either.

  As she had last night, Lucy started to mutter and moan in indecipherable sentences.

  “Oh, it is one of Lucy’s bad dreams,” piped Sarah.

  Samuel raised one eyebrow as Sarah explained.

  “Sometimes Lucy has bad dreams and she yells. Mama would sing to her. Should I sing to her?”

  Samuel nodded.

  Sarah began to sing, her sweet voice filling the room. “‘Lavender’s blue, diddle diddle, Lavender’s green, When I am king, diddle diddle, You shall be queen. Lavender’s green, diddle diddle, Lavender’s blue, You must love me, diddle diddle, ’Cause I love you.’”

  Samuel choked on his own breath. A love song with several bawdy verses, and lavender—the fragrance he’d always associated with Lucy. Even mingled with the smells of the sickroom he could still make out its sweet fragrance. Sarah didn’t seem to know the racier verses, a small mercy in Samuel’s mind. He imagined sharing kisses and more with Lucy in the shade of a tree. The thoughts made his heart race. He’d often heard the drinking song sung in Boston’s taverns, and though Sarah wasn’t aware of the fabled lovers’ tryst, he was. Now he pictured Lucy as his queen. Valiantly he tried to not imagine acting out the song with his soon-to-be wife. But he couldn’t help himself as he thought about how there was a perfect little vale near the stream on the Marden property where wild lavender grew. He attempted to cool his thoughts as he used more snow to cool the fever.

  “Down in the vale, diddle diddle, Where flowers grow, And the birds sing, diddle diddle, All in a row. Lavender’s green, diddle diddle, Lavender’s blue, You must love me, diddle diddle, ‘Cause I love you.” Sarah’s voice faltered on notes.

  As his agitation over the song grew, Lucy began to calm with Sarah’s singing. Her muttering stilled. Mercifully, Sarah stopped singing. Samuel dipped the cloth again and noticed Lucy was starting to shiver. Quickly he pulled the quilt over her. Had he cooled her too much?

  Please, God, let her live… at least long enough to… to what? In his mind he pictured Lucy singing to her own daughter, Sarah helping her. Yes, he wanted Lucy to live long enough to have a family and long enough to love him. Would that God grant him such a boon?

  Voices drifted in through the closed windows, and he glanced at the clock. Both hands stood at attention. Noon. They’d worked for more than an hour to bring Lucy’s fever down. He rubbed the back of his neck. How would this work? Could he risk wrapping Lucy in a blanket and taking her to the doorway? Ma had said something about Sarah being a proxy. Samuel dismissed the idea. Better to let everyone know Lucy was alive. A quilt should suffice to keep her warm and covered if they were quick. For once, would Reverend Woods be succinct?

  “Company is here,” announced Sarah.

  Nine

  “Remember what I said about not hugging my ma?”

  Sarah nodded and took her cloak from Samuel’s outstretched hand.

  As he expected, his parents, younger brothers Daniel and Mark, and Reverend Woods were in the wagon-turned-sleigh, its wheels replaced by runners. He nodded to each and noticed there were more men on horseback behind the sleigh, among them his older brother Thomas Jr. and his sister Carrie’s husband, Paul. Since both lived east of town, he knew Ma had been busy spreading the word. He recognized four other men from church. One was Elizabeth’s older brother, and two were the husbands of notorious gossips. He was sure they were sent as informants. He was surprised to see George Laurier. Once Lucy’s friend, the two had not spoken since she had slapped him for trying to steal a kiss. Samuel suspected he’d come for Lucy’s sake.

  “How is Lucy?” Emma asked.

  “Still holding her own,” Samuel said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to share the details with the entire group.

  “She scared me.” Sarah piped up from beside him. Samuel rolled his eyes. So much for avoiding details. “She got all hot and then cold, just like Ben did. It took us forever to cool her off. And she ruined her pretty hair that Samuel brushed out for the wedding.” Samuel placed his hand on Sarah’s shoulder, hoping she would stop speaking. Emma smiled and nodded her acknowledgment. That nod seemed to be enough to stop Sarah. Samuel filed that bit of parenting wisdom away for future use. Maybe showing he was listening was all the little chatterbox needed to end her prattle.

  The family climbed out of the wagon, and Emma herded the boys off to the barn.

  Reverend Woods, dressed from hat to shoes in black, was as grim as ever. He addressed Samuel from the wagon bed, where he remained sitting ramrod straight, as if he were one of the several shovels lying next to him. “Samuel, your parents told me of your choice to care for Miss Simms despite the lack of a proper chaperone.”

  Sarah stood on her toes, making herself as tall as possible, and cleared her throat several times. “Thank you, Miss Sarah, for doing your best to help too,” the reverend kindly noted. “I agree with your father. The proper step is to wed so both your reputations remain spotless. Since your intentions were posted several months ago, I can officiate. However, the lack of… shall I say, progress… in your relationship these past few weeks has made me wonder if matrimony is right for you. My other option is to allow the magistrate to fine you for fornication… so a marriage it will be.”

  Samuel glanced at the rest of the men. All seemed preoccupied with tying their horses, but he knew they were hanging on eve
ry word, filing it all away to be reported verbatim later.

  “Since today is a fair day and the snow is melting, these good men volunteered to come and dig the graves.” The reverend gestured to the eavesdropping men.

  That is not why they volunteered, and you know it. Samuel did not let the sarcastic words cross his lips. He didn’t need to. His crossed arms and let his glower say it for him.

  “If you don’t mind, we will take care of the burial first. Funerals before weddings, I always say.” The minister turned and directed the men to the hill where the Marden’s family plot lay.

  Emma took a step forward. “Samuel, I brought some more things for you. I’ll have the boys put them on the porch. And, Miss Sarah, I brought a little cake for after the wedding, for you and your new brother Samuel to share.” Emma placed particular emphasis on the word after, but not so much on share.

  Sarah clapped her mittened hands for joy. Samuel’s gentle hand on her shoulder restrained her from running to Mrs. Wilson. “I wanna hug you, but I will save it for when the quart-er-tine is gone and Samuel says I can.” There was no mistaking the sincerity of the promise.

  “Samuel, may I speak with you privately?” Emma nodded her head in Sarah’s direction.

  Samuel bent to look Sarah in the eye. “I need you to watch Lucy for a moment.”

  “I’ll yell if I need you again.” Sarah rushed back into the cabin, her hair bouncing with her excitement.

  Samuel gestured toward the side of the house, where the laundry still soaked in the cauldron.

  “Are you ready to do this, son?”

  Samuel rubbed his neck, shook his head, nodded, and finally shrugged. “Ma, I am sure I want to marry her, but I am worried about Lucy’s reaction.”

  Momentarily distracted, Emma peered into the huge pot. “What is this?” Steam still curled from the top, though the fire had burned down to just embers.

  Samuel groaned. He had not been able to get back out to move the bedding. Not something he wanted others to witness.

  “Oh, it’s the bedding to Mrs. Marden’s bed. Lucy hid it in the bedroom. I figured I’d better wash it up.”

  “Samuel, you are not—?” Emma didn’t finish the question, but the blush on her cheeks let him know the direction of her thoughts.

  “No, Ma! Not—not until Lucy agrees.” The heat rising in his face was not from the steaming linens. “Anna delivered a baby boy before she died. I didn’t want the bedclothes sitting around.” The odor of blood was going to cause me to faint.

  Emma nodded.

  He picked up the paddle to stir the linens. There was no real way to express his thoughts about what Lucy had endured.

  Emma reached for the paddle. “I’ll finish these. They will need to be hung and ironed.” Emma stirred the cooling laundry, lifting it and inspecting the sheets. She clucked her tongue. “You were never any good helping with laundry, never scrubbed long enough. I’ll ask your father to bring over a bale of sweet straw I was saving. The ticking on James and Anna’s bed probably needs changing too.”

  “I’ll get the ticking and empty it.”

  Emma put up her hand.

  “Not today, son.” She nodded toward the hill. “We don’t need those men going and telling their wives any more tales. In fact, I am better off bundling these up in one of the baskets and finishing them at home. Most of the men here wouldn’t think bedsheets hanging out on the sunniest day in weeks as unusual. But if childbirth left a stain that hadn’t washed out—” The uncompleted thought hung uncomfortably in the air.

  “Oy.” Samuel reddened again. There was no use adding imagined problems to those already existing.

  Thump! The boys dropped a crate on the porch. Emma winced at the sound. “Your brothers put everything on the porch. I sent your good clothes over earlier. Go on and hurry now. I won’t have one of my boys getting married in his everyday work clothes.” Emma clucked at him.

  Samuel wondered if she thought the greatest travesty of the day was his clothing. Lucy would not know what he wore. She was in her shift! But he supposed he should make the effort to dress as presentable as he would were she able to stand beside him.

  Samuel gathered several items in his arms, including a new yellow-and-blue star quilt. He fingered the corner. When had she made it? He knew the pattern’s name because he’d admired the one she’d made for Thomas Jr.’s wedding and received a discourse on the name and pattern for his comment.

  “Samuel,” Emma called. “Save the quilt till—well, until you are married.” This time Emma blushed a bit.

  A few things? His mother needed a new definition of “a few,” thought Samuel as he made his fourth trip into the house. There was his trunk, a smaller one he didn’t recognize, a crate of linens, and the new quilt. Not to mention the daily basket of food. The little frosted cake promised Sarah sat on top, wedged in between several small loaves of bread.

  He set the coveted dessert in the center of the table. Sarah left Lucy’s side to inspect it. She gave Samuel a hopeful smile. When he shook his head, she returned to Lucy.

  He hoisted his trunk up the stairs, intent on using Ben’s room as his for the time being. He placed the new linens and quilt in the corner of the big bedroom. He thought it best to let Lucy decide when to use them. The little trunk was tagged with Lucy’s name. He put it in her parents’ room too.

  Lucy slept peacefully as Sarah rocked next to her whispering to her doll about the cake. She promised the doll her very own piece. Samuel wondered if he should indulge her this one time. Two pieces of cake shouldn’t give her a tummy ache if he sliced them both thin. He smiled. Sarah’s joy was contagious.

  Samuel left her in the rocking chair and took the opportunity to run up to Ben’s room to change into his Sunday clothes.

  He was just straightening his collar when someone knocked on the door below.

  Samuel rushed down and opened it to find his father and Reverend Woods standing at the edge of the porch.

  “The grave is dug. We are going to get them off the roof now.” His father’s gaze drifted to the ropes tied to the post.

  “Your mother thinks it best if you and Sarah come up while I say a few words.” From his tone, it was clear the minister did not agree. While he encouraged children to attend church, he didn’t approve of children at funerals.

  “Ma knows you don’t want to leave Lucy. She asked Joe to stand here by the window. If he hears anything, he will send John running.” Thomas indicated the bench near the door.

  Samuel considered for a moment “What of the quarantine?”

  “Just stay on the downhill side, and we should be far enough away.” Samuel nodded. Sarah should see the blankets holding her family in the ground and not just disappear from the roof.

  “I’ll get Sarah ready.”

  Thomas nodded. “We will get them down now.” He stepped to the ropes. Samuel shut the door but quickly opened it again.

  “Pa, one of those ropes was the guide rope to the barn. Will you make sure Joe puts it back up? The ring is to the left of the barn door.”

  Thomas nodded and continued to work on the knotted ropes.

  Samuel closed the door. He knelt on one knee in front of Sarah and did his best to block out the sounds coming from the roof above them.

  “The men finished digging the grave on the hill. Reverend Woods is going to give your folks and Ben a proper burial. You are a big girl now, and the minister says you can come. We won’t stand near the rest of the people. Let’s get your cloak and scarf and walk up together.”

  Sarah nodded and glanced at Lucy. “Lucy?”

  “Joe will stay outside listening for her. We won’t be gone long.”

  Sarah slipped into her sister’s room and patted Lucy on the arm before disappearing upstairs.

  Samuel sat in t
he rocker Sarah had vacated.

  “Lucy, we are going to do the funeral before we have our wedding. I won’t be long. If you were awake, I would carry you up the hill so you could be there too. I am so sorry, sweetheart.” As he brushed the hair away from her face, it tangled around his fingers. They’d brushed it out too soon. He wasn’t sure there would be time to do it again between the funeral and the wedding. His finger caught in a tangle. He vowed he would make time even if the wedding party stood in the yard waiting. It was the one thing he could do for Lucy on her wedding day.

  Sarah reappeared with a small round river rock, a pinecone, and a bit of flowered cloth cupped in her hands. Samuel raised his brow.

  Sarah gave him one of her long-suffering looks, telling him it should be obvious what she was doing. “For their graves. Flowers for Mama—but I don’t have real flower so I took dolly’s blanket—a rock for Papa’s collection, and a pinecone for Ben.”

  Once she explained, he knew she was right. It should have been obvious.

  Another knock. “It’s time, son!” echoed through the door.

  Samuel buttoned Sarah’s cloak, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and poured her treasures into her mittened hands.

  Halfway up the hill, he swung Sarah into his arms as much to help Sarah over the snow as to give him something to hold. His heart ached for the woman lying in the cabin.

  Reverend Woods kept his remarks brief as he stood over the single grave holding the three quilted cocoons. There had not been time for coffins. The quilts would be the final shrouds for the four Mardens. Either Reverend Woods was unaware or had been warned by Emma as the sole mention of the baby was a reference to “James, Anna, and their sons.” The plural was probably missed by others, who didn’t know of the baby’s birth.

  In the spring, Samuel would order a proper headstone with all four names. By the time Sarah could read it, Lucy would be able to tell the story of their baby brother.