The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  “My husband does not take strong drink.” Lucy drew herself up, daring him to challenge that.

  “No, he doesn’t. But a lot of people were angry when the magistrate let him go. I thought the crowd had dispersed, or I’d never have left him to walk home alone. I’m sorry. As near as I can tell, several men jumped him and beat him in the alley.”

  Lucy steadied herself against the bedpost. “I cannot thank you enough, sir.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t like to ask it of you, you’ve been so kind, but could you fetch my mother?”

  “Of course.”

  “She may not be at home. She left this noon with Goodman Bemis. I thought she would be back ere now.”

  Murray nodded. “I shall find her. Might I leave the team here while I go? ‘Twill be faster.”

  “Of course.”

  He left her, and Lucy scrambled from bedchamber to kitchen and back several times, fetching a basin, linen, water, and salve.

  She built up the fires in both rooms and put a kettle of water on to boil over the cook fire. At last she stopped her frantic activity and stood at the bedside, looking down at Jack. He hadn’t moved since the captain laid him there. The thought came to her that he might have died while she made her preparations. Her pulse accelerated, and she held her breath as she watched anxiously until his chest rose and fell in a gasp.

  Lord, thank You!

  She set to work once more, bathing his disfigured face. His nose had bled profusely into his beard, and she surmised his nose was broken. His hands were wounded, too, she noticed. He must have tried to defend himself. She hoped he’d given the blackguards cause for regret. Her tears flowed as she saw the raw chafe marks on his wrists that could only have been caused by the manacles he wore so long.

  Jack moaned, and she rinsed her linen cloth in cool water, then continued tenderly blotting his face. His beard had protected him to some extent, she realized, but his lips were torn and bleeding. What else had they done to him?

  Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned his vest and shirt. It was the blue linsey shirt she had washed last week and taken back to him at the jail. She laid the material back and bit her lip. His left side was bruised from his chest to his waist. They must have kicked him. She put out one hand and touched the purple skin. He did not flinch but moaned. Sir Walter crowded in next to her and stuck his nose over the edge of the bed. He stayed there, his chin resting on the linen sheet.

  “Oh, Jack.” How could anyone be so cruel? Gently she probed his rib cage. “Broken ribs, I expect.” She wondered how much internal damage he had. Her mother had more experience and would tell her what was best to do, but Lucy thought she would probably recommend binding up Jack’s chest with strips of cloth. She had best find something suitable.

  Knowing the hours of labor that went into weaving a length of material, Lucy hated to see fabric torn, but her thoughts were only on her husband now. There was a chest of old clothing and linens in the loft. She would sacrifice some of Jack’s mother’s garments to bandage his wounds.

  Lucy heard the door to the outer room open, and she rushed out of the bedchamber.

  “Mother! I’m so glad you’re here.” The tears she’d held back as she worked burst forth.

  Alice gathered her into her arms and held her. “There, now. Calm yourself, daughter, and let me take a look. Has he wakened at all?”

  “Nay. I tried to spoon some broth into his mouth, but he choked and spit it back out, so I quit. I’ve washed him up, but I need to change his clothes.”

  “Was there any blood in his spittle?”

  “I don’t think so, but he’d bled a lot before he came, and it’s hard to tell what is fresh.”

  Lucy glanced toward the barred door. “Where is the captain?”

  “I sent him home to his family, but he promised he or one of his men would come around in the morning to do the barn chores.”

  “He’s been very kind.”

  Alice followed her into the bedchamber and surveyed Jack’s inert form. Her grim face made Lucy lose heart.

  “You don’t think he’ll die now, do you?” she whispered. “After all he’s been through! We’ve got to save him, Marm.”

  Alice bent over Jack and lifted one eyelid. She ran her fingertips lightly over his jaw then down to his ribs.

  “I think his right arm is broken,” Lucy said.

  “Aye. Fetch me two straight sticks of kindling. We’ll have to splint that before we roll him over.”

  “They must have beat him with a stick, or kicked him.” Lucy blinked hard.

  “Murray said there was a faction who were sure your husband was guilty, and they weren’t pleased with the judge’s ruling. They must have followed Jack from the jail, or met him on the street later.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I can’t believe the magistrate set him free, and then this happened.”

  “The captain said it’s partly due to you that Mr. Jewett freed him.”

  “Jewett,” said Lucy. “Why do I know that name?”

  “He knew your father,” Alice said, wringing out the cloth Lucy had left in the basin on a stool beside the bed. “The captain said that when the magistrate learned the accused had married Thomas Hamblin’s daughter, he began to sway toward favoring Jack and believing his tale of innocence.”

  “Because of Father?” Lucy whispered.

  “Aye. You should be proud of that. Now fetch me the sticks and some strips of linen.”

  “I’ll have to sacrifice one of Goody Hunter’s bedsheets, I fear, unless you think the remains of her mourning gown will do.”

  “Child, I don’t care what color the material be for bandages. And if we’re clever and God is merciful, you won’t be needing a widow’s weeds.”

  Lucy ran to the kitchen and sorted through the wood box for the best pair of sticks to use for splints, then climbed the ladder to the loft above the bedchamber once more. She set her pewter candlestick on the floor by the chest of old clothing and pulled out a black dress.

  She quelled the stab of guilt that hit her. It was not disloyal to use these things to benefit Jack. She dropped the dress over the edge of the loft to the kitchen floor and hurried back down the ladder.

  As she cut the skirt into narrow strips, she lifted her heart to God. Thank You, Lord, for restoring my husband to me, and for allowing my father’s good name to aid Jack, though in Father’s lifetime he had nothing good to say of the Hunters.

  When she returned to the bedchamber, Alice turned to her with a sober nod.

  “I think his legs are sound, though he has some deep bruises on them. It’s his innards I’m most worried about. I’ll splint the arm. Then we’ll turn him over. I need to see what the back of him looks like, if his spine is injured, and how extensive the bruising be.”

  “What shall I do to help?” Lucy asked.

  “For now, start a tea of willow bark for pain. He’ll need that. And a poultice. Set some leaves of comfrey to steep. Then tear more strips of cloth. Have you any yarrow?”

  “Yes, I believe some dried flowers hang in the kitchen.”

  “Good. If not, go out at daybreak and pick some. I’ve mustard with me, and flaxseed.”

  They worked side by side for nearly an hour. Lucy cringed when they rolled Jack on his side and she saw that the bruises extended around his lower back.

  “Wicked men,” Alice muttered as she applied the poultice and began to bind Jack’s ribcage with strips of linen. “No good ever comes when men usurp the law.”

  At last Jack lay, pale and still, with all his wounds tended to. Alice gently fingered his jaw. “I don’t believe any teeth are broken. Some of that blood was from his tongue, though. Likely he bit it when they struck him.”

  Lucy sank onto the stool beside the bed. “You do think he’ll recover, don’t you?”

  “What, a strong young man like this?” Alice smiled, but Lucy noted the anxious look in her eyes as she glanced back toward the patient.
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br />   “There’s never a guarantee, I know,” Lucy said.

  Alice sighed. “Well, child, you keep him clean and apply the remedies as best you can, and you pray, and you wait. That’s the method for healing a broken body. Lucy nodded. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Alice straightened and pushed her fists against the small of her back. “I believe I could use a cup of tea.”

  “Of course.”

  When she returned a few minutes later, her mother was sitting calmly on the stool, knitting. “Is there another bed?”

  Lucy handed her the steaming cup. “Nay, but there’s a straw pallet in the loft.”

  Alice sighed. “Can you bring it down by the fire in the kitchen?”

  “Surely,” said Lucy.

  “Good. We’ll rest by turns, then.”

  “You don’t have to sleep here, Mother. Your own bed would be more comfortable.”

  “So it would, but I feel my place is here, if you want me.”

  Lucy felt tears spring into her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Alice sipped her tea. “I warn you, I’m watching two women who are near their times. I could be called at any moment for a birth.”

  “I understand. I’ll drop the straw tick down from the loft. I don’t think I can sleep just now, so you should take the first rest.”

  In the predawn darkness, Lucy let the candle burn out and kept her vigil by the soft glow of the coals in the fireplace. Jack stirred only occasionally, when his hands would twitch and he would give a low groan. Lucy sat forward then and sponged his brow, whispering to him that all would be well.

  So, she thought, I am to be Mrs. Jack Hunter after all, not the Widow Hunter. What would this mean to her? How would Jack take the news? She wished she’d been in the courtroom and had been able to speak to him. Perhaps she would have an inkling of how he perceived their future.

  She leaned forward and rested her weary arms on the edge of the bed, lowering her head onto them. For four years Jack had shown not a speck of interest in her. Would he ever have proposed to her if he hadn’t thought he was about to die?

  Some time later she raised her head. Fingers of light pierced the cracks in the shutter, and she rose to lower it. Light flooded the room. One of the captain’s men would come soon. She’d better see if her mother was awake.

  She glanced toward Jack’s bed and froze. He was staring at her from beneath half-closed eyelids.

  Lucy stepped to the bedside and bent over him, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Jack? Can you hear me?”

  A frown settled between his eyebrows as he studied her. His swollen lips moved, and he blinked.

  “Lucy,” he whispered.

  Joy flooded her heart. “Welcome home, Jack.”

  Chapter 12

  Why doesn’t he waken?” Lucy asked her mother the next day.

  Alice shook her head and bound a fresh poultice over Jack’s abdomen. “He spoke to you once. That’s a good sign.”

  “But then he went back to sleep, and he hasn’t opened his eyes since,” Lucy protested.

  “Don’t fret. True, his situation is grave, but I believe he will heal in time. He had some blows to the face and a bump on the back of the head, but I can’t feel any fractures in his skull. Perhaps seeing you and realizing he’d got home was all he needed to let him rest awhile longer. This be a healing sleep.”

  Lucy tried to accept that, but she found herself questioning every little movement. Her mother was skilled, but was she skilled enough? Were the infusions and poultices they used the best remedy, or was there something better? Should she get out some coins and ask someone to send for a doctor?

  “You should sleep while you can,” her mother urged, but Lucy found it impossible to relax her tired muscles and stop worrying. What if Jack suddenly stopped breathing, and she wasn’t at his side?

  In the early afternoon, Sarah Ellis paid a call. She carried her baby girl and brought young Betsy with her.

  “I cannot stay,” she said as soon as Lucy opened the door. “I only came to bring you a bit of gingerbread and tell you my husband will come by tonight at chore time. We’re praying for you and Jack.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy seized her hand. “I appreciate all you and Samuel have done.”

  “We don’t mind. Jack has helped us plenty.” Sarah hiked her little daughter higher on her hip. “How is he faring?”

  “He’s still unconscious, but my mother hopes he will mend.”

  “If Alice says it, then it is probably true.”

  “I shan’t be able to keep school for at least a fortnight,” Lucy said.

  “I’ll spread the word. Now don’t fret. Just take care of him and mind your own health.”

  Sarah’s comforting smile cheered Lucy a little. After she’d gone, Lucy let her mother persuade her to sample the neighbor’s gingerbread.

  Goodman Woodbury came in the midafternoon to fetch Alice to attend his wife, and Lucy wondered how she would carry on alone. With her mother there, she’d felt competent, but alone? How would she know if she was doing everything she could?

  “Just keep on as we have been,” Alice said. “If he wakens, give him some broth and tell him all is well.”

  “You said he needs more liquids, and it’s so warm today. What if he won’t drink?”

  Alice frowned as she gathered her basket, shawl, and packets of herbs. “The sooner you can get him to take a little water the better. Wet his lips with a clean cloth now and then. Just do your best, child. I’ll return when I’m able.”

  At sunset there was a rap on the door, and Lucy opened it to Goodman Ellis.

  “Good evening. How is Jack?”

  “About the same,” she said. “Thank you for coming, sir.”

  Samuel shrugged. “I was going to milk your cow, but I see it’s been done.”

  “What?” Lucy stared past him toward the barn. “I haven’t milked her this evening.”

  “Is it possible someone has been here before me?”

  “I didn’t hear anyone.”

  He frowned. “The calf, then?”

  “Nay. I took the calf off her near a month ago.” Lucy stepped outside and looked toward the pasture. The calf stood grazing among the sheep. “Where is Tryphenia?”

  “In the barn.”

  “I didn’t put her there. And I doubt my mother went out to the barn before she was called away.”

  “This be strange,” Ellis said.

  Lucy looked up at him. “It’s not the first time,” she admitted.

  “Oh?”

  “Sometimes it seemed the cow gave only a scant bit of milk in the morning, and a few times I’ve found no eggs. The chickens usually give six to eight eggs a day, but some days there are none.”

  “Perhaps a skunk got at them in the night.”

  “And once I thought the barn door was off the latch.”

  Ellis looked toward the barn. “I’ll check the premises, just to make sure things are secure.”

  She went inside and sat by Jack, waiting for Samuel to report to her. She hoped nothing was amiss, for her hands were full with her injured husband. She couldn’t think about prowlers and petty thievery.

  When he came back, he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ve found nothing untoward, Goody Hunter. All your stock is bedded down for the night. I’m sorry there was no milk for you.”

  Lucy waved her hand in dismissal. “She gives more than I can use most days.”

  “We’ll be making cheese next week,” Ellis said. “Sarah mentioned that I should send you a piece of rennet, if you wish to make cheese yourself.”

  “I’m not sure yet how my husband will be, but if I can spare the time, I’d like that.”

  “Well, if your cow gives plenty of milk, it might be better if I carried it home and my wife made a cheese for you.”

  “Oh, I can’t ask her to do that. She has her hands full with all the children.”

  Ellis smiled. “One more cheese won’t matter. But I’ll ask her if she’s up to it.”<
br />
  “Wait here,” Lucy said. She climbed the ladder to the loft and picked up a small pile of folded cloth from beside the hand loom.

  “These be for Sarah,” she said when she came back down to the kitchen. “I was working on them last week. I wanted to have a full dozen to present to her, but I’ve only seven finished, and I mightn’t have time for a while, but she should have them now, and …” She stopped, realizing she was rambling. “They’re clouts for the baby. Linsey-woolsey, but I used more wool than flax, to make them soft.”

  Ellis smiled, and when he spoke, his voice was husky. “ ‘Tis a splendid gift, and much needed. The little one seems to need changing every minute. Thank you.”

  “I wish we could grow cotton here. Babies need soft material against their skin. But it’s so expensive.”

  He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

  “No need. Captain Murray has arranged for one of the militia men to come every morning until I tell the captain we don’t need them any longer.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “That’s fine. I’ll just continue the evening chores then.”

  “I’m grateful there are so many who are willing to help. It means that not everyone thinks my husband a monster.”

  “I know Jack better than that,” Ellis said.

  “Hearing you say it warms my heart.”

  “Aye, well, I’ll say it to any who will listen. Jack Hunter is no murderer.”

  Jack slept on. Lucy turned him onto his side twice, and every hour she put a wet rag to his lips and squeezed a few drops into his mouth, but other than that she let him be. Jack stirred and moaned occasionally, but for the most part he slumbered. She kept her watch with waning hope that he would awaken. Dear husband, she cried in her heart. You mustn’t leave me, now that we are together at last!

  That evening she dragged the straw pallet into the bedchamber and lay down on it. She was so weary she could barely keep her eyes open, but she didn’t want to miss hearing him if he wakened and called out. The dog slunk in after she blew out the candle and nestled down on the edge of the pallet. Lucy thought about making him leave but instead reached out and caressed his back.