by Diane Guest
Susannah and the Meades had tried to reassure her that her parents were safe. After all, they had at the very least a fifteen-acre clearing. Maybe more. But even as they had spoken, Susannah knew that to try to make the girl unafraid was a futile effort at best. She couldn't blame her. Everyone was nervous these days. Jenny would just have to get used to it. They all would.
Matthew had gone to bed right after dinner without so much as a backward glance. He was tired. He was also delirious at the thought that Boy was really his to keep. Like it or not, Sylvanus Morgan, Susannah thought, that was a kind thing you did today.
"Do you think they're safe?" Jenny asked Mame.
"Of course they are." Mame got up to clear the dishes away. "Now you listen to me, young lady. I've lived in these woods for longer than I care to remember. Me and my mister beat many a fire away from the door, and that was when we were a good deal closer to the trees than your folks are. Your father ain't no fool, Jenny. He knows to take precautions. You don't live in them woods for long and not learn something, you know."
Jenny looked a shade more at ease.
"All they have to do," Mame went on, "if things get hot, is to go out to the middle of that big clearing they've got and stay put until the fire passes over. If it comes their way at all. You never know about fires. Fickle, they are. Burn one direction one time, another the next. Best you can say about 'em is that they don't play no favorites."
"I just wish I knew for certain that they're all right," Jenny said.
"There's not much in this life we know for certain." Mame sat down and began to tell Jenny about the fire they had survived two years ago, she and the mister.
Susannah drifted off. Could it be that only three days had passed since Edwin began this nightmare? God, she thought, it seems like years. Yesterday, Edwin had slept the whole time she had been with him except for the few minutes just before she left the room, when he had opened his eyes and said, "Give me the scissors."
"What?" She must remember not to ask him to repeat himself any more. Whenever she did, it seemed to her that he said something outrageous.
He had frowned. "You heard me, you fool. Give me the scissors." Then the tone of his voice had changed. "Never mind, my dear. I'm sure you have me tied here for my own good. Isn't that so, my dearest wife? For the good of dear, dear Edwin?"
She had some dangerously close to falling down in a heap. She had left the room without a backward glance, and once outside she had stopped to catch her breath. I am going to scream, she had thought. I am going to scream, Edwin, and then I am going to strangle you for trying to frighten me so.
She had wanted to talk to John about it, but then he was there just outside Edwin's room and he had told her about Bertha Shepherd, and in comparison it had seemed so trivial.
But it didn't seem trivial now. It was almost time for her to relieve Abby.
I hope he sleeps the whole time, she thought. Please God, let him sleep. Don't make me face more of this absurdity.
Her prayer went unanswered. "Well?" he said as she came into the room. "How do you feel, Edwin?" Why do I have to be here, she wondered, when I hate it so? "Liar."
She didn't know what to say so she said nothing, "You'll never get away with this." His eyes glazed over and a look of undisguised disgust passed across his face. "Why don't you get out of here?"
"Someone has to be with you, Edwin," she said quietly. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Drink this," she said, holding the cup to his lips. He clenched his teeth together. "Edwin, you must have water. John said that it's essential."
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Why do you lie? Do you think me a fool?"
"I 'm not lying. John said that you must not become dehydrated."
"John. John. John. I'm not talking about John." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm asking you."
"What?" Why did you ask him, she thought. Now he's going to say something outrageous.
"Do you think I don't know what's going on? You've always been a fool, Susannah. And you still are. And worse than that."
She was silent.
"I won't forget."
She stood watching him twist the coverlet in his hand.
"I think I'll go," he said.
"Go?"
"And don't ask again, you stupid."
I won't, she thought, and turned away. You needn't worry, Edwin. I won't. She waited by the window for what seemed to her an eternity. I've got to give him water, she thought. He'll die if he doesn't drink some. She walked back to the bed and said, "Edwin. Won't you please drink a little?"
His look was guarded. Wary. "Is it clean?"
"Of course it's clean."
"It wasn't before."
Don't ask what he means, she warned herself, and, lifting his head, she poured a bit of liquid into his mouth.
"When are we going?" he asked.
"We aren't going anywhere, Edwin."
"Liar."
Susannah didn't answer. She sat down in her chair. I don't like this, she thought. Not one bit. I don't know what he's capable of. I've never walked this path before and I don't know what is going to happen. Nobody does. Except maybe Edwin.
She began to pray, not in the easy, informal way that had become her habit as an adult, but in the rigid, formal style that she had been taught as a child. "Dear God," she prayed, "look on me, Your child, and be merciful. Make Edwin well. Make him sound in mind and body." She paused, looking out at the red-orange sky. "But if that is not Your Will…"she swallowed, scarcely believing her own prayer "… then take him from us. Don't let him live. If he is insane, don't let him live."
OCTOBER 3, 1871
How she managed to last through the school day was a mystery to her. Her children had arrived from Morgan House on time for the morning session, but it was mid-afternoon before she had a chance to talk to Hester. "How did it go?" she asked, hugging her daughter as if she hadn't seen her in months.
"It was fine, Momma," Hester said. "You needn't worry. Mrs. Deidrick is very kind."
"What about Mrs. Morgan?"
"We only saw her for an instant."
"Oh?"
"Yes. She came in while we were having supper in the kitchen. We ate with the McCormicks. That's Mr. Morgan's foreman and his family."
"I know. Did she speak to you?"
"Who?"
"Mrs. Morgan."
"No. She just looked in and said something to Mrs. Deidrick and then she left."
Susannah was relieved. Perhaps Caroline Morgan intended to ignore the children, which was just as well as far as Susannah was concerned.
"Did everyone behave himself?"
"Yes." She paused. "Except that Aaron cried. Before he went to bed. Ethan came and got me, and I told him stories and scratched his back until he fell asleep."
Susannah smiled to herself. Aaron certainly hadn't looked any the worse for wear a few minutes ago when he tore out the door and headed for the stable, nor had he lingered for more than a quick hug from her. "Bedtime is always the toughest, Hester. For all of us." She turned away, remembering the night before with Edwin.
"How is Father?"
She must have been reading my mind, thought Susannah. "Just about the same, "she said. "It's going to take time."
"Momma?"
"What?"
"Is he mad?"
Susannah almost jumped out of her skin. The word bounced off the walls and flew in her face. "What in the world makes you ask a question like that?"
Hester flushed. "I'm sorry. I guess I just wasn't thinking."
Susannah looked hard at her daughter. Tell her the truth, she told herself. She's old enough to know what's going on. But is she? Is anyone old enough to know about this? "Don't be sorry, Hester. You had every . right to ask the question. I'm sorry because I don't have the answer. We don't know what your father's condition is, really."
"It's just that he says things that are so strange."
"I know." Mother and daughter sat quietly for a minute.
"Momma?"
"Yes."
"Are you afraid?"
"No. Not afraid. At least not yet."
"Isn't that why you sent us with Mr. Morgan?"
"Yes. But I'm not afraid of your father, Hester. I just don't want you children to be exposed to any more of this than you have to."
"He can't hurt you, can he? Father, I mean?"
"No, Hester, he can't." Brave Susannah.
"I 'm sure it will turn out all right." Hester spoke in a tone that was trying all at once to be so sensible, so adult, so confident, that Susannah had to smile.
"I'm sure it will," she said.
"Momma?"
"What?"
"Don't worry about the boys. I'll take care of them for you." She said it softly.
"Thank you, Hester. That's what counts the most in all of this."
The chicken soup boiled over on the stove, bringing them both to their feet. "Look at this mess," Susannah said.
"I'll clean it up for you, Momma. You go out and see the boys before Mr. Morgan gets here."
"Mr. Morgan?"
"Yes. He said he'd pick us up before dusk." Hester began to clean up the stove top, and Susannah wiped her hands on her apron and went outside to find Ethan and Aaron.
They were in the stable with Sylvanus Morgan, who was instructing Matthew in the proper methods of grooming Boy. "If you're going to keep him," he was saying, "you're going to have to take proper care to see that he's kept in shape. He's no nag, you know."
Matthew nodded.
At the sound of the door opening, they all turned. "Well," Sylvanus said but he didn't move toward her, "do they all pass the test, having spent an entire night away from you?"
She nodded.
"You mean they all appear to be in reasonably good health, in spite of the long separation?"
"Don't make fun of me," she said. "You may think I'm a fool but that's the way it is."
"I don't think you're a fool." He crossed and stood beside her. "A little overprotective, perhaps, but certainly not a fool."
Susannah dropped a mock curtsy. "Thank you. My day is complete."
They walked out of the stable and crossed the yard, leaving the boys to clean up after the animals.
"I wish you hadn't gone to the trouble of coming to pick them up," Susannah said. "I would have felt much better had I managed to get them up to Morgan House myself."
"It was no trouble. I was at the mill all day. And I do have to go home sometime—even if I don't always want to."
Susannah didn't ask why. Instead, she glanced at the shadows that were stretching themselves into late afternoon across her dry, last-summer's garden. Where did it go, she wondered, all the promise that had been spring?
Not speaking, they walked together around the side of the house and Susannah's mind was so consumed with thoughts about what to say to him that she quite forgot her wash line, strung up to dry in the sun, hidden by the corner of the house. Before she realized it, she was tangled in wet undergarments of every size and description. She felt the color rush to her cheeks as she struggled to free herself.
Sylvanus stood for a minute watching in amusement, and then he helped her remove the pair of Mame's drawers from around her neck. "Good heavens, madam" he said, laughing, "this is quite a trap you have here. What were you hoping to catch?"
For a minute in her embarrassment Susannah couldn't speak, but then her own sense of the ridiculous began to bubble up inside her and she put her arms around herself and began to laugh at what had been the funniest thing that had happened to her in a long, long time.
For Sylvanus, watching her, it was as if someone had thrown open the curtains in a pitch-dark room to let in the noonday sun. Her laughter and his wonder at it came together and he stood, absorbing her delight until she finally stopped.
"I'm sorry," she said, trying to regain her composure. "It just felt so good to laugh like that."
He said nothing, but took her arm and led her back around the house and into the empty kitchen.
"The children will be ready in a minute," she said, and wondered if he was impatient to be away from her. He gave no indication one way or the other.
She called to the children and then they sat at the table, he across from her. She began to trace imaginary patterns of the worn wood with the tip of her finger. Neither spoke and Susannah had a flash that if she said nothing it wouldn't matter to him, that they would both continue to sit in silence until the children were ready to go.
She wanted to talk to him but she didn't know what to say, and then she threw caution to the winds and began to tell him about everyday things, commonplace nothings, about the people they both knew, about those they didn't.
He kept his eyes fixed on her, saying little but nodding his head from time to time. When he finally spoke, he had the singular experience of knowing that she was absorbing all that he said, and that with one or two phrases, she was echoing back to him the thought's he usually kept to himself.
But a faint air of constraint held them back. Although they talked together simply, they both held themselves in reserve—she because she was unsure of how he felt about her, he because he felt himself becoming involved with something he feared, something he wanted no part of.
"How is your husband?" he asked suddenly.
"The same."
"You're frightened."
"No. Just uncertain."
Without warning, he reached across the table and took her hand. "Poor little fingers, "he said. "Why do you bite them so viciously?" A faint, sweet longing passed through her and was gone before she knew she felt it.
"They like it," she said. "I can even feel them grow, so I'm always alert if they get the slightest bit long."
He smiled. "I can tell that you don't neglect them." He could see the tender curve of her cheeks grow faintly pink and he drew in a sharp breath. This is absurd, he thought. I must be catching something from Edwin Snell. He let her hand go and stood. "I want to get up to Morgan House before it gets dark." His voice was suddenly remote.
I don't understand, Susannah thought. What did I do? "I'll get the children," she said, but he was already out the door.
"Children," she called. For one moment she had felt so irrationally happy, thinking that he liked her, and now she felt as if he had slapped her across the face. You're becoming too involved with this man, she told herself. And what's worse, he doesn't care about you. Not one bit.
Edwin lay without moving, watching Abigail, who sat reading by the window. He had known she was there from the first, even before he had opened his eyes. One of them was always there, keeping him suffering, prisoner in this bed, prisoner under this skin, prisoner in this brain.
She's doing it, he thought. My beloved wife. Do you, Edwin, take this woman? He twisted the covers, feeling the sweat roll down his arms. Why is it always under my skin? he thought. Why doesn't it come out? Why doesn't the sweat come out? He was uncomfortable now, but he knew that he couldn't move. The ropes were too tight.
She'll pay, he thought. She thinks if she keeps me here, it won't come. But it will. And then she'll be punished. They all will. All I have to do is wait. They can't keep me here forever.
Bitch. It sounded like magic. He tried it again and the same wave of shivers touched his body. He ran the word over and over in his mind. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Just wait. He smiled.
"Edwin? Are you awake?" Abigail's voice.
Back-stabber. Brutus. I brought you here, took care of you when you had no one else. And this is how I am rewarded. You'll pay, too. Oh, yes you will. He closed his eyes tight. She can't find me now. And he curled up behind his eyes and laughed and laughed and laughed.
"This smoke is suffocating," Hester choked.
Sylvanus urged the horses forward. "It is worse here," he agreed, "but if you think about it, you can't get a breath of fresh air anywhere, anymore. I've almost forgotten what it smells like."
"Me, too," Ethan said, holding both hands straight
out in front of him to catch the flakes of ash that sifted down through the trees.
Sylvanus reined in the horses as they approached the small bridge that crossed the upper creek. Satisfied that the timbers were still sound, he made a mental note to send a crew down the next day to make sure it was safe.
They had just crossed over when a huge pine, wrapped in flame, crashed down behind them, showering them with sparks and burning embers.
"Yeow," Aaron shrieked. "I'm on fire!"
Sylvanus was powerless to do anything but control the frightened horses. "Quick," he yelled to Hester. "Wrap him in the blanket."
"It's all right, Mr. Morgan," Aaron said, biting back his tears. He brushed his arm. "It was only a spark."
Jesus, Sylvanus thought, the old nerves can't take many more trips like this. As they pulled up in front of the house, they were held spellbound for a minute by the sight of the sky to the south, blood-red streaking to copper. Sylvanus judged the fire to be ten, maybe fifteen miles away but, unless the wind picked up, no immediate threat.
"Come on, boys and girls," he said. "Let's see what Mrs. Deidrick has concocted to fill our empty stomachs."
With one last glance at the livid sky, they walked into the front hall. Caroline was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. Without so much as a nod to the children, she said, "Do you suppose you might spare me a minute of your time?"
Sylvanus herded the children toward the kitchen. "Go see what Mrs. Deidrick is up to," he said, and turned back to Caroline. "Well? What is it?"
"How long are these children going to be here?"
"I don't know. Until their mother decides to take them home."
"Who is this woman who feels free to invade my privacy?" Her voice was calm, but there was an indefinite line around her mouth that only appeared when she was displeased.
"You know who she is, Caroline. What can it possibly matter in any case?"
