What Heals the Heart

by Karen A. Wyle

  He thought he could feel the youth’s blank stare at his back as he rode away.

  Only as Joshua struggled to stay on the mare’s back did he realize that he had eaten nothing all day, and that it was past noon. If he had been less exhausted, and less shaken, he would have stopped at the saloon for a sandwich. Instead, he dragged himself up the stairs to his rooms, sat down to remove his boots, and looked at the bed he had abandoned what seemed like half a year ago.

  He was still staring when a knock, a soft one this time, roused him. He hauled himself to his feet and shuffled to the door in his stockings. It was Freida, holding one of her pots, and Major whining at her feet, then tangled up in Joshua’s feet, rubbing against his legs, tail drooping. Joshua dragged his gaze back up to Freida, who said in her usual rush, “I saw you come in, so tired, I thought you might have been too busy to eat, you should have some soup, beef and potatoes, some carrots, some onions. May I come in?”

  He stepped back wordlessly and let her set the pot on the table, find a bowl, fill it. He fell into a chair and stared at the bowl until a spoon landed beside it. With an effort like lifting an anvil, he picked up the spoon and ladled some soup into his mouth.

  He looked up at Freida long enough to see the motherly concern on her face and then dropped his eyes back to the bowl. He kept eating, with a stubborn determination like something in a dream, until he heard the door open and close again. There was still some soup in the bowl. He set it on the floor for Major, let his head fall into his hands, and sobbed like a broken-hearted child. Or like a young man, barely more than a boy, waking up with only half a leg.

  Chapter 21

  It took four days, longer than Joshua had expected, for the news to spread. Maybe the Barlow family had been too busy tending the young man to come into town, or hadn’t needed anything enough to take them from his side. And Clara Brook — he hadn’t seen her since he left her leaning against her brother, but even if she had come into town, he doubted she would have said a word about the job they had had to do together.

  He went out to the farm twice during that time. His patient had not, so far, shown signs of infection, a stroke of luck Joshua had hardly dared to hope for. And whatever Tom’s reaction had been at first, he met Joshua’s return with resignation. He had little to say, but did volunteer, as Joshua was leaving after the first visit, “I don’t blame you, Doc. You did what you had to.” Which was almost worse than blame would have been.

  Joshua attempted to comfort his patient, or himself, by telling him about the modern prosthetic limbs available. “You’ll be able to walk on it just about like a regular leg, with practice.” The lad at least affected to believe him.

  After those four days, as word got around, people started making their comments. From most, it was a quiet word about how that was a hard thing he’d had to do. A few of them had said what a shame it was, for a young man to be crippled, and not even in the war. A couple had started to say something about whether there might have been some other way — but his freezing glare cut such speculations short.

  The veterans understood best. It would be a rare man who came through the war without seeing the piles of severed limbs, or a fellow soldier learning to use crutches as he left for home.

  Meanwhile, Joshua had his other patients to see. He found himself driven to prayer, after all, pleading for a respite, as long a time as he could have before the next maimed man or dying woman. And whether due to the prayers or no, the woman whose husband had come for him from Rushing, that town’s doctor being away, needed little more than some time over steaming hot water with pine oil to get her breathing easier.

  By the time he left, the sky was darkening well before its expected hour. Alton, sticking his head out of the schoolhouse, invited him in to wait the weather out, but Joshua had his mind set on home and his own easy chair. And while Major could find shelter if necessary, the dog would be more comfortable indoors by the fire. He pushed Nellie-girl as hard as he could to beat the storm.

  He almost made it. He was less than two miles from the edge of town when the sky opened up on him, pelting him first with gouts of cold water and then with wind-driven sleet. He had trouble seeing his way, only Nellie-girl’s horse sense saving them from riding into first an ice-burdened tree, and then an abandoned and ruinous shed. He pulled her up under another tree, trying to get his bearings. The livery stable was on the other side of town from here, but he was only about fifty yards from Dolly and Hope’s house and barn. Nellie-girl was wet and shivering; she needed shelter, and soon. He would have to make for Dolly’s, but he could go into the barn without troubling her.

  That resolve began to weaken almost immediately. In the dim light, he could not find a blanket to put over Nellie-girl, nor anything to wipe her down with. And the barn was not weather-tight enough to keep out all of the winds that seemed to be increasing in strength. His wet, cold clothing clung to him as if he were drowning in it.

  Reluctantly he left the mare in the barn and shivered his way to Dolly’s door. She did not answer right away, and he wondered whether she could be away somewhere or whether the wind was drowning out his knock. But after the third and somewhat more emphatic knock, she opened the door and stared wide-eyed at him. Hope stood behind her, peeking around her mother’s waist.

  Joshua took off his hat, sending shards of ice to the ground, and said, “I’m very sorry to trouble you. My horse and I were caught in the ice storm, and I’ve put her in your barn. Might I ask the favor of a blanket for her?” He did not quite have the nerve to ask for one for himself, but he trusted her good heart to prompt the offer.

  Dolly threw the door open wide. “You come right in! I’ll fetch a blanket for your horse in a jiffy, and then we’ll see about you. Hope, say good evening to Doctor Gibbs while I go for that blanket.”

  Hope did her little curtsy. “Good evening, Doctor Gibbs. You’re wet.”

  He had to smile. “I surely am, mistress. It’s raining and sleeting out there. It gladdens me to see you and your mama so cozy and dry.”

  Small as she was, Dolly could still move quickly. Almost as soon as he had stepped inside, just barely out of the weather, she was back with a large close-woven blanket in some sort of plaid. She would have gone right on outside with it if he hadn’t stopped her. “I’m already wet, ma’am. I’ll take it to her.”

  “At least take a lantern, so you can find what else she’ll be needing. There are cloths hanging up, and a bag of oats in the corner farthest from the door. And when you come back in, I’ll have some dry things for you to change into.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He took the blanket and the lantern she handed him, turned, clenched his jaw, and headed back out into the storm, which felt even colder and windier than a few minutes before. He found what he needed for Nellie-girl, took off her saddle and tackle, and did what was necessary for him to leave her with a clear conscience. Dolly had kept the door open and waved him inside. “You poor man! I’ve put some of Mr. Arden’s things on that stool there, and a towel. You peel off those clothes and get changed while Hope and I make you some tea — or would you rather have coffee?”

  Joshua considered the choice. Coffee would do better at keeping him awake when he went back out, but it would also make him jittery and maybe keep him up when he was ready to collapse into bed. Tea would warm him, and help a little in staying alert. “Tea would be wonderful, ma’am.”

  She beamed at him as if delighted to be fussing over a dripping uninvited guest. “Come along, Hope.” She whisked herself and the child away, leaving him free to shuck off his clothes as fast as he was able and then spend a luxurious few minutes drying off before getting dressed again. The clothes smelled of starch, soap, and just a whiff of another man’s odor. He felt a bit as if he were borrowing a dead man’s skin, and muttered an awkward word of gratitude.

  He left his wet things in a pile near the door and made his way to the kitchen. Hope, at her most domestic, was setting out a cup and saucer for him, a
s well as a plate. Dolly poured the tea as he was sitting down and put a basket of biscuits in front of him, along with a jar of her peach preserves. He let out a huge sigh. “Ma’am, I believe I just took a wrong turn and ended up in heaven.”

  She shook her curls at him. “As cold and wet as you were, you might almost have done that very thing. Why didn’t you stay wherever you were?”

  He supposed her hospitality gave her the right to scold him, so he answered meekly, “An error in judgment, ma’am.” Then he applied himself to tea and biscuits and preserves.

  Dolly sipped at some tea; Hope was allowed a single biscuit, but no more. “Not until supper.”

  Joshua had neglected to transfer his pocket watch to his borrowed clothing. He only hoped it had not gotten wet enough to need repair. He looked around for a clock and only then noticed the friendly ticking of a clock on a shelf near the stove. “When will you ladies be having supper? I’ll be sure to be out of your way by then.”

  Dolly frowned, somehow keeping the expression charming. “And get drenched and frozen again? That storm isn’t letting up before nightfall, and I’d guess for hours after. No, you’ll stay for supper, and stop the night here if it’s still wild out.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose on you —”

  “Nonsense! I call it positively providential, having a man here on a night like this, instead of a woman and child all on their own. We’ll be a sight less frightened.”

  He couldn’t quite see the logic of it. He was hardly endowed with the ability to affect the fury of the storm, or to keep branches or even trees from falling under the burden of ice. But he supposed he could be of some help in either event. Besides, seeing the light in Hope’s eyes, he could believe that his visit might prove a distraction any thoughts of danger, and from the howl of the wind.

  “If you’re sure, ma’am, then I’ll accept your very kind invitation.”

  She nodded briskly. “Good! Now I’ll fetch those wet clothes and get them drying by the fire.”

  Warming his hands by the fire — even the smell of it seemed warming somehow, if somewhat tainted by the odor of his drying clothes — he looked around for a suitable place to sleep. There was the floor, of course, which would be tolerably comfortable with the addition of a blanket or two. Compared to the rocky ground or mud in which, a few years ago, he had often snatched what sleep he could, it would be positive luxury. But he might be able to scrunch himself up small enough to fit on the love seat along the wall.

  Over a supper of bread and butter and cold bacon, he asked whether Dolly had any preference as to these two choices. To his surprise and discomfort, she scorned both of them. “Put a guest on the floor? What do you think of me? And that sofa wouldn’t fit but half of you.”

  Hope interjected, “Mama, he can have my bed! It’s longer than the sofa, and I can sleep with you.”

  Dolly looked sternly at her daughter. “Don’t interrupt when adults are speaking.” She apparently considered that sufficient answer to Hope’s suggestion.

  Joshua wrinkled his forehead. What alternative was there? He could bed down in the barn, but that didn’t seem to be how her thoughts were tending.

  Dolly noted his bewilderment and smiled, head tilted to one side, eyes crinkled. “We’ll do what folks used to do all the time. We’ll bundle.”

  Joshua’s eyebrows shot up before he could catch them. Bundling was still sometimes practiced when folks were traveling, or when young people were courting. In the latter case, they might be sewn into bundling bags, or sleep with a board between them, not that either always stopped the carrying-on it was supposed to prevent. . . . Well, he supposed he was traveling, in a way. And as bone-tired as he felt, he didn’t know as he had the strength of will to turn down the chance of an actual bed under him.

  He wasn’t sure what to say, but she seemed to take his assent for granted, bustling about clearing away the supper dishes and humming a little tune. Hope pouted a bit, but soon enough went to help her mother.

  Joshua hoped his clothes would be dry by the time they retired for the night. He would feel more than a little peculiar, sleeping next to Dolly in the bed she had shared with her husband and wearing the man’s clothes to boot.

  Back in his own shirt and trousers, he stood in the doorway of the room where Hope slept, watching Dolly tuck the little girl in bed. The domesticity of it gave him a queer, lonesome feeling in his chest. One of his sisters was younger than he, and he had often seen his mother tuck her in, before tucking him in not long after. But whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t some lost moment of maternal affection.

  He declined the offer of another cup of tea and made a dash through the rain to check on Nellie-girl, with his still-damp coat and the already-damp blanket over him for protection. When he came back in, he did not see Dolly right away. She might have already retired for the night.

  He found her bedroom where, from his early tour, he had expected it, and there found her. Rather than wear all her things to bed, she had stripped down to her petticoats, and was sitting on the bed waiting for him to show up. She was a fine enough sight sitting there, her arms and shoulders showing in the light of the bedside candle. He had left his boots by the door, intending to sleep in the rest, but now it might look like a comment on her choice, or even a rebuke. Turning away, he stripped down to his smallclothes and slipped under the covers as quickly as he could. The mattress yielded beneath him, softer than his own. He heard her blow out the candle and slide into the bed beside him, only inches away. The warmth of her body reached him, teasing him with her nearness, seeming to wriggle right into his brain and conjure pictures of the soft curving flesh under the thin layers of fabric.

  He had lain with plenty of whores, some of them on winter nights like this where a body’s warmth would be welcome. But he had never lingered in those beds, or drifted toward sleep with soft breathing beside him and the sweet scent of woman carried on the air.

  He rolled to the side to keep his back toward her. He would not do anything to encourage the twitching in his loins, but if he stiffened on his own, she’d know no sign of it. For now, as he drifted toward dreaming, what came to him were not images of grappling and lust, but a sort of phantom copy of the bed where he lay, a dream of future days where he shared such a bed with a woman who had a claim on him, and who claimed him in return.

  The screams of men already pierced by the metal shards of artillery shells mingled with the shrieking of more shells overhead. Accompanying this shrill chorus came the bass rumble of cannon, and of Union forces firing their artillery in return. All the while, Joshua found himself sinking into the mud, as soft and deceptively welcoming as a feather bed. He thrashed about, trying to free himself, knowing that even if he did, there was nowhere he could hide.

  A shell burst, so close by that he howled in pure animal terror —

  The bloom of a candle nearby. Softness beneath him, but dry, not clammy. And a cry, but not the agonized screaming of the wounded — the sobbing wail of a child. Joshua sat up to find himself confined by something heavy. A shroud? Was he alive or slain?

  “Joshua — Doctor Gibbs! What is it? Hope, darling, it’s all right. Doctor Gibbs?”

  A woman’s voice, soft but clearly frightened. A soldier’s wife come in search of her husband? But this was no battlefield. Too slowly, the confusion lifted, and the world formed around him: a bed, a room, candlelight, and a woman in petticoats, holding a trembling child close to her bosom.

  He stood up, pulling the blanket with him and wrapping it around him. “Mrs. Arden. I seem to have had a nightmare. From the look of things, I’m guessing I made some noise.”

  Hope’s sobs subsided, and she twisted around to stare at him, her face shining with tears in the candlelight. “You made a lot of noise. You shouted. And then you yelled.”

  “I’m very sorry, Miss Hope.” The nightmares had been less frequent of late; he had even dared to hope they were gone for good. What had set him off? The unfamiliar surroundings,
the disconcerting softness of the bed? Those small strangenesses, and perhaps the wailing of the wind, might have been enough. And there had probably been some sudden loud noise, like a branch falling on the roof . . . .

  Hope’s face shifted from fright to indignation. “I never heard a man yell like that. I don’t think they’re spozed to.” Dolly opened her mouth as if to correct the child and then closed it again. From the look on her face, she felt much the same way.

  Joshua breathed deep to calm himself. “The late Mr. Arden was in the war, as I recall . . . .”

  Dolly stood up straighter. “He served, of course. As the corps’ quartermaster.”

  “I see.” Little chance of those experiences troubling his dreams.

  Joshua dropped the blanket back onto the bed and stooped to retrieve his shirt and trousers. Holding them, he gave a little bow. “If I may, Mrs. Arden, I think I’d best spend what’s left of the night on that sofa after all.”

  Dolly’s face clouded with distress. “Oh, you needn’t do that. It’s quite all right.” And then, after a pause: “I do understand.”

  She did not, nor would she ever. Joshua shook his head and made his way around the woman and girl, holding his clothes in front of him like a shield.

  He did not try to sleep. He would not risk another nightmare, though he thought it unlikely. He got dressed and tiptoed into the kitchen to look at the clock. Only another two hours or so until dawn.

  Looking out the window, he could see trees waving their upper branches, but the wild wind had eased. No rain or sleet hit the glass. The storm had blown itself out, a little too late.

  He lit the oil lamp, found the notebook in his bag, tore out a page, and spent the hours until daylight composing a letter to Dolly. Then he crumpled it up and stuffed it in his pocket before leaving the house, closing the door gently behind him, and saddled Nellie-girl to take him back where he belonged.