With This Ring Part 18

She sat up and touched his face. "You could follow all that silliness?" she asked, less afraid now.

"Some of it," he said, but he did sound like he was registering information more slowly than usual. His voice was lazy-sounding, unlike his ordinary crisp delivery.

I will take whatever he offers, she thought. "Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"No." He took her hand and pulled her down beside him again. "All I want ... is here." He patted her arm slowly, as he seemed to be doing everything. "I wish ...."

Thank you, G.o.d, and Mr. Wilburn, and the Innises, and everyone else involved in this miracle, she thought. She rose up on her elbow. "You wish you could help me tomorrow?" she asked. "I can't tell you what that means to me, just knowing."

He shook his head. "No."

"Oh, I like that!" she teased. "Here I thought you wanted to help me cut hair and raise the money to pay the doctor for your emaciated carca.s.s."

He shook his head again. "Better idea ... tonight." His voice was more drowsy now, even though he had not relinquished his surprising grip on her. "Want to love you."

She knew she had heard him right. "That's how Major Reed solves problems?" she asked, unable to feel embarra.s.sed, and equally unable to hide her amus.e.m.e.nt. "My word, husband, you are three parts dead, wasted, crosshatched together with black thread." She felt his forehead. "Well, you are cool, at least, and possibly your derangement is only temporary."

"Works in all crises." His eyes were closing again. "However, not quite"-he was silent a moment-"able."

Interesting, she thought, digesting this bit of news and quite forgetting her fears. More shy now, she rested her hand on his chest again. He grunted softly when she ran her foot down his shin, enjoying the softness of the hair on his leg. "I shouldn't worry, then?" she asked finally, long after she thought he was asleep. "I won't if you say so."

Contented, she was about to turn away and compose herself for sleep when he gave another tug and pulled her half onto himself. She knew he was trying to kiss her, so she obliged him by inching up a little and kissing him, instead. Then he was gently kneading her back with his good arm as she put her hands under his head, careful not to touch his st.i.tches.

He can't be enjoying this, she thought. I must be hurting him. She tried to rise up, but he seemed quite disinclined to permit it. I am amazed what fever powders can do to a sensible gentleman, she thought as she returned his kiss with enthusiasm. As she kissed him, he began to relax slowly in her arms until he slept. She smiled, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and slowly disentangled herself. No more fever powders for that man, she thought, as she put her leg back over him again and settled herself quite comfortably against his side.

"I love you." She said it quite softly, not wishing to wake him. She knew how tentative it sounded to her own ears, and she wondered about herself. She rested her hand on his chest again, liking the feel of him, and the pleasant odor of the oil of wintergreen, which Mr. Wilburn patted on his shoulder at every visit. Let us see now, Major Reed, she thought, so far in our marriage you have been little but work and worry, and some considerable exasperation. You could have told me about the necessity for including a year-old baby in the bargain. She nestled closer. No, that would not have served a purpose, she told herself. I would never have said yes to your outrageous proposal, if I had known everything that lay in store.

I wonder if anyone knows anything before they marry, she asked herself as she lay so close to her husband. I suppose Papa would never have married Mama, had he known what a shrew she would become. Why should I presume to think that knowing more about Major Reed would have made the slightest difference? I have still to discover if he leaves the lid off the tooth-powder tin, or drops his clothes everywhere, or belches at the table. I do know that he is quarrelsome and irritable when things don't go his way, vulnerable to pain like all of us, unflinchingly loyal to those soldiers to whom he was committed, and brave beyond all reason. I wonder if he loves me?

She woke in the morning to a still dark room and rain thundering down, then flopped onto her back in the worst sort of misery, mourning the downfall of her plans. No one will come on a day like this, she thought as her eyes filled with tears. She turned onto her side to stare out the window. As usual, the major had filled up most of the bed in that way of his, so she clutched the edge of the mattress and added that complaint to her darkest thoughts.

I would not go out in a rainstorm for something that could wait for better weather, she told herself. Why should the men in this village care whether their hair was cut or their faces shaved, when some have done without since the barber dropped down dead? Perhaps their wives are reluctant to surrender their men to a rather mysterious young woman no one knows? And why do I listen to myself when I am like this?

"Out you go, Lyddy," her husband said.

"I did not know you were awake," she said quickly, sitting up to take a good look at him.

His eyes were open, but he still looked a bit dreamy to her. "How am I supposed to sleep when you are revolving like a top, s.n.a.t.c.hing the covers, and ... oh, I can't remember."

She was instantly contrite. "Oh, dear, I do that when I worry," she told him as she felt his forehead.

He took her hand off his head and pressed it to his chest. "Dear Lyddy, my bed at home is wider. You'll be able to stew and fret to your heart's content there." He paused, and brought her hand to his lips. "If that is what you choose to do. Although why you think that will help matters, I cannot quite fathom."

She nodded, then got up to look out the window. "It is a bad habit, isn't it?" she said, watching the rain thunder down.

He patted the spot she had vacated, and she returned to bed. "Put your arm under my neck like you did last night," he said. "I like that."

"I'm so afraid to hurt you," she said.

"I'll let you know. Ah, that is much better. Lyddy, I am not p.r.o.ne to giving advice, but let me give you some right now," he said. His voice was clear. She could tell by his eyes that he was in pain, but his mind seemed his own again.

"Tell me, then," she said, resting her head on his chest.

"The night before a battle, I get my battery in place. Water is in the tubs; the shot and sh.e.l.l are lined up where they should be. The horses are far back, but not too far, in case we need to move fast. G.o.d knows we've pulled the guns ourselves at times. We eat a good meal, if there is food available. We sometimes play chess. I always pray before I retire. Then I lie down and sleep and let the morning come. I am ready for it, no matter what."

"But it's raining and ...."

He put his finger to her lips. "No, wife, don't. I cannot remember quite what is going on, but I know it is important to you. Have you done everything to be ready?"

She nodded, thinking of the hours of scrubbing and redding up. She saw again in her mind the rows of shaving mugs all gleaming and preparing for lather. "I have."

"Then, go do it. Let go of my neck and get out of bed, and go do it."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, steeling herself for the day. She slid her arm out from under his neck, watching him closely. He did not wince, but he bit his lip. She pressed her own lips close together, but she kept her voice normal when she spoke. "Do you need some more fever powders? I would prefer not to give them to you, but you are the judge of that."

"Let's not, Lydia. I can manage, if you'll just help me with the needfuls."

She did, then dressed quickly, making sure her hair was fluffed out and curled here and there around her fingers. No point in claiming I can do hair, if my own is a bird's nest, she thought. Sam was quiet now, exhausted from so many coherent thoughts. She put on her best muslin dress and one of Mrs. Innis's long ap.r.o.ns.

"You'll do, pretty thing."

He sounded so tired. She sat on the bed a moment until he nudged her with his hip. "Go on now."

She hung back another moment at the door. "You'll think of me?" she asked, feeling foolish, but wanting to know.

"I always do, wife," he whispered.

Tell me you love me, she thought, willing him to speak. He closed his eyes. She stood there until he was asleep, then went quietly downstairs.

Breakfast was pointless. She fed Maria, but shook her head when Mrs. Innis offered her porridge. Mr. Innis was standing at the window. "The public room's empty," he said, his eyes on the rain. "Even my regulars are having breakfast at home." He turned to her, and she knew he had more on his mind.

"That is all very well, Mr. Innis," she said before he could speak. "I said I would be at the barbershop, and so I shall be. Mrs. Innis, will you look in on Sam occasionally? I antic.i.p.ate that Mr. Wilburn will be by. And now, may I borrow an umbrella?"

Mrs. Innis insisted on a cloak, too. She put it around Lydia's shoulders, hugged her, and handed her the umbrella. "The rain may slow down in a few hours. We can hope."

Lydia nodded. She stepped outside and opened the umbrella, then patted her pocket where the key rested. She hesitated. Mama would be home now, and over the worst of her anger. I could apply to them for pa.s.sage home, and I know they would send it. "No, Lydia," she said out loud. "Too many people are depending on you."

The rain showed no sign of letting up. She took a deep breath and left the shelter of the tavern. Just two streets over, she thought. One foot in front of the other. I've done all I can. I can't go back. I could never face Sam again if I quit now.

She turned the corner, and frowned. How odd, she thought. I wonder if there is a funeral. There was a line of people down the short block, some with umbrellas, others bareheaded. She looked closer. It couldn't be a funeral because the line extended past the church and just around the corner. She noticed that they were all men, too.

"How odd," she repeated, and then the impact of the line struck her like a blow to her body. She hurried faster, crossing the street, unable to reach the corner fast enough because the rain slowed her down. She turned the corner and burst into tears.

The line stopped at the door to the barbershop, and heading the queue was Mr. Wilburn, cheerful as ever, even though the rain pelted down. "Mrs. Reed, you'll have to work fast," he said cheerfully.

With hands that shook, she opened the door. The men hurried inside, the first two lifting the barber's pole out beside the door. She ran to the stove and lit it. The water was ready in the tub. She blew her nose on her ap.r.o.n and wiped her eyes. Brushes, combs and razors, pomade and talc.u.m. She went to the door and told the first man waiting outside. "Pa.s.s it down, please. Tell the others to wait in the pub. When this group is done, one of them will tell you, and you can send more."

She turned to the men in the shop, took Mr. Wilburn by the arm, and led him to the chair. "Sir, you don't have much hair, you know."

He patted his head in mock surprise. "Good Lord, I believe she is right!" The men laughed, looking at the floor in their shyness. "Then, trim that fringe, Mrs. Reed. And I am ready for a shave." He nodded as she settled the cloth around his neck, then winked at her. "Better work fast, Mrs. Reed, so you can see what handsome dogs we are here in Merry Glade. You'll wish you had never leg-shackled yourself to a grumpy major, when you see how lovely we are! Right, lads?"

She worked steadily all morning as the rain drummed down and the barber's chair began its regular creaking as one man left the seat and another sat down. She knew her own shyness in the presence of so many men would keep her from much small talk, but these friends and neighbors supplied their own text. They were rough men, yeomen and crofters mostly, but they kept their language seemly, looking at her for approval when someone made a witty remark. It was easy to smile her approbation, and to realize that no matter where she went in the world, that these simple souls had taught her a valuable lesson.

The only emergency came as noon approached. Out of breath and wet, Suzie ran into the shop. "Mrs. Reed! You have to come quick! It's the major! Mama wants you now!"

Her heart dropped to her shoes and did not rebound. He was fine when I left, she thought in sudden alarm. She set down the shaving mug and turned to the man she had just lathered.

"You go right on, Mrs. Reed. I'll keep. Hurry now," the man urged, his expression as concerned as hers.

She did hurry, running through the rain, outdistancing Suzie. She pulled up her dress and ap.r.o.n and gave the whole village ample opportunity to observe her legs, if anyone had felt inclined to gawk.

She took the stairs two at a time, her mind a perfect jumble, and burst into the room. Sam Reed lay on his side, his lips set in a tight line. Mrs. Innis stood next to him, the urinal in her hand, her lips equally compressed, every line of her body expressing disapproval.

"Mrs. Reed, your man is devilishly stubborn," she announced, her words clipped. "He refuses my help." She glared at him. "I am certain he is about to pop, but he won't let me touch the covers, let alone him."

Lydia sank into the chair by the door, out of breath. "I thought ... a terrible emergency ... Sam, you are certifiable! I would like to brain you over the head with that thing!"

Mrs. Innis shook her head, but she was smiling now. She handed the urinal to Lydia. "He says he's your man, and he won't have some strange woman fumbling with his privates." She was laughing as she left the room.

"For heaven's sake, Sam," Lydia scolded as she pulled back the blankets and helped him. "Not a minute too soon! You are a trial."

He sighed with relief and was silent for a long moment, concentrating on the matter at hand. "Lydia, they call them privates for a reason," he said finally.

She started to laugh, and he had to remind her to hold still, or she would be changing sheets, too. "One more day and I'll be on my feet," he promised her. "I really don't enjoy doing this lying down. Or having to sit up to turn over. Or the smell of wintergreen."

"I rather like it, Sam," she said as she removed the urinal and carried it to the commode. "Makes you sweet. I was hoping you'd keep dabbing it on here and there when you feel better."

He frowned, as if trying to decide whether she was quizzing him. He looked at her and laughed. "I should change the subject, shouldn't I, before you thrash me for being an idiot. Lydia, I am shy about some things. Maybe more than I should be."

"You amaze me, Sam. Here you've fought the length and breadth of Spain and Portugal, crossed the Pyrenees with your guns, fought in France, and endured years of privation and toil, seen disease and death in its most dreadful forms, and you're squeamish about kind Mrs. Innis, who has certainly seen ... well, if not yours, then Mr. Innis's. I doubt there is much variety." She thought of her waiting customers, covered him again, and sat down on the bed. "Just get better, Sam. I'll come back in an hour or two, so you needn't run the risk of exposing yourself to Mrs. Innis."

He kissed her hand. "Lydia, am I an idiot?"

She nodded. "Completely certifiable. And you're getting grouchy." She kissed his cheek. "I have someone waiting for me with his face lathered. He's not as handsome as you, but he's paying me for my time and talents, while you are not."

He nodded. "Mrs. Innis told me about the barbershop. You've been telling me about that, too, haven't you? I am sorry that it did not register."

"Apology accepted. I think you have had more on your mind than Lydia Reed and her enterprises, even if they are created to keep us from the poorhouse."

"I know I'm foggy, but didn't I tell you to look in the trunk?"

She started to rise, but he would not let go of her hand. She squeezed it. "I did, and I thank you so much! Your razor is far and away the best one I have. How clever of you to remember that much, even though I know it was a strain."

"But ...."

She kissed him again, shaking her head at the bewildered look on his face. "I'll see you in a few hours, Sam. Do try to behave yourself."

With only brief interruptions to tend to Sam's needs, she worked steadily through luncheon and beyond the afternoon. The rain never let up any more than the customers did, to her continued amazement. Before she asked the last man to pull in the barber pole, the men she had not had time for came in one by one to tell her that they would return tomorrow.

When the last one left the shop, she pulled down the shades and sat in the barber's chair, her back on fire and her arms throbbing from holding them up all day, cutting hair and shaving faces. I don't dare take off my shoes, she thought as she raised her skirts to look at her ankles. I'd never get them back on. I wonder if anyone would miss me, if I just stayed all night in this wonderful chair?

When she found the energy to rise, she quickly cleaned up the shop, swept the room, stopping to lean on the broom when her feet refused to hold her. She was stealing herself to go outside and pump some water for tomorrow, but the constable came by and did it for her. When he finished, he nodded to her and straightened his uniform jacket. "This is an official visit, Mrs. Reed."

"Oh, dear! Are you going to arrest me for causing men to loiter about Merry Glade all day?" she asked, unable to resist.

"None of that, Mrs. Reed!" he said, shocked. He must have noticed the twinkle in her eyes then. "You're quizzing me!" He threw back his shoulders. "I am here to escort you and your money to the Mill and Grange. I'll even carry it, if the sack's too heavy."

It was, and she let him gladly, taking his arm and limping in triumph to the tavern. He bowed elaborately to her, even though the men in the public room pointed at him and made rude noises. "I am the law," he reminded them with all his constabulary dignity, and said good night.

She sat with the Innises and Maria, carefully counting out the money she owed Mrs. Innis and Suzie for the sacrifice for their hair, and then paid for their lodging up to the present. The sack was almost empty now, but her heart was at ease. "I will have the rest soon enough to cover our meals and Maria's tending," she a.s.sured them. Listen to me, she thought as she sat with Maria asleep against her bosom. I shall have to thank my husband for his good advice. There was the surgeon to consider, too, and the fare on the mail coach to Northumberland, but she did not doubt that she could earn it.

The stairs were almost more than she could manage, but she took them slowly, her hand heavy on the railing. I am decrepit, she thought. Lord, remind me that when we are on Sam's estate and I have servants, that I remember how hard they work for me, and treat them better than ever my parents would.

Sam was sleeping. Automatically she went to him first, feeling his forehead, and touching his shoulder lightly. He was blessedly cool. She was too tired to do anything but stand there and appreciate the fact. Move, Lydia, she told herself finally. You were reluctant this morning, and now you are simply tired; tired hurts, but it is better.

With a groan that surprised her, she unb.u.t.toned her dress and stepped out of it. She wanted to stick her feet in the washbasin, but that would have meant bending over to place it on the floor, so she washed her face instead. The nightgown was where she had left it, so she put it on, groaning again.

Sam was spread out in his usual fashion. She thought about claiming the window seat instead, but it was too far to walk. She lay down and pushed him gently, then resigned herself to the little s.p.a.ce it created.

"Tired, Lydia?" he asked her. He moved over slightly to accommodate her, then put his good arm around her, stopping when she flinched. "Everything aches?"

"Everything," she a.s.sured him. "I have never been so tired. Sam, it was wonderful. We still owe a lot, but I know I can raise it."

He was silent a long time. As tired as she was, when he spoke again, she noticed something different in his voice, something almost joyful, she thought, but that was silly. She was just tired, and it had been a long day. "You sound quite certain," he said.

"I am." Wearily she turned onto her stomach. "Sam, if it's not asking too much, will you rub my back before it breaks into two or three pieces?"

She thought she would scream when he began to knead that spot between her shoulder blades which had been troubling her since before noon, but the pain quickly yielded to immense relief. "You are good at that," she murmured.

"I can make it better."

She was too tired to object when he reached under her nightgown and continued to rub her bare skin. "Nice," she whispered, wanting to carry on some polite conversation since he was being so kind, but her brain seemed disconnected from the rest of her. When he reached under her to ma.s.sage her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she thought she ought to make some remark or other. They don't ache, she wanted to tell him, except that they did, in an odd sort of way that was making other parts of her ache. I really ought to do something about this, she thought, and then it was too much trouble to think what. She slept; she probably even snored.

Chapter Sixteen.

She cut hair the next day and the next, with a certain single-minded goal: I can rest my feet at night. Able to sit up in bed now, Sam very kindly ma.s.saged her bare feet at night after Maria was asleep, then entertained her with stories of the Peninsula while she soaked them up to the ankle in Epsom salts and warm water, a remedy much favored by Mr. Wilburn.

The second day had been as busy as the first. The rain had not abated appreciably, but she woke this morning with the fear of failure gone, replaced by the sure knowledge that she would be fully occupied. She felt disinclined to stir from the warmth of her husband's arms, wanting another back rub, but too shy to ask for it in broad daylight.

He did not wake up when she left the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress a moment, admiring him as he slept, and wondering why it was that some men were blessed with long eyelashes. She nearly kissed him when she left the room, but that same shyness prevented her. Lord, I am a goose, she thought. When I went to sleep last night, he was making me extremely comfortable, and here I am shy about a kiss. I wish he would tell me how he feels.