Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone (67 page)

“WHAT WAS IT YOUR
mam said to your da about this expedition?” Roger rolled up his breeches to mid-thigh, eyeing the wagon wheel whose rim protruded from the burbling middle of a small creek.

“It’s too deep,” Brianna said, frowning at the rushing brown water. “You’d better take your breeches off. And maybe your shirt, too.”

“
That’s
what she said? Though she’s likely right about it being too deep…”

Brianna made a small, amused snort. He’d taken off his shoes, stockings, coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and looked like a man stripped to fight a serious duel.

“The good news is that with a current like that, you won’t get leeches. What she said to Da—or what she quoted herself as
having
said, which isn’t necessarily the same thing—was: ‘You’re telling me that you mean to turn a perfectly respectable Presbyterian minister into a gunrunner, and send him in a wagon full of dodgy gold and illegal whisky to buy a load of guns from an unknown smuggler, in company with your daughter and three of your grandchildren?’ ”

“Aye, that’s the bit. I was expecting it to be more fun…” Reluctantly, he shucked his breeks, tossing them onto the shoes and stockings. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you and the kids. Germain and I would have had a great adventure by ourselves.”

“Yes, that’s what I was afraid of.” She looked over her shoulder, up the steep bank that the wagon had nearly fallen over when the wheel came off. It was much too close to the edge for comfort, and she’d sent the kids off to the other side of the road to collect firewood, in hopes that that would keep them off the wagon and out of trouble.

She had one eye on Roger and one ear out for cries of alarm from above; part of her mind was calculating how long it might take her to fix the wheel, if it came out of the creek intact—if it wasn’t, they’d be here overnight—and a few brain cells were idly listing what food they had, just in case. But the major part of her attention was focused on her chest.

Flutter.

Thump…thump…thump…thump

Flutter

Not now!
she thought fiercely. “I do
not
have time for this.”

“Time for what?” Roger looked over his shoulder, one foot in the rushing water and his shirt fluttering coquettishly in the breeze, affording her brief but entertaining glimpses of his bottom.

“
All
of this,” she said, rolling her eyes and gesturing up at the half-collapsed wagon on the road and the voices of children, then down at the small box of tools at her feet. “Go on, you’ll freeze standing there.”

“Oh, and I won’t, submerged in the nice warm water…” He squared his shoulders and edged into the creek, feeling his way over the stony bottom, the water rising past his knees.

Flutter. Flutterflutterflutterflutter

Thump.

She sat down suddenly, put her head on her knees, and breathed, long, forceful breaths. Vagal maneuvers, try that. What was it called…? Valsalva maneuver, that was it. She held the last breath and pushed down with her abdominal muscles, as hard as she could, and held it to the count of ten, feeling her heart slow and thump harder.

Good…

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…

Roger had reached the wheel and was gripping the rim, half-squatting to get a good purchase. This improved the view, and she sat back, breathing gingerly. Listening.

I’m so tired of listening. Just…just
quit it,
will you?

The wheel lifted suddenly from its rocky bed and Roger slipped amid the stones and fell to one knee, whooping as the water surged up to his chest.

“Jesus Effing Christ on bread!”

“Oh, no!” But she was laughing, though trying not to, and hastily kicking off her own shoes and stockings, she kirtled up her skirts and waded in to help. The water
was
cold, but luckily the wheel was intact, and Roger was able to turn and thrust it far enough toward her that she could get a one-handed hold and keep it from getting away while he stood up and got a better grip from his side.

The wheel was a full three feet in diameter, heavy and awkward, but the iron tyre-rim had kept the wheel from shattering.

“One
huge
blessing!” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water. “It’s not broken!”

He nodded, still breathless, and grabbing the rim with both hands took the wheel from her and waded ashore, dragging it up the bank. He dropped it and sat down, breathing hard. So did she.

Flutterflutterflutterflutterflutterflutter…

She gasped for breath, and floating spots flashed in the corners of her eyes.

“Jesus, Bree—are ye all right?” His hand was gripping her wrist; she turned her own hand and grabbed his tight.

Flutterflutterflutterflutter…

“I—oh…yes, I’m—I’m fine.” She forced herself to take a deep breath and pushed down. And once more, her heart stopped fluttering, though the slower beat was still ragged.

Thump. Thump-thump-bump. Thump.
Pause.
Thump-thump.

“Like hell ye are. Ye’re white as milk. Here, put your head between your knees.”

She resisted his push on the back of her neck, waving him off.

“No. No, it’s okay. Just—felt a little faint for a minute. Probably low blood sugar, we haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

He took his hand away, slowly, looking at her with intense concern. And suddenly she realized that she’d have to tell him. It wasn’t going away, and she didn’t want him worrying every time it happened.

The cool wind on her face was reviving her, and she turned to him, brushing wisps of hair out of her mouth.

“Roger. I—I have to tell you something.”

He stared at her, frowning a little, and then suddenly his face changed. A light came into his eyes, a dawning sense of eagerness.

“You’re pregnant? God, Bree, that’s wonderful!”

THE MOMENTARY SHOCK
rendered her speechless for a second. Then it exploded in her chest, in a burst of fury that drowned any thought of her heart.

“You—you—how fucking
dare
you?” Some vestigial thought of the kids above kept her from shrieking, and the words emerged in a strangled snarl. Her intent showed clearly; Roger’s eyes sprang wide and he grabbed her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, low-voiced and even. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She struggled for a moment, wanting the simple relief of violence, but he wouldn’t let go, and she stopped and sat there, tears spurting as the only means of releasing the pressure.

He let go of her arm and put his own around her shoulders. She felt the cold of his wet shirt and skin, the sogginess of her own hems, but the heat of fear and frustration rose in her like steam.

She clung to Roger’s arm as though it were a handy tree root in a flood. She was sobbing and urgently trying not to at the same time, afraid the clench of emotion would seize her heart and throw it into commotion again, but unable to hold out anymore against the need to let go, to tell him everything.

“I’m s-sorry,” she kept gasping, and he clutched her tighter to him, rocking her a little, rubbing her back with his free hand.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “Bree, forgive me. I didn’t mean to—I
really
didn’t mean—”

“Doh,” she said thickly, and sat back a little from him, wiping her knuckles under her streaming nose. “You don’t—it’s nod you. I know you want another baby, but—”

“Not if you don’t,” he assured her, though she could hear the longing in his voice. “I wouldn’t risk you, Bree. If you’re afraid, if you—”

“Oh, God.” She waved a hand to stop him. She’d stopped sobbing and was just huddled in his arms, breathing. Her heart was beating. Normally.

“Lub-dub,” she said. “Lub-dub, lub-dub…that’s what textbooks say a heartbeat sounds like. But it doesn’t, really.”

Momentary silence. He stroked her hair, cautiously.

“No?”

“No.” She took a deep, free breath, feeling it go all the way to her fingertips. “And no, I’m not crazy, either.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He released her gently and looked searchingly into her face. “Are ye all right, Bree?” He looked so anxious that she nearly started crying again, out of remorse.

“Sort of…” She gulped, sniffed, and made a huge effort to sit up straight and get hold of herself. At this point, she realized that Roger was sitting beside her in nothing but his wet-tailed shirt and she started to laugh, but caught herself, fearing that it might all too easily become hysterics.

“Put on your pants and I’ll tell you everything,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

“Mummeeeeeee!” Mandy was calling from the edge of the roadway above, waving her arms. “Mummy, we’re
hunnnnngry
!”

“I’ll get them something,” Roger said, hastily reassuming his breeches. “You wash your face and…drink water. Take it easy and I’ll be right back.”

He scrambled up the bank, calling for Jem and Germain, and after a minute, she’d pulled herself together enough to do as he’d said—wash and have a drink of water. The water from the stream was good: cold and fresh, with a faint spicy taste of watercress, and having something—even water—in her stomach seemed to settle her.

Thump. Thump. Thump.
True, there was a lesser
thump
following the main one, but it was the solid, reassuring rhythm of the
thump
that gave her—well, gave her heart. She smiled at the thought and wiped her wet hands through her hair, which had come loose from its ribbon.

She was kneeling on the grass beside the wheel when Roger came down again, bearing gifts in the form of two boiled eggs, a chunk of dry bread rubbed with olive oil and garlic, and a bottle of ale. She started with the ale.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, nodding at the wheel. “One of the sawed felloes came loose, but it’s not broken. I can fit it back and put a wire screw in—”

“To hell with the wheel,” he said, though mildly. “Eat an egg and tell me what’s going on.” His face showed nothing but concern, but the set of his shoulders said he wouldn’t leave it.

She took a long drink of ale for fortitude, stifled a belch, and told him.

“I keep thinking that it will just go away. That once it stops, it won’t happen again. But I keep listening for it, on edge…and then it
doesn’t
happen for a week, two weeks, three…and I’ve started to relax and then
wham!
There it is again.” She looked up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry I fell apart. But you know, it’s kind of
like
pregnancy—there’s this thing inside you,
part
of you, but you can’t control it and it just takes your body and…does things with it.” She glanced down and began picking fragments of eggshell out of the grass.

“And it might kill you,” she said, very softly. “Though Mama says it’s not life threatening—except for the maybe-giving-you-a-stroke thing.”

“Leave those—eggshells are part of the landscape.” He took her unresisting hand and kissed it gently. “Do you have willow bark with you?”

“Yes. Mama made up a kit for me.” She smiled a little, despite the situation, and gestured up the hill, toward the lopsided wagon. “In my bag. Twenty-four packets of willow bark, each good for a three-cup brew. She thought that would last me until we got to Charleston.

“One more thing,” she said, and took a deep, snuffling breath. Her nose was beginning to clear and she could breathe again.

“Aye?”

“Pregnancy and this—heart thing. Mama says that it’s like a lot of other things—pregnancy
might
make it go away, either temporarily or even permanently. But it might also make it a lot worse.” She blew her nose on a wet handkerchief. “And she didn’t say this, but I thought of it later—what if it’s something…I mean, Mandy’s heart. Did I—give that to her?”

“No,” he said firmly. “No, we know that’s a common birth defect. Patent ductus arteriosus, your mum said. You didn’t cause it. Though…”

She wanted to believe him, but the doubts and thoughts she’d been suppressing for the last few months were all bubbling out.

“Your great-whatever-grandfather. Buck. He had something wrong with his heart, didn’t he?”