The Marriage Bed (8 page)

"Take the baby," his father ordered, but Neil couldn't make his feet move. He just stood there staring, grateful that Louisa was able to grab Josie out of their aunt's arms.

Josie, though she didn't want to stay in Aunt Olivia's arms, still held on tightly to her hair, taking two handfuls with her, plucked by the roots, and then kicked her soundly for good measure.

"Get some water," his father barked at him.

Somehow he got to the sink, but there were no faucets, and he had no idea what to do with the long metal handle that jutted out from the counter. Even if he had known what to do with it, he couldn't reach it without standing on a chair.

"You've got to pump it, fool," his father shouted, embarrassing him. Then he told his aunt, "He's a city boy," as if that meant he was a fool. Leading his aunt to the sofa, keeping her head tipped back, and pinching the bridge of her nose despite all the swiping she seemed to be doing at his hand, his father eased her down. More gently than he'd ever treated Neil, the man lifted his aunt's feet up and placed them on the couch.

Neil handed his father a wet cloth that he'd found on the edge of the sink and his father tenderly touched it to her face.

"Spence?" she asked, squinting up at his father and then at him, blinking and trying to focus.

"It's me, Olivia. Julian. Are you all right?" His father's face was inches from hers and he was wiping her nose and pushing her hair back toward the bun Josie had managed to destroy. Her hair, too, Neil noticed, looked soft.

"Is she still bleeding?" Louisa asked, hovering over the group, the hint of a smile on her lips. "Is she going to die?"

"I'm fine," she said weakly, trying to sit up. His father's firm hand on her shoulder held her down.

"Spunky as ever," his father said with a laugh, as if Josie hadn't just smashed in the nose of one of the loveliest women he had ever seen.

Neil turned and ran, seeing a ladder and taking it, trying to get as far from the sight of his aunt's last moments as he could.

"Is she all right?" he asked when he turned at the top of the ladder and looked over his shoulder.

Aunt Olivia tried to sit up again, fighting his father's hands determinedly.

"Lie down," he ordered as the blood began to spurt once more.

"Make him come down," she said in a pitifully weak voice. Neil supposed she was talking about him. "Quickly before Spencer sees."

The door slammed open and hit the wall behind it. "What in the hell is all the screaming about?" No one answered his uncle. "Where's Olivia?"

"She's there," Neil said, looking down on his uncle and noticing that the man was beginning to lose his hair.

"Get down from there," his uncle yelled, coming up the ladder toward him so that it was impossible, unless he wanted Neil to jump the eight or so feet, for him to obey the command. "Olivia!" Uncle Spencer shouted over his shoulder as he climbed higher and higher. Neil backed farther and farther away from the ladder. "Where is she? I told her you were not to—Ow! Let go, little one!"

Neil couldn't see, but from the look on his uncle's face he could guess what Josie was doing. And when his uncle bent down and threw her over one shoulder like a sack of flour, all the while continuing to come up the ladder after him, Neil was sure that Josie had tried to bite their uncle's ankle.

"Come down, right now," his uncle said sternly.

Neil stood at the edge trying to show that he was ready to come down as soon as his uncle was out of the way, but that wasn't enough for the man, and Uncle Spencer grabbed his foot and placed it on the top rung of the ladder.

"Spencuh, he thithn't know," Aunt Olivia started. With the cloth pressed against her nose she sounded as if she were talking through a long tube.

"Olivia," his uncle said, turning to her with his finger raised. "I thought we had an understanding. I thought I made it clear—" He stopped suddenly and just stared for a moment. "Livvy? What are you doing on the couch? Is that blood?"

She nodded meekly and let his father lower her head gently to the pillow. In what seemed like two steps, his Uncle Spencer was down from the ladder and pushing aside his father from Aunt Olivia's side.

Neil meekly came down from the loft in time to hear a new voice come through the still open doorway. "You want to help me with these crates, Spence? Hey, whose wagon is this? You got company?"

"Is that Remy?" his father asked.

Another uncle. This one, his mother's brother.

"Papa, you can't expect us to live in this barn of a house," Louisa was saying, trying to be heard over Josie, who was still crying.

"Spence? You gonna give me a hand?" the man yelled from outside.

Aunt Olivia's face was soaking wet, but Neil didn't know if it was from tears or the wet cloth. All he knew was that there were streaks of her blood running across her cheeks and down toward her mouth and that she was still the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Uncle Spencer blotted at her cheeks with his sleeve and leaned down close to her.

"Well," he asked, shaking his head at her. "Are we all happy now?"

Chapter Four

"You," Spencer shouted over his shoulder at one of the children as he leaned over Olivia, his enormous eyes the only thing Livvy could see over his handkerchief whiqh was pressed to her nose. "Get some ice. The top layer of the birdbath might be frozen. Use the rock that's right near it. Break up a couple of pieces and bring them here.

"Birdbath?" It was the boy, Neil, who answered.

"It's in line with the kitchen window. Your aunt likes to watch the . . . Oh, never mind. The light from the house'll guide you. Don't just stand there. Your aunt's bleeding here."

Despite his surly tone, he was gentle in his ministrations, not pressing the cloth as hard as Julian had been, tipping her head softly back by placing his hand beneath her neck.

"You all right?" he asked. She tried to nod. "Don't shake your head, you ninny. You'll just bleed harder."

"How'd you know about the rock?" she asked, the words muffled by the hankie which fluttered as she spoke.

He ignored her, but still she had her answer. He had been watching her, all those times she'd thought she felt his eyes on her. He had been watching as she broke up the water for her birds during the winter, watching when she scattered the crumbs of bread beneath the bath, too, no doubt. And clearly he was rattled, since there was no chance that the water could possibly be frozen this late in the year.

"You. Girl. You want to tell me what happened here?"

"Louisa," Olivia prompted. "Her name's Louisa."

Spencer's gaze had been locked on her face. Now he raised it to the ceiling in annoyance. "Five minutes I'm out of the house, and what happens? My wife is bleeding to death on the couch, children are running amok—"

"Bleeding to death!" Remy shouted, and came forward to peer over Spencer's shoulder. "What in blue blazes happened?"

"Girl?" Spencer asked.

"Louisa," Olivia reminded him.

Julian cleared his throat and started. "It was all an unavoidable misunderstanding. You see, Josephina has come to look upon Louisa as her mother, in the absence of dear Marion ..."

"Your name Louisa?" Spencer asked evenly. " 'Cause I sure remember asking Louisa to tell me just what the he—what happened."

"Actually," Louisa said, "you asked
girl
. I'm not used to being called that, as I have a lovely name given to me by my mother. It's Louisa."

"Well, Louisa!" Remy, said and bowed slightly. "I'm your Uncle Remy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"A civilized person in the wilderness," she said in response, and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, as well."

"And this little one must be Josephina," Remy said before Spencer exploded, jumping up from the sofa like a madman.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell happened to my wife?'' he shouted, jumping to his feet so quickly that the couch rocked like a small boat on the lake.

Except for Josephina's sniffling, the room was eerily silent. Olivia struggled to raise herself on her elbows, but the soft cushions fought her every step of the way.

"Well?" Spencer demanded, his hands on his hips. "And not you," he said, spinning around and pointing a finger at Julian. "I'm interested in the truth."

Neil came in, his eyes on the floor in front of him, droplets falling from his cupped hands. "Not much ice." He shrugged, offering up some slivers to his very angry uncle. "It's not particularly cold out."

"Oh, it's not
particularly
cold?" Spencer bellowed. "Well, this here isn't
particularly
ice, and your aunt's sure
particularly
bleeding."

The boy's left shoulder went up and he winced, as if preparing himself for a blow that he had no way of knowing would never come.

"Don't let your Uncle Spencer frighten you," Olivia said in as soothing a voice as she could find under the circumstances. "He's been known to carry ladybugs outside rather than swat at them. I don't think he's likely to change his ways for a small boy who's trying to help."

Spencer glowered at her and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Are you, Spencer?" she demanded.

"He's a bigger target," Spencer mumbled, one corner of his mouth twitching as if he couldn't help enjoying the role he was playing.

"I'll go down to the cellar," Remy offered. Then to Neil he said, "Maybe you could come along and help me. I'll need someone to hold the lamp while I hack off a piece of ice."

"It's stopped," Olivia said, lowering the hanky and touching the back of her hand gingerly to her throbbing nose.

"Take the porch lantern," Spencer said. "And watch the steps."

"But it's stopped," she said again.

Remy reached out for Neil, but the boy was busy wiping his hands on his pant legs while he followed his uncle out the door.

"Now, Miss Louisa, who doesn't like being called
girl
, you gonna tell me how your aunt came to be dripping blood down the front of my favorite dress?"

Olivia looked down. Her pale-blue calico wrapper was splattered with deep red drops. The dress was so plain otherwise that the stains seemed to decorate it merrily, like holly berries looking for leaves.
His favorite dress
? Why, he never noticed what she wore. Never once gave her a compliment until the other night.

"Livvy, lie back, for God's sake," he said when he noticed she was sitting up. He looked around the room, assessing who was where. "Bouche, your little one's about to discover the hard way that mousetraps aren't toys. And you, Miss Louisa, I'm still waiting."

"Josie didn't exactly take to your wife," Louisa said. Her chin was stuck out, and her eyes met Spencer's fearlessly, which wasn't easy the way he was strutting and booming and making demands. "But your wife insisted on holding her, and since Josie couldn't get free, she objected in the only way available to her."

"Are you saying, in your fancy city way, that the little peanut over there bashed in her aunt's nose? And all because she wanted to get down?" Julian had whisked up the child and smacked her soundly on both hands, but left the mousetrap where it was. The baby stared at him but didn't utter a sound.

Olivia ran her fingers cautiously over her nose, wishing there was a mirror in the room. It was painful and swollen, but it didn't feel broken.
Bashed in? Please let him be exaggerating,
she thought.

"Nice manners you taught your kids, Bouche," he said with all the hostility he harbored for his brother-in-law showing. "Leastwise they talk well. Guess they take after you, don't they?"

"Spencer!"

"Olivia, will you lay down! You lose any more blood you're likely to faint." He shook his head slowly. "Jeez."

The fact that she had stopped bleeding didn't seem to matter to him, so she put her head down and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the baby sniffing and Louisa trying to comfort her. How many times had she imagined the arrival of her nieces and nephew, Livvy wondered, and how perfect it was going to be? She would be there when the stage let them off, would have gifts for each of them waiting, and was going to welcome them with open arms into which they would all run, no doubt knocking her off her feet. Then she had planned to pile them into the wagon, and by the time they would have arrived home even Spencer was going to have been singing along with them.

Instead, she had scared the baby, and Spencer had seen to scaring everyone else.

"Ice," Remy announced when he and Neil came back through the doorway.

Julian stepped forward and took it from him, coming with it to sit next to Olivia and wrapping the ice in a cloth before raising it to her nose. It stung and she let out a sharp little cry, then apologized. "It's a little sore," she said meekly.

"I know," Julian said with utmost tenderness, as if she were a child. He brushed the hair away from her face and moved the ice slightly so that it made opening and closing her right eye difficult. She closed both eyes and concentrated on not whimpering like a dog that had been kicked in the ribs. "It'll feel better soon. You'll see."

Spencer hovered over them, snorting like a bull. "She could probably do with some tea," he said. "I don't suppose Miss Louisa knows how to boil water?''

"I have been preparing tea since I was six, Mr. Williamson. On finer stoves than this one, you can be sure."

"I can make the tea," Olivia said, struggling to get out from under Julian's heavy hand that held the ice to her now unbearably throbbing nose.

"Just like your sister," Julian said with a laugh in his voice. "Never liked anyone to fuss over her. Of course, after several years of marriage she got used to my considerations and even relished the niceties that at first distressed her so. She came to cherish what she called the 'good life,' you know."

"If you mean she enjoyed putting on airs," Spencer said, "it didn't take marrying you to get that going. You just seemed to raise it to . . . what do they call it? An art form. A regular art form."

"Spencer Williamson! That's my sister you're talking about, and the mother of these children." It didn't make what he said any less true, but Olivia would never admit that.

"And she loved you, too," Julian said as he rested his hand against the ice on her face. "Always wishing you would come to Chicago and visit us, but you'd just never leave Maple Stand. She thought that after Spencer married Kirsten you'd want to get away, but . . .

"I don't belong in a fancy place like Chicago, Julian. Never did. But I did love to hear all about it from Marion."

"You're a lot like her," Julian said, fingering her hair before pushing it off her face. "The hair, the bones, the voice. You look quite a bit like her, you know."

"She doesn't," Louisa said as she slammed the kettle onto the stove with a resounding clang, "look one bit like Mama. My mother was beautiful, just beautiful."

Livvy didn't expect Spencer to jump to her defense. After all, who knew better than she that she wasn't pretty? It was Marion who was the pretty one, while Remy had been the industrious one. That left Olivia to be the good one. Besides, she'd like to know, when had big blue eyes ever gotten a cow milked or blond hair ever gotten a garden weeded? All looks were good for was getting a husband, and she'd gotten the one she wanted. Maybe not in the best possible way, but she'd gotten him, nevertheless.

"You will apologize to your aunt at once, young lady, for your rudeness as well as your incorrectness. It may be difficult to tell at the present moment"—Julian took the ice pack off Livvy's face and scrunched up his own sympathetically—"but I think perhaps your aunt is even more lovely than your mother was."

Spencer loomed over Julian suddenly and forcefully assisted his departure from the couch. If she hadn't known him so well, she'd have thought Spencer was jealous, and not just angry with Julian. Sitting down next to her, he examined her swollen face, no doubt full of red patches from the ice, and touched it with just the tip of his finger. "You don't have to apologize to your aunt," he said over his shoulder. "You've got every right to think your mama was prettier. In fact, you ought to do just that. You lose something you love, you realize what a treasure it really was."

He helped Livvy sit up and handed the wet rag to Neil, indicating that he should put it in the sink.

"You know," he said to Louisa as if they were the only two people in the room, "your Aunt Liv was your mama's sister. She worshipped her just about how that little one over there looks up to you. She didn't think your mama could do anything wrong. I don't think she'd mind much if you thought your mama was the most beautiful woman on the earth. In fact, she'd probably agree with you, wouldn't you, Liv?

"In fact, your mama was the most elegant woman I have ever known, children. Seemed like a mistake that she was born in Maple Stand, Wisconsin. But your daddy fixed that when he married her and whisked her off to Chicago."

"And where do you belong, Olivia?" Julian asked. "It's a big country. And opportunity doesn't stop at its borders."

"She belongs right here," Remy said before she had a chance to respond. "Where she's got a husband and a farm and plenty of family."

"And you, Spencer? Are you where you belong?" Julian asked, grinning openly at his hostile brother-in-law.

"I belong in bed," Spencer answered, pushing off on his knees and rising. "We didn't expect you so soon, Bouche, so we aren't prepared."

"There's two beds up in that little room above the kitchen," Neil said before Olivia could stop him.

"You aren't to go up there, boy," Spencer said in that same menacing tone he'd used with Olivia the time he'd caught her in the loft. "That room belonged to my son and my daughter and they never did like anyone touching their things."

"Where are they?" Josie asked. It was the first time the little girl had spoken, and Spencer seemed as surprised as Olivia.

"They're gone," he said bluntly.

"They'll come home," she said as if she were reassuring him. "You'll see."

Louisa pulled the little girl onto her lap and wrapped her arms protectively around her. "No, Josie, they won't. They're angels, like Mama."

"Maybe Mama's taking care of them while you're taking care of us," Neil said, trying to put everything into place in his mind.

"They got a mama of their own," Spencer said.

"Well, these children don't," Olivia reminded him.

"That's not my fault," Spencer said, glowering at Julian before disappearing into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry," Olivia said after he was gone. "I so wanted your first evening to be special."

"The water must be ready," Louisa said, rising with her sister in her arms and heading for the stove.

"I can take care of that." Olivia raced to beat her niece to the kitchen.

"I don't need any help," the girl insisted, measuring out the tea leaves into the pot.

"But you must be exhausted," Olivia said gently, not wanting to offend the child. "It was such a long trip. There'll be plenty of time to show me how grown up you are."

Louisa glared at her, the anger so palpable that Olivia found herself leaning away from her to avoid it.