With This Ring (31 page)

She unbuttoned her dress and stepped
out of it, wishing for a bath again, but contenting herself with a
thorough wash in the basin, after making sure that Sam Reed slept.
From habit, she went to take the pins from her hair, then stopped.
I must admit that short hair is simple to deal with, she thought. I
wonder if Sam will like it. A few pulls of her hairbrush sufficed,
and then she was lying next to her husband. He was turned away from
her, and she lay down with her back against his.

“
Lyddy?” he asked.

“
If I am not, then we won’t tell
her,” she teased, relieved to hear his voice again. “Oh, Sam, can
you talk now? I wish you would talk to me.”

“
Move a little.”

She obliged him, and he slowly
turned onto his back. “Wrong side, Lyddy,” he said. She got up and
walked around the bed to lie down next to his good shoulder. He had
stretched out his arm for her again. When she lay down, he hugged
her to him with more energy than she thought he possessed. I wish I
could adequately express how good that feels, she thought. She put
her arm across his chest, resting her hand on his heart. “I’m
scared to death,” she confessed.

He didn’t say anything, and she
wasn’t even sure that he had an inkling of what was going on
tomorrow. It was enough that he could hold her. “If no one comes to
have a haircut tomorrow, we will probably be sharing a cell with
our favorite road agent,” she whispered into his chest. “The doctor
and the innkeeper will shut us in debtor’s prison and swallow the
key. Only think what terrible examples we are as parents for Maria!
The mother superior would smite us on the spot. We will probably
receive a free ocean voyage to Australia and all the stale bread
and moldy water we can consume twice a day.”

“
What else could possibly happen?”
he murmured, tugging her closer, speaking in that slow, dreamy
way.

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, God, 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 carcass.”

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
embarrassed, and equally unable to hide her amusement. “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
stitches.

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, snatching 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 prone 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 shell are
lined up where they should be. The horses are far back, but not too
far, in case we need to move fast. God 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 aprons.

“
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 anticipate 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 passage 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 apron and
wiped her eyes. Brushes, combs and razors, pomade and talcum. She
went to the door and told the first man waiting outside. “Pass 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.”