With This Ring Part 15

She kissed his temple, appalled at the strong smell of blood, but unwilling to be far from him. "I should be, Lord knows. Hush, now, Sam."

She looked up, and there was the surgeon. She sighed with disappointment, unable to hide her chagrin. He was older than anyone in the room, with eyes milky from cataracts. His bulk was impressive, too, and he seemed almost as tall as he was wide. He smiled at her, and extended his hand to her across the body of her husband. "Edward Wilburn, ma'am," he said. "And this must be our poor unfortunate."

She took his hand and felt the heart go back inside her body again. His fingers seemed to belie everything else about him. They were long and handsomely veined, and his grip tight. These are surgeons' hands, she told herself, and felt tears of relief well up in her eyes. "Lydia Reed," she said quickly, hoping to speak before she cried. "This is Sam."

Mr. Wilburn nodded, then looked around the crowded room. "Dave and Maudie, you'll bring me hot water and towels, won't you? Have ye an old sheet in the ragbag? I could use it." He looked at the others, and shook his head. "I'd love you to stay, laddies, but ye know I work best when I have room to swing my elbows." He bowed elaborately to them, with surprising grace.

The others laughed and left the room, nodding to Lydia. Soon just the three of them remained. She touched Sam's head, feeling protective of him.

Her gesture was not unnoticed by Mr. Wilburn. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll take as good care of him as you would."

She looked at him, wondering how delicately to broach the situation. "Sir, I do not doubt your abilities. Indeed, everyone in the room seemed quite comfortable with you. Mr. Wilburn, this is a war injury, and I doubt your expertise extends to much battle in Merry Glade. Forgive me if I am rude, sir, but ...."

"You love him, don't you?"

It was simply asked, but it took her off guard. I suppose I do, she thought in quiet surprise. "Oh, my" was all she managed to say before the responsibility of that piece of news settled right alongside her other newly earned stewards.h.i.+ps.

"Help me off with his clothes, and we will wash him when the Innises-good people, by the way-return with water and towels," Mr. Wilburn said as he removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

Impulsively she took his hand again. "I must know if you can do what he needs," she asked, not even trying to disguise her anxiety.

He kept her hand in his firm grasp. "Mrs. Reed, thirty-five years ago, I was surgeon to Banastre Tarleton, possibly the worst British officer who ever ravaged through the Carolinas. It's even possible that we hated him more than those pesky Colonials."

"The American war?" she asked. "But that was ...."

"Years ago?" he said helpfully, supplying the text. "Aye, Lord bless us. I was awfully young then, but I learned awfully fast." He let go of her hand. "I have not always lived in Merry Glade! Help me now."

Swiftly the removed the major's clothes, Lydia gritting her teeth as they pulled away the blood-clotted s.h.i.+rt. The Innises returned with water and towels, and left just as quickly. Sitting on the bed again, she watched the surgeon wipe carefully around the wound, exposing the length of it.

"A saber cut to the back, eh?" he asked, more to Sam than to her. "Oh, laddie, I know your problem. Lord knows, I saw plenty of these."

"You ... you did?"

He pointed a finger at her. "You are amazingly skeptical! I suppose I must heal the sick here before you will believe me!"

"Well, I, yes, actually," she said. She touched Sam's back where Picton's surgeon had operated. "This was done over a week ago. He ... he said he could not bear any more. He wanted to hurry home to finish it there."

The doctor washed the area around the wound, up into Sam's hair. "See that?" he asked, pointing to the red rash spreading up his neck. "Ill humors. He would not have made it home, lady. I don't think I am too late, but I need to go to work now. Stay or go, madam."

"I will stay."

He beamed at her, the picture of good nature, except that his hands were red with Sam's blood. "I knew you would. You must allow me to tie his hands to the bedpost."

"No."

The doctor looked down in mild surprise at the major, whose eyes were open again. "I don't recall inviting you into the discussion, lad. It's between me and your lady."

"Don't tie me down," he pleaded, and her heart went out to him. "Just let me rest my head in her lap. Oh, please."

The doctor looked at her, and she found the strength from somewhere to nod. "You'll have the best seat at the c.o.c.kfight, missie," he warned her. "And if you move, I'll tie your hands, Major Reed."

"I will be fine, if Lydia is here."

I do not know why I was so wild to be away from Holly Street, where I had no responsibilities, she thought as she settled onto the middle of the bed and rested Sam's head in her lap. Heaven knows, life was not pleasant there, but I never was called upon to make decisions, or exert myself.

"Put your arms around her, laddie," Mr. Wilburn said as he dumped some evil-looking instruments into the hot water.

"With pleasure," Sam replied. He draped his arms around her, hissing in his breath with the agony of it, and then unable to keep from groaning with the pain.

"Excellent! Excellent! I do not know a surgeon with a better view"-he winked at Lydia-"or a prettier restraint." He selected a scalpel and dried it on his s.h.i.+rt. "You know what I have to do now, since you've been down this road before, lad. Cover his eyes, Mrs. Reed."

She did as he said, clamping her hand over the major's eyes, but unable to take her own from the spot where the wound had not broken open, but still bulged with infection. The major screamed, and she grabbed his hands behind her back and held them there, wondering if it was possible for her bones to break through the skin from the ferocity of his grip. In another breathless moment, he fainted with a sigh and relaxed his hands.

"Excellent!" said the surgeon cheerfully, his face close to the nauseating wound that oozed milky white infection. He squinted his poor eyes, changed the scalpel for a probe, and worked around in silence for long, long minutes.

When she thought she could not take another moment of the mess and blood in her lap, he set aside the probe for long-handled forceps. After another concentrated effort, during which Sam, still unconscious, began to stir restlessly, he pulled out an unidentifiable, rotting ma.s.s that made her stomach turn.

With a grin of satisfaction, Mr. Wilburn spread out the ma.s.s on a corner of her ap.r.o.n that was still clean. "Looks like a piece of blue s.h.i.+rt, and a bit of red wool." He bent close to his unconscious patient. "Any more of your uniform in there, laddie? Shall we hunt about? Ah, yes. I knew you would agree, considering the alternative."

He poked about some more, going deep into the major's shoulder until he seemed to be in up to his forearm. Dizzy with nausea, Lydia watched, unable to take her eyes away, reminded of the Christmas goose, boned, laid bare and ready for stuffing and trussing. She willed him to finish, but still he poked about, finding the most minute sc.r.a.ps with his poor ruined eyes. Thread by thread almost, he pulled out the last of Sam's s.h.i.+rt, driven deep into his own shoulder by a French dragoon's saber thrust.

"Shall we rea.s.semble your husband, and hope that we do not have any parts left over?" he said at last, when a clock somewhere downstairs chimed four or five. She could not be sure, so weary was she with watching.

He called loud for some more water. Mrs. Innis must have been right outside the door because she hurried in, took one look, and sank to her knees. "Up you go, Maudie," the surgeon cajoled. "The major here needs some more water."

The woman gasped and rose to her feet, her face red with embarra.s.sment. She hurried out and came back with a bucket of warm water. "Thank you, my dearie," the surgeon said with a smile. "Now, be a good girl and hand Mrs. Reed a damp cloth." She did as he said, then hurried from the room. "She's a real good'un, as you'll likely learn tomorrow," Mr. Wilburn commented. "If it's not too much, my dear, would you wipe my face?"

Touched, she did as he said, taking off his blood-dotted spectacles to clean them, and put them back on his nose. She squeezed out the cloth and began to wipe delicately around the gaping wound. When she finished, the surgeon realigned the flesh he had pulled back, working slowly, continuing his hunt for the smallest stray bit of fabric that would only suppurate and cause pain and further infection.

"There may be bits and pieces that will fester and rise to the skin, but the wads that would kill him are gone now," Mr. Wilburn explained, ever the teacher, even as his shoulders drooped with weariness. "He's young; he looks healthy. If you can keep your hands off him for a few weeks and make no strenuous demands, your major will heal."

He smiled at her and winked, despite his almost palpable exhaustion. Quietly he began to close the wound, expertly winding the suture around the forceps and tugging just right. How could I have thought you were unequal to this? she thought. Oh, Father in heaven, when I get silly and tight-lipped, remind me not to judge so quickly.

Sam's shoulder was a map of black lines now, each st.i.tch orderly. Clutching his spectacles so they would not fall off, Mr. Wilburn looked closely at his work, frowning and squinting, and then nodding in satisfaction. "You'll do, laddie." Tears came to her eyes when the old man quickly kissed the major's cheek. "Brave lad. When you are conscious again, I will tell you how much I hate war," he whispered.

It took him a moment to straighten up, and he was generous enough to overlook her tears as she sobbed quietly into the wrung-out cloth. When she finished, she helped him into his coat.

"My dear, I will return in the morning." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a packet. "Here are some fever powders."

"I doubt he will let me give them to him."

"Then, do it anyway," he said. "Be the benevolent despot that most good wives are." He fished the instruments out of the long-cooled water and dumped them in his satchel. He rummaged in it and pulled out an odd-shaped earthenware container.

"I don't want him getting up for anything, not even to p.i.s.s. Use this instead." He patted her cheek. "You can certainly blush over the ordinaries of life, missie. The major must find you refres.h.i.+ng."

He left then while she stood there holding the urinal. She set it down and walked slowly to the window, feeling older than the oldest person in the world. In a few minutes, the surgeon was out in the street, starting off with a purposeful waddle that would have made her laugh, if she had not been so tired. She opened the window and leaned out.

"Oh, thank you, sir! From the bottom of my heart!"

He looked up, squinting his ruined eyes. "Think nothing of it, my dearie. Just wait until you get my bill. I will be in Bath this winter, thanks to you!"

She sank down in the window seat, her stomach in turmoil again. An operation and at least two weeks in bed at the Mill and Glade, she thought, seeing again in her mind's eye the road agent grinning at her as he s.n.a.t.c.hed her paltry resources and grabbed Sam's wallet. "And how are we to pay for this?" she asked her husband.

She looked at the ring on her finger, twisted it, and shook her head. '"With this ring I thee wed, and all my worldly goods endow,' eh, Sam? That was what you said. Ah, well. Maybe I will think of something tomorrow."

Weary to the marrow in her bones, she lay down beside her husband and closed her eyes.

Chapter Thirteen.

She thought she would sleep for a few moments at least, but she could not. For a long time she rested herself against the major's comforting bulk, but her mind would not stop spinning like a top. She worried about him when he seemed to breathe too deeply, or when it was too shallow for her liking. She thought about Maria and knew she should go find her. She wondered what would happen if there were more uniform fragments hidden deeper in his shoulder.

Always through verse after verse of her worries was the chorus: You have no money; no worldly goods to endow anybody with. Even people as kind as the Innises need paying guests at their inn. Few of us can live long on goodwill. She shuddered and imagined the Innises booting them downstairs and out the door, and then Mr. Wilburn pulling out each painstakingly applied st.i.tch when told that she could not pay.

She sat up in a perfect sweat. Lydia, you are a fool, she scolded herself. These are good people who will help you, if they know of your present dilemma. She sighed and leaned against Sam's hips, staying far away from his shoulder. "Sam, you would probably have a thousand solutions," she said softly, "but I do not think you are in any condition to suggest anything right now."

She lay down and tried to sleep again, but it was hopeless. Making sure that Sam's bare body was covered against the slight breeze of early evening, she went downstairs. Her hair was a tangled mess, but her hairbrush was in the bandbox and probably in Ealing. The small comb she carried in her reticule was in the possession of the other road agent. "And my three pounds," she grumbled out loud.

The public room was occupied by a fair number of the local const.i.tuency, drinking, rolling dice, smoking, and playing cards. She hung back at the entrance, too shy to go in, until the innkeeper saw her and set down what must be his perennial gla.s.s and rag to hurry to her side. "Mrs. Reed, you're looking lively!" he said. "How is the major?"

The room was quiet, and all eyes turned in her direction. I'm sure this is the most exciting thing that has happened in ages, she thought. "He is unconscious still, but he is breathing well. I have every hope that he will recover," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

It seemed straightforward enough to her, but as she dared herself a look around the room filled with men, she noticed, to her surprise, that several of them were dabbing at their eyes, or coughing and turning away. "Oh, I do not mean to make any of you melancholy," she said, clasping her hands in front of her. "He's a brave soldier and a stalwart one." She looked down in confusion at their reaction, and noticed her bloodstained ap.r.o.n. Oh, dear, I hope they do not think I am soliciting anyone's sympathy with my sad plight, she thought as she removed the ap.r.o.n, then hastily put it back on; the stains underneath on her dress were worse.

"If there is anything we can do for you, Mrs. Reed, you only have to ask."

She looked at the speaker, and recognized him as one of the farmers who had come upon the coach that afternoon. She gave what she hoped was her bravest smile. "I thank you for what you have done already." Oh, dear, she thought as she turned away. Some of them are even sniffling.

Mrs. Innis was in the room now. She took Lydia by the arm. "Come to our quarters, Mrs. Reed," she urged. "I think I can safely say there is someone who would like to see you."

Maria sat on the floor in the cozy sitting room behind the public room, concentrating on blocks. She looked up when Lydia called her name, and crawled over to be picked up. With a sigh, Lydia picked her up and held her close, enjoying the sweet smell of her, and the feel of someone sound and whole, and without a worry. "I hope she was no trouble," she said to Mrs. Innis as she seated herself on the sofa with Maria on her lap.

The innkeeper's wife shook her head. "I don't know when I have seen a more pleasant baby. My daughter Suzie here has quite enjoyed this afternoon."

The young girl nodded and shyly came to sit beside Lydia. "I can watch her anytime you like, Mrs. Reed, if it will help with the major."

"It is a relief to me to know that," she said simply, touching Suzie's arm. She looked at Mrs. Innis. "I do not know how to thank you for your help thus far." Or how I can possibly pay you, she thought, but I will trust your goodwill to get me through this day and night, while you still feel sorry for me.

Mrs. Innis only nodded, then turned away to blow her nose. I do believe this is the most softhearted village we could ever have wandered into, Lydia thought. Either that, or I look more pitiable than I imagined. "Oh, dear, I don't mean to cause you distress, Mrs. Innis," she said. "I should go upstairs and let you get on with your own concerns."

Suzie touched her arm and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Reed, you don't need to go anywhere! It's almost like a fairy story, with you so pretty and fragile-looking, and so much a lady; and then Mr. Wilburn tells everyone how brave you were during that whole medical ordeal; and there is the major so handsome and courageous, defending your virtue from those dreadful road agents, and how you killed the road agents single-handedly to save the major's life; and there is little Maria, so sweet and looking so much like her dear papa, and what a shame it would be if he did not live to see her grow! Oh, it fair takes my breath away," she concluded, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with the excitement of it all.

Oh, my, Lydia thought in amazement. Already this tale has exceeded its boundaries! I am not pretty and have never been accused of fragility, and by no stretch of anyone's imagination is Sam handsome-although he does possess a certain something that makes my stomach feel warm when he looks at me-and as for the road agents, and defending my virtue .... I am only grateful down to my toenails that I did not shoot Sam, too! Like an idiot, Sam was arguing, and my virtue was never in much jeopardy.

"I only wounded one of the road agents, and the other one got away," she said, deciding that it would be best to leave the rest of the tale as Suzie told it. "And there is that poor vicar," she added.

Suzie and Mrs. Innis glanced at each other, and burst into laughter. When Lydia stared at them in surprise, Mrs. Innis did look a little uncomfortable. "You must forgive us, but we are thinking that the road agent who shot him must have been a member of our congregation."

"His sermons were so dull," Suzie explained. "I fall asleep before I ever get inside the church."

"But we should be charitable," Mrs. Innis said, although Lydia could discern no contrition in either her voice or expression. "Mrs. Reed, may I get you some soup?"

The subject change suited everyone, until Lydia sat down at the table. Mrs. Innis served cream soup, and it looked so much in color and texture like the infection in Sam's shoulder that she could only stare at it and shake her head. Without any questions, Mrs. Innis whisked it away and brought tea and toast instead. She ate until she felt herself too tired to lift the toast to her mouth, or manage one more sip.

Mrs. Innis was there watching her. "You should go to sleep now, my dear," she said, her voice low and kind. "I have a nightgown for you. You are much Suzie's size, and I am certain that this dress of hers I have here will fit."

"Oh, I couldn't," Lydia began.

"We know it is not what you are used to," Mrs. Innis said in apology, "but Davey is going to Ealing in the morning to retrieve your luggage."

"It isn't that ...." she said as she accepted the loan of the clothing. It is just that I am not used to such kindness, she thought as tears came to her eyes again. "I dislike being a trouble to you."

Mrs. Innis only smiled and helped Lydia to her feet. "Mrs. Reed, you cannot imagine our own pleasure at doing our little part to help the soldiers who defended our sh.o.r.es from invasion."

Lydia took Mrs. Innis's hand. If you could only see how people-vultures really-worked their way through St. Barnabas, looking for soldiers to entertain them in the agony of death, you would be amazed at the way others feel. "I am certain that everyone feels the way you do," she lied.

"I'm certain they do," Mrs. Innis said, returning the pressure of Lydia's grasp. "Let me help you upstairs. We hope you will let Maria remain here with Suzie. You need your rest, and so does the major."

The nightgown was surely made of flannel and comfort, she decided as she dropped its folds around her. She washed her face in the basin, pausing several times as though trying to remember what it was she was doing. I have never lived a longer day, she thought, as she looked in the mirror and brushed her hair with the brush on loan from Mrs. Innis. Perhaps I do look fragile, she thought. I feel fragile right now, and so much in need of comfort.

Sam lay on his side as she had left him. She crawled into bed beside him, backing herself up against his chest and legs. He sighed and settled his arm around her and inched closer until she could feel his breath on her neck. With a groan that made her freeze in worry, he threw a leg over her, and then settled back into deeper sleep.

She was warm now, and embraced into sleep by someone who was really too ill to have any idea what he was doing, she told herself. She closed her eyes, ready to let the mattress claim her, too.

"Lydia."

Wondering if he was awake or asleep, she waited for him to say something else. She was almost asleep when he moved closer. "I think I cannot sleep if you are not here." At least, she thought that was what he said. His words were still slurred and the pauses so great that she wasn't sure. Suzie would call that extremely romantic, she thought as she settled against him and went to sleep.

The major woke her once in the night with his restless turning, and muttering. She sat up and watched him, remembering how the surgeons would administer fever powders to men who fidgeted, even if they did not appear to be awake. She got up and mixed the powders and brought them back to the bed.

"Sam, hold still," she said, speaking distinctly into his ear.

He opened his eyes. Oh, how you suffer, she thought in shock. Even the tiny light of the candle she had lit did not soften the dull look of pain.

"I ... don't ... need ... that," he said with great emphasis, even if he could manage no more than a whisper.

"Yes, you do," she said. "Hold still and behave yourself, Sam." She rose up on her knees on the bed and got a good hold on his lower back, enough to prop him up slightly. When he would not open his mouth, she pinched his nostrils closed until he did, then poured down the drug.

She was afraid he would try to spit it out, but the liquid went down without a murmur. You know you need it, she thought, as she lowered him carefully to the bed again and tried to reposition him on his side, with a pillow at his back again. How grateful I am that women are not as stubborn as men.

He was still restless, and moving his hands toward his privates, so she found the urinal and held it for him. When he finished, all without opening his eyes, he nodded and she took it away. When she turned back to the bed again, he was soundly asleep, his breathing slow, regular, and more normal to her ears.