Jack lay on the featherbed, feeling helpless. His wife was in the barn, milking the cow and feeding the livestock, and he was lying about like a sluggard. It wasn’t right. Lucy was working herself to a shadow, doing a man’s work as well as a woman’s. He moved to sit up and fell back against the pillow. It seemed like the pain would tear him in two. If I just move through it, I’ll be fine.
He pulled in a deep breath and braced himself, then pushed his body upward and swung his legs over the side of the bed. An involuntary groan escaped him, and he clutched his side with his good arm. The pain was so intense he thought he might retch. His arm ached, his ribs throbbed, and the searing in his belly was agony. He was shaking, and beads of sweat dripped from his brow.
He pushed harder on his side, and that seemed to help a bit. His breeches … where were they? He looked about the room but couldn’t spot them. They must be in the clothespress. It was at least two steps from the end of the bed. He bit his lip and measured the distance in his mind. Lucy wouldn’t like it—that was certain—but it was time he stopped being a burden to her.
He gathered what strength he could muster and pushed himself up off the bed. Immediately his knees buckled, and he fell back with a stifled cry, landing half on and half off the bed.
“And just what are you doing?” Lucy’s eyes snapped in anger as she surveyed him from the doorway.
Jack groaned and covered his eyes with his good arm.
“Ah, Jack.” She hurried to him and grasped his shoulder. “Come on, now. Back in bed.”
“It’s time for me to be up and about.”
“Oh, yes, surely.” She scowled at him. “Maybe in a fortnight.”
He set his teeth and let her help him ease back up toward the pillow, then lay gasping, staring up at the ceiling.
To his surprise, Lucy sat on the edge of the bed. He continued to stare upward.
“Healing takes time. I know this is difficult for you, but let me do what I must, and don’t make things harder. If you overdo now, you’ll have a setback, and then I shall be longer getting you well.”
He nodded.
“Jack.”
It was a whisper as soft as lamb’s wool, and he couldn’t help looking at her. She was so beautiful! She oughtn’t to be worked like a servant. She squeezed up her face for an instant, and he was afraid she would cry, but instead she reached for the pitcher and cup.
“Drink this.” After he complied, she said, “I’ll have your supper soon.” She rose, straightened the coverlet, and turned away.
“Wait,” he said.
She looked back, and Jack hesitated.
“I recollect the court now.”
“Do you?”
He nodded. “Lucy, they didn’t acquit me.”
“So the captain told me. The magistrate said the evidence was insufficient to try you on.”
“But they could arrest me again. Did he tell you that?”
Fear leaped into her eyes. “Nay, but … if there’s not enough evidence …”
“We can’t count on anything,” he said. “I wasn’t tried for the crime, but many still suspect me.”
She came a step nearer. “What does this mean, Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
The sheen in her eyes told him tears were near.
“We keep on, I guess, and hope the sentiments in town die down.” Even to him it sounded inadequate. What if some other bit of trumped-up evidence surfaced? Would he have to go through the accusations and abuse again?
Lucy licked her lips and wadded her apron between her hands. “Jack, there’s something else. I didn’t want to worry you, but …”
“What?” Her hesitance and unsteady voice alarmed him.
“It may be nothing, but … well, sometimes I think someone’s been about the barn.”
“Is anything missing?” he asked, thinking of the way his ax had been taken and used.
“Nothing except a few eggs and a little milk. And one day last week the beans were stripped and the turnips thinned, but I didn’t do it, and I certainly didn’t eat the vegetables.” She shrugged. “This evening, as I was milking … I felt as though I was being watched.”
Jack frowned. It was probably nothing. Normal edginess for a woman who has been forced to rely on herself. But he had approved her dismissal of the men who had come to do the farm chores. He was glad they’d helped and shown their support, but he didn’t want it to go on to the point of the Hunters being beholden to others.
“Keep the dog with you when you go outside,” he said.
“I shall.”
Jack’s mind raced as she left to start supper. It was his place to protect his wife and to perform the heavy work about the farm, not lie here weak and helpless.
The dog came and laid his chin on the edge of the bed, staring up at Jack with huge brown eyes. Even that mongrel dog was a help to Lucy. But her husband was useless—no, worse than that. He was a hindrance and the cause of extra work for her. Did she regret the marriage? It crossed his mind that an honorable man would offer to let her put the marriage aside and return to her mother’s home if she wished, but that was the last thing he wanted.
Sir Walter whined, and Jack scowled at him.
“Go away.”
The next Sunday, Lucy rose early to do her chores and fix breakfast. Jack had insisted the evening before that she go to church. The fact that he wasn’t able to attend didn’t mean she should neglect public worship. She looked forward to mingling with the other parishioners, but at the same time was nervous as to what their attitudes would be. Before Jack’s release, many of the church members had offered their pity to the soon-to-be widow. But would they accept her as the wife of Jack Hunter, accused but walking free?
She put cornmeal, salt, and water to simmer over the fire and headed for the barn with her milk pail. She was nearly there when she saw that the barn door was open several inches.
“Sir Walter,” she called.
The dog trotted out of the sheep pen.
Lucy stroked his broad forehead. “Good dog.”
She stepped toward the barn door and pushed it open. “Go in,” she told Sir Walter. He looked up at her, then scrambled through the doorway. She stepped in cautiously and watched him sniff about. He snuffled a pile of straw, then crossed to the calf’s stall and exchanged stares with Tryphenia’s young one. The calf bawled, and Sir Walter moved on to sniff the oxen’s empty stalls, then stopped before the cow’s tie-up and yipped. Tryphenia turned a large eye toward the dog and mooed. Sir Walter pranced back toward Lucy.
“If anything was wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Just to be sure, she latched the door and shook it. The latch stayed in place; it wasn’t likely the wind had blown the door open.
She shook her head and went about feeding the animals. After milking Tryphenia, she led her to the pasture, then took the calf out and released the sheep from their small pen into the larger fenced field.
At last she was able to gather the eggs. She found only one. She took it and her milk into the kitchen.
When she was ready to leave for church, she peeked into the bedroom. Jack lay drowsing against his pillow but opened his eyes and smiled when he saw her.
“Good,” she said. “You finished your breakfast.” She picked up his empty dishes, knowing he was watching her and feeling inordinately pleased.
“You’re going with the Ellises?” he asked.
“Yes, they said they would stop for me. I’ll be going out to the lane to see if they’re coming now.”
He smiled. “You look fine.”
Disconcerted, she shrugged. “I look as I always do on the Lord’s Day.” She felt her cheeks redden under his scrutiny.
“I hope …” He frowned and adjusted the sling that kept his fractured arm immobile.
“What?” she asked.
“I hope folks won’t turn against you because you married me.”
“No one has been unkind. In fact, several families have helped me and inquired about your health.”
“I’m glad. Lucy, I …” She waited, but he just smiled and waved his hand. “You should go. Don’t keep the Ellises waiting.”
The next week flew by as Lucy settled into her new activities. She soon found that she could no longer keep Jack confined to bed. Ten days after the captain hauled him home in the oxcart, Jack limped to the outhouse while leaning on her shoulder. After that, he insisted on dressing every morning and joining her in the kitchen for meals. Before long he was shelling peas for her and casting bullets, though he still could not lift more than a trifle or perform strenuous work.
“I believe I shall be able to milk the cow soon,” he said one morning. He sat on a stool in the kitchen while she clipped his hair.
“Perhaps,” Lucy said. She tried to maintain a balance between encouragement and restraint. So far his wounds were healing well, but his tendency to attempt harder labor each day concerned her. “We don’t want you doing much with that arm until the bones have knit.”
His ribs worried her, too. She saw him grimace when he shifted his weight, and he became short of breath whenever he expended any effort.
Jack put his good hand up to feel how short she was trimming his unruly locks. “I’ve gotten rather shaggy, haven’t I?”
She chuckled. “I didn’t want to say so, but I hardly recognized my husband.” She ran her hand through his hair, holding out the strands she would cut next. Jack sat very still, and suddenly the intimacy of the moment struck her. She finished the job as quickly as she could, not looking into his eyes as she worked around the front, where the hair wanted to fall over his eyebrows.
“Perhaps you should take up barbering,” he said.
“Nay, I don’t think I would like that.”
“Oh? I was hoping you would, and I’d have you trim my beard, as well.”
“Surely you can do that better than I.” She put the handles of the scissors in his hand.
“Don’t you think you’d be ashamed to have anyone see me after I trimmed my own beard left-handed?”
She hesitated, then took the scissors back. “I’ve never done this before, you know. Perhaps I shall do a worse job than you would with either hand.”
She clipped away timidly at first, then with more confidence, at last standing back to eye her work critically. “There. Not a perfect job, but you’d pass in a mob.”
His eyes twinkled. “Next time I’m in a mob, I’ll recollect that.”
Lucy fetched the broom, swept up the clippings, and tossed them into the fire.
“Not saving it to stuff a pillow?” Jack asked with a smile.
She stared at him. “I stuff my pillows with feathers, if you please.”
He stood slowly, using the chair back for leverage. “ ‘Tis what my mother did when I was a lad. That little embroidered cushion yonder is filled with my baby hair.” He nodded toward the bedroom door.
Lucy blinked, unsure how to answer. At last she said, “Well, she was a doting mother.”
“Yes, and I was her only child to survive infancy.”
“Then we can’t blame her for being a mite smothery, can we?” Lucy said. “Now, I must get back to my loom.”
She hurried up to the loft. Why did her heart pound so? It was only a haircut, and a badly needed one at that. Was it because a bit of quiet fire had returned to his eyes, and more and more he resembled the young man she’d fancied four years ago? All those years she’d longed for Jack to notice her again. One glance would have satisfied her, she’d told herself. And now, here she was actually married to him and still craving his notice. But when he did look at her and attempt to tease her, panic filled her breast.
As she moved her shuttle back and forth, she considered his words. Was he merely trying to ease the tension between them so their odd marriage would seem more normal? Or could it be he hoped to woo her again? She knew she didn’t want to go on as they were, living as brother and sister might, sharing the work of the farm, each benefiting from the other’s labor. She’d had as much with her mother.
No, she would be very disappointed if things did not change soon. But was it her place to instigate change? Or was that what Jack was trying to do this morning? As the shuttle flew back and forth through the warp, she renewed her prayers for wisdom and discretion in her marriage, but added a meek plea, if the Lord so willed, for a bit of passion.
When she came in from milking that evening, Jack was leaning on the table, and on it lay a quilt and a lantern.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“My bedding. I shall sleep in the barn tonight.”
Lucy stared at him. “To what purpose?”
“Why, to protect our property, and to … to give you back your bedchamber.” His stare came across as a challenge.
Lucy felt her annoying blush return. It seemed that whenever Jack looked at her for more than a moment, her cheeks flushed.
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “After all, it’s your bedchamber, and was before I came here. I am comfortable out here on the pallet, and you need to have your healing rest each night.”
“I’m much better now, and I’ll not have my wife sleeping on the floor one more night. Please don’t fight me on this, Lucy.”
She pressed her lips together and studied his face. How important was this to Jack? Would it set him back to sleep on the straw pile in the barn? She supposed not, as long as he had clean bedding to lie on. The nights were warm, and lying on the straw, while not as comfortable as a featherbed, might ease his mind enough to let him sleep peacefully.
She had no doubt that Jack’s full recovery was dependent on his keeping his pride intact, and occupying the bed while she slept on the floor threatened it. Moving to the barn seemed to be the answer he’d found, and he was set on it.
“Fine.” She set down the bucket of milk and began her supper preparations. Jack said nothing, and after a minute she looked over at him.
He was watching her and gave a nod when she caught his eye. “That’s settled, then.”
“Yes, Jack. But I doubt you are ready to split wood or swing a scythe, so please don’t try it.” She began cutting the tops off a bunch of carrots.
“I should be haying.”
“We’ll trade work with Sam Ellis, or buy hay.”
“I’ll not buy hay when I’ve fields begging to be mowed.”
“Then we’ll hire someone. Will Carver, perhaps.”
He scowled. “In a week I’ll be ready to do a full day’s work.”
Lucy stopped chopping the vegetables. “Perhaps yes, perhaps no. You mustn’t go too quickly.”
“I don’t like having you haul water and firewood and hoe the corn.”
She shrugged. “That’s as it must be for now. It won’t last.” But she could tell by his expression that he was still not content. All right, she would give in to him on the sleeping arrangements, though it wasn’t at all the next step she’d hoped to see in their relationship.
“At least we’ll know if anyone pokes about the barn at night.” She chopped the carrots into pieces and tossed them into her stew kettle.
“If someone’s pilfering from us, we’ll soon know it.”
“Perhaps …” She turned to face him. “Perhaps you should take your gun with you.”
“Oh, I don’t think this phantom is desperate. He’s only been taking a bit of food.”
“You don’t think it’s something more sinister?”
“What do you mean?” He walked over to stand beside her, and Lucy was keenly aware of his nearness.
“Nothing. It’s just that … well, while you were in the jail, I wondered if perhaps the person who killed Barnabas Trent was lingering about the neighborhood.”
Jack frowned. “This petty thievery doesn’t seem to fit in with violent murder.”
“No, but … at least take Sir Walter with you.”
Jack laughed. “Nay, the dog is your comfort. Keep him with you.” He limped to the table and picked up the bedding. “I’ll take these things to the barn and look around.”
“Supper will be ready in a bit.”
She watched him go, holding back her impulse to advise him to take the stick he’d been using as a cane while hobbling about the house and dooryard. Jack was as loath to surrender his independence as she was, it seemed.
She set the kettle on a pothook over the fire and opened her bin of wheat flour. Biscuits tonight. Jack liked her biscuits. As she kneaded the dough, she glanced toward the corner where she’d been leaving her straw pallet during the day. Sir Walter was curled up on the edge of it.
“Aye, you can have that bed tonight,” she said, pounding the dough extra hard. What had she expected? That she would move from the pallet on the floor into her husband’s bed with him? Apparently that was another thing Jack was not ready for, and she would certainly not be the one to broach the subject.
Would she ever have a real marriage? She had bound herself to Jack, and in so doing had helped save his farm and perhaps his life. Did his feelings for her go beyond gratitude, as she hoped they would? He was free now, not only from prison; he was free to establish a family and give her the warm, loving home she had always craved. But Jack seemed interested only in getting on with the farm work. Did he regret his impulsive decision to marry her?
She prayed as she rolled and shaped the dough. Lord, I need Your grace. Help me to be the best wife he could want. And someday, if it be in Your plan, let me truly be his wife.
At supper Jack talked about the livestock and his plans for haying and harvesting the grain crops. Lucy smiled at his eagerness and forced herself not to protest when he suggested that he would be back to full strength soon.
“Do you want to open your school again?” he asked as she refilled his cup with milk.
Lucy hesitated. “We’ve been so busy, I’m not sure. What do you advise?”
Jack smiled, and she felt her heart contract the way it used to when she knew he’d walked a mile out of his way just to see her.
“Do as you wish, but I’ll give you the same advice you gave me: Don’t do anything too soon. If you need your strength for harvest and preserving and weaving, perhaps you should not hold school just now.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
When he rose to go to the barn, her disappointment again assailed her. He hadn’t changed his mind. “Won’t you take the dog?”
“Nay. If our egg stealer came around, that hound would scare him away before I got a good look at him.”