A Proper Marriage (5 page)

“Everything is gone.” Olivia dabbed at her eyes. “Our wagon, our belongings, even Luke’s horse, that he loved more than anything in this world.”

“Not more than he loves his bride, surely.”

Olivia shrugged.

“This marriage is quite recent?”

“Yes. We married only a couple of days ago. Before we started over the mountain.”

“And marriage is not turning out as first imagined.”

Reminded of her predicament and comforted by Delia’s acknowledgment of it, Olivia nodded. Everything had turned out even worse than she’d feared. Perhaps she should have acted on her first impulse and run away from Blue Gap on her own. To Philadelphia or New York. At least then Luke would not be lying injured and half-frozen on a lonely mountain trail, bound to a wife whose heart, too, was frozen solid as a mountain stream.

Delia patted Olivia’s shoulder. “Courtship is full of hope and imagination, my dear, but the realities of marriage bring us down to earth soon enough. A woman must expect some disillusionment, but in time man and wife come to appreciate each other. At least I have found it so.”

A noise sounded in the yard. Delia rose and peered through the window. “They have returned.”

Olivia straightened her dress and waited for the right feelings to come. She should feel more than simple relief. Tenderness for Luke, surely, if not overwhelming love. But her heart had somehow slipped its moorings, leaving her without thought or emotion.

Samuel and the others carried Luke into the house. Olivia bent over him and called his name.

“He can’t talk,” Samuel said. “Fever’s got him bad.”

“This way.” Delia led them into another room, whitewashed like the other and sparsely furnished with a bed, washstand, and clothes press. The unadorned window afforded a view of the orchard and the narrow road that wound upward into the hills. In the distance the mountain loomed, casting purple shadows into the valley below.

“The other room will be fine,” Olivia said.

The men laid Luke on the feather mattress. Delia sent Olivia a quizzical look. “He will be much more comfortable in a larger bed.”

“Of course.” Olivia managed a weak smile. “But I don’t want to crowd you out.”

“Where there’s room in the heart, there’s room in the house.” Samuel motioned to the doctor. “Here is the patient, Dr. Chadwick.”

Samuel turned to Olivia. “We salvaged a few things from the wreckage. Some of his tools. And some sketchbooks with a little box of charcoal. Mr. Mackenzie was very insistent about that.”

Olivia’s heart lurched. That was so like Luke, thinking of others instead of himself.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save more of it,” Samuel said, “but it started snowing again, and we needed to get Mr. Mackenzie to the doctor.”

“Of course. I’m surprised you were able to find anything. We shall certainly need all of it.”

He nodded. “I reckon I’d best give the boys a hand unloading the wagon.”

The doctor took one look at the gaping wound in Luke’s leg and frowned. “Delia,” he said, opening his bag, “I’m going to need liniment and plenty of bandages. And some warm broth if you can manage it.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you. Bring a kettle of warm water, too, and towels.” He turned to Olivia. “I’ll need your help setting this fracture, Mrs. Mackenzie. Are you up to it?”

She wished that Mrs. Mills might offer to assist—Olivia herself was as ignorant of medicine as of any other practical skill. But the woman had retreated to the kitchen. The doctor cut away the tattered fabric of Luke’s trousers, exposing an oozing mass of blood and bone.

Luke moaned and reached for her hand. “Olivia?”

“I’m here.” She shuddered, wishing she were anyplace else. But he was hurt because of her, because of the choice she’d made. She owed him every comfort she could muster. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be good as new.” She turned to the doctor. “I’m ready, sir.”

“I don’t . . . want to lose my leg,” Luke rasped before falling into unconsciousness.

Delia returned with a stack of soft cloths, a brown bottle of foul-smelling liquid, and a steaming kettle. “Samuel has gone to make a splint.”

“We’ll need a crutch as well,” the doctor said. “If this poor man sur—”

Olivia’s head snapped up in time to see Delia warning the doctor with a shake of her head. Her stomach heaved. “He will be all right, won’t he? He isn’t going to die?”

Chapter Six

O
livia lay on the edge of the bed, wide-awake, listening to Luke’s steady breathing and the
tick-tick
of rain against the Millses’ bedroom window. Watery yellow light from the lantern in the kitchen pierced the predawn gloom. Soon Charlotte or Delia would appear with a breakfast tray, and another long day of caring for Luke would begin.

In the weeks since their ordeal on the mountain, his shattered leg had finally begun to heal. He was impatient to be on his way to Laurel Grove to claim his land and get it planted. But Dr. Chadwick had advised another two weeks of rest. Even then, Luke would have to take care not to put too much strain on his healing bones.

Outside, the barn door creaked open. Olivia sat up and watched Samuel hurry inside to do the milking and care for the horses.

“You’re awake,” Luke said quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.” He struggled to a sitting position and propped a pillow behind his back. His leg in its heavy splint lay atop the faded quilt. “I keep thinking we ought to have our plantin’ underway. It’s April already.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“It’s true. I’m surprised you can be so cheerful about it.”

“I was just thinking of the time we stole that watermelon from the Jenkinses’ place. Remember, Olivia?”

She remembered. She’d been twelve years old that summer. It was the last time her father had whipped her. That fall she’d entered Miss Pritchard’s, and she’d returned to Blue Gap four years later a young woman.

“I felt bad about getting caught,” Luke went on, “since the whole thing was my idea in the first place.”

She reached for her shoes and pulled them on. “You should have seen the look on your face when that watermelon splattered all over the field.”

“I was embarrassed. I wanted so bad to impress you. That’s when you said there wasn’t anything we could do about it.” He sighed. “I guess you’re right, though. What’s done is done. I can’t unbreak this leg of mine.”

A wave of sympathy for him moved through her. “It’ll heal, Luke. You must be patient.”

“But we still need to get settled as soon as possible.”

Delia knocked at the door and pushed it open. The smells of coffee and bacon wafted from the tray she carried. “It’s a wet one out there this morning. Samuel’s hitching the rig in case the rain stops before time for meeting.”

Delia placed the tray on the washstand and handed them each a cup of coffee. “There’s more coffee on the stove and extra bacon in the oven.”

“I’m sure this will be plenty,” Luke said. “We’re forever obliged to you, Mrs. Mills.”

She nodded, her gray eyes warm and steady. “Our Lord commands us to care for others. ’Tis our blessing to do so for as long as necessary.”

“I hope to be well enough to travel in a couple more weeks.” Luke sipped his coffee. “I’d be obliged if Mr. Mills could ask around, find out where I might be able to rent a horse and wagon.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Mother?” Charlotte bounded into the room, her eyes bright, her chestnut hair a tumble of curls around her shoulders. “Where is my new lace collar? Hello, Mrs. Mackenzie. Mr. Mackenzie. How’s the leg today?”

“Charlotte,” her mother said patiently, “it isn’t polite to barge into our guests’ room.”

“Oh, but they’ve been here so long, I’ve stopped thinking of them as guests.” The girl beamed at Olivia. “Olivia—Mrs. Mackenzie, I mean—seems more like the sister I always wanted.”

Olivia smiled at the girl’s bright chatter. Had she, Olivia, ever felt so young and carefree? She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt burdened by grief and guilt.

“Come along, Charlotte,” Delia said, peering through the window. “Leave the Mackenzies in peace. The rain has stopped. I’ll help look for the collar, and then we must be away.”

A few minutes later the family, clad in their meeting clothes, departed. The muddy road muted the usual clatter of the wheels as the wagon left the yard. Olivia and Luke ate their meal in silence. Olivia brushed her hair and helped Luke wash up, holding the basin and mirror while he shaved. She watched him hobble on his makeshift crutch down the path to the outhouse. She poured fresh water into the basin for her own morning ablutions. She pinned up her hair, brushed her dress, and carried their dishes to the kitchen. Shafts of weak spring sunlight spilled onto the rough wooden floor, and illuminated the rows of cookery books, teapots, and muffin tins lining the shelves. She set the tray on the plain pine table, heated water, then washed and dried their plates and stacked them on the sideboard.

When Luke returned, they settled themselves in the parlor. Olivia looked around for something to read—an engrossing biography or an entertaining novel—but the glass-fronted bookcase held only a couple of Bibles, a copy of
Lives
of
the
Saints
, and records of the Quakers’ yearly meetings in Ohio and elsewhere. She flopped into her chair and sighed.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring your books,” Luke said. “I’ll get you some new ones one of these days.”

“That would be nice, but I don’t see how. Not when we’ve lost almost everything.” She studied his face. Since the accident he had grown leaner, the planes of his face more pronounced, giving him the look of a holy man, or a scholar.

“Maybe your sketchbooks will be all right once they finish drying out. The pages might be a little moldy, though.”

“Luke, I’m worried. Even if Samuel finds a wagon and horse for hire, how will we pay for it?”

“Samuel said he’d make us a loan.”

“Enough to buy the land in Laurel Grove too?”

”We’ve got enough for the first payment. I’m relying on cousin Micah’s willingness to wait for the rest until the first crops come in. He says the peach orchard should start producing this year. There’re a few acres of good bottomland for growin’ cotton. Between the two, we should own the land free and clear in a couple of years.”

“That’s all well and good, but how can you possibly plant and harvest with a broken leg?”

“It’ll heal eventually. And I’ll have you to help me.”

She gaped at him. She expected to cook and clean, of course, to do the washing and tend a vegetable garden. But field work had not been a part of the bargain. “Me? Can’t your cousin help?”

“He’s got his hands full looking after his own place.” Luke’s expression hardened. “You won’t be the first woman to plow a field. My grandmother and yours, too, probably . . . managed.”

“My grandmother never plowed a field in her life. She was a lady.”

When Luke only looked at her, she blushed. “I know what you must think of me.”

“Do you? I wonder.” He shifted in his chair and massaged the top of his thigh. “After you left Blue Gap for school, I must have written you at least a hundred letters.”

“You did?” She stared at him, surprised and oddly pleased. “I never received a single one of them.”

He grinned and shook his head. “I didn’t actually send them.”

“Why not?”

“You were off learning French and studying great literature. I was afraid you’d think they were silly.”

It was her turn to smile. “I have thought many things about you, Luke Mackenzie, but never that you were silly. What were your letters about?”

“Nothing earth-shattering. Mostly I wrote about what was going on in Blue Gap, things that you were missing. Like the time Mr. Jenkins shot a bear up near the Coulters’ place, and the time the whole town shut down to hear the governor make a speech. And the time Mary Frank Harpeth got caught kissing Harvey Phillips out behind her daddy’s smokehouse.”

She laughed, grateful for this newfound easiness between them. “Really? I always thought Mary Frank was sweet on you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I wasn’t completely isolated in Virginia, you know. I heard rumors that you two were sweethearts.”

“I liked her all right, but she was sweet on someone else.”

“Harvey Phillips?”

“No.” A shadow moved across his face, breaking the spell. He struggled to his feet and balanced on his crutch. “I’m tired, Olivia. I want to lie down for a while.”

“I’ll help you to the bed.”

“I can manage.” He pivoted on his good leg. “Maybe you could get some dinner started. Surprise Delia and them.”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a very good surprise. I’m not much of a cook.”

“Then it’s time you learned.”

He disappeared into the bedroom. She heard the scrape of his crutch against the wooden floor and the rustling of the mattress as he settled onto the bed. She went to the door and peered down the lonely road, fighting tears. Suddenly she missed her mother, who had been the one to insist that Olivia go away to school where she could receive a first-rate education.

Her father had been dead set against it, not only because of the expense, but because once Olivia was married, a knowledge of literature and art would be useless. But after her mother left he’d seemed eager to be rid of his eldest daughter, too, so off she’d gone to Miss Pritchard’s. Now it seemed her father had been right after all. Who would have time for music and art and reading books when there were fields to plow, peaches to pick, a cotton patch to hoe? Not to mention—

Olivia heard the rattle of harness and hastily wiped away her tears. The Millses’ horse and wagon appeared at the bend in the road. Moments later Samuel halted the wagon in the yard and helped Delia and Charlotte down. Seeing that Ben Thornburg, Charlotte’s young man, was with them filled Olivia with dismay. Now she would be expected to be animated during the noon meal, when all she wanted to do was escape into the oblivion of sleep.

While Ben and Samuel tended the horse, Delia and Charlotte came inside, their cheeks pink from the cool April wind, their eyes shining. Evidently something exciting had happened at the meeting. Olivia heard snippets of conversation and bright laughter as mother and daughter hung up their cloaks and changed out of their good dresses. Another stab of loneliness pricked at her. Would she ever be reconciled to this strange, new life?