The Grass Widow (35 page)

She didn’t say it, but he read it in her eyes:
You can’t promise
me that, and you know it.
“Give me some laudanum,” she said. “My head hurts.”

He let his fingertips trail from her cheek. “I’m sorry. You need to gut it out, Josie,” he said quietly. “It’s too soon since your last dose.”

“No.” Doc shoved the brown bottle into the inside pocket of his coat; Aidan was close enough—and angry enough—to slap him, and looked as if she was an inch away from it. “I know too well what the addiction’s like, and I won’t be a party to putting her through it. No, Aidan.”

“Don’t take your ire at me out on her! Give her the damned drug!”

Malin, leaning against the sink with one hand over his eyes, watched them through his fingers.

“It’s you who’s angry with me, not me with you. Aidan, two days ago you were begging me not to give it to her. Sit—sit down! Be quiet and listen to me.” He sat at the table, letting her simmer until she knew he wasn’t going to give in; she sat, glaring at him. “They took my leg at Manassas,” he said gently.

“I was a physician, so they left the bottle at my bedside, trusting me. And for two years I never passed a day without it. I arrived

at Flora Washburn’s one day—a hired hand had gotten his hand caught in a pulley and severed his thumb—and I bungled the job horribly because I was so drugged. A week later they took him to Leavenworth, but it was too late; he lost the hand to gangrene. Flora came back and beat me half-senseless with her crop, screaming that she’d wasted her money on a mindless puke with no more ballocks than a gelding. She chained me in a stall in her barn and left me there, shoving food at me once in a while, and for two weeks I envisioned more fantastic bugs and spiders than you can even dream. That’s what laudanum can do. When the pain starts to drive her mad, I’ll give it to her. Until it does—”

“You assume she’s mad anyway,” Aidan snapped. “How will you know the difference?”

“Ouch,” Malin murmured, but neither Aidan nor Doc heard him. “You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

“You’re playing God! You gave it to her when she didn’t need it, and now you withhold it when she does—kindly explain your methods, Doctor, lest I believe her survival is something you still think you can control.”

“You’re a doctor’s daughter, not a doctor,” he snapped back, stung. “You’re beyond your dinner-table learning now, Miss Blackstone, and I’ll not explain myself to—”

“Stop this !” Malin roared. “Give me the Goddamned bottle!

Now, Robert, or I’ll take it from you, I swear I will! Give it—give it—thank you!” He bounced off the doorframe on his way out, and fell down the porch steps and picked himself up and careered across the yard; Aidan and Doc heard the barn door crash open, and crash closed again.

“Now I control the drugs,” the captain hissed, leaning on his hands on the table. “Aidan, go sit with her. You, Robert, take your ass to bed. I’m going to take a bath, and woe betide she or he who disturbs me for any reason saving the benefit of that patient! Get out of my sight, both of you. Get up in the morning and argue if you will over who’s to do my laundry, but put this bullshit between you behind you!”

Aidan looked at Doc. He looked at her, and they both looked at the captain; he glowered back at them, and they went obediently to their rooms.

Joss was looking at her when she turned from hanging her dress in the armoire; to see the calm comprehension in her eyes was startling. “Joss?”

“The three o’ you are better‘n a Goddamned circus,” Joss grumbled. “Raise a tent an’ print handbills. Sell tickets. Ain’t I lucky to get all this amusement for free.”

Aidan smiled. “You must be improving, if you’re well enough to complain.”

“You sure you want to spend your whole life patchin’ me

back together again? I done a good job this time, didn’t I.”

“You surely did. How do you feel?”

Joss touched an exploratory palm to the top of her head. “It ain’t so bad,” she allowed, “as long as I don’t move around, or touch it much. Seems I took a God-awful lick. What happened?”

“Malin found you under a low tree on the north fork of the Newtonville trail. We assume you neglected to duck.”

“The sweeper,” Joss whispered. Memory flooded back: the screaming jolt of pain before she landed on her back in the trail, her head banging hard against packed earth; reaching to find the gut-wrenching feel of her scalp peeled back from her forehead; trying to put that precarious piece of herself back where it belonged. The ripe, sickening taste of blood, blood enough to blind her, a hot cascade of it over her face. Trying to stand, almost making it before her legs deserted her. The stupefying roar of pain as she struggled again to her hands and knees, panting there, waiting—and hearing (how long?) the close, hot snarl in the trees. Knowing she would die—but not by the dogs, not while she could help it; they could have her later, but she wouldn’t let them eat her alive. A desperate hand scrubbed across her eyes, trying for enough vision to aim. She let instinct pull the trigger, hoping not to shoot the horse, her only hope, and heard the hollow click of the hammer falling on the sixth, empty cylinder. She remembered a sharp hiss and a thump before Charley took

down the last of the dogs. Dimly, she recalled a dark face, a gentle hand, a voice as deep and soft as the warm night rain:
pale woman,
bolder than night, shaman knowing sings deep in your blood.
And then nothing. Nothing but the picture of Jesus and Ethan, and a jumble of disconnected dreams, and the lingering, unfocused questions they had raised. “Flora,” she said softly. “I dreamed about her, Aidan, givin’ me hell like always, but it was—

odd. Real odd. Do we hear anything from her?”

Aidan sat on the edge of the bed, and Joss knew before she spoke. “Flora died two days ago,” Aidan said gently. “I’m sorry, Joss. Doc was with her. He said she went peacefully.”

Joss swallowed hard, blinking back unexpected tears. “Hard to imagine Flora goin’ peaceful,” she murmured. “God rest her. She had a rough mouth an’ a rough life—an’ a heart o’ gold.” She blew a soft sigh. “How’s Zeke?”

“Taking it hard, Doc says. It seems Flora was more of a mother to him than his own mother ever was.”

“Pamela Clark’s a brood sow, not a mother. I knew they’d get along, him an’ Flora. He’s got grit, an’ she demanded that. God knows she had enough of it herself for three men.” She huffed another sigh. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, only practical, but that’s a hard blow for us. Flora respectin’ us was like money in the bank. It was nice knowin’ it was there.”

“We’ll manage. My father won’t let us starve.”

“He can take his charity to hell with him. We’d’ ve had to earn anything we ever got from Flora, an’ that I’d’ve taken.” She touched her head again, gently, and assessed the headache; it was a low, thumping irritant. “You tell ol’ soldier blue out there to go to hell if he harps on you for goin’ out an’ gettin’ my tobacco pouch. The way he was bangin’ around an’ ain’t anymore, he’d ought to have all his manly parts under water by now. I’d sure enjoy a smoke, Cousin, if you’d not mind me havin’ one.”

Aidan smiled. “I suppose you want a drink of whiskey, too.”

Joss grinned. “Well, since you mention it...”

Aidan rested against the wall at the head of the bed, her

ankles crossed, the saucer that served as Joss’s ashtray balanced on one thigh. “It’s good to have you back, Joss. I was so lonely without you.”

Joss tasted her whiskey; Aidan had propped another pillow under her so that she could manage the glass on her own. “It does seem I’ve been gone somewhere. I had some awful strange dreams, Aidan. Leastwise, I suppose they was dreams. Don’t know what else to call ’em—except one! Do I remember this right? Don’t we got water now, to the house an’ runnin’ into the well, or did I dream that too?”

“No dream. You put it in a month ago. Why?”

“I thought! I saw it—I saw it clear as doin’ it, an’ the water part already done. Ice, Aidan! I can make ice all winter long. The water’s there an’ the cold comes like it or not. When Levi comes back we’ll build a ice house, up in the elms behind the house, for shade in the summer.”

“What a wonderful—oh, Joss! But you need sawdust to pack it in. Where will you—”

“Straw. I was goin’ to plant the wheat anyway. Sell the wheat to Mister Nissen, save the straw for the ice. It’ll work, Aidan. I know it will. I saw it plain as day—not Tucker Day, neither. I don’t expect people’ve forgot what it feels like to have fresh meat handy, or ice in their lemonade. I’m goin’ to make ice, Aidan, an’

if he ain’t got a better offer by then, I’ll hire Zeke Clark to drive the wagon come summer.”

“Ottis won’t like Zeke having anything to do with us.”

“Fuck Ottis. Zeke can do whatever the hell he pleases.”

“Lord! How hard must you be hit to knock the vulgarity out of you?” Helplessly, Aidan laughed, holding onto the ashtray. “It’s a wonderful idea, Joss—but how are you so sure Levi will come back?”

Joss shrugged. “I seen him. If he don’t—well, I’ll hire Zeke all the much sooner.”

I seen him.
Aidan traced a hand over the bulge at her belly. “Do you believe everything you saw in your dreams?” she asked quietly. Joss tasted her drink. “I saw the ice, an’ Flora” —she flushed;

Aidan didn’t know why— “an’ some other stuff that seemed awful real. I suppose there’s some I don’t remember, an’ maybe for the best. I expect if I remember it, I got to give it some weight.”

Aidan rubbed a flake of ash into her thigh. “Do you remember what you dreamed tonight?”

Out in the log part of the house, the clock struck; Joss listened.

“Two o’clock. We’re up awful late, ain’t we?” She didn’t look at Aidan; Aidan knew she was avoiding the question.

“Joss, please tell me. I’m terribly frightened.”

Joss sighed. “James Jackson came breech. Ma delivered him, an’ it was hard for Earlene an’ caused her a God-awful lot o’ pain, but there’s James an’ there’s Earlene, just down the road. I said I saw it bein’ hard,” Joss said gently. “I never said I saw you dyin’, honey; only me bein’ afraid you might. I scare awful easy. I wish you’d just forget all o’ that. I ain’t in my right mind anyway, with my poor of brains all swole up an’ agitated.”

“You’re shaman when it suits you,” Aidan muttered. “You swear by your visions one moment and discount them the next.”

“I swear by the ice vision ’cause it makes good sense with Levi or without him. Aidan, you can’t trust that that’s how it’s goin’ to be just ‘cause I dreamed it. I heard that story too many times for it not to be a concern to me with you comin’ onto your time.” She found Aidan’s hand with hers. “I dreamed about you next summer—or some summer. I saw you not with child, an’

healthy. It’s goin’ to be all right, Aidan. You an’ me both, an’ the baby too.” She took the last sip of her whiskey and ground out her cigarette. “I’m awful tired,” she whispered. “Do you think you might just lay here with me for a while? Don’t worry about our soldier boy. He’ll wake up when his bath turns cold enough, an’ mayhap he needs his time alone.”

Aidan put the saucer on the nightstand; she bent to touch a kiss to Joss’s lips. “I love you,” she said softly.

Joss rested her hand against Aidan’s hip. “It’s good to have back some o’ my grip on the truth o’ things,” she murmured, “but I still think you’re an angel.”

0

September, 1876

And Ruth said unto Naomi, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:

Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part me and thee.

Ruth 1:16-17

Aidan had tried to keep her in bed for a few more days, but Joss threatened to get up and about on her own if she couldn’t have any help with it, and Aidan relented; a month after her accident she was spending most of her days out on the porch, watching the progress of the beans and wheat Marcus and the Jackson boys had planted, carving axe handles, splitting down brown ash to make the long-overdue egg basket, obediently drinking the tea Aidan made from roasted cracked corn even though she didn’t much care for it. When she was sitting, she felt well enough to work, but she never knew when she stood if she’d have her balance or not, so she contented herself with puttering at the things she’d spent the summer not having time enough to do. She was filling in the belly of the egg basket one warm late afternoon, patiently weaving long strands of ash back and forth;

she liked making the framework and getting the ribs in place, but once that was done the rest of the job was tedious, and she was glad for the diversion when Doc rode into the yard. “Hey, Doc. Tell me you brought me some tobacco.”

He tossed her a bag; she muffed the catch and picked it up from the porch floor. “Suppose I’ll get my coordination back one o’ these weeks,” she grumbled. “Hope so, anyway.”

“It’ll come.” He left the reins dragging so his mare could find the trough and sat in the other rocker, reaching to pick up the axe handle that had been her morning’s work. “For someone who disclaims talent with a blade, you surely make a nice handle. How many have you made now? Enough to spare one?”

“Take that one. I’ve got eight done an’ ash enough for more an’ more of ’em.”

“Thank you. I broke my last one the other day. Where’s Aidan?”

“Havin’ a nap. I had to swear on the Bible that I’d keep out o’ trouble for her to lay down for a bit. She don’t say so, but she’s feelin’ peaked.” She fished another weaver from the pail at her feet and ran it between her fingers, squeegeeing water from its glossy surface. “Wish I’d never had that dream, or at least not had it so loud. She ain’t been but nervous ever since.”

“She’d be nervous about something else if it hadn’t been that.”

“Jesus! I wish you two’d quit snipin’ at one another!” Joss flared. “Or else let me in on why you’re doin’ it! She ain’t had a warm word for you since I’ve been awake, an’ you sneakin’ in the back door o’ meanness with your speakin’ o’ her—”