The Vow (37 page)
Georgia burst into tears, and James drew her into his arms, murmuring reassurances. Mrs. Hardy just stared into the cold fireplace, her rheumy silver eyes misty.
Benjamin took a retaliatory swipe at his brother, causing Reiver to whirl around and growl, “Now stop it, both of you, before I box your ears. Damn it, your mother’s sick, and the last thing any of us need is the two of you fighting!”
Both boys muttered their apologies and sat there in subdued silence.
They all sprang to attention at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Dr.
Bradley appeared in the doorway, his face grave.
Reiver went to him at once. “How is she?”
The doctor surveyed the room. “Not well, I’m afraid. She has a high fever and an infection in her lungs. Perhaps with diligent nursing, she will recover, but to be honest with you all, I don’t hold much hope. I’ve seen several cases of this fever in Coldwater, and only one patient survived.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
Georgia sprang to her feet, dabbing her eyes furiously. “Hannah won’t die if I have anything to do with it. I want to nurse her.”
Dr. Bradley said, “Mrs. Shaw can only have one nurse. And I must warn you that you run the risk of getting sick, too.”
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James took Georgia’s hand, his eyes pleading with her not to make such a sacrifice.
“I have to,” she said to him. “Hannah saved me when I had no place to go.
It’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll nurse her,” Mrs. Hardy said from the depths of her chair. “You may be a fresh little upstart, but you’re too young to die. I’m old and they’ll be stitching mourning samplers in my memory soon enough. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Neither of you will.” Reiver rolled up his shirt sleeves. “She’s my wife. I’ll nurse her.”
Benjamin sprang to his feet. “No, Father! What if you catch the fever, too?”
Dr. Bradley said, “The boy has a point, Mr. Shaw. You have your family to consider. We wouldn’t want to lose both of you.”
Reiver placed his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “This is something I have to do, son.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Then he turned to the doctor.
“Now, what do I have to do?”
“First we have to cut her hair so it won’t sap her strength…”
Reiver bathed Hannah’s flushed face and neck with cool water to try to bring down the fever that was devouring her. With her shorn hair, she looked as young and vulnerable as a baby.
Restless, she tossed her head, her clutching fingers trying to push away the mound of quilts piled on top of her. Reiver patiently drew her hands away and covered her again. Dr. Bradley had said they might burn the fever out of her if they kept her hot enough.
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Fighting fire with fire, Reiver thought, wringing out the compress in a basin of cold water.
The sound of her labored breathing sent shivers down his spine. Every breath was a struggle for her, ending in an ominous rattle.
On this second full day of his vigil, Reiver himself felt drained and exhausted. When Hannah grew still, he dozed on a feather bed on the floor near her bed, but most of the time he did what he could to make her comfortable and waited for her to die.
Hannah dead… Reiver rubbed his stubble-roughened jaw. She had been a part of his life for seventeen years, sharing his bed, bearing and raising his sons.
If she died, he would feel as if he had lost an arm or a leg. He would miss her and grieve for her.
Yet if she died, he would regain control of Shaw Silks.
And he did want his mill back, but did he want it at the price of Hannah’s life?
He shook his head. “You unprincipled bastard.” But he had always known that about himself.
Reiver placed his hand against her forehead. Her flesh felt as though it were on fire. The doctor said that if her fever didn’t break soon and kept on rising, convulsions and death would certainly follow.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Hannah moaned, mumbling something unintelligible.
Reiver put his ear closer to her parched lips.
“Samuel…come to me. I need you now. Where are you? So alone…alone.”
Her voice faded away into a whisper and ended in a choking cough.
A bitter smile twisted Reiver’s mouth. On her deathbed all Hannah could think of was her lover.
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A soft knock sent Reiver to the door. When he opened it just a crack, he found Georgia standing there as he knew he would, her tearstained face exhausted and bleak with worry.
“How is she?” she whispered.
“Not good,” he whispered back. “The fever just keeps going higher.” He looked back at the bed where Hannah lay tossing and turning. “She was delirious a minute ago, talking to herself.”
“Poor Hannah.” She sniffed into her handkerchief.
“How are the boys faring?”
“They’re trying to be brave, but I can tell they’ve been crying, especially Davey.”
Reiver shook his head in sympathy for his poor sons, then asked, “What time is it?”
“Almost two o’clock in the morning.”
The Grim Reaper’s favorite calling hour.
“I’d better get back to her,” Reiver said, closing the door when Georgia went away.
No sooner did Reiver return to his chair than Hannah became agitated again, thrashing about with extraordinary force, flailing her arms as if fighting off death. Her breathing came faster and faster.
Reiver watched her, waiting for the end.
Without warning, Hannah sat bolt upright. Her eyes flew open, and she stared into the far corner of her bedroom at something only she could see.
“Mama?” she cried, and fell limp and lifeless against the pillows.
She was dead. The mill was his.
Reiver placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes. They flew open when he heard his dead wife sigh.
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He placed his hand against her cheek, and the flesh felt cool to his touch, not the deep cold of death. The fever had peaked and broken, and now she slept.
He rose, relief and guilt flooding through him in equal measure, and staggered to the door. Flinging it open, he yelled, “Everyone! Come quickly! The fever’s broken!”
Hannah would live after all.
Hannah sat up in bed and stared at her reflection in the hand mirror. She fingered her shorn locks and made a face of distaste.
“I look like a little boy,” she said to Georgia.
“But a very pretty little boy,” Georgia replied, taking away the lunch tray.
Hannah set down the mirror. “I’m just glad to be alive. I shouldn’t care what I look like.”
Georgia grinned. “All women care what they look like.” Then her smile died.
“You gave us all quite a scare.”
“I think Benjamin and Davey most of all. They come to visit me every day, and sit so quietly like perfect little gentlemen. They don’t even argue.” Her eyes twinkled. “Imagine that!”
“The thought of losing their mama really put the fear of the Lord into them.”
Georgia headed for the door. “Well, enough of my chatter. I should leave you alone so you can get some rest. It’s only been two weeks since your fever broke.”
Hannah sighed. “I feel like it’s been an eternity.”
She lay back against the pillows. She knew she had come within a hair’s-breadth of dying. In her delirium, she had seen her life unfold before her as if she were watching it from a great distance, one last look, she supposed, before bidding it farewell. She had even imagined that her mother was with her in the
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bedroom, as warm and loving as she remembered, coddled in a serene golden light. Reiver had said that she had called out for her mother just before her fever peaked.
Most surprising in her whole ordeal was the fact that Reiver had risked his own life to nurse her. Perhaps he felt something for her after all.
She dozed, and when she awoke, she found Reiver standing in the doorway.
He said, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I was just dozing. I’m really quite tired of lying in bed all day. I want to be up and about.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day.” He reached for her dressing gown, which was draped over a chair. “Put this on and come with me.”
Bursting with curiosity, Hannah put on her dressing gown, took Reiver’s proffered arm, and let him escort her downstairs.
When she realized he was leading her toward the front door, she balked. “I can’t go outside like this!”
“But I have a surprise for you.”
Reiver flung open the front door. When Hannah stepped out onto the porch, she gasped in surprise, for everyone who worked for Shaw Silks stood there clapping.
Maria Torelli, Giuseppe the dye master’s youngest daughter, dressed in her Sunday best, stepped forward with a large bouquet of wildflowers and, with a shy smile and a curtsy, presented them to Hannah.
Tears filled her eyes. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you all so much.”
Constance Ferry, who had returned to the company after Hannah had persuaded her husband to reinstate the wage cuts years ago, stepped forward. “I know I speak for everyone when I say that we were all praying for your recovery, Mrs. Shaw. Thank God our prayers were answered.”
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Hannah thanked them again, and the workers turned and headed back to the mill.
Back in the house, Hannah smiled at Reiver. “How sweet of them to do this.”
“They all think the world of you,” he replied. “James told me that while you were sick, the minute he walked into the mill in the morning, all the workers gathered around him and asked for you. And when they learned you were going to get well, they hugged each other and cried. Even some of the men.”
Hannah stopped at the foot of the stairs. “That’s because we don’t exploit them. If you treat people fairly, you’ll win their loyalty.”
Reiver smiled wryly. “So you’ve always told me.”
Once Hannah was back in bed, Reiver walked over to the window, his features somber. “Will you give me another chance now, Hannah?”
She ran her hand over the coverlet. “Reiver—”
“When you were dying, the thought occurred to me that if you did die, the mill would be mine again.” He studied her. “I can see that I’ve shocked you. I shocked myself by even thinking it.” He walked over to the foot of her bed and stood there, his emotions baldly written on his face. “I know I haven’t been a good husband to you, Hannah, but I didn’t want you to die. I realized how empty my life would be without you, and it terrified me.
“I’ve done everything I can to win your trust, but—” He shrugged helplessly.
Little by little she felt the wall surrounding her begin to crumble. She had no illusions about Reiver. She could never surrender to him completely, but perhaps she could learn to get along with him and make something meaningful of the rest of their lives.
She slipped out of bed and walked over to him. “If you’re willing to try again, so am I.”
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A huge grin split his face. “Hannah, I—”
“But I have to go slowly.”
He knew what that entailed. “All I ask is another chance.”
“Then you shall have it.”
She hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it.
“We can’t wait any longer,” James announced to the family members who were seated at the dining room table.
Hannah said, “Can’t wait for what?”
He brushed his hair out of his eyes and glanced at Georgia, sitting beside him. “We can’t wait for Samuel to come home before we get married.”
“The summer’s almost over,” Georgia said. “Before we know it, winter will be here.” She made a face. “We don’t want to get married in the winter.”
When James asked if anyone had received a letter from Samuel, Hannah shook her head. “It’s been a year since I invited him to your wedding.”
Reiver looked around the table, his expression grave. “I think we all have to consider the fact that Samuel may be dead.”
Hannah felt the blood drain from her face and she suddenly lost her appetite.
He couldn’t be dead. Not Samuel.
“If he were alive,” Reiver continued, “I’m sure he would have responded to an invitation to his brother’s wedding.”
James reached for Georgia’s hand and squeezed it. “That’s what we thought.”
Davey looked glum. “I always liked Uncle Samuel. He used to draw me pictures.”
“I wish he had never gone away,” Benjamin said.
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“I warned him not to,” Mrs. Hardy muttered, “but no, he wouldn’t listen to me.”
Hannah looked at James and Georgia. “Why don’t the two of you go ahead with your wedding plans? Set a date and make the arrangements. Then if Samuel does return, he’ll find he has a new sister-in-law.”
Reiver said, “Since we’re talking about weddings, this is as good a time as any. James and Georgia, Hannah and I would like to give you the Bickford house as a wedding present. Not the farm itself, of course,” he added with a laugh. “I’m no fool. But if you want the house, it’s yours.”
Georgia’s face glowed. “Oh, James, a house of our own to fill with babies.”
James turned pink with pleasure. “We wouldn’t have to live in the homestead.” He rose and kissed Hannah on the cheek. “We’d be glad to accept the Bickford house.”
Later, Hannah slipped out of the house into the warm August night and let the moonlight guide her path down Mulberry Hill. When she reached the homestead, she stopped but did not go inside. She folded her arms and stared up at the dark topmost windows, where Samuel’s studio used to be.
She sensed rather than heard someone approach, but she didn’t turn around.
“Georgia’s looking for you,” Reiver said. “It’s time to tuck Elisabeth into bed.
She’s asking for her Aunt Hannah.”