Chapter 7

© Copyright 2008 by Elizabeth Delayne



Rachel was sitting alone rocking when she saw James riding up from the direction of Barton’s Store. She’d been watching in that direction for awhile. The Doctor had come on horseback with James and had handed off his reigns one of the men who stood outside. He’d disappeared, just ask quickly, into the store, as they lived in the rooms above. James had followed, in much the same way.

Rachel resisted going down there. She had Matthew to think of, and she knew she would probably be in the way.

The sun was setting now, the colors of dying light reflecting across the land. She watched James, wondering if it was the shade of pink, or the circumstance, that cast him in a welcoming light.

“It’s getting chilly,” James said as he approached. The brim of his hat was low, shading his eyes. “You should be inside.”

“I needed to know ... is she ...” Rachel stood, wringing her hands together.

“She’s fine,” he said as he swung down from his horse. “She was sitting up, looking fine when the doc went in. The midwife had been in to see her. Matthew?”

“He’s sleeping,” Rachel said, looking up into his eyes. He was so big, she thought, as they stood there closer to each other than she had ever noticed. “I wanted to ...”

“Me, too.”

“You, too ... what?”

“Apologize. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

She laughed. “No ... but I’ll take one if you’re willing to give it. I know it isn’t easy, hasn’t been easy. For you, now.”

“No ... but that’s no excuse—”

“As long as you know I’m not after ... anything.”

In return, she received a slight smile from him. A little awkward, far from happy, more of a self incriminating look. He was a good man, just a little lost in a very bad place.

A good man, who was trying to be a good father without his soul mate to guide him.

”Matthew said he’s having bad dreams,” the words poured out of her.

James stared at her for a few minutes, then lowered his head. He sighed. “I thought maybe ... he hasn’t slept well. Especially since he found out he wouldn’t be able to go to school.”

“He ... I don’t want to upset you. It’s not—“

”He’s my son,” James said, looking at her. “You need to tell me.”

She nodded, then took a step back and reached for the door. “Hold on. He’ll sleep just a little longer.”

She went inside briefly and came back out with her single chair. She sat in the rocker as he took the chair and for a few minutes just rocked.

And prayed.

Nothing would be simple with this man.

“I think he dreams ...” she said at last, “he dreams of his ma, but he can’t see her face. It hurts him, I think. It scares him. He says he doesn’t have a picture.”

James sat there for a moment, then slowly, hesitant, reached up and into his own pocket.

Then he withdrew a photograph, bent and torn around the edges. He stared at it, a moment ... then another, then finally handed it to her.

The woman on the picture was beautiful, high cheekbones, ringlets of hair perfect held in place. It showed her profile, and even in the colorless photo, it was obvious to see her natural coloring was beautiful. She seemed to shine with life.

“It doesn’t do her justice. She never looked as serious as she does in that photo.”

“Is this the only one you have?” Rachel asked, giving it back. “Maybe you could get someone to do a sketch for Matthew to have.”

“I have another ... but a sketch might be a good idea. I hadn’t thought.” He leaned the chair back until he rested against the house. “I wasn’t thinking of Matt, what he needed. And he didn’t want to tell me. I just ... he couldn’t tell me. He’s my son and he couldn’t tell me.”

Rachel just watched him. He lifted his hands and covered his face, taking in a long breath. “I was sad for awhile at the end of this term. I miss my sister, my parents. None of us have ever been from home at Christmas. Even my father, who briefly fought for the South Carolina army. And I was sad. The kids could feel it. They seemed sad at times, too. It’s like they are sensitive to feelings.”

“It might have been the weather. Winter does that kinds of thing. Makes you sad. Lonely.”

“Maybe.”

James nodded, and for awhile just leaned back and looked out. Rachel looked over, back toward Millie’s house. The doctor’s horse was still outside, but people were now going in and coming out.

Jasper must have come back down. So everything must be okay. Rachel tried to believe that.

“We were going to have another baby,” James said, and Rachel looked back over to find him looking down at the picture. “She was excited. The Doc said she would deliver in February or March. She teased that she was afraid the baby would come in the dead of a winter storm. And here she was in a household of men. But she wasn’t afraid. Even in the end ... she wasn’t afraid.”

She’d died, James’s father had told her, before Christmas. So she hadn’t made it to childbirth.

“One night,” James swallowed and lowered all four legs to the ground. “One night she was cleaning up from dinner. Laughing ... she was laughing. And she got this look on her face. And she said ... ‘James ...’ That’s all she said. She’d started to bleed. She just started to bleed.”

“I went for the doctor. He came ... he ... there wasn’t ...” his voice cracked, the pain still very raw. “There wasn’t anything he could do. She just kept bleeding.”

“James,” Rachel said and something in her, something deeply female, ached. “I’m so sorry.”

“I couldn’t save her.”

“No.”

He closed his eyes and for a moment ... for just a moment, Rachel wanted to pull him to her and wrap her arms around him as she had done with Matthew.

But she resisted.

She didn’t know why he had opened up to her. She didn’t know if it made him feel any better to have done so. She could only hope that he could heal.

And as much as she wanted to weep, she would wait.

He sighed and leaned back, brushing at his eyes. There were tears there, she realized. Tears he hadn’t shed, but tears non-the-less. A strong man, used to being able to do things, and he had been made helpless as his wife slowly died.

“You ... um,” he looked over at her, exhaling a deep breath, “you got somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Rachel nodded. “The Petersons. And the Barton’s if Millie’s up to it.”

“She’ll be fine. You’ll be okay?”

She smiled. “Yes. Will ... will I see you at the Christmas service?”

“I ... don’t know. I hope so.”

He reached out, touched her hand, gave it a squeeze.

Then stood, went inside her home alone, and claimed his son.

HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!




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