Love, Come to Me(91)

Damon had sent over one of the women in the Redmonds’ employ to help Lucy nurse Heath. Lucy rarely left the bedside, however: she was unwilling to leave him long in the company of a stranger. She had to be bullied into eating and sleeping, but how could she sleep knowing that hour by hour her husband was slipping away from her?

Often he seemed to think that he was back at the prison camp on Governor’s Island during the war. The first time it happened, Lucy was in the middle of wringing out a cloth for his forehead. She looked down and saw him staring at her, his eyes glazed. Her heart jumped, because it seemed that he recognized her.

“Water,” he whispered. She slipped a trembling hand behind his head, bringing a cup to his lips. Heath drank thirstily and made a sound of disgust, choking as if she had given him poison. “We deserve more than . . . this filth,” he gasped. “No matter what side . . . we’re not . . . animals.” Dazedly she took the cup away and backed away from the hatred in his voice. Heath shuddered uncontrollably. “No blankets . . . can’t you see . . . these m-men are dying. Cold-assed Yankee . . . you t-take the best of our food, and . . . sell it to line your own pockets . . . leave us only f-fat and gristle . . .”

He thought she was a Union prison guard.

“Paper . . . ,” he breathed. “Paper.”

“What about the paper?” she asked, thinking that he meant the Examiner.

“More. Rations for it. I’ll . . . bargain.”

He was asking for paper to write on. To keep the record he had written during the war. As he continued to rant, Lucy started to sob openly. “Heath,” she said, tears streaming down her face, “it’s me . . . it’s Lucy. I love you. Don’t you see me? Don’t you know me?”

The sound of her crying reached his ears, and he quieted for several seconds, confused, turning restlessly. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it—”

“Please, Raine. I’ll do anything for you. Don’t go. Raine . . . you know how I need you. Don’t do it . . .”

Lucy blanched, feeling as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Raine again. The pain in Heath’s voice cut deeply into her heart. She fumbled for a dry rag and mopped her face, pressing the cloth into the corners of her eyes to absorb her tears.

“Mama, I’m seventeen . . . ,” he muttered softly. “I’m a man now. I know what you think . . . Mama . . . but I love her.” Suddenly there was the dry ghost of his laugh. “She’s so beautiful. You can’t argue against that . . . can you . . .”

Lucy’s back ached as she bent over him and spread a wet cloth over his hot forehead.

“Raine . . .” He swiped off the cloth and gripped her wrist. “Damn you. You don’t love him . . . oh, God . . .” His fingers tightened until she flinched and twisted her wrist away, rubbing it to ease the ache. Heath’s whole body jumped, and he cried out, his hand lifting slowly to his temple. “I didn’t come here to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

Dear God, Lucy thought dazedly, help me to bear this.

“Mrs. Rayne, Mr. Redmond is here to see you.”

Lucy paused in the middle of splashing her face with water and reached for a towel. The nurse Damon had sent over had just taken over the vigil at Heath’s side.

“I should change my dress,” Lucy murmured, looking down at herself. She was sticky and tired, and she could feel the straggles of hair that clung to her neck and face.

“He said that he only intends to pay a quick call,” Bess said. “About the newspaper.”

“Then I suppose there’s no time to change. Find a comb for me, quickly.”

Numbly Lucy made an effort to tidy her hair and make herself more presentable; then, she walked downstairs to the parlor. Damon stood up as soon as she entered the room. He was dressed in a crisp, dark suit, and he was polished and well-groomed. Lucy felt a strange sense of comfort in the mere sight of him. He was so sane and levelheaded that his presence seemed to diminish the nightmarish aura that hung over the house. His face registered no shock or dismay at her appearance, only calmness.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.”

She nodded jerkily.

“Is there any change?” he asked quietly.

“No. No change.”

“You need someone from your family to be with you. Should I send for someone?”

“There’s no one but my father. And he wouldn’t be able to help. He would only . . . feel uncomfortable, and I . . . don’t want to see him right now.” Lucy wondered if she should have phrased her refusal differently. Maybe it was a sin that she did not want her father with her, and in that case she shouldn’t have admitted to Damon how she felt. She thought of Lucas, so content and absorbed in the business of running his general store, his silver-white head bent over his bookkeeping. Her father had never liked to deal with deep emotions, whether they were his or anyone else’s. He had never known what to do when she cried. He had always liked the practical part of parenting the best, giving advice to her and occasionally lecturing, giving her pennies and letting her fish around in the candy jar when she had behaved well. He wouldn’t know how to help her in a situation like this.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Bess mentioned something about the newspaper.”