A Midsummer's Sin(22)
He had been unable to hear her. His heart had pounded too loudly. Pure rage had pounded through his blood. Why had God taken his innocent son? If someone had to die why hadn’t it been Thomas himself? He’d lived a sinful, indulgent life. He’d partaken of much. His son had known nothing of life’s joys.
Patience had pulled back from him, holding the Bible up to him. She’d been almost shouting now. “Please, husband, read with me and take comfort in the Lord’s wisdom.”
“I can’t,” he’d replied. “I just can’t. Not now.”
She had lowered the Bible and looked at him with a studied expression of sympathy, her blonde brows drawn together, her high forehead wrinkled. But her eyes had been frosted with disapproval. Maybe even a touch of superiority.
He had hated her in that moment. God help him, he had hated her.
An image blazed across his mind. Hannah with her cheeks flushed and her braids swinging as she ran happy and free with the other small children at the last corn husking played in his mind. Her happy laughter echoed in his ears.
“I cannot lose her!”
“Oh, Thomas…”
He started. He had forgotten Rosalind’s presence. He blinked hard and her face came slowly into focus. He realised, with some shock, that he was blinking away tears.
Her brows were drawn together and her forehead was wrinkled.
“I shall not lose her.”
“It shall be God’s will.” Her voice was like a soft, soothing blanket. Warming him.
Anger surged through him, resisting the comfort.
“Damn it, woman, do not say such things!” He sat down, bent his head and raked his hands through his hair. “If I lose her, I do not know what I shall do. I shall have nothing, nothing worth living for.” He covered his face.
Her touch fell on his hair, gently.
“If God takes her, I shall never forgive him.”
“You mustn’t speak like that.” The chair beside him creaked. She touched his shoulders. “We must pray, Thomas, we must pray very hard.”
“And if God doesn’t answer our prayers?”
“Then he must have a very good reason.” Her voice choked on the words.
He shook with anger. He wanted to shove her away. To tell her to take her words with her to the devil.
Softly, she pulled on his shoulder, urging him closer.
He let her. He didn’t even understand why. But he let her.
She brought his head down. Cradled him to the softness of her breasts. Her heart beat strong beneath his ear. She caressed his cheek. Giving him her warm, earthy love.
“If I lose her, I shall have nothing. I may as well die with her.” The words tumbled out.
“No, don’t say that. It’s not true. You shall have me, Thomas, you shall have me no matter.”
She was gently sobbing. Barely audible. Her lips touched his forehead. The wetness of her tears fell on him. “You shall have me as long as you desire. Even if you don’t want me, I shall be yours in my heart.”
Her voice faded to a whisper.
He clung to those words. He clung to her body even harder.
* * * *
The deep rumble of a masculine cough startled him. Much time must have passed. Perhaps they had slept.
Rosalind released him. He pulled up to a sitting position and ran a smoothing hand over his hair, focusing with difficulty on Reverend Shepard.
The damned man’s face was always so placid. It was impossible to read. Thomas’ heart thudded hollowly. Rosalind wrapped her hand about his. He squeezed it back and in doing so found his voice again. “Is she… How is she?”
“The fever has broken. The symptoms have slowed.” A slight smile brightened the Reverend’s appearance. “I believe she may very well survive.”
* * * *
Hours later, having left Hannah sleeping peacefully, Thomas walked into the barn, looking for Rosalind.
She sat on the stool, milking the cow. Her red hair was tied back by a ribbon, falling like a flaming spill against her dark brown dress. She was so lovely. Exhilaration surged through him, wiping away his exhaustion.
It should have been hard to face her after having broken down in front of her. He had never shown his full face of emotion to anyone. Not even Patience. Well, she would never have tolerated it. Could never have coped with it.
He had resented Patience. Yes, he had, it must be admitted. He did resent how she had held him guilty before trial. She wouldn’t let him show her how love between them could be. She had lain beneath him still and unreasoning, refusing to allow the least bit of wooing on his part. He had lost interest in bedding her and yet could not have another. He’d been a young man trapped in a cold marriage with a woman he loved ardently yet whom he couldn’t touch.