6
I was on my back when I came to and there was a white face floating just above me. For a wild moment, I thought it was Kevin, thought I was home. I said his name eagerly.
"It's me, Dana."
Rufus's voice. I was still in hell. I closed my eyes, not caring what would happen next.
"Dana, get up. You'll be hurt more if I carry you than if you walk."
The words echoed strangely in my head. Kevin had said something like that to me once. I opened my eyes again to be sure it was Rufus.
It was. I was still in the cornfield, still lying in the dirt.
"I came to get you," said Rufus. "Not soon enough, I guess."
I struggled to my feet. He offered a hand to help me, but I ignored it. I brushed myself off a little and followed him down the row toward his horse. From there, we rode together back to the house without a word passing between us. At the house, I went straight to the well, got a bucket of water, carried it up the stairs somehow, then washed, spread antiseptic on my new cuts, and put on clean clothes. I had a headache that eventually drove me down to Rufus's room for some Excedrin. Rufus had used all the aspirins.
Unfortunately, he was in his room.
"Well, you're no good in the fields," he said when he saw me. "That's clear."
I stopped, turned, and stared at him. Just stared. He had been sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, but now he straightened, faced me.
"Don't do anything stupid, Dana."
"Right," I said softly. "I've done enough stupid things. How many times have I saved your life so far?" My aching head sent me to his desk where I had left the Excedrin. I shook three of them into my hand. I had never taken so many before. I had never needed so many before. My hands were trembling.
"Fowler would have given you a good whipping if I hadn't stopped him," said Rufus. "That's not the first beating I've saved you from."
I had my Excedrin. I turned to leave the room.
"Dana!"
I stopped, looked at him. He was thin and weak and hollow-eyed; his illness had left its marks on him. He probably couldn't have carried me to his horse if he'd tried. And he couldn't stop me from leaving now—I thought.
"You walk away from me, Dana, you'll be back in the fields in an hour!"
The threat stunned me. He meant it. He'd send me back out. I stood straring at him, not with anger now, but with surprise—and fear. He could do it. Maybe later, I would have a chance to make him pay, but for now, he could do as he pleased. He sounded more like his father than himself. In that moment, he even looked like his father.
"Don't you ever walk away from me again!" he said. Strangely, he began to sound a little afraid. He repeated the words, spacing them, emphasizing each one. "Don't you ever walk away from me again!"
I stood where I was, my head throbbing, my expression as neutral as I could make it. I still had some pride left.
"Get back in here!" he said.
I stood there for a moment longer, then went back to his desk and sat down. And he wilted. The look I associated with his father vanished. He was himself again—whoever that was.
"Dana, don't make me talk to you like that," he said wearily. "Just do what I tell you."
I shook my head, unable to think of anything safe to say. And I guess I wilted. To my shame, I realized I was almost crying. I needed desperately to be alone. Somehow, I kept back the tears.
If he noticed, he didn't say anything. I remembered I still had the Excedrin tablets in my hand, and I took them, swallowed them without water, hoping they'd work quickly, steady me a little. Then I looked at Rufus, saw that he'd lain back again. Was I supposed to stay and watch him sleep?
"I don't see how you can swallow those things like that," he said, rubbing his throat. There was a long silence, then another command. "Say something! Talk to me!"
"Or what?" I asked. "Are you going to have me beaten for not talking to you?"
He muttered something I didn't quite hear.
"What?"
Silence. Then a rush of bitterness from me.
"I saved your life, Rufus! Over and over again." I stopped for a moment, caught my breath. "And I tried to save your father's life. You know I did. You know I didn't kill him or let him die."
He moved uncomfortably, wincing a little. "Give me some of your medicine," he said.
Somehow, I didn't throw the bottle at him. I got up and handed it to him.
"Open it," he said. "I don't want to be bothered with that damn top."
I opened it, shook one tablet into his hand, and snapped the top back on.
He looked at the tablet. "Only one?"
"These are stronger than the others," I said. And also, I wanted to hang on to them for as long as I could. Who knew how many more times he would make me need them. The ones I had taken were beginning to help me already.
"You took three," he said petulantly.
"I needed three. No one has been beating you."
He looked away from me, put the one into his mouth. He still had to chew tablets before he could swallow them. "This tastes worse than the others," he complained.
I ignored him, put the bottle away in the desk.
"Dana?"
"What?"
"I know you tried to help Daddy. I know."
"Then why did you send me to the field? Why did I have to go through all that, Rufe?"
He shrugged, winced, rubbed his shoulders. He still had plenty of sore muscles, apparently. "I guess I just had to make somebody pay. And it seemed that … well, people don't die when you're taking care of them."
"I'm not a miracle worker."
"No. Daddy thought you were, though. He didn't like you, but he thought you could heal better than a doctor."
"Well I can't. Sometimes I'm less likely to kill than the doctor, that's all."
"Kill?"
"I don't bleed or purge away people's strength when they need it most. And I know enough to try to keep a wound clean."
"Is that all?"
"That's enough to save a few lives around here, but no, it's not all. I know a little about some diseases. Only a little."
"What do you know about … about a woman who's been hurt in childbearing?"
"Been hurt how?" I wondered whether he meant Alice.
"I don't know. The doctor said she wasn't to have any more and she did. The babies died and she almost died. She hasn't been well since."
Now I knew who he was talking about. "Your mother?"
"Yes. She's coming home. I want you to take care of her."
"My God! Rufe, I don't know anything about problems like that! Believe me, nothing at all." What if the woman died in my care. He'd have me beaten to death!
"She wants to come home, now that … She wants to come home."
"I can't care for her. I don't know how." I hesitated. "Your mother doesn't like me anyway, Rufe. You know that as well as I do." She hated me. She'd make my life hell out of pure spite.
"There's no one else I'd trust," he said. "Carrie's got her own family now. I'd have to take her out of her cabin away from Nigel and the boys …"
"Why?"
"Mama has to have someone with her through the night. What if she needed something?"
"You mean I'd have to sleep in her room?"
"Yes. She'd never have a servant sleep in her room before. Now, though, she's gotten used to it."
"She won't get used to me. I'm telling you, she won't have me." Please heaven!
"I think she will. She's older now, not so full of fire. You give her her laudanum when she needs it and she won't give you much trouble."
"Laudanum?"
"Her medicine. She doesn't need it so much for pain anymore, Aunt May says. But she still needs it."
Since laudanum was an opium extract, I didn't doubt that she still needed it. I was going to have a drug addict on my hands. A drug addict who hated me. "Rufe, couldn't Alice …"
"No!" A very sharp no. It occurred to me that Margaret Weylin had more reason to hate Alice than she did to hate me.
"Alice will be having another baby in a few months anyway," said Rufus.
"She will? Then maybe …" I shut my mouth, but the thought went on. Maybe this one would be Hagar. Maybe for once, I had something to gain by staying here. If only …
"Maybe what?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter. Rufe, I'm asking you not to put your mother in my care, for her sake and for mine."
He rubbed his forehead. "I'll think about it, Dana, and talk to her. Maybe she remembers someone she'd like. Let me sleep now. I'm still so damn weak."
I started out of the room.
"Dana."
"Yes?" What now?
"Go read a book or something. Don't do any more work today."
"Read a book?"
"Do whatever you want to."
In other words, he was sorry. He was always sorry. He would have been amazed, uncomprehending if I refused to forgive him. I remembered suddenly the way he used to talk to his mother. If he couldn't get what he wanted from her gently, he stopped being gentle. Why not? She always forgave him.