Carla Kelly (21 page)

“You would marry me without even being sure that I loved you, or would ever love you?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” was his prompt reply. “I am a patient man.”

“Then I will do it,” she said suddenly, astounded at herself even as the words left her lips and could not be retrieved. “My answer is yes.”

He leaned forward to kiss her then. I will not like this, she thought as his face came closer, but she did. In fact, she liked it even more than his kiss the day before in the hay wain. Libby closed her eyes as their lips touched. His spectacles plummeted down onto her face, but without missing a moment, he set them on the floor and cupped her face in his hands as he went on kissing her.

She began to be short of breath, but found that she could breathe quite handily through her nose, if she only turned her head a little. His hair was curly under her fingers and still slightly damp from the rain, or perhaps he was sweating. All of a sudden she wanted him to touch her body.

He seemed to read her thoughts, gripping the skin of her waist through the heavy nightgown. And then he stopped, out of breath, his eyes slightly out of focus, and took her hands off his neck.

“You have made me a happy man,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. “You’ll have no regrets, I assure you. Go back to bed now. We can talk tomorrow.”

She did as he said, crawling back between sheets still warm from little John. She lay quietly in the dark until she heard Anthony’s steady, even breathing by the fireplace.

What have I done? she thought. What have I done?

15

MORNING came much sooner than Libby wished. Little John began to root about, hunting for his mama. When he began to whimper, Libby picked him up, kissed him, and trundled him over to his mother on her other side, who soon satisfied his restlessness.

It was quiet for a moment and then the rooster in the loft of the stable took a dim view of the silence and added his rider. Wallis grumbled and slid out of bed on the other side of the room, tugging on his breeches and tucking in his nightshirt.

Libby rolled over and resolutely shut her eyes again. She heard a sharp crack from the vicinity of the fireplace, followed by a heartfelt “Damn,” and she sat up in bed to see Anthony on his feet and rubbing his head where he had forgotten about the low beams. He looked at her with a sour expression.

“’Tis a good thing I do not physick myself,” he said to her, “else I would diagnose that as rampant stupidititis.”

She laughed and he threw his pillow at her. She threw it back, and that was the signal for Caseys large and small to tumble out of bed, pelting the doctor as he stood there in his bare feet. Libby lay on her back and laughed until the doctor whispered to the Caseys and they turned the attack on her.

Maud Casey attempted to restore order but was seriously hampered by little John, who took exception to the sudden disappearance of his breakfast. He set up a squalling that Wallis Casey heard on the other side of the wall as he milked. “If this cow gives sour milk this morning, I will smite you all,” he roared. “You, especially, Dr. Cook.”

The Caseys looked at one another and burst into laughter. Mrs. Casey lay back down again and relieved John’s misery.

Libby looked at her over the pile of pillows on top of her. “I should apologize for disrupting your morning,” she said as she pulled off the pillows.

Maud only winked. “My dear, this is a typical morning, only more so.”

Libby laughed again and looked over at her brother, who was sitting up in bed, a puzzled expression on his face. The doctor sat beside him, listening to his lungs with his ear pressed against his back.

“Ticking like a well-wound clock,” Anthony said, a satisfied expression on his face. “I worry about pneumonia, laddy, especially after that drenching we all had.”

Joseph gestured toward his sister. “Doctor, I wish that you would listen to Libby. She got a fearful drenching, too.”

“Oh, no, I . . .” Libby began, pulling the blanket up higher on her chest.

“I suppose you are right, laddy, although Libby claims she is healthier than all of us,” replied the doctor, his face redder than usual. He came to Libby’s side and sat on the bed. “Turn around, my dear. You needn’t bare your back. My hearing is acute enough through flannel, heaven knows.”

She did as he said, leaning forward and resting her forehead on her knees as Anthony laid his ear against her back. He was silent a long time.

“Well?” Joseph demanded, a frown on his face.

“’Tis not an easy matter to listen for crackles when your sister’s stomach is growling,” the doctor said.

“Wretch! Now go milk a cow or something, and take Joseph with you, while I dress,” she said, not looking at the doctor.

She dressed quickly, her clothes warm from the fire, and held little John while Maud prepared the simple breakfast of milk and bread again. The Casey girls made the beds and then grouped themselves about the table while their mother buttered the bread, carefully scraping off any excess and applying it to the next piece.

“I am sorry we have taken up so much of your space,” Libby said. Little John had appropriated her locket, passing it from hand to hand and chortling as he leaned against Libby.

“Well now, Miss Ames, we couldn’t be more delighted to do the doctor a good turn, so many has he done us. Wasn’t little Maudie nearly dead last winter after she fell through the ice? That was after Wallis’ bad spell last fall and we had no money to pay him, but there he was.” She smiled proudly. “I give him vegetables every week now. No, lassie, it’s we that should thank you.” She replaced the butter crock on the shelf. “Isn’t he a fine one, Miss Ames? He’s a bit of a bumbler, is Dr. Cook, but what one of us doesn’t lack somewhere?”

Libby sipped at the warm milk Mrs. Casey handed her, ashamed to remember all the times she and Lydia had giggled over Dr. Cook and his clumsiness. And now I have promised that I will marry him. The idea seemed alien in the morning, stripped of all the mystery of the dark night and the crackling fire. I wonder why I did that, she thought. Is it because I am disappointed that the duke didn’t offer for me?

It was a notion to reflect upon, Libby decided as Anthony and Joseph came back into the cottage, each carrying a bucket of milk, which Maud Casey deftly strained, covered with cloth, and left for the older Casey boys to remove to the milk house.

“He’s a better doctor than he is a milkman,” Wallis declared over breakfast as his children sat on the floor and ate their portions. “But, Maud, he has good hands. He calls ’um surgeon’s hands, but gor, he can squeeze a teat.” He winked at the doctor, who grinned back. “If physicking ever gets slow, I’ll take you here on sufferance.”

“Obliged,” said the doctor. “One never knows, and we do live in an uncertain world.”

After the dishes were done, they left, Joseph mounted on Sir William’s hunter, amid the general clamor that was part and parcel of the Caseys’ daily lot. Maud Casey stood in the doorway with little John on her hip and insisted that they return soon and often.

“She means it, Libby,” the doctor said as he called to his horse. “I’ve sat in drawing rooms in London without invitations half so sincere.” He shook his head. “Father wonders why I did not choose to hang out my shingle on the same street with the likes of Starnley, Croft, and Knightson, but I would rather be here. Others can specialize in diseases of the rich.”

He glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “Of course, maybe that sets differently with you, considering that one of these days, in the fall, more like, you’ll become part of the Cooks’ traveling circus,” he said, in his best imitation of Wallis Casey.

She did not smile, but merely looked thoughtful. Why did I say I would marry him? she asked herself again.

“Regrets, Libby?” he asked then, his voice gentle.

“I would be lying if I said no, Anthony,” she replied, her chin up but unable to look him in the eye. “I mean, it is no one day, and yes the next. Am I so fickle?”

“I said I was a patient man, my dear,” he reminded her.

“So you did. So you did.”

Joseph rode ahead of them on the tree-shaded path that led from the Casey holdings, careful not to get out of their sight. They traveled the lane past two more isolated holdings, where children came out to wave as they went by, and to jump up and down when they saw it was Dr. Cook.

Libby watched the excitement at each crofter’s cottage. “You are a popular man among the infantry,” she commented. “What is your secret, sir?” she asked, teasing him, atoning for her second thoughts.

“Lemon drops,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a linty clump of candies all stuck together from last night’s rain. He pulled one off the wad, dusted away the lint, and handed it to her. She popped it in her mouth.

Joseph waited for them at the next rise, his eyes dancing with excitement. Libby smiled to see him sitting so straight on her uncle’s horse. I wish Papa could see you, she thought. He would be so proud.

“What are you so exercised about, Joseph?” Anthony asked as he reined in beside his father’s horses.

“Dr. Cook, I think I know where I am!”

“Tell me then, Joseph,” said the doctor.

Joseph pointed. “Isn’t that your house? The one with the stone facing and four chimneys?”

“The very same,” said the doctor. “Well done, my lad. Libby, I think Joseph has found our way home.”

She clapped her hands and Joseph beamed. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Race you!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Rascal,” said the doctor. “How can I win, think on?”

They watched Joseph ride toward the house. Libby sighed and touched Anthony’s arm. “Do you suppose his memory will ever come back completely?”

The doctor considered the question and then shook his head slowly. “I do not. It will like come and go. He will probably have to be told over and over, and we will always have to know precisely where he is. A lowering thought, Libby?” he asked.

“Well, yes, in a way, but . . .”

She stopped. Her thoughts were becoming too tangled. How could she tell Anthony yet how good it made her feel when he said, “We will always have to know,” instead of “you.” She realized for the first time how much easier her responsibility for Joseph would be if she shared it with another. But is this really the one I am to share my life with? she asked, and stole a glance at the big man seated so tall beside her.

She watched his face, surprised that he did not notice how hard she was staring at him. After a moment’s bold contemplation, she realized that he was intent on the meadow before him. She sucked in her breath as his face paled and he rose up in the gig.

“Joseph,” he was whispering. “No! Go back!” And then he was shouting at her brother, waving his arms, as she stared at the field in sudden fright and wondered what he was looking at.

Libby clutched his arm and he shook her free, sat down, and slapped the reins smartly on the horse’s back. She grabbed the seat as they lurched off the main road and down the little-used track that led into the Cook estate.

Joseph looked back once, waved, and continued on his way, unaware of Anthony’s shouts. It was then that Libby noticed a quick movement to the side of the field by the hop gardens. Squire Cook sat on his horse, statue-still, a musket pointed at Joseph as he ambled along, unconcerned, unaware.

“Oh, God,” Libby breathed. “Anthony, does your father think he has stolen those animals?”

Anthony was beating the horse with the reins now, unmindful of her, his eyes full of Joseph, who had stopped now, as if he finally sensed danger but could not locate the source. He looked back at them over his shoulder, uncertain what to do.

“Get off the horse,” the doctor said, his voice low and intense, as if he were willing Joseph to do as he said through some telepathy between man and boy. “Just do it, lad. Ah, God!”

Libby screamed as the gun smoked and Joseph jerked backward, clapped his hand to his face, and toppled from his saddle, a spot of red blossoming on his cheek. Libby tried to leap out of the gig, but Anthony grabbed the back of her skirt and jerked her down. “He may have another gun. Hold still. Hang on.”

He whipped the horse into action again and raced to the fallen boy, who had not moved from where he lay. He barely spared a glance for the squire, who still sat astride his horse, the musket across his lap now. He noticed his son for the first time and gestured triumphantly.

“He was thieving my horses, son,” he shouted. “I will have him put away, if he is not dead.”

The doctor jumped from the gig while it was still in motion and threw himself down beside the boy, heedless of the horses that moved about his head restlessly. Libby ran after him and grabbed the reins of Joseph’s horse. Not daring to look at the ground, she led the horse to a tree, tethered it, and led the others after.

She ran back to her brother and knelt by his body. Blood was everywhere, staining the grass, covering the doctor’s lap as he ripped off his neckcloth and pressed down firmly on the wound. Libby held Joseph’s hand, feeling for his pulse. To her infinite relief, it was faint but steady. She let out her breath slowly.

Joseph lay on his back. Libby’s eyes caught something shiny in the sodden grass, not far from him. She peered closer and picked up the ball.

“Look, Anthony,” she said.

He nodded. “Thank God! I was afraid it was lodged somewhere in his head.” He touched the wound, feeling the track where the ball had grazed his cheek. “Well, Joseph,” he said, his voice shaky, “you don’t have any choice but to get better. Thank God Father’s aim was off.”

A shadow fell across the doctor and Joseph. Libby looked up into the squire’s smiling face.

“I got the little beggar, didn’t I?” he said, barely able to contain the excitement in his voice. “He won’t steal my horses again, because he will be in an asylum.”

With a cry of rage, Libby leapt to her feet and threw herself on the squire, scratching him and kicking him. “He was bringing your horses back,” she screamed at him, pounding his chest with her fists. “He learned that the gypsies had stolen them and he was bringing them back.”

She sank down in the grass again, covering her face with her hands, shivering in the warmth of the summer’s day.

“That’s the biggest faradiddle I ever heard,” said the squire, dabbing at his face where she had scratched him. “Son, are they both daft?”

“Libby, tear off a string from your bonnet,” was the doctor’s only comment.

She did as he said. Deftly the doctor tied the satin ribbon around Joseph’s face and knotted it securely across the bloody neckcloth. “I’ll do it better in a moment, lad,” he assured Joseph, whose eyes were wide open now, wild like an animal’s, as he tried to speak. “Don’t, laddy, don’t. Let’s get you into the house. Libby, bring the gig over here.”

She did as he said. Anthony picked up Joseph, wincing when Joseph moaned. He set him in the gig and commanded Libby to climb in the small space behind the seat and hold him up. The squire watched the proceedings and then stepped in the path of the horse as Anthony prepared to climb into the gig.

“Not to my house,” he said, his voice deadly quiet.

“Yes, to your house!” Anthony shouted, his face pale. “Elizabeth was right, you old fool. We found Joseph yesterday with your horses. He was bringing them back from Dewhurst, where the gypsies had taken them to trade in the horse fair. He was lost.”

“It can’t be true,” said the squire in a hollow voice as the words finally sank in. He shook his head as if to clear it. “You’re both lying.”

Wearily, the doctor shook his head. “Another inch and you would have killed a lad who was doing you a favor.”

The squire sank to the grass as though his legs had lost all power to hold him upright. He was still sitting there as Anthony started the horses forward and Libby held Joseph upright in the gig. She looked back once as they made their painful way across the field. He was slumped there, head bowed.