The Dixie Widow (26 page)

He continued holding her, letting her weep. Finally she straightened up and her expression changed from softness to a self-willed pride.

“I’Il have someone come for him,” she said, and left the room without a backward look.

Davis returned to his bed and lay looking at the face of the dead boy. He had grown very fond of Lonnie and felt the vacuum left by someone whose life had made a difference—in Davis’s life and others.

“Goodbye, Lonnie,” he whispered softly into the darkness.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LOVE NEVER CHANGES

Lonnie Tate’s death saddened the entire ward, for the gentle young man had become a favorite.

But it was Belle Wickham whom Lonnie’s passing had influenced most. She had seen death in all forms since coming to Chimborazo, and had considered herself capable of meeting any situation. However, the constant pressure of the hospital had been building up in her unconsciously. She carried a facade that successfully disguised any damage the hurt, the pain, and the deaths did to her spirit. But by nature she was a gentle, loving person, who eventually broke under the barrage of grim blows accosting her.

Immediately after Lonnie died, Belle went to her office and attempted, as she often did, to shake off the grief that always engulfed her. Never had she allowed anyone to see her as she wept over the patients, but many nights were spent struggling to keep from giving way. More than once she had come within a hairsbreadth of quitting her job, but the next morning, apparently calm and steady, she showed no sign of the struggle.

When a tree falls in the forest, it immediately begins to decay—from the inside. Time passes with no apparent effect, but the destructive elements are at work. The winds and the rains batter the outside; the tiny borers attack the core. After some time a hunter sees it, and to his eye it is solid and healthy, but when he steps on the tree, it gives way, revealing the destructive damage to the life within. It took
many months to break down the strength of that tree; it was not the pressure of the man’s boot—that only exposed the damage done by time and the enemy.

In somewhat the same way, Lonnie’s death had been the final pressure that broke Belle. It was not his death alone, but all those that preceded his that caused the total breakdown of her defenses; and though she struggled all night to steady herself, by dawn she was still sitting in her chair, trembling with weakness and unable to face another day.

Elmer Gibbs arrived early to get supplies, and when he entered Belle’s office, she was sitting motionless, her eyes underlined by dark circles, her face haggard and pale. He hesitated, then said, “Miss Belle, we’re out of lint. You want me to go downtown and see if I can get some?” He waited for her answer, but she stared at him vacantly. “Ma’am?” he asked, “is something wrong?”

Still she sat there, saying nothing. Finally she got up and walked to the window. Gibbs was disturbed, for it was not like her. He waited for a few moments, and when he received no answer, he turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen where he found Dr. Stevens drinking a cup of coffee.

“Doctor,” he said anxiously, “Miss Belle—something’s wrong with her.”

“Is she sick, Gibbs?” Stevens asked, lowering his cup.

“I don’t know. She won’t talk—and she looks bad.”

“I’ll go see her.” He put his cup down and walked rapidly to Belle’s office, where he found her still staring out the window. When she didn’t respond to his presence, he said, “Belle . . . ?”

After a long moment’s pause she turned. Her face was set in an abnormal grimace, her eyes wide, the whites prominent circles surrounding the irises.
Emotionally paralyzed.

“What’s wrong, Belle?” Dr. Stevens asked.

“Lonnie died last night,” she said slowly, dragging the words out.

“Yes. I heard about it when I arrived. Too bad! Such a good-hearted young man.”

She didn’t speak, but her mouth twisted uncontrollably, and she covered it with her hand and wheeled.

He caught her arm as she attempted to run out of the room, held her, and said firmly, “I’m sending you home for a few days’ rest, Belle.”

“No! I can’t do that.”

Dr. Stevens shook his head. His eyes were concerned, but there was a rough firmness in his deep voice as he said, “You don’t have any choice, I’m afraid. You’ve been working too many hours—which I’ve warned you about.” She began to shake her head, and he raised his voice, saying, “You’ve done good work here, and I don’t want to lose you. And that’s what’ll happen if you try to go on like you’ve done the past few months. You’re a casualty, Belle. You need rest or you’ll fall apart.”

“What will happen to the men if I go?” she asked in a tight voice.

“What will happen to them if you crack up for good?” Stevens demanded. “We’ll get along for a week or two. Go home and don’t even
think
about this place for a while. Then when you’ve had a good rest, you can return and resume your duties.”

He had to argue for a time, but slowly she gave in, and he drove away with her in his buggy. He was a friend of the Winslows as well as their family doctor since he came to Richmond.

“My house is over that way, Doctor,” she protested as he turned toward the west side of town.

“You’re not going there,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you all alone. You’ll do nothing but brood. I’m taking you to your parents. They’ve been complaining for a long time how they never get to see you. Well, now they’re going to—and don’t argue with me!”

The fact that she accepted his decision without flaring up was evidence to Stevens that she was not herself. He had fought many a battle with Belle over matters at the hospital,
and was well aware of the vein of steel that ran through her. She would never have given in so easily to his decisions if she had not been weakened in some way he didn’t understand.

Rebekah met them at the door, and saw the serious look on Dr. Steven’s face as he said, “Rebekah, this young woman is going to stay away from the hospital for two weeks. She’s been doing the work of two people, and it’s time she had a rest. You think you can hold her down and teach her how to be quiet for a time?”

“Oh, this is ridiculous, Doctor!” Belle objected. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” But she could not control the trembling of her hands.

Rebekah ignored Belle’s words and said, “I’m so glad you’ve come. We’ve wanted you to visit us, you know. Pet’s gone to Belle Maison for a while—and this place is so lonely.”

“Good. You take care she gets out some, Rebekah,” Stevens nodded. “I’ll talk with you later in the week.”

“Oh, Dr. Stevens,” Rebekah said as he turned to leave, “Thad was at church last night, and he mentioned that his friend Lieutenant Morgan will be leaving the hospital.”

“That’s right. He’s made a good recovery and doesn’t really need to be in the hospital anymore. Did Novak say where Owen would be going?”

“He knew our boys were gone, so he asked if we might put the lieutenant up for a time. Sky said it would be fine, so if you approve, we’ll just let him stay here.”

“He’s a lucky young fellow,” Stevens replied and grinned at Belle. “You see, Belle? You’ll still have at least one patient to practice on!” He turned to leave, adding, “I’ll have someone bring him out this afternoon.”

Neither Rebekah nor Stevens saw the expression that swept Belle’s face at the mention of Lieutenant Morgan, and by the time Rebekah took her arm, saying, “Now, let’s go over to your house and get your things,” she had recovered.

Part of Belle’s agony over Lonnie’s death was her mortification at her collapse, weeping helplessly in the arms of
the tall lieutenant. Something about him had always made her uncomfortable. He had a way of looking at her out of his steady brown eyes that was disturbing, though she could never figure out why. She had prided herself on her control, and to have shown weakness before anyone was repugnant to her—but to dissolve completely before
him
in a fit of helpless dependency had shamed her deeply.

The two women stopped by Belle’s little house, picked up the things necessary for the visit, then spent an hour shopping for a few items. As they moved in and out of the stores along the streets of Richmond, many people stared at Belle, whispering, “There she is—that’s her, the Dixie Widow.” Belle ignored them, but was relieved to get back to the house, where she helped her mother with a few simple household chores.

“It’s nice out today, Belle,” Rebekah said later. “Why don’t you take a walk around the neighborhood?”

“I think I will, Mother.”

“I won’t be here when you get back,” Rebekah added. “I have a meeting at two. Perhaps you’d like to read that new novel by Dickens—
David Copperfield.
”

Belle agreed, and left. Although dark clouds were beginning to roll over the mild April skies, she strolled for two hours along the side streets of Richmond. When distant thunder announced the coming of rain, she made her way back to her parents’ house. By the time she was within a few blocks of home, the heavens seemed to tilt, sending a solid stream on the town. The streets soon filled, washing away in a gurgling stream the trash and the winter’s leaves.

Belle stopped, closed her eyes and lifted her face, letting the rain wash over her face. Her clothes were instantly soaked, but she did not notice. The drops coursed down her cheeks like a river, mingling with the torrent of tears dammed up over the long winter. Like a frozen mountain stream melting under the spring sun, so her rigid coldness turned to warmth.

Finally, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and walked rapidly to the house. She grabbed several large towels on her
way to her room, where she stripped and dried herself until her skin tingled. She was putting up her hair when she heard a knock at the door downstairs. Hurriedly twisting her dark mane into a thick roll, she pinned it up as she ran down the stairs, calling, “Just a minute!”

Opening the door, she blinked in surprise. “Why, Lieutenant, come in.” She looked past him to where Elmer Gibbs sat in the buggy. “Thank you, Elmer!” she called and stepped back. “You’re almost as wet as I was, Lieutenant Morgan.”

Davis stood uncertainly, as if trying to decide whether to walk away or stay. With a gesture of surrender, he limped across the threshold. After he’d shrugged out of his coat, Belle took it, saying, “Come on into the kitchen. Mother’s got a fire in the stove.”

She pushed a chair out for him, and brought a piece of apple pie and a steaming cup of coffee. Nervously he reached for the beverage, and she saw he was very uncomfortable.

“This place will be a lot better than Chimborazo, Owen,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Besides, Mother’s cooking is fantastic.”

He moved slightly in his chair, his thin face reflecting the rebellion he had felt since Dr. Stevens told him it would be better to leave the hospital. “This—wasn’t my idea,” he blurted out. “I feel like a tramp.”

Belle shook her head. “You won’t when you get to know my parents. Any man who’s shed his blood for the Cause is a welcome guest in their home.”

The words stung like sharp barbs. Now more than ever he wanted to leave. But he knew he had no choice. “I’ll try to stay out of the way as much as possible,” he promised in a tight voice.

Her mind flashed back to the previous night. “I—I was very upset last night, Owen.”

He dropped his eyes. “We both were.”

Conscious that he was referring to her outburst that night, she decided to speak frankly about the incident. “I don’t
often give way—as I did. I’m sorry you had to be the brunt of my hysteria.”

He looked up in surprise, shaking his head. “I don’t think of it that way.” His lips moved in a half-embarrassed smile, and he admitted, “You weren’t the only one who cried for Lonnie.”

Belle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The men of her family were not given to public displays of emotion. That was considered unmanly, and Davis’s simple admission intrigued her. Her firmest concept of Owen Morgan was that he was not emotional, for he had always kept his distance from everyone. Not once in the weeks she had known him had he ever dropped the habitual austere manner, and now to hear him admit weeping over someone seemed out of character.

“He was very brave,” Davis murmured. “The day before he died, he told me how much he longed to go back to Arkansas and make a crop.”

He continued to speak of Lonnie, telling her how the boy had asked him to write the family. Belle listened quietly, sharing some of the things that had endeared Lonnie to her heart. Time flew, and before she knew it her parents were back.

“Why, Lieutenant,” Rebekah said as she entered, “how nice that you arrived so soon!” She turned to Belle, “Would you take Dan’s room upstairs so that Lieutenant Morgan won’t have to climb steps?”

“I’ll show you the guest room, Lieutenant,” she said, leading the way.

Returning to the kitchen, Rebekah commented, “Belle, I’m glad Thad thought of this. It’ll be nice to have someone to cook for.”

The evening meal went well. Sky and Rebekah were so happy to have Belle home that they talked more than usual, unaware that Belle and their guest said very little. After supper Sky escorted Davis to the parlor while the women tidied up the kitchen.

Davis maneuvered Winslow into telling some of the tales
of his youth on the western frontier, and when the women joined them, Belle asked her parents to relate the story of their courtship. Davis sat entranced as he heard how Sky had guided a wagon train load of “Mail Order Brides” from the East to Oregon. Rebekah had been one of them, and at the end of the journey, they had fallen in love and married.

“It sounds like a very bad novel,” she smiled at her parents. “I’m convinced you made it all up—and you were probably only a dull shoe salesman from St. Louis.”

Sky laughed and reached for Rebekah’s hand. “I can’t help it if it sounds crazy,” he said, giving Rebekah a gentle smile. “I’ve enjoyed every second of it!”

Rebekah stood to her feet, laughing. “I could remind you of a couple of times—!”

“I refuse to remember!” he said, leaping up. He grinned at Davis, saying, “Make her wait on you, Owen. She’s like a mother hen with all her chicks gone.”