The Loom (29 page)

Ruth’s assault had sent her over the edge. She thought she was the cause of it even after everyone insisted it was not so. But when reassurance ceased and people moved on, then what?

He didn’t understand why.

What was the point of having a gift and losing it? Of losing everyone, everything, you ever loved? For what? For what purpose did they live in death? One was supposed to walk through the valley of the shadow, not dwell in it.

Why?

Abram thought of the faces of the children, the burst of tears that shot into praise from parents on their knees. It had been a sight to see. To be used by God so greatly. But now…

He closed his eyes, didn’t want to see where he was, where he had ended up. He had nothing left.

If only he could have one moment. One more moment. If he could gather his strength just once more to be used, a vessel in the hands of the Potter. Just one more, Lord, he heard himself saying as he faded off to sleep. Just one more.

“Abram?”

“Odessa.” He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. “Baby, what is it?”

She was crying again. Nothing left, Abram wept at her side.

Something was undone.

Lydia sat in front of her vanity and studied the cloth across her lap, examined every stitch near the loose thread. She had to find it. Somewhere, something was no longer attached. Her eyes strained and her fingers searched.

It was a silly thing. Just one thin, white handkerchief handed to her by a stranger on a coach. What difference did it make?

Jackson had given her a dozen others. She wrapped her hand around the fabric and traced the delicate embroidery of flowers in each corner. Someone had taken time, precious time, to create such a beauty. The detail. She smiled. Important enough for her to search a little longer for the missing knot. One tug and it would all unravel.

She sighed. She had been sitting too long. Thirty minutes? An hour? She needed more light. She looked up toward the window and caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror in front of her.

Moon crescents under her eyes made her life appear much weightier than the time on earth she’d endured. She touched her lips.

Pretty lips full of lies. No more, she promised the lady across from her, but the face was cynical. She didn’t believe a word of it. And why should she? Lying was what she did best.

Lydia tossed the handkerchief on the stand and wrapped her hands in her hair. Twisting it around in a knot, she secured it with a pin and powdered her face. Powdered her face white.

Shame seeped pink into her cheeks. If John could see her now. She thought of him, what he was doing, what he ate, where he slept less than a mile away.

Things were becoming more difficult, had become much more complicated than she had ever dreamed.

Lydia picked up the cloth and held it to her cheek. There was only one choice. She had to see him again soon. At the right time.

When she stood, she bumped into the vanity and the airy rectangular cotton fell from her hand, floating to the floor. She snatched it quickly by a thread, just before it landed, and just as quickly witnessed the result.

Undone.

She begged for blood.

Oh, please! But when Lydia ran clear out from the dining room table to the washroom gagging from the smells, too many smells of the morning meal, she knew it would be a long while before she saw the flow of fluid she’d cursed month after month.

She missed last month’s cycle, but she thought worry kept it away. It had happened once after the incident with Dr. Kelly.

Before she had ever been with a man.

Lydia glanced up at Annie. She was walking back and forth in the sitting room, dark, despite the open drapes. She hadn’t heard a word she said, just sat on the edge of the sofa with her arms wrapped low across her waist.

“We need to be certain we have enough poinsettias. Those would look nice. Unless you want a softer look, but there’s not much growing this time of year so we can’t be too choosy. Let’s see, we could… Miss Caroline, are you listening?”

Lydia stared out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the father of her baby somewhere on the grounds.

“I was just thinking, Annie.”

“Ma’am? You all right? You ain’t yourself. You’re different to me.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears.

“I’m tired, Annie. Ever been tired?”

“ ’Course I have. Every night I just fall out, almost too tired to close my own eyes.”

“I mean a tired on the inside.” She leaned forward and stared at Annie. She was saying too much, but the words continued to tumble out of her mouth. “Like you’re dragging on the inside.”

“I can’t say I have.” Annie stared at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that.”

“It’s awful, Annie.”

“Why you so sad?”

“I’ve lost everything.” And now she had a baby on the way with a man she had deserted. The truth she swallowed, had thought she hid, had rooted in her and would sure enough make itself known before long. She could feel the tears welling in her throat. “I don’t know if I can make it.”

“You can make it.”

For a moment, Lydia sobered. She looked up into the face of a woman she thought hated her and saw something else entirely.

A knowing, a kin. She looked into the face of the slave she had been. “How do you know?”

“ ’Cause you’re doing it, Miss Caroline. Breath after breath, you’re doing it.”

Lydia stared at Annie. She wanted to say something, thank her, but nothing rose on the inside but sorrow.

She couldn’t move and she couldn’t stop thinking about the pain she endured, the pain she had caused. Despite the house and the freedom to come and go at will, she was lost, still bound after all this time. Not one breath closer to life.

Thought upon thought, her past wove her weary until night fell. She laid her head against her knees, closed her eyes, and begged for sleep, a sweet escape from the torment of the past few months.

She made it to her room somehow and stretched out across her bed. Her lids fell heavy.

Echoing voices and vivid colors painted pictures of all things beautiful in the mist. She smiled at her good fortune as she strolled barefoot past green meadows set against an orange-red sky, violets and daffodils dancing at her feet.

Then she stepped on something. She could feel it was round and solid but small enough to continue moving forward. But with each stride it dug deeper until she recoiled. She turned to discover a trail of blood that stained every place she had been, soaked the grass limp so that even the flowers died.

Heartbroken, she sat to examine her raw foot, to discover what had caused so much harm. She saw it instantly. In the center of her ripped flesh, there it was, glistening white in all its glory: a pearl.

“You’re beautiful, Lydia. Did I tell you that?”

Every time you look at me.

Lydia still heard the words from her wedding night, still felt John’s fingers dancing along her face, sweeping her hair back.

Could still feel herself locking her fingers with his and submitting to his touch.

Her head was spinning. Too many dreams. She sat up in bed, pressed her fingers against her eyelids, and stopped the tears before they ever had a chance to flow. She was good at that. Cutting things off before they took hold. Even still, she had to be careful. One wrong move and she could end up buried under the whole stack of lies.

John flipped the wool collar of his navy coat up over his ears as he jogged to the stables. As much as Lydia loved this time of year, to him, bare trees and shriveled plants always made the world appear dark, ominous. There was a reason Christmas fell in the middle of winter. Just before everyone plunged into a pit of depression, it arrived just in time to warm everything with lights and love. He glanced up at the sullen skies. From the looks of it, an early November snow was possible. He rubbed his hands together and shoved them in his pockets. No gloves. No doubt taking care of the mares was much more pleasant on warmer days, though he wasn’t sure he could bear the heat, sweating as he was already.

“John…”

He turned slowly. “Lydia.” She stood shivering in a black hooded cloak with eyes as innocent as a child’s. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t have come.” But he was happy she had. Her glassy eyes moved him. Those eyes…

“I had to.”

He looked around, wiping the beads of perspiration from his brow with the strip of fabric in his pocket.

She smiled faintly at the keepsake from the blanket she had weaved.

“All right,” he whispered. “All right. Follow me.”

In the shadows of the stable, he let the tension in his face, his neck, and his shoulders fall to his hands. He gripped his fingers.

Then hers.

“You all right?”

“I–I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Her hands trembled in his.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes the weight of it all, the pressure…”

“I know.”

She burst into tears, and his heart broke.

“I didn’t think. I didn’t think through any of it, and I’m sorry. I knew it would be hard, but I’m not sure how much more I can bear.” She paused long enough for him to see her sitting on his worn blanket, long enough to remember the way they were. “Do you think about us?”

“Always,” he said before she could even finish the question. Always. He smiled. “Look, Lydia, I’m here, all right?”

“All right.” She dabbed her eyes with a rumpled handkerchief.

“You just have to be careful.”

“He’s gone. Won’t be back until morning. Can I have you for the day?” She smiled faintly.

She had him for life.

Lydia felt a warm tingling, a flicker of heaven she hadn’t felt in a long time. Afternoon rays seeped through the cracks of the stable and lit the corner of the place like gems. They sat together in the riches of light.

John.

She missed him desperately. Earth’s beauty in one body. She could feel him watching her, studying to see if she was all right.

She was fine. Today she was the best she had been.