Chapter Four
A loud crash woke Tess.
Groggy, disoriented, she wedged her elbows behind her and struggled to get up. It took her a minute to remember where she was. When she was. She shot a quick glance at the cradle. Caleb was sleeping peacefully.
Relieved, she surveyed the room through bleary eyes. Nothing seemed to be different or disturbed?although she couldn't be sure. Pale moonlight came through the silvered windowpane, but otherwise the room was dark and still.
She shoved the quilt back and sat up. At the movement, pain wrenched her abdomen, shot down her thighs. It took all her strength of will not to flop back into the pillows like a dead fish.
She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on each breath until the blazing hurt ebbed into a dull, manageable ache. Then she swung her stockinged feet over the edge of her bed. Cool evening air skipped along her flesh, bringing a flurry of goose bumps. Shivering, she limped slowly toward the door.
"Johnny! No!"
The screamed words reverberated through the room and brought Tess to a dead stop. She waited, listening for another outburst, but the house was silent once again.
Reaching for the flannel robe flung along the foot of the bed, she shrugged into the warm fabric, eased the door
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open, and hobbled from the bedroom. At the end of the hallway, she paused to regain her breath. Clutching her aching midsection, she cautiously peeked around the corner.
The living room was dark except for the throbbing orange glow of a dying fire. Pulsating red-gold light licked the floor and cast sinewy fingers into the darkness. The furniture was a series of shadowy clumps, without form or substance.
Tess frowned. Easing away from the wall, she walked into the room.
Like an apparition, Jack materialized in front of her. Startled, Tess stumbled backward and hit the wall with a thud. He closed the distance between them in a single step. She felt the weight of his stare on her face, but she couldn't see his eyes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The question was spoken quietly, though somehow the softness was more frightening than any yelling she'd ever heard. "You know the rules."
Tess wished she could take even one step backward, but the wall had her trapped. "I ... I heard a noise."
"Go away." He spun away from her and began pacing. His movements were stiff and overly controlled, the rigid actions of a man who wanted to run but was forcing himself to stay. After a few moments, he covered his ears with his hands, as if there were great, booming noises only he could hear.
"Jack, I?"
He spun back around and grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her to him. She hit his chest hard and bit back a gasp of pain. "Don't do this to me, Amarylis." His voice cracked. "I'm not strong enough to play your games right now."
She stared up at him, her breathing ragged. His gaze
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seemed to grab her around the neck and squeeze. Suddenly he let go, as if he'd just realized he'd touched her.
She slid down the long, hard length of his body. Her bare feet hit the cold floor with a muffled thump.
"And don't forget the rules again. It doesn't matter what you hear. You don't come out here after dark. Not ever."
Tess leaned against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jack's bootheels thudded atop the floor, his every step matching the echoing beat of her heart. She heard the rough, ragged strains of his breathing and the crackling hiss of the dying fire. She tried to concentrate on the sounds she'd waited a lifetime to hear, only the sounds, but somehow she couldn't take joy in them. All she felt was alone and afraid and fright-eningly out of her element.
She thought of Carol and her promise, and at the thought, sadness washed through her, leaving in its wake the sting of betrayal. Carol had lied to her. Jack Rafferty wasn't someone special at all.
She tried to be strong, tried not to care, but she couldn't help herself. Disappointment crept through her, tugging the corners of her mouth downward. For some absurd reason, she felt like crying.
She gritted her teeth, battling the unfamiliar wave of self-pity. Then she snapped out of it. She wasn't one to give up. She never had been before, and she damn well wouldn't start now. And besides, it wasn't all Carol's fault. Tess had chosen this life. This man.
"Damn it," she said to him. "This is my house, too, now. I have every right to go where I want, when I want. And right now I want to go ..." She had to think a minute. "To the bathroom."
Forcing her chin up, she pushed away from the wall and headed toward the hallway.
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"Where are you going?" he growled as she hobbled past him.
She tilted her chin a little higher. "Not that it's any of your business, but I intended to use the bathroom." She reached for the door in front of her.
"In the girls' room?"
Tess's hand froze inches from the knob. Frowning, she turned around and walked slowly toward the living room. "But there aren't any other doors."
"That's right. Not in the house, there aren't. There's the chamber pot in your room. Or, if you're feeling braver than usual, you can go?"
No. Don't say it, don't say the toilet is?
"?outside."
"Outside," she repeated dully. "Of course."
Hugging her cramping abdomen, she felt her way along the sofa and shuffled painfully into the kitchen. At the front door, she hesitated. The thought of putting her bare backside down on some shadowy pit toilet made her stomach writhe in revolt. But she didn't much feel like squatting over a porcelain pot in her bedroom, either.
She glanced back at the living room, searching the shadows for Jack. He was still standing by the window; she could see the outline of his torso against the pale curtains. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call 911."
"What?"
She opened the door and went outside. Cold night air, thick with the scent of the sea, splashed her face and slid along her exposed neck. She clutched the robe tighter to her throat and stepped cautiously forward. Tired, whitewashed boards creaked beneath her feet.
She hobbled down the wide, covered porch that stretched along the front of the house. At the top step, she paused, waiting for the pain to melt once again into something she could manage.
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She glanced around. Midnight blue shadows and black shapes surrounded her, all of them wreathed by ghostly split-rail fences. A huge, opalescent moon hung in the star-spangled sky. Below it, the Straits glittered like an endless. sheet of hammered steel, its surface rippled with moonlight. A row of shadowed, farmy-looking sheds led the way to a rickety, isolated old building that had to be the outhouse.
She clutched the wobbly handrail and slowly descended the few steps. By the final step, she was breathing heavily again. Pausing, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow and walked stiffly up the yard's grassy incline.
With each step, her stomach sank a little bit more. Wincing, trying not to breathe, she reached for the drawstring latch and opened the door. It swung on squeaky hinges and smacked hard against the wooden wall. The whole structure shuddered at the impact.
She peered inside, but couldn't see anything except a shower-sized, jet-black opening.
Cautiously she inched her way into the darkened stall. Night air immediately closed around her like black velvet. The expected odors curled around her throat, turned thick and ugly.
Clamping her lips together to keep from breathing, she lifted her nightgown and planted her bare behind on the cold wooden rim.
Suddenly the door banged shut, plunging her into tomblike darkness. Her imagination ran riot. She saw bugs and snakes and all kinds of nameless wild things creeping under the door and slithering toward her. Animal and night noises that any other time might sound whimsical and exciting, sounded ominous.
1873, she realized then, was not for sissies.
* * *
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&n
bsp; Savannah huddled under the thick blanket, her whole body shaking. She had a long-forgotten urge to suck her thumb again. She fisted her hand tightly and pressed it to her stomach. The unmistakable sounds of a parental fight crept beneath her door and hovered like a bad odor in the cramped room.
"Vannah? How come Daddy always yells about Johnny?"
Savannah shrugged in the darkness. Her throat was too thick with unshed tears to say anything. But Katie didn't expect a response. They'd lived through this same scene too many times to expect much of anything from anyone.
"You think Daddy's okay?"
Savannah swallowed. "Yeah." The word slipped out on a tired breath, with no conviction.
Katie crawled out of bed. Her bare feet thumped on the hard wooden floor. "I'm gonna go peek."
Savannah shoved her coverlet back and swung her stockinged feet out of bed. " 'Mere, Katie."
Katie shuffled toward her sister and took her hand. Together they crept cautiously toward the door and eased it open.
Daddy was standing in front of the fire. In the yellow-red firelight, they could see the trembling in his hands, but other than that, he was as still as stone. His quick breathing sliced through the darkness.
Mama walked to the back door. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call 911."
"What?" Daddy yelled.
Mama ignored him and went outside. There was a minute of breath-laden silence, then Daddy swiveled away from the fireplace and started pacing. The loud thudding of his heels and the quickened tenor of his breathing filled the room, giving everything a dangerous edge.
"Damn you," he hissed into the darkness, "damn you."
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Spinning toward the wall, he drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the wooden wall.
Savannah flinched. Katie melted against her sister, making tiny mewling sounds of fear. Savannah clutched her midsection. The need to go to him, to touch him and tell him she loved him, was like a burning ache in her heart. She took a hesitant step forward, then froze. He wouldn't want her comfort. He never did.
"Damn you," he yelled again.
Savannah fought the sting of tears. In the quavering firelight, she saw the smear of blood on the wall, and the sight made her sick to her stomach.
Don't hurt yourself, Daddy, she prayed. She ain 't worth it.
Silently Savannah and Katie went back into their bedroom and shut the door. Crawling into bed together, they huddled close, drawing strength from each other. They didn't speak; there was nothing to say. It was a long time before either one of them stopped thinking about their daddy. And longer still before they fell into a fitful, troubled sleep.
The next morning Tess was wakened by a gurgling, mewling sound. Blinking tiredly, she pushed to a sit.
"I'm coming, Caleb," she said. Shoving the quilt back, she hobbled over to the cradle and cautiously picked him up.
"Morning, Caleb," she cooed, staring down into his pink, unbelievably cute face.
He blinked up at her and started crying. Tess felt a tremor of anxiety. Suddenly he didn't look so cute. He looked ... intimidating.
All at once, the magnitude of her responsibility hit Tess like a shot between the eyes. She was a mother now. A mommy. That was more than picking out clothes and reading-
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stories and kissing downy cheeks. It was everything. His tiny, innocent life was in her hands.
A vague, formless fear bit into her self-confidence as she made her way back to the bed and crawled under the quilt. She swallowed thickly. Nothing in her solitary, isolated life had prepared her to take care of this baby. She was a doctor of microbiology, for God's sake, not a caretaker. She didn't know how to stop a baby from crying, and she had no time to learn. The responsibility of Caleb's life was hers. Now.
She wished to hell he'd come with an instruction book.
Timidly, Tess stroked the velvet-soft side of his face with fingers that were suddenly shaking and cold. "Shh, baby, shh ..." The words tumbled from her lips over and over again in a hypnotic, tranquil roll.
Except that Caleb was not hypnotized or tranquilized. His cry strengthened, took on an ear-shattering quality. His face turned an unattractive shade of red.
Her breasts started to tingle. Moisture gushed across the front of her nightgown, dampening the fabric. She unbuttoned her gown. The wet fabric fell open to reveal her naked breasts.
Tess took one look and screamed.
Startled by her outburst, Caleb sucked in his breath and stared up at her for a heartbeat. Then he squeezed his puffy eyelids shut and let out a banshee wail that set Tess's ears ringing.
The door flew open and cracked against the other wall. Jack barreled into the room. "What is it?" he panted.
Too horrified to be embarrassed, Tess pointed sickly at her chest. These couldn't be my breasts, she wanted to say. They couldn't be anyone's.
Jack stared at the Hall-of-Famer set of mammaries. "Y-You ready to be wrapped?"
"Wrapped?"
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"You know, to stop the milk flow."
"Milk. Of course." Tess felt like an idiot for forgetting that a body that had just given birth would produce milk.
"I'll go get Savannah," he said, turning for the door.
"No! I don't want to be wrapped. I want to breast-feed him."
"What?"
"It's well documented that mother's milk is full of necessary nutrients and antibodies." She smiled down at Caleb. Warmth spilled through her body, and for a second, she really felt like his mom.
"But, you've never ... nursed the kids."
Tess shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
An hour later, Tess had to admit it could be very difficult indeed.
Caleb was crying bloody murder, a high-pitched bleating sound that pinged up and down every vertebra and rattled in her head like an off-key rendition of "Jingle Bells." Jack was standing along the far wall, arms crossed across his chest, eyes riveted on the drama unfolding in the bed. He seemed completely unwilling to help in any way.
"Come on, Caleb," she murmured for the thousandth time, "let's try again." She eased him toward her left breast. He grabbed hold with both tiny hands and tried to suckle, but her breast was so hard and swollen, he couldn't latch on.
"Here you go, sweetie, try again." She curled Caleb in a new hold and pressed his face to her other breast. His mouth was a hairsbreadth from her swollen nipple.
Please, oh, please?
He screamed in frustration.
Tess felt like screaming right along with him. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. Caleb became a squirming red blur with a gaping mouth.
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Fear curled around her throat and made it difficult to draw a breath. She wouldn't be able to feed him. Oh, God, how would he live if she couldn't feed him?
Oh, God ...
"Are you all right?" Jack's quiet voice filtered through the fog of Tess's frustration and made her cry. Aching, soundless sobs that shook her entire body and parched her throat.
He moved to the end of the bed and stood there, waiting. "Amarylis?"
She couldn't look at him. She felt so humiliated and afraid. No wonder God had never given her children in her previous life. She was useless as a mother.
He sat beside her. The tired old bed creaked, and the mattress buckled beneath his weight. Shaking and afraid, she looked up at him. "I can't do it. I can't ..." Tears clogged her throat until she couldn't speak. All she could do was sit there, helplessly staring at him.
"You don't have to."
"Please," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Help me ..."
Surprise widened his eyes, and Tess knew instinctively that it had been a long time since Amarylis had asked for his help. She thought for a moment he was going to refuse, then quietly he said, "I'll get Savannah."
He started to get up, and she grabbed his sleeve. He paused, turned toward her.
"Thanks." It was a watery, pitiful little word th
at didn't say nearly enough, and yet she couldn't push anything more past the huge lump in her throat.
"Sure," he answered stiffly. Then he was gone.
Tess sat there, holding the crying baby, crying herself, for what seemed like hours. Please, God, she prayed over and over again, don't let me be a failure as a mother. Please ...
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Finally someone knocked at the door.
"C-Come in." She tried to yell the words but couldn't. They slipped past her lips as a tired sigh.
"Mama?" Savannah opened the door and poked her head around.
Tess bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling, and swiped the wetness from her cheeks. She tried to smile, and failed miserably.
Savannah came in the room carrying a metal bucket full of steaming water. Thick cotton towels were draped across her forearm like a maitre d' at a posh restaurant.
She set the bucket on the floor and sat down on the bed. Scooting close, she eased one of the towels off her arm and dropped it in the water. As she pulled the soaking rag out and efficiently twisted off the excess water, she frowned at her mother. "Daddy said you had a ... swelling problem."
Tess would have burst out laughing if she hadn't been in so much pain. "You could say that."
"Hot rags might help. We done that for Bessie last?"
"Bessie?"
"You know ... the cow."
Tess forced a weak smile.
"Anyhow, I done this on Bessie when her teats gummed up last spring. It worked good. Here, I'll just set these hot towels on your ... chest. There, like that."
The hot rags brought immediate relief. Steam wafted upward, curled across Tess's nose, and plucked at the straggly curls of hair along her brow. Her milk released in a rush. The terrible, aching tautness began to lessen. She closed her eyes and let her head bang back against the wooden headboard.
Savannah bent closer. "Better?"
"Yes," she said shakily, "I think it's helping...."
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After about ten minutes and an equal number of towels, Tess felt like a new woman.
"Do you want to try feeding him now?"
Savannah's voice eked through the almost hypnotic state Tess had slipped into. She smiled sleepily and lifted Caleb to her breasts. "Come on, baby Caleb, let's try again."