The Marriage Cure (6 page)

He remembered everything, too much, in such detail he
couldn't
bear it
.
Johnny relived each death, each terrible moment along the trail and found he could not yet speak about any of it
.
If he pronoun
ced it aloud, it would be real
not nightmare
. He
would be forced to face it, to accept it and he could not, not now, weak and barely over being ill.

“Johnny?” Sabetha said, taking his hand
.
“Man, ye look terrible
.
What is wrong,
mo chroi
?
Do ye feel sick?”

He did; his food that he enjoyed so very much bubbled with uneasy turmoil in his stomach but it was his heart that hurt
.
The tears he had held back since that April morning a year distant burst out of him, pouring down his cheeks and with their release, he sobbed like a bereft child
.
His keening echoed in his ears, shamed him, but Sabetha did not hesitate
.
She moved from the rocker to the bed, facing him, and gathered him into her arms, soft and as welcoming as the home he once had, the family he now mourned.

“Johnny,” s
he said, her voice soft in his ear, a small comfort in his sorrow
.
“Oh, Johnny, it's sorry I am for yer loss, man, and yer trouble
.
Och hone, och hone
.”

In her embrace, in her arms, he found the surcease he sought and wept harder for it
.
When his storm of grief ended, Sabetha released him, fragile and frail, to lie against the pillows.

“I will tell ye when I can,
” Johnny said, his voice hard to find and harder to use. “
Go raibh maith agat,
Sabetha.”

“Ye
tell me what ye can, when ye will,
” Sabetha said
.
“Are ye well? ‘Tis good to weep but ye're still weak.”

“I'll do,” h
e said and he knew he would
.
For the first time since he lost family, land, and pride, he realized that he would do; he would live, somehow, and that to die would be wrong
.
He would live and live for them all.

Sabetha Mahoney Trahern

His tears did not shock her; she knew from the first that he carried heavy burdens and she hoped that his release eased his grief a measure
.
After that night, he continued to improve although his progress was slow
.
She fed him everything she could find, milk from the Jersey, eggs from her
hens,
scrambled in butter that she churned, cornbread, potatoes from her stash mashed with cream and butter, fried rabbit, broths, and even fish from the river
.
Sometimes she gave him a wee sip of Henry's whiskey, just to strengthen him.

As the woods blossomed into full spring, she hunted greens and fed him those, too, although he made faces and fussed at the greens
.
He liked the cornmeal mush better, sweetened with honey
,
and best of all
the tender wild mushrooms, morels she found in hidden spots in the hills above the river, soaked in salt water, wash
ed, then dipped in egg and corn
meal and fried.

Johnny spent his first week of convalescence propped with pillows and blankets
.
He used the china chamber pot she carried from Kentucky for his necessary business, never asking how she handled it during his illness. That was just as well; she doubted he would want to know she diapered him much like an infant
.
Each day, he seemed a bit stronger and more color washed away the terrible pallor of his illness
.
Although he sometimes joked and had almost grinned more than once, she had yet to see him smile.

He spoke no more of the trail where they cried and little about his lost family but they talked often, making conversation in the long hours and she saved up little things to tell him as she went about her chores
.
One day it was the tiny bird's nest she found filled with delicate eggs, another time it was the copperhead that crossed her path on the way to the spring, and often she brought some small thing to show him, a strange rock, or a stone sparkling with mica.

When she tended the cow, hoed the corn, or weeded her garden, Johnny tied snares for her, far better snares than the clumsy ones she made
.
Using his snares, she brought home more small game
than she had before
, mostly rabbits and squirrels
.

At his urging, she pulled some of the wild onions to flavor their food, even scrambled them with eggs
.
She foraged for wild garlic, cress, mustard, and even the first tiny but sweet red clover heads.

“Would there be more cornbread?” Johnny asked, scraping the plate with his spoon
.
He now could feed himself and hold a cup while he drank.

“There is,
” Sabetha said, pleased that he both had such appetite and that he liked her cooking
.
“Did ye want more butter too?”

“I
do,” h
e replied
.
“And a wee bit of honey if ye have more.”

Sabetha smiled
.
He knew that she did, had heard the tale of how she found a bee tree last fall
.
She added the cornbread to his plate, slathered it with butter from
the day's
churning, and dribbled honey over it
.
He lifted it to his mouth and took a huge bite.

“
Wado
, Sabetha.”

She now
knew that meant “thank you” and gave him back a smile.
He was not self-conscious any more about dropping words from
Tsa-La-Gi
into conversation and she sometimes knew what the simplest ones meant.

“Ye're welcome, Johnny. ‘Tis good to see ye eat.”

He finished the bread and for a moment, she thought he would lick the plate but did not
.
Instead, he looked up at her with those fine dark eyes, melting her heart and asked,
“Wouldn't it be even better to see
me out of bed and in a chair?”

“It would,
” Sabetha said
.
“Tomorrow we'll tr
y it, then.”

“And not today?”

“'Tis late,” s
he said and it was
.
Dark outside and she had not yet brought the night water from the spring
.
“I'm tired and ye must be too
.
I'll go to the spring and then if you want a song or two, we can sing, then I need to sleep.”

Since dawn, she
'd
hoed weeds from the corn, set snares, and caught one fat rabbit, which she skinned, dressed, and then cooked
.
Sabetha had also rubbed wool wax into his fading rash, emptied the pot more than once, milked the cow, churned the butter and she had still to bring the water up, and then wash their few dishes
.
She stifled a yawn as she rose from the rocker, both plates and spoons in one hand.

“Where do ye sleep?” Johnny asked, eyes dark and serious now.

“What?” His unexpected question rattled her.

“Where do ye sleep? There is but the one bed and I'm in it, day and night
.
Have ye slept in that rocking chair for the last three weeks, woman?”

She had, waking stiff each morning with a crick in her neck that dogged her all morning.

“Aye
.
‘Tis no bother, Johnny.”

“It is,” he said with a sigh
.
“Don't I feel useless enough without ta
king the bed so ye can't rest?”

“I'll n
ot take the bed from a sick man,
” Sabetha said, uncertain where he might be taking the conversation
.
“There's no place else for ye to lay your head.”

“That's what I mean,
” Johnny said
.
“Ye've no place to rest but ye work hard all the day while I lay here like a gentleman and then ye don't rest easy.”

“And what else would I do then?” He might not mean to do it but his questions irritated her.

“Ye'd sleep in this bed,
” Johnny said
.
“Ye would share it with me
.
I'm in no shape to do more than sleep and then ye could rest
.
‘Twould be warmer, too, I'm thinking.”

Sabetha wavered between shock and mirth but laughter won
.
She grew up sharing a bed with her siblings, lined together like a litter of pups in a box
.
Even up to the day, she wed Henry, she did not sleep alone, and she doubted Johnny had enjoyed that luxury either
.
Until wi
dowed, she had never slept solitary
and though the idea of sleeping beside a man who was neither kin nor husband might edge toward sin, she trusted him and there was no one to judge.

“Warmer?” s
he said, laughing
.
“Aye, it might be warmer in the depths of hell, too, I'm thinking but I'll share the bed with ye
.
I trust ye and ye've not the strength to do more than sleep.”

“Nay, but I'll sleep easier knowing ye are
not bowed up in the chair,
” Johnny said and she thought he almost smiled.

By the time she carried up the water and cleaned their few dishes, his eyes drooped with pending sleep so she lowered him prone and without singing, she slipped in beside him, glad that Henry had made the bed broad and that she had stuffed the mattress full of soft corn shucks
.
For the first time since he came, she laid her weary body down, such a relief
.
She relaxed at the familiar comfort of another body beside her, something she had not known for twelve months now.

She meant to sing to him, one song but instead, she drifted into sleep, her hand touching Johnny, reassurance that he was still there and safe
.
Just as she faded away, she thought she heard him whisper,

“
Oiche
mhaith
.”

“Good night, then.” She thought she spoke aloud but whether she did or not, she did not know.

****

Johnny Devaney

He woke early, eager to be up and out of bed but Sabetha rose even earlier, gone from the bed already
.
Johnny could still feel the lingering warmth where she had lain, though, and when he squinted, peering around the cabin to find her, she was there, stirring up the fire
.
As the flames flared from the smoored ashes, the firelight highlighted her pretty hair and he liked that
.

“
Bean
, I'm ready,” h
e called to her and she turned.

“Don't ye want to have some tea and eat a bite first?” She said, and then cocked her head as if she considered it
.
“Well, maybe it's best not to eat should ye puke
.
All right then.”

He pushed up on both elbows and she steadied him with one arm, lifting, then guiding him so that he could swing his feet to dangle from the bed
.
As he moved, the room shifted, titled and then his head whirled
.
Brilliant light filled his eyes and he could not see but he did not care
.
Johnny fought the dizziness that swelled over him, threatening to drown him and take him into darkness
.
His empty belly rolled and he was glad he had not eaten
.
He shut his eyes but it did not help.

“
A D
hia,
”
h
e muttered.

Sabetha sat beside him and he leaned against her, grateful for her support
.
She had one arm about his waist and to steady himself, he put his left arm across her shoulders
.
His breath came hard and he gasped for air, willing the awful vertigo to still
.
Her voice drifted over him, soothing but he felt too woozy to make out the words
.
For a moment, he knew he would spew, empty belly or no, and then the nausea passed
.
As the giddy feeling began to subside, he heard her now with clarity.