THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART FORTY-ONE:

Very, very lightly she tapped on the door to 303. She hadn't seen him since he'd collapsed halfway onto their dock, looking far more dead than alive. Briefly, she closed her eyes, not at all sure of what to expect when she entered the room.

Eden had returned after dinner to the inn, bringing a most reluctant Wadsworth along with her. Marshall wanted her to come to the hospital. That was the message that Eden had brought. She'd planned to go the following day anyway, now that he was in a private room, but thought that since he'd asked for her, she'd just go on ahead for the later evening visiting hours.

"Marshall, you awake?" she asked, opening the wide door just enough to poke her head in.

"Martha! Come on in."

He was propped up with pillows in the bed, an IV still attached to his arm. He was pale, which only made his bruises stand out all the more. And such bruises! Every bit of him that she could see had a bruise or a scrape or both on it. She bit her lip, looking at him, her maternal heart
aching at the sight.

He sniffed. "You've brought me peanut butter cookies!"

"I have," she chuckled, setting a small basket down on the table close to him. "And pajamas. Real pajamas. Eden said you needed them."

"Ah, thanks!" he murmured gratefully.  "This gown thing is not my idea of good bedwear."

"You're feeling better?"

"Chest's coming along pretty well, Martha. It's the rest of me that hurts like crazy."

"No wonder," she said, shaking her head at his appearance.  "I'm so proud of you," she added after a moment's silence.

"Me?"

"When that convict said he wanted to take Eden with him, my heart almost stopped right then. Back, oh, about 20 years or so, we had another escaped convict take a young woman from her home about 5 miles around the other side of the lake. Took them five days to find her body.
And she'd been...well...you know.  So when he said that about Eden,  the thought of it was near more than I could handle."  She paused again, reached out her hand to rest it softly on his left arm.  "Then you were there and you convinced him to take you in her place. I can't tell you,
Marshall, there just aren't words for how you made me feel.  I was worried sick for you, too, what with your cough and...eyes...and all, but I was so darn proud of you at the same time.

You stepped up, protecting her right along with the bravest of brave men. It meant so much...
just seeing you do that, son."

"I couldn't let them take her, Martha," he whispered.

"I know.  And you didn't.  But after we knew they'd taken you on foot up Cooper's Ridge, well, that was almost impossible to imagine. Then Pete called to say they'd left you up there and you were trying to get back all on your own."  She shook her head again. "I don't think I stopped praying for a single minute after that."

He smiled. "Thank you, Martha.  I needed every bit of that. Every single bit."

"You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Umm hmm," he grinned, and proceeded to tell her what was on his mind.

When he was done, she sat back in the chair, a big smile on her face. "You just leave that to me."

"I can't tell you how much I...."

"No need," she interrupted. "This is something I'll love doing."

"You're sure? It could be...difficult."

"I'm sure."  She stood.  "You go on and get some more rest. I'll let you know how it's going."

After she left, Ray, a short, rather wide male nurse entered the room. "Dr. Sinclair, you ready for a stroll down the hall?"

"Do I have to?" he sighed.

"'Fraid so."

"Not until I've got my regular pajamas on, ok?"

"Ok by me, Doc. You need some help?"

He did. Just moving his body enough to get his arms in sleeves and his legs in pants wore him out, leaving him so weak and tired that by the time Ray got him on his feet beside the bed, he could barely stand. "Can we just stay in the room?" he asked and Ray, looking at his face, agreed.

Eden, in their room upstairs at the inn, had been Instant Messaging back and forth with her cousin Connie. Connie had seen a picture of Marshall in the Pittsburgh newspaper and had a

lot to say to Eden about it. He had his dark glasses on in the shot and a serious expression on

his face, but "He's gorgeous," Connie commented succinctly.

"Better than that," Eden sent back. "He's gorgeous inside, too."

After a few more exchanges, Eden wrote, "I need help with Christmas."

"You staying up there, I presume?"

"Yup. But I need help."

"Ok...lay it on me, cuz."

So Eden did.

"In WINTER? You expect me to find those in WINTER?" Connie typed.

"I do. I know you. I know you can."

"Ah, the burden of someone else's confidence in you."

"That's not all," Eden wrote.

"More? You want more than THAT?"

"I do." And she explained in some detail what she wanted.

"Well, ok, I can do that without much trouble."

"You are useful as well as decorative," Eden commented.

"It's my function, my fate."

"Thank you!!!! It means a lot to me."

"I know."

And so the evening went. She took Wadsworth outside just before bed.  Bundled in a thick coat, she walked down to the dock, trying to picture Marshall there as he'd been that morning at the end of October with the sunlight bright on his face...not as he'd been more recently.  But it was the second memory that haunted her, that kept thrusting itself to the forefront of her mind.

How close she'd come to losing him.

She hadn't seen Miles lying there, dying in the snow, but she had seen Marshall. Only he hadn't died. But it was all too closely similar and she was shaken to her core by it, by how easily such things could come into her life, did come into her life. How did you ever settle into trust...trust that everything would be all right, that those you allowed yourself to love wouldn't be lying dead in the snow some day? There was no way, was there? You just had to love anyway, you had to risk it all and love anyway.  She'd let herself think that because of the way she'd first found Marshall there in the gully engulfed in mud, the way she'd been able to get him out, keep death away from him, that death would always stay away...at least until he was very old or something.
But it didn't work like that. Death had leapt out at her again, a mere month and a half later,

had waved its arms at her and made faces, daring her to try and stop it. And she had tried, had tried until she'd worn herself to the bone with the trying.  But he had saved himself...this time ...and death had gone into hiding once again.  But it was still there, lurking. She knew that for certain. It made her want to run to Marshall, wrap him in herself and never let loose. People couldn't live like that, though. She knew that, too.  It wasn't right, it wasn't living, to let the sprawled, unconscious form at the landward end of the dock keep away the man who'd stood

so strikingly in the morning light at the end by the lake. To have the one, you had to accept the risk of the other.

Sighing, she turned to look back at the inn. Martha kept those electric candle things in all the windows and this time of year, especially, they created such a warm, homey glow for the place.  She wished Marshall were inside, waiting for her.  "Soon," she said, both to herself and Wadsworth. "Well have him back, you and I, soon."  What had he said? His eyes on one side

and his heart on the other? She liked that. How was he doing right at this moment, with his heart and his eyes here on the dock together?

Marshall was back in bed, trying to recover from the short walk he'd taken with Ray around

his room. He'd never felt so weak, so drained of energy in his life...and he didn't like it.  After the fall into the gully his strength had come back rather readily.  But he hadn't had pneumonia then, either, had he? It was the one-two punch that left him feeling like this. As still as he tried

to lie, the recent movements he'd had to do to get changed into his pajamas then walk about the room had geared his muscles and tendons up into full protest mode.  Even perfectly quiet, sharp stabs of pain flitted here and there through him, railroad spikes driven rustily through his flesh.  With concentrated effort he tried to relax the tense muscles in his forehead, knowing it would
only lead to a headache.

A nurse came in to adjust his pillows, check his IV, and give him something to help him sleep. Lying back, he let his mind wander to the sounds and smells of Martha's dining room, the fire crackling warmly at his back, the apple pie Martha set at his place, the knowing that Eden was right there, too. After about half an hour he drifted off to sleep.

Eden saw Martha's car pull into the inn's lot and she and Wadsworth walked over to greet her. "He like the cookies?" Eden asked.

"I think he liked the pajamas even better," Martha chuckled.

"You two have a nice...talk?" Eden probed, trying not to be too obvious in her curiosity.

"Yes, yes, we did," Martha smiled, not in the least forthcoming.

Eden sighed. "Well, I'm glad.  I know he was pleased to see you...um...have you come by."

"He saw me," Martha said quietly, "in that way he has of seeing."

"You're right," Eden replied, shaking her head. "I think I'm too tired to put things right."

"You and Wadsworth come on back inside," Martha suggested, "have some hot cider with Harold and me."

"Sounds good," Eden agreed.  "I wish...."

"Me, too," Martha whispered. "And he will."

"Oh, Martha. I just...."

"He 'just's' too, Eden.  I know that for a fact."  She smiled, hooked her arm through Eden's and together they went down the walk to the inn.

ON TO PART 42

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE

BACK TO PART 40

BACK TO INDEX