THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART FIFTY-FIVE:

About 8 AM Harold and Martha showed up at the hospital to take Marshall and Eden back to the inn. When Dr. Hersholtz  saw them, he took them aside into a small, unoccupied lounge. "Martha," he said, holding out a tiny envelope in his hand, "Marshall was up all night long talking to Eden, singing to her, until he got her to come 'round. He's entirely worn out from yesterday...I understand he got engaged and attended the big Malone Christmas dinner at Stuart's. Dying on the way home didn't help much, and then he's gotten almost no sleep."

He put the little pouch in Martha's hand. "This is what I want you to do. When you get him home to the inn, make sure he's all settled in his room. Then put this in a glass of orange juice and take it to him. Tell him I said he needed a lot of vitamin C right now. Make sure he drinks

it all, ok? In about five minutes he'll be sound asleep. Stay that way most of the day. Man's just not resting proper. Needs some help. You can let Eden know if you want. Probably wise. Don't want her to worry about him."

Martha turned the envelope over in her hand. "Be sure he's the only one drinks that juice. I've got this measured for his size. Real strong stuff."

Harold made a little clucking sound. "You asking Martha to slip him a Mickey, eh, Doc?"

"Basically," Hersholtz nodded. "I've seen how the man is. He'll tend to other folks all day and not rest himself. Looks like I was right to consider not releasing him from here till after Christmas. Didn't know he'd go and get himself killed, though."

Harold shook his head. "Still can't believe that happened last night. Everything was so happy 'n all then Ryan calls and starts talking about how Marshall's dead in the snow and Eden's passed out."

"I imagine that put rather an end to the festivities."

"Never had 'em end quite so abrupt, Doc. Thank goodness it turned out OK.  Eden's cousin Connie's back at the inn. Ryan moved his stuff into the back bedroom just a bit ago. Says he needs to be there to carry her up and down the stairs."  He cast a sideways look at his wife.

"It is a good reason for him taking a room there, Harold," Martha chuckled. "Not that he has anything else on his mind."

"Feels real responsible for the sleigh tipping, though," Harold added. "Thought he'd killed Marshall."

"No use him going and loading himself up with blame," Hersholtz said. "What's done is done. Now we've just gotta get everybody all fixed up again."  He patted the packet in Martha's hand. "Resting good's part of that."

"I'll take care of it," Martha nodded. "Make sure it's nice and quiet for him, too."

"Don't think you'll have to worry about that," Hersholtz smiled. "I'd say this will leave him dead to the world, but that hardly seems appropriate right about now."

An aide had brought Marshall and Eden breakfast and they were just finishing when Hersholtz opened the door and ushered Martha and Harold inside. The doctor did a quick check over of Eden, suggested she take it easy for a couple of days, then turned to Marshall. "And you," he said sternly, "I don't suppose telling you to rest a lot is going to do any good."

"I'll try," Marshall said sincerely, "but I'm getting married in a few days."

"A few days?"

"At the inn. New Year's Eve. I'd like it if you could come, Dr. Hersholtz."

Hersholtz said he'd see what he could do about that, thanked Marshall for the invitation, which, admittedly, surprised him a bit, did a last admonition about getting rest, then left.

"Where's Wadsworth?" Marshall asked.

"Ryan's got him at the inn," Martha supplied. "Took him for a bit of a walk early this morning. He's, as you say, fine."

"Ok if before we leave I make a couple of quick stops here in the hospital?"

"Sure," Harold said. "Where you need to go?"

"ICU. I'd like to go there first."

The three others walked with him down the corridor, turning into the ICU. "Is Maria here?"

"Hello, Marshall," came a familiar voice. "I just came on duty. I'd say it's good to see you again, but I hear last night was rather rough on you."

"I'm fi...," he began, but caught himself. "Everything's all right," he amended. "But there's something I'd like to ask you." He slipped his arm through Eden's. "We're getting married at the inn New Year's Eve. I'd be honored if you could be there."

Maria's eyes opened a bit wider. "Why, yes, Marshall. But the honor is mine." She added something in Greek which made him smile.

On the way down the corridor, they encountered Betsy, who'd let Wadsworth spend that first night in the hospital after Marshall's incident at the gully. He invited her, too, and though she was delighted, was going to be in West Virginia at her daughter's that day.

Eden kept her hand laced through his and he was very aware that she was gripping it more tightly than usual. In the back seat of Harold's car, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close on the drive to the inn. She seemed to be holding herself together by some force of will.

Connie was sitting on the couch in the parlor, Ryan just handing her a cup of tea, as they came in. She studied her cousin carefully, noting a deep gravity that appeared to have fastened onto her features. She sighed. Here it was, a time when Eden should be bubbling with happiness and yet any bubbles seemed submerged under the weight of last night. Marshall looked tired, had dark smudges under his eyes, and held himself slightly bent forward.

"Eden!" Connie said warmly, holding out both arms.

Eden came toward Connie, bringing Marshall with her, not about to let go of his hand. "How's the ankle?" she asked, extending only her free hand.

"Better. Ryan's pampering me shamefully."

"You folks can visit later," Martha said. "Doc Hersholtz insisted Marshall go right on up to bed."  She touched Marshall's arm. "He said you were up most of the night and had to rest today to make up for it. So up you go, ok? Get in your pajamas and get settled and I'll be up in

a sec with some orange juice. Doctor's orders. Lots of vitamin C."

She made eye and hand signals to Eden, indicating she wanted to speak with her privately. Very reluctantly, Eden let go of Marshall's hand and followed Martha into the kitchen. "I don't want to be gone long," she protested.

"I understand," Martha said gently and explained about the orange juice. "Hersholtz said it was imperative he rest really well today."

"Thanks, Martha, for telling me about the juice. I'll make sure he drinks it and I'll stay with him."

Martha knew that would be the case. She'd seen how the young woman clung fiercely to his hand.

Wadsworth followed the two of them up the stairs, relieved again now that Marshall was back. Marshall sat on the side of the bed, grimacing as he moved to take off his shirt. Eden quickly helped him and he'd just gotten into his pajamas when Martha tapped lightly on the door.

"Got the orange juice," she said softly. "Got to keep the doc happy."  She handed the glass to Marshall and both she and Eden watched as he drank it. There was no problem getting him to drink the whole thing.

"Very good," he said, handing the glass back. Then, "Bess, she's ok? She didn't get hurt last night?" He hadn't really been aware of what had become of the horse.

"She didn't get injured at all, Marshall," Martha answered. "Sleigh seemed to settle back on its runners and didn't pull her down. Stuart took her back to the Smythe's. You just rest now, son. We'll have a nice quiet dinner later."

"I don't think I'll sleep that long," Marshall chuckled. "Just give me a half hour or so and I'll come downstairs."

Martha and Eden exchanged glances. "All right, Marshall," Martha said. "You do what you think best."

She left and Eden quickly slipped into a nightgown. Marshall was settling back onto his pillow and she slid in beside him. "Rest, darling. I'll be right here. I'm not going any where."

"Good," he murmured. "I need you in my arms." He yawned. "And you need rest, too."

"What I need is your arms," she whispered, pressing into his side. "Thank you."

"Hmmm?"

"You protected me...again. But it costs too much, darling. It costs more than I can bear."

"Can't have you getting hurt," he slurred, unable to fend off the comfortable softness that was enveloping his brain. "Can't let them...take you."

"I know," she sighed. "Oh, God, how I know."

"Eden."

"Yes."

"Love you."  Then his head tipped to the side on the pillow and his right arm slipped from his chest, lying out from his side on the bed.

She looked at him. He was lying much as he had in the snow last night, only this time his eyes were fully closed and his lips only barely parted. But it was still too much and tears began to

roll freely down her cheeks. "Oh, God...Marshall," she moaned, feeling the jagged, rusty wound
that still oozed in her core. She touched his face then pressed her lips to his unresponsive ones. They were warm, soft. If...oh, God, if.... Then they would be stiff and cold. A huge sob wrenched its way through her, followed by short, gasping ones that made breathing hard.

With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned the shirt of his pajamas, spreading the sides apart so his chest was bare. In its center, a round bruise was forming, a bruise the size of the side of a man's fist. She kissed it then her fingers fluttered over his chest, finally stopping so she could rest both palms there, rest them there and let them ride the gentle up and down swells of his breathing. Her tears fell on her own hands, dripping across them, rolling down to his chest.

Closing her eyes, she leaned over him, laying her cheek on his chest. There it was. His heartbeat. Regular. Strong. Most importantly, there. It was there. But she'd been shaken beyond endurance. Would she ever be able to relax into its being there, ever again? Would anything
ever be so simple again?  She listened to it, enveloped in the rhythm of its beating. It was the one necessary sound so that she might exist.

Her arms circled around his body, holding on, holding close. Those moments last night when she'd thought he'd gone, when he had gone, would not leave her alone. It had been so fast, all of it. She was falling and his arm went around her. She remembered the firm pressure of it. Then she'd landed atop him, his body between hers and the road, but nothing between it and his. Nothing because he'd chosen it to be that way. Always he chose her over himself. Did he not know that without him she wouldn't exist any more anyway? Did he not know that? And then it was all over. He was simply lying there and this heart she pressed her ear to now, it was motionless. That had opened up such a void, an unthinkable void, and she had fallen into it. He was alive. He'd come back. But still she clung by her fingernails to the edge of the chasm of his loss, not fully able to haul herself back up.

Even holding him as she was, even listening to his beating heart, the horror of the living memory of it brought fresh tears. She lay there a full hour or more, pressed into him, listening, listening, listening as she cried. Then she slept, arms around him, cheek to chest. Her pillow was much too far from his heart.

All day she slept and woke, cried, slept and woke. He lay as he'd fallen asleep, unmoving, quiet. When she was awake, she kissed his face, whispered to him all the confessions of her pain, her fear. She began to need him to move, to return her touch, to answer her whispers, but he did not. Hours passed and he remained in the deepest places of sleep where Hersholtz's powder had sent him. It wasn't until the light began to fade from the evening sky that he sighed a bit and licked his lips.

It took him a long time to rise up through all the heavy layers of induced sleep. The fingers of his right hand moved on the covers and he tried to remember where he was, what day it was. Then he knew that Eden was there. The ends of her hair were moving delicately across his upper
chest. He wanted to say her name but the effort of it was still beyond him for a while. Then he felt her lips on his and he managed a slight pressure in return.

She pulled her head back. "Marshall? Darling?"  But that was exactly what she'd said last night when he lay unmoving in the snow. Something sharp yanked its way up through her own chest and fresh tears burst from her face. "Damn!" she whispered, angry that she couldn't stop them.

"D...damn?" he repeated.

She laughed, hiccupped, then cried again.

His left hand came up, touching her wet cheek. She was crying. Why was she crying? "Eden?"
She put her hand over his, nodding her head, not able to unthicken her throat to reply right then.

"Tears?"

She nodded again.

"Why tears?"

She only cried harder, clasping her arms around him again.

So he folded his around her back then moved one hand up to stroke her hair. "Shhh!" he murmured. "It's all right."

But it hadn't been all right. It had been all wrong and the wrongness of it had riddled her with holes, leaving her brittle, very, very breakable. And as she held him and sobbed, he remembered the why and pulled her body up a bit so that her face was next to his.

"We'll deal with this, my darling," he said softly. "Together, you and I, we'll deal with this." 

Then his mouth found hers with a kiss of utter tenderness. She kissed him back, her lips frantic on his, seeking, almost devouring the aliveness she found in them until he kissed her more intensely, matching her eager hunger. She felt the rise of his wanting her against her thigh and pressed her hands into his shoulders, desperate to have him inside her. She wanted him there.
She wanted him never not to be there and she made love with a flaming fierceness that exploded his nerve endings until she knew the hot and living essence of his manhood was flowing into her and somehow, somewhere, something inside her let go of a little of the pain.

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