"I have a man to carry."
Byron knew he'd just made a terrible mistake, but the responsibility of caring for so many sick and wounded men in the wake of a humiliating defeat was weighing heavily on him. He bent down and picked up Hunter's discarded musket, and having more than enough grief on his hands for the present, he vowed to make peace with the Indian later.
It was July 4, 1754, and having vanquished all English resistance, the French now dominated the Ohio Valley.
* * *
Ian bathed Melissa's flushed face with a cool washcloth and then rocked her gently in his arms. "You shouldn't be this sick every morning, sweetheart. I want to send for your doctor."
"No." Melissa clung to her husband as she sought a way to avoid a physician's scrutiny. She was three months' pregnant, but it had been only two months since their wedding at Bruton Parish Church. "We'd have to confide in him about the elopement, and he's sure to tell others."
"Then we'll consult someone who's more discreet, but I can't bear to watch you suffer like this."
"It's not supposed to last more than the first few months."
Ian scanned the crowded bedroom Melissa had been attempting to decorate. He had hired a woman to come in each day to cook and clean, but Melissa wouldn't let her touch the clutter. He admired his wife's ambition, but doubted she would ever arrive at any order, while she felt so poorly. Between the abundant wedding gifts and her subsequent purchases, the bedroom was filled to overflowing, while the rest of their home remained as stark as the day they had moved in.
Just looking at the mess made him nauseous, but he didn't want to discuss his frustration while she was sick. "I doubt it's just the pregnancy that's making you ill. I think it's something more."
Alarmed, Melissa sat up slowly. She had never given Ian any reason to doubt her babe was his, but she was terrified that he might have somehow guessed the truth. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I fear I've expected too much of you. While I'll readily admit the responsibility for your condition, I also deserve the blame for encouraging you to work so hard on our home. It's no wonder you're not well. I think it might be a good idea for us to move back to your parents' house for a while. I'll do what I can to straighten everything out here, and when you're feeling better, you can provide the finishing touches."
Relieved that he hadn't grown suspicious, Melissa gave her husband a loving hug. "I've made a dreadful mess of things here, haven't I?"
"No, not all," Ian lied. "You're going to create a beautiful home, but this just isn't the time to do it."
"But I want to stay here."
"Yes, and so do I, but not if it's making you ill."
"The house is really no trouble, Ian." Melissa caught herself then, for their home provided the perfect excuse for the black moods that often overtook her without warning. She could be merely straightening a pair of curtains, or pouring a cup of tea, and suddenly she could feel Hunter's presence so strongly she would turn toward the door, fully expecting to find him standing there. She had told herself repeatedly that now that she was married to Ian, Hunter could never do her any further harm, but her imagination continued to play tricks on her.
She sighed softly and rested her forehead against Ian's. "No, you're right. It's foolish of me to try to accomplish everything at once. I really should be more careful, take things easier, and concentrate on having a healthy baby. Perhaps a week or two at my parents' home will be all I'll need to get over this awful queasiness."
"At least you never feel sick at night."
Melissa sat back to study her husband's rakish grin. His loving left her feeling wonderfully content, and she was as pleased as he was that their nights together hadn't been ruined by the nausea that plagued her days.
* * *
Aware of their daughter's pregnancy, John and Rachel readily welcomed her and Ian back into their home, for it was plain at a glance that the once-vivacious young woman was unwell. Without criticizing their son-in-law, they provided her with every comfort, and encouraged the young couple to remain with them until after their baby's birth.
Alanna had been lonely while Melissa was away, but now that every conversation led to talk of babies, she found being around her difficult. They had always had their own separate interests, but now Melissa was preparing for motherhood with the same enthusiasm she had shown when planning her wedding, while Alanna was still absorbed in the simple pleasures she had always found there on the plantation. Alanna did try to take an interest in the tiny clothes her aunt and cousin had begun sewing, and because she was good with a needle, they welcomed her help.
Melissa held up a tiny nightgown. "Are babies really this small?" she asked.
"I used the same pattern for your brothers' clothes," Rachel reminded her. "You'll be surprised by how quickly your baby will outgrow them though."
Alanna was seated near a window to take advantage of the light, and as she knotted her thread and cut it, a long-forgotten memory suddenly became clear. She hadn't been old enough to be of any real help to her mother before her sisters had been born, but she had been able to do simple sewing by the time her brother arrived. Her mother had cut out tiny garments for him and done the seams, but Alanna had put in the hems. Her work couldn't have been very neat, but her mother had given her lavish praise
.
Many an afternoon she and her mother had spent their time sewing, while the babies slept. Her mother had told her wonderful stories, and on more than one occasion, they had spent more time laughing than sewing. Those had been the happiest days of her life. Alanna didn't realize she was crying until her aunt spoke to her.
"Alanna, dear, what's wrong?"
Embarrassed by her tears, Alanna quickly wiped them away. "My mother and I used to sit together and sew, the way we are now. I'd not thought about it in years, but the last things we made were my brother's clothes."