Dreams of Eli by Van Heerling

Author:Van Heerling [Heerling, Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

July 1863

Eli Age 26

Within the last couple weeks my color has been coming back. I am stronger, though my weight is still severely deficient. Missus Gallaway’s beef stew is my saving grace.

This morning I sit upright with my legs dangling off the edge of the bed. I manage to secure my staff and bank it against a knot in the floor. To think I am able to lift myself is a ridiculous notion. But still, I summon my strength and attempt to heave myself from the bed. In doing so, I accomplish nothing but dizziness and a lot of heavy breathing.

“Oh, Eli!” Allie’s mother gasps.

“I am okay, Catherine. Feeling righter this morning than I can remember last. If I may, I would like to join everyone for breakfast.”

“Let me fetch Ezra.”

“No, Cath—” But she is gone.

I wedge the staff once more against the knotted floor. My body tenses, but again, nothing happens except a renewed slight disappointment. A delicate giggle tickles my ears.

“Allie, come in, dear, and help an old man out.” She enters the room with a cruel smile. “Yes, I know, I am about as entertaining as a traveling freak show—think you can help me to the breakfast table?”

“Really?”

“Hurry, your mother called for Ezra. He will not want me out of bed yet, but if you can help get this arse of mine in a breakfast chair, I bet he would make less of a fuss.”

She reaches for me.

“Wait, you remember how Ezra does it, right?”

“I watch him do it three times a day. I think I can manage you. I have all this time, have I not?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It is just that I do not wish to fall. I—” Suddenly this does not feel like one of my brighter ideas. Recently, they seem to be in short supply. “Maybe I should wait for Ezra.”

“Nonsense, you just said—”

“I know, but—”

“Eli,” she says cocksure and determined, “remember I have fifteen years’ experience. I am confident in my ability to escort you to the breakfast table. Just think of the fixings waiting for you; allow me do the rest.” She sits on my left side, guides my hand around her shoulder and wraps her arm around my waist. Our bodies press against each other as if we were stitched together. A shiver runs through me as her warmth seeps into my lonely flesh. “When I say, we will both stand as one.”

“You got me, right? I will not be too heavy?”

“You weigh about as much as an underwater frog fart racing its way up to the surface. I am strong. Now have trust in me.”

“Where has your sweet tongue gone, child?”

“Sometimes the pleasures of the sweet are at the expense of the mirth. Ready?”

“N—” I say, but she is already on the rise, and I follow as I hold her shoulder tightly. She is no Ezra, but she holds me steady enough. I place my staff, and then turn to her. “You smell better than Ezra.”

“I should hope so.

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