The Fiercer Heart by Micaela Gilchrist

Author:Micaela Gilchrist
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

PHILIP SLEPT through most of December. And when he woke I helped him to the bathroom, fed him bouillon, and then, he slept again. When the incision smelled and began suppurating, I brought him a basin of ice and he sat upright, staring across the room at the window, soaking his stump for as long as he could stand it. Sometimes, while soaking his limb, he did not wish to speak, but fixed his gaze on me, yet did not see me, for in those moments, he relived his war in Mexico. I kept a workbasket of darning and sewing by my chair for those times, my head bowed over my own busy hands clicking the knitting needles, whip stitching a hem, or replacing a button.

“What do you think of being married to a lame devil, Diana?”

Putting the knitting needles down in my lap, I tried to tease him out of his self-pitying mood. “What is this you are trying to tell me, Philip? Now you are le diable boiteux? You have the mark of Satan because you have lost part of your arm? Surely, it can’t mean you’ve misplaced your soul as well?” I joined him on the bed, took his hand in mine, and kissed his roughened knuckles.

“Do I repulse you?” His eyes shifted over me.

“No, I love you even more.” Reaching for the work I’d left on the chair seat, I lifted the needles, fingering the yarn around the tambour.

“Because I think sometimes that I am cursed, almost”—he licked his top lip and narrowed his eyes at me, testing the impact of his words—“as if I’m predestined to evil.”

A small laugh escaped me and I leveled a look on him, held his eyes steadily with mine as I resumed knitting. “Would you really like to hear my opinion, Philip?”

“Yes.”

“Thinking you’ve been handpicked by Satan is about as grandiose an idea as saying you’re God’s chosen child.”

“Good Lord, woman, where do you gather these ideas? I only meant to say I require a little more tenderness and affection now that I am lame…now that I’m a poor lame devil.”

“My dear husband, you are not lame. You are momentarily indisposed, but you are constitutionally incapable of ever being lame. As for you being devilish, that I will not dispute.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him, and he grew calm. Soon, he wearied, but before falling back to sleep, he murmured, “You aren’t leaving, are you? Don’t go away, even if I sleep.”

“I shall be here when you wake,” I assured him.

One sunny afternoon before Christmas 1847, Father Kearny took John outside and the two of them sat upon the back stoop with a small pile of beech and willow kindling. Taking a break from Philip’s bedside, I joined them, sitting with chin in hand, and could not help smiling as the old man tried to keep John’s attention while he whittled a slingshot. My boy was as restless as his father.

“Where did a city fellow like you learn to whittle?” I nudged Father Kearny with my shoulder.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.