DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY by J M Hochstetler

Author:J M Hochstetler
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Sheaf House Publishers
Published: 2012-03-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Pain so all enveloping it pinned him to the bed with the weight of a white-hot anvil dragged him back from merciful insensibility, scattering the fever-induced dreams that possessed his mind. As each time before, it was the first sensation he became aware of, then nausea flooded over him and a sense of dread.

Gradually he became aware that someone lay beside him. He began to open his eyes, quickly squeezed them shut again to ward off the sensation of the room spinning crazily.

When he was at length able to force his eyes open, he lay for a long time motionless, staring at her, suffused with relief to find her beside him, afraid he was dreaming again. The first blush of dawn tentatively lightened the room, and he drank in the fine, regular features of her delicately modeled face, beguiling in repose with the unself-conscious innocence of a child.

The passion and sweetness in the curve of her mouth had made him hungry to kiss her ever since she’d tumbled into his arms at that first, accidental meeting. In spite of the pain, he found himself longing to bury his face in the lustrous curls that tumbled across her throat and breast in a glorious cascade, to seek redemption in her love.

If only he could touch her, reassure himself that she was indeed flesh and blood—but it hurt too much to move. His whole body felt raw, heavy, unresponsive as stone. He had neither the energy nor the strength of will to fight against the bone-deep weariness that kept sucking him beneath the surface of that dark swamp he feared so much, felt himself slipping back into suffocating heat and sapping agony. All he could do was cling to the hope that she would still be beside him the next time he awoke.

An indeterminate period dragged by with torturous slowness, then he became conscious that it was day and that someone was bathing his face and body. He started to call Elizabeth’s name, but stopped himself, remembering there was danger in giving in to his desire for her, although he had forgotten the reasons why.

From time to time someone held a glass to his lips. Often the fluid it contained tasted bitter, but thirst drove him to drink it. And each time, to his relief, the pain soon lessened, and he felt as though he drifted weightless in space.

For long periods he wandered through a desolate land of shadows and drifting fog, alone and frightened. He was distantly aware that people came and went, that they called his name, changed his bandages or bathed him, forced him to drink warm broth or thin gruel. But he recognized no one. All he knew was that he wanted none of them. He wanted no one but Elizabeth.

Over time a deeper longing took the place of his need for her. The memory of the nightmarish hours during the retreat from Concord swam through his mind like the residue of a hellish dream, although the pain that riveted him to the bed testified to its reality.

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