Chapter 23 The Sweet Sting of Poison
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Sweet Sting of Poison
Sensation was the first thing he gained back.
Although Benjamin noticed a slight change in his legs over the past few weeks, it had been so subtle that he hardly paid it any mind.
Now, however, everything overwhelmed him.
Any brush against skin surged through him, prickly and uncomfortable in its intensity. Had he always felt so strongly?
“It’s a true miracle,” Josiah said, beaming while Benjamin flexed his feet. “You were at your lowest, and then a sign presented itself!”
Benjamin snorted, dark scorn dancing behind his eyes.
“Far be it for me to dismiss your claim, Father, but I imagine Dr. Wagner’s technique is responsible.
” For several months, John came by once a week and moved Benjamin’s limbs, if only to ensure his muscles didn’t completely atrophy.
That was surely why he’d regained some mobility.
Josiah frowned. “I know that is your withdrawal speaking, so I’ll forgive the offense.” Extending a tray of stew, he added, “I’ve brought your dinner, and I expect you to pray before eating. The two of us have much to be thankful for.”
“What do I have to be thankful for?” Benjamin hissed. “I am in pain. I am suffering, and yet you don’t even seem to care.”
Offering the bowl of stew, Josiah’s sternness softened once his son promptly turned his head. “No matter how you feel toward me, Benjamin, you must eat.”
“I’m not eating until you fetch my laudanum.”
“You know I can’t,” Josiah replied. “As I’ve already told you, I got rid of the tincture. I drained the contents into the grass.”
An electric bolt of fury blitzed across Benjamin’s eyes, and gnashing his teeth, he seized the stew before fiercely hurling it across the room. The wooden bowl clipped the wall and rolled across the floor, food remnants dashing haphazardly along the paneling.
Holding tightly onto the empty tray, Josiah remained unmoving despite the tremor in his hands. “Benjamin…”
“To the devil with you,” he seethed. “You have the key to get me well again, the very solution! Yet here you stand refusing me the cure. It is you who’s delivered me unto this purgatory!”
Josiah’s eyes grew wet, and he set aside the tray. “I am doing this because I love you. You can’t see it now, but you will.”
With a guttural cry, Benjamin embraced himself once a violent chill rolled through his frame. Restless, his legs weakly moved beneath the blankets, his head turning as a pang of nausea overcame him in unrelenting waves. “Please,” he begged, tears filling his eyes. “Papa, please…”
Josiah jerked. Benjamin hadn’t called him “Papa” since he was very young. The last time, in fact, was before they’d discovered Mrs. Hoskin in her sickbed.
Weeping piteously, Benjamin’s face scrunched and he screamed into his shoulder, his hands clawing at his chest while he writhed and shuddered. The nausea increased, and the all-too-familiar taste of bile nipped at the back of his throat.
“Papa,” he choked, his voice drowning in tears, “help me…”
Benjamin vaulted forward and retched, emptying the very little in his stomach across the floor.
Josiah moved his son’s chamber pot over, just in case there was more sickness to catch, and carefully aided Benjamin in lying against his bedding.
Trembling, he smoothed the matted, sweat-slicked hair from his son’s eyes.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “‘I have chosen and not rejected you. Do not fear—’”
“‘—for I am with you,’” Benjamin choked, tears spilling heavily into the corners of his mouth.
Josiah’s chin quivered and he nodded. A look of pleading understanding passed between them, and then he gathered Benjamin fiercely into his arms and held on tight.
The younger man wept into the crook of his neck with a harsh, choking wail, needy and small, and a frightened boy of nine all over again.
“We’ll get through this,” Josiah whispered into Benjamin’s hair. “We will. We will. Together.”
Teeth chattering, all Benjamin could offer was a feeble whimper.
Three Days Later
At this point in her life, lying to her family had become an art form.
After giving the excuse of visiting her cousin in Oyster Bay, and that her cousin’s servants would be assigned to her travel and care, Clara met Amos in town.
Together, they started the journey to Freyview, the place for which she oddly yearned.
“I used to think home was where you were born,” she told the cabinetmaker conversationally, her fingers toying with the lace on her fichu. “But now, I realize it’s where you feel safest…the most loved. Is Freyview that place for you?”
“Aye,” Amos agreed. The cart wobbled a bit, and the two horses in front nickered. “Why d’ya ask, hmm? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ all soft on us patriots.”
She snorted. “Not hardly…though I suppose I’m warming up to one or two of you.”
“One in particular, eh?”
She shot him a warning look. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t be you,” she agreed. “You’re still not forgiven for cutting me with that knife.”
“Oi!” Amos exclaimed. “That was over a year ago!”
“I’m a Boyd,” Clara replied. “We can hold grudges for centuries, and have. To this day, our bloodline won’t speak to anyone with the surname Walsh, and all because my great-great-grandfather insulted some Walsh fellow’s manhood.
In retaliation, that Walsh slept with my ancestor’s wife, and ever since, we’ve had this odd rivalry where we shag each other’s spouses and fight… and not necessarily in that order.”
Amos whistled. “How do I become a Boyd then, uh? Sounds like a mighty nice feud to be havin’, ’specially if those Walsh wives are lookers.”
Clara snorted, though she was smiling. “You’re an utter arse, Corporal. How you’ve gleaned a promotion is beyond me, given your complete lack of decorum.”
“All right, all right. Easy on me pride there, will ya? Sometimes, it’s all a man’s got!”
Smile fading, Clara lowered her eyes and laced her hands, thinking of Benjamin and how he was assuredly in a similar position. “Thank you for doing this,” she murmured. “It wasn’t wise to bring my lady’s maid, so…thank you. I imagine you didn’t wish to serve as a chaperone.”
“This is for Moony too,” Amos said. “I haven’t been able to stop by an’ visit much, but I know my friend, Clara, and he’s in trouble. And if cartin’ your spoiled arse all over God’s creation is the way to help ’im? Well…I guess I’ll endure a bit o’ your jawin’.”
To his alarm, Clara burst into tears, her hands sweeping toward her mouth.
“Zounds,” he swore. “Aw, no…I didn’t mean nothin’ by it! I thought I was bein’ roguishly charming!”
“It’s not…i-it’s not you,” Clara sniveled. “I cannot help but feel responsible for this… Ben begged me to write him, and yet I cast him aside. What if I’ve killed him? C-condemned him to an early grave?”
Amos snorted. “Well, someone thinks a mighty lot o’ herself!” When she sobbed anew, he swore again. “Jesus, c’mon. I was jus’ havin’ a bit o’ fun! Oi!”
Wiping a finger beneath her eyes, Clara swallowed and drew a breath. “I’m sorry, Corporal. It’s just…Ben scares me. Not because he’s cruel or overbearing, but because he is neither of those things. I don’t know how to handle a man of that sort.”
Amos huffed. “Far be it for me to disagree with ya, but Moony’s plenty overbearin’. Why, jus’ the other week—”
“I was unfair to him,” Clara continued, “and if I can’t save him…if I cannot help, I’m unsure my heart will ever recover.”
“He ain’t dead,” Amos argued, his features growing sharp. “Ben won’t die, ’cause he’s a strong ol’ son of a gun, and you won’t let ’im die, ’cause you’re a decent chit. Keep the faith.”
Clara withdrew her handkerchief and nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to,” she agreed, dabbing her eyes. “These days, I don’t have much else…”
When the Hoskins’ weathered saltbox came into view, Clara felt an immediate leap in her chest. She nervously rubbed her hands over her skirts, grateful for the outer petticoat for absorbing the sudden sweat on her palms.
“You want me to wait here?” Amos asked. “I figured I’d stop in at some point, an’—”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Clara said. Catching the look on his face, she winced and amended, “I’m sorry, Corporal, but I haven’t seen Ben in a little over a year, so I’d prefer to do this on my own. Do you have someplace you can get settled?”
Amos nodded. “Aye. Unlike you, people in these parts actually seem to like me.”
Slowly, the corner of her mouth quirked. “Thank you, Corporal. If I wish to find you, where should I send word?”
“For now, the MacPhersons’. I plan on bouncin’ between here an’ camp during Moony’s recovery, so at least in this way, I’ll be outta your hair.” Pulling the cart to a halt, Amos sighed and nodded at the house. “Well, go on then. Give ’em me best.”
Clara nodded, then grabbed her valise and unsteadily lowered herself into the grass.
Had this been any other situation, she would’ve sniped at him for not being a gentleman and assisting, but with the prospect of seeing Benjamin, of discovering him unwell, her stomach churned as she made her way across the grounds.
To her surprise, the door opened not long after.
Josiah’s mouth dropped and his eyes brightened. “Miss Boyd!” he exclaimed. “Oh, good God in Heaven. My prayers have been answered!”
He rushed across the grass and drew Clara into his embrace, crushing her against him as she squeaked in surprise. “I heard the cart, but didn’t realize it was you,” he continued, holding her tighter still. “How was your trip? Are you in need of rest?”
Overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, Clara laughed before extricating herself and peering into his kind blue eyes. “It’s so good to see you,” she told him truthfully. “I would’ve come the moment I received your letter, but I needed to find a ride into town.”