Page 135 of The Formation of Us
“I don’t need it. You’re my best medicine.” He kissed her, liking the way her eyes sparkled with concern.
“Please get in bed.”
Her soft plea, and his quaking legs, drove him back to the bed he’d been living in for three weeks. Faith sat beside him and dunked a cheesecloth in the bowl of steaming water.
“Adam and your brothers are taking care of all the chores, so you can relax.” She unbuttoned the nightshirt he’d come to loathe, and pulled it over his shoulder. “This might hurt a bit.”
It all hurt. The concoctions she put on him; shuffling to the water closet; hell, it even hurt to breathe.
She gently wrung the cloth, filled it with leaves, and folded it into a dripping square pad. “Your wound is turning a nice healthy pink,” she said, laying the warm cloth over his shoulder.
He sucked in his breath, knowing her concoctions were helping, but hating the constant assault on his shoulder. The damned thing would never heal. Exhausted, he flopped his head back against the pillow, as annoyed as he was reassured by her constant tending. “You’re turning me into an invalid.”
“The gunshot to your shoulder did that.” She dried her hands on her apron. “If you don’t stay in bed and rest, who will Cora play with?”
While Duke had seen little of Adam, because the boy was happily filling in as the man of the house, little Cora had been his constant companion, sitting on his bed “reading” to him from her favorite books.
“Just promise me you’ll share our bed again soon,” he said.
“I will.” She kissed him, killing him with tenderness. “As soon as you’re well enough.”
o0o
Duke was so relieved to be out of the bedroom, he wasn’t about to tell Faith how weak he felt, or how the wrenching pain in his shoulder drove him half mad, or how the constant stream of callers exhausted him. Family and friends came and went, helping his wife with chores, bringing meals, and teasing Duke that he was purposely loafing to avoid work. Faith seemed reassured by their presence, but she kept a watchful eye on him, feeding him herbal teas he hated, and coaching him to move his arm a little farther each day to keep his shoulder muscles from growing stiff.
Her strength and her love had drawn him like a magnet from death. During his twelve days of oblivion, she’d sat with him, nursed him with her balms and herbs, fought for him as hard as his brothers had, and their combined love and will and skill had brought him back.
And now that he was back, she was guarding him with the protective instinct of a mother. Even his own mother was willing to let him step onto the porch for fresh air, but Faith wouldn’t hear of it. She was worried he’d slip on the ice and fall.
But as the days wore on, Duke worried he’d lose his mind if he didn’t get out of the damned house.
Her boisterous aunts and their outrageous stories saved his sanity. They made him laugh so hard it drove spikes of pain through his shoulder, but the crazy women lifted his spirits. Between them and his own family, they eased the load on Faith’s shoulders. Tansy even painted Cora’s room with a speckled pony and a knight in armor to watch over her, which convinced Cora to try sleeping alone again like a big girl.
Sheriff Phelps stopped by, to reassure Duke that no charges would be brought against Radford for killing Stone. TheCensurehailed Radford as a hero who’d saved a former sheriff’s life. The article went on to name Stone as a corrupt judge whose involvement with a theater project in Syracuse was being investigated.
Cuvier had made sure no one would look for a connection between Duke and Stone, and possibly uncover Faith’s tie to the brothel, by claiming the judge had come after him for discovering the man’s criminal dealings. Then Cuvier had returned to Syracuse to dig up the truth on Stone. He was coming back today.
Duke was going to get his father-in-law’s help in making his escape. After four weeks on his back and two more of being housebound, he was staging a revolt. Faith had him settled him on the sofa and gussied up with a footstool and an afghan, for Pete’s sake!
When Cuvier strolled into the parlor and caught him bundled up like an infant, Duke flung off the afghan then ground his teeth from pain. His shoulder was healing, but was still extremely tender.
“Glad to see you up and about,” Cuvier said, tossing a copy of a Syracuse newspaper on the coffee table. “It appears Stone worked alone, I suspect to guard his reputation.”
“A man like Stone would work alone just so no one had the power to manipulate him.”
“I agree,” Cuvier said. “I visited Stone’s father, and the old man is shaken up over his son’s death but sincerely shocked by the news of Franklin’s scheming. He told me about the lifelong competition between Franklin and his twin brother Gordon. He said the boys fought from birth, first for their mother’s nurturing, and later for his attention. When Gordon started following in the old man’s footsteps and pursuing a political career, Franklin pursued law. According to their father, Gordon was the smarter of the two boys, and his early success drove Franklin into a rage on several occasions. It got so the old man wouldn’t speak to the two about each other.”
“Why did Franklin begrudge his brother success?” Duke asked, baffled. Sure, he’d envied his brothers at times, but he’d always celebrated their achievements with complete and sincere happiness.
Cuvier shrugged. “I went to Washington to ask Gordon that very question. He thinks Franklin’s animosity stemmed from their competition over a gal they were both smitten with. As soon as Gordon married the girl, his brother seemed driven to outdo any success Gordon had. Gordon suspects that’s why Franklin started the theater project. But his plans collapsed so many times, both Gordon and their father pushed him to give it up. He refused, of course, and vowed he would build that theater, name it after the old man, and renew the city his father was born in.”
“For what? Recognition?”
“That’s what Gordon thinks. And after talking with their father, it’s the only motive that makes any sense to me. Franklin reveled in his power as judge, and I know he liked being recognized for any achievement, no matter how small.”
“Pathetic.”
“But true.” Cuvier took a cheroot from his breast pocket. “I called on his mistress, and learned the judge was planning to have the woman’s brother—the man you clobbered— anonymously deliver Cora to a family who wanted a girl child.”
