Since Valentine's Day was yesterday, and I trying make myself motivated to finish this, here's the first chapter of a historical romance I started last summer that's heavily inspired by the book of Ruth in the Bible
Asa Carlton carefully looked over her husband’s patient. Her wearied features spoke of little sleep and much worry.
The patient in question, a young woman of maybe 20, was discovered by Benjamin and Jethro, in the wreakage of some kind of flying machine in the ravine. The two cowpokes had been moving the herds, from fields on the south side of town, when they came across her. No-one had seen the crash, though it did explain the thunderous cacophony that some people had reported to the sheriff the night before.
Sheriff Michaels and the few self professed engineers in town and never seen the likes of the flying machine. John Bowers thought it must be some unknown technology that the Natives had but Eddie Simmons said it was probably just a home made design.
Since her discovery, the mystery woman had been semi-unconscious, rarely stirring, save for periodic feverish mutterings no one could understand. This of course had given rise to the rumors that she was everything from an automaton spy sent to record their every move, or that she was actually an alien who’s flying machine had come from beyond the stars. Asa had to laugh at such stories, as though she and her husband would not be able to see that their patient was not human.
The woman’s fever was no better, but no worse than it had been an hour ago when Asa had last checked in on their mystery guest. Asa placed a damp cloth on the woman’s forehead, brushing the dark hair of the stranger out of the way to do so. Then she helped her sit up to drink some broth. The two of them managed well enough despite the latter’s lack of cognisance.
Dr.Carlton looked in on his wife as she finished laying the girl back down against the pillows. He was a gentleman of good enough stature, with graying locks and a kind face.
“I was just going to go check in on the Sullivans, the baby is ailing again. I think that it might be–” He paused, turning his attention to his patient. “How has she been today?”
“Same as she’s been, feverish and incoherent; though she’s able to swallow and is keeping the broth down well enough.”
“Preacher said he’d be by later to pray over the little lady, and let you get some rest.”
“Ezra, I am not about to drop of exhaustion–”
“Yet… As your doctor it’s my job to see to it that it doesn’t come to that.”
Asa had been awake since the morning the day before. She considered it her duty to keep vigil with her patient during the night hours. She sighed, giving in to her husband’s wishes.
“Why do you always have to be right?”
“And here I thought that was why you married me.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The woman laying on the bed slowly opened her eyes. The feeling of a crushing weight on her chest was still there, as was the pain. Everything hurt. Her head was throbbing, every breath felt like all her ribs had broken and were stabbed into her lungs. Her limbs also were weighed down by a bone deep ache.
But she had grown tired of sitting and doing nothing for as long as she could remember it seemed. Had it been months? Weeks? Years? However long it was, it had been long enough – she moved her arms, and began to push herself up. Despite using all her strength, the most she was able to do was move a few inches.
Just as she was about to collapse in defeat, a face appeared in her field of vision. It was a man, somewhere between his late 20s to mid 30s. He had a concerned expression, dark brown hair, a beard, and brown eyes. He was speaking in a soft voice, obviously trying to soothe her, but she did not know what he was saying.
[What she did know was that the strange feeling in her right arm had changed. What used to be an aching throb had almost dissipated into a tingly feeling that was both refreshingly cold and comfortingly warm.
She turned her head to look at her arm where it laid under the covers. She tried to look at it but couldn’t move it out from underneath.
The man went quiet seeing her attempt to move her arm. Gently he reached over her to move the quilt and blanket so that she could more easily move her arm.]
She opened her mouth to speak, to try and say something, to ask what was going on, but the sound stuck in her throat. She suddenly realized how thirsty she was, and wondered how long it had been since she had water, or food.
Looking around the room, she saw that by her head, to her left, was a small side table with a stoneware pitcher and a tin cup. The man followed her eyes, noticing when they stopped at the pitcher. After a moment he caught on, and with a silent “oh” went to pour a glass of water.
He gently moved her to a sitting position, holding her up with one arm, and putting another pillow behind her with the other. As did this he continued to talk in a calm quiet tone, as though he was reassuring a frightened child. Much to her frustration, whatever he was saying, was just as incomprehensible as before.
Propped up on the pillows, it was much easier for him to hold the cup to her lips so she could drink. The water in the cup was just that, water, but it might have been pure honey with how it coated her parched throat and mouth. It wasn’t until after she had quenched her thirst that she realized how much each breath had burned them before.
As some of her more pressing discomfort had been addressed, she found she had the mental space to worry about all the lesser things that had been at the edges of her mind until now.
Where was she? What had happened to her? How did she get here? Who was the man taking care of her? What was he saying? These and a thousand more questions flooded her mind so quickly she couldn’t process the words in her own mind any better than the ones the stranger was saying to her. If she had the ability to, she would have thrown her head against the wall to make it stop.
The stranger was not far off, talking to her as though she were an injured, cornered animal. The situation was beginning to truly realize itself in her mind. She was stars know where, completely dependent on a stranger or strangers, and completely at their mercy.
She was suddenly very glad to already have been lying down, as she otherwise might have collapsed under the crushing weight of it all.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………Elijah looked up from his book when Asa came into the room carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, a small loaf of bread, a copper kettle, three empty clay mugs, and one which had steam coming from it. “How is she? “She woke up.” he said, with as much ceremony as if he had been informing her of the weather. It took a moment for Asa to comprehend what he had actually said, and by then Elijah was already talking again “She didn’t speak;” he paused for a moment “but I think she tried to…” “Since she hasn’t talked in a long while it may take her time to find her voice again.” Asa said. “Did she do anything else?” “She was having trouble moving. Seems to be in a lot of pain.”
Asa had to commend Elijah for his kindness in offering to help, despite his clear discomfort with the situation. Though, she pondered, was he ever comfortable in a one on one conversation? While on the pulpit, the preacher could talk for hours about the Love of God and the intricacies of Scripture, but try to ask him how his day was or what he thinks of the weather, and he would only ever answer in short blunt sentences.
“I can give her something for the pain, but since she has been laid up for so long her muscles have probably gone weak from lack of use.” She could tell from the look on his face he already knew what she was going to say. “It will take ti-”
“Mhh–hmmm.” he nodded, and seemed to for the first time notice the definitely heavy tray Asa carried. He took it from her and set it down on the table next to the bed.
Asa breathed out, suppressing a fond chuckle. Even after years in seminary back east, Elijah West was still the same as when he was young and she had to remind him in school to stop looking out the window during class.
