Letters to Lissie

by Katy Rose15

After waiting for two years, Ben is finally able to fight in the war for independence, leaving behind a worried and smitten Felicity. As the years go by, they keep in touch through letters, sharing their hopes, dreams, and fears, growing up together though apart. They had always been close. Could a close friendship lead to something deeper?

10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

After a few minutes of walking, it was time to part ways with Jacob. "I want to thank you," he said to Ben. "For looking out for me, especially when Matthew died. I know I wasn't the bravest soldier."
"You were only sixteen," said Ben. "It was much harder than I expected when I first joined."
"And when Matthew died," Jacob went on. "It made everything that much worse. I had known him forever, and I hate to admit it, but I cried all that night."
"It's all right," said Ben softly. "I did too." Neither said anything for a moment. Then Ben asked, "Was it really you who saved my life?"
"I guess you could say that," Jacob replied. "I shot that man before he could hurt you anymore, then somehow I got you over my shoulder and carried you to the hospital."
"Really?" Ben asked. He thought he would have been too heavy for Jacob to carry. Jacob just shrugged. "It wasn't hard," he said. "You weren't that heavy."
"Well, I suppose I owe you a thank you," said Ben. Jacob smiled. "You're welcome," was all he said. Silence filled between them again. Ben glanced at Jacob, and for the first time, he didn't see a scrawny little boy. None of them had really noticed, but Jacob had filled out into not a bad looking young man. His body was stronger and more muscular, his voice had stopped cracking and became deeper, and his hair had darkened to a deeper brown. He had changed mentally as well; he was no longer the "poor little baby" of the group. His timidness had melted away, and he became braver and bolder. A new respect filled Ben's heart for him. He was a man now, and he deserved to be treated like one. "Well,"he said, interrupting Ben's thoughts. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too," Ben agreed. Jacob held out his hand. "Have a good life, Ben." Ben surpressed a laugh. It was so Jacob to say something like that. "You too," he said, shaking his hand heartily. "Now go and show that beautiful girl waiting for you what a brave soldier you are."
"Please," scoffed Jacob, looking slightly embarrassed. "I have none."
"I'm sure that's not true," said Ben. "Every soldier has a beautiful girl waiting for him back home." Jacob smiled. "Take care of yourself, Ben," was all he said. Then he waved and turned towards home. "Goodbye!" Ben called. He watched Jacob go. He smiled to himself. The boy really had changed, and he couldn't have been more proud of him.

"So," said Diana as they walked through the charred streets of Yorktown. "You said that every soldier has a girl waiting for him. Anyone you're not telling me about?"
"No," Ben laughed. "I was just teasing Jacob."
"Maybe there is one," she said slyly."Someone who as always secretly admired you here or in Williamsburg." He raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it," he said. She shrugged. "You never know," she said. "There could be." He paused, then asked shyly, "Could she...could she be right next to me?" Diana frowned and glanced at him. "Beg your pardon?" "Nothing," he said quickly. She didn't persist until a moment later when she stopped and looked at him. "Ohhh, Ben," she said gently, her face softening. "You meant-" He looked at his feet. "You meant me," she realized. He said nothing, and she didn't either for a while. Then she asked, "Care to elaborate?" He sighed. "Not particularly," he said. "But I suppose I have to." She gave him a look that said, "I'm waiting."
"I didn't mean to," he began. "I didn't want to, but then you were so tender, so gentle, and so much more beautiful than I remembered, and-and last night, when I asked you to dance, I- I-" he paused, suddenly not able to express what he was trying to say. "I realized," he tried again. "That I love you." Diana was quiet, and Ben waited anxiously for her to respond, dreading what she might say but hopeful of what she might also say. Finally she said, "I wish you hadn't told me that."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because now I feel terrible," she answered.
"And why is that?" he asked again.
"Because," she said softly. "Because I can't say the same to you." Ben almost literally felt his heart break in two. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I wish I could, Ben, but I don't. I can't change that."
"You said you cared about me," he pointed out quietly. She shook her head. "No, not like that," she said. "I meant that I cared about you as an old friend that I wanted to get well again, nothing more and nothing less." He cringed. Another blow. "What about all of those caresses?" he asked. "You touched my cheek quite a few times, you stroked my hair, you held my hand, you even kissed me! And that was before I kissed you, too. Did all of that mean nothing?"
"I hate to tell you," she said. "But yes, it meant nothing more than friendly gestures."
"And last night!" he brought up, his voice now rising. "You accepted to dance, and you accepted pretty fervently when I kissed you! I wish you had just rejected then so now it wouldn't come as such a surprise! I would have stopped if you had just said no."
"Shh, Ben," she hushed. "Keep your voice down."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he snapped. "Am I embarrassing you?" She ignored him. "I was trying!" she said. "I was trying to create a spark, truly I was! But love can't be forced, Ben. You of all people know that. That's why I accepted to dance, and that's why I kissed you back. I wanted to try to love you again."
"Again?" he asked. She nodded. "Like I said earlier," she said. "You were my first real love when we were sixteen. I thought you and I would one day get married and have children and live happily ever after. But I knew that while you liked me, you never loved me. And that was as it should have been because you were only sixteen."
"And what's different now?" he asked.
"It's just gone," she said. "That attraction isn't there anymore. We've gone our separate ways, Ben." Yet another blow. He was silent, then said quietly, "You're the only woman I've ever truly loved."
"And I won't be the last," she assured him. "I'm just not 'the one'."
"Not even a little?" he asked sadly. "You can't find it in your heart of hearts to care for me even a little?"
"I'm sorry," she said again. "Truly I am. But it is what it is." She gently touched his arm, but he swatted her hand away. "Don't," he said. She pulled back, looking a bit stricken. "Good," he thought. He looked away. It was then he noticed how destroyed Yorktown looked. He saw a house that one of his friends growing up had lived in, now a mess. "Oh no," he murmured. "Now what's the matter?" Diana asked. Ben shook his head. "I knew the boy who used to live there," he said. "We were good friends growing up." "I'm sorry," she said yet again. "And I'm sorry about all of this. I know that this is probably the last thing you want to hear after war and disease and everything else."
"I shouldn't have said anything," he said. "I'm sorry you did," she said. "Now you've made me feel like the cruelest woman in the world." He laughed unkindly. "It's all about you, isn't it," he said. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've made you feel like the cruelest woman in the world,"he said. "Yet you have just completely rejected me after I told you I loved you. But do you care? Not at all; you just care about the fact that I've made you feel bad."

"That's not true!" she argued. "If I feel bad now, I obviously do care that I've hurt you!"
"I'm not so sure," he shot back. "You kiss me and touch me and talk to me in that low, gentle voice, you make me fall in love with you, then you just turn me down saying that you were only doing that because I was 'just an old friend you wanted to get well'. Who does that?"
"Now that's not fair," she exclaimed. "I didn't make you do anything, Ben Davidson! You admired my womanly charms and fell in love with me all on your own."
"And now we're getting full of ourselves, aren't we?" he said hotly. "Womanly charms, indeed! You're not exactly a foreign princess, Diana!"
"You love me anyway!" she said. "Yet I don't love you. There, I said it!" And another blow, the worst of all. It hurt more when she actually said it. "Now if we are just going to stand here arguing," she went on. "I think I should just leave."
"Just as well," he said. "I don't think we have anything more to say to each other."
"I'm glad we understand each other," she said coolly. She took his hand and shook it. "And so, Mr. Davidson, it has been lovely to make your acquaintance again, and I bid you adieu. May you someday find it in your heart to forgive me for the pain I've inflicted upon you." She turned to leave, then turned back, her face softer. "I'm sorry," she said again. He just shook his head sadly. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. And then she was gone. Ben stood there a minute, slightly in shock about what had just happened. "I told you it was a bad idea," said his conscience. He just shook his head. He had officially had his heart broken. Was this what being in love was all about? Well, if so, then Matthew had been dead wrong. "Diana?" he called weakly. She didn't turn around. He sighed and started walking towards home. He hated himself for being so blind. Diana never loved him; she was just helping him. Why had he been so stupid to fall in love with her and to actually think that she would love him back? He now felt bad for snapping at her. It wasn't her fault that she didn't return his affections; she just didn't. Then again, she didn't have to be so tender and loving with him to fool him into thinking the opposite. She could have drawn away when he kissed her. Yes, it would have stung a little, but not nearly as much as it did now. Maybe they were both to blame in this mess. Different emotions ran through him. Anger, frustration, sadness, and hurt, all rolled into one. He was partly angry at her, though it wasn't her fault, and mostly angry at himself. Why had he been so stupid? "That's it," he thought decisively. "I'm never going to fall in love again. It creates nothing but pain."

He was melancholy the rest of the walk home. Partly because of Diana, and partly because of his surroundings. Yorktown was a mess. Smoke and debris were everywhere. Houses and shops were broken into and destroyed. Worst of all, lifeless bodies of soldiers and innocent civilians alike littered the ground. It was a gruesome sight, and Ben was scared that he would recognize one of them. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he reached the house and saw that it was still in good shape. He hoped its inhabitants were as well. The white clapboard was the same, the green shutters were the same, the big green front door he had seen everyday of his childhood coming home from school was the same, everything was there. He stood on the doorstep, thinking a minute. This was the house he had grown up in. There was something comforting about it, especially after all he had endured. He thought about Diana again. He loved her, and she didn't love him back. Rejection, he had just learned, was one of the worst feelings in the world. What he had felt towards her was more than an initial attraction. It was more than what he felt towards Clara Thomas last winter and Ella Harrington when he was thirteen (then again, thirteen-year-old love doesn't go very deep anyway). It really was love, a Romeo-and-Juliet, till-death-us-do-part love. Would he ever feel that way again towards another woman? Would he ever feel even more strongly about another woman? He doubted it, nor did he want to try. "Forget Diana," he told himself. "She isn't worth getting upset over." Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to believe this. Trying to put Diana out of his mind, he knocked on the door. A second later, it opened, revealing his tired looking mother. Her hair, which had grayed significantly in the past three years, was falling in her face, her clothes were wrinkled, and she had dark circles under her eyes. The war must have gotten to everybody. She stared at him for a split second, then gasped when she realized that it was her son. "Don't cry," he said gently. "Please don't cry." And of course, she cried. "Oh darling!" she sobbed, hugging him tightly. "Oh Benjamin, my darling!" He dropped his satchel and rifle and hugged her back. "It's all right," he whispered. "Shh, Mama, I'm all right." She wiped her eyes and smiled. "I know," she laughed. "Oh Ben, I just can't believe it's really you!" She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him again. "Come inside, my dear," she said. "My goodness! How thin you are! I'll get you something to eat."
"Please," he begged. "Just let me sit."
"Of course," she agreed. "Would you like some water?" He nodded, then collapsed on the sofa. She brought him the water, and he gulped it down. "Easy," she said. "Nice and easy." He finished it in a flash and lay his head down. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he asked, "What happened to you? You look so...unkempt." She sighed. "Blame the British," she said. "With that battle right here, all of us feared for our lives. We've been in and out of the cellar for days now, and we haven't been able to leave the house for fear of being killed. Your father and William are checking on the shop and getting fresh food right now, though I wish they had waited until tomorrow. Even though the British surrendered yesterday, they're still lurking around. They make me nervous."
"How did you hear about the surrender?" he asked.
"It started out as a rumor,"she said."We all kept our fingers crossed, but we didn't want to get our hopes up. It was official when it made headlines in the newspaper this morning. Were you there when it happened?"
"Aye," he said. "I was in the hospital when my friend Daniel burst in and shouted that we won. Actually, he thought they had just retreated until someone told him that they actually surrendered. I've never seen someone so happily surprised as he was." Worry spread across her face. "The-the hospital?" she asked shakily. He bit his lip and nodded. He forgot that part. Sighing, he unbuttoned his shirt and showed her right below his shoulder. "I was shot in my right arm," he explained. Her face went pale, and she fingered the bandage. "It didn't need to be amputated," he continued. "But the doctor burned out the infected part or something a couple of days ago, and it's still very sore. He said it may never be the same, but I'm just glad it's still here. Then I fell sick, and I still am, a little." She felt his forehead. "My God, Ben, you're as hot as fire!" she exclaimed. "What on earth do you have? Pneumonia? Influenza?"
"Some sort of post-operative fever," he said nonchalantly. "Or something like that. Diana said it could be the death of me."
"Diana?" she asked. "The same Diana that when you were sixteen you-"
"Yes, that Diana," he interrupted, cringing. He shouldn't have brought her name up. "Her husband was killed and she was hired as a nurse in the hospital because they were really desperate for volunteers. She looked after me when I was in the hospital. She's worried about this fever." There. He was done talking about her. Mrs. Davidson frowned. "So am I," she said. She pressed her cheek to his forehead again. "I'll tell you what. I'll get you a bath, you can bathe, and a shave probably wouldn't hurt you either, then you can go to bed and I'll take a look at that arm."
"Fine," he answered.

As he passed the hallway mirror on his way upstairs, he did a double-take when he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Never had he looked so...haphazard. His face was pale, and his eyes were hollow and haunting. His hair was long, and his clothes were torn and dirty. Diana had been right about his face; a mustache and beard were starting to find their way above his lip and along his jaw. He closed his eyes. No wonder Diana said no. The war had really gotten to him, both inside and out.

Clean clothes and a warm bed had never felt so welcoming. He took care of the facial hair, so he felt better in that respect. He felt clean all over too. Soap had never smelled so nice. As it turned out, Faith and John were there as well (their house in Newport had been burned down by the British, so they were staying with the Davidsons until John could go back and buy them a new one). They were next door consoling Mrs. Peppertine over the loss of her son. As Mrs. Davidson undid the bandage on his arm (she cried again when she saw the open wound), he heard his father and William come home. "Katerina?" Mr. Davidson called. "Upstairs!" she called back. Ben heard heavy footsteps, and then his father came in. "What are you doing up-" he started to ask, then he saw his son. He frowned. "Is that-" he asked. "That's not-Ben, is that you?" Ben smiled weakly. "I'd say alive and well," he said. His voice was hoarse. "But then only half of that would be true."
"He's only been home about an hour," said Mrs. Davidson. Mr. Davidson took Ben's hand. "Thought we'd lost you forever," he said. "All of a sudden, your letters just stopped."
"He was hurt," his wife explained, showing him their son's arm. "And he's currently very ill." Mr. Davidson's face was grim as he felt Ben's forehead. "I don't suppose they gave you proper medical attention in the hospital either, did they?" he asked. Ben shook his head. "I'll probably end up dying anyway," he said. "No, darling, don't talk like that," said his mother. "We'll get you well again. You're home now, don't worry. It just may take a while." He settled back into the pillows. Then he frowned. "How long a while?" he asked. His parents looked at each other. "A month, perhaps?" Mrs. Davidson said. "If all goes well. Why?"
"What about Mr. Merriman?" he pointed out. "I still owe him two more years."
"We'll take care of it,"his father assured him. "I'm sure he will understand."
"We won't cross that bridge until we come to it," his mother said. "Right now, you just rest. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Ben shook his head. "I just want to sleep," he said. Mrs. Davidson stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "Then sleep," she said gently. At that moment, William came in. "Ben!" he exclaimed, squeezing his poor brother half to death. "Ben, you're alive! And home! For good! God, how I've missed you!"
"Will," Ben laughed. "I didn't think you could care less about me."
"Of course I care," said William. "You were gone for so long, and we hadn't heard from you in ages, so we all feared the worst. I just can't have people thinking that I've gone soft or that-that I love my brother!" He whispered this last part. "I guess that's understandable," said Ben with a smile. "I'd probably do the same." Their parents laughed. "We'll let you two catch up," said Mrs. Davidson. "But William, when he gets tired, you let him rest. He's very ill."
"Yes ma'am," William agreed. They left, and now it was just the two of them. William studied his brother. "You know," he said. "Given the circumstances, you really don't look that bad."
"Thank you?" said Ben, though it came out sounding more like a question. "I feel bad, though." Then he smiled a little. "You've gotten big, Will." William looked at himself. "I have?" he asked. Ben nodded. "You're taller," he said. "And your voice has gotten deeper."
"Don't act so surprised," said William with a grin. "I will be seventeen in two months."
"My, aren't we old?" Ben teased. "Seventeen. Soon you'll be walking with a cane!"
"I'm old?" William shot back. "You're what, twenty-one?"
"Twenty-two," Ben corrected. "As of Tuesday."
"Exactly," said William. "You're an old man compared to me!"
"Believe me, I feel it," said Ben. William's grin dropped. "I bet," he said quietly. Then he noticed his brother's arm. "Good Lord!" he said. "What happened to you?" Ben glanced at it. "Oh," he said. "I was shot." William raised an eyebrow as if to say, "And...?" "I was shot in the arm," Ben repeated. "And it almost had to be amputated until the doctor realized at the last minute that he might be able to save it. He burned out the infected part or something, and it must have worked because I've still got my arm, thank God." William touched it gingerly. "Does it hurt?" he asked. Ben nodded. "It was the worst pain I have ever been in when he did the surgery," he said. "And it still hurts. It may never be the same. That's what made me so sick, as well as all that fatigue finally catching up with me."
"I'm sorry," William said quietly. "Truly I am, Ben. You don't deserve this." His voice was thick, but he was trying not to cry. "William, it's all right," Ben said soothingly. "I'm all right."
"No you're not!" William said, still fighting tears. "You look so weak and tired! You never get sick, Ben, and now you are dangerously, and-and it scares me! I don't want to lose you."
"Shh, William, don't cry," Ben consoled. "I'm fine. The worst is over. I never have to see battle again. I'll be all right, then you can make fun of me to your heart's content." William wiped his eyes. "Promise?" he asked.
"Promise," said Ben. "Now get out of here and let me sleep." William grinned impishly. "Or what?" he asked.
"Or I'll break your arm once I get better," said Ben. "Or at least Ma will if I holler for her." William laughed a little. "Well," he said. "It's good to see that you haven't lost that charming personality."

After William left, Ben fell into a troubled sleep. He slept all evening, then woke up in the middle of the night, burning with fever. He kicked off all of the covers and pushed his hair off his neck, but he was still hot. Though he felt dizzy, he got out of bed. He went over to the wash basin and splashed the cold water on his face. Ahh, that was much better. As he made his way back to bed, his head spun, and he saw stars. Luckily, he collapsed on the bed as he fainted. He was out cold for a few hours, then woke up again, this time freezing. His body shook with chills. He pulled the covers up to his chin and drew his knees to his chest, trying to get warm, but he was still shaking. He still shook when he fell back asleep.

He slept all the next day, growing more and more frail. Once he cracked his eyes open and, delirious with fever, thought he saw Diana. "Diana?" he whispered hoarsely. The hand touched his face. "No,"said the voice gently. "Ben, it's Faith. Your sister, Faith."
"Diana," he breathed. "You-you came back!"
"Tis Faith," she tried again. "Don't you recognize me, Ben?"
"I need you," he said. "Please. Don't leave me again." Giving up on trying to convince him she was his sister, "Diana" leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I won't leave you," she said. "I'm right here, Ben." He grabbed her hand and brought it to his cheek. "I love you, Diana," he whispered. "I don't care if you don't." She gently touched his cheek. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I love you too, Ben." He smiled and closed his eyes. "Tis all I needed to hear," he whispered. He felt her hand brush his hair away from his face. "I love you..." she repeated.

The next day, he slipped in and out of consciousness, growing sicker and sicker. He couldn't talk. He couldn't eat. He couldn't drink. All he could do was sleep. He could barely recognize his own mother. Finally, on the third day he woke up and saw his sister sitting next to him. "Faith?" he whispered hoarsely. That was the first word he had said in days. She smiled. "Yes Ben," she said. "Tis Faith. I'm right here." She took his hand. "Do you feel any better?"
"Not really," he admitted. "My head hurts." She felt his forehead. "Your fever is still high," she remarked. "Here." She took the bottle of medicine from the nightstand and poured some in a spoon. "Take some. I know it's terrible, but it will make you feel better." He shakily took the spoon and brought it to his parched lips. He swallowed the thick, syrupy stuff in a quick gulp. "Ugh," he said once it was down. "I know," she sympathized. "Here. Drink some water." He did, but it didn't help much. "Do you need anything?" she asked. He shook his head. She brushed a stray piece of hair out of his face. "Mother made some soup for you," she said. "Will you try to eat some of it?"
"I'm not hungry," he said.
"Please, Ben," she pleaded. "You must eat something to keep your strength up." Reluctantly, he agreed, and she spooned the warm broth into his mouth. "Enough," he said after a while. "Please, Faith, no more."
"Very well," she agreed, setting it aside. She felt his forehead again. "You're so hot," she said. Then she frowned. "That's a nasty bruise you've got there." Her fingers gently brushed it. He swatted her hand away. "Don't," he snapped. She drew back. "All right, all right," she said. She then pressed a cool, wet cloth to his forehead. "Maybe this will cool you down." Ben's eyelids grew heavy. Slowly they closed, but it wasn't long before he started to feel nautious. His cheeks felt like they were swelling together, and he tried to take deep breaths. His face turned slightly green, and he reeled for the bucket his mother had conveniently placed next to the bed and got sick. His eyes watered and his mouth burned, but at least his stomach felt better. Faith patted his back as he coughed. "Sh, it's all right, Ben, you're all right," she said soothingly. "We'll try eating later. Your stomach is too weak yet."
"Really?" he said sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed." She frowned. "I know you're sick and potentially dying," she said. "But that gives you no excuse to be rude."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Faith began to undo the bandage on his arm. "The doctor is coming tomorrow," she said. "Mother is worried about your arm and that fever."
"Wonderful," he muttered. She frowned when she saw the open wound. "I see why she's worried," she said. "It's swelling. You'll need some sort of medicine; otherwise it will never heal and could probably become infected again. Maybe that's why you're still so ill." Ben didn't answer. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again as she pressed the wet cloth on his arm and bandaged it up again.

He was awake the next day for the doctor, who put leeches on his arm to bring the swelling down (this definitely got him awake). He gave him some sort of medicine for both his arm and fever. The swelling went down, and slowly his arm started to heal. With the fever, however, no such luck. Over the next week, he drifted in and out of a delirious, restless sleep. Mrs. Davidson changed the bandages every evening and applied the medicine. He began to eat a little, but usually couldn't keep it down. When he was awake, he would snap at anyone who tried to touch him. His fever raged until around midnight on the eighth day when it broke, and he finally slept peacefully. The next morning, the doctor came again and stitched up Ben's arm. "Well," he said right before he left. "It isn't completely healed; you'll have a nasty scar there, and you're still weak, but I think it's safe to say that you will make a full recovery."
"That's good," said Ben, lying back into the pillows. "I didn't think I'd ever get well again."
"You had a mighty close call, I'll give you that," said the doctor. "I'd say someone is watching out for you up there. Otherwise, you probably would have been dead days ago." Ben cringed. That wasn't exactly an encouraging thing to hear. At least it didn't come true.

He slept soundly the rest of the day. When he awoke, Faith was sitting by his side. "Good, you're awake," she said gently as he blinked and rubbed his eyes. "How do you feel?" He sat up little. "Better," he answered. "I'm not dizzy anymore, and my head doesn't hurt."
"Wonderful," she said. "How is your arm?" He rubbed it with his left hand. "It's still a little sore," he admitted. "But it feels better too." She felt his forehead for the hundredth time. "No fever," she concluded with a smile. "You're just weary from it, but nothing a little rest won't fix. Are you hungry?" Now that she mentioned it, his stomach growled. "I'm starving," he said. She gave him a tray of soup, bread, and water, which he devoured in five minutes. "Slow down!" she exclaimed. "I don't want you throwing up again."
"I'm fine," he assured her. She took the tray from him, and he leaned back. Then he frowned. Something felt wrong. His head felt much lighter, and not because he wasn't dizzy anymore. "You cut my hair?" he asked, fingering the short strands. Faith smiled and nodded. "I did this morning," she said. "It had gotten pretty long. And be grateful that I got to it before Mother did. She was convinced you had lice and wanted to shave it off." His hand flew to his hair. "Don't worry," she said. "I just cut it short. You didn't have lice either, surprisingly. And it looks nice, if I do say so myself. It brings out your eyes."

"Because that's what I was worried about," he said with a small grin. That was the first time he had smiled in days. "You're not angry, are you?" she asked. "No, of course not," he laughed, leaning back into the pillows. "I find it funny, truth be told. It will just take some getting used to."

"Good," she said. "Because I would be angry if someone did that to me." "You're a woman," he pointed out. "You care about these things."

"That's true," she agreed. He studied her for a second. She looked different, somehow. He frowned. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something had definitely changed. Was it her demeanor? No, she was being more tender towards him, but that was just because he was sick. He then noticed her figure. Faith had always had a nice slender shape. Now, however, her stomach seemed much bigger and swollen. It didn't look like she had just eaten too much, either. "Faith?" he asked. "Are you-are you going to-?" She smiled and nodded. "Aye," she answered. "Come early January." Ben's face lit up. "Faith Winchell!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to!" she said. "But when I first found out, I didn't want to send you word because I didn't want you to become excited and then killed or something else horrible. Also, by that time your letters had stopped, and we didn't know if you were alive or dead. Besides, I thought you would notice!"
"I was half dead!" he said. "And you know that I've never been the best at details."
"That's true," she laughed. He smiled and put his hand on his niece or nephew to be. "Well, congratulations," he said. "To both you and John. Fancy you a mother!"
"And you an uncle!" she said. "And-oh goodness-Mother and Father grandparents!"
"That makes them sound so old," he remarked.

"Oh Ben, they are old!" she said, making both of them laugh.

"Think Father will be as strict with him or her as he was with us?" Ben asked.
"I'm sure he will adore him," said Faith. "Or her."
"Maybe he will actually show some affection for once," he said. "Which is more than he did for us."
"He's not bad," she said. "He's just got a hard exterior."
"Still," he said. "He was always so stern with us. He never hugged us or told us he was proud of us or anything like that."
"He loves us," she said. "He's not good at showing it, but he does. Do you know how worried he's been about you these past few years?" Ben smiled a little. "Really?" he asked. Faith nodded. "And I know he will adore his grandchildren," she said. Then, changing the subject, she said, "I've been meaning to ask you. About a week ago, you thought I was someone named Diana?" His smile dropped. "I did?" he asked. She nodded. He vaguely remembered calling "Diana!" to her. That's right, he asked her not to leave him and said that he loved her even if she didn't. Then she said that she loved him and kissed his cheek. And she promised that she wouldn't leave. He had genuinely thought it was his Diana come back. Apparently, though, it had only been Faith. "It-it was you?" he asked sadly. She nodded again. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I must have been hallucinating." His heart sunk. It hadn't been Diana, and she hadn't kissed him, and she hadn't told him she loved him. This was getting bad. His heart was broken so badly that he was imagining her. "Who is Diana?" she asked with a grin. "Someone you're not telling me about?" He looked away, trying to not let her see that his eyes were becoming wet. He wiped his eyes. No, he would absolutely not cry. It was a silly thing to cry over. Her smile dropped. "Ben?" she asked. "Is-is there something you need to tell me?" He said nothing. She titled his face to meet her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Hm? Tell me." He shook his head. It was too painful to talk about. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. "I'm all right." She frowned. "Your face says otherwise," she remarked. "Something is wrong. Tell me."
"Faith?" he said sharply. "Drop it. I'm fine." She didn't look convinced, but she didn't persist.

Ben's health improved over the course of a week. He tried to push that other certain ailment aside and focus on getting physically well. He didn't want to be a Romeo and mope around, pining for a girl he couldn't have. Though when he thought about it, he was the Romeo in this situation, and Diana was Rosaline. And as long as that analogy went on, there was a Juliet down the road. But then their parents would hate each other and he would end up killing her cousin and eventually they would both kill themselves. Well, maybe he should just leave it at the Romeo-Rosaline comparison. This wasn't a Shakespearean drama; this was real life. And being real life, he decided to put the whole thing out of his mind as best he could.

Soon he could walk, and finally Mrs. Davidson let him come downstairs. Not that she let him do anything besides curl up in the chair by the fire cocooned in blankets, but he didn't mind. The tension that had once lingered throughout the house seemed to disintegrate, bringing a peaceful, easy feeling. The angel of death had passed over them, and not only that, but in a matter of two months, a new baby would be among them. John would be going back to Newport for work and to see about a new house next week, and Faith would stay at her parents'. This meant that the baby would be born there. John said he would come back at Christmas, then take Faith and the baby home. Mrs. Davidson insisted that Ben stay until Faith gave birth, then a few days later return to Williamsburg. He agreed without objection. That would give him nearly two months of recovery and leisure. Then his life would start again.