Chapter 10 Covenant

Daylight brightened the windows, finally, the moon having set around four. Josh Lyman welcomed it, as much as he could after the previous night, watching the moon's beams on their journey across his room, the chatter of birds fooled by the lunar light into thinking it was day, and by the sobs from the next room, sobs too soft to be heard, really, but so overwhelming that he could feel their weight splitting his chest again. He swung his feet to the floor, reminding himself, as he had all night, that he'd done The Right Thing. He dressed silently, without having the real need to avoid disturbing any other occupants of his room, then scuffed to the kitchen to start a pot of decaf. Amber vials stood on the counter like sentinels and he selected the appropriate dosage from each, draining a large glass of water in the process of his new morning ritual: medicine then exercise. Alone. He could hear the ancient bed creak as he passed Donna's closed door but the sobbing had finally stopped.

The morning, his last morning here for they were leaving the next day, was cool, the grass damp and the breeze from the direction of the church brought with it the scent of freshly-turned earth. He completed his circuit without interruption and found his packed suitcase, clothes for today and tomorrow excepted, on the luggage stand in his room upon his return. Sipping coffee from a mug, he set it on the sink as he showered, dressing in his own khaki slacks and a shirt, tie and Navy blazer borrowed from Jebose Taylor. Socks were problematic-he still couldn't bend that far without profound discomfort-but he managed them and stepped into his loafers as Donna slipped quietly into the parlor.

"You look nice," he leaned against his door, eying the black pantsuit she'd worn on the plane seemingly forever ago. "You want some coffee? I could . . ."

"Josh," she held up a hand and he froze. "Don't, Josh. Let's just get through this with the minimum of . . ."

He nodded silently then followed her to the waiting vehicle. He'd never been to a Methodist funeral before but was not completely lost, at least during the Old Testament lesson: how many times had he, himself, recited the Twenty-Third Psalm again and again when the pain had been overwhelming? The New Testament lesson had been about righteousness being sown in peace by men who make peace. Then they'd served Communion. Donna had sat beside him, close but not touching him during the entire service. Even when returning from the Communion rail her eyes had remained downcast. When the service ended, and Bascom Yager was carried to his grave on the broad shoulders of his grandsons, she'd remained silent, even as they followed the family into the tree-shaded cemetery. At some point she'd focused on the coffin and he could see tears rolling down her face. Fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, he held it to her hand while slipping an arm around her waist but she remained stony and unmoving. The silence persisted as they returned to the carriage house where she closed the sturdy door between them.

He changed clothes and sat down to work, the afternoon waning to time for his twilight walk. As he set out across the field, he could see a figure in the cemetery and he found himself walking there, respectfully silent as he joined Mary Yager beside her husband's freshly-mounded grave.

"Over seventy years we were married and I still am gonna miss the old fool," she said wryly from a wooden folding chair partially sunken into the grass.

"That's a long time to be together," Josh responded gently.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, "but you and your Donna will have plenty of time, too . . ."

He shook his head, "She's not my Donna, Mrs. Yager, it's, well, we . . ."

Mary Yager searched his face then returned to her vigil. "We married during the Depression; Bascom went to work for the WPA building the bridge over the Mississippi at Greenville. We lived in one room in a boarding house down by the train depot." She smiled. "One day, it was July and hot as sin, he was working down inside those piers and the man working above him knocked a sledge hammer down the hole. Well, it fell against the scaffolding and it collapsed against the wall, pinning Bascom's leg. It took them five hours to get him out and another five hours to take him to Little Rock. By the time we arrived, the doctors didn't hold out much hope for saving his leg." A whippoorwill sang in the trees. "He tried to send me home, tried to annul the marriage since he wouldn't be able to take care of a family with only one leg."

"What happened?"

"I refused to go. Oh, he kept trying to get rid of me-telling me I'd be better off without him."

Josh shifted his weight, almost impatiently. "What made him change his mind?"

"I finally convinced him that I needed him as much as he needed me."

He helped the widow to her car and walked back to the carriage house by the road. The front door was unlocked and he paused by Donna's still-closed door and, hearing no sound, followed the path to the kitchen. She'd left him a plate in the microwave but he moved it to the refrigerator before gathering his things and showering. The lack of sleep and stress of the day finally set in as he sank back into the soft bed and was soon asleep.

He startled awake to a scream from the next room. Throwing his covers aside, he stumbled out of the bed, chest throbbing, and followed the crying.

Donna sat bolt-upright in bed, eyes wide but unseeing.

"Donna?" he called from the door and when she didn't respond he crawled into the bed, clasping his hands around her upper arms. "Donna?"

She gasped and her eyes focused on his before she collapsed into him. "Josh?" she panted, pulling his sleep shirt apart and running her hand over the new scar. "You're okay," she soughed. "Thank God you're okay."

"I'm okay, Donna," he leaned back against the headboard and pulled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. "I'm okay."

Her sobs shook the bed, tears falling onto his chest. "I was at Rosslyn," she wept. "All I could see was blood, and you weren't breathing and they came to tell me . . ."

"I'm okay," he lifted her hand and placed it over his cicatrix, "See? I'm fine. Nothing more than a bad dream."

She stared, disbelieving, at the scar, then into his eyes, then back at the mark on his chest. "It was only a dream?"

"Yeah," he smoothed her hair, nuzzling her crown, "only a dream." He relaxed into the mattress pulling her tighter into his embrace. "How long have you been having the nightmares?"

"Josh," she tried to roll away but he held her even closer.

"How long," he pulled her face inches from his, "have you been having the nightmares?"

She buried her face in his shoulder but he lifted her chin again. "How long, Donna?"

Her voice was as soft as fairy's wings. "Since Rosslyn."

He swallowed and hugged her closer, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help?"

She tried to hide again but he followed her stare, until she finally spoke, "I was afraid of making you worse."

"Making me worse?" She nodded and he chuckled ruefully. "You're the main person who made me better."

She shuddered, breathing eventually returning to normal while he rhythmically fluttered his hands down her arms. He felt her relax into him and he waited until she must have been asleep before trying to leave. "Josh?" her eyes popped open and she chewed on her lip, "Stay?"

Wednesday morning dawned impossibly bright in Washington, the glare nearly blinding Donna as she peeked out of Josh's window. "There are photographers out there," she warned as he concentrated on fastening the buttons on his dress shirt. She resisted the urge to help. He finished, finally, and stuffed the shirt tails into the pants of his brown suit. He fumbled with the tie for a few minutes before turning to her, sheepishly. With a broad smile she knotted the cravat, arms resting on his shoulders and his arms slung about her waist. "Sleep well?" he nuzzled her hair.

"The best in months, years, really," she admitted.

"So, I am good for something?"

"Joshua, you are good for many things," she studied his mouth.

They kissed, then, arms linked, they braved the media phalanx outside. There were more photographers following them through the White House parking lot. Once inside, they walked directly to their first appointment.

"Welcome, travelers," the President greeted. "I trust you are well-rested from your sabbatical?"

"Yes, sir," Josh replied, wincing from the President's impromptu hug.

"And Donnatella," the President took her left hand between his, "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now the curmudgeon here," he nodded at Leo McGarry who stood in the open passageway to his office, "insists that he needs you both, post haste, so I must deliver you into his clutches."

"Thank you, Mr. President," they muttered, perching on McGarry's sofa as he closed all the doors.

"So," he pinned Donna with a stare, "did Josh outline the changes to you?"

She nodded, "I'm basically doing the same job but I answer to you instead of Josh."

"Officially," he qualified, "in practice you'll still work together as you always have."

"Thank you, Leo," she fluttered her left hand and the diamond sparkled. "You've been just, well, I don't know what to say . . ."

"Don't mention it," he grinned. "Now, get back to work."

They both stood but he stabbed a finger into Josh's arm. "You stay," he said sharply.

Donna looked at Josh like she was leaving him to a firing squad.

Josh leaned forward with a cringe. "Leo, I don't know how to repay you for everything . . ."

"Don't make us go through this again," McGarry growled.

"I can't promise that, Leo."

"No," he glared, "but you can follow the doctor's instructions this time."

"I know," Josh slumped back. "I've got too much to lose now."

"You always had that much to lose, son," Leo said softly. "You were too, too you to notice."

"I noticed," Josh replied. "It just took me a while to realize that what I thought were roadblocks were only hurdles."

"Welcome to the wisdom of middle age."

"More like desperation," Josh stood. "I've got a mountain on my desk . . ."

"I'll walk with you," McGarry followed him down the hall. "So, did you come back craving cornbread and turnip greens?"

"No," Josh smirked as they rounded the last corner, "but Donna has developed a serious yen for . . ."

A delighted squeal from Donna's office stopped his reply and his motion. He gazed through the glass, face filled with the awe of a man seeing, really seeing, for the first time.

Leo watched his deputy, his friend's son, join his assistant, his partner, in her office. Her face bore a similar awestruck expression while her hand splayed across Andrea Wyatt's now-sizeable belly. Their eyes met then he laid his palm beside hers, studying them, together, slipping an arm around Donna's waist.

"Someday, Donnatella," he whispered, then covered, sheltered, her hand with his. His hand was strong, but his voice, so close it warmed her cheek, was more than a prayer, it was a covenant, "Someday soon."