His hand froze on the rope the moment she exited the children's room. She didn't look his way, but her face was visible enough to see her swollen eyes, red nose, and tear stained cheeks. In five years of marriage, he'd never seen her in such a state—because never had she wept that hard. The shock of it froze him, unable to do anything but watch her disappear out the front door into the cold without a cloak.
"Papa?" Charles tugged his pant leg. "Let's get Mama!" He pointed to the door.
"Mama!" Della squealed in delight beside her brother in the dumbwaiter.
The shock riveted his eyes to the door. "I think Mama wants to be alone, son." It hadn't been since the early days of marriage that she'd gone out of her way to avoid him so. And he'd well deserved it then. An unnerving feeling settled that he'd just done something that deeply hurt her...and inflicted damage on the marriage that he'd come to deeply regret as a grave error.
Reclined in the library with blessed ice between the legs, it was hard to not continuously glance from the window to the clock again as the children played on the floor. Nearly two hours she'd been gone. Besides the fact that she had left without a cloak, the longer she stayed away meant the more hurt she was.
Footsteps on the front porch. The door creaked open.
Charles and Della shot up. "Mama! Mama! We found Papa!"
Forcing himself to sit up, he swung his leg over the edge of the settee to be able to see the doorway.
The children dragged her by the hands, but she planted her feet in the doorway as her eyes landed on the ice. She immediately looked away, but not fast enough to hide her face crumple. She dropped to one knee and looked at the children. "My head hurts, so I'm going to lie down. You go play for a bit." Her voice broke. Even from this distance it was easy to see her eyes glisten with tears.
Dear god, seeing her this upset hurt more than any surgery pain. "Tanya—"
But she stood and nudged the children to go play, and then left as soon as they ran off.
Snatching the crutches, he stood. And bit off a curse as gravity didn't want to play nicely with the surgery. Taking deep breaths until the worst of the pain passed, he went to the bedchamber.
The door was locked.
He knocked. "Tanya, let's talk."
Soft weeping came from within the room.
"Please, Tanya. I know you're so hurt."
Nothing. And nothing was even worse than anger.
Quiet clanking of dishes came from the kitchen at lunchtime.
The children played with blocks on the floor, so he pushed himself up and left the library.
She stood at the counter facing away and made sandwiches. Her back tensed, though, as if hearing the crutches. A low murmur.
"I couldn't hear you," he said carefully and slowly approached. It was hard to read her from behind.
"I wasn't thinking. Do you need the bedchamber to lie down?" Her voice came out thick, as if she'd been weeping for a long time.
The throbbing pain was well-deserved. "No, I don't need it."
Silence.
She didn't move.
Was she so hurt that she spoke softly enough that it couldn't be heard? Was she so angry that she was just waiting for him to leave? In the early days of marriage she had avoided him for a few days, but these hours were far more torturing to know this time that she was his soulmate and he'd truly broken her heart. Reaching a hand out to touch her back would make it possible to feel her vibrations if she spoke.
His fingertips barely brushed.
And she instantly pulled away.
It was a blow completely unexpected. Even when he was an arse, she would seek his comfort. The fact that she completely shut him out screamed of pain beyond anything she'd ever felt during their marriage. And just how alone she thought she was.
"Tanya, I realize I made a mistake in how I went about this, but I did it because I'm so scared of losing you." He swallowed hard as the memories slammed and his voice cracked. "Having you on the operating table for a cesarean section was terrifying, but then again the very next day because you were hemorrhaging...Tanya, I completely lost it that day, and your Grandfather had to physically restrain me to stop treatment once the bleeding calmed so I wouldn't over treat you. The risk of infection and complications from a normal cesarean are so high, and then I had to open you twice. And then watching you be in tears for days from pain because my seed was defective, and I couldn't do anything to help—"
She whirled around, her eyes puffy and red, and exploded. "You have no idea if you were the cause! You didn't do this for me, you did it for you! If it had been for me, you would've waited until I was ready to make such a permanent decision! Even if this wasn't a miscarriage, I'm trying to deal with the loss of having thought there was a babe! Then I find you this morning and made myself abundantly clear that I wasn't ready for this and had very real concerns over the side effects and long-term ramifications of this surgery! God knows if we'll find out in one year or five or ten if this was harmful to you! It'd serve you right if I got pregnant anyways! Dammit, you don't even know for certain if it causes sterility! What the hell have you done?!" Her hands covered her face, as if trying to calm herself, and she sniffled.
"Tanya." He set a hand on her arm.
She knocked it away as tears rolled down her face. "No, you do not get to be the comforting husband this time," she hissed. Then she grabbed two plates of sandwiches and brushed past. The library door slammed a moment later.
In bed that night, she faced away. She hadn't said a word, much less been in the same room except for meals, since lunchtime.
Shifting carefully on his back to try to find a comfortable position only caused more throbbing. Somehow foregoing tree bark and ice, as if feeling more physical pain could ease the guilt or take away some of her emotional pain, didn't seem like such a good idea at the moment. Letting out a slow, quiet breath to get through a particularly sharp throbbing made her side of the bed jiggle.
In the dark, there was also silence. Perhaps she said something too softly to hear.
Her silhouette crossed in front of the window and she left the bedchamber.
She was so upset that she wasn't going to sleep in the same bed. That was a stab to the heart.
Noise came from the kitchen for a moment.
Light filtered in, and she set a lantern on the nightstand, along with a glass of milk. Then she handed over three sticks of tree bark.
He must've had a surprised expression because she said, "I can hate you and love you at the same time." Then she slid down the sheet and eased an ice pack on. A frown wrinkled her brow. "Have you used ice at all since this morning?"
"Tanya, I'm sorry—"
"Shut up. I'm speaking to you as a patient."
There was little bite in her bark. A flicker of happiness ignited. At least there was some speaking. "I haven't since lunch."
"You're not an idiot and had to have realized how bad the swelling was getting. Since you can't be trusted, I'll stay up and monitor the icing for the next hour." Then she shoved another pillow behind him and handed over the milk.
"You don't need to stay up."
"Shut up and drink." It was said with a slight sigh, as if tired rather than angry. She fetched a book from her vanity bookcase, pulled over a chair, and sat with her nose buried in the book.
After drinking the milk and finishing gnawing on the third stick, the pain greatly decreased. And she hadn't once looked up. Sliding down the pillow offered a bit more of a comfortable recline. So many tears had left a mark of exhaustion on her face, but she was still so beautiful. And so very heartbroken.
"Go to sleep," she ordered without looking up.
"How am I to sleep with you sitting there watching?" The waters seemed to be warming, so no sense in not treading them.
"I have no desire to watch you. Go to sleep."
Ouch. So the water might still be a little cold, but her sass rather than anger had to be a good sign. So the silence remained.
She looked up from beneath her brow and seemed irritated by the fact that she was being watched. "Fine." She shot up and snatched the lantern and headed toward the door.
He caught her nightgown.
She froze but didn't turn to offer anything other than her profile.
"Or you could sit in bed where you'll be warm, if you insist on staying up," he offered.
"One doesn't sit in bed with a patient," she snapped and glared at him.
The water was icier than originally thought. It was best to not push. Releasing her nightgown, he gave a slow nod and looked at the sheets. It wasn't uncommon in England to see a marriage go sour. As a wet-behind-the-ears, new husband, it hadn't been understood at the time how men in drawing rooms would say sometimes a stupid act could damage a marriage forever. Tanya was not one to hold a grudge, which made this situation all the more dire. Dread clutched.
She was like a beautiful dove that returned to him over and over, willing to always forgive. But perhaps this act had inflicted irreparable damage...and she'd never quite land in his hand again. To have her near but forever out of reach would be a living hell of his own doing. To never have her brilliant smile turned upon him or feel her loving touch or speak of nothing and everything like best friends were want to do...it would be his perfect hell.
She took the lantern and left, her footsteps silent in this world of deafness that would likely become more and more his companion every day in this widening rift with her.
Work consumed the next day, thankfully. Time passed, mounting the misery with each hour. Tanya hadn't been in bed when he'd awoken, and it'd been impossible to tell if she'd returned last night. The stress and exhaustion from surgical pain all day had made sleep come too easily.
"Where's the missus, Doc?" the blacksmith asked.
It would've been cruel to ask Tanya to come along to check on the babe when she was grieving over never having another. She'd been in the play room with the children. So, he'd left her a note on the kitchen table that he was on a call, if she even cared.
"It doesn't take two to diagnose a cold," he growled. If the blacksmith sensed any discord and thought he'd come swooping in to steal her away...
"I wanted to thank her for helping find another wet nurse."
"I'll pass along your gratitude," he mumbled. "Make sure she nurses well and gets plenty of sleep. If she won't nurse, get her to take water at least. Her weight is picking up, so she shouldn't have trouble getting rid of this. Call me if she develops a cough or a fever or won't take anything for more than a day. Let's check your incision as long as I'm here."
The mercantile owner stopped him on the way home for his gout, and it just went from seeing one urgent patient to another in their homes the rest of the day. And it made the absence of Tanya hurt even more to not only have this rift at home but at work too.
It was late when he finally shuffled up the ramp to the front door that night. Dear god, the pain from being on his feet all day after surgery was growing unbearable.
No lanterns were lit and the house was quiet. The children would've gone to bed a couple hours ago.
Closing the door, a light in the library caught his eye. Stepping into the doorway, his heart pounded in nervousness. If there was anytime to say exactly the right thing, it was now.
Tanya sat in the window seat with a book and still wore her day clothes. She looked up.
Please say the right thing. His heart suddenly stopped and the air left the room. "Hello." Hello?
"Are you done working for the day?" Her voice was soft, as if exhausted.
"Yes." A hundred things to say came to mind, followed by the need to hold her and kiss away the loneliness in her eyes. But none of it seemed right.
Then she set aside her book and stood but didn't cross the distance. "I'll go change for bed since you don't need me." She began to pass without eye contact.
That was an odd thing to say. Reaching out, he stopped at the last moment because it would be unwanted contact. Turning to look at her back as she exited into the small foyer, he said, "I wasn't sure if there'd be a desire to give assistance."
She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her face void of all emotion. "I was doubtful my assistance would be needed anyways. Goodnight."
"Why would you think you wouldn't be needed?"
Her feet halted again. This time she didn't turn. "You didn't send for me, did you?" She turned, already knowing the answer.
A pang of regret hit. A voice whispered that she'd been waiting for him to send for her. It would've been an olive branch that sounds like she may've accepted...and somehow this had turned into her not being wanted.
The silence must've been mistaken for an answer because she hurried away.
Either the pain or being miserable without her or perhaps a combination made him march after her, the anger and hurt overpowering the physical pain. Catching her arm in the bedchamber doorway, he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her with abandon. And she too readily accepted, as if needing comfort.
"Goddammit, I don't know what's going on right now," he snapped, "I wanted you there with me today, but I also know you hate me right now. It's been some of the most miserable forty-eight hours of my life, and I can't stand this not speaking to each other," he hissed. "If you're going to hate me, at least cry or yell at me instead of shutting me out!"
Her lips moved and head bowed as her mouth went out of sight.
"I didn't hear anything." Catching her chin to tilt her head up, his heart stopped in surprise. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
"If I could have a babe right, none of this would have happened." Her voice barely broke through the silence.
"Oh my god, Tanya, no." He crushed her in a hug. "Charles was just fine. The only differentiating factor is me. None of this is your fault, and nothing with Della was your fault."
"You won't accept that it could've been a fluke, and you said with each pregnancy—"
"Forget what I said. Tanya, with all of that aside, I don't know if your womb could safely handle a pregnancy because I had to go in with a vertical incision the second time to find where the hemorrhaging was coming from. You would need a cesarean section for any future births because your womb wouldn't be able to handle labor without possibly tearing and needing emergency surgery."
She pulled back and looked up with a tear stained face. "What? You never talked about that."
He swallowed hard. This wouldn't be a secret she'd appreciate. "I didn't want you afraid if there was a surprise babe."
"You've known since she was born?!" She let go and stepped around him.
"No. No, about a year ago, I looked through all of my patient records at women who needed vertical cesarean sections. I've reviewed dozens of medical articles on the subject. The vast majority of women who tried natural births ended up needing emergency surgery. The risk of emergency surgery after a vertical cesarian section is so incredibly high, and the mortality rate is even worse."
"But, maybe some were just bad physicians."
He shook his head. "I researched who were their attendings and threw out cases whose physician reputations I couldn't confirm or didn't know myself, as well as any cases where complications could've contributed to needing surgery. I know it's not the answer you want to hear, but looking at your medical history and this research...my medical opinion is both you and the babe would be at a high risk for complications. Your mortality rate increases exponentially with even a planned cesarian section. It was a miracle that you didn't need a hysterectomy, much less survived Della's birth. As your husband, I'm not willing to take that chance. In all honesty, these last weeks were a wake-up call. I was so terrified if there was another babe. I know your heart was set on more children, but I only want a healthy family, no matter how many children that is."
Her face fell and she looked down at her hands. Then she looked up. "I wish you would've told me."
Some of the weight from the past two days lifted. Perhaps this would lead to greener pastures. "I didn't want you to think any of it was your fault, but I guess it didn't matter in the end." A small sigh escaped to breathe through a wave of pain. Shit. Not now, not when she was finally opening up.
She cocked her head as a stray tear slipped from the corner of her eye. "You blame yourself for Della, but you never truly blamed yourself as the reason for not having more babes, did you? You only said that so I wouldn't think it was my fault."
Then she frowned and set a hand to his brow. "Why are you sweating? Are you in pain?"
"I'm fine. If—"
But she took his hand and tugged toward the bed. "You didn't ice at all today, did you? How long were you on your feet?" The woman didn't wait for an answer before stripping him. "Mark! Oh my god."
A nervous laugh answered. "I don't think I want to look."
"I don't think you do. I don't know how you're not in tears. Lie down. You certainly shouldn't be wearing your prosthesis—it only encourages you to be on your feet. You aren't working tomorrow." She started to unbuckle the prosthesis.
"But—"
"I'll see to any patients and consult you if needed."
Ten minutes later, she had worked miracles for the pain.
He held out a hand as she got up with the medical bag. "Thank you. I can sleep in the extra bedchamber, if you wish."
She looked at his hand but didn't take it. Her eyes grew red with unshed tears. "I understand now why you had surgery...but you promised we'd always be partners." Her voice broke as her face crumpled and she met his eyes. "Within two days, I found out that we might've lost a babe and there never would be another. I needed you to be there to get through it, not to take away more before I was ready."
"Oh god, Tanya, I'm sorry." He pushed himself up the pillows and held out his arms. "Come here—"
With a sniffle, she brushed at her eyes and took a step back.
That haunted look returned to her eyes—the one that had been there the day he'd taken her from her father's house. It was that withered look of being all alone and fighting so hard to not break. She tried to hold up against the pain of not just a possible miscarriage and shattered dreams of a house full of children, but also...abandonment.
An awful wave of guilt slammed.
She was about to break for perhaps the first time in her life and didn't know what to do besides keep away the source of the pain—him.
Pushing aside the blankets, he held the bedpost and stood on one leg. Before she even had a chance to react, he pulled her into his arms.
Her body tensed and she inhaled a sharp breath.
But he only held tighter, forcing in love that could help heal her. "I made a terrible timing error, but I've always been here for you," he whispered and buried his face in her hair. "I know it's hard to see it right now, but I did this right away because I love you so much and couldn't risk you. I'd do anything to keep you and the children safe."
Her whole body trembled as she fought the tears.
"I'm sad too that it might've been a miscarriage, and I'm sad that I can't safely give you more babes."
"But I can't," she hiccupped, battling sobs.
"We make a babe together. It's no one's fault. We're in all of this together."
He held her tight in bed as she cried herself to sleep.
Charles crept closer to the settee in the library the next day, his eyes fixated on the door. His mouth moved. Papa.
"What is it, son?" The boy appeared almost frightened.
Mama screamed.
Stunned surprise froze every muscle for a split instant. Tanya was in the clinic today while he rested, but there hadn't been any noise out front of someone arriving...unless footsteps had been careful to be quiet, then the deafness would've masked anyone coming.
Shooting up and snatching the crutches, the panic suppressed the surgical pain. "Stay here."
The moment he closed the library door, Tanya burst through the connecting clinic door in the foyer. And so did a soldier who had a hand around her neck.
"You harboring Injuns, Doc?"
The man held her arm behind her back in a way that would break it or severely damage her shoulder if she moved. Her cheek was red, as if the scum had hit her.
How dare another coward try to harm her, and in this home. Blinding rage slammed out all conscious thought.
A deafening roar.
Mark flung a crutch through the air at the soldier.
The grip loosened enough to break free, just in time to stumble away as Mark lept at the man.
They both slammed to the floor, but Mark somehow climbed on top of the man and didn't lose leverage with only one leg.
An excessively hard punch stunned the soldier enough for Mark to snatch the gun out of the holster.
He held it to the soldier's temple, and the man stilled. "How many others are here?" His voice shook with rage as much as his entire body.
The man showed little sign of fear. "Shooting an officer is a hanging offense."
Mark didn't seem to hear. "How many?!"
"Half of my platoon. It's our job to round up the red skins."
"For what?" he snarled.
A sickening smile spread over his lips. "Slaves. And exactly what you use that Injun for."
Bang!
The shock made it impossible to put the pieces together.
The officer didnt move.
Mark didn't move.
Mark held a gun.
The officer's head was turned to the side. Blood began to pool on the floor.
The horror hit.
"What did you do?" she gasped and sank to her knees. "You'll be killed for murdering an officer," she breathed. Oh god, oh god, oh god. "What did you do?!"
"Fetch my leg," he snapped and slid off the man. "He's a Confederate and a deserter—his eyes dilated and pulse quickened when he said he was with a platoon. It's a wonder he even made it this far north. Fucking thinks he'll walk into my home and assault my wife," he hissed, "I'm within my legal right to shoot a Confederate."
"Mama!" Charles and Della started to sob from within the library.
"Stay there! It's alright, I'm coming!" Hauling herself up, she ran to the bedchamber and gave Mark his leg.
"Stay with the children while I get the sheriff."
Moments later, Grandfather and Brigands came running up the steps with shot guns.
Opening the window, she flagged them over and quietly explained everything.
Charles popped out from behind the curtain. "He tried to hurt Mama! I need a gun! I can help Papa fight bad guys!"
"Hush, Charles! You aren't to touch a gun. Go play with your sister. You know you aren't to eavesdrop," she scolded, her hands still shaking.
Mark walked up the ramp and stood beside Grandfather and Brigands on the porch. "Hurry home so it doesn't look like an ambush on an officer. The sheriff is coming." Then he headed for the door.
She closed the window, and Mark stepped into the library a moment later.
Charles ran over to him, the picture of a brave boy now after having been consoled from tears. "I want a gun to help fight bad guys from Mama."
Mark blinked and looked down. "No. If I catch you near a gun, I'll give you the first spanking of your life, understood?"
Charles's eyes widened. "Yes, Papa."
"Go watch your sister while I check Mama."
Mark came over to the settee and sat, adjusting the fake leg to sit sideways so he could face her. Then his fingers gentLy palpated her throat. "Was he there long? Charles told me that he heard you scream—I didn't hear anything." Guilt flickered in his eyes.
"He walked in and asked where the Doc was. I had a strange feeling, so I said you'd be right back. He looked at me for a moment and grabbed my arm and came in the house..." Her eyes fell to his chest as the awful memory and shame returned.
"Where did he touch you?" His voice came out gentle and patient.
Her eyes flew to his face. How did he know? She pulled free and stood back, looking away. The fact that he could so easily tell made it that much more humiliating.
"I know you," he said softly. "It would take more to make you scream than a man storming in and grabbing your throat."
"He didn't get his pants off," she snapped, low enough that the children wouldn't hear and he'd have to lip read.
A knock at the front door.
The clinic was a mess, clearly indicating a struggle. The lantern and papers from the desk were strewn on the floor, and the sheets were on the floor from one bed, with the mattress twisted sideways across the bed frame. How had he not heard any of this?
His eyes flew to her, but she kept her gaze locked on the floor and answered the sheriff's questions. Not one mention of any kind of sexual assault. But then again, most women were too ashamed to tell anyone, much less another man.
The sheriff moved into the foyer where the body was.
While the sheriff took notes, he knelt and inspected the man's hands. Fresh blood under the nails of the right hand—very likely Tanya's blood. She had no wounds visible. His stomach clenched. God help him, he'd figure out how to bring the bastard back from the dead to kill him again. He yanked the pants down, ignoring the sound of material ripping.
"Uh, Doc?"
No blood or obvious signs of recent intercourse. But there was a freshly made bruise, as if Tanya had gotten a kick in. "I hope it hurt like hell, you son of a bitch," he muttered. Then he stood. "Tanya, would you make sure the children are alright?"
She disappeared into the library.
"She's not usually so subdued. He has blood under his fingernails." His voice shook with rage. "I think he sexually assaulted her, but I need to check and talk to her to tell how far it got. She's not going to acquiesce readily, much less with you in the house."
He nodded. "I hope he scratched her leg and that's as far as he got. I'll need a medical report of the injuries on her neck and shoulder. Any unmentionables I'll leave to your discretion how detailed those need to be documented. As you know, the sooner the documentation, the better it holds up legally. This is clearly a case of a break in and defense. Do you have papers on her?"
"Papers?"
She walked out at just that moment.
"Defending that she's your Injun and you had a right to protect your property?"
His hands fisted and he hissed, "She's my wife."
"Few courts would agree that gives her or you spousal rights because of her...pedigree. I need to see slave papers."
If she hadn't looked ashamed before, she certainly did now.
Storming to the bedchamber, he returned with the papers and thrusted them at the sheriff. "And for my children," he snapped and glanced at her. Tanya kept her head down. "I can check your prostate while we're at it."
The sheriff blinked. "Why?"
"It'd be just as beneficial," he barked.
Tanya's head ducked down farther and her hand flew up to stifle a laugh. At least she didn't seem ashamed for a moment.
"Dr. Johnson, it's simply a formality." The sheriff looked at the papers. "You were told the children need papers?"
"Yes, a lawyer said after my daughter's birth that we should have them for any children being they are part Native American. Are we going to wait for the body to bury itself, or can I get rid of it before my children are traumatized?"
Once the body was disposed, he closed the front door and turned to her.
She backed up, as if knowing what was coming. "Replace the floorboards before the children see."
"Tanya," he said gently but didn't move, "you need to be treated so cuts don't become infected."
Her arms wrapped around herself and she stared at the floor. "I never said there were cuts. I'm fine. Replace the bloodstained boards so the children aren't scared." Then she disappeared into the library.
"She won't say anything, but I can tell she's scared. He did something." Lily came out of the library a bit later after being fetched to see if she could reach Tanya. "Go in there and be the man who makes her feel safe. She's frightened and needs you."
"Would you watch the children for a bit?"
"I've been wanting to make some Christmas cookies with my grandbabies." Lily swooped into the library, and the children were bundled and off to her house minutes later.
Tanya sat curled up in the window seat with tears in her eyes as she watched the children leave.
"They're just going for a bit to make sweets," he said softly and eased onto the other end of the window seat.
Her eyes didn't shift from the window as she brushed a tear from her cheek. "I know you sent them away. No exam," she breathed.
"I am always your husband first." He laid a hand over hers where she wrapped her arms over her knees. "I'm sorry that I didn't hear you, Tanya. I'm going to talk to Theodore about fashioning locks for the clinic."
A sniffle answered. "Normal people don't need locks. It's not safe for the children for me to be here—"
"What? You're upset and frightened. You're their mother, and we all need you. We'll put a lock on the clinic door." He scooted closer. "You were attacked and are naturally scared, and I just really want to hold you, my Tanya."
It took no more than that before she scrambled into his lap and burst into tears.
She laid back for a split instant in the bedchamber. And shot up just as fast.
"Alright. That's alright, sweetheart," he cooed when she breathed hard in a panic. The bastard must've tried to push her down on the bed that had been torn apart—she seemed frightened to be on her back. "Can you sit on the edge of the bed?" He took her hand and guided her forward.
She trembled but didn't resist.
Examining her for the first time during the pregnancy with Charles had resulted in his own retching and nightmares from seeing the damage from the rape. She'd hardly shown fear then, but that had been months after the rape. This was just hours after what kind of assault, he didn't even know yet. There was no doubt that she trusted simply because it was him.
A wave of nausea hit. It was horrible enough what she'd been through the first time and then with the soldiers at the tribe, but now...
Drawing a deep breath helped still his shaking hands.
Scratches covered under her skirts.
Holding her hand tighter, he lowered her skirt and held her eyes. "I need to do an internal exam to make sure you don't have scratches that could become infected. Did he...?"
Her eyes welled with tears and her hands shook harder. "He didn't get his pants off." She brushed away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "I, I don't r, remember what else."
Either she'd been fighting too hard and too scared to notice, or her mind tried to keep a terrible memory locked away. It wasn't uncommon for patients to have trouble accurately recalling an assault.
Gathering his obstetrics bag from the clinic, his stomach twisted. At medical university, never had he dreamed of needing to one day examine his wife for assault. And never had it occurred that he'd be examining her once again for assault.
This somehow felt worse with her not being a stranger this time—actually being responsible for keeping her safe, actually loving her this time. And he'd failed her. One goddamn room away and he'd failed. In his own fucking home. The room spun. He sank to onto the edge of a hospital bed and drew deep breaths. She didn't need to see him lose it.
No visible internal injuries.
The request for a bath didn't come as a surprise—it often was the first thing that women who suffered assault requested, sometimes bathing before an exam and scrubbing themselves raw and destroying any evidence.
She asked twice if the house doors were locked and pleaded for him to keep the fake leg on and stay near while she washed. Something inside died a little because he no longer made her feel absolutely safe.
Since the exam, she'd gone from not wanting to be touched to needing a hand on him at all times. That worked well as an excuse to stay near and keep an eye on her.
"Tanya, that's too hot." He felt the water in the tub after adding another pot of hot water off the stove. "I'll add some cool water."
When he turned around in the kitchen with another bucket filled from the pump, she was already in the tub. Her skin glowed almost red from the heat. And she went at her thighs with a rag, almost as if in a panic.
"No! Tanya, you'll hurt your skin!" He set down the bucket and hurried over. Diving a hand into the steaming water, he snatched the rag from her. He held it away, ignoring his soaked sleeve.
"No, I need it!" She burst into tears and tried to reach for it.
"Sweetheart." He cupped her cheek to meet her eyes. "Let me help. I'll make sure he's gone," he said softly.
She sniffled and seemed to hesitate for a moment.
He fetched a bottle of alcohol from his bag and put a small amount on the rag as he knelt beside the tub. Then he eased her leg out of the water and gently tended to the cuts that had already been cleaned. It was psychological that she needed to be washed clean of the soldier now. He glided the rag over one leg and then the other to wash her.
Slowly, she reclined back and seemed to let the panic subside.
Then he held her eyes and slowly glided the rag up higher. "I'll be gentle and only wash," he said softly.
She tensed the slightest bit as the rag crept up her inner thigh. He stilled but she didn't protest. So he slowly continued. Her brow furrowed slightly in pain where the scratches covered the most sensitive flesh.
When he withdrew, she caught his hand and took the rag. A soft cry of pain came from her lips as she tried to wash far too hard for such delicate skin.
Catching her hand to stop her, he rolled up his sleeves and took the rag.
No words needed to be spoken. He held her eyes, and she didn't break the gaze as she silently spread her legs.
The profound trust she set in his hands made him still for a moment. She shouldn't want him so close, much less make herself so vulnerable after a sexual attack. Yet she trusted him completely to take care of her. "I love you, Tanya. You don't have to let me."
Her hand wrapped around his upper arm and held tight. "I want you to make him go away," she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek.
So he continued to bathe away every trace of her terrible memories.
"Why did you kill him?" She looked up from where he wrapped a towel around her.
"Because he posed a threat to my family and he had clearly hit you, at a minimum. Charles looked terrified when he'd said you'd screamed—he's heard you scream from mice or bugs and never looked frightened."
"But you decided after that to shoot him." She looked up with those big, beautiful brown eyes and let him pull her close to keep shivers of cold away.
The words needed to be heard. "Because if he'd been with a band of deserters, he might've tried to take you." A lump rose in his throat. "Because he saw you as a disposable thing and would've shattered my world the first chance he got. Because my purpose in life is to keep you and the children from harm. Because this is our home where my wife and children will always be safe."
She reached up and touched his cheek. "You are where we are safe." Her face crumpled and she clutched his hand to her chest. "I'm scared because he got in here. Don't go on any calls tonight."
"I'll bring you and the children if I have to go. The doors and windows are locked. You're safe." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair.
"I want the children home."
She was scared and wanted to hole up everyone in the house. "The children will finish baking, and you and I will walk over to get them in a bit. We aren't going to hide from the world."
Tanya remained very clingy the rest of the day and even in bed that night. It wasn't until she finally was fast asleep that it dawned that she'd been all alone after the rape while her father had been in the hospital. The bastard had probably left her alone many nights while drinking at pubs. It wasn't just protection from assault today that she sought, but protection from old wounds and fears that had been ripped open.
He sent up a prayer for guidance on how to get her through this.
The children seemed to notice that she was withdrawn and nervous the next day. Luckily, there was only one old lady who stopped in to pick up more medicine.
"Let's go to the mercantile and see what they have for Christmas presents!" Mark announced in the library.
She looked up and frowned.
He held up the block of wood that he'd been trying to widdle into a horse for Charles's Christmas present.
She burst into laughter. "I think we've finally found something the Marquess isn't good at."
"Who's the Marquess?" Charles looked up from where he had tied Della's doll to his toy train.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Blowing Mark's cover wasn't a good idea. "What are you playing?"
Charles grinned. "Soldiers and Injuns! I got an Injun and will throw it off the bridge!"
"Where the hell did you learn that?!" Mark roared and shot up and ripped the doll off the train.
Charles startled and looked up with wide eyes. "Sc, school." He burst into tears.
"Mark, he doesn't know better." She dropped to the floor and hugged Charles.
"Don't you ever say 'Injun' or play any kind of game about killing them!" He threw the doll on the floor.
"No!" But before she could stop him, the China doll smashed.
He cursed, and Della burst into tears. "Dolly bye!" she wailed.
Mark walked over the broken porcelain and scooped up Della. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break her. We'll go buy a new Dolly." Then he walked over to Charles and traded children. "Charles, you aren't in trouble."
The boy sobbed against his shoulder.
He looked at her for a moment and then said, "Charles, I had friends who are Native American—what people sometimes call Injun as a mean word. Soldiers tried to kill my friends just for looking different. My friends are very kind and smart, but people thought looking different was bad. So they were mean to my friends a lot."
"B,but the b,boys at school said t,they're bad and stupid. We play cowboys and I,Injuns at recess."
"There are some good Native Americans and some bad, just like there are good and bad white people. Someday you'll meet my friends and understand."
"Will it be scary when I meet the Ativ Rican?"
Mark cracked a smile. "Native Americans. No, you and my friends love each other very much."
"Papa?" Charles sat back and Mark brushed away the tears. "Should my train throw the mean soldiers off the bridge?"
Mark laughed and hugged his son. "How about no one is thrown off, and the soldiers and Native Americans all play together."
Charles frowned. "That's no fun. Can they throw bad guys off the bridge?"
"Alright, they can throw bad guys off."
Brigands and Teresa came along to the mercantile, but Grandfather and Grandmama tried to avoid public places.
She carried Della to look for dolls while Brigands and Charles inspected toy soldiers and horses and Charles gave a lesson on being nice to 'Ativ Ricans.' Teresa grabbed a few items for Grandmama.
Mark walked over with a smile and held out a doll to Della. "The prettiest one I could find."
Her little face lit up and she hugged the doll. "Dolly fix."
"Alright, if you want to believe I resurrected her..." He kissed her hair and straightened. "Does Mama want anything?"
She cracked a smile. "A bigger pot."
"A bigger pot it is." He set a hand on her back and stood on his toes to see over the shelves. "Up near the door. You needed flour too, right?"
"Should you be carrying anything yet after surgery?"
He waved a hand. "I'm not an invalid. I'll grab the flour."
She walked to the front of the mercantile and happened to glance out the window. And panic hit. Three Confederate soldiers came toward the shop.
Running through the aisles, she grabbed Mark's arm just as he was about to pick up a sac of flour and whipped him around to look at her. "Confederates are coming in," she mouthed. "You need to get out."
His eyes narrowed and then scanned the shop. "They're not likely after me. Give me Della and go stand in the back corner and keep your face hidden." He pulled up her hood and yanked Della from her arms. As she hurried to the back, Mark ran down another aisle and shoved Della at Theresa. Then he signaled something to Brigands and ran to the front of the shop to pretend to look at horse tack. He and the merchant, who worshipped Mark after having his granddaughter saved from cholera, exchanged a glance. The merchant set his shot gun against the wall behind the counter. Had Mark told him about the break in?
Three soldiers entered with heavy footsteps.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" the merchant said.
"We're looking for a deserter who likely came through these parts. The sheriff said he ain't know nothing about it. We stopped at your Doc's place to see if the felon had been by there, but there was no answer."
"The lumberyard Doc—"
"No," the soldier cut in, "everyone says there's a real surgeon."
Before the merchant could answer, Mark's voice cut in. "I'll take this horse whip."
Horse whip? Mark didn't use those. Did he want some kind of a weapon in hand just in case?
"I'm one of the surgeons for the town. I overheard your conversation. If I saw any soldier, I would've reported it to the sheriff. Sounds like you already talked to him. My apologies I couldn't be of more aid. If a soldier comes to my clinic, I'll let the sheriff know."
Silence.
"Are you the Injun lover?"
The frown in Mark's voice was apparent. "I'm from Europe and came over with my family. I've heard the natives wear quite the unusual clothing, and I haven't seen any around these parts."
He was being quick on his feet so far.
"Rumors say a Doc around these parts married an Injun."
Mark smirked. "Ignorant Americans. She's Spanish and many Americans confuse it for Native American."
"Take us to her. An Injun wedding a white man is a criminal offense."
"Then I'm sure no one is stupid enough to break that law. She's here. I'll find her and bring her up, to satisfy your curiosity."
Oh god, what had he done? His footsteps approached.
"Drop your hair and keep it over one side of your face," he whispered. Then his hand reached around and wiped something cold and slimy down one side of her face. His hand came away red and he stuck a jar of jam and his handkerchief inside a pot as she let down her top knot. Then he took her hand and led her forward. Keeping her gaze down would help mask the shape of her eyes. Whatever he planned had better be damn good.
"As you can see, her hair color doesn't match the black that I've heard the natives have."
A soldier stepped forward and tried to sweep her hair aside from her face. And got jam on himself.
"Oh god, no! You touched where her skin is falling off!" Mark shouted.
She jumped just as hard as the men.
Mark snatched a new handkerchief off the counter and wiped the man's hand. "She has Skelnichevious leprosy!" He grabbed a large bottle of gin and dumped some on the man's hand and then shoved the bottle at him. "Drink it! Hurry! The alcohol will kill any of it that might've gotten in your blood! Make sure you ride in fresh air for twelve hours straight to keep it from settling in his body! Go! Go! No time to lose!"
The soldier chugged the bottle as his comrades raced him outside. They charged down the road on their horses like the devil was on their heels.
Mark chuckled and rested a hand on the counter. "Idiots."
She blinked.
The merchant blinked and then looked at Mark.
Stunned silence. Mark seemed completely relaxed.
"Mark, what's Skelnichevious leprosy? I've never heard of it."
He shrugged. "Don't know. I made it up." Then he turned to the merchant, who still gaped. "I believe I also owe you for a jar of jam, handkerchief, and gin, my good man."
Brigands laughed and came up with Teresa and the children. "That's jam? It looks awful."
"Yes, which is why I had to get it off his hand before he smelled it. He'll be dead drunk in about fifteen minutes, and those idiots will be riding for twelve hours—long enough to stay out of our hair."
She laughed. "Mark, you're a genius."
"We'll see what you're saying when we're trying to get your hair clean of jam."
Everyone set their items on the counter to buy when Charles said, "Papa? Is Mama the bad name that the man said?"
She looked at Mark and he looked at her, seeming as uncertain as her whether to answer truthfully. A child holding that kind of information would likely lead to unintenional problems.
The merchant leaned his elbows down on the counter. "Your mama is the bravest person I've ever met. Sometimes so brave that we need to protect her from people who don't want her to be brave."
"Is that why you got your gun, sir?"
The merchant nodded. "And your papa."
She blinked in surprise to see a small gun in a holster on Mark's hip under his cloak. Then Brigands smiled and pulled back his cloak to reveal a gun.
"When did you get that?!" Teresa screeched.
"When he got his when we moved to the Wild West." Brigands smiled.
"Can I have one too?" Charles turned his hip out, as if waiting.
"When you have gray hair. Grab your toy horse, and let's go," Mark said. Then he looked at the merchant and held out a hand. No thanks needed to be spoken between the two men.
That run-in seemed to help Tanya relax. Perhaps being reminded that brains could outwit braun sometimes gave her more security to not be as clingy the rest of the day. She even laughed a few times.
