She'd told herself she'd go back to the winter before if she could, but part of her knew that was a lie. Knew that having Curly and Aunt Eller back should have been the most important thing, but most days it seemed her life had gotten easier. Easier without the constant worry that they would have to sell the farm on account of what a rotten farmer Curly was. Easier since Aunt Eller finally passed away and Laurey no longer had to wake every morning with the fear that she might have died during the night.
Laurey smiled to herself as she saw Jud walk up to the farmhouse. She knew he could take care of himself, knew how competent he was, but there was something comforting in having everyone together on such a cold night. Even if 'everyone' consisted of herself and her hired hand. It was funny remembering how much he'd scared her at first, back when she mistook his shyness for dislike. Back when she thought his sullenness was reserved only for her, and wasn't because life had treated him so miserably up until that point. She'd thought before about how lucky she was to have him around, but maybe it was helpful for him to be around her, too. Maybe she gave him something no one else ever had.
"Hi, Jud!" she greeted him as he walked through the door.
"Miss Laurey." he nodded and sat at the table.
"It's just awful outside, so I thought I'd make you more of that stew you liked so much last week. Be nice and warm" She put the plate in front of him and sat at the chair next to him.
He grunted in acknowledgment.
She smiled up at him, then let her gaze linger. Maybe it was just discomfort from the cold, but he looked more haggard than usual, even more sullen.
"You look a little peaked, you feel all right?"
"'M fine."
She sighed and, on an impulse, pressed her hand against his forehead. "Jud, you got a fever, you oughta rest."
"No, 'm fine. I can work."
"Wha–no, you can't–" she furrowed her brow–did he honestly think she was going to fire him because he was sick? Although based on the way he talked about his former employers, she wouldn't be surprised if he genuinely thought that was a possibility.
"Jud, I'm your boss, and I demand that you get some rest, okay?"
He smiled, which only betrayed the exhaustion in his eyes. "Okay."
"D'you want to stay in the house? I'm gonna be takin' care of you, so it'd save me havin' to go to the smokehouse in the snow."
"That'd…be all right?"
"Sure, you can have Aunt Eller's old room. I'll just put fresh sheets on the bed."
"Right, um" he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry, there's just–there's a cat I keep in the smokehouse with me, and I didn't want to put him in the barn with the other animals 'cause I thought he might get spooked, but…"
"I'll get him for you." She smiled and put on her coat. "Least I can do."
"Thank you, Laurey, I–maybe I'd better go. I got them pictures up that ain't real fit for ladies to see."
She remembered how shocked she'd been when he first told her about those pictures, thought they were more evidence as to how predatory he was. "I don't think a few French postcards will corrupt me too much."
She pushed open the door to the smokehouse and was immediately greeted with a sharp "Weh" from the gray and white cat on the bed. He didn't seem too disturbed by her presence, however, and put his head back down.
If Jud hadn't warned her about the pictures on the walls, she probably would have scooped up the cat and left, but instead, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness and stared at what he had. They were silly, really; women either naked or wearing the kind of corsets made for pinching in the waist instead of simply holding everything together. Black stockings seemed to feature heavily, too. Pouting, painted mouths or too-wide smiles on their faces as they struck poses that looked more uncomfortable than conducive to any kind of lovemaking. She wondered what looking at pictures like that would do to a man, if every time Jud looked at her, he was mentally dressing her in something black and lacy, if he envisioned her on her back with her legs in the air, or bending forward showing off her breasts. Just because she liked him better didn't mean she understood him any, or necessarily wanted to understand him.
Shaking her head, she picked up the disgruntled yet compliant cat, and went back to the house.
"You were gone a while," Jud pointed out as he walked through the door.
She nodded towards the cat. "Took him a little while to warm up to me. What's his name?"
"Just a cat, don't got a name," he replied, too quickly.
"Yes, he does. C'mon, you can tell me."
He shrugged. "Thomas"
"Oh, that's sweet!" She was surprised somehow that he'd given it a human name, not something like Socks or Stormy. Unbidden, she found herself wondering if that meant he wanted a baby someday, if he thought of Thomas as his baby. If he was looking for a girl who wore red lipstick and black stockings in order to settle down with her, and then—but why would she spend time thinking about her hired hand that way? "Hi, Thomas!" She put the cat down and started upstairs. "I'll get your bed ready."
She came into his room the next morning, her worry barely a ripple on her consciousness. He seemed fine the night before, just a little sick and in need of some care to get him back on his feet. But when she walked into his room, she nearly dropped the tray she had prepared for him. His face was ashen and covered in sweat, despite the chilly day. His breathing was ragged and when he opened his eyes to see her, he immediately closed them again, as though the effort to keep them open was too great.
"I-I brought you some soup." She put the tray at the bedside table and felt his forehead. It was burning, like she knew it would be, like it was with Aunt Eller before she…but Jud was young and healthy, surely he could be all right. He had to be all right.
He shook his head, barely able to move, too tired to talk.
Laurey stared at him, helpless and terrified. It wasn't fair; she couldn't lose another person she cared about, see someone she loved die right in front of her while she just stood there. Unaware of what she was doing, she crumpled to the floor, her forehead on his bed, and wept her tears soaking his bedsheets. That wasn't the way her life was supposed to go, it wasn't the way anyone's life was supposed to go. If she lost Jud, she'd be all alone again, waking up in her lonely room in her lonely house, and even if she found another hired hand, he wouldn't be Jud, and she wanted Jud to stay and look after her, and…
She felt a hand, large and heavy, on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw him staring at her, rightfully shocked by her outburst.
"Can eat. 'f it's that important to you."
She wiped her eyes and sat upright, trying to salvage any remaining dignity, as he continued to stare at her like she'd sprouted wings.
"Right, um, lemme feed you." She sat on the bed and spooned the soup in his mouth, blowing on it when it was too hot, wiping his chin when she spilled a little.
He ate almost the whole thing, and she put the bowl back on the table. "Feelin' better?" She reached out and touched his cheek, not to check his temperature, but because she wanted to.
He nodded. "No one ever…took care…of me before," he panted, struggling with the effort of every word.
"Well, I—I care about you. And I want you to get better."
He smiled and leaned his head back.
"Anythin' else I can get for you? Hey, I got an idea, you hold on a minute"
She left the room and returned quickly, carrying Ethan Frome under her arm. "I've already read it, and it was awful good. Maybe I can read it aloud to you till you go back to sleep?"
He nodded, rolling onto his side so he was facing her.
"'I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story. If you know Starkfield, Massachusetts, you know the post-office. If you know the post-office you must have seen Ethan Frome drive up to it, drop the reins on his hollow-backed bay and drag himself across the brick pavement to the white colonnade: and you must have asked who he was'"
She read until she saw Jud's features soften with sleep, heard his breathing grow steady.
"Get well," she whispered. "You gotta get well."
