Thais was exactly the opposite.
With Thais, I had to be careful. I couldn’t kiss her lips, or feel her beneath my hands; I couldn’t lay her down and ravage her the way I needed. Even right now, as she cleaned the tiny specks of dirt and debris from the top of my fingers, I needed a release. Emotional. Physical. Spiritual. Sexual. But Thais was not Evelyn, and to violate her in that way, I knew I’d never forgive myself.
“How are your ribs feeling?” she asked.
She set the empty bottle down and peered in closer at my knuckles for one last look.
“They’re getting better,” I said, though I didn’t know if they were or not—they weren’t getting worse, and that was a good sign, I thought.
“I take it you were the doctor in the family?” I said in jest.
She looked up from my knuckles, and she smiled. It alone, in that one fraction of a moment, did something to me—it softened my heart for her, made me feel even more protective of her than I already did. Such innocence. Dear God, why did You leave someone like her in my charge? I didn’t much believe in God—I used to—but that never stopped me from talking to Him every now and then. Just in case.
Thais released my hand.
“I guess I was the doctor,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t know much except what I learned reading in books, and from the things my father taught me, but I did what I could.”
She moved around to sit on the quilt. I sat still, watching her, listening with great interest.
“I learned about herbs and medicinal plants mostly, but I know how to do a lot of other things—I even helped build one of the houses in our town.”
I raised both brows.
“Oh, so you’re a carpenter and a doctor?” I smiled.
Thais blushed and shrugged.
“And a farmer and a fisherwoman and even a teacher.” She seemed very proud of what she could do, a little excited even, to be sharing it with me.
I laughed lightly under my breath.
“What’s so funny?” She tilted her head to one side, curiosity creating lines in her forehead.
“Fisherwoman,” I echoed. “Just never heard that before.”
She crossed her arms.
“Women are just as good at the things men can do,” she said with offense.
I waved a hand in front of me, shaking my head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” I said, apologetically. “The word—fisherwoman—I’ve just never heard it before. It caught me off guard, is all.” I went to lay back down on my spot beside her, wincing with my movements, until settling on my back again. “Fuck, I say the dumbest things sometimes—and I curse a lot. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She laid down, reached out and tugged on her dress, tucking it between her legs. “My sister used to say: Fuck all those heathens!” She laughed, and then looked over at me. “I’m not a child, Atticus; no need to mind your tongue around me.”
I laughed a little, too.
“Well, in any case,” I said, “I believe you were a great fisherwoman.”
Her face flushed with heat.
“I was,” she admitted, and a smile glowed in her eyes. “In fact, I still am.”
I admired her face longer than I’d intended.
“Good,” I said with a nod, and looked away. “You’ll have to show just how great soon—there’s nothing left in our bags to eat.”
The reality of that fact stole the good mood from our faces. I gazed up at the drafty ceiling again, and was quiet for a long time, thinking about food.
“I’ll catch us some fish,” Thais said after a moment.
“And I’ll hunt some meat,” I added.
The clouds drifted past the moon, dimming what little light the barn borrowed from it. It was so quiet—too quiet. I was used to the bustling life of Lexington City, the chaos and the greed and the occasional sound of gunfire. But I could get used to this, I thought. I could get used to this…
The soft sound of Thais’ breath as she slept next to me was calming in my ears. She lay on her side with her back to me, her arms pressed against her chest, caged by her drawn knees. Her dress had come loose, just shy of revealing her panties; I took my jacket and draped it over her.
After an hour of fighting against it, I lost my battle with sleep and fell into darkness unaccompanied by dreams.
25
ATTICUS
“Hello?” a voice called out.
Barely conscious of it, I stirred in my sleep.
“Hey you,” came the voice again. “Ahem.”
Realization flooded me like water rushing through a dam, and I shot bolt upright into the realm of awareness; the gun I had been sleeping on was in my hand as if by magic.
“Get back!” I roared, pointing the gun at the man and woman who stood over Thais and me.
THAIS & (ATTICUS)
I woke with a start; my eyes sprang open to sporadic beams of sunshine. I scrambled upright next to Atticus and he pulled me close. The man and woman took a few steps back, their hands raised out in front of them in surrender. The strange smiles on their faces set my nerves on edge.
“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” the woman said; long, disheveled gray-blonde hair lay over her shoulders. “Not ‘less ya try to hurt us.”
“You’re on our land,” the man chimed in, hands raised. “And this ‘ere is our barn.” He wore a blue plaid button-up shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His hair was pushed back over a receding hairline in an oily series of waves.
Atticus made a movement with the gun toward the couple; they walked backwards a few more unsteady steps.
“L-Look, we’ ain’t ‘ere to do ya’s no harm,” the woman insisted. “If ya wanna leave, ya can go, but we thought ya might wanna stay for a while.” She pointed toward the wide-open barn door; sunlight spilled into the area. “We got breakfast cookin’ on the stove—”
“What do you mean, breakfast?” Atticus cut in, suspiciously; he took two bold steps forward. “What exactly are you cooking?”
The man and woman looked at each other.
“Chicken and gravy mostly,” the woman said with an air of confusion. “What do ya’ mean?”
I stood behind Atticus, my fingers clasped nervously around the fabric of his shirt.
“We live on a farm,” the man said, and pointed toward the door. “We raise chickens and even have a milk cow. My sister ‘ere”—he glanced at the woman—“has a garden back of the house; she grows all sorts of vegetables. And we got a small pond, jus’ up that way”—he pointed to his left—“on our land ‘ere, where we catch fish and sometimes get a duck or two. But I think the ducks are gettin’ smart—they don’ come ‘round so much no more.”
“Who are you?” Atticus demanded. (I really didn’t care about their farm or their land or their ducks; I wanted to know why I shouldn’t kill them.)
I stepped from behind Atticus and came around to his side. He pushed me back with his arm.
“I’m David Doakes,” the man introduced. “And this ‘ere is Emily Bass. Like I said, she’s my sister. Was married to James Bass for a while, ‘til The Fever took ‘im—best thing that ever happened to my sister, if ya wanna know how I feel ‘bout it.”