Through the Darkness Read online

  But what if he was reading her wrong, hearing things in her voice because he felt them himself? Should he take the risk, or play it safe and focus on the matter at hand?

  Calling himself a coward, he planted his cane firmly on the wooden floor and began the slow process of turning in the direction he hoped his bed would be.

  Three small steps later, and the blasted bed still nowhere at hand, sweat beaded on his skin. He stopped for a breath and fought the desire to vomit. His thigh burned with intense pain like a hot poker had been shoved inside and swirled around the muscles.

  Get up and walk, Nurse Winters had said. Your body's ready, she'd said. That damn battle-ax of a woman was lucky she wasn't here now, or she'd be facing his wrath for having pushed him too soon.

  He couldn't take much more of this, or he'd break, and there would be no coming back from it, of that he was sure.

  "Just a few more steps and you'll be there," Pegleg murmured in encouragement, her left arm firmly around his waist offering support.

  Everett clenched his jaw tight, bit back a groan, and took another step. At least it should have been. Either his damn leg didn't get the message, or it chose that exact moment to rebel against him.

  The muscles spasmed, causing his entire leg to lock up, which then threw him off balance and gave gravity the upper hand once again.

  They both cursed and Pegleg tightened her hold on his waist, and for a brief moment, it looked like he might make it. But then he overcorrected in a vain effort to gain his balance, slipped out of her grasp, and fell.

  He twisted and braced for impact against the hardwood floor, not expecting to land half-on half-off his bed. The metal frame hit his thigh with a hard smack that tore a scream of torture from his throat.

  His stomach lurched, threatening to expel its contents. The pain grew worse, stealing his breath away and sending chills up and down his body. He buried his face in the mattress and clung to the sheets, unable to hold back the sobs.

  "Help," Pegleg cried out, "HELP, please somebody."

  "NO!" He wept, "No…" But before he could even attempt to muster the strength, a set of muscular arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him to his feet.

  "STOP," he cried, but whether out of pain or humiliation he couldn't be sure, "Stop, I can do it."

  "Captain," the man began.

  "Let me do it," Everett begged.

  Silence.

  The man adjusted his hold around Everett's torso, preparing to ignore him and lay him back in bed against his wishes.

  "John," Pegleg whimpered, "let him try."

  Everett gripped the man's left hand anchored under his arm and set his right foot flat on the floor. Biting back another scream of pain, he choked on a sob and grit out between clenched teeth, "Just show me where to go."

  "B-but, sir…you're blind."

  "I KNOW, DAMN IT." Hell's bell's, must they keep reminding him? He fought for control over the pain and groaned, "I meant it figuratively. Guide me where I need to go."

  A few short agonizing moments later, Everett laid down on the bed, wishing the pain would stop and everyone would leave him the hell alone.

  John settled a firm hand on Everett's shoulder, "You all right, Captain?"

  No, damn it, he wasn't. Mortified over the pathetic weakling he'd turned into, he rolled onto his left side and said nothing; his tears continued to fall.

  "Thank you, John," Pegleg murmured with a sniffle.

  "You're welcome, Miss Elyria…you let me know if you need anything else."

  John left, and Everett's sobs eventually subsided, even the stabbing pain in his thigh lessened to a dull throb; but the damage had been done. Not only was he blind, he now faced the harsh reality of never being able to walk again.

  What would his life be like, now that he faced it crippled? To be forever dependent on someone else? How was he going to live, faced being imprisoned by his flesh for the rest of his life?

  He couldn't do it, he thought in utter dejection. It would have been better to have died on the battlefield.

  "You don't mean that," Pegleg gasped, her tone harsh.

  "What don't I mean?"

  "That it would have been better for you to have died in battle."

  Oh. That. Apparently, he'd spoken those words aloud. "I do mean it. I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

  "Why?" Her voice trembled with a mixture of anger, shock, and another emotion he couldn't name.

  He clenched the bedsheets in his fist and clamped his mouth shut. How did Pegleg expect him to put everything he felt into words that would make sense? Especially to someone like her? It wasn't possible.

  "So, you're just going to give up?" She snapped, "After only one try?"

  Yes. Yes, he was, Everett thought with a mutinous nod.

  "I never realized that deep down, Captain Rattlesnake was a coward."

  His entire body went rigid at the word. "I'm no coward."

  A soft, humorless laugh escaped her. "You have a funny way of proving it."

  "My whole existence has been nothing but misery," he growled while telling himself he didn't owe Pegleg an explanation. "And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of seeing everyone else rewarded with happiness while I wade through endless nightmares."

  "You sound like a petulant child."

  He curled his hands into tight fists, "I'll be damned if I spend the rest of my life this way, dependent on other people. After all I've been through—I deserve better than this."

  "It doesn't work that way," she said tightly, "happiness is not a commodity bartered for with good deeds."

  "Well, it damn well should be."

  "Even if it was, who's to say you wouldn't still feel like you were slighted and others received more than you thought they deserved?"

  Everett grunted and clamped his mouth shut to keep from saying something he shouldn't.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hip resting gently against his back, she settled her hand on his arm. "Can you honestly not think of a time in your life when you've been happy?"

  The word ‘no' leaped to his tongue, but he bit it back when a cherished memory of his mother cuddling him on her lap came to the forefront of his mind. "What's your point?"

  "I don't know…I'm not sure I even have one," she said softly. "When I was younger, my father told me that the miserable dark moments in our life are just as meaningful and important—and sometimes more—as the happy, bright ones. He said both would leave a permanent mark upon us and shape us into who we are."

  She held quiet for a minute, giving him time to allow the words to sink in. A heavy sigh escaped her before she quietly continued, "I think what I'm trying to say is that I know how difficult this is for you…I know exactly what you're feeling—that the pain and heartache over what you've lost are not going to magically disappear, but it will eventually lessen if you allow it."

  "Right," He scoffed, rubbing his brow with his left hand to ease the ache that had set in. "How could you possibly know what I'm feeling?"

  "I do." She sounded on the verge of tears, "At the age of eleven, I had an accident."

  Despite his attempts to hold silent, Everett found himself asking, "What happened?"

  She shifted on the bed, her hip rubbing gently against his back with every movement she made. The silence stretched on, and he cursed himself for even asking the question in the first place. But then she cleared her throat and started talking.

  "There was a tree in our yard. It was huge and dead and scheduled to be cut down later that week, and my father told us not to play around it; we didn't listen. It was a glorious tree, so massive it begged to be explored. My brother dared me to see who could climb the highest. I won…but the limb I sat on tore free and I fell."

  He slowly rolled to face her. "Is that why you use a walking stick?"

  A mirthless laugh escaped her, "Yes." She paused, before continuing, "As an act of revenge—and perhaps a warped sense of justice—my brother took the limb that had caused the accident
and turned it into my walking stick. He named it Seymour."

  Everett fell silent, overcome by the emotions too raw to push aside just yet. "What do I do if this is as good as it ever gets for me?"

  "With your current attitude, it might be." She took his hand and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "But, have you ever stopped long enough to consider, this may be the beginning of something better than you ever dreamed?"

  Ten

  Elyria's heart raced, due in part to having told him of her accident—and the painful memories of her brother it had evoked—but also because she'd been incapable of knowing how to help him.

  Ever since the accident that had taken her sight, she'd fought to show she was just as capable as anyone else. And for the most part, she succeeded, thanks in large part to her family's encouragement. She could navigate around town, cook, dress herself, style her own hair, and even sew to a certain extent—all with little to no assistance in most cases.

  But she'd been useless today and could have made the situation worse. What if he'd seriously hurt himself in his fall?

  The thought made her ill. Why had she thought that volunteering in a hospital of all places would be a good decision?

  Oblivious to her distress, the Captain rolled flat on his back with a groan. "Do you believe your life is better now than before your accident?"

  She gave herself a mental shake and swallowed the emotion tightening her throat before answering, "In some ways."

  "If you were in my position…what would you do?"

  It was too much. Her raw and ragged emotions were too close to the surface. She needed to leave before they got the better of her, she thought in a panic. Grabbing her walking stick, she stood. "I would do what I did back then. Rest." Her bottom lip wobbled, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "And try again."

  "You're leaving?"

  "I'll return shortly," she said, knowing she'd failed to keep her distress from her voice and yet not caring.

  If running from his room without becoming disoriented could have been possible, she would have done so. But frankly, she didn't want to escape only to end up colliding into a wall.

  "Elyria," Daphne called out from behind, "Is everything all right?"

  Elyria shook her head, desperate to get outside where the walls weren't caving in, starving her of air. She walked as fast as she dared, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down her face. Only ten more steps and she'd make it to the East door.

  Five. Four. Three. Two.

  She flung the door open and stumbled down the three steps leading to the lawn, then turned toward the garden path, but she didn't make it far before her legs buckled and she fell to her knees.

  Choking on a sob, she covered her face in her hands.

  "Oh, Elyria," Daphne murmured a minute later, kneeling beside her and wrapping her arms around her.

  "What am I doing here," Elyria sobbed.

  "Horrible Nurse Winters didn't say something to you again, did she? I swear that woman feeds on the tears of small children."

  "No," she wept against Daphne's shoulder, "that isn't why I'm crying."

  A brief pause, then Daphne asked gently, "Stephen?"

  "Partly," Elyria sobbed.

  Daphne held her while she cried tears for the Captain, the panic and uselessness she'd felt moments ago, but most of all for everything she had lost and would never get back.

  It didn't go unnoticed that in her current situation and frame of mind, she and the Captain had a lot more in common than she first acknowledged.

  When the storm of emotion had spent itself, Elyria sniffled and pulled away. "I'm sorry if I've made a mess of your uniform."

  "Don't you worry." Daphne wiped Elyria's tears away with a soft handkerchief, "Tears are a reprieve compared to the other bodily fluids it has encountered." She smoothed wisps of hair out of Elyria's face and lifted up her chin with a finger, "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Elyria closed her eyes and shook her head. If she began talking and dissecting it, she'd only start crying again. "No, I'll be fine."

  "Should you change your mind," Daphne murmured gently, "I'll be here. Not in this exact spot, mind you, but you know what I mean."

  "Thank you."

  "May I ask just one question? And then I promise to let the matter rest."

  Elyria gave a teary smile and allowed Daphne to help her stand. "Just one?"

  Daphne laughed, patting her hand as she muttered, "You know me too well." They'd taken a few steps back toward the hospital before she pulled Elyria to a stop, "Has the Captain said something to upset you?"

  Yes, she wanted to say, but it wouldn't have been fair to him.

  How could he have been aware of the impact his question would have on her? If she hadn't been here, taken a little more time to grieve the loss of Stephen, she might have been able to handle the situation better.

  "Not in the way you're thinking," Elyria whispered brokenly.

  "So I don't need to go up there and put Captain Rattlesnake in his place? Because I will."

  Elyria wrapped her arm around Daphne's waist and rested her head on her shoulder, "No…the Captain isn't at fault here."

  Daphne let out a good-natured humph and hugged Elyria to her before pulling away, "Well, I expect you to inform me the moment he is."

  Elyria smiled and followed Daphne back inside, "I will."

  They stopped once more. Daphne took Elyria's hands in hers and whispered, "Your Captain is quite handsome under those bandages…even with the scars."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  Leaning in close, Daphne wiped a tear from Elyria's cheek and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Because if it were me, I'd want to know if the snake I was falling for is a handsome one or not."

  "Who said I'm falling for him?" Elyria gasped.

  "No one, honey…" Daphne pressed a kiss to her cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind Elyria's ear. "It's written plain as day all over your face every time you’re with him."

  Elyria moaned, mortified. "Does he know?"

  "Only if he's been faking being blind this whole time."

  Eleven

  Everett pulled himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His stomach was full of knots at the thought he'd said something to upset Pegleg. It wasn't like her to leave that way, sounding like she might burst into tears at any moment.

  Pressing his feet against the hardwood floor, he grabbed up his cane with newfound determination, took a deep breath, and slowly stood.

  His cut off union suit bottoms hung low on his hips, a silent testament to how much weight he'd lost. Pulling them up, he tightened the makeshift drawstring. It would not do to have the entire hospital see his wobbly bits in the event this all went pear-shaped again.

  While keeping the majority of his weight off his right leg, he took his time figuring out how to position his cane for support before attempting his first step.

  He held his right arm aloft for balance and to help him feel for any obstacles in his way, and took another step, then another, until he'd made it to the opposite side of his small room and touched the plaster wall.

  "Look at you," Pegleg whispered from the doorway, "I believe you just proved yourself wrong."

  Everett carefully turned to face her, fighting the urge to apologize for whatever he might have said or done earlier that had upset her.

  She entered the room, her tap tap tap marking her progress toward him until she stood before him smelling of fresh air and sunshine. "Now what do you plan on doing?" She asked.

  He reached out, bumped her arm, and followed it down until he found her hand. "Care to go for a real short walk with me?"

  "Lead the way," she said, looping his right arm around her shoulders.

  Goosebumps erupted, and delicious shivers raced up and down his spine at the contact. Knowing he shouldn't, but tired of fighting against the need to touch and be near her, he leaned on her for support. "I must warn you there's an excellent c
hance I may lead us into a wall."

  She laughed and squeezed his hand, "Never fear, Captain, I enjoy living dangerously."

  A delighted chuckle escaped him, and when she settled her other hand around his waist, his heart thumped a mad dance at her nearness.

  His wounds had healed, and the bandages covering his chest had lessened, leaving the majority of his torso exposed to her pleasing touch.

  She was stronger than she seemed, that much became apparent by the muscles of her arm flexing against his back to help him keep his balance.

  When they were only two steps away from his bed, his leg faltered. Without hesitation, Pegleg dropped her walking stick and wrapped her arms around him, bracing him up while he tried to catch his balance.

  Everett held her tight to his chest, as much to help him thwart gravity as for the simple pleasure to finally have her fully in his arms.

  "Oh, heavens," Elyria gasped, her lips smooshed against his chest, "for a minute there, I thought we were goners." She adjusted her hold on him and gripped his waistband, then pulled away slightly. Her forehead brushed his chin when she asked, "Are you all right?"

  Slowly, he nodded. He couldn't care less about the aching discomfort he suffered at the moment. All that mattered right then was Pegleg—and the overwhelming need to know what she looked like.

  Every night his dreams were of her, the only woman able to soothe the pain clear down to his soul. It didn't matter if she was a beauty, he just wanted to be able to put a face to his dreams.

  "Pegleg?" He said, his voice sounding deep and husky to his own ears.

  "Yes?" She replied breathlessly.

  "What do you look like?"

  Her hands trembled where they rested at his waist, "I can show you if you let me?"

  He nodded and propped his cane against his thigh, careful not to make any sudden movements that would throw off his newly found balance.

  Without saying a word, she took his left hand in hers and placed it on the side of her face. A soft sigh escaped her at the first faint touch of his fingers against her skin.