Ruth's Magpie

Chapter 35: Sickness and Secrets

RUTH:

The day after the wedding, a soft knock at my door woke me from an exhausted sleep. I opened my mouth to say "Come in," but the words were stuck in my throat, which burned as if I had swallowed a match. When no reply came, Peter opened the door slowly. I squinted; the afternoon sun was too bright.

"Ruth? Are you alright?"

I shook my head. I swallowed and croaked, "I don't feel good."

"Oh." He rushed to my bedside and placed a hand on my forehead. "I'm sorry to wake you, I was just worried. And rightly so, you're burning up."

"I don't feel good," I said again, my throat aching.

"Don't talk, love, it's alright. I'll be right back."

"No vial," I called after him as he disappeared. He reappeared in the doorway.

"Ruth..."

"No vial."

He shook his head sadly and disappeared. I closed my eyes again, curling up into a ball and pulling my covers tighter around my body. By the time Peter returned, I was shaking with cold.

"Oh, Ruthie," he sighed, setting a glass down on the table next to me. "Cold?"

The only response I could give was a soft "Yes" around chattering teeth.

He sighed again. "That's not good. Let me go get Susan to draw a bath. That would help, don't you think?"

I pulled my pillow over my head and pulled the sheets even tighter.

"Another blanket it is, then." A few moments later, I felt Peter tuck another blanket around me. "Do you want to sleep more?"

I nodded, hoping the pillow moved too.

"Alright," he responded. "I'll come back every few minutes to check on you. And when you wake up, this is just water, okay?"

"Thank you," I managed.

"Of course." Peter lifted the pillow to kiss my forehead. "I love you, Ruthie."

"I love you too."

I dropped into sleep, full of fitful and confusing dreams. When I woke again, the sun had set, and in place of my sore throat was a plugged nose and a dull, throbbing headache. Once my bleary eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the figure of Peter curled up on a chair in the corner, a blue blanket draped over his broad shoulders and tucked under his chin. I couldn't help but smile despite the shooting pain the smile sent through my face; he was adorable. I tried to sniffle quietly, but he jerked awake anyway.

"Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright." He tossed the blanket aside and knelt beside me, a small smile turning his lips upward as his eyes met mine. "How are you feeling?"

I shook my head in response. He placed his hand on my forehead, and his smile faded.

"Do you want some fresh air?" he asked. "It's rather warm in here."

I nodded. I moved my sheets aside and stood on shaky legs. Peter wrapped one arm around my waist, and snuggled me in his cloak. We made our way to the porch, and I sank slowly to my knees, dizzy and out of breath. Peter sat next to me, pulling me closer and tightening his cloak around my trembling body. The summer night was still and cool, and the full moon illuminated the water with its milky glow.

And Peter and I just sat there. In the silence, under the clear sky, content with each other and the world around us. I rested my head on his shoulder, wishing I could smell the pine and salt water that inevitably clung to his clothes and his hair. I'm not sure if it was sickness or passion or both, but my heart raced in my chest, and I snuggled closer to Peter. He absently stroked my tangled hair, breathing the night air deeply and occasionally kissing the top of my head.