THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART NINETY-TWO:

"I'm ready now," Eden said brightly, turning in her swivel chair to face Marshall.

"I'm not," he sighed.

"What happened?"

"You killed him."

"Did not!"

"I thought you intended to wait for battle to smite the poor fellow."

"I did. But opportunity presented itself."

"Bloodthirsty woman."

She grinned. "Are you saying you're not aching any more then?"

"My head aches in sympathy with Morgan."

"Oh, well, then. We can write some more."

"It's a plot. It's all a dastardly plot."

Harmer had noticed Parker heading toward the patio door and followed. He'd seen Morgan and Susannah's earlier movement through it and was concerned as to what  young Harrelson might

do. He stepped out on the patio just in time to hear Morgan say he loved Susannah then the

black whip uncoiled in Parker's hands and Morgan went flying backwards.

"PARKER!" he bellowed, running out and past him.

His shout attracted the attention of those inside near the doorway and soon more than a dozen people had streamed out onto the patio. Susannah stood where she was, utterly confused.

"Papa?" she said, with no idea what had happened or where Morgan was. She'd heard the crack

of a whip. She'd ridden in enough carriages to know the sound well. That had been followed by

a loud thud whose source she couldn't determine.

Harmer had knelt beside Morgan, who lay sprawled on his back, a bright red line around his

neck oozing blood down onto his white lace. "Someone get Graves out here," he said, not looking up. Graves was Williamsburg's leading doctor and Harmer had seen him inside not long ago. A young man turned and sprinted back inside the house.

"Morgan?" Harmer said, touching his cheek but getting no response.

Susannah stepped forward, her hands wide, searching, finding her father's bent back. "Papa? What's happened? Where's Morgan?"

"He's right here, Susannah," Harmer replied, guiding her hands down to Morgan's chest.

Her breath hissed sharply in. "He's hurt? Why? How is he hurt?"

"You want to tell her, Parker?" Harmer growled.

Parker stood quietly, still gripping the whip. "He had no right."

"No right to what, Parker...dance with my daughter?"

"I was going to ask her tonight."

"Ask me what?" Susannah almost shouted, her hands moving over Morgan's chest.

"To be my wife, that's what. He had no right."

"Your wife? I would never be your wife, Parker! Never!"

Her searching fingers found Morgan's face. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. "What

happened to him, Papa? Did I hear a whip?"

"His neck," Harmer said grimly. "Parker yanked him backwards. I fear he's hit his head."

Dr. Graves pushed his way through the gathered crowd, kneeling across Morgan from Susannah. He slipped a hand beneath Morgan's head and came away with blood on his fingers. "Man's

likely cracked his skull," he said, looking at Harmer then to Susannah, who seemed to be
getting more and more distraught by the moment.

The crowd didn't exist for her, Parker no longer existed, her father and Dr. Graves barely did.

"Oh, Morgan," she moaned, needing to keep her fingers in contact with his face.

"Best get him inside," Graves said. "Let me see him better in the light."

Several men lifted Morgan, carrying him in and laying him on a sofa in the parlor off the

ballroom. Parker had come along. "Put a towel down!" he snapped. "He'll get blood on the upholstery."

Percival looked at his son. "Give me that!" he said sharply, snatching the whip out of Parker's hand. "What were you thinking? A guest at our own party?"

"He had no right," Parker repeated dully, frowning as Susannah crouched beside the sofa, murmuring softly to Morgan.

A servant brought Dr. Graves a wet towel and a large piece of white linen. Graves turned

Morgan's head, using the towel to clean away the clotted blood from his hair. "Doesn't look

like he needs stitching," he pronounced, "wound's not all that big. More'n likely he's pretty

well concussed, though." He tore a long strip from the linen and wrapped it around Morgan's head. "Not much I can do for him, I'm afraid. Just need to see when he wakes up, if he wakes

up. Might be best just to put him to bed here. See what happens."

Susannah felt like she might faint and was vaguely aware her father had his hand gripped

around her upper arm. "Not here!" she hissed through her teeth. "I won't have him left here

at Parker's." She turned her face toward her father's. "I won't!"

"You want us to...,"  Harmer began.

"I do," she nodded vigorously.

"Our carriage is too small, Susannah."

"I came in my larger one, Harmer," George Wythe spoke up. "Take it and I'll ride back to town

in yours."

Susannah stood up. "Parker?"

"Here, Susannah."

"I shall never speak to you again, Parker Harrelson, not for as long as I live."

"Susannah...."

"Never!" she repeated, her voice rising sharply. "Now get out of our way before I take that whip

to you myself!"

Several minutes later they had Morgan lying slightly awkwardly across one seat inside Wythe's larger carriage, angled a bit as he was too tall and his legs curved to one side toward the floor. Harmer had put a pillow under his head and was seated facing Morgan. He'd tried to get
Susannah to sit beside him, but she'd settled herself on the carriage floor so she could be close beside Morgan, who had not yet stirred. Her pink silk skirts billowed up around her and she punched them down, shifting, trying to get them under control. Someone had handed Harmer

a small lantern with a fat candle in it and the light from that flickered and danced around the carriage's interior. Harmer looked at Morgan's face, his concern mounting the longer it took

for the young man to come to himself.

"Will he be all right, Papa?" Susanna had a hand resting on Morgan's chest so she could feel

the rise and fall of his breathing.

"Of course he will, my darling. Of course he will."

"I'll stop by in the morning, Harmer," Dr. Graves said through the window, "see how he's

coming along."

The ball had been rather effectively terminated and small clumps of people began to get in their carriages or riders mount their horses. A few hung around outside, talking in low voices.

Susannah jostled against her father's legs as the carriage began to move. "I was so happy,"

she whispered, "so happy tonight."

"You danced, my darling?"

She nodded, not answering, exploring Morgan's face with her left hand as she tried to steady him with her right. "I didn't know it was possible...."

"What, Susannah?"

Tears trickled down her cheeks. "To love so deeply so quickly. I didn't know that was possible."

He loves you, then?"

"I don't know how or why, but, yes, he does, Papa."

"He'll be all right. You'll see. He'll be all right."  He had to be.  This all had come about much more rapidly than Harmer had ever had any idea it might and now it was evident how much his child had invested herself in this young man.  He stared at Morgan. 'Come on!' he willed
silently. 'Wake up!'

But they did the six-mile trip back to Williamsburg without him stirring. Wythe had followed closely behind in Harmer's small carriage and when the two pulled up in front of the Wellington house, Joel ran inside to get Micah, then the two of them, along with Wythe's driver,

got Morgan into the house and up the stairs.

Myra came into the room, clucking when she saw Morgan, not quite sure why the man whose 

coat she'd cleaned had been brought into this house, but as soon as she caught sight of Susannah's face, she began to understand. "All you jes' git yo'selfs out'n here," she said, shooing the men

out of the room. "Layla," she called, "bring me dat ol' nightshirt Marse Wellington done lef' on

de nightstan'." She turned to Susannah. "You, too, honeychil'. Not fittin' for yo'self be in dis

room wid me gittin' some man out'n his clothes."

"Do you think I can see anything, Myra?" Susannah said firmly, settling in a chair not far from the bed. "I'm not leaving him."

"Ain' fittin', Miss Susannah. You done knowed dat. Ain' fittin'!"

"I don't care about 'fittin'' right now, Myra.  I don't give a blasted fig about that! You just do

what you have to do and I'll be right here in this chair."  She folded her arms across her chest defiantly, blinking hard in an attempt to keep her tears back.

Layla came in with the nightshirt, a basin of water and several cloths.  Myra muttered under

her breath, but began unbuttoning his vest, glancing every few seconds over her shoulder at Susannah with a frown. "Ain' nebber heard tell o' no lady in no room while

no man bein' all undress. Ain' nebber, nebber, nebber."

"Look at his neck, Mama," Layla said softly, pushing down the lace at the top of his shirt.

"Lawsey!" Myra exclaimed. "How dat done happen to him?"

"Parker's whip," Susannah said through her teeth.

"Parker? He done gone and done dis to dis young fellah?"

She nodded, half-rising from her chair. "How bad is it?"

"Cut purty deep, Susannah," Layla said. "Mos' like leave a scar, I 'spec."

"Here, girl. Lif' him so's I kin git dat coat off'n him." 

When they had his coat, vest, and shirt off, Myra tipped his chin up and gently wiped his neck

with the water, applied some of her own homemade ointment, and wrapped a thin strip of clean linen around his throat a couple of times. She absolutely would not take off his breeches, though, until she and Layla had Harmer's night shirt on him and pulled down as far as it would go. It

was, of course, much too short as Morgan was quite a bit taller, but it covered what it needed to.  Still scandalized by Susannah's presence in the room during such an activity, she placed her

bulk between her young mistress and the man lying on the bed before she began to slide his breeches off.  Layla had taken the white shirt out to the kitchen to soak in cool water to see if

the blood would wash out.  "Man's always gittin' somethin' on his clothes," she murmured to herself as she pressed it down so the water completely covered it.

When she got back upstairs, Morgan was safely tucked under a sheet and a light blanket, his

arms resting atop them at his sides. Susannah's chair was closer to the bed now and she was reaching to find his hand.  "Miss Susannah," Layla said softly, "don' you wan' git yo'self

out'n them fancy clothes? Be mo' comf'table, I think."

"I'm all right, Layla." She didn't want to leave him long enough to do something like that.

"I kin bring yo' shif' in here fo' you."

"Miss Susannah ain' gwine undress wid dat man in de room!"  Myra exclaimed, horrified at the mere thought.

"He's unconscious, Mama," Layla pointed out and she left to get the shift.

It took some coaxing, but Layla got Susannah to let her unlace her. The ice-pink silk slid to the floor in a puddle, several large smears of dirt marring its formerly pristine beauty. Myra picked

it up, looking at it and emitting a heavy sigh. Even Susannah had to admit movement was much easier when the hoop had dropped around her feet. The layers of petticoats came off, the whalebone corset, and with each layer Myra looked suspiciously at Morgan as though she were ready to clout him with a vase if he dared wake up during the process. He remained
satisfactorily inert, though, and she made a little sound of relief when Susannah was clothed in

her long night shift. Still, it wasn't right for her to be thusly attired and in a room with a man. Myra's sensibilities were entirely shaken.

Free from her encumberments, Susannah sat again, leaning toward the bed, finding Morgan's

left hand and holding it between both of her own.  Myra gathered up the discarded clothing, carryng it out of the room, mumbling, "He sho' nuff gwine hafta marry dat girl now." Just

outside the door, she stopped and looked back inside. "He sho' nuff gwine ta."

"What, Myra?" Harmer had just arrived back at the upper hallway.

"Dat man, Marse Wellington. Ain' fittin' she in her shif' and in dere wid him. He gwine hafta marry up wid her affer dis."

Harmer smiled. "I think she just might be in favor of that, Myra." 

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, continuing along the hallway, her arms full of

bundled clothing. "Ain' fittin'. Jus' ain' fittin'," she kept repeating.

"How is he?" he asked, stepping into the room.

"Oh, Papa, he won't wake up," Susannah sighed. "I don't know how to help him."

"There's not much can be done except wait," he said, coming around behind her chair and

putting his hands on her shoulders. How strange, he thought, looking past his daughter's head

to where Morgan's hand lay limply between hers.  It had only been days since he'd first laid
eyes on the man and now here he was, dressed in his own nightshirt, his own daughter

desperately clinging to his hand.  He looked very young lying there, very vulnerable with the bandages around his head and neck. 'Please, Morgan,' he whispered under his breath, 'be all
right.'

Both Layla and Myra were gone and Harmer crouched beside his daughter's chair. "I suppose

it would be useless to ask you to get some rest?"

"Ummm," she said absently.

Sighing, he stood. "I'll come back in a little while. Do you want me to ask Layla to wait with

you?"

She shook her head 'no'. 

He watched her a while from the doorway, then closed it with a sigh. 

Alone with Morgan, she moved to sit on the edge of his bed, her fingers tracing the edges of both his bandages. His last words to her had been 'I love you.'  They couldn't be his very last words.

"I love you, too, Morgan Kent," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me? I love you, too!"

She leaned close, touching his lips with hers. His were warm, soft, but slack and unresponsive

and she yearned for their returning pressure. Still she kept hers there against his a while, her

tears falling on his face. Please, God, would her tears bring him back to her? But they didn't
and, suddenly terribly tired, she lay down atop the covers, her neck over his arm, which she

pulled up and around herself, holding it there.

Harmer checked in on them an hour later and just stood a while, quietly watching the two

young people on the bed. He shouldn't permit her to lie beside him like that. It was unthinkably improper, but, then, Susannah's life was different from most and he himself had played a role
in getting her to this point. He wasn't sorry about that. If life had taken its ordinary path, she would have probably ended up the mistress of Graylands...and with a philandering husband

who took her to his bed when he wasn't with some other woman.  He'd spent years trying to
make sure her life wasn't 'small'.  He loved her more than anything in this world and that's

what he wanted to continue in her experience, that she be loved more than anything. He'd

seen that in Morgan's eyes. Please God they'd open again and he'd see that once more. He
wasn't at all sure he could bear watching Susannah have her heart broken.

Taking a small quilt off a chest, he placed it gently over his daughter then went downstairs to

find Myra. He intended to tell her not to go up to the room where Morgan lay, not tonight.

She would surely make Susannah get up and he wanted her to have the comfort of  these

moments so near him...no matter how improper that might be.

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