The Healing Season. Ruth Morren Axtell

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СКАЧАТЬ he asked Mrs. Neville.

      “Yes, but it’s quite a ways from here.” She looked behind her in worry. “I don’t think we can make it back.”

      In the few seconds they had been talking, the crowd had again surged forward. Angry men and women lunged at them, determined to break and smash everything around them. The children screamed, huddling into the adults’ bodies.

      “Take them away!” shouted Ian. “I’ve got to stay. There are bound to be injuries.”

      Jem nodded. “I’ll get them to safety,” he said, already making for the narrow alley.

      Ian attempted to herd the women toward Jem, but at that moment they were separated by a mass of bodies. He was thrown against a wooden structure and felt the wind knocked out of him. Searing pain shot through his lower back.

      When he looked up, he could no longer see Jem or the children.

      “Are you all right?” Mrs. Neville leaned over him, shouting through cupped hands.

      He nodded. “Where’s your friend?”

      “She’s with Jem. He’s gotten them out of the fray.”

      “You mustn’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.” As he spoke, he attempted to rise. She took his arm to help him up.

      He managed a few hobbling steps, ignoring the pain in his back. He put his arm around Mrs. Neville to shelter her as much as possible from the angry mob.

      They were swept along by the crowd. All he could do was hope to shield Mrs. Neville from flying objects. Rocks were hurled without regard as to whether they hit building or human.

      Inch by inch, Ian headed toward a doorway. When at last he reached it and pulled Mrs. Neville into its alcove, he stationed himself in front of her, creating a wall between her and the mob.

      Glass shattered around them. The smell of smoke reached their nostrils. He prayed the fires wouldn’t get out of control in this already poverty-stricken neighborhood.

      “Down with the Regent!” the crowd yelled. Some had lit torches and with angry shouts, they struck them at the vendors’ booths. The merchants yelled in fear and tried to protect their wares, but this only incited the crowd to attack them further. The merchants ran away in fear.

      Dear Lord, guide Jem and the others safely out of here….

      Eleanor heard the shouts of the crowd, the footsteps rushing past, but they were muffled now. She was safe, wrapped in a warm, shadowy cocoon.

      Mr. Russell stood squarely in front of her, shielding her from the brunt of the mob. She stood on the step where he had placed her, unable to see what was going on but feeling strangely exhilarated by the circumstances, at risk yet protected.

      She could make out the top edge of Mr. Russell’s waistcoat above his coat. If she lifted her hand, she could trace the outline of the topmost button with her fingertip. Her bonnet touched his chin.

      It was a nice feeling. A phrase drifted into her thoughts—to love, honor and cherish… Was this what it felt like to be “cherished”? The last part of the phrase came into her mind unbidden, till death do us part.

      At that moment someone slammed against Mr. Russell’s back. Although he braced his arms against the door behind her, he couldn’t completely cushion the impact of the blow. Her face was crushed against his neck and her bonnet fell back. She smelled the fresh-laundered scent of his neck cloth.

      As soon as he was able, he righted himself and drew away from her while still anchoring her between his arms. “I beg your pardon. Did I hurt you?”

      His eyes roamed over her face as he spoke, examining it for injury.

      Gingerly she touched the bridge of her nose with her gloved fingertips. “No. I’m quite all right.” Never better, she realized. “Are you?” He had taken the brunt of the impact.

      “Yes, I’m fine.” His perusal over, his brown eyes fastened on hers.

      She stood spellbound. For the first time in her life she had the sensation of being safeguarded by a man, and not safeguarding herself from one.

      They stood several minutes in the alcove of the doorway as the crowds pushed by them, wreaking destruction everywhere. Eleanor stood content, sure nothing could happen to her in the shelter of Mr. Russell’s arms.

      She didn’t notice when the shouts eventually diminished, but felt the immediate absence of Mr. Russell’s body when he took a step away from her. Sunshine fell back on her face. He looked away from her. “They’ve moved on down the street. Toward the Thames, I expect.”

      “I hope they don’t set fire to the theater.”

      “There’s no telling with the mood they’re in.” He turned around and surveyed the area. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling abandoned.

      Everything lay in chaos. Overturned and charred vending stalls, shattered glass, refuse and merchandise scattered everywhere. Here and there they heard moans.

      He swiveled suddenly back to her. “Are you sure you’re all right? I didn’t hurt you when I pulled you in here?”

      Still standing on the stoop, she was about eye level to him. Although his words were clipped, almost sharp, she couldn’t help a bemused smile at his insistence. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

      Once again, he had been rapidly surveying her. Now he stopped and looked as if he was doubting her word. Although she couldn’t read what was in the chocolaty-brown depths of his eyes, again, she felt a deep, unspoken connection.

      Abruptly he turned away and tugged at his waistcoat. “Good.” He moved farther into the street and looked up and down it. “I must attend to the injured.”

      She stepped down and joined him in surveying the wreckage. Before he could say anything more, she placed her arm in his. “I’ll go with you.”

      He frowned down at her. “You most certainly will not. I shall first escort you to your chaise and then I’ll return to the dispensary to get some supplies. Now, if you will be so good as to lead us to it.”

      She planted her feet firmly in place. “There’s no danger now. I can assist you.” She motioned around her. “Can’t you hear them? There are many who need our help. We can use my carriage to get your things. It will save time. I’ve left it at the Bull and Horn.”

      When he made no reply, merely set his mouth in a firm line, she tugged on his arm. “Come on. There’s no time to waste.”

      “Very well, but only back to the dispensary. I’ll leave you there and return here.”

      That’s what you think, she thought as she hurried down the street.

      Eleanor regretted her rash impulse to assist Mr. Russell as she knelt by his side, watching him wash out bloody gashes and sew them up. She brought him pitchers of water, helped bind up wounds with the rolls of bandages, tried to hand him whichever instrument he called for from his large square bag.

      She struggled to keep from fainting СКАЧАТЬ