Page 30 of The Nightshade's Bride
Bartholomew seemed ready to say more, but just then Gideon appeared around the side of the house.
"Come insideright now, Deliverance!" he called. "Idiotic to be staying too long out in this weather."
Since he instantly began to stride toward me, I had only a few private moments to speak.
“Could you please contact a lawyer named Mr. Finch?” I asked. “I am curious to know more about how the disposal of my father’s possessions is going and if he has been able to sell enough to cover his debts. Don’t mention my name. Please–”
I wanted to say so much more, but Gideon was already there, putting hard hands on me, his face glowering like a dark, vengeful angel.
Brother Bartholomew took his leave as my husband bore me inexorably inside.
I did not resist, listening with fake penitence, although inside my mind was in chaos.
I knew my powerful husband was cruel and did not care for me, but now—attempted murder! How could he take me to church without fearing G-d would strike him on the spot for his sins?
Ada looked pale and snapped at me for talking to Brother Bartholomew.
"I suppose you were out there gossiping to him."
"No," I said, “Just telling him I’m a slut.”
“The hell you are,” Gideon snarled, and luckily the moment where they might have asked what Bartholomew learned had passed.
I went back to my embroidery. But what had happened to Mariam? All I could glean from a few overheard whispers was that they speculated she had broken into the workshop somehow and obtained the poisons.
But—why would she have taken them? How did they get into my cup?
And I could not help remembering the last words of warning Bartholomew had whispered quickly before Gideon bore me away.
"Watch what you drink—take nothing from anyone's hand!"
CHAPTER 14
Deliverance
Had Gideon poisoned poor Mariam, even after her many years of faithful service? Or was I the target?
Every gift my husband gave me just made me more suspicious, the maddening touch of his hands on my body only made me more convinced of his manipulative depravity.
I lay awake each night, looking at the sleeping devil beside me, for he had taken to spending nights in my room, wondering when the dark eyes would open, and I’d feel his fingers around my throat choking the life out of me.
Then Bartholomew came back on a chill and gray December day to say a few words as the servants dug a hole for Mariam's body, far out past the family burial grounds.
Ada said it was much too cold for her to attend, but I wrapped up as much as I could and followed the monk and the rest of the servants out.
To my surprise, Gideon joined too, growling angrily at Bartholomew.
"Keep it quick. My wife doesn't need to be out here much longer."
He rudely stamped his feet and snorted during the homily, and I felt red with shame at the blasphemy of it.
Despite the threats, the holy man did not rush, but took a few minutes to remember Mariam and send her on to her eternal judgment with kind words and prayers.
"And remember," Bartholomew finished, meeting my eyes, "when in times of grave need, raise your eyes to the Rock, and He will help even the broken-hearted and despairing."
How would that help? I thought disconsolately, then felt guilty for my lack of faith.
But I didn’t have any time to explain that I was still afraid my husband might want me dead.
