At Mum’s silence, Deirdre spoke. “Jacques and Uriah Chaffee.”
“Uriah?” Maggie sputtered. By now, her fierce hold on the blanket had eased, and she sat in front of her family, her tattered undergarments visible.
“Yes,” Mary said. “We can discuss him later. Suffice it to say, he will suffer. Now, lass, ’tis time for a wash.” She stared at her daughter. “Do you want to be alone?”
Maggie stared at her mother and shrugged. “Yes, but I fear I’m out of courage.”
Her mother stroked a hand over her cheek and then down to her shoulder. “No, my brave girl, you aren’t, and you never will be.” She eased Maggie to standing and helped her to the tub. When she stood next to the tub, Mum lowered the blanket and then lifted the tattered linen chemise off of Maggie. Unable to stifle a gasp, Mary gaped at the bruises and the red marks blooming on Maggie’s back, legs, and arms. “Oh, my sweet girl.”
Niamh traced a finger over a mark on her back. “Oh, Maggie,” she breathed, her voice breaking.
Maggie ducked her head. “I encouraged him to beat me, until I passed out,” she whispered. “I thought a good beating was better, … was better …” She shrugged, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Is anything broken?” Aileen asked, as she added a drop of lavender oil to the bathwater.
Maggie dipped her toe in, before she climbed into the tub. “I don’t think so. I can breathe without too much pain. I can walk and move everything, even though it hurts.” She sat in the tub, hunched over for a moment, before she relaxed and eased to rest her back against the sloped edge of the tub. She winced and squirmed, until she found a comfortable position.
Mary knelt beside her, running the comb through her now tangle-free hair. When she was satisfied that her daughter’s hair would not become ensnared by anything, she poured cups of fresh water over Maggie’s head. Then she began to gently shampoo Maggie’s head, her fingers gently kneading into her scalp.
“Heaven,” Maggie murmured, as she leaned into her mother’s soft touch.
“You’ve always loved having your hair brushed and washed by me,” Mary said in a soft voice. She smiled. “’Twill be something for Dunmore to learn to do.”
Maggie tugged her legs up to her chest again. “I’d never want him to see me in the bath.”
Deirdre sat on a chair and met her sister-in-law’s mortified gaze. “He’ll see you at some point, Maggie.” Her smile was one of wise acceptance.
Aileen’s was of impish joy. “Yes, and you’ll have the most wondrous encounters when he does.”
“Aye,” Niamh said, with a pleased sigh.
Flushing, Maggie ducked her head. “It won’t be like that between us,” she stammered out. “We’ll continue on like brother and sister.” She ran her hand through the warm sweetly scented water, as her heart raced at the thought of being so vulnerable and so exposed to anyone. Even Philip.
Her mother spoke in a soft voice. “No need to rush anything. You’ll find your footing again.”
Maggie nodded, although she didn’t believe her mother’s words. She feared she would never again feel safe and secure.
Chapter 10
She was surrounded by water. The raging current propelled her downstream, and she shrieked as her back slammed into a boulder. She tilted her head up, spitting and sputtering, as she tried to breathe in air and to not drown. As suddenly as the rapids had appeared, the river calmed. In vain, she tried to remember her brothers’ lessons on floating. Finally coming to rest on her back, as she bobbed down the river, she gazed at the darkening sky, praying for help. Never had she felt more alone.
Gasping awake, her eyes flew open at the insistent shaking. “What? What?” she stammered. “Is everything all right?” She gazed into the terrified stare of her younger brother, Niall.
“Maggie, you were gasping and thrashing,” he whispered.
Stuttering out a breath, Maggie curled onto her side, her arm wrapped over her belly. “I’m fine,” she said in a quivering voice, failing in her attempt at bravado. “There’s no need to worry about me.”
The candle on the bureau cast a faint light, and he settled on the chair beside her bed. “Of course there is. Were you thinking about him?” he asked in a hesitant voice, his green eyes glowing with interest and guilt, while his black hair stood on end.
“Of Dunmore?” When she met Niall’s exasperated expression, she shook her head. “No, of neither of them,” she murmured, refusing to say Jacques’s name. “I dreamed of the time I floated down the river. After I escaped. There were rapids, and I crashed into a boulder.” Her hand pointed to her back, wincing, as though she had just collided with the stone, and the bruise was fresh. “I feared I’d drown, and then, when the river was peaceful again, I thought I’d die alone, as I stared at the sky, watching the stars. The world never seemed so big. Or so empty before. I thought I’d drift along forever. Alone … forever.” She spoke as though in a trance.
“Maggie,” Niall rasped, reaching forward to clasp her hand, startling her from her memories. He bowed his head in a penitent manner. “Everything you suffered is my fault. I’m sorry. Tell me how you want me to be punished, and I’ll gladly, … I’ll gladly bear whatever it is you want me to.” He broke off, when Maggie ran a hand over his clenched fists.
“No, Niall,” she whispered. “None of this was your fault.” She stared at him with a gaze filled with love and compassion, a tear trickling down her cheek. “If you had been with me that day, he would have found another time I was alone. I suspect he would have snatched me when I went to the privy or the chicken coop. I never had a brother’s escort then.” She let
