Chapter 8: PAIN

Lily threw her head back and laughed.

She was kneeling in the garden, holding up what appeared to be a wildflower for the examination of Millie and Leonard, who worked alongside her.

Every time Raymond looked at Lily, her continued presence on the farm stunned him. He could barely believe she had remained after the evening he had addressed her with such cruelty—that was two weeks ago. She had remained, but had kept her distance ever since, neglecting to extend any more invitations to meals. She, instead, sent his food to him in the barn where he had spent his days.

He watched Leonard and Millie join in on the joke as all three knelt there laughing. Lily’s bonnet fell off of her head, the breeze tossing her golden locks. The sun's rays caused her hair to sparkle and her face shone with the brilliance of the sun as she laughed.

Something in Raymond wanted to capture that moment in a painting, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he readjusted the log that sat on his shoulders and resumed his walk toward the pile of woods he had been gathering for the hearths in all the rooms. He neared the pile, the sound of Lily’s laughter distracting him once more. He turned to her and watched as Lenny and Millie chased her around the garden.

He was so busy watching he didn’t see the path before him as he lost his footing. He fell forward, landing painfully on his face as the wood crushed his shoulder.

He tried to rise, pain coursing through his muscles as a loud growl tore through his throat. His vision swirled before him, darkness clouding his view as his mouth filled with a vile taste and his head pounded with a headache.

It seemed like only a split second before someone was by his side. She touched his aching head, muttering to him as she did. He barely heard her, pain causing his ears to ring as he fought to rise to his feet. Weak, he fell back.

“I’m fine,” he hissed, jerking his hand away from her grip. He didn’t need her help—he bit down on his lower lip to restrain himself from cursing in frustration. He tried to raise his right hand to his head to still the headache, but a pained growl escaped his lips instead.

Turning to the side to examine his hand, he must have cursed or cried, as the darkness consumed him.

***

Pain.

His head swarmed with pain, infecting his entire body until there was no part of him that was free of its venom.

Pain coursed through every vein, every muscle, every joint, and every bone! His vision cleared enough for him to examine his environment; he was in his room. He laid with his back to the mattress and his hands lying limp beside him. He noticed in that second that his right hand hurt the most.

He turned to examine his hand, praying silently that the pain was no sign of what he suspected. He prayed that the fall had been nothing but a terrible dream. He prayed that the last two years of his miserable life had been nothing but a terrible dream and that by some stroke of luck, Rachel would walk in through those doors with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands and a smile on her face.

He cursed loudly as he stared at his hands. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him what any man with eyes could clearly see: he had dislocated his right shoulder. Dislocated! Furious, Raymond clenched his teeth.

He heard the door opening, before feeling something cool settle on his forehead. He turned then, finding Lily on her knees by the bedside.

She was close, only inches away from his face. Her lips...

It was the first time he had gotten this close to them; it was the first time in many months he had longed for a kiss.

He shrugged her off, irritated by his wandering mind, even as the sudden movement made him feel dizzy once more. Blood filled his mouth, and he pushed himself to a sitting position to keep from choking on his own blood. He must have clamped down on his tongue when he tripped. The weight of the log must have been responsible for his dislocated shoulder, and his falling on his face was responsible for his headache.

“I brought you some soup.” Lily sounded strained, tired even. His gaze darted to her, and he found his suspicion to be true. “If you would rest your shoulder for a while until I can ride into town to find a doctor…”

He shook his head, lacking the patience and money to spend on a doctor. “I’m alright. It is nothing and next time, I’ll be certain to watch the path before me.”

He tried to rise, but Lily put a stilling hand on his forearm. “You’ll only cause further damage if you put that shoulder to work.”

“For goodness’ sake, woman!” He hissed, anger pumping him with enough energy to rise to his trembling feet. “I’m no little boy, and I refuse to be treated like one.”

He fully expected her to argue as he staggered to the door, slamming it shut without a word of protest from her.

The oil lamp did nothing to keep Raymond warm as the rain poured heavily outside that evening. The floor beneath his battered body felt like a bed of nails, his makeshift pillow made of hay added to his headache, his arm throbbing with pain. Halfway through the night, Raymond shivered with a fever, the ache in his shoulder threatening to drive him insane.

He tried to rise, but his body seemed adamant to remain glued to the hard floor. A part of him feared he was dying—his pride and stubbornness was finally killing him. He would die a painful and miserable death, and would leave his children in the care of a complete stranger who would eventually be saddled with the responsibility of being their legal guardian.

Would Lily care for his children if he died? He thought he knew the answer to that question. She cared for them in his lifetime, surely, she’d do the same if he was to pass away.

If he died, he would get to see Rachel again. It had been so long since he saw her, he thought, shivering. He needed to see her, and to hold her in his arms. Would she be pleased to see him? She would disapprove of his choice of death over the life of their six children. He knew it would disappoint her, and it was the thought of her disappointment that made him want to fight to live.

His fingers trembled as he reached forward and took hold of the lamp. He was extremely cold. Perhaps if he lit the hay on fire, it would help with the annoying shiver that caused his teeth to clench and his body to tremble. His mind reeled with pain and cold, and his vision produced images he was certain had everything to do with his fever.

Picking a piece of hay from the floor, he lit it with the lamp and, mustering as much energy as he could, he threw the burning hay into a larger pile.

The little spark burst into a large flame the second it contacted the pile of hay.

By the time Raymond realized his folly, the angry flames were roaring towards him.