Scenes from the novel V

 
“My dear sweet cowboy!” Clarissa exclaimed. When she saw him standing in the doorway, holding his battered old stetson, her face lit up. He’d been travelling all night, since he’d got word she’d been wounded. He’d ridden Blossom hard, maybe harder’n was good for the old gal, and he felt bad about that, but he’d just needed to get there and that was all there was to it.

Now he was looking down at Clarissa’s pale delicate face, lovely in spite of the bruises and swelling, framed by her black hair against the pillow of the hospital bed. He could tell she’d been through a lot of pain. Her striking eyes still held him fast, like they always did, but the light in them was weaker somehow, and that had him worried.

“Well, how’s my gal? Pretty as ever I see.” He grinned his best grin, feeling awkward. He wasn’t the best with words, but she knew that, so it was ok.

“My knight in shining armor, come to rescue me,” she smiled. “So lovely to see you. I must say, I have known better accommodations. A simple request, such as tea with lemon, is met with a level of incompetence that does not bode well. One’s hopes for surgical proficiency are severely compromised by such episodes.” She gestured weakly toward the teacup and pitcher of milk with her slender right hand. He’d never noticed before how thin and fragile her arms were.

“Whatever would I do with milk?” she exclaimed in wonder, glaring at the tray. She wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps there is a fence somewhere that needs whitewashing. How is our Drog?”

“Well, he’s pretty tough. I was told they’d blasted a hole nearly clean through him, but he heals up quick. Hole’s mostly gone by now, I’d reckon. Sorry you couldn’t see him.”

Clarissa laughed, and almost managed to hide the spasm of pain that flickered across her face. “Poor dear Drog. In my diminished capacity, I fear I would not have been able to shelter him from the disapproving glances of the nurses.” She looked ruefully at her left arm, encased to the elbow in a cast. “From the little that I can remember, I believe I owe him my life. Without our friend’s timely intervention, I suspect that rather more of me would have ended up in pieces. If you see him…” She grew silent for a long moment, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again and continued on as though there had been no pause. “When you see him, please convey my fondest regards.”

He looked down at his hat, embarrassed. It had to be hard for her, being … broken. “The battle went our way – this time. We pushed ’em back good. But they’re regrouping. I, um, I gotta get back. The General’s gonna need me.” He gave her a long sorrowful look. One day he’d talk to her straight out about things. But not now, not like this.

“Yes, my dear knight, the battlefield beckons. I feel reassured knowing the world is in your good hands.” She smiled, and gave him a lingering look with her eyes. He thought he saw something in that look, but he couldn’t be sure. But it was enough to give him courage for the fight to come. He squared up his shoulders, and turned, and was gone.

Afterward Clarissa lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to ignore the pain. Once again she tried to feel the fingers of her left hand. Nothing.

She held her right hand before her face, made the familiar gestures. At least her memory was intact. She looked over at the pitcher of milk and sighed. If only they had brought her the lemon.

Her right hand traced out the patterns again, and somewhere in her mind she imagined that her left hand was following along, mirroring the movements. The tray beside her shimmered, and then there was a plate of freshly sliced lemon next to the teacup, just the way she liked it.

“Ah,” she thought to herself, “Time to get back to work.”