Of Parchment and Saltwater

Chapter 17

     I dragged him into the kitchen with all the strength I had, being seven months pregnant, and removed his blood-soaked outer coat. Blood poured from his arm as I knelt beside him on the floor.
"I thought you were with a mistress," I said breathlessly, reaching for the pot of hot water and putting it over the fire.
He furrowed his eyebrows and winced in pain. "What are you talking about?"
"Mrs. Andrews saw you go into your office with some girl. Why would you-"
"Louisa!" he exclaimed, taking an agonized breath, "I didn't sleep with that girl. She was the liaison between me and Simcoe."
I froze. "Simcoe? Why were you talking to him?"
     "He sent me a letter the other week, darling. Threatening to kill you and the baby, saying he was going to be in town today," he gripped my hand in pain and he looked ready to pass out as another wave of pain hit him, "He's dead, Louisa."
     Shocked, I knelt there speechlessly. 
     "I give you my word that I didn't do anything. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd never allow me to hunt him down. I'm sorry."
     Tears streamed down my face and I looked at his bleeding arm with a terrible feeling in my chest.
     "No, I'm sorry, Benjamin. You laid like this down here...all night. I'm a terrible wife. You deserve so much better," I cried, "I was just angry and hurt and too scared to talk to you last night so I completely ignored you."
     He put a bloody hand to my face and tried to smile. "I was unconscious anyway...I don't mind. Just give me some whiskey for the pain, I beg you, my dear!"
     I pressed the pincer-like tool and my two fingers to his injury and began searching for the bullet, saying, "We don't have any whiskey, Ben, and this won't hurt too much; you've felt much worse. You're lucky it just grazed your arm." He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped my forearm.

"I just," I hesitated, still at a loss for words, "I don't understand. You hunted Simcoe down? Why didn't you contact President Washington's men who are assigned to handle this?"
"I think I'm going to pass out," he managed as I quickly removed the bullet, "I have so much to tell you, my love."

"You certainly do."
     His eyes rolled into the back of his head and eyelids fluttered shut, still holding me by the arm. I couldn't stop the tears from falling as I bandaged the wound and cleaned him up. This was all my fault.
     The baby kicked again and I put my head on Benjamin's slowly rising and falling chest. Simcoe probably would have killed me today, if it weren't for Ben's thankless sacrifice, no matter how absurdly reckless it was. Simcoe was dead.
I finished wiping the blood from his peaceful face and dragged him into the parlor, setting him gently on the lounge chair with as much effort as I could muster. Thankfully, it was just his arm and nowhere near as bad as it could have been. He'd be fine in a few days.
Kneeling on the foyer floor with a hand on my growing stomach, I cleaned up the dried puddle of blood from last night and clenched the rag tightly. How could I have been such a dull-swift, I thought, thinking about what I'd say next time I encountered Mrs. Andrews.
After absentmindedly doing my morning cleaning routine, I laid on the chaise lounge beside Benjamin while he slept.