As the Sparks Fly Upward (23 page)

“Nor could I. I'll think of something to be done.”

Friday morning came, and Twyla had slept little. She went about the house mechanically doing her chores, and Colin stayed in his room. Twyla walked into the room where the two doctors made up their medicines and found Dr. Teague, who was measuring medicine out into bottles. As she watched him an idea suddenly arose, and she asked, “What's in that bottle?”

“This is oil of basil. It's good for the croup.”

Twyla pointed to another bottle. “And this one?” “That's a compound good for rubbing on open sores,” Teague answered.

She picked up a large brown bottle and asked, “What is this?”

“Well, that is what we give people when we have to do some surgery on them.”

“You mean it makes it not hurt?”

“It's like liquor, but a lot stronger. The person passes out.” Teague shook his head. “It's really very dangerous. If you give too much it can be fatal.”

“How much would be too much?”

Teague picked up a small tin cup. “Half of this cup would be enough to knock an ox down. I wouldn't give a patient even half of that. Why are you asking all these questions?”

“No reason.” Twyla didn't say any more. Her mind was made up to go through with her plan.

Teague was staring at her. “You're up to something. What is it, girl?”

Twyla hesitated, then decided to trust the old man. “I thought if I could give Colin a drug to make him sleep, he couldn't go to fight that stupid duel—and he wouldn't get killed.”

Teague laughed aloud. “You are a devious young woman― but you could kill him if you give him too much. Here, I'll mix you up a dose that will make him sleep like a baby!”

It was after four o'clock when Colin came out of his room. His face was pale as he said, “I have to go pretty soon, Twyla.”

Twyla said quickly, “You must eat something. You've haven't eaten all day.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Just a little bit to give you some strength.” She pulled him to the table, and he sat down. She put some cold beef in front of him and some fresh-baked bread. He ate a few bites and she said, “Here, try this. It's a new kind of wine.”

“It smells like it's full of spices.”

She smiled, saying, “That's why it's called ‘spiced wine,' Just try it.”

Twyla watched as Colin drank the wine. “Very good,” he said absently. He drank from the flagon until it was gone; then he sat there for a few minutes, saying nothing. “I know you think I'm insane,” he finally said. “I don't know why this is so important to me. I think it has something to do with Adam.”

She looked puzzled. “How could this have to do with him?”

“He is always the one who gives pride to the family. He can fight in battles at sea—I haven't ever done anything. He is able and I'm not.”

Twyla pulled up a chair beside Colin. “Tell me about what you and Adam were like when you were children. Here, have some more wine,” she said as she refilled his flagon.

He took another swallow of the wine and began to talk about their childhood. Twyla noticed that his speech was getting slower and becoming slurred. Finally, he blinked his eyes. “I'm getting sick, Twyla.”

“You'd better lie down until it passes.”

Colin got to his feet and started toward the horsehide sofa. He was weaving when he got there, and he muttered, “The room is spinning around.”

“Lie down, Colin. It'll pass.” He lay down, and Twyla put his legs up on the sofa. She watched as his eyelids fluttered, then closed. He was stumbling through words, trying to speak. Finally he quit, his breathing slow and regular.

“He'll hate me when he wakes up,” she whispered, “but at least he'll be alive.”

Thirty minutes after Colin lay down, there was a knock at the door. Twyla went to the door and saw Adam. “Well, Miss Twyla, how are you?”

“Oh, Captain Winslow, something terrible has happened!”

“What is it? What is the trouble?”

“It's Mister Colin. He is supposed to fight a man, and I know he would get killed.”

Adam stepped inside, having to duck his head because of the low doorway. He listened as she told the story. He leaned in closer and stared at her with surprise. “You say you drugged him?”

“I couldn't think of nothing else to do.”

Adam's lips turned up in a smile. “He hasn't been drunk in some time, I suppose.”

“But he'll hate me!”

“He'll be alive and not hurt; that's what counts. I'll take care of this fellow he's supposed to fight. Where are they supposed to meet?”

“The man said at the cemetery at dusk,” Twyla quickly answered.

“Well, it's about that time. I'll be back after I take care of this.” He turned and left. Twyla felt a sense of relief.
Adam is strong. I know it makes Colin feel bad that he is not a man like this, but I'm glad he is not.

The village was quiet and most of the citizens had gone home, seeking the warmth of their fires. A few people hurried along the main street. The two soldiers, who had been drinking heavily, were laughing as they approached the cemetery. “Here, have some more, Barrett,” the short one named Sid said, offering his companion the flagon.

“That's right, Sid. I'll need some liquid courage to face that man-killing doctor,” Barrett said sarcastically.

The laughter went on, along with more rude jokes about Colin Winslow. Finally, Sid said, “Here comes somebody, but that isn't the doctor.”

“That's not him—he's too big,” Barrett said.

The two stood and watched as the large man approached. He was over six feet tall and strongly built. He had a sword at
his side, and his eyes were a steel blue. “Which one of you is Barrett?”

“That's me.”

“My name is Winslow.”

“You're not the doctor I had trouble with. Where is he?”

“He's indisposed. I'm acting as his representative.” Adam drew his sword. “I'm Captain Adam Winslow of the Seahawks, second in command to Sir Francis Drake. I've been killing Spaniards, but I'm tired of that. So now I'm going to kill myself a worthless drunk soldier. Draw your sword!”

Barrett took one look at the fierce intensity in Adam's eyes and began to back away. “I didn't mean no harm, sir.”

Suddenly, with a lightning-quick movement, Adam touched his sword right over Barrett's heart. His voice grew harsh as steel. “You lay a hand on my brother, you scum, and I'll cut pieces off of you an inch at a time! You understand that?”

“Y—Yes, sir. Come on, let's get out of here,” he said to his companion.

The pair scurried away, and Adam began to laugh. “Not a fight in the bunch of them! Well, it's a good thing I came.”

The room seemed to be swimming, and Colin felt as if he were rising out of a dark pit. His vision was blurry, but a candle outlined the figure of Twyla, who was sitting beside him. “What—what happened to me?”

“I couldn't help it, Mister! I had to do it!”

Colin sat up and immediately felt sick. “Get me some water, will you, Twyla? My lips are dry as a bone.”

She rose, went to the kitchen, and came back soon with a cup filled with water. He drank it thirstily and he said, “It's time to go.”

“It's too late. Look, it's dark outside.”

“What happened to me? Did I get sick?”

Twyla knew she had no choice but to confess. “I got some
medicine that makes people sleep. I put it in the wine. That's what made you so sleepy.”

“I'll still have to face that soldier,” Colin said. “You just put it off.”

“No, Adam came. He went in your place.”

“Adam? Where is he?”

“He had to leave already. He came back here after he went to the cemetery, but his ship was due out. You don't have to worry. Adam scared those men so bad they'll never show their faces again.”

Colin dropped his head. “Like I've always said, he's the strong one. I'm the weak one.”

“Please don't hate me, Colin, and don't hate Adam. He loves you and he does whatever he can to help you, just as you would help him as a doctor if he got sick.”

Colin was still woozy, but he said, “I'm glad you were able to stop me from going, even if the method was rather harsh. And I'm glad Adam was able to get that man off my back.” He saw that her face was tense and she was close to tears. “But the next time you want to stop me from doing something, don't give me any drugs. Just talk to me.”

Twyla whispered, “I did talk to you, but you wouldn't listen. I won't use the medicine again.” She hesitated, then said, “As long as you behave, that is.”

Colin reached out and ran his hand down her black hair. He suddenly felt better. He had not run away from the fight. “Next time you want to keep me from making a fool of myself, just hit me over the head with a stick. It couldn't feel as bad as this.” He smiled weakly as he said, “Don't worry. I'll try not to be a bother to you anymore.”

“How could you be a bother to me?” Twyla said softly. She saw that he was smiling, and this lifted her spirits. A rose color stained her cheeks, and her lips were caught in an uncertain, crooked smile. Whatever mistakes she had made, there was a
sweetness and gentleness about her, Colin noticed. As his hands smoothed her hair, she held her head straight and looked at him, a quiet longing in her violet eyes. “I didn't want you to get hurt,” she whispered.

“I'm glad to have someone to look after me,” Colin said. “I hope you always will.”

16

January 3, 1586

O
ver two feet of snow had fallen, cloaking the dead woods and the brown earth with a pristine blanket. All afternoon the sun had come out from time to time from behind tawny clouds and struck what seemed to be flashes of diamonds in the whiteness. The far-off low hills in their sullen haze brooded over some brutal thought and hunched down, seeming to seek shelter from the piercing cold.

Night had fallen now, and Colin went to the window and peered out. The faint crescent of the moon gave only enough light for him to see the white landscape. He drew his shoulders together against the sharp, pinching cold that pervaded the house. It seemed to him for a moment that the world was a dead ball moving through dead space. Suddenly the house shook as a gust of wind came out of the northwest. Colin looked up, startled, for it was as if a giant hand had taken the house and moved it roughly back and forth. He stood there as the wind whistled a long, low whine.

The snow began to pile up on the cold, dead world, and it seemed to Colin at that moment that the tremendously heavy stillness of the night was crushing him. He shivered slightly, and the shadows outside the house seemed to be filled with small stirrings
as a faint sibilance whispered out of the freezing cold. Colin gave one more glance outside and saw a handful of stars; then one single star fell and made a faint scratch on the heavens. For some reason this depressed Colin. He turned, shoulders hunched against the cold, and moved away from the window. He came to stand over the dead ashes in the fireplace, staring at them. For a moment he thought of building up the fire, but he was weary to the bone and decided not to. Uncertainly, he stood there not wanting to go back to a cold bed, then sighed and moved to a horsehide-covered chair. He looked at the drawings that lay on the table, then put one finger out and traced an illustration. He noted that his finger was white with cold and that it trembled slightly. The depression he'd felt before returned, and he shoved his hands beneath his armpits and tried to warm them.

“What are you doing up this time of the night?”

Startled, Colin looked up to see that Twyla had entered the room. She was wearing a heavy robe that he had bought for her. She also wore fur-lined house shoes. Her black hair seemed to glisten, and her eyes watched him carefully.

“What are you doing up, Twyla?”

“I heard you thumping around. Why don't you go to bed?”

Colin did not answer. He was studying Twyla and thinking how strange it was that she had grown up from a twiggy adolescent into a beautiful young lady in so short a time. Even though she was shrouded by the heavy robe, he could see the traces of her womanly form.

“I'm not sleepy, but you should go to bed,” he said wearily.

“Where is Dr. Teague?”

“I don't know. He went off on some errand.”

“At this hour? You don't think he has a woman somewhere, do you?”

Colin tried to smile, but his face was stiff from the cold. “I doubt that. He is a mysterious fellow, but a little old for chasing women.”

Twyla did not reply. For a long moment she stood looking at his thin face, then asked, “Have you eaten today?”

“I ate some bread and cold mutton.”

“When was that?”

“Sometime this morning. I don't know.”

“I'll fix you something.”