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Show Page 220 My heart was squeezed with happiness, for in the past weeks a small bud had begun to thrust upward out of the black loam of despair that had buried me when all those dear to me in Virginia had died. It was a shameful thought, but Richard's death had brought me hope, hope that one day John would once again speak to me of love. I opened my mouth to tell him that he need not fear, his love was, indeed, returned, but he spoke first. "Tell me you love me, Sarah, and gladly will I march-even onto my death." At his mention of death, my throat tightened and the words I had planned to say caught there. Once again a feeling of doom crept over me at the thought of telling John I loved him, that I would gladly be his wife. 'Twas a cold feeling that crept into my bones, into my marrow. I shivered as I turned away. Then, as though a candle had been lit in my mind, I knew the reason for such fear. If I told John I loved him 'twould be like plunging a knife into him with my own calloused hands. For had not everyone I ever loved, everyone I ever cared about, died? And not a death of old age, lying calmly in bed, wrinkled and dry. Nay, they had died in pain -from sickness, disease, violence. For naught would I give this legacy to the man I loved-not for all the joy I knew my love would give him, not for all the joy I knew his love would give me. |