Thirty Nine

Diana lay stiffly in Will's arms. Although his body was solid and reassuring, she couldn't draw comfort from him like she had for so many years that it had come to seem like her birthright. She wasn't sure why, but his kindness made her angry. In fact, nearly everything made her angry. It was only the strong downward pull of indifference that kept her from lashing out at everyone. Who did they think they were kidding? Stews, kisses and platitudes weren’t going to undo the mistakes she had made. She sulked, wondering when Will would go away and leave her in peace.

But when he left to go on watch, she missed him and buried her face in her pillow to cry. That was no good either, because before long, Amalia came in. Diana choked down her tears and feigned unconcern while Auntie explained about the midwife and what she was going to do. She brushed off all reassurances and pretended to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, the same dull round of self-reproach resumed. She should’ve had a plan. She got her friend killed. Macy might never walk again. It was all her fault. She was stupid and incompetent, and had gotten what she deserved.

It was a relief when she sensed more than heard someone enter the room. Grateful for the distraction, she opened her eyes. By the light of an oil lamp, she saw Coyote creep in and approach Macy's pallet. She didn't wake up and this seemed to suit him fine. He stared at her for a long time, then lay down beside her like a faithful dog and went to sleep.

Diana smiled, reassured that something was still good in the world. She closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.


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