With This Ring Part 19

The day settled into the routine that would be hers until Sunday, and then again on Monday. Lydia even ventured into a little small talk, which embarra.s.sed the men of Merry Glade as much as it pleased them. She clipped and shaved efficiently and quickly, wasting no one's time, pacing herself to prevent yesterday's exhaustion. She took time out for Sam's personal needs, played with Maria, and spent the rest of the day at the barbershop.

She liked the evenings less as the week pa.s.sed. She was quite ready for her husband to kiss her again, and suggest another back rub, but he did not. He was alert now, and enthusiastic about her small successes, even as she wondered at his surprising lack of interest in her. The other night's brief pleasure might not even have happened. She was tired; she could have dreamed it.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she asked on the third night as she sat cross-legged on the bed, counting coins and determined to regain the ground she had so mysteriously lost.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked in turn as he fished under her leg for a coin that had escaped. "If farming, cattle, and sheep get slow in Northumberland, I can send you out into the working world to earn our keep. Lyddy, add this shilling to that pile by your ankle, and I believe you will have covered our board and Suzie's kind care of Maria. Well-done, wife."

And that was it. He did not offer to rub her back again. In the morning he a.s.sured her that he could manage his own personal business now. "Think how much time you will save, if you do not have to see to my needs, Lydia," he told her as she tied on her ap.r.o.n. "You might even have time to sit down, yourself."

"I haven't complained," she said quietly. She could almost feel her old uncertainties creeping back into her mind like that tenth plague sidling around Egyptian doorposts.

"That's the wonder of it," he replied. "I cannot imagine another woman being as kind as you have been."

His statement, delivered in his usual stringent way, pa.s.sed judgment on her as sure as if he had banged down a gavel. She looked at him. You think I have done all this because I am a creature of duty, she thought, trying not to frown at first because it wasn't polite, and then not caring much what he thought. She turned to leave, the adventure gone now from the long day of work and ultimate exhaustion that stretched before her. Her inclination was to say nothing; no one had wanted her opinions before. I love you and I care what happens to you, you wretched man, she thought.

She paused in the door, looking back at him, and the change in his expression. "Mr. Reed, if you think that no woman would be this kind, then obviously you were woolgathering when the priest read our marriage vows! Good day."

I am married to an idiot, she thought. While she did not precisely slam the door, she did close it firmly enough to set a vase in the hall shivering. She hurried to the barbershop, winking back tears, and thinking up all kinds of horrendous fates for the major, should the Lord request her suggestions at some later date closer to Judgment Day. He has no idea how it terrifies me to chatter with strangers, and thrust myself into what is a man's world, and all to raise money to pay his doctor bill, feed and house him, and return him to a better life somewhere in G.o.dforsaken Northumberland. Useless, useless husband!

Her anger cooled as the morning pa.s.sed, especially when she gave a shorter haircut than the vicar had really wanted, and nicked the mayor several times during a shave. She looked at the clock at mid-morning, uncertain whether to return to their room, even though he had told her he did not need her help. No, she told herself as she snapped the barber's towel loud enough to make the s.e.xton leap from his chair as though she had shot him. Sam says he does not need my help, and I won't bore him with my company. Still, she reminded herself as she over-lathered the s.e.xton, I know that urinal was not placed anywhere near the bed. He will hurt himself if he tries to get up. I should be there.

She wavered through two more haircuts, arguing with herself, even as she smiled at her customers and gushed forth with some nonsense about life in London versus life in small towns that would have astounded even Kitty. Drat the man. No wonder Sir Percy Whoever had to invent a wife for him in Spain. No real woman in her right mind would come close to him. Except me, she concluded mournfully. I am an idiot, too.

In her frame of mind, lunch was out of the question. She put up the "BACK IN TWENTY MINUTES" sign, sat herself down in the chair, and indulged in a hearty bout of tears and self-pity of the variety that was almost, but not quite, comforting. She was drying her eyes on her ap.r.o.n and looking about for a handkerchief when someone rapped on the gla.s.s.

"My next money-making scheme in this village will be lessons in literacy," she grumbled as she went to the door. "Or else this one is so s.h.a.ggy that his hair is covering his eyes and he cannot read my sign."

Her husband stood outside the door, bracing himself on the doorsill, pale as parchment but with a look of premeditated contrition in his eyes. She gasped and opened the door, taking him by the arm and leading him to the chair, too worried to say anything.

He sank into it with relief, and closed his eyes. "My word, Lydia, I cannot believe that only months ago I pushed and pulled cannons over the Pyrenees," he said at last, when he caught his breath. "I doubt I could nudge a canister of case shot with my foot today. I started out with your lunch, but the sandwich was so heavy I left it with a beggar on the church steps. Oh, Lydia, you are married to a fool."

"I know," she said softly. "So are you."

He touched her face, and she felt a mountain roll off her back. "Then, perhaps it is a good thing we discovered each other at St. Barnabas, that least romantic venue in London, with its unspeakable drains, and rats enough to keep as pets and serve for dinner, too," he told her as he took her by the hand. "Lydia, I am sorry. You've been working harder on my behalf than any gentlewoman I ever knew." He blushed and looked down at the floor. "I've given you precious little in return."

"Oh, opportunity," she said with a smile. "You've given me such room to maneuver!" She took him by the hand. "If I were Kitty, I would probably pout and scold and never ever forgive you until you had done something marvelous to make me forget how irritated I was."

"I have every intention-eventually-of causing you all manner of astonishment," he replied with a smile of his own that made her blush and look away. "Lydia, you tell me what Kitty would do. What about you?" He ran his thumb over her wedding ring. "I mean, other than slam the door this morning."

"I didn't! ... Well, perhaps it was just a little slam."

"Lydia, how on earth can you slam a door just a little bit?" he asked patiently, then grinned at her. "My word, but wives are interesting! Who would have thought it?"

She tried not to smile back, then thought a moment. "Sit still. You look like a stray dog whom no one will feed." She put a cloth around his neck and picked up a comb. "I don't know how to answer your question, because I was never allowed to be angry."

She could tell from his thoughtful reflection in the mirror that such a consideration had never occurred to him. "Kitty could have her megrims, and Mama was forever berating Papa with his numerous shortcomings, but I was supposed to be usefully quiet," she said. She combed his hair. "Do you want your part lower?"

"No, it's fine there. But ... what are you saying, my dear?"

She let go of his hair and stood in front of him so she could look him in the eyes. "You know what happened when I spoke out."

His glance did not waver. He reached up and touched her cheek, where the bruise was nearly gone. He took a deep breath. "Let us get two things straight." He chuckled and pulled her close, his hands on her face. "By the Almighty this is odd, but it's the very same two items I told my men in the battery when they came to me as recruits."

"I think there are those who would argue that marriage and war have their similarities, Sam," she said, perfectly in charity with him again. Lord, but I am easy to cajole, she thought. How dreadful if he ever finds out. I will have nothing to bargain with. Perhaps I will not need to bargain with this man.

"Oh, so I am Sam again? I think I may come to cringe at 'Mr. Reed' from you, delivered in that crisp, inimitable style reminiscent of ... could it be your mama?"

She had the grace to laugh. "It could be. I must have learned something in all those years, Mr.-Sam." She pulled herself gracefully from his grasp and began to snip. "Do divulge your treatise delivered to soldiers and now wives."

"Well, we cannot duplicate the scene, and thank G.o.d for that. You certainly smell better than they did, and you're so much easier on the eyes," he said, relaxing in the chair as much as his injury would allow. "I would sit them down and tell them that I would never beat them, and that there was nothing we could not discuss."

Startled, taken aback, and deeply touched, she continued cutting. "I do believe you mean that," she said at last, when even the dust motes seemed to hum in the silence of the shop.

"I never meant anything more."

It was said quietly, with all the resolve of a strong man. I am flattered, she thought. She touched his good shoulder lightly and continued her work. "I have never doubted the former item," she said.

"Thank you, madam," he replied. "I never could understand those commanders who sought to instill loyalty-love, if you will-by beating the men their very lives depended on." He swiveled slightly to look at her, paying for it with a sharp intake of breath that made her hold her own. "I expect it is the same with wives. I believe my life has already been in your hands, and you have been most kind, for no particular good reason."

Other than that I do believe I love you, she thought, amused at him. "Yes, we did make a rather odd bargain to begin this marriage, didn't we?" she asked as she cut and trimmed. "You are to have an accomplice to smooth things with your aunt and your inheritance, and I am to have ... what? A safe place to live? I want more."

How quiet it was in the room. She looked at him in the reflection of the mirror, and he gratified her by returning the look, and with the same smile that was on her face, she was certain. I believe we have a right good understanding, sir, she thought, her eyes brimful of amus.e.m.e.nt.

He turned his head to look at her again. "Well, I did give you Maria, didn't I?" he said, his grin broader and broader.

"I can't even imagine what other surprises await," she replied, perfectly in charity with her quixotic husband. She looked closer, watching the blush rise in his face. "Oh, no! There is more?"

He nodded.

"Don't tell me, then," she said. "Let us muddle along until you feel much, much better, and I will not be accused of doing injury to a poor war hero when I find out what else my future holds. Hold still, now; I am at the dread mole. There. But, then, I am also unlikely to cause you any physical harm." She laughed and touched his face, enjoying the way his eyes closed when she did it. "I think cold, implacable irritation and silence are far more effective. You forget that I have trained with masters, Sam."

Another long silence. "I hope you are quizzing me," he said at last.

"Of course I am," she answered, then took a deep breath. "But all this is tease and banter. I do have something of a personal nature to unload from my shoulders, if you care to listen."

"I care to."

"When you are feeling excellent again, I expect more than a back rub from you, Samuel Reed," she began, felt brave, and continued. "Since we have acquired Maria, and neither of us, I expect, would ever abandon her now, and since I have seen all there is to see of you and not run screaming into the night, and since I confess to much pleasure in both your back and your front rub, I have no intention of annulling what we have recorded in the parish. What a waste of a good special license, ink, and paper." To relieve the huge silence in the room, she hummed as she undid the towel and brushed his neck. "You owe me, Sam," she said as he got out of the chair. "A lot."

"More than you know," he replied. "Put your arms around my waist and don't squeeze too hard."

She did as he said, and enjoyed a kiss so satisfactory that she could only stamp her foot in irritation when someone knocked on the door, then rattled the k.n.o.b, which her husband had so wisely locked. She started toward the door, and he pulled her close against him again. "When I am feeling in the trim, you'll be the first to know it," he said, his lips practically against hers as he spoke.

Well, she thought, as he released her and allowed her a moment to fluff up the curls he had managed to twine rather too tight in his hand during that kiss. Well, I am speechless, and having waited this long, I am surely good for a few more weeks, if that is what the major requires, she told herself.

There was already a line outside the door. Sam nodded to her and turned to go. "Do have a care, my dear," she called after him. "Sit down on the church steps if you tire."

"You are so solicitous," he said.

She laughed. "Not especially, Sam. If you sit on the church steps in your present wretched condition, perhaps some kind soul will think to toss a coin or two your way. Why should I be the sole wage earner?"

So it went for the remainder of her tenure in the barbershop. Just when she thought-and the Innises agreed with her-that she must have shaved everyone in Merry Glade, others turned up from surrounding towns and villages as the story of the gallant, wounded artilleryman and his even more gallant wife spread out like ripples on the smooth lake of a rural society. No one needed to be rea.s.sured that she could cut hair, too. Even the most cautious of men sat in her chair, as though they had known her a lifetime.

"I do believe that my fame has spread throughout at least three districts. I am amazed what notoriety does to ordinary people," she told Sam one night as she sat, nearly asleep, her aching feet in his lap for their nightly ma.s.sage.

"What it does to you is give you a corn on your last toe, Lyddy," he said. "I can see that you will not be much further use to me without shoes better suited for standing all day in a shop."

She smiled at him, moved her feet from his lap, and lay down while he tugged up the covers around her and sat himself upright against the headboard in the stretching exercise that Mr. Wilburn had recommended. She noticed that he could do it now without wincing, even though he still held one shoulder higher than the other. Perhaps he will always be that way, she thought, without any diminution of her appreciation of him. Ah, well.

"People treat me as though they know me, even though they do not," she said, continuing her thesis even as she composed herself for sleep. "The magistrate's solicitor-you do not remember, but he interviewed me that first day after the robbery-was a customer today. From his address, you would have thought we were comrades in the law, or something." She closed her eyes and moved her hip against Sam for his warmth. "I like it, actually. I can talk so easily now with men that I am certain I can hold my share in the Northumberland grain market, should you take sick, die, and leave me a grieving but wealthy widow."

She enjoyed his laugh. "I will do nothing of the sort," he protested. He rested his hand on her hip and was silent for a long moment. "Actually, Lyddy, speaking of that-or something like-Mr. Wilburn has put it forward to me that tomorrow would be a good time to remove the st.i.tches." The weight of his hand increased on her, and she turned to look at him, knowing what she would see.

She took his hand. "Then, I will send Mrs. Innis to the shop with a sign saying that we will open at noon. I will be here with you, Sam."

She was, of course, making no comment to him when he cried even before the surgeon began, but pressing his face against her bosom and consoling him for pain real and imagined, as she would a child. How frightening it must be to hurt just because you know you will hurt, she thought as he sobbed. Sam, you are the bravest man I know, and possibly the most honest.

He fainted before the doctor was partly through, a heavy weight on her that she lowered carefully to the bed. "Is he really in pain?" she asked Mr. Wilburn, as he snipped and gently extracted the sutures.

"No, la.s.s, I think not. This part is not so onerous. It's his mind that is weary with it all," the surgeon replied. He sighed. "And who can blame him? I know I do not." He surveyed his handiwork, then rested his hand on Sam's back. "This, child, is glorious war. Which bears it worse, the mind or the flesh?"

Sam regained consciousness in a few minutes, embarra.s.sed and choosing not to look at either of them, but out the window instead. "You are not married to a brave man," he said at last, when Mr. Wilburn left.

She sat next to him and put her arm around his waist. "A coward would never have soldiered through Portugal, Spain, and France, Sam. You don't like it when I am hard on myself, so do not charge yourself with crimes you didn't commit." She nudged him and handed him a folded piece of paper. "If you want to suffer, look at this bill Mr. Wilburn has just left us. I own my courage lacks right now."

"Silly nod," he murmured as he opened the paper. He looked at it for a long time, then kissed her on the head suddenly with a loud smack. "Lyddy, many of my relatives are from Scotland, considering our proximity to the border."

"And? I suppose this is leading somewhere."

"Certainly! When have I ever danced you down a primrose path? Oh, don't answer!" He looked at the paper. "You already know that we lords of Laren are eccentric."

"Without debate."

"We are also clutch-fisted and p.r.o.ne to pinch farthings until they gasp for breath. What do you say, when we have babies that we send for Mr. Wilburn? He is a great economy." He shook his head in amazement at the bill. "Lyddy, he has charged us so little!" He looked at her. "I would tell you to run after him and get the full reckoning, but all my Scots ancestors would probably clutch at you with skinny-boned fingers."

She took the bill from him, blessing Mr. Wilburn from the bottom of her heart. "This will mean I can afford a post chaise for you, Sam. One more day will do it."

One more day was all she had, anyway, according to the terms wrung from the barber's widow. That is it, she thought, as she finished the last haircut on the last customer and the sun was going down. I cannot say I am sorry to see the end of this, but I am grateful for the opportunity to do for Sam what he could not do for himself. She swept the shop until the floor almost gleamed in the last light of day. She did not leave until the ashes in the stove were cool and bundled outside to the ash can. Each cup was again in its place. She admired them one last time, pleased that she had met most of their owners, tact.i.turn, hardworking men whose time she had not wasted, and whose esteem she knew she had earned. She stood in the doorway, looking inside. "I know I will not see any of you again," she whispered. "Thank you for what you all did for me."

She waited for the constable's nightly escort, knowing enough about him now to wish him well with his pigs and cows, and to offer the hope that his mother would soon be healthy again. She knew better than to offer him a gratuity for his faithful nocturnal escort. She had already embarra.s.sed him, and knew better than to do it again.

"Will you be leaving soon, Mrs. Major Reed?" he asked as he stopped outside the tavern door.

"Soon enough," she said. "I would like another day or two here for Sam ... for the major to recuperate before I put him into a jolting coach for the journey home." She held out her hand, knowing it would cause the constable agonies, but unable to stop her own grat.i.tude of him and his services. "Thank you."

She doubted he had ever shaken a woman's hand before, but he rose magnificently to the occasion. "I accept this in honor of our whole village, Mrs. Major Reed," he said, breathless with delight as he pumped her hand up and down. "If you ever want to come back, why, we won't even make you cut our hair or shave our k.n.o.bby faces!"

She was going to stop in the Innises' quarters as usual to visit and play with Maria, before seeing to Sam, but she had only opened the door when Mrs. Innis came to her in a hurry. "Is Sam ...." she began, wondering if there was ever a time in her life from now on when any quick movement or excitement wouldn't compel her to sudden fear.

"Mrs. Reed, he is better than we are! Heaven knows he has had more rest in the past week or two than you, what with your work and worry on his behalf," Mrs. Innis said. She touched Lydia's arm, her eyes bright with interest. "Mrs. Reed, the son of the justice of the peace is upstairs! He said he wanted to see you in particular, so I cannot imagine why he is still plaguing Mr. Reed, but some men don't know about convalescents, do they?"

"Indeed they do not, Mrs. Innis," she declared as she started immediately for the stairs. "If he is exhausting Sam, I will be disturbing his peace."

She came into the room quickly, then stopped in surprise. Sam was resting, as she had expected, but the other man had propped his long legs on the bed with a familiarity that amazed her. They must have been enjoying a huge joke, because Sam was wiping tears from his eyes, even as he wheezed with laughter. She stared.

"Oh, hullo," said the man, regarding her with nothing less than real interest. He looked at Sam. "Major, you never spoke truer words. She is a looker. How did you manage?"

"I couldn't get her sister!" Sam said, then started off in another spasm of amus.e.m.e.nt that had him pressing his arm against his shoulder. "My dear Lydia would have it that she is not the handsome one in her family, so I am pleased that she can hear some contradiction, Percy, from an unbiased source! She is a looker."

Lydia frowned and looked from one man to the other. This is such a casual village, she thought as she slowly removed her bonnet and set it aside. Sam even calls him Percy, as though .... She paused, her eyes widening, as the men looked at each other with the easiness of old friends. Somewhere in the back of her brain, a bell rang, and then another. Soon her whole head felt as though it were a jangle of noise.

"Sam," she began, her voice heavy with suspicion.

The other man laughed and tipped himself back even farther in the chair. "Major, my knowledge of the ladies is even less than yours, I think, but I do know that tone of voice. I think you have landed yourself into the basket." He tipped the chair up and rose just as quickly to tower over her. "Should I wait outside until you have greased your way through what I suspect is going to be a delicate introduction?" He started to laugh. "Lord, but this is amusing. Don't you wish General Picton were here?"

"Not especially," Sam said. He patted the bed. "Do have a seat, Lydia."

She sat.

"And do put down your bag of coins. I don't want another injury just now."

She kept it firmly in her lap.

"May I have the honor of introducing the son of the justice of the peace? Lydia, this is Sir Percy Wilkins. Now, I know what you are think ...."

"Lieutenant Percy Wilkins?" she asked, interrupting him. She glared at Sam, then turned her attention to the lieutenant, who was still on his feet. "He of Battery B?"

Percy nodded and extended his hand to her. "Yes, indeed, madam, Picton's finest."

"You live in this district," she stated, making every effort to keep her voice conversational. She shook his hand. "And Sam, of course, knows that you live here."

"Mercy, he has always known I lived near Merry Glade. Just forever! Oh, dear." He hesitated, even as Sam winced. "That seems to be the delicate matter at this moment, mum, wouldn't you say? I know I would, and heaven knows I just stumbled onto this situation. Dear me, Sam, am I talking too much?" He ran his finger around his collar as she continued to look from one man to the other.

"It would seem that way, Percy," the major said, his eyes on the bag of coins. "Do shut up."

Lieutenant Percy giggled. "Oh, sir, I think we are 'way beyond that." He turned a kindly eye on Lydia. "Wouldn't you agree, mum?"

Chapter Seventeen.

"Certainly," said Lydia. "Do sit down again, Sir Percy." She turned slightly to regard her husband. "Husband, you are in such trouble."