things around this house which need...tending. I should like to be of assistance to you, until George is able to return.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to think of that offer. It was considerate indeed, but she didn’t wish to have him make a regular appearance. It was simply too hard.
“That is very kind of you, David,” her mother said, “but you are our guest...”
“Please, do not think of me that way. I should like to do my part. As Trudy reminded me earlier today, we are family.”
Her sister nodded, and her mother smiled appreciatively. Clearly they welcomed his presence.
Why is he doing this? Elizabeth wondered. Why would he wish to return to Baltimore, given all that has taken place here? Why would he leave his family and his business opportunities in Boston for a paper as small as the Free American, no matter how much writing he may be able to do?
Trudy’s earlier words passed through her mind. “He is grieving as deeply as you. You could be a comfort to one another...”
Then it made sense to her. David had left Boston because he could not sit at his own family table. He could not view Jeremiah’s empty chair.
A wide array of emotions rushed through her in that moment. David’s voice, his face would be a constant reminder to her of what could never be, but Elizabeth knew her sister was right. He was grieving as deeply as she, and Elizabeth wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. If oiling a few squeaky hinges and having a bite to eat with us now and again will help him cope with his loss, I can hardly say no. After all, Jeremiah would want his brother to be looked after.
As if reading her thoughts, her mother urged her with a hint of a smile. Elizabeth drew in a quick breath, then looked to David. She tried to sound calm, but her voice was shaky. “I believe we will accept your offer of assistance, only if you will accept an open invitation to dine with us whenever your schedule permits.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” His face had visibly brightened, and for a moment he looked almost happy.
* * *
The hour was not late, but David knew he should go. He could tell the evening had been difficult for Elizabeth, and he did not wish to prolong her pain. She had done her best to manage polite conversation, but it had clearly been a struggle. For him it had been, as well. The moment she’d opened the front door, a rock had lodged in his throat that he could not swallow.
The sight of those hollow cheeks and vacant eyes cut him deeply. Her grief had been apparent at the funeral, but the weeks since had levied an even harsher effect. Her skin was as pale as New England snow, and those green eyes of hers held no promise of spring. As they walked to the foyer so he could take his leave, he searched desperately for something encouraging to say. All he could come up with was a promise to return tomorrow or the following day to oil the hinges on the kitchen door.
She nodded quietly, and thanked him.
“I noticed there is a sizeable oak limb on the parlor roof,” he then said.
“Yes. It came down a few weeks ago during an ice storm.”
“I’ll see to that, as well. Some of the roof tiles may have been damaged. If they have, they’ll need to be repaired before the next rainstorm.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The tension between them was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. As uncomfortable as he was, though, he believed he was doing his duty. His father, although he knew not David’s true feelings for Elizabeth, had encouraged him, as well.
“Looking after those ladies is the Christian thing to do,” he had said. “There is no guarantee that young Mr. Martin will ever return from battle.”
And if he does, David thought, in what condition will he return?
He’d served in the hospital long enough to know how many veterans, rebel and Union alike, would return in wretched condition. Scores would be legless, armless, others half-witted or unable to comprehend at all.
They return as helpless as they were in infancy. They can no longer care for their families. Their families must care for them.
He wondered if Elizabeth thought of such things. Did she fear that fate for her brother? Had she ever confessed such fears to Jeremiah? Had he been able to comfort her?
The thought of his brother holding her tight, kissing away her tears, made David’s chest burn, but he forced the image away.
I have no right to think of such things. I came to protect her, to lend a hand in practical matters, as any decent male relative should.
When they reached the front door, Elizabeth asked about his sister. “Has Clara recovered? Is the baby strong?”
Trudy had asked the exact same question at dinner. Elizabeth must not have been listening. “Yes,” he replied once more. “Both mother and son are doing well.”
She tried her best to smile. It wasn’t a very convincing one. “I am pleased to hear that. I imagine that is a great comfort to your family. What did they name him?”
David swallowed hard. “Jeremiah.”
Immediately her eyes clouded, and it was only then that she asked about the burial. David delicately told her the details. Her chin quivered when she learned the band had played his favorite hymn.
“‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’” she whispered.
“Yes.”
He was hesitant to give her what he’d been carrying in his vest pocket, uncertain how she would respond, but taking a chance, he withdrew the handkerchief. A ragged gasp escaped her throat when he unfolded it and revealed the lock of his brother’s hair.
He stumbled through his words. “I thought you would like to have it...perhaps for...a...piece of jewelry...”
Brooches and pins made from a loved one’s hair were common art forms where he came from. David suspected the trend was practiced here in Baltimore, as well, for Elizabeth quickly accepted what he had offered, pressing the handkerchief to her heart.
“I never asked him for a lock of his hair because I did not want to think that something terrible could happen. And yet...”
Tears squeezed past her eyelids. David ached to hold her, but he didn’t dare. He knew no matter what repairs he made to her home, he’d never be able to repair the damage to her heart.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry—”
She looked up at him with those sorrow-filled eyes. “It is I who owe you an apology,” she said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did at the funeral. It was wrong. Please, forgive me. It’s just... I miss him so much...”
“I know you do.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “And you need not apologize. You were to be his bride. You’ve done nothing for which you need feel ashamed.” Elizabeth now stared at the floor.
“I
