She wasn’t going to think about him now. She would wait until later. Until...
She couldn’t say when. She gave a heavy sigh and looked around the room. It was no longer a combination sickroom, sitting room and library, but more a place to escape the domestic chaos of a household full of little boys. Even when Maria’s ailing father had occupied it, it had been a pleasant place to be, with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, comfortable upholstered rocking chairs and windows that looked out over the flower and herb garden. She’d come in here often the first time she’d visited Max, shortly before he married Maria. Then the room had been a kind of special sanctuary, a place where old Mr. Markham had held court for the community and the conquering army alike, despite his doctor’s orders. He’d been a witty and delightful man who’d enjoyed company—her company in particular, it had seemed—and she’d liked him very much. He’d been quite cunning, as well. He’d done his best to recruit her to bring him some forbidden cigars, and failing at that, it still hadn’t taken him long to steer her into revealing all her misgivings about her brother’s upcoming marriage to Mr. Markham’s only daughter—some of which he harbored, as well.
She suddenly smiled to herself, thinking of Max and Maria and how suited they were to each other. “We were wrong to worry so, weren’t we, Mr. Markham?” she whispered.
Or so she hoped. The chaos in Max’s house tonight was of a completely different kind, the kind that had precipitated heavy footsteps and loud men’s voices, Mrs. Kinnard barking orders like a sergeant major and some kind of commotion involving pots and pans in the kitchen. The house was annoyingly alive, and all because of the man who had collapsed in the downstairs hallway. If he was indeed Maria’s brother, then it was no wonder he’d questioned Kate’s presence here. He must have believed the house was still his home.
Where has he been? she wondered. And why did he stay away? She tried to imagine how she would have felt if Max had left her and their parents believing he was dead and grieving for him for years.
Kate suddenly realized that she wasn’t alone. A woman carrying a heavy-laden tray stood tentatively at the doorway.
“I— Am I interrupting?” the woman asked.
“No, no, of course not. Do come in, Mrs.—”
“Justice,” the woman said quickly, Kate thought in order to keep them both from being embarrassed if Kate happened not to remember her name—which she hadn’t.
“Yes, of course.”
The woman came into the room, a bit at a loss at first as to where to put the tray. After a moment she set it down on a small table next to one of the rocking chairs. There was a plain brown teapot on the tray, a sugar bowl, a cream pitcher, spoons and a cup and saucer—and a plate covered with a starched and finely embroidered—but slightly worn—tea towel.
“I thought you might like some tea and a little bread and butter to eat,” Mrs. Justice said. “I brought the bread with me—events being what they are tonight. I baked it early this morning so it’s fresh. And I took enough hot water to make a pot of tea when it started boiling—Mrs. Kinnard didn’t see me,” she added in a whisper, making Kate smile.
“You’re very kind—will you join me? I’m sure we can find another cup.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Justice said quickly. “They’ll be bringing Robbie upstairs shortly and I must be on hand for that—though I’m not quite sure why. Mrs. Kinnard always seems to require my presence, but she never really lets me do anything. I can’t believe dear Robbie has come home. He’s so like Bud, you know.”
“Bud?” Kate asked as she poured tea into the cup.
“Mr. Markham Senior. We grew up together, he and I—well, all of us. Mrs. Russell, as well. You remember Mrs. Russell.” It wasn’t a question because Mrs. Russell was nothing if not memorable, especially if one happened to be associated with the occupation army in any way.
“I... Yes,” Kate said. Maria had told her that the war was not over for Mrs. Russell—and never would be. She was as militant as Mrs. Kinnard was imperious, and she had single-handedly ended an alliance between her daughter and one of Max’s officers. The disappointed young major had even reenlisted—much to Mrs. Russell’s and his family’s dismay—just to stay near her. So sad, Kate thought.
Together, Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Kinnard were a force majeure in this town, a walking, talking tribulation to all who had the misfortune to wander uninvited into their realms.
“Mr. Markham Senior was always ‘Bud’ to me,” Mrs. Justice continued. “He was a bit of a rascal in his youth—and so was Robbie. You know, everyone says the love of a good woman is what turned Bud around, but that’s not quite true. It’s not enough that the good woman loves the rascal. The rascal has got to love the good woman, too. And if he loves her enough not to cause her worry or pain ever again, that’s when it works out just fine. Or so I believe. And Robbie...well, before the war he was what you might call a regular brawler in the saloons and the...um...other places. Marriage to the right woman—somebody he loved—could have fixed him as well, I’m sure.” She gave a quiet sigh. “Sometimes I think I can still feel Bud in this room. It’s—” she looked around at everything “—nice. If only he’d lived to see this day and his older son come home again—or perhaps he does see it. His boys were everything to him. Everything.”
“Mrs. Justice!”
“I do believe I hear my name,” Mrs. Justice whispered with a slight giggle. “It’s quite all right, though. I’d put my hand in the fire for Bud’s son.” She had such a wistful look on her face, and Kate suddenly realized that this woman had once loved Bud Markham beyond their having shared a childhood, perhaps loved him still, and Kate felt such a pang of loneliness and longing that she had to turn her face away.
“Oh, you should know our Mrs. Russell will be along shortly, too,” Mrs. Justice said, turning to go. “Drink your tea, my dear,” she said kindly. “You are likely to need it.”
“Mrs. Justice!”
“Oh, dear,” she whispered mischievously at Mrs. Kinnard’s latest summons. She picked up her skirts and walked quickly toward the door.
“Mrs. Justice,” Kate said just as she reached it. “Who is Eleanor?”
“Eleanor?” Mrs. Justice said, clearly puzzled.
“Robert Markham roused enough to say the name Eleanor. I think perhaps he thought I was she.”
“Oh, that poor dear boy,” Mrs. Justice said. “That poor boy. If she’s the reason he’s come home...”
“Mrs. Justice! We need you!”
Mrs. Justice held out both hands in a gesture that would indicate she couldn’t linger because she was caught in circumstances far beyond her control. “Drink your tea!” she said again as she hurried away.
Chapter Three
“Miss Woodard! Where are you!” The fact that the question was whispered made it no less jarring.
Am I in a hospital? Robert thought. He tried to move, but he couldn’t somehow. Blankets, he decided, tucked in tight. Perhaps he was in a hospital after all—except that it didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like...
...coffee.
