turned his back and crossed the street, not heeding the stares of others walking by.
Madeleine stood in the hall, pushing the broom here and there, wondering how one contrived to get all the dust into one spot so that one could use the dustpan. She decided to experiment on a little pile of dust, but couldn’t work out how to hold the broom and the dustpan at the same time. Linette sat in the corner galloping her wooden horse back and forth, while her doll sat abandoned on a parlour chair.
Bart had accompanied Sophie to the dress shop. How could any of them have guessed that little Sophie would be the only one to find paying work? Bart searched each day for labour, coming home talking of scores of veterans like himself lining up for one job. And Devlin. More lines of worry etched his face each day.
When Madeleine and Sophie took some of her new dresses to the dressmaker in the hope that they might return them, Sophie came home with a large package of piecework, Madeleine with the dresses she had sought to sell.
She struggled with the sweeping. She was determined to do her part. While Sophie sewed and Bart and Devlin searched for work, she would care for the house.
Madeleine tried a different way to hold the broom, sticking it under her arm and levering it against her hip. She pretended to be a simple country housewife. She cleaned the house and tended the child while her husband—Devlin, of course—tilled the earth. Their lives were a quiet routine of hard work, peaceful evenings in front of the fireplace, and nights filled with loving. Madeleine leaned on the broom and sighed. How wonderful it would be.
She should not waste time in fancy. This silly habit of hers did not do her credit. She needed to solve her problems such as they really were. She needed work. Employment as a housemaid would not be the means, she supposed, although housework had never seemed difficult for the housemaids she once knew. They sped through chores with no apparent effort.
She jabbed at her pitiful pile of dust with the broom, scattering it everywhere except into the dustpan. ‘Deuce.’
As she uttered this unladylike but Devlin-like epithet, the door opened and Devlin walked in, his head bent and his shoulders stooped. When he saw her, he smiled, but his eyes remained sad. ‘What the devil are you doing?’
‘Sweeping.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘Or trying to do so.’
‘Deddy!’ Linette popped up from her corner and propelled herself into Devlin’s arms.
‘How’s my little lady?’
Linette wrapped her little arms around Devlin’s neck. ‘Deddy play?’ She batted long lashes and smiled sweetly.
‘Not now, Lady Lin.’ He put Linette down and the child ran back to her toy horse. Devlin rubbed his forehead. He turned toward Madeleine and again smiled.
She stepped over to him to take his hat. ‘You are wet.’
‘It is nothing. A little rain.’
‘Let me help you remove your coat.’ She reached for the lapels. He held her arms and stared at her a moment before clutching her to him.
She could hardly breathe, he held her so tight.
‘Do not worry so, Devlin. We shall come about.’ She wound her own arms around his neck.
Linette ran to them, arms raised. ‘Me! Me!’
Devlin scooped her up and enveloped them both in a hug, the kind of coming-home greeting she had imagined a moment ago, but infused with pain instead of pleasure.
‘Come into the kitchen, Devlin. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ She liked the sound of that, the housewife giving comfort to the labourer.
‘I want biskis!’ Linette cried.
Devlin, holding them both more loosely now, gave her a perplexed look. ‘Biskis?’
‘She means biscuit. I believe we still have a good number that Sophie made.’
He smiled. ‘Tea and biskis it is, then.’ Still carrying Linette, he followed her into the kitchen.
Bart and Sophie entered from the rear door as Madeleine poured Devlin’s tea. Devlin merely raised his eyebrows to Bart, who shook his head.
‘These are hard times.’ The sergeant frowned.
Madeleine bade Bart and Sophie sit for tea and ‘biskis’, and, amid Sophie’s protests, she served them all. Linette had climbed upon Devlin’s lap. While the others traded news of their efforts of the day, she surveyed the scene. Their situation was dire, but the moment filled her with peace.
Her family, she thought. She put a hand to her brow. She must not think of family.
‘Perhaps I have something of value to sell,’ Devlin mused. ‘I must have a stick pin or something with a jewel in it. Or perhaps my sword would fetch a good price.’
‘You must keep the sword.’ Bart nodded his head firmly. ‘To honour the others.’
‘You are right.’ Devlin’s voice was barely audible.
‘I could try another shop to sell the dresses,’ Madeleine offered.
He winced. ‘Yes, you could.’
Sophie rose and dropped a few coins into Devlin’s hands. ‘My earnings, sir.’
Madeleine watched the look of pain flash over his face, replaced by a gentle smile for Sophie.
‘Thank you, indeed, little one. This is a welcome contribution.’
Sophie flushed with pride.
He stood, having drained the contents of his cup and set Linette upon a chair. ‘If you all will pardon me.’
Madeleine watched him walk out of the room, his tall figure ramrod straight. A moment later the front door closed.
Later that evening when she was putting Linette to bed, she heard Devlin’s footsteps on the stairs. He entered his bedchamber. Half-listening for sounds from his room, she sang softly to her sleepy daughter. Within a few minutes, the child’s eyelids fluttered closed. She kissed Linette’s soft, pink brow, tucked the covers around her, and tiptoed over to the chest. Quietly opening the top drawer, she removed a small package wrapped in cloth.
Madeleine tapped lightly at the connecting door between her room and Devlin’s. Without waiting for an answer, she entered.
He sat on the edge of his bed, bare-chested, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. He glanced up.
‘May I speak with you, Devlin?’
He nodded.
She walked over to the bed, handed him her parcel.
‘What is this?’ He took it in his hand.
‘Something for you to sell.’
He unwrapped the cloth and lifted a delicate gold chain with a teardrop
