An Unexpected Wife

“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. Baked bread. Wood burning in a fireplace. Lavender sachet.

His head hurt—a lot, he soon realized. He managed to get one hand out from under the covers and reach up to touch his forehead.

Yes. Definitely a reason for the pain.

He finally opened his eyes. A fair-haired woman sat on a low stool in a patch of weak sunlight not far from his bed, her arms resting on her knees and her head down. He couldn’t see her face at all, only the top of her golden hair and the side of her neck. Was she praying? Weeping? He couldn’t decide.

“Miss Woodard!” the voice whispered fiercely right outside the door, making her jump.

She turned her head in his direction and was startled all over again to find him awake and looking at her.

She took a deep breath. “I’m hiding,” she said simply, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard on the other side of the door.

He thought it must be the truth, given the circumstances.

“What...have you...done?” he managed to ask, but he didn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes open long enough to hear the answer.

* * *

Kate took a hushed breath. He seemed to be sleeping again, and in that brief interlude of wakefulness, she didn’t think he had mistaken her for the still-mysterious Eleanor, despite his grogginess. She knew that the army surgeon had given him strong doses of laudanum—to help his body rest and to make his return to the living less troubled, he said. The surgeon hadn’t known that Robert Markham had already made his “return to the living,” and thus missed the irony of his remark.

She hardly dared move in case Maria’s brother was more awake than he seemed. She watched him closely instead. He was so thin—all muscle and sinew that stopped just short of gauntness. Both his eyes had blackened from the force of the fall in the hallway, and there was a swollen bruise on his forehead. He hadn’t been shaved. She tried to think if she’d ever been in the actual company of a man so in need of a good barbering.

No, she decided. She had not. She had seen unkempt men out and about, of course—on the streets of Philadelphia and here in Salisbury—but generally speaking, all the men she encountered socially were...presentable. The stubble of growth on Robert Markham’s face seemed so intimate somehow, as if he were in a state only his wife or his mother should see.

But still she didn’t leave the room. She looked at his hands instead, both of them resting on top of the latest warmed and double-folded army blanket the orderlies kept spread over him. The room was filled with the smell of slightly scorched wool.

His fingers moved randomly from time to time, trembling slightly whenever he lifted them up. She could see the heavy scarring on his knuckles, and she was sure Sergeant Major Perkins had been right. These were the kinds of scars that could have only come from fighting.

And rage.

I shouldn’t be here, she thought, Mrs. Kinnard or no Mrs. Kinnard.

But it was too late for that realization. He was awake again.

* * *

Robert stared in the woman’s direction and tried to get his vision to clear. When he finally focused, he could tell that she was the same woman he had seen earlier— in the same place—hiding, she’d said. Did he remember that right? Hiding?

She looked up at a small noise. She seemed only a little less startled to find him looking at her this time. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said after a moment. “I’ll go—”

“I wish you...wouldn’t,” Robert said, his voice hoarse and his throat dry. “I...don’t seem to know...what has happened. Perhaps you could...help me with that.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m somewhat bewildered myself.”

“About what?”