Home by Nightfall (21 page)

He leaned forward again and put his elbows on the desk. When he spoke, it was as friend to friend, not as priest to sinner. “You must try to put him out of your daily thoughts, if for no one else, for yourself. Torturing yourself this way with imaginings of what might have been will make your life unbearable. If you are determined to keep this child and raise him, he will become the keepsake of the bond you once had with his father. Women
all over Europe are faced with the same heartache—widows of men who did not come home from the war. What they do have is the child or children to renew the lives that were lost. Your child will be Christophe’s legacy to you. The Church cannot approve of this, and I cannot, but I will not condemn you, either. He will be baptized when he is born and made a member of the Church. Although I understand your reticence, I will still ask you to consider Édouard—if you should change your mind about that, let me know.”

Véronique felt the tension and anger drain from her, and her shoulders sagged. “I thank you very much, mon père.”

“If he chooses to continue his suit, I will not try to stop him.”

“That is fair enough.”

• • •

Three days later, Véronique was sitting at her table drinking tea when she heard the unmistakable bleating of sheep. She went to the door and saw Édouard driving them along with the help of his dog. And they were
her
sheep—the ewe was pregnant.

With a gait that did not permit much running, she hurried outside without her coat. “Oh! Édouard! You have returned my sheep.” She approached them and gave each of them a hug around their woolly necks. “My sweet little cabbages!” Turning, she hugged him as well. “Thank you so much! Where have they been?”

He took a breath. “Th-th-th the p-p-police found the g-g-g-guil-guilty men. They w-w-w—” He stopped and sighed. “Th-th-
they
were not f-f-from around here. P-p-p-ère M-m-m—”

“Dear God,” she whispered. She put her hand on his arm and shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “It is all right. We will
work it out later.” She tightened her hand on his arm. “This is why you do not speak.”

He nodded, his face red with embarrassment and frustration.

“It happened because of the war?”

Again, he nodded.

She waved at the animals. “Put them in their pen and come inside. We will have tea and you can write the story down, yes?”

He looked relieved.

So when he came in she gave him her dip pen, ink, and a big piece of paper that had served as wrapping for some dishes she had received. Smoothing it out on the table in front of him, she said, “Write.”

He wrote, and she brought him tea and a sandwich made from cured meat and sliced eggs. The pen nib scratched away for a long time. Finally he turned the paper so she could read it.

The police found the men who stole your animals. They were not from around here but they were on a rampage of thievery. There are many homeless soldiers wandering Europe and some of them have bad intentions. When they were caught they had many things with them including jewelry and silver. I am glad they found your sheep but I am also glad that the thieves did not harm you. The police said that one farmer and his wife were beaten when they tried to resist. Monsieur le curé asked me to bring the sheep out here and to tell you what happened.

Massaging her forehead, she said, “What a world we have been left with. A person is not safe anywhere.” She looked at him and pushed the paper back to him. “But now, can you tell me about yourself?”

He began writing again, the pen covering the paper with his fine, neat hand. He told her he had left his position as a pharmacist and enlisted with the army when the war started in 1914. He
served as a medic and an ambulance driver, but three years into the conflict he was put in the infantry and the Battle of the Somme, the great battle of attrition. Without going into a lot of detail, he explained that he had been lucky to survive. The casualties were massive, over one million, to gain only twelve kilometers. But he developed a stutter. Many viewed shell shock as cowardice, and cowards were cast into No Man’s Land and abandoned. He was spared, but spoken communication was a laborious task that no one, including him, had patience for.

His battlefield experience explained why he had inspected her hand with such care after her hatchet injury. “You have no family left?” she asked.

He shook his head. He wrote on a corner of the paper that his wife and child died of the Spanish influenza before he got home. The few other relatives he had had were scattered to the four winds. He had never seen any of them again.

“I wish someone, you or Monsieur le curé, had explained this to me sooner. Did you suppose that I cannot read?”

He shook his head. “N-no.” He wrote that the priest didn’t know until now and that it seemed too difficult to explain to every person he met. So he let them think he was mute. The only reason Édouard finally revealed the truth was because he knew she didn’t trust him.

“I am truly sorry. You can understand why, though?”

He looked at her and nodded. Still holding the pen, he dipped it in the ink again.

I want to be of more help to you, especially now that life has become so uncertain. And perhaps if you know me better, your trust in me will grow.

“That would be a good thing.” She glanced around her small home. “But we will to need get a lot more paper.”

On a cold night a few weeks after the calendar changed to 1921, Susannah rolled over in bed. In her sleep state, she tried to stay within the warm pocket she’d created because beyond that were icy sheets. Now, though, that pocket was bigger and she burrowed against the source of the warmth that was so comforting. An arm wrapped around her, and she nestled closer to a familiar scent and began to drift back into heavy sleep again. Then she felt a kiss on her forehead and a hand that slid down the curve of her hip.

Just before a dream overtook her mind, an alarm went off in her head. She pulled back, and in the dim light provided by the overcast sky outside, she saw a silhouette of a head and shoulders.

Unable to utter more than a muffled noise, she pushed away as fast as she could and jumped from the bed. She blinked and blinked, trying to get her bearings. At last she had enough control over her limbs to light the lamp on her night table.

She saw Riley in her bed.

“Riley!”

His eyes snapped open and he looked at her.

“What are you doing here?”

She glanced down and was outraged to realize that her nightgown buttons were completely undone.

“I—I’m sorry. I had a bad dream.”

“So you came here to undress me?” Fury surged through her, burning away any groggy feeling she’d had at being woken in the middle of deep sleep, and she struggled to get her nightgown rebuttoned. “Get out! Get out and go back to your own room.”

He sat up and pulled himself out of her bed. “I don’t remember how I got here. I think I must have been sleepwalking. I didn’t mean to—”

“Out!” She pointed at her door.

“Susannah, really, I thought if I…”

“Thought what?” She wanted to hear this.

“I thought if you, if we—if I made things they way they used to be, you’d take me back as your husband. I can feel you slipping away from me—I guess I was desperate. I’m sorry.”

“Riley, is that what you want, honestly? To be my husband? Because not much of what I’ve seen or heard since you remembered who I am makes me believe you.”

“I just want to fit in here. To go back to the way things were. What do I have to do?” he asked, exasperation loaded into every word.

“If that was what you really wanted, you wouldn’t have to ask. Now go on with you. Go back to your own bed.”

He walked out, not angry, not happy. When she heard the floor creak in his bedroom, she closed her door and this time, locked it again. She got back into bed, but now she was wide awake and couldn’t sleep. After trying to get comfortable and settle down for half an hour, she gave up and flung back the covers.

• • •

Susannah sat at the kitchen table, the lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The stove radiated a low heat from its embers, but
she was chilled by the fear and loneliness that sank into her bones. She’d known both when Riley had gone to war, but this—this was different. She felt a void in her heart, so dark, so empty, it was as if all hope were gone. As if she were the only person left in the world, totally alone now, even though he was just upstairs in the bed they had once shared. She huddled deeper into her woolen shawl.

How could she have gotten so confused about which man she belonged with when, she now realized, there had never been any question? Until recently, most of the decisions she’d made in her adult life had been solid, even when she’d followed her heart. And maybe that was why this indecision had proven so disastrous—she had let her sense of obligation interfere. But when she stopped to really think about it, she wondered how much she owed Riley. He’d been declared dead, and as far as she’d known for two years, he
was
dead.

Riley knew her now and remembered their marriage, but he was not the same man who had left here in 1917, and despite his promises to try, it was unrealistic—maybe unfair—to expect he would be that man again.

But this episode tonight—it was too much. He’d known what he was doing. That sleepwalking story didn’t fool her for a second, even before he had admitted the truth.

Outside, rain lashed the house, driven by a merciless late-January east wind. Snow or an ice storm was surely coming. She rose and went to the window, trying to see across the yard, looking for a glow of light from the bunkhouse. But the gleam of a lamp was only a pinprick in this black night. She couldn’t even see the building’s silhouette through the darkness and rain. Pulling up the shawl to cover her head, she stepped out to the back porch and was slapped in the face with a rain-soaked gust. Common
sense should have stopped her, but her heart overrode the warnings clanging in her head like the big iron triangle she’d once used to call everyone to meals. She stepped down from the porch and immediately her shoes and stockings were waterlogged.

Gathering all her courage, she raced across the yard, clutching her shawl around herself, and aimed for the warm light that glowed brighter as she neared the bunkhouse. She pounded up the stairs and lifted a hand to knock, hesitating for an instant. But the door opened anyway and she saw Tanner, dressed in just his jeans and wool socks.

“Susannah, what are you doing out in this weather?” He pulled her inside and shut the door. A single lamp hanging from a wall bracket offered feeble light. “Is something wrong? What happened?”

She knew she must look like a Fury, windblown and wet, her hair slipping out of the shawl like live coils. But her eyes were drawn to the tendon and sinew of his work-muscled torso.

“The boys?”

She shook her head. “No, they’re asleep.”

“Shaw?”

“He’s asleep too.”

“Then what?”

She dropped her chin and glanced at the floor, then raised her eyes to his face again. “Tanner, please…”

He nodded, waiting patiently, making coaxing motions.

“Please. I can’t stay in that house tonight.” Her voice broke. “I just can’t.”

He frowned and grabbed her by the shoulders. His hands were warm, even through the fabric of her shawl and blouse. “Did Braddock hurt you? By God, if he—”

“No, that’s not it. But he wants more from me—you know.”

Tanner tightened his jaw and she could see that the pain in his eyes mingled with a barely contained rage. She had no right to do this to him.

“I’d better go.” She turned and he grabbed her arm.

“No!” He pressed his forehead to hers. “No, don’t. I know we’re in the damnedest situation anyone could imagine. But you’re still my wife and I’ll be gone to hell if I’m going to send you back to another man. Enough is enough.” He pulled her close and his voice cracked. “I can’t take any more of this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’ve been—I’ve made a mess of us and everything else. I wish we had left here when we got married. We would have been somewhere else when Riley came home.” She pulled away and looked at him. “I love you, Tanner. I tried to do what I thought was right, but I love
you
and I was wrong, dead wrong to—”

“Hush, now,” he interrupted, pulling her back into his embrace. “I’ve wished we left too, but how could anyone have guessed what would happen? What were the chances? And I didn’t help things much because I couldn’t tell you how I felt in my heart. I only hoped you’d know. That was a stupid assumption—no one can read minds. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about that while I’ve been living here in the bunkhouse. I’ll tell you right now—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’d walk through fire to have you as my wife.”

Oh, he was warm and familiar, not unpredictable or frightening. She had loved Riley but now the man he’d been was a bittersweet memory, like the faded fragrance of a flower pressed between the pages of a book. She had tried to do what she believed to be the right thing, but what Tanner said was true—enough was enough. He was vibrant and comforting, and being here with him
felt as if she’d come home from a long, lonely journey. How many nights had they slept apart? How often had she awakened from a fitful sleep and looked out the window through the darkness to this house, hoping for a glimpse of him, and then feeling guilty for wanting him?