Ambrosia

by Rosanne Kohake

  “Just wait until Ledger comes home!” Melissa flung after her. “He’ll throw you out on the street! He’ll make you sorry for everything!”

  The threat made Ambrosia hesitate for a long moment before she hurried up the stairs to her room.

  Chapter 10

  The June day had been uncomfortably hot and the store unusually busy. Ambrosia was just beginning work on the day’s accounts when Sheba appeared, ready to escort her home. With hardly a glance Ambrosia waved the black woman to a seat, mumbling a promise that she wouldn’t be much longer. Several moments had passed before Ambrosia noticed that Sheba had not taken the seat at all, that instead she stood before her, nervously wringing her short, plump hands. Ambrosia stood abruptly and put her pen aside. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Sheba’s head jerked up and she reluctantly met Ambrosia’s eyes. “He home, Miz Ambrosia,” she said quietly.

  Ambrosia held her breath, feeling a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. Her eyes demanded the rest of it.

  ‘’Massah Ledger, he-he been hurt,’’ she admitted reluctantly. “He been hurt real bad.”

  The hope in Ambrosia’s eyes died and her gaze became glazed and distant. It could not be. Ledger-the young horseman who had flown magically over the high stone wall, his blond curls framing a face so warm and beautiful and alive, his blue eyes so young and confident Ambrosia closed her eyes and let out a lengthy breath, leaning her weight against the desk, wondering if she could bear to face a tattered remnant of what he had been. She bit her lip hard and slowly closed the book she had been working on. With a vague excuse to Maggie, she left the store.

  The early evening air was moist and cool after the heat of the day. She hurried along the street with Sheba panting behind her. The black woman did her best to slow Ambrosia down, to prepare her for what was to come. But her efforts were in vain. By the time she reached the wrought-iron gate, Ambrosia had disappeared into the house. Sheba sighed heavily and shook her head. By now she knew the worst of it.

  The house was quiet when Ambrosia hurried into the parlor. There was none of the usual bickering or gossip, no deliberately cutting remark from Melissa to herald her coming home. For a moment Ambrosia thought the room empty. The shutters had been closed against the sun and were still closed, though evening shadows had begun to fail. She half turned to leave, then caught sight of the figure curled up in a chair, her face hidden in her hands. ‘’Melissa?’’

  Melissa’s head lifted the slightest bit. She let out a little cry and faced away. Ambrosia frowned and walked slowly to her side, bending low and staring hard at her face. “Melissa?” Her voice was thin and shrill as she took in the terrible change in her sister’s face. “What’s happened to him? Tell me what’s happened!”

  Melissa stared at her for a long moment, then looked away. Her voice was low and hard. “I wish he’d died.”

  “No!” Ambrosia shook her head and slowly backed away. “Don’t ever say that! You mustn’t ever say it! You ought to thank God he’s come home to you, no matter what.”

  Melissa’s eyes flashed cold and accusing. “You haven’t seen him. Go look at him, little sister,” she spat bitterly. ‘’Then come back here and tell me how lucky I am to have a husband. Tell me how grateful I ought to be-’’ Her voice broke off and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  Ambrosia clenched her teeth against the growing panic. She turned and made her way from the parlor, her steps hesitant, heavy as she ascended the stairs to Ledger’s room. She drew a deep breath and gathered her resolve as she rapped on the door, and waited. A moment later Madeline opened the door, her face drawn and pinched and aged several years since that morning.

  “Can I see him?” Ambrosia tossed an uncertain glance over Madeline’s shoulder.

  “He’s resting just now,” Madeline whispered. “I think it would be better if you waited till morning.”

  Ambrosia’s face fell. Of course she had no right to see him. She made to turn away.

  “Who is it, Mother? Who’s there?” Ambrosia stopped at the sound of his voice.

  “It’s Melissa’s little sister, dear,” Madeline answered.

  “Ambrosia?” Ambrosia’s heart soared at the excitement in his tone when he said her name. “Ambrosia’s here?”

  “I told her you were resting, dear.” “It’s all right, Mother. Let her in.”

  Reluctantly Madeline eased the door ajar and allowed Ambrosia to enter. The room was dark, the shµtters closed, the draperies pulled shut. Only a low burning lamp in the far comer of the room gave off a shadowy light. “Ambrosia? Is it really you?”

  Ambrosia smiled and made her way quickly toward the chair where he sat, a comforter spread over his lap. Even from across the room, it was apparent that he had lost a leg. But Ambrosia had seen many men with missing legs or arms. They had become a fact of life since the war. She bent to take his hand. “Ledger-”

  He turned his head to face her and the light from the lamp fell across his face. Ambrosia froze.

  “Ambrosia?” His voice was so full of concern for her that she thought she would be sick. She could not even bring herself to answer. For a long space of time all was silent as she stared at his face in disbelief.

  “Melissa didn’t tell you, did she?” he said finally. His voice was much different now, bitter and sad.

  Ambrosia blinked back a tear and shook her head. No. Melissa hadn’t told her that he’d lost a leg, or that his face had been so badly scarred she would never even have recognized him. She forced herself to speak, willing away the trembling in her voice. “Sh-Sheba told me that you had been injured... “

  “Injured?” He gave a short, brittle laugh. “An inadequate term for what little is left of me, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ambrosia swallowed hard and lifted his hand firmly in her own. The scars were there too, dark pink and raised, terrible, ugly scars. “Ledger...” Her throat was so tight and dry that she could scarcely speak. She knelt beside the chair, using the time to compose herself. “Ledger,” she began again, more steadily this time, “all that really matters is that you’ve come home. Thank God you’re home!” She saw him smile a little at that, a sad kind of smile she had never seen before. “You can’t know how I-how we prayed for you to come home.”

  The smile disappeared as he lifted his hand to the thick scars that had transformed his once handsome face into an ugly, disfiguring mask. “Like this?”

  His voice was so full of despair that Ambrosia could no longer hold back her tears. Slowly she moved to touch his face, her trembling fingers traveling gently over the thickened patches of skin which drew his eye and brow down in an odd, unnatural angle. “I-I prayed for you,” she whispered brokenly. And you are here. All of you that matters to me. Your mind…your heart, your soul...”

  Ledger felt her tears on his hands and struggled to hold back his own. He sighed raggedly, turning his head to kiss the fingers at his cheek. “Don’t cry, Ambrosia,” he pleaded softly. “I’ve had my fill of tears these past months. Tears and pity... ‘’ He closed his eyes and let out a long, weary sigh. “They all thought I was going to die. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had.”

  Ambrosia sniffed and wiped the tears from her wet cheeks. She had seen too many men give up their will to live after losing a limb, or being disfigured, men would could not face a life of being endlessly doted upon and pitied. Or even worse, uncomfortably ignored. She silently vowed that she would never be a part of that. Her voice came strong and clear. “How did it happen?”

  Ledger opened his eyes and met her even gaze with some surprise. “I got in the way of a Yankee shell. At least that’s what they told me afterward. I don’t really remember anything but the first loud blast, and the pain.’’ He grinned, a shadow of the wide, boyish grin she had once known. “Do you know, you’re the first one to ask me that since I came home? The first
to do anything besides cry and make attempts at silly conversation.” He paused, and his eyes were touched with warmth. “I shouldn’t really be surprised. You’re the only completely honest woman I’ve ever known.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “You haven’t changed at all, Ambrosia.” Ambrosia struggled to hide her disappointment.

  Couldn’t he see that she had changed? That she was a woman now, not a child. “I-I’ve grown up,” she said softly.

  His eyes drifted briefly over her before returning to her face. He smiled, this time without sadness, though the scars pulled stubbornly at his skin. “Yes. You have grown up. You’re a beauty, Ambrosia.”

  She tried to smile in return, but his eyes made her long for so much more than the touch of his hand. She swallowed hard and searched about uneasily for something to say. “Did Melissa tell you I’ve been working?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Oh, a little of everything, really. I work in a shop a few blocks north of Broad, mostly keeping track of the stock, though sometimes, when Mrs. O’Neal is busy, I-”

  “Mrs. O’Neal?”

  “Maggie O’Neal. She’s the widow lady who owns the shop.’’ Ambrosia bit her lip for a moment before she added, “She’s a Yankee, and most of the customers are Yankees too.” She waited, but Ledger made no comment. She gnawed at her lip and plucked nervously at her sleeve. “Some of your mother’s friends don’t approve of my working there.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “They don’t think it’s right that I associate with the enemy, no matter what my motives.’’

  ‘’And what are your motives?’’

  “I’m going to save up enough to rebuild Heritage. Not the way it was before, perhaps, but enough to make a new start.”

  Ledger gave a short laugh and patted her hand. “You’ll do it too. I know you will, if anyone can.”

  She let out her breath and smiled. He understood. “Does she pay well? This O’Neal woman?” “Twenty dollars a month.”

  Ledger gave a low whistle of admiration. “I’m impressed. Though you’re probably worth every cent.” Ambrosia’s smile widened at that. “And I can understand why some of the women are up in arms over it. They’re jealous! You can afford to buy all those stylish gowns the Yankees are wearing while they’re stuck in rags,” he teased. “Not that any of them would be as handsome as you in a new gown , mind you...’’

  “Ledger!” she cried in exasperation, but her eyes were shining with pleasure. “I told you I’m saving for the future. I haven’t spent a dime on clothing-”

  “Then you must be building quite a nest egg.”

  “Well...I do give some money to your mother,” she told him. “And some of it...well, I have a debt that-” Ambrosia stopped short and turned her head, suddenly conscious of Madeline’s presence in the room. To her surprise Melissa was also there, her eyes burning with a hatred that made Ambrosia self-consciously pull her hand from Ledger’s.

  “I hope you aren’t tiring yourself, Ledger,” Melissa said in an overly solicitous tone.

  “I-I was just leaving,” Ambrosia told her, rising from the floor.

  “Don’t hurry off on my account,” Melissa mouthed with a falsely sweet smile.

  “I’m not. It’s just that-as you said, Ledger should not tax himself.’’

  Ambrosia drew a lengthy breath and attempted a smile, aware that Melissa’s narrowed eyes followed her every move. “Sleep well tonight,” she said softly, pressing her fingers to his arm. “It’s good to have you home.” She straightened slowly and withdrew her hand, her heart aching to say so much more. With a small sigh and a quick glance at her sister, Ambrosia left the man she loved to his wife’s care.

  Chapter 11

  The long days of summer slipped slowly by, passing in a much different fashion than Ambrosia had planned. Ledger grew stronger as the time passed and was able to move about the house on a pair of crutches loaned him by one of Madeline’s friends. But there was little to occupy his time, since he refused to leave the house. Ambrosia was keenly aware of the hours he spent alone in his room, staring at the four walls. The few occasions when Madeline managed to coerce him into visiting or socializing, the drain on him was all too apparent. He was quiet and brooding for days afterward, hardly spoke a word, and even refused to eat. Worst of all was Melissa’s cold indifference to his loneliness, his despair. It tore at Ambrosia’s heart to hear her complaints about being shut up in the house, to hear her whine and cry about all the things she couldn’t afford to buy. It was obvious that Ledger felt responsible for his wife’s unhappiness, and even more obvious that Melissa could not bear to look at him.

  Each evening when she returned home, Ambrosia would spend time with Ledger, filling the parlor with exaggerated stories about the Yankees she’d seen that day, or coaxing him into telling tales about the days before the war, or simply sitting beside him in silence. He confessed to her, after a while, that she was the only visitor who could endure the silence with him. Ambrosia cherished the compliment. She was grateful that Madeline and Melissa sometimes found other things to occupy their time, leaving her and Ledger alone. She was far more comfortable when she was alone with him, free to say what she thought, freer to smile and laugh with him. It was almost like she had always dreamed it might be, the sharing, the closeness. She had never felt free with anyone before... and she had never felt loved.

  One evening, when they were alone in the parlor, Ambrosia presented him with a small wrapped package. “Open it,” she ordered laughingly when he left it lying in his lap and continued to stare at it. “I bought it for you.”

  With a quick look at her that seemed a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, Ledger took up the package and excitedly pulled at the string. A moment later the paper fell to the floor, and Ledger lifted a worn leather-bound volume, which he examined with utmost care.

  “It’s a collection of the works of John Donne,” Ambrosia told him.

  He gave her a small smile. “So I see.”

  “He was one of Father’s favorite writers. I thought you might like to read some of his works and maybe-” She hesitated, biting her lip before she gave a timid shrug. “And maybe try to write some of your own thoughts down.” She gave a shy smile. “There’s paper in the back leaf.”

  “Ambrosia,” he scolded with an affectionate smile, “you shouldn’t have spent your money on me. And a book! You know I’ve never been the scholarly type.’’

  She grinned. “I know. But you’ve spent so much time in your room lately, Ledger. And-and you have so much to share.”

  Uncomfortable at the compliment, Ledger laughed aloud and shook his head. “A book,” he chided her again. He cleared his throat noisily and flattened his hand against his heart, flipping through the pages until he found a most solemn looking text. He raised his voice to a high-pitched squeal and read it aloud in an overly dramatic British accent.

  ‘’ ‘...Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?’ “ He flashed Ambrosia a playful grin which widened when she giggled, then went on. “ ‘...No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if-’ “He stopped, the meaning of the words suddenly penetrating his mind, suddenly driving all levity from his voice.

  “ ‘If a clod be washed away by the sea,’ “ he repeated softly, “ ‘Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were...’ ‘’ His voice trailed off for a moment, then began again, slowly, with a wealth of feeling in each word. “ ‘...any man’s death diminishes me; because I am involved in mankind...’ “ He stopped again and was silent for what seemed like a long time. Ambrosia watched the emotions play across his face, wanting more than anything to touch him,
to hold him near. She smiled softly when he met her eyes, the surprise and confusion still evident in his expression. “It-it’s strange to find so much truth in so few words,” he said finally.

  Ambrosia nodded, then watched as he swiftly turned the pages of the book, letting his eyes scan a verse here, a line there. A few moments later he closed the book and ran his fingers slowly over the worn leather binding. “Thank you, Ambrosia. I shall treasure this always.”

  He did not meet her eyes again, even when she rose and came to touch his hand, to bid him a good night. There were times, like this one, when he could not bear to look at her, when he could not bear the sight of her beautiful face or the innocent love in her eyes. It was always there, so clearly, just as it had been there that night at the Woodard’s party so many years before. Only now Ledger realized what a fool he’d been to call such love childish, what a fool he’d been not to realize that he had loved her too. He’d been a boy then, so sure and confident. And blind. And his blindness had cost him everything, just as it had cost her.

  Ledger closed his eyes and sighed as her soft footfalls sounded on the stairs. He might have been able to reconcile himself to this terrible, broken body if it hadn’t been for Ambrosia. But she forced him to hope and refused to allow him to retreat into a world of self-pity and despair. She believed that in spite of all that had happened to him, he was still the same man who bravely jumped the fence at Barhamville Academy six Saturdays in a row. And whenever she was with him, she made him believe it too.

  But the cold, hard truth of the situation wore heavily on Ledger’s conscience. Ambrosia was young and beautiful, and he was no longer either. And he was a married man. He loved her deeply, but he could offer her nothing. And because he loved her, he could not bear the thought of watching her waste her life away, working at O’Neal’s Emporium sunup to sundown, wearing her mended black gowns and buying him little gifts with her hard-earned money. Someday he would have to tell her in no uncertain terms that she was a fool for loving him, and then he would have to watch her leave.