The Widow and the Warrior

by Sarah Winn

  She finally looked up at him. “Shall we go ahead with the annulment?”

  Was she saying she wanted the annulment? “Where will you go if you leave here?”

  Her eyes opened widely, as if she hadn’t expected that question. “Ah—to my aunt’s, I suppose.”

  “Do you want to go there?”

  She shrugged. “This should be about what you want. You’re the one who’s made a sacrifice.”

  “I don’t consider having you for a wife a sacrifice.”

  “You don’t have to be kind. Supporting a wife and child must be a burden at this time.”

  “At this time?”

  “You’re starting a new business—having trouble with it.”

  “Every new business has problems. My falling today is a set-back, no question about it, but it could have happened whether you and Toby were here or not.”

  She stared at him with a small frown.

  This conversation was going nowhere. He decided to plunge ahead. “I’d like for our relationship to be deeper. Could you consider making our marriage a real one? We get on well together, you and Toby need a home, and I certainly need a wife.”

  She looked at him as though she were considering her words carefully before she spoke. “You don’t think love is a necessary part of a good marriage?”

  He followed her example of carefully considering his words before saying, “I think there can be two kinds of love in a marriage: the romantic kind that strikes like a bolt of lightning and usually comes to the young, and a more sedate kind built on mutual respect and shared interests. I feel that we could easily grow into the second kind.”

  She stared at him solemnly. “Would you be satisfied with that?”

  “Would you?”

  “I’ve already experienced the bolt of lightning. You haven’t.”

  “Ellen, I wasn’t exactly a monk before we met.”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “Oh! Of course! I should have known. A dashing cavalry officer always attracts female attention.”

  “I did all right,” he said, “but you are the first woman I’ve asked to have a permanent relationship with.”

  She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “I think we both need to think about this for a few days. Besides, your knee needs to heal before we—we can…”

  He smiled at her obvious embarrassment. “But I need more liniment tonight. What if my male needs become unruly again?”

  With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “You’ll have to handle that for yourself.”

  Through a bark of laughter, he said, “Why, you, saucy wench.”

  She grinned at him. “You see. There are things you don’t know about me.”

  Growing serious, he said. “And I’d like to learn all of them.”

  She busied herself with the food on her plate. “Our food is getting cold.”

  Was she really hungry or just too embarrassed to tell him she didn’t want a permanent relationship with him? He wasn’t exactly the greatest catch in the world. Then he reminded himself that she had asked for more time. A gentleman would back off and let the next move be hers.

  They finished the meal in relative silence. Finally, Ellen said, “As soon as I stack the dishes, I will put the liniment on your knee.”

  “No, you were right about that. It will be better if I do it tonight.”

  “Can you reach it?”

  He sat up and reached down with his hand to show her he could easily touch his knee.

  She gave him an inquisitive frown. “And how will you put the liniment in your hand?”

  “I’ll pour a little on my knee and then rub it in.”

  “Some of it will surely run onto the bed.”

  He smirked at her. “Well, if you are so eager to touch me again—"

  “I just want to see that your knee is properly cared for. Suppose I pour a bit of the liniment into your palm and then you rub it in?”

  He nodded and pulled the sheet away from his injured knee. She hurriedly fetched the bottle from the washstand. After pouring a little pool of the clear liquid into his palm, she finished stacking all their dinner supplies on the tray while he applied the liniment.

  “The knee doesn’t look as swollen as it did this afternoon,” she said.

  “The liniment must be working,” he replied as he moved his hand to the underside of his leg. When he finished, she held out a dinner napkin for his to wipe his hand on. Then she gestured toward the empty sleeve of his nightshirt. “You don’t want that sleeve flopping about. Let me roll it up for you.”

  “I can do it.” He reached for the lower end of the empty sleeve.

  She leaned over him and took the slack material from his fingers. “I can do it more quickly.” She was so close to him, as she neatly folded the sleeve, that he could feel the heat of her body and smell a slight floral bouquet coming from her hair. Was she deliberately trying to arouse him? She wasn’t that type of woman—was she?

  She finished, leaving a neat roll of fabric just below where his arm ended, and straightened her back, pulling away from him. “There. What else can I do? How about moving your pillows?”

  “I’m really not ready to go to sleep. How about another glass of wine?”

  “Oh, I never have more than one glass of wine at night,” she said.

  “Could you sit and talk to me while I have another?”

  “Why, yes, I can do that.” She poured more wine in his glass and handed it to him, then she sat in her chair.

  As he took a sip, she said, “When you return to the stables, what are you going to do about—about what Mr. Samuels said caused the horse to startle?”

  “You mean the arm?” He didn’t like to talk about the artificial arm, but he supposed if they were to truly become man and wife, he must learn to discuss the private aspects of his life with her.

  “Yes,” she continued. “It occurs to me that if you stop wearing the arm, you’ll need to do something about empty sleeves flapping about. I could stitch some of your work shirts so they’ll look like they’re rolled up, but they won’t come undone.”

  He had not yet made up his mind about what Mr. Sam had said, but as he looked at Ellen waiting for a reply to her suggestion, he realized he could not ignore the older man’s advice. “Just do one shirt for starters,” he said. “I’m not sure I can manage a horse without the artificial arm.”

  * * * *

  Ellen made sure Gerald had everything he would need for the night before she returned to the room she shared with Toby. She changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed as quietly as possibly, so she wouldn’t disturb her sleeping son. But she lay awake for a long time thinking about Gerald’s suggestion that they consummate their marriage. Why had he made it?

  Was he simply following the male urge to mate or was he still trying to protect his former sergeant’s wife and child? Surely, no man would feel so obligated to the family of a fallen comrade that he would dedicate his entire life to their care. Gerald must see something desirable in a full marriage to her. What? Availability? He would not have to bother to court another woman. But he had said he thought her pretty, and he had shown more than a passing interest in Toby. Did he truly want to be married to her?

  He was self-conscious about his missing arm. Maybe that had made it difficult for him to seek a wife and face the possibility of being rebuffed by the woman. Now that Ellen had seen the worst, he might feel more comfortable with the idea of an intimate relationship with her.

  What about her feelings? Why was she hesitating? She had told Gerald about her love for Philip, and he seemed willing to accept the fact that he would not be first in her heart, and she did need to remarry. A widow with a child and no inheritance could not provide properly for that child by giving occasional violin lessons, and she dare not give public performances or old man Coyler might come after Toby again.

  Gerald was not a rich man, but he obviously knew a great deal about training horses, and he owned property which he had said he
would sell if it became necessary. Toby would never go hungry with Gerald for a father, and wouldn’t Ellen be more comfortable living in her own home rather than as a charity case in her aunt and uncle’s house?

  Gerald treated her well, and at times, was a pleasant companion. She supposed his theory about there being a different kind of married love was possible. After all, her relationship with Philip had cooled a bit after their first burst of ardor. But wasn’t that a good thing? Couples couldn’t have a very productive life, if they spent most of it in bed.

  Ellen would be a fool not to accept Gerald. But—perhaps—he would think better of his offer when his ardor cooled. She’d give him a couple of days to rethink the matter before bringing it up again.

  Chapter 13

  Gerald had a restless night, not falling into a heavy sleep until the windows showed the gray of early dawn. So, he was sound asleep when Mr. Moore came into his room and softly called to him. “Captain, time to wake up. Your breakfast will be here soon.”

  Gerald blinked the sleep from his eyes. “What’s that you’re holding?”

  Mr. Moore proudly displayed a round, polished piece of wood with a crook at the top. “I found this cane in the attic. Your uncle used it. Thought it would help you get about.”

  Gerald nodded and realized he did need to get out of bed to relieve himself. Sliding his legs from under the sheet, he said, “Let me give it a try.”

  Mr. Moore handed him the cane and then watched closely as Gerald stood, and practiced taking a couple of steps, putting most of his weight on the cane rather than his left leg. Then Mr. Moore wished Gerald a good morning and left the room.

  Gerald had barely gotten back into bed when Ellen and Toby arrived. She carried a breakfast tray that looked far too heavy for her, and Toby proudly held a covered bread basket. “I brought enough so that Toby and I can eat with you,” she said.

  To achieve this, another chair had to be crowded around the little table and a pillow borrowed from the bed to make the seat high enough for the boy, but Toby seemed quite excited to be included in this arrangement, and Gerald thought this was how it would feel if they were a real family.

  When Ellen whisked the cover from the serving platter, the aroma of fried ham and coddled eggs aroused his appetite. She removed another cover and revealed lightly browned, perforated, round breads. “Crumpets!” Gerald exclaimed. “I can’t remember the last time Mrs. Moore made those.”

  “Mama made them,” Toby sang out.

  Gerald looked over at Ellen with a smile. “She can cook too. Is there no end to her talents?”

  Ellen gave him a coy smile as she served the plates. “I can also give a man a good shave. So, I asked Alice to bring up hot water after breakfast.”

  Gerald rubbed his bristly chin. “That won’t be necessary. I can shave myself.”

  “How are you going to manage that?” she asked.

  Did she think he was an invalid? “I shave myself every day.”

  “Yes, standing in front of the washstand so you can see in the mirror. How are you going to do that today?”

  “I don’t have to have a shave every day.”

  Toby, who had been watching this exchange closely, said, “I don’t like her to cut my hair, either.”

  Gerald looked at the child’s indignant expression and realized he was not setting a good example for the boy. “Well, having a woman cut your hair is not as serious as letting her put a razor to your throat.”

  While Toby nodded seriously, Ellen said, “Good. Because you need a haircut, too.”

  Gerald grimaced as he realized he’d walked right into that one.

  “Just remember,” Ellen said, “I was the wife of an enlisted man in the Queen’s army. We didn’t have enough money to send our husbands to fancy barbers, so we cut their hair ourselves.”

  Gerald remembered Philip Coyler had always looked properly shorn until they went to the Crimea and everyone stopped using barbers. How much harm could Ellen do? And this would be another way to bring her close to him. He looked at Toby with mock seriousness. “Sometimes we men must be brave and let the ladies have their way.”

  Toby nodded in genuine seriousness, and Ellen snickered behind her hand.

  Despite all this chatter, they managed to make a large dent in the food. By the time, Alice brought the pitcher of steaming water, Ellen had stacked the dishes and helped Gerald hobble over to a high-backed chair by the window, where the light was better. It occurred to him, as he sat there with his hairy legs sticking out from the bottom of the nightshirt and with the stump of his arm barely covered by the rolled-up sleeve, that he was not at all self-conscious.

  Of course, after Ellen draped a towel over his chest and began to brush suds from the shaving soap onto his cheeks and chin, he began to feel a bit nervous. After she took a few, sure strokes with his razor, he realized she did know what she was doing. He relaxed his head against the back of the chair and began to enjoy her nearness. As she leaned over him her breasts were almost in his face, her scent engulfed him, and when he noticed how she puckered her bow shaped-mouth in concentration, all he could think about was how sweet it would be to kiss those lips. But her young son was perched on a nearby stool, watching as if this were a grand show, and the woman did have a razor near his throat, so Gerald resisted the temptation.

  After she had rinsed and wiped his face dry, he stroked his cheek and chin and said, “As smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  She grinned at him, “Not quite.”

  Gerald looked down at Toby. “Are you ready for your shave, young man?”

  Toby smiled sheepishly. “I don’t have whiskers.”

  “Well, you will someday, so find a wife who can give you a clean shave.”

  Ellen smirked at him as she left the room. “I’ll be back in a minute.” True to her word, she came back carrying a folded sheet, scissors and a pocket full of lead soldiers. She handed the soldiers to Toby, who immediately transferred his interest to them. As Ellen wrapped the sheet around Gerald, forming a tent, with his neck as the tent pole, she said, “I don’t think a towel will catch all the hair that needs to come off of your head, so we’ll use this.”

  “Leave a little on the top.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to shave your head, too.” As she combed the hair on the top of his head, she said, “Your hair is darker nearer your scalp.”

  “The summer sun makes the top layer lighter.”

  “Philip’s hair was so blond that I never noticed any difference in the layers.”

  Once again, she had compared him to Philip, the man who had won Ellen’s heart and Gerald’s everlasting gratitude. Was Philip the reason Ellen could not bring herself to fully accept Gerald as her husband? Was Gerald betraying the man he owed his life to by asking her to do so?

  * * * *

  Ellen was proud of the haircut she gave Gerald. She left enough on the top of his head so that the lighter brown hair still formed a wave, but clipped away most of the curliness from the sides and back. As he tentatively felt along the edges of the remaining hair, she retrieved his shaving mirror from the wash stand and held it, so he could see his reflection.

  He nodded and smiled. “Nice job. Toby, you and I are lucky that your mother is such a good barber.”

  Toby looked up from his toy soldiers with a doubtful expression.

  Ellen carefully peeled the sheet away from Gerald, trying to keep as much of the fallen hair trapped inside the cloth as possible. Then she wiped his neck with a damp cloth, and brushed off the shoulders of his nightshirt. “Can you stand by yourself?”

  “I got out of bed by myself, didn’t I,” he snapped.

  She realized she had trespassed on his self-consciousness about his handicap, but it occurred to her this was something that needed to be worked out if they were to stay together. She could not spend the rest of her life tiptoeing around his delicate feelings. “The bed is higher than the chair.”

  After a brief pause, he looked up at h
er. Rather than the frown she had expected, he seemed to be suppressing a grin. “You’re right. Toby, you hold my cane, while I lean on your mother’s shoulder.”

  Toby leaped forward to take the cane, and Ellen, wondering what Gerald was up to, leaned down so he could put his arm around her shoulders. When he started to rise, she had a moment of panic, thinking she wasn’t strong enough to lift him, but then he pushed with his good leg, and came up easily. She realized he was tricking her. He could have gotten up by himself, but now she found herself with his strong arm around her shoulders and nowhere to put her right arm but around his body.

  Well, two could play at this game. She let her hip rub against his upper thigh and her breast push into the side of his chest. He almost missed a step. As they paused, she saw Gerald glance down at Toby, who was looking up at them with great concern, and realized she and Gerald would probably be in a full embrace by now if not for the boy’s presence. Here was a lesson Gerald needed to learn about family life.

  Gerald took another step toward the bed, and muttered something that sounded like “wench.” Ellen didn’t even try to hide her smile, and in a moment, he grinned back at her. She was beginning to think he had a nice sense of humor, something she had not noticed in the beginning of their relationship. Once they reached the bedside, he quickly sat down, covered himself with the sheet, and turned a bit away from her as he lay down. Was he having trouble controlling his manly urges again? Even though she thought she had put that sort of business behind her, she did find being the cause of his quick arousals flattering. Woman thy name is vanity.

  Once he was settled, she rushed to clean the mess left from the shave and haircut. Then she gathered up Toby and his toy soldiers and left to see to other chores.

  * * * *

  When he was alone, it didn’t take Gerald long to become thoroughly bored with bed rest. After all, he only had a sprained knee, and he had the cane to help him walk, why should he stay in bed? He could just as easily sit in the chair over by the window. After making that transfer, he found staring out the window at the empty lane, the towering trees, and overgrown underbrush every bit as boring as staring at the ceiling above the bed.