The Bride Fair. Cheryl ReavisЧитать онлайн книгу.
he would be as late returning as he was last night.
That prospect cheered her considerably. She gave a quiet sigh and wiped her face again with a wet cloth. She was feeling better—less indisposed, at any rate. She wouldn’t have to make any kind of explanation to the colonel, but what was she going to tell her father? He couldn’t abide rudeness in his children—even if it seemed to be directed at a Yankee invader. And she couldn’t explain that she hadn’t been rude at all. She couldn’t tell him that what he mistook for impoliteness was actually the sudden and overwhelming nausea of pregnancy.
She forced herself to stand up. She couldn’t hide forever, and she had a great deal of work to do. She came quietly down the back stairs into the kitchen. The dishes had all been washed and dried and placed in neat stacks on the worktable. Had she been gone that long?
She looked around impatiently for the leftovers—food she planned to somehow circumvent the curfew and take to Suzanne Canfield. Phelan had said Suzanne was worse today; there was no way she could get anything to eat on her own. And the little boys. Who would feed them? Phelan intended to get back home through the woods—if he could keep out of the sight of the army patrols—but she had no way of knowing if he’d made it. Even if he had, he wasn’t all that reliable when it came to caring for his wife and children. Suzanne had no family here to help her, and neither did Phelan.
She kept looking around the kitchen, but she couldn’t find a single cold biscuit. No pieces of ham. No bacon. Nothing.
She walked into the dining room, thinking that perhaps the bread basket had been left on the table. Colonel Woodard was still sitting exactly where she’d left him, only now he was reading a letter. He barely looked up.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said when she tried to back out of the room.
She hesitated, trying to think of a way to escape. Nothing came to mind.
“What is it, Colonel?” she asked from the doorway, hoping that he only wanted something fetched or carried rather than her continued presence.
“Sit,” he said.
After a long moment she did so—she still needed the money. There was a pitcher of water and a small glass on the table, and a plate with a lemon and a knife on it—none of which she had provided.
“If you would cut the lemon,” he said, “and squeeze some of the juice into a glass of water, please.”
Please.
He didn’t toss that word around much, and she regarded him warily.
There was nothing to do but oblige. The sooner she did as he wanted, the sooner she could go.
She filled the glass, cut the lemon, picked out the seeds and squeezed in the juice, wondering all the while how much a piece of fruit this fine would cost. When she’d finished, she started to push the glass toward him.
“No,” he said. “Drink it. It’s for you.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do. It will make you feel better if you sip it slowly.”
“You practice medicine as well as head the military government?”
“I want you healthy, Miss Markham. Of course, you don’t have to follow my recommendation. We can have the army surgeon look at you—just to make sure you are not coming down with some illness which might be an…inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience to whom?”
“To me,” he said easily. “I suspect, though, that you are not ailing. I suspect you are experiencing a mild upset this morning—brought on by a late night and by the worry of having unwelcome strangers in your house—not to mention the concern you must have for your father’s health. In which case, fresh lemon juice in water will alleviate it. Please. Drink it.”
She looked at him across the table. He was studying her closely—too closely—but not in the lecherous way Hatcher had. She would have to be careful with this man. He meant what he said about understanding the people here, and he would not miss much that went on around him, regardless of his arrogance. She glanced at his injured hands, and he saw her do it.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m merely returning the favor.”
She waited as long as she dared, then took a small sip of the lemon water. It was…refreshing, and not an affront to her queasy stomach at all. She took another sip, and then another.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low.
“You are welcome, Miss Markham. Tell me about your brothers.”
“What?” she said, startled.
“Your brothers,” he repeated.
She was so caught off guard that she still didn’t say anything.
“They were killed in the war,” he said. It wasn’t quite a question.
“Yes,” she said.
“How old were they?”
“Rob was twenty-eight. Samuel was sixteen.”
“Where were they killed?”
“Gettysburg,” she said, holding his gaze. She didn’t understand why he was asking her this—when it was obvious to her that he already knew.
“I was at Gettysburg,” he said.
She looked away, still not understanding. There was no malice in his voice and no apology or sympathy, either. It was merely a quiet statement of fact—and she could make of it whatever she would.
“Your fiancé,” he continued after a moment.
“I don’t talk about him,” she said. “Ever.” It was all she could do to remain seated.
“Then you can tell me what I asked you earlier—before you fled the room. Do Major Howe and his wife live nearby?”
“Major Howe is no longer here. I believe he’s returned to Washington.”
“Alone?”
She looked at him. “With his wife and mother-in-law, Mrs. Verillia Douglas,” she said.
“Ah, yes. Verillia. I would have liked to have been introduced to Verillia. According to Major Howe, she is quite the physician in her own right, is that not so?”
“She has helped my father on many occasions. I wish she were…”
Maria trailed off. She was barely acquainted with the Howes, but she knew Verillia Douglas well. And it wasn’t just for her father that she wished Verillia’s return, or even Suzanne. Verillia was the one woman in this town to whom she might speak of her current predicament. Verillia wouldn’t condemn her—she would help her, even if it were nothing more than to allow her a shoulder to weep on.
She realized suddenly that the colonel had said something.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked why Major Howe and his family left.”
“I understand there was some concern on his part about the fires—and that he had a disagreement with Colonel Hatcher. My father will know the details. I’m certain he will give them to you if you ask him.”
“Perhaps I will. Tell me, how do the people here view Major Howe’s marriage to a local girl?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Then how do you view it?”
“I have no opinion.”
“Because you only know them by sight.”
“Because I have no opinion,” she said evenly.
“It was a love match,” he said.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Major