Healing the Soldier's Heart. Lily George

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СКАЧАТЬ the power of speech, would he ever find a way to express his disgust with himself? His profound disappointment at how little he had done to save his fellow men?

      The silence between them stretched out, punctuated by the ticking clock on the mantel. At length, Macready cleared his throat. “That’s why I asked you to come to Bath, you know. You needed to recuperate as much as I did. And Cantrill, he’s looking out for your welfare, too. I think that this Miss Williams shall probably play a significant role in your healing.”

      Macready knew everything. He knew about Mrs. Rowland’s tears and recriminations. He knew about the doctor in Essex who had told James Rowland that fear had tied his tongue. He knew about the shame and the anger and the horror of the battlefield. And yet, Macready sought only to offer help. Never once had he blamed James for his injuries. But he should.

      James struggled painfully with his voice for a few moments. It seemed he couldn’t force the words over his tongue. “I—I—I...” He trailed off, and inhaling deeply, he began again. “I—I am s-sorry.”

      “Whatever for, old man? We were all of us terrified. We did what we could under the circumstances.” Macready rubbed his hands together briskly. “How about some tea? I could do with a bit, myself. Not to sound flippant, but that Bath water tastes like rotten eggs. And, uh—” Macready nodded his head at the heap of broken china on the floor “—I’ll bring a whiskbroom so you can tidy up.”

      Macready heaved himself up from the chair and made his way to the small kitchen. The rattle and clank of the kettle and dishes signaled that he was readying the tea and had no more wish to converse about the past than James.

      James rubbed a weary hand over his brow. Of course he didn’t want to think about it. No one wanted to examine the unpleasant or foolish side of himself. But all the same, James had a driving curiosity to know the truth. What kind of fellow was he after all? There was a saying that the battlefield brought out what was genuine in a man. If so, then he had failed the test miserably. Sure, he was young. But then, they all were. What made a man suffer nobly, like Macready? And what made a man hide and cower with fear as he had? Where was the defect in his character? Would that he could root it out and tear it away, like attacking weeds in an overgrown garden.

      He wasn’t sure he deserved the friendship of his fellow veterans, like Macready. That’s what made attending those veterans’ group meetings so difficult. Those men had sustained real injuries while defending home and country. Many men had given their lives, leaving wives and children behind. He couldn’t even look the widows in the eye, so riddled with shame was he. Their husbands had paid the ultimate sacrifice while he lay silent in the rye at La Sainte Haye.

      If he wasn’t sure he deserved the friendship of those brave men, then he felt doubly undeserving of Miss Williams’s attention. She seemed to care about others quite a bit, judging from her conversation with Cantrill. Every mention of her charges or Sophie brought a merry twinkle to her eyes. She would never sit back and allow others to suffer in her place. Someone like her would recoil in horror at his cowardice. Not that he had a chance with her anyway, poor and mute as he was. It was just that, in general, a friendship with someone like her could be nice. It took the rough edges off of life.

      How could he come to deserve friendship again? Perhaps he could begin by confronting his shame and his cowardice first. These twin emotions had robbed him for two years now, leaving him bereft of speech. Only by ridding himself of them could he regain what he lost.

      It was going to be a difficult journey. But, like the soldier he should have been, he could take it battle by battle. He would regain his power to speak. He would find a way to support his mother and sister. And in doing so, he would become a man. Not, perhaps, the man he should have been had he not been such a quitter on the field of battle. But, perhaps, the man he was meant to be.

      He sighed.

      Would he ever become the kind of man who might, one day, deserve a pretty girl like Lucy Williams sitting by his side?

      He certainly had his work cut out for him.

      Chapter Four

      Lucy perused the bookshelves before her, tapping her fingers across the spines of the leather-bound volumes. Lord Bradbury possessed an excellent library that he used but infrequently. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she looked among them for something that could help her to cure the ensign.

      She moved along the row of books pertaining to natural history, drifting toward the middle of the room until she spied the medical texts. Botheration, the titles of some were in Latin. Oh, it was all jolly well to teach Latin and to importune his lordship’s daughters with the proper declensions of each noun but to read it oneself? Highly taxing to the nerves, and hard on the eyes. She shifted her gaze higher, looking for any treatise that might be of help.

      Ah, there was something. A Treatise Upon the Treatment of Invalids, the Infirm and Those Wounded in the Course of Battle. A handsome volume, too, bound in heavy green leather. She fetched a step stool from the corner and stood upon it, straining to reach the text. She was still too short. What a nuisance it was to be so small in stature. Leaning forward on her slippers, Lucy grasped the dusty bookshelf in one hand, and flailed about for the book with the other. She caught hold of the spine just as the shelf wobbled, shifting her weight forward. In one ungainly movement, she leaped to the floor, book in hand.

      Lucy straightened and darted a glance about the room. Good thing no servants had passed by—or worse, his lordship himself. Such an ungraceful display would no doubt be quite amusing to anyone who witnessed it. She wouldn’t have fallen if the shelf hadn’t wobbled at that precise moment. Really, his lordship should take better care of the library. The shelves alone could stand some straightening, a good deal of cleaning and perhaps some shoring up with hammer and nails. In fact, it was rather odd that the rest of the home was in immaculate condition, but the library—which was often a gentleman’s pride and joy—should go so heartily neglected by the household staff.

      She dusted the volume with her handkerchief, tucked it under her arm and then quit the library for the comfort of her room. The girls were both busy with their dancing lessons and would be occupied for another half hour or so. Perhaps she could at least begin delving into the ensign’s problem before they returned.

      Opening the door to her room, she was flooded anew with the peace and the beauty of it. Never before had she been given a room to call her own. The little low white bed in the corner, the settee by the fireplace and even a vanity table with a looking glass were all solely hers to enjoy. She paused for a moment, drinking it all in. How very different and how very wonderful her life was now that she was earning her own way. She must never forget or take for granted all that she was given in return for teaching Louisa and Amelia. For a penniless orphan, she’d done quite well for herself. Really, one could expect no more of life than this—a good position in a nice home. And some day, perhaps, she’d save enough to open her own little school. It wasn’t much of a dream, but it was all she could permit herself, given the circumstances of her childhood.

      She wedged herself into the corner of the settee with her favorite pillow at the small of her back and tucked her feet beneath her. She was now comfortable and ready for a good read. But the book was a difficult slog. So many dreadful wounds could be sustained in battle. She’d really had no idea of what the soldiers had endured.

      It was no small wonder, then, that the ensign was speechless since the war. Had he been witness to but a few of these injuries it would be enough to scar him for life. And he must have been so very young during the war. A boy, really, just judging by how youthful he still looked, despite his war service. She flipped through the pages, but the wounds the author discussed were all physical in nature. There was СКАЧАТЬ