scattering the few crumbs onto the floor. “I have no idea what I’m wearing. I merely put on what Buckford laid out.”
This glimpse into his new dark world set up an ache in her heart. She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “You are wearing gray trousers, a white shirt, and a black silk vest.” Her gaze traveled over him, assessing and describing. “Your face is thinner now, and your hair is a bit longer. Only a trace of bruising remains on your temple.”
“No one has bothered to describe things for me as you have just done.”
Fearful of saying the wrong thing, she tried to put into words what he needed to hear. “Perhaps they didn’t know how best to help you. Your family loves you, David. They would do anything for you. They just need to know what.” She held her breath for his reaction.
Before he could answer, the train began to slow. A shutter fell over his face, cutting off whatever he had been going to say. His lips formed into a taut line.
She began gathering things and placed David’s hat and coat in his hands. “I’ll see to a cab and getting our luggage aboard,” she said. “Do you want to wait here or in the station?”
“I’ll wait here.”
A heavy weight sat on her shoulders. He’d been relaxed, almost as if he enjoyed her company, and then he’d reverted to the hurting man hunkering in his shell.
She stepped from the train and scanned the platform. A row of cabs stood lined up at the end of the depot in spite of the late hour. She hailed a driver, and when he’d trotted over to her, beckoned him to retrieve the bags. The conductor walked by, and she gave him the directions Jesse had given her about seeing to parking the private railcar in a siding. Then she turned to get David.
He stood on the railcar platform, hat on his head just so, his coat buttoned. He held the handrail and eased his way down the steps.
She walked over to him and, instead of taking his arm, slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as she would have if he could see. “This way,” she whispered, guiding without being too obvious, she hoped.
David mocked himself for his uselessness when the cabbie asked Karen for the destination. Shame licked at him that Karen had to see to everything—the cab, the luggage, and the instructions for siding the private car.
Her hand came to rest on his arm, and her body moved against him as she turned in her seat. “David, I don’t know the house address.”
Realizing now just how much he had disrupted her life, yanking her out of all that was familiar, marrying her in haste, tying her to a blind man who couldn’t even walk from the train to a cab alone, he hated himself. He gave the address and sank back into the corner of the cab, inching away from her to cocoon himself in solitude.
The horse’s hooves clopped on the hard-packed dirt street. A hurdy-gurdy’s tinny melody washed over them as they passed a dance hall, and a tinge of smoke hung in the air. Somewhere someone was cooking cabbage. He tried to envision just where in the city they were and surprised himself when the cab turned when he thought it should. The hooves plopping changed to a clatter as they crossed a wooden bridge. Then the cab rocked to a stop.
“There’s a light burning in one of the lower floor windows.”
He noticed the relief in her voice. “Father said he sent a telegram to Mrs. Webber to inform her of our arrival.”
“Mrs. Webber?”
“The housekeeper.” He realized anew how little he’d prepared her for this abrupt uprooting. The house they had planned to build in Martin City this spring would forever stay unbuilt. How could he orchestrate the building when he couldn’t see? Yet another piece of his future to throw into the bottom drawer of his mind to molder and decay.
The doorknob rattled. “Is that you, Mr. Mackenzie? Bless me, but come away in. The night’s too damp to be standing on the doorstep. And this must be your lovely bride. You could’ve knocked me
This glimpse into his new dark world set up an ache in her heart. She tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “You are wearing gray trousers, a white shirt, and a black silk vest.” Her gaze traveled over him, assessing and describing. “Your face is thinner now, and your hair is a bit longer. Only a trace of bruising remains on your temple.”
“No one has bothered to describe things for me as you have just done.”
Fearful of saying the wrong thing, she tried to put into words what he needed to hear. “Perhaps they didn’t know how best to help you. Your family loves you, David. They would do anything for you. They just need to know what.” She held her breath for his reaction.
Before he could answer, the train began to slow. A shutter fell over his face, cutting off whatever he had been going to say. His lips formed into a taut line.
She began gathering things and placed David’s hat and coat in his hands. “I’ll see to a cab and getting our luggage aboard,” she said. “Do you want to wait here or in the station?”
“I’ll wait here.”
A heavy weight sat on her shoulders. He’d been relaxed, almost as if he enjoyed her company, and then he’d reverted to the hurting man hunkering in his shell.
She stepped from the train and scanned the platform. A row of cabs stood lined up at the end of the depot in spite of the late hour. She hailed a driver, and when he’d trotted over to her, beckoned him to retrieve the bags. The conductor walked by, and she gave him the directions Jesse had given her about seeing to parking the private railcar in a siding. Then she turned to get David.
He stood on the railcar platform, hat on his head just so, his coat buttoned. He held the handrail and eased his way down the steps.
She walked over to him and, instead of taking his arm, slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as she would have if he could see. “This way,” she whispered, guiding without being too obvious, she hoped.
David mocked himself for his uselessness when the cabbie asked Karen for the destination. Shame licked at him that Karen had to see to everything—the cab, the luggage, and the instructions for siding the private car.
Her hand came to rest on his arm, and her body moved against him as she turned in her seat. “David, I don’t know the house address.”
Realizing now just how much he had disrupted her life, yanking her out of all that was familiar, marrying her in haste, tying her to a blind man who couldn’t even walk from the train to a cab alone, he hated himself. He gave the address and sank back into the corner of the cab, inching away from her to cocoon himself in solitude.
The horse’s hooves clopped on the hard-packed dirt street. A hurdy-gurdy’s tinny melody washed over them as they passed a dance hall, and a tinge of smoke hung in the air. Somewhere someone was cooking cabbage. He tried to envision just where in the city they were and surprised himself when the cab turned when he thought it should. The hooves plopping changed to a clatter as they crossed a wooden bridge. Then the cab rocked to a stop.
“There’s a light burning in one of the lower floor windows.”
He noticed the relief in her voice. “Father said he sent a telegram to Mrs. Webber to inform her of our arrival.”
“Mrs. Webber?”
“The housekeeper.” He realized anew how little he’d prepared her for this abrupt uprooting. The house they had planned to build in Martin City this spring would forever stay unbuilt. How could he orchestrate the building when he couldn’t see? Yet another piece of his future to throw into the bottom drawer of his mind to molder and decay.
The doorknob rattled. “Is that you, Mr. Mackenzie? Bless me, but come away in. The night’s too damp to be standing on the doorstep. And this must be your lovely bride. You could’ve knocked me
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