Margaret’s retreating figure through the glass. “She’s beautiful as the dawn, Ward. Why did it take you years to marry her?”
“Sheer obstinacy on my part.”
Josiah leaned against the wall. “And now you’re leaving for the war in a month.”
“Yes.”
“Leaving that pretty girl to go off and play games,” Josiah clarified.
Theo slammed a fist into his desk and snapped, “If you think the preservation of our union is a game — ”
“Calm yourself.” Josiah raised a hand in supplication. “I’m merely trying to say you have poor timing.”
Theo pursed his lips and turned back to the papers he’d been sorting. “The two matters resolved themselves concurrently. Believe me, I regret I must leave so soon. I don’t wish to leave Margaret at all. I would not do so if the stakes were not as high as they are.”
The old man stepped to the glass and looked out again. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.” Josiah had been his mother’s brother’s partner for many years. When his uncle had retired, Theo had taken his place in the firm. He often found his partner to be tedious, antediluvian, and complacent. But in this at least he was correct.
“So do I. Now, let’s start with the Bentley land dispute.”
Chapter VI
The large buildings of Main Street blurred into the houses behind them. Gardens became smears of green, flowers points of color. Crowds on the sidewalks transformed into obstacles to be dodged. Each of Margaret’s steps took her closer to the dwelling where Theo intended to install her as mistress before departing for war. Had it really only been a single day since she had agreed to marry him? Was it less than a day since they had married?
It had seemed a simple matter as they had sat in the garden at the seminary. She might not love Theo, but she cared for him. Were her feelings sufficient for a lifetime partnership? Wouldn’t it be better to have security if she had conceived? On this basis had she accepted him?
You do make decisions in a most capricious way.
She glanced about, confused and dislocated. She had missed the turn.
Backtracking, she considered what awaited her. Though he had mentioned his mother during his proposal, Margaret hadn’t thought of the woman. Now it was all she could think about.
Mrs. Ward, the true Mrs. Ward, was a plump, short woman of about sixty years. Most of the residents of Middletown would not call her unpleasant. Most of the residents of Middletown had not married her son.
As she approached Theo’s house, a chilling thought froze Margaret’s progress. Theo could die.
On a lonely battlefield far from here, he could die. A bullet, illness, exposure — any number of things could take him from her. Her intense, vibrant husband could cease to be. His blue eyes, which saw even the truths she sought to hide, could see no more. His mind, so strong and ponderous, could stop.
She had known it, of course. Had kissed him, had given herself to him, in part because she was acutely aware of his mortality. But every time she remembered the peril he would soon be in, she was chilled anew. Why had she goaded him into going to war? Why had she married him? Margaret felt weak. Was her life at the seminary really so unpleasant that she had married a man she didn’t love and with whose shrewish mother she might have to pass the rest of her days?
She looked up at the structure, a brick two-story affair with large windows framed with black shutters, all topped by proud chimneys. She whispered a silent prayer for the strength with which to climb the steps, for a softening of Mrs. Ward’s heart, and, above all, for Theo’s life.
Margaret knocked, aware the resulting noise was tinny and likely ineffectual. Yet not moments later, the door sprung open, revealing the housekeeper Mrs. Ruskin. She was a slim, hard woman in her mid-fifties whose hair had already gone all to silver. Her chill at the impromptu wedding dinner the previous evening had been frosty and
“Sheer obstinacy on my part.”
Josiah leaned against the wall. “And now you’re leaving for the war in a month.”
“Yes.”
“Leaving that pretty girl to go off and play games,” Josiah clarified.
Theo slammed a fist into his desk and snapped, “If you think the preservation of our union is a game — ”
“Calm yourself.” Josiah raised a hand in supplication. “I’m merely trying to say you have poor timing.”
Theo pursed his lips and turned back to the papers he’d been sorting. “The two matters resolved themselves concurrently. Believe me, I regret I must leave so soon. I don’t wish to leave Margaret at all. I would not do so if the stakes were not as high as they are.”
The old man stepped to the glass and looked out again. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.” Josiah had been his mother’s brother’s partner for many years. When his uncle had retired, Theo had taken his place in the firm. He often found his partner to be tedious, antediluvian, and complacent. But in this at least he was correct.
“So do I. Now, let’s start with the Bentley land dispute.”
Chapter VI
The large buildings of Main Street blurred into the houses behind them. Gardens became smears of green, flowers points of color. Crowds on the sidewalks transformed into obstacles to be dodged. Each of Margaret’s steps took her closer to the dwelling where Theo intended to install her as mistress before departing for war. Had it really only been a single day since she had agreed to marry him? Was it less than a day since they had married?
It had seemed a simple matter as they had sat in the garden at the seminary. She might not love Theo, but she cared for him. Were her feelings sufficient for a lifetime partnership? Wouldn’t it be better to have security if she had conceived? On this basis had she accepted him?
You do make decisions in a most capricious way.
She glanced about, confused and dislocated. She had missed the turn.
Backtracking, she considered what awaited her. Though he had mentioned his mother during his proposal, Margaret hadn’t thought of the woman. Now it was all she could think about.
Mrs. Ward, the true Mrs. Ward, was a plump, short woman of about sixty years. Most of the residents of Middletown would not call her unpleasant. Most of the residents of Middletown had not married her son.
As she approached Theo’s house, a chilling thought froze Margaret’s progress. Theo could die.
On a lonely battlefield far from here, he could die. A bullet, illness, exposure — any number of things could take him from her. Her intense, vibrant husband could cease to be. His blue eyes, which saw even the truths she sought to hide, could see no more. His mind, so strong and ponderous, could stop.
She had known it, of course. Had kissed him, had given herself to him, in part because she was acutely aware of his mortality. But every time she remembered the peril he would soon be in, she was chilled anew. Why had she goaded him into going to war? Why had she married him? Margaret felt weak. Was her life at the seminary really so unpleasant that she had married a man she didn’t love and with whose shrewish mother she might have to pass the rest of her days?
She looked up at the structure, a brick two-story affair with large windows framed with black shutters, all topped by proud chimneys. She whispered a silent prayer for the strength with which to climb the steps, for a softening of Mrs. Ward’s heart, and, above all, for Theo’s life.
Margaret knocked, aware the resulting noise was tinny and likely ineffectual. Yet not moments later, the door sprung open, revealing the housekeeper Mrs. Ruskin. She was a slim, hard woman in her mid-fifties whose hair had already gone all to silver. Her chill at the impromptu wedding dinner the previous evening had been frosty and
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