Chapter Seven #2
As he delivered his sermon, Mr. Brown seemed so at peace, so comfortable with himself and his role.
If only Rafe could find that kind of contentment and belonging.
Still, the centuries-old church rang with a certain reverence Rafe had not found elsewhere.
The stone walls held years of christenings, worship, tradition, music, marriages, and death in an endless cycle.
Overhead, beams blackened by the ages protected the little sanctuary from weather and time.
Sunlight streamed through brilliant stained-glass windows, unmarred by the passage of centuries.
As Rafe admired the colors in the windows that illustrated bible stories, Osanne’s revelation that she saw no colors came to his mind.
How sad to see only grays, never enjoying colors when so many abounded.
Mr. Brown wound down his sermon. After another hymn and the benediction, the service ended. Rafe nodded at those who filed out past him and made his way to the front where Mr. Brown spoke quietly to a man about Rafe’s age.
Mr. Brown patted the other man’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, Mr. Wilson.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Wilson shuffled past, carrying with him the scent of ale, and glanced through red eyes at Rafe.
Wasn’t that Jake whom Rafe often saw at Mr. Atwood’s inn?
Poor chap; he must have served in the war, too, and had been so horrified by acts he saw and committed that he had taken to drinking to escape.
Rafe knew too many who shared that man’s fate.
Rafe had nearly fallen into that trap, himself, and had tried to help as many of his former troopers out of that dead-end path as he could.
If only there were a way to help all men like him.
Smiling, Mr. Brown sauntered to Rafe. “Mr. Beauchamp. I’m delighted to see you.”
Rafe pushed off the wall and stepped toward him. “I wanted to thank you again for your aid last year when I needed a friend.”
“It was my pleasure. We all need friends.”
Rafe hadn’t had a true friend since Ben died. His loss had left a wound in his soul that had not healed, might not ever heal. He shook off his melancholy. “We do, indeed. And, I’ve come to say thank you. And goodbye.”
“Are you leaving again so soon?”
“I have many more visits to pay.”
Mr. Brown gave him a kindly smile. “Godspeed. If you’re in the area again, do come visit.”
“I will. Thank you.”
As Rafe walked away, he glanced back just in time to see Mr. Brown bow in front of the same young lady who had given him a shy, but lingering look the night before. As they spoke, they gave each other besotted smiles. Rafe silently wished the good vicar well.
Over the next several weeks, Rafe visited several troopers and a few families of those who died under his command.
Rafe’s reception had ranged from cautiously friendly to blatantly hostile.
Was he doing any real good? Still, he assisted one in finding employment, helped another negotiate a better wage, and encouraged a third to stop turning to the bottle to ease his suffering.
Perhaps his attempts, however small, mattered to some.
He spent Christmas at home with his family.
His older brother and sister-in-law had been blessed with another son.
Father had added to his extensive library.
Mother, of course, invited several families with daughters of marriageable age to intimate dinner parties.
One of these included Benjamin’s younger sister, Kitty.
As Benjamin’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and their daughter, Kitty, entered the house one evening, Rafe pasted on a smile. Would he ever look at them without seeing Benjamin?
Mr. and Mrs. Potter greeted Rafe and his family with all the warmth of long-standing friends. Kitty grinned at him with her usual sauciness. Rafe stood stiffly. How could they be so friendly to the man who had ordered their son to his death?
Mrs. Potter gave Rafe a watery smile. “Oh, dear boy, how well you look.” She patted his cheek as she had all his life.
He mustered a smile and inclined his head in a brief bow. “Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, Miss Potter.”
Kitty’s laughter trilled. “Miss Potter? When did I stop being Peanut or Kitty Bug and start being Miss Potter?”
He faltered. “Er, since you’ve come out, I suppose.”
She folded her arms and smiled impishly at him, reminding him of the gawkish little girl always tagging after Rafe and Benjamin. “I’ve been out for a full year.”
“Yes, well, our paths haven’t crossed much of late.”
“No, more’s the pity.” She had grown into a lovely young lady but something about the boldness of her gaze left him disconcerted.
Upon the butler’s announcement, they moved to the dining room for dinner, and later, cards.
Unsurprisingly, Rafe and Miss Potter always ended up next to each other.
She really was a lovely girl. However, Rafe couldn’t stop comparing her to Osanne—Osanne’s warm, silky laughter to Miss Potter’s high-pitched trill; Osanne’s thoughtful, expressive dark eyes to Miss Potter’s merry, bright eyes; Osanne’s calm, soothing presence to Miss Potter’s vibrant energy that left him fatigued.
In the middle of their game of whist, Rafe glanced at the pianoforte in the corner of the drawing room. Osanne would have already sat down and played beautiful melodies, including the one she had composed. The pieces, especially hers, repeated in his head.
Rafe gestured to the instrument and asked Miss Potter, “You play, do you not?”
Her laughter trilled. “Oh, Heavens no.”
“No? I thought I remembered you playing.”
“My mother insisted I take lessons many years ago but allowed me to stop after a year of...how did you put it, Mama? Torturing that poor instrument and all our ears?”
Mrs. Potter chuckled and nodded.
Kitty grinned at Rafe, giving him the urge to tug on his collar.
“After that, she encouraged my artistic and equestrian interests. If I do those badly, no one’s hearing is offended.
” She grinned again, looking so much like Benjamin that Rafe could only manage a polite smile before he had to look away.