Chapter 11 #2
Hamdon avoided his gaze. “I think this is a conversation best had with your sister. Suffice it to say, your irritableness always increased after those instances. You were jumpy, just as you are now. Is it safe to assume you suffered one of the same occurrences last night?”
All these years, he’d thought he’d been saving others from the reality of his broken mind and they’d known all along. He ran a hand through his hair, grasping a handful of golden curls as he stared at the ground. What must they think of him?
Hamdon cleared his throat. “I’ll not force a confession out of you. I only wish to help, if that is possible.”
A cynical laugh escaped him. “Help? I’m a grown man, Hamdon. Don’t you think if there was anything to rid myself of the nightmares, I would have found it by now?”
His brother-in-law straightened to his full height, the extra few inches making Alan feel small. “I don’t pretend to know all the answers, but I know many hands make lighter work.”
Alan crossed his arms and squinted at him. “What is that even supposed to mean?”
“That hiding away won’t solve your problems. Two heads are always better than one. Perhaps Emma and I might help. Others often have insight that you or I may never have thought of before.”
Dropping his arms to his side, Alan stomped over and retrieved the wooden bucket, slapping the straw off its sides with vigor. “I won’t subject any lady to the atrocities I’ve seen, Hamdon.”
“Why? Because you think they cannot handle the facts of life?”
“Yes. They need not know how terrible one man can be to another, nor know of the blood and carnage.” Alan refilled the bucket and brought it back to Apollo.
Hamdon remained silent as the horse munched happily on the grain. After several minutes, Alan lifted his head to look at him. Hamdon shifted to take weight off his bad leg and lean against a nearby barrel.
“Do you even know your sister?”
The question caught Alan off guard. Of course he knew his sister. She may be seven years his junior, but they’d been rather close… until he ran off to war.
Apollo snorted at the empty bottom of the bucket. Lifting his head, he knocked the wooden edge with disgust.
Hamdon narrowed his eyes. “Have you forgotten that the first time Emma saw me, my head was covered in blood and the bone of my leg was protruding out of my shin? Or that she watched you bury a knife hilt deep in Sancerre’s leg, used her body as a shield to save you from Ratford’s bullet, then stared at Ratford’s lifeless form when your French counterpart saved you both.
She is no wilting miss, Gladsby. And that does not even count witnessing the blood and gore of childbirth.
I know we like to think of women as delicate creatures, but they are made of sterner stuff. ”
Alan clenched his jaw. Emma’s age often seemed suspended in time for him. She was no longer the fifteen-year-old girl who lived in his mind. He slowly relaxed his jaw, and his shoulders slumped.
“I know she has grown up.”
“Not just grown up, but lived a life you and I as males, cannot comprehend. Women recognize things that we often do not. I think it’s why God intended for us to be together. They have insights we are too stubborn to see.”
Alan set the bucket next to the grain bin, thinking about how insightful Emma had been when he’d been concerned about her risking her life again in childbirth. Like any war-hardened soldier, she’d lifted her head and smiled in the face of death. But she had one thing he did not. A clear conscience.
She could go to their Maker without the guilt of knowing she’d been the cause of so much death and suffering.
Hamdon cleared his throat. “If you’d rather not speak to us, I am certain Miss Lenning would be a willing listener.”
Alan whirled around, his brow wrinkled and his eyes pinched. His heart thudded in his chest at the mere suggestion of subjecting Grace to such a tale. “Why would I ever share any of this with her?”
His brother-in-law shrugged. “You seem comfortable with her. Telling your troubles to a friend might be easier than to a sister or nosy brother-in-law. And as a woman, she might have similar insights that you and I may not.”
“You have a rather high estimation of women’s intellect,” he scoffed.
Hamdon’s face darkened and a sliver of shame slithered through Alan’s gut. While Society as a whole held caustic views on female intelligence, he’d never allowed such drivel to pass through his lips. It must be the dreams. They were addling his brain more than he realized.
“You would do well to adhere to the guidance a well-respected woman can give. It might save your life one day.” Hamdon didn’t wait for a response as he hobbled past Alan, his brow creased with clear displeasure.
The stable fell silent and the little snake of guilt wrapped itself around Alan’s heart and squeezed. Hamdon was right. Cutting everyone out would only lead to more hurt, but how could he let others see the ugliness he held within?
He couldn’t. They would be disgusted.
Then he’d truly be alone, and that was something he could not risk.