Chapter 3
Will had spent most of the day preparing for quarter day, which was on the twenty-fifth of December, but would be observed in this village in two days’ time, on the twenty-fourth.
Almost all the places he worked for held their shops or workshops by tenancy from one of the local landowners, and quarter day was traditionally not only the time to present a request for necessary repairs and improvements, but also to pay the quarterly rent.
The roof of the general store needed reshingling.
The wall between the bakery and the bookshop was crumbling where a shifting spring had undermined the foundation stones.
The smithy, which had been owned by the same family from time immemorial, had no rent to pay, but was seeking a small loan from the local viscount to install a puddling furnace to make wrought iron.
Will had spent much of the day making fair copies of his reports that presented the arguments for each. The little spare parlor the baker let him use as his office backed onto the bakeries brick ovens and was always warm, but the winter had arrived with a vengeance, after weeks of mild weather.
Outside, the wind was bleak, and the odd icy drops of rain threatened sleet before nightfall.
Which was not far off, so he needed to hop to it and get home.
He stretched his cramped hand several times, spreading and clenching, before pulling on his coat and gloves, and winding his muffler around his neck before putting on his cap.
“I’m off home, Davey,” he called to the baker.
“Gibbon at the tavern has a letter for your Ma,” Davey shouted back. “He told me when he picked up his stew.”
“Thanks!”
Will turned his steps toward the tavern. Somewhat reluctantly, for Mary Gibbon, the tavern keeper’s daughter, had shown a recent tendency to bat her eyelashes at him. Since she was a virtuous maiden, he had to assume she was angling for a wedding ring.
Will had only recently recovered enough to find the female half of humanity of any interest at all, and he certainly did not wish to acquire a wife.
And that was leaving aside the chance that he’d somehow picked one up in his two missing years.
Unlikely, true, for if that was the case, where was she?
Presumably, if he tried, he could find someone from his old regiment who could give him answers on the matter, but he’d need more than a vague and easily ignored male stirring to provoke him into making the effort.
Sure enough, when he pushed open the tavern door, Mary propped the broom she had been using against a table and rushed up, standing too close and smiling with shining eyes. “Why, it is Mr. Parker! What may I get you, Mr. Parker? Some stew? It’s a good one today.”
“Your Pa has a letter for me, Miss Gibbon,” Will told her, resisting the urge to push her away and taking a step back instead. “I’ll just have that, please, and get home before the storm sets in.”
She blinked rapidly, looking up at him through her eyelashes and moving closer again. “No need to go home through the cold. You can stay here in the warm, Mr. Parker.”
Gibbon came to Will’s rescue, entering from the kitchen with the mailbag over his shoulder. “Leave the poor man be, girl,” he said. “He doesn’t need you clambering all over him, and that floor won’t sweep itself.”
Mary sniffed and tossed her head but obeyed, stomping her way to the broom. Gibbon handed Will the letter. He glanced at it. The mark said it had been franked by some lord in London, but it was addressed to his mother, sure enough. Will shrugged.
“Thank you, Mr. Gibbon. I’ll wish you a good evening, then.”
Back out into the rain, which was becoming more persistent and, if possible, even icier. But it was only a five-minute brisk walk home, and he was soon turning in at the gate and crossing the little front garden to let himself into the house.
“It’s me, Ma,” he called, as he stopped in the hall to take off all his outer layers.
He walked through the little house in his stockinged feet, for his slippers would be warming by the kitchen fire.
And sure enough, there they were. He stood on the threshold and breathed in the wonderful smells of baking.
Mama had been preparing for Christmas, when his sisters were expected with their families.
All of them lived not much more than an hour away by cart, so they could come for the day. It would be good to see them all.
That two-year blank had apparently been eventful for the family he left behind in England.
His two younger sisters had married—the eldest of the three was already wed and had a child before the hole in his memory.
He’d come home to two new nieces and a nephew.
New to him—two of them were already walking, and the youngest two were born in marriages that he didn’t remember hearing about.
And his father had died in those two years, too, so his mother was left in the cottage by herself, except that his sisters took turns month by month about to stay with her so she would not be alone in her grief.
Once he was back on his feet again, they had heaved a collective sigh of relief and left the cottage to him and Ma.
Ma seemed pleased to have her only surviving son back home again, even if not quite in one piece.
“I love my daughters, Will. Don’t doubt it.
But they should be organizing their own homes, not mine, and it is good to have a man to do for again. ”
“I’ve a letter for you, Ma,” he told her.
“Who is it from?” she asked, without turning from the pot she was stirring.
“It doesn’t say on the outside,” Will said. “It has been franked by a Lord Somebody-or-other. I can’t quite make out the name. In London, Ma.”
“Get along with you,” Ma said, tickled. “A lord from London, writing to me? Open it and read it for me. There’s a dear.”
Ma could read printing, if the words were simple, but she much preferred Will to read to her. He used a knife to pry up the seal and opened the sheet of paper that comprised the envelope and letter.
As he read it through for the first time, he heard a buzzing in his ears, and his knees turned weak. He sat in the nearest chair and read it again. The words hadn’t changed. Will’s world had, though. He stared at the words as if a third reading would give a different meaning.
“Well? Go on. Has some duke found out I’m his long-lost daughter?” Ma chuckled.
Will couldn’t manage even a weak smile.
“What is it, Will?” Ma asked, turning away from the pot at last and giving him a searching look.
“I’ll read it to you.
“Dear Mrs. Parker
You may have wondered why you have not heard from me in the past year. I have been writing letters to Ashton in the Midlands, but I have recently learned that there are seven villages with that name, and I fear my letters have not reached you.
Or they have found their way to you and you do not wish to know me or your grandchildren, but that I do not wish to believe. Will spoke so often of how you would welcome us when he brought us home. I can only hope you will want us even though we come without him.
As Will may have written to you, I was not able to go with the army to France, as I was having some trouble with my second pregnancy.
I had two letters from Will, and then nothing more.
As soon as I could after Eva’s birth, I followed the army to France, only to find that Will’s regiment had shipped out.
Perhaps you know what happened to Will. I have been unable to find out. I do not have the papers that proved our marriage, so the army would not talk to me. I am so sorry for your loss, and for my own.
I am in England, and in the Midlands. I have been going from one village of Ashton to another, but I recently had the good fortune to assist a lady with a difficulty, and her brother proved to be an earl.
To return the favor, he has offered to frank my letters for me, including this one.
I have written to every village of Ashton that I have not yet visited, and I can only hope one of my letters will reach you.
I shall make my way to each Ashton in turn, so I cannot say when I shall arrive, but if this letter has found you so shall I. I am so looking forward to introducing you to your grandson, Billy, and your granddaughter, baby Eva, who was born after Will left for France.
I hope you will be able to welcome us, but you must not worry that we shall be a burden. I am well accustomed to working to provide for myself and my children, and will happily continue to do so.
We send you our affectionate and respectful regards
Margaret, William, and Evangeline Parker.”
While he was reading, he was aware of his mother sinking into another chair, but he had not looked directly at her. He did now.
Her eyes were filled with tears but she was smiling. “Thank God,” she said. “I have been so worried.”
“You knew I had a wife and you didn’t tell me?” Will couldn’t help but feel betrayed.
“What could I say, Will?” his mother asked. “You had forgotten them, and I had no idea what had become of them. Had she deserted you? Had they all died? How would it have helped to tell you what little I knew?”
She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a drawer on the kitchen dresser. She handed him a package tied with ribbon. “Here. Here are your letters. When you’ve read them, you’ll know as much about your wife as I do. Oh, my dear son, perhaps when you see her you will remember everything.”
Or perhaps not. What would he do if he didn’t know this wife of his? A thought occurred to him. “Margaret. Not… No, it couldn’t be… I didn’t marry Maggie Finch, did I? Sergeant Finch’s daughter?”
Ma nodded. “That’s it. Are you remembering, Will?” She sounded hopeful.
He shook his head. “Not from after Ciudad Rodrigo. From before. She… I doubt there was a man in the regiment who was not at least a little in love with Maggie Finch. Not that any of us would risk the sergeant’s reaction if we showed her the least disrespect!”
He could feel his lips spreading in a grin as he remembered the cheerful pretty daughter of the formidable soldier. “I married Maggie Finch!”
“So, I should hope, Will Parker, since you had two children by her,” said Ma, rather sharply. “Go and wash up for dinner, lad. You can read your letters after.”
Will obediently got to his feet. Maggie Finch.
Maggie Parker, now, and wandering the Midlands with his two children in tow.
Wandering where? He checked the date and location at the top of the letter.
It was dated two weeks ago, and she was not here yet.
She had included a village name, as well, and he knew it.
Not more than thirty miles hence, but he supposed a woman with two children might travel slowly.
On the other hand, perhaps she was heading for a different Ashton.
As he washed his hands and face, he pictured her out in the cold and the rain and shuddered. He hoped she had found somewhere safe and warm to wait out the storm. She and the little ones.
He had a powerful urge to race out the door and start searching for them. In the dark and the rain, it would be pointless. Possibly even dangerous. He would leave in the morning, once it was light, riding in the direction of the village she had left weeks ago.
He’d have to tell his customers that he could not carry out his duties on quarter day, in two days’ time.
His records were all ready, so it would not be hard for them to present their own requests and pay their own rents.
It made no difference if it was hard. His first responsibility was to Maggie Parker and her two children. No, not her. Their. Their two children.
Christmas was three days away. Could he find them in time to bring them home for Christmas? He was certainly going to try!