Chapter Thirteen
Andrew knew he would spend a restless night, the probability of Sadie’s husband drowning, possibly in the cell next to his, high on his mind. He had no basis of fact in the matter, but the ordeal magnified itself as it had on the mail coach. Would it never end?
Bless Rosie Harte. She sat beside his bed, and when he could not be consoled, she told him to move over and held him until he slept. When he woke later, she was gone. He lay in bed, oddly conflicted. Was this truly how people spent Christmas? He almost longed for a ship again, and soon.
Something changed in the morning. He came to breakfast thoughtful and worried, trying to decide if he wanted the Navy Board to hurry up with that dratted notice, or toss it into a pigeonhole on someone’s desk to languish until peace broke out.
Rosie Harte had other ideas. Looking surprisingly chipper for someone he knew he had kept awake too many hours, calming his midnight anguish, she announced to them all over bacon and eggs—Matilda just stared at the bacon—that it was time to remember Christmas.
‘I promised Master Hadfield Christmas,’ she said. ‘Pass the toast, please.’
‘Dear daughter, what do you propose?’ Fred asked, his eyes merry.
‘That Matilda, Master Hadfield and I find some holly and ivy, and make a wreath for the sitting room. What say you?’
So he found himself with a basket on his arm, and in the company of two charming females, one who skipped ahead, and whirled about as the mood grabbed her, and the other walking more sedately beside him.
Good Lord, was he too shy to speak? What an idiot. To his relief, Rosie took over the conversation. ‘Did you notice Matilda’s new dress?’
Of course he did not. He was a man. ‘Oh?’
Bless her heart, Rosie overlooked his stupidity. ‘Aunt Dorothea never could bring herself to discard my outgrown dresses. They were all in a trunk in her room. Mary Hale has assured me she is good at alterations but this one fitted Matilda without anything needing to be done.’
Say something sensible, he commanded himself. Force yourself. ‘Uh, did I notice this morning that Mrs Hale had on a better dress than sackcloth-and-ashes workhouse clothing?’
Oh, Rosie. She looked at him as if he were a genius. ‘Bravo, Master Hadfield,’ she teased. ‘You noticed!’
It was a lucky guess. ‘Certainly,’ he lied.
‘Aunt Dorothea has more housedresses of her own. Granted, Mrs Hale is too thin, but my aunt had a sash that worked this morning, with alterations to come. You noticed. Good man.’
He decided to confess. ‘Rosie, I didn’t notice anything. I just didn’t want you to think me a drooling fool. Now you know.’
What did this darling woman do, but murmur ‘Rough ground,’ and put her hand in his. ‘Don’t tell me stretchers again, Andrew Hadfield,’ she said. ‘I know you didn’t notice.’
‘Wise is woman,’ he told her, gleeful to notice how she pinked up at his comment.
When she turned the full force of her beautiful eyes on him, his heart performed its own impossible feat and melted.
With my blue eyes and yours, he thought impulsively, our children will have blue eyes, too. What was he thinking?
Rosie moved on with her plans, granting him a reprieve from sensible statements.
‘My aunt will spend the next few days acquainting Mary with her duties, and Matilda, too, who is now in charge of my kitten.’ She squeezed his hand.
‘You cannot imagine how pleased Aunt Dorothea is to return to her own house soon. Mary couldn’t have given anyone a kinder Christmas gift. ’
He nodded, on sure ground now. ‘Mary took me aside before breakfast and said the same thing to me.’ He took her hand and looped it through his arm, so he could feel her body closer.
‘You cannot fathom my relief to see the widow of my sailing master in a good home where she and sweet Sadie’s child will be safe.
If this is Christmas, I want more of it. ’
‘It’s Christmas,’ she assured him, ‘but I have never seen one so strange, either.’
Matilda proved to be adept at scouting out holly and ivy. His basket was filled too soon to suit him. He wanted to walk and walk. He stopped, surprised at his sudden realization. ‘Rose, do you realize that I haven’t had to stop and rest?’ he asked. ‘I’m not even tired.’
‘I wondered if you would notice.’
‘I’m fit for duty.’
A shadow crossed her face. She turned away. When she spoke, her voice was neutral. ‘Yes. The navy will want you soon.’
They had wandered to the outskirts of Endicott, Rose quiet now, with Matilda walking beside her, wary again, and not the cheerful child who had skipped and whirled. He wondered why, until Rose stopped and knelt beside her.
‘Matilda, you have nothing to fear in Endicott,’ she said, her voice steady. ‘No one means you harm here.’
‘No more workhouse?’
‘Never. Let us go down Chandler Street and I will show you Aunt Dorothea’s house.’
They stopped before a pleasant structure of light-colored stone, with white shutters. Everything was orderly and soothing. ‘Because you and your mother have come to help us, my aunt can return here.’
To Andrew’s relief, the wary look left Matilda’s face, replaced by the wonder of it all. ‘We did that?’
‘Yes. You and your grandmother are a Christmas blessing to someone I love, and who raised me. You are our Christmas heroes.’
Andrew pushed his own turmoil—probably kicking and screaming—into the back of his mind as he saw goodness, even in this time of war and uncertainty. He nodded, and touched Matilda’s head. ‘Believe her,’ he said, not minding that his voice had some command to it.
She nodded. ‘Aye, sir.’
They continued down the street, until they stood in front of St. Timothy’s, soon to have a new vicar, once the older man was cast overboard like so much flotsam.
As the unfairness of it struck him, Andy felt his face harden.
No, no, he told himself. Let Matilda see only peace right now.
He calmed himself. This was not the moment to look like a sailing master directing a ship toward a fleet action.
He couldn’t help glancing at Rose for reassurance. As he watched, she started to smile. You have an idea, he thought, relieved. ‘What?’ he asked, startled at how well he already knew her. You would think the matter was engineered.
Glory be, she understood him. ‘Let’s pay a visit to Vicar Ewing. I expect he is feeling low. You might be able to help him.’
He hoped she had a good idea; he didn’t.
Andrew felt the full weight of despair that he thought only came to the Royal Navy and the British Army, fighting to wear down a relentless foe bent on destruction.
What a fool he was; everyone faced challenges.
No one was immune, even if Vicar Ewing’s trials were pale, compared to his.
She led them to the vicarage and told Matilda to knock. The vicar opened the door, his serious expression changing in an instant. ‘Come in.’ He looked down the street. ‘I was expecting…’
He didn’t need to tell them who. Andrew knew he was looking at someone girding himself for bad news. This was a man expecting eviction.
He led them to a pleasant sitting room with its view of the church, a sturdy building that had weathered several centuries of joy and sadness, no doubt. Introductions and explanations went around.
‘Rose, your aunt will be returning to Chandler Street? I call that a blessing.’
‘It is.’ Rosie put her hand in the vicar’s hand. ‘She has been so kind to me, and now it is her time for her long-overdue reward.’ She leaned forward. ‘I only wish your own fate was different.’
Andrew watched as the vicar waved away her concerns. ‘The Church of England has approved everything regarding my successor, and I will have a pension.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘I have no idea, but I am to leave tomorrow.’ He sighed and watched Matilda pet the old dog on the hearth.
‘This is too soon,’ Rose said. ‘Surely you can be here for Christmas.’
‘Alas, no.’ He looked at Matilda and lowered his voice. ‘There is this as well. As I was acquainting him with his duties here, the new vicar told me there will be no more parish school.’
‘No!’
‘He sees no point in educating the poor above their station in life.’ He glanced at Andrew. ‘Hard times everywhere, eh, Master Hadfield?’
Andrew watched Rosie struggle for composure, and put his hand over hers. It was a forward gesture; he didn’t care.
She mastered her emotion, and said in an offhand way, ‘Master Hadfield, since he must go, you might be interested to know that our dear vicar is so good at comforting the sick. I wonder where he could do that again?’
He could have slapped his forehead at his own density. Rose did have a plan. What a woman. He knew what to do. ‘Vicar, I have a solution to your dilemma.’ He gave Rose the benefit of his own gratitude and raised her hand to his lips. ‘She reminded me just now.’
Andrew had everyone’s attention, even the dog’s.
He waited a moment for this idea to slink away, but it did not.
‘I spent two months recently in Stonehouse Naval and Marine Hospital. We were treated well, but there was something lacking, at least in the block where I recuperated.’ He smiled, more sure of himself.
‘Even the chief surgeon noted it. Let me lay this before you.’
He looked at the vicar and saw all the goodness being evicted, so a worthless cleric’s uncle could pay his brother and nephew out of ruin.
‘Come with me to Stonehouse. I know Block Four needs someone with the time to comfort fearful tars and Marines. Someone to sit with them by day—’ he glanced at Rose ‘—and comfort them by night. What say you? I know there is assigned housing in Stonehouse, or in the block behind it. Furnished rooms, even.’
Reverend Ewing stared at him, and Andy’s heart sank. Please, please, he thought, wondering if he was praying, something he hadn’t done in far too long.
To his immense gratitude, the reverend’s expression mellowed. Andrew felt Rosie’s hand on his arm and he covered it with his own. ‘Please consider it, sir,’ he said, overjoyed when Rose added, ‘Please.’
‘I will.’ It was simply said, then, ‘I mean, I will do more than consider it. I will do it. Tell me when.’
‘As soon as I receive my orders from the Navy Board, I will let you know. We’ll go together.’ He glanced at Rose. ‘If you are evicted, no matter. I have bumbled about at Fred’s farmhouse, and there is room for another until my letter comes. Right, Rosie?’
‘Right,’ came her quiet reply. ‘Oh, yes. When I think of all that you have done for me…’
They left a content and satisfied man, sitting at peace in his soon-to-be vacated vicarage. ‘I’ll write to the chief surgeon at Stonehouse immediately,’ Andrew told Rosie as they started back to the farm. ‘Rose, it was your idea and it’s brilliant.’
‘You’d have thought of it,’ she allowed. ‘I just gave you a nudge. You’re the hero.’
She did something wonderful then that he knew would comfort him for years to come at sea, even if he never saw her again. She rummaged in the basket of holly and ivy. What was she looking for?
‘Ah.’ She took out a misshapen holly sprig and stood tall to hold it over his head. ‘I know mistletoe when I see it, Master Hadfield.’
It wasn’t mistletoe; surely she knew that.
No fool, he pulled her shockingly close and kissed her.
As wonderful as her lips felt, he positively basked in the way her arms circled him.
She clasped her hands together in the middle of his back.
He couldn’t have escaped her grasp if he tried, and he did not try.
He was no expert at kissing. Neither was she. They figured it out with amazing speed.
Thank goodness Matilda had skipped ahead, wrapped in her own world, which gave them a small moment to be wrapped in theirs. ‘Mine is a dangerous occupation,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’
He did know. He wanted to tell her he loved her.
He wanted to marry her. He wanted to father her children.
He wanted her to always meet him at the dock.
Come to think of it, that was all he wanted in the first place, someone to see him off on a voyage.
Now that he had met this woman, he knew he wanted more.
He wanted someone to see him home from sea, as well.
He wanted someone to share his home and bed.
That much wooing probably needed more time than he had, thanks to Napoleon.
It could wait because it had to. He looked into her eyes. ‘Rose Harte, you’re a delight,’ he said simply. ‘Let’s go home.’
She nodded. He crooked out his arm and hers slid naturally through it. He was still smiling until he came inside the farmhouse. Fred Harte, too serious, met him at the door with a letter. ‘I wanted to tear it up, Andy,’ the farmer said. ‘But that would probably land me in prison forever.’
He took the letter. The insignia on the envelope told him what was inside. He opened it, read and felt suddenly hollow. ‘The Navy Board orders me to report to Plymouth no later than Christmas Eve. My new ship, the Albemarle, will sail the day after Christmas. I must leave tomorrow.’
His heart broke into a thousand pieces. When Rosie cried out, it broke a thousand times more.