Chapter 17 #2
Benjamin drew a sharp breath. Just the sound of his father’s voice, of his kindness and patience, and everything he did not deserve, caused his composure to weaken.
And when Josiah climbed into the cart and entered his line of sight, Benjamin crumpled and burst into tears, quivering as he covered his face in grief-stricken shame.
All the sorrow he’d been withholding came pouring forth, and with several sharp, shuddering sobs, he choked, “I’m…
I-I’m so sorry, Father. Daniel…I-I should’ve… I shouldn’t be the one who…”
I’m so sorry God chose me, and not him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!
“Hush, now,” Josiah soothed. Cupping his son’s face, he forced Benjamin’s hands away and kissed the younger man’s brow, his eyes both soft and mournful in their affection. “It’s good to have you home,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
Not like this, Benjamin thought. Not like this! And as he spotted Clara lingering in the doorway of his childhood home, shame and self-revulsion reached a boiling point.
Kill me, he pleaded to God. Let me die. Please, let me die!
What could be worse than this? What could be worse than letting down the father he loved and revered so much?
To come across as nothing more than a battered, broken invalid to the woman of his secret, innermost affections?
How could she want to be around him? Stand him?
Surely, she was only there because of her plight at camp…
“Can you sit on your own?”
Josiah’s query broke through his self-pitying thoughts, and trembling, Benjamin shook his head. “N-no, not entirely, sir…only a little.”
Josiah nodded, his chin tense with emotion. “I see.” Turning toward the other men, he pressed, “Well, don’t just stand there. Someone, help me lift him up! I deserve to hug my son, do I not?”
Amos was the first to reach him, and then someone else grabbed Benjamin’s other side, and carefully, they tugged him upward until it was safe enough for Josiah to draw him into his arms.
The reverend embraced his son with a quiet sob, his comforting strength no longer impenetrable. Nudging his cheek into Benjamin’s crown, he smoothed a shaky, soothing hand along the captain’s hair.
Benjamin hadn’t realized how badly he needed his father until his arms were wrapped around him.
Throat raw, he wept into Josiah’s shoulder, gripping the reverend’s dark wool overcoat, that familiarness, much as he had as a small boy; much as he had after his mother died, and he’d been forced to understand so young that the world was not kind.
Josiah always assured Benjamin that despite the world’s cruelty, everything happened for a reason.
Did that mean he was being punished for failing Daniel?
Once Benjamin was loaded onto the bath chair, a slightly reclined, wicker seat with two back wheels and one in front, and an axle for steering, Clara noted the shame on his face while Josiah rolled him in for supper.
Already standing at the table, she offered both men a curtsy.
“Mrs. Finch was kind enough to make supper,” Josiah announced, interrupting her disquiet. “All I had to do was reheat everything!” Pleased, he pushed Benjamin’s chair into place at the table and seated himself alongside his son.
Clara hesitated, then awkwardly slid into the ladderback chair across from both men. “The stew smells very…” She lifted her spoon and prodded at the meaty substance. Her forced smile faltered, and she concluded, “Interesting. You must thank Mrs. Finch for me, Reverend.”
“Please, call me Josiah,” he entreated. “You are a friend of Benjamin’s, and the patriot cause, so therefore, you are a friend of mine.”
Clara glanced at Benjamin, but his eyes were focused anywhere but on her. “Of course, Josiah. Thank you, sir.”
After the reverend led them in prayer, a thick, disagreeable silence followed, and Clara finally grew brave enough to sample her meal.
To her pleasant surprise, it wasn’t terrible at all; in fact, it was rather good, and the vegetables and unidentified meat warmed her stomach in a full, hearty way she’d never experienced at her family’s dinner table.
When Josiah used a piece of bread to sop up his stew, Clara mimicked him to get the full effect.
It was only Benjamin who wasn’t eating. His gaze remained sorrowful and downcast, and after cleansing her palate with a sip of ale, she lowered her tin cup and offered, “I could help you, Captain Hoskin? If you’d like? ”
Horrified, Benjamin lifted his head. “Help me?”
“Why, yes,” Clara replied, gesturing to his bowl. “I’m unaware of the specifics of your condition, but if you are unable to feed yourself—”
“I can feed myself,” Benjamin hissed, his vitriol startling her. “Just because I am confined to this…this vile chair doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself!”
“Benjamin Ezekiel Hoskin!” Josiah thundered. “You are not to speak to Miss Boyd in that fashion. As your caretaker, she is only trying to help!”
“Caretaker?” Eyes flashing, Benjamin looked to her in mortification. “Is that what she told you?”
“Amos explained her role in this, yes,” Josiah replied. “There is no need to be ashamed, son. We all need help from time to time.”
With a scoff, Benjamin shoved away his bowl. “I’d rather starve than ask for help. Bishop no longer believes in me, and it’s so comforting to know my own father thinks me an invalid, as well!” Tears shone in his eyes, but he did not cry. “I’d like to be excused, sir.”
All at once, Clara shot up on unsteady legs.
“I will leave,” she choked, flushing from both hurt and humility.
“I am the guest here, and clearly, I have upset my hosts.” She looked to Josiah.
“Thank you again for your hospitality, Reverend.” Her gaze drifted to Benjamin, who was scowling down at his lap.
“Good day to you, Captain. I pray the morning finds you in a better humor.”
Before anyone could change her mind, Clara drew up her skirts and rushed from the room.