Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Let me get that one,” Kit said, stooping to heft a large rock before Mr. Devereaux could make the attempt. They were repairing a stone wall that separated Broadstone Farm from the property behind it, but Mr. Devereaux was the embodiment of a willing spirit with weak flesh.
Instead of loudly lamenting the loss of his strength over the years, as some men might, Mr. Devereaux took a step back and leaned against a sound part of the wall. “You’re welcome to it, Christopher.”
Kit scooped the rock up and nestled it carefully into place, then picked up two smaller rocks to fill in holes on either side.
Mr. Devereaux watched him appraisingly. “I was young and strong like you once,” he said with a note of wistfulness.
“I think you were stronger,” Kit replied with a grin, bending his knees to heave another large rock into place. “Those didn’t put themselves there.”
Mr. Devereaux’s eyes followed Kit’s to a series of small boulders that served as the foundation of the wall. “Ah yes, I remember setting those. You and Sylvie must have been, what? Eight? Nine? And you wanted to climb on them after I put them in place.”
The laugh escaped Kit before he could suppress it. “I remember that! Sylvie asked me to help her climb up, then challenged me to a race, with her on the boulders and me on the ground.”
“Yes,” the older man grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “She fell off the second one, but wouldn’t give up!”
“She gets that from you, I think,” Kit chuckled. “Never one to give up if there’s a still a chance.”
Mr. Devereaux sobered, leaning more heavily against the wall. “And a blessing it’s been these past few years. We haven’t had all the help we’ve needed since her parents went back to France, but my Sylvie does everything that she can to keep the farm and the house running.”
“Well, perhaps I can relieve some of the burden while I’m here,” Kit replied, continuing to fit rocks together and build up the wall.
Mr. Devereaux nodded thoughtfully. “We would very much appreciate that, including Sylvie. She should be getting her animals ready for the Harvest Festival. She takes at least one prize every year, but she’s been too busy this year.
” His eyes met Kit’s and held them. “When she’s not working in the house or on the farm, she has begun to take in mending and sewing for some of the bachelors in the area.
She has a friend in the village that she visits when she drops things off to her customers there, but it makes me sad that even her social engagements involve her working somehow. ”
Kit paused, resting his hand on the wall. “How long have things been this bad?”
“We have had to tighten the purse string the past few years, but this year…” Mr. Devereaux’s whole face sagged.
He didn’t have to finish the sentence. The ever-present rain was the first thing anyone spoke about after “How do you do?”
Kit nodded and resumed piling rocks in strategic places on the wall.
He was a member of this household now, even if only temporarily, and his mind searched for ways he could provide some comfort to the people who offered him sanctuary.
They wouldn’t take money, even though he was effectively a boarder and should be paying for the privilege, but perhaps he could purchase some things they needed in addition to offering his labor.
And maybe he could find a way to remind Miss Devereaux what it was like to be carefree. For some reason, that felt very important to him.
Kit packed that feeling away for examination another time and said instead, “As long as I’m here, I’ll do whatever I can to be helpful.”
“You always were a good boy, Christopher,” Mr. Devereaux said, his features lightening considerably. “And it appears you’ve grown up to be a good man.”
“My mother will be pleased you think so.”
“How is your mother?”
They talked of family and old times for a while longer while Kit continued to repair the stone wall, fitting rocks into crevices just the right size.
When a light drizzle began to fall and the rocks became slippery, Mr. Devereaux declared that work was done for the day and that they should head back to the house.
Miss Devereaux’s voice greeted them when they entered the kitchen.
“I picked up the post while I was in the village, Grandpère. There’s a letter from Papa.
” She shifted the wooden spoon she was stirring something with to her other hand and met Kit’s gaze.
“There’s a letter for you, too, Mr. Mathison. ”
“Oh?”
Kit followed Mr. Devereaux to the stack of letters on the dining room table and grinned the moment he laid eyes on his.
The handwriting was that of his best friend turned sister-in-law, Maddie, who had written to him regularly after his family had left Kent for Scotland and continued to do so now that they lived considerably closer together.
He took it up to his bedchamber, washing his face and hands and putting on a clean shirt before returning to the dining room to help set the table for supper.
After the food was eaten and the table cleared, Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux settled themselves before the fire, and Miss Devereaux sat down on the sofa to sew some buttons onto a shirt.
Kit retrieved his letter and brought it down, seating himself at the other end of the sofa near the oil lamp and cracking open the plain seal.
He must have had a serious expression, because Mrs. Devereaux turned to him after a few moments and asked, “Is everything well, Christopher?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He grinned. “My brother’s wife has written to tell me about the repairs he’s made to their home. He managed to re-hang a door, and there was much celebrating.”
“Thomas married Maddie Hayward, didn’t he?” Miss Devereaux asked, glancing up from her sewing.
Kit nodded. “He did. They live with her grandmother about two hours’ ride from here.”
“Who is she?” Mrs. Devereaux inquired. “That name sounds familiar.”
“Her parents are Kit’s neighbors on the other side. You should remember Maddie, Grandmère,” Miss Devereaux prompted. “She was Kit’s closest friend when we were children. The one who—” She stopped abruptly and pressed her lips together.
Kit put his letter down and turned his gaze on her, filing away the feeling that washed over him when she called him “Kit,” and chuckling when she looked away with an awkward smile. “The one who everyone thought I was going to marry,” he said slyly. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Miss Devereaux nodded sheepishly and Mrs. Devereaux’s eyes lit with recognition. “I remember her now. She was the one who caught a fish bigger than Christopher’s, yes?”
Miss Devereaux laughed aloud, then hastily covered her mouth with one hand to stifle it. “I’d forgotten about the fish,” she said after a moment, dropping her hand into her lap. “You sulked here for days when that happened.”
“But you took me in and comforted me,” Kit replied, the memory of Sylvie’s arm around him, the biscuits Mrs. Devereaux had given them, forming in his mind. “Then promptly told me to go congratulate Maddie on her catch.”
Miss Devereaux grinned. “To your credit, you did exactly that.”
Mrs. Devereaux turned back to her husband to ask him a question, and Miss Devereaux leaned toward Kit. “Grandpère told me about how you helped him with the stone wall today, or rather, how you did all the labor. Is there something I can do to return the favor?”
Kit’s first instinct was to say no, that he was the one who owed them and hadn’t done it in order to get something in return.
But perhaps he could give her the chance to slow down and relax while still feeling useful.
“I could use some help with some new arrivals in my barn, and you’ve always been good with animals. Can you go over with me tomorrow?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “As long as I’m back in time to help prepare supper.”
“Excellent.”
They talked about unimportant things for a while longer while she sewed, then Kit excused himself to his chamber.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, he held in his mind that picture of a young Sylvie, who had been there for him when he’d needed a friend, and told him when he needed to discard his childishness. It had been exactly what he needed.
Could he be what she needed now?
Sylvie entered Mr. Mathison’s barn beside him, with Moses close on their heels. “What can I do?” she asked, casting her eyes over the large interior.
“Will you take a look at these kittens?” he asked, gesturing to a nest of hay in one of the horse boxes. “This is the mother’s first litter, and I don’t think she quite knows how to care for them.”
“Of course. Let’s see what we have here…” She entered the horse box and knelt down just close enough to see the kittens, but not close enough to upset their mother, her heart swelling at the sight of their tiny faces. “Do you know how old they are?”
“A fortnight, I think,” came the reply as he approached and knelt down beside her. The heat radiating from his body felt good in the cool damp air.
Sylvie nodded, watching the mother cat approach her and sniff at the hem of her skirt. Moses, she noted, had gone off to another part of the barn. “Their eyes are all open but they’re still very small, so that fits.”
The mother, a stocky tortoiseshell cat, approached Mr. Mathison, sniffed him briefly, then rubbed her body against his legs. “Good morning, Leto,” he responded, scratching her back gently. “This is Sylvie. She’s a friend. Would you mind if she looked over your babies?”
Sylvie instinctively suppressed the smile that threatened to form on her lips, then realized what she was doing and relaxed her expression. “How do you do, Leto?”
The cat rubbed on Mr. Mathison one more time, then eyed Sylvie as if to judge whether or not her kittens were safe with this stranger.
“You have so many babies!” Sylvie continued, slowly stretching out a hand toward Leto. “Do you need help looking after them?”