Chapter 9 #2
“Then Percy can find something else for you to do, I’m sure.”
Silas drank slowly, his eyes staying on hers over the rim of the chipped mug.
“You know,” he said, after swallowing loudly and smacking his lips in pleasure. “It sure is funny seeing you like this.”
Her pulse quickened.
Jonas looked between them. “Like what?”
“All respectable, a stand-up citizen by any sort of definition.” Silas grinned, and she saw he was missing more than one tooth.
Martha’s fingers tightened beneath the table.
Silas smiled. “We knew each other years ago.” He turned to Jonas. “Didn’t she tell you?
Jonas turned toward her and Martha forced herself not to react.
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“I said there was nothing worth discussing.”
“That isn’t quite what you said.”
Silas rescued her before she could answer, though Martha knew better than to mistake it for kindness.
“We were friends,” he said. “A long time ago. Another life, you might call it.”
“Friends,” Martha repeated. The word tasted wrong.
Silas looked amused. “There’s history here, though none of it worth dragging out over breakfast.”
Jonas’s expression had gone more watchful.
Silas finished his coffee and set down the cup. “I’ll be in the stable.” He left through the same door.
For several seconds, only the fire crackled in the stove.
Martha stared at her plate.
Jonas did not speak immediately.
When she finally looked up, his attention was on her face.
“You seem shaken.”
“I’m tired.”
“What is he talking about?” he pressed. “Martha, are you in danger?”
Martha pushed her chair back.
“We should change the dressing on your leg.”
Jonas’s eyebrows drew together. “Martha.”
“I have a lot to get done today, so let’s get this off my plate now.”
He knew she was avoiding him.
She could see the realization in his expression, but after a moment he reached for the walking stick and stood.
They went to the small sitting room where Dr. Keller had first treated him. Martha fetched warm water and fresh linen from the kitchen, grateful for the simple work of arranging the supplies.
Jonas sat on the couch and loosened the old bandage.
The wound continued to heal well. The swelling had gone down, leaving the stitches easier to inspect.
Martha cleaned around them carefully.
“You’re very practiced at this,” Jonas said.
She concentrated on the cloth in her hand, grateful he hadn’t resumed asking questions. “I learned young.”
“At the orphanage?”
Martha looked at him.
He waited without pressing.
She rinsed the cloth.
“I spent part of my childhood in one. Children got sick. They got hurt. There were never enough adults to tend everyone, so the older ones learned.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine when I arrived.”
His expression softened.
Martha did not want sympathy. She lowered her attention to the wound before she saw too much of it.
“There were worse places to be,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean it was good.”
“No.”
She reached for the clean bandage.
“Are you well?”
Martha nearly laughed.
The question was too broad.
She wound the linen carefully around his thigh.
“This reminds me of Amos.”
Jonas looked at her curiously.
“He was wounded before we came here,” Martha continued. “I changed dressings like this for months, though it felt like years at the time, in truth.”
She could see the old room when she closed her eyes. Amos sweating beneath blankets despite the winter cold. The smell of fever. The growing redness around the wound that no amount of medicine or cleaning could stop.
“He had an infection?”
Martha nodded.
“Once it started spreading, Dr. Keller could do very little. Amos kept insisting he was improving right up until he couldn’t get out of bed.”
Her fingers stopped against the bandage.
Jonas’s hand rested near hers.
“I’m sorry.”
Martha finished tying the linen.
When she raised her head, Jonas was closer than she expected.
For a moment neither looked away.
His face had lost some of its color during the week indoors, making the scar along his jaw more noticeable. His gaze moved over her face with a quiet attention that made Martha suddenly aware of how near they were.
Then his eyes dropped to her mouth.
Martha’s breath caught.
Jonas lifted one hand.
His thumb touched the corner of her lips. His finger was warm, work-roughened. She stared at him in shock.
“You have a bit of jam here,” he said, his voice soft as he wiped it away. She nearly jumped as if she had been shocked by lightning, warmth and light exploding so that she blinked too much, too fast, frozen in place.
He pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat and looking away from her.
“I should ah, go for a brief walk,” he said, reaching for the stick. “Dr. Keller said some movement was good. And now that I’m getting better, I’ll just, well I suppose I’ll do that.” His words were rushed, falling over themselves, and Martha knew that was not precisely what Dr. Keller had said.
She did not stop him.
Jonas stood and crossed toward the door more quickly than his healing leg probably allowed.
Martha remained beside the couch with the used bandage in her hands.
Only after he left did she touch the corner of her mouth.