She blinked but did not look down at him.
He added, “I resented him, vied with him, grew irritated with him. But I always loved him. He was my brother, after all.”
Her glance flickered down and met his, apparently measuring his sincerity.
“I even admired him, though I rarely admitted it. Though I knew he thought little of me.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “He thought you were talented, and admired your ease with people. Your confidence. Though yes, he thought you irresponsible at times.”
“Most of the time, I’d wager. And he was probably right. But that was then. And this is now.”
“Oh? And what has changed?” She asked it mildly, with a slight humorless laugh that cut him, as though she already doubted whatever answer he would give.
“Ihave changed. Because now there is a woman I love, who needs me. A child I love. Our child. Who will need me too. I know I’ve made mistakes. Many mistakes...” He thought about the angry letter he had written to Marsh. Now, he regretted sending it. “But I want to make it right. I am not happy my brother is dead—”
“We don’t know that for certain,” she insisted, mouth tight, eyes drifting away again.
He gingerly took her hand in his. “You’re right. There is still hope. And we will pray for his safe return. Yet even if he does not, I am not without hope. Because a part of me thinks this might be my second chance. A chance to put your well-being and happiness above my own.”
“It would be quite a sacrifice to do so—is that what you are saying?”
“Of course not. Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said gently. “I know you are grieving right now. And so am I. But I think I may glimpse God’s hand in all of this.”
“I did not realize you were on close terms with God.”
“I haven’t been in the past. But these last weeks have driven me to my knees time and time again.”
“Me too,” she admitted.
Her eyes drifted back to the portrait. Her thoughts still of his brother and not of him. But she did not pull her hand from his grasp. And that was something.
After Wesley left her, Sophie blindly pushed her way into Winnie’s sitting room, not bothering to knock. The woman turned, startled, quickly shutting her bedchamber door behind her as though hiding something, but Sophie had noticed nothing embarrassing through her tears. Her throat tight and burning she said, “A letter came. It said—”
“Stephen is dead,” Winnie finished for her. “Yes, I know.”
Surprise flashed through Sophie. “But how...? Did Kate or someone come up to tell you?”
Miss Whitney shook her head, faded blue eyes troubled and distant. “No, you’re the first.”
“You see? You know things, Winnie. Stephen says you’re always right. Is he really dead? Is he?”
“I don’t know.” The elderly woman shook her head again, eyes filled with worry and tears of her own. “I can’t hear his voice. I listen and listen and I can’t hear his voice.”
“You have heard Stephen’s voice in the past?” Sophie asked, incredulous and hopeful at once.
“Of course I have. He lived here, after all. I don’t expect to hear his voice when he’s gone. I meant God’s voice. I asked for Stephen’s life. I prayed. But no answer comes. I listen and listen, and I can’t hear His voice.”
chapter 26
On Sunday, the family attended church together. It was comforting to hear Mr. Nelson pray for Captain Overtree and other men from the parish whose fate was uncertain, or who had been injured or killed in the war. It was touching to receive the hopeful condolences and promises of prayer from many neighbors, tenants, and their servants.
Then followed another tense week of waiting. Mrs. Overtree went to the chapel every day to pray. Miss Blake came over often, to keep Kate company and offer what comfort and diversion she could. Mr. Keith often played the pianoforte for them, or joined them for a walk or game to pass the slowly crawling hours.
Sophie became more aware of a quickening within her body and savored those moments, those small assurances that her child was alive and well. She asked Mrs. Overtree to teach her to knit and she agreed. Mrs. Overtree confessed she did not particularly enjoy needlework but did a great deal of it as charity work. “After all,” she said, “‘it is more blessed to give than to receive.’”
The colonel retreated into himself, spending more time alone in his room, and began to look older than his years. Sophie noticed a slight bend in his back that had not been there before.
Sophie, determined to be true to her promise to watch over Winnie during the captain’s absence, visited often, and brought her dainties saved from her own meals.
