“Hamilton?”
“Leave me be.”
“Are you sure this is how you want to part? She’s not far down the road. I can help you hitch Tilly—”
“I am sure.” He sat up, shoving the blanket away. His leg had healed enough to practice walking with a peg, but he hated the sound of the stick against the floor. And in the yard, the blasted thing stuck in the dirt. Often after the smallest exercise, his leg ached and burned, the skin blistered and bled.
As if the war had not robbed him of his last shred of dignity, now he was a man who must be a burden.
“She came here to see you, to tell you how she feels. Do you realize what it cost her to stand here and—”
“Do you not realize what it has costme? I love her.” He snatched his crutch from against the wall. “I let my foolishness drive me to war, and now I have lost her.”
“Lost? She was just standing here. Her perfume lingers. Go after her. Do not let foolishness, or your pride, keep you from the one you love.”
“Why do you care? I’d rather thought you prefer me here with you. You said as much, did you not? ‘It’s best Esther is with her father. You and I will make a go of it, nephew.’ Were those not your claims?” He shoved aside the curtains, allowing in the light, and raised the sash, expelling the dank presence of the room.
“Yes, those were my claims. I confess, I was scared when you were wounded. When she came to the surgeon’s to see you, I feared for us all. But now I cannot help but think—”
“Aunt.” He moaned, perching on the edge of his bed, one eye toward the peg. “Please, I am in no mood for hyped optimism.”
“Nevertheless, you will hear me out. You went to war, Hamilton, and lost your leg. A fact we cannot change. But you still have your mind, do you not? Your wits, your heart, and heaven above, your freedom. Your life.” She knelt next to his bed. “I cannot imagine your thoughts or feelings, or how it feels to have been a man so capable of doing whatever he wanted when he wanted without aid or even much thought. But you gave yourself to the cause and now—”
“My bitterness, my desire for revenge, has left me maimed. As I deserve!”
“So what are you to do? Lie around the rest of your days? Wallow in pity? To what end, Hamilton? What of your faith, your hope—”
Her voice rose with cheer and confidence—which he found annoying.
“In a Lord who took my pa and ma, little Betsy, Uncle Laurence, and my leg? Does He love me or consider me a toy to be trifled with, dangled over the tormenting fires of hell?”
“Have you no sense? HaveIno sense? Listening to your uncle all those years, preaching of a good God, a God of love.”
“Preach not to me, Aunt, but to yourself.”
“’Tis what they say of you in town. That you’ve left yourself. You’ll never recover because of your bitterness.”
“Who is saying such about me? Who?” He slapped the crutch against the floor. “I most certainly will recover, but I am also a realist. I know when I’m defeated. But I will return to the fields. I’ll hunt, trap, perhaps start a venture in town. With any luck, I’ll wrangle the deed to Quill away from Sir Michael. Otherwise, we’ll buy a new and better place.”
Aunt Mary stood, arms folded. “Well then, there’s the door. What’s keeping you from even the slightest chore?”
“Because!” He threw the crutch against the wall. “Without her, none of it has meaning. Because I am ashamed. I am weak. I have a stick under my thigh instead of flesh and bone. She does not want a man who must lean on her but a man on whom she can lean.”
“You underestimate her. I underestimated her as well. Love works both ways, my boy. Did not your uncle lean on me in his final years?”
“He was an old man. I am young. Besides, what can I offer Esther when any number of men in the upcountry as well as the low, even as far away as London, would long to court her? Men with means, with substance, if not wealth? Men with two legs, with industries, titles, and money.”
“She does not loveothermen. She loves you, Hamilton. There is only one question you must ask yourself. Do you love her? Do you want her?”
“With every fiber of my being.”
“Then go after her.” Aunt Marry pointed toward the door. “Tell her. Don’t let her final thoughts of you be your silence. And if she rejects you, at least you will have given your love a chance.”
He sat in the desk chair, rubbing the ache in his half leg. “I wonder if we are just not meant to be. Even my letter to her on the eve of battle was lost. When Ralphie came to visit, I inquired of my letter to Esther and he confirmed he had not delivered it to her. God must surely be punishing me.”
He stared out the window, yearning to stand and run, to taste the wind and see the sun rise. Then he caught his reflection in the shaving mirror nailed to the opposite wall.
He looked like a mountain man with his long beard and unkempt hair. Color had yet to return to his complexion, save for the pink scar running down his cheek and into his beard. His eyes sank into his gaunt expression. He was a sight to behold.
