He exited the small room and made his way down the narrow corridor, his crutch clacking against the stone floor. The clap of his foot in rhythm had become the music of his life.
The young man waited by yet another door. “They’re in the sanctuary, sir.”
Hamilton nodded his thanks and peered into the large, square room. Sunlight fell through the colorful, stained glass windows and glided across the polished pews.
A family of no small means, judging by their attire, waited on the front row. A gentleman and his wife, along with two young children.
“May I help you?” he said as he crossed the stone floor, wondering how he might minister to them.
The woman stood, gripping the handle of her reticule. Hamilton stopped, his crutch nearly slipping out from under him.
“Esther.”
“Hello, Hamilton.” Her voice wavered, and her eyes glistened as she walked toward him, hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you.”
“Esther, dear Esther.” He gripped her hand. “W-whatever are you doing here?”
“Why, we came to see you, of course.” Her smile, so much thesame but refined with age, captured her beauty. “You look well. Content and happy.”
“As do you. More beautiful than ever.”
For a moment he was a boy again, carefree and whole, with Esther a permanent part of his days.
“A-hem.”
Esther turned. “Wallace, so sorry. Hamilton, may I introduce my husband, Mr. Wallace Hobart, Viscount of Berksham, and our children, Michael and Catherine. Say hello to Mummy’s friend, Mr. Lightfoot.”
The husband was a fine man with a confident deportment. Good-looking and well formed. The boy bowed while the little girl curtseyed, and with one refined voice they inquired, “How do you do?”
A lump welled in his throat. These were Esther’s children. The girl looked like her. “I do very well, thank you. And you? Are you well?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened to your leg?” Well, not only did the girl look like her mama, but she was as sweet and bold.
“Catherine.” Esther pressed her hand onto her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s not polite to—”
“I don’t mind,” Hamilton said. “I lost it during the war.”
“How did you lose your leg?” She furrowed her brow.
He laughed, taking a seat on the pew. “In a battle. A sword came down and...” He glanced up Esther. “It was an accident.”
“Did it hurt?” This from the boy.
“I’m blessed not to remember much.”
“You must be very brave,” the child said. “Papa says if we’re brave and don’t cry when we get hurt, we can have a sweet treat.”
“That’s right. You must always be brave.”
“Children.” Wallace took each one by the hand. “Come with me. Leave Mama to speak with her friend.” His accent was one of an aristocrat. Of one worthy of Esther.
Esther whispered something to him. He nodded, then departed with the children. She joined Hamilton on the pew. “My dear friend, are you well?”
“Very.”
“Happy?”
