“Identical. Before I joined up, I was able to differentiate between them for the most part. Since I no longer live at Crescent Park, it has been more difficult each time I come home.” He took another bite and shrugged. “Before this past spring, I was away for three years. They turned into young women while I was away.”
She’d realized military life would be difficult for any man with a family. Whenever she’d discussed Arthur selling his commission, he’d changed the subject. Would he have sold out as he had promised?
“The worrying is worse than I had imagined it would be.” Imagining that he was in danger… wondering if he was ever coming home.
There it was again. That giant weight on her chest—that strangling feeling.
That wondering if she was going to be able to go on.
“This will pass.” His voice penetrated the swell of despair. “It’ll never go away completely, but the terror, the explosion of pain, it will subside into feelings that you can eventually live with.” And then the cold glass she’d been drinking from was pressed into her hand. “Drink up.”
She did as he said.
“And breathe. In and out. Tell me to go to hell if you think that will help.”
She couldn’t stop the ironic chuckle that he had come so close to reading her mind.
“He left in August. We’ve been apart for almost three months now,” she managed, “And although I know he isn’t coming back, there is a part of me that still believes he will return.”
Major Cockfield nodded in agreement. “It’s no simple concept. Don’t expect to know how to handle everything right away. Focus on caring for yourself. And your baby. And in the meanwhile,” He slid his chair back, reached for the last of his lemonade, downed it and then pushed the chair back in, “I’m going to see what progress I can make on that porch before I lose the sunlight.”
Before he could disappear outside again, Naomi remembered her manners. “Thank you, Major.”
He turned and stared at her thoughtfully. “No need to thank me. That’s what friends do.”
“Still, Major…”
“Luke. Will you call me Luke while I’m here?”
How could she deny him when he’d been so ridiculously kind? “Luke.” At his raised brows, she added, “And you may call me Naomi.”
Chapter Five
Over the first few days that followed, Naomi remained in her bed long after the sounds of others being far more productive than she was prepared to be—Luke pounding his hammer on the porch or sawing in the stable, and Ester banging around in the kitchen below.
All Naomi wanted to do was sleep. What was there to wake up for? She reasoned with herself that she wasn’t hurting the baby by hiding from the world. The tasks she’d undertaken before, sewing the drapes, mending the cushions, and polishing the furnishings and wood, had all been to make their home more welcoming for Arthur’s return.
She managed to rationalize herself into believing this for two days before the guilt set in.
“The major is finished with the porch and the trim. He even repaired the cupboard doors that didn’t close properly. But now he has a few questions for you.” Ester had entered the room without permission and was frowning down at her. “About the roof.”
Leaks tended to appear with no rhyme or reason. The stains around her window, case in point. And just a few weeks ago, Naomi had spotted one in the room she intended to use for her baby’s nursery.
The reminder was a gentle nudge.
Arthur may not be coming home, but her baby would be here soon enough. And she wanted to have a welcoming home for her baby, didn’t she?
Reluctantly, she forced herself out of bed and doubtless, nothing could have made Ester happier. Standing in front of her wardrobe, however, another conundrum presented itself. “I can’t wear any of these.” Because most of the gowns she’d brought with her were pastels. If they weren’t pastel they were an even less appropriate color: canary, jonquil, pomona, and puce.
As a newly widowed lady, she couldn’t wear any of them in public.
Ester withdrew a pale primrose and then a dull lavender muslin. “We can dye the lighter ones.”
When her father’s mother had passed, it was what her mother had done. Naomi remembered her mother had winked at her and said it would give them all an excuse to purchase the newest fashions when their mourning was complete. The memory was a bittersweet one. Naomi swallowed hard as she contemplated adding the cost of dye to her growing bill at the mercantile.
“Acorns,” Ester provided before Naomi said a word. “And we’ll need rusty nails.”
“What are you talking about?”
