This unwanted visitor dismounted slowly, cautiously. His chiseled image swam as tears filled her eyes.
“Mrs. Gilcrest.” He assaulted her with the pity that laced his voice. “Naomi.”
“Don’t say it.” Naomi recovered just enough to cover her mouth with one hand. If she did this, she could stop herself from crying out. If she didn’t cry, then that would mean he was safe.
She closed her eyes and pictured Arthur’s face—the evening he’d reassured her everything would work out fine after she told him of her condition, the morning he’d repeated wedding vows to her as they stood at that ridiculous anvil, the day he’d proudly brought her to this house.
She imagined his voice breathing her name when he made love to her.
“I’m so sorry.” The major’s words struck her as surely as any bullet would have.
She slumped farther to the ground, huddling into herself. She hardly registered that the major was on his haunches beside her.
“No,” she gasped. “He’s coming home to me.”
“I’m so sorry.” The warm weight of his hand dropped onto her shoulder.
“He’s coming home,” she insisted, even as each breath seemed to bring more pain.
“We were ambushed just outside of Freetown. A handful were taken prisoner and then executed. We never even made it to the coast.”
“You’re wrong. Why would you say something so cruel?” This person before her was no friend of Arthur’s. He was being deceitful. It was a horrible, horrible thing for a person to do.
Only it was not. Logically, she knew the major wouldn’t lie to her. Not about this.
But once she opened her eyes again, her life would be changed forever. If she stayed right here, time couldn’t move forward. Her husband would be safe.
She made a half-hearted attempt to fight the major off even as she clung to the strong arms around her. They just barely kept her from splintering into a million pieces.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured over and over. “I’m so sorry.”
Naomi had no idea how much time passed as she drowned in her loss. But her tormentor simply held her until, exhausted, her shuddering sobs faded into an occasional tremor.
“Please, let me take you inside.”
“We’re supposed to be a family,” she cried, almost in wonder. Naomi splayed her hand over her middle. How could they be a family if there wasn’t a husband? If there wasn’t a father?
The major had somehow dragged her to her feet and was leading them to the back door that entered into the kitchen. A door she’d entered hundreds of times, happy and full of hope.
Without the warmth of the sun, a shiver rolled through her, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The major assisted her into one of the chairs placed around a long worktable, and Naomi stared at the stains in the wood. She’d seen them hundreds of times. She should have scrubbed at them harder.
A cup of water appeared and was placed in her hand. The gentle nudge from inside her belly had her lifting the drink to her lips.
Water.
“I’m so sorry, Naomi,” he said again. The pain of that sentiment stabbed at her again.
“Stop it. Stop saying that.” She felt angry. She didn’t want to believe him. “You’re wrong. He may have been taken prisoner, but he would have escaped. Because he has so much to live for. We’re having a baby. We’re going to be a family. He loves me. Why would he leave me?”
The major swung a second chair closer to her and dropped into it so that he remained near. “Is there someone I can send for?” He took hold of her hands. “Your family? A friend in the village who can come here so that you are not alone?”
Naomi stared down at his hands. They were masculine hands, strong, capable hands. But they were not Arthur’s hands. The fingers were too slim and the tiny hairs on Arthur’s weren’t as dark. Feeling betrayed, she tugged and he loosened his grip.
Her family had disowned her when she’d eloped.
And friends? Naomi nearly choked on the word. Francis Carter, the one person she’d considered to be her dearest friend in London, had promised she wouldn’t tell a soul about the baby. And the people in Hull Crossings mostly looked at her suspiciously.
