She homed in on his face. Who had he lost, specifically? Dare she ask? The need to know pressed her. “You’ve lost friends?”
He didn’t shy away from her gaze. A depth of pain flashed in his eyes. “The war has taken many people I would call acquaintances, a few friends, too. And my wife.”
Like a punch to the gut, his words slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. He’d been married? How had the war taken her? Surely not in battle.
Every part of her ached to ask more, but this time she didn’t dare. What he’d revealed already felt like too much. More than she wanted to know.
A new awareness hummed through her, and she couldn’t see him as she had before. Not as a man who’d possibly come to take over Laurent, to see many of her people killed, and even more devastation brought on those who lived.
No. Evan was simply a man. One who’d lost someone very dear to him.
As she had.
Except he’d lost hiswife. Something deep inside her stabbed with a blade that tasted faintly of jealousy.
A woman had known this man well enough to sharehis life and his bed—maybe even his heart. She knew well enough every marriage wasn’t a love match.
In a small village such as Laurent, when male and female came of age, unions had to form for the simple matter of procreation. Of course, there were many other reasons, but the village would die away if no one married.
Evan’s face gave no indication of whether he and his wife had been blissfully happy before her passing or only carrying on the duties of each day.
Children. Did he have a son or daughter waiting for him back in America?
A whole host of new worries turned inside her. If Evan didn’t return to them, would a precious child become both fatherless and motherless? A fist clenched her heart, squeezing until she could bear it no longer.
She swallowed to summon moisture into her mouth. “Did you ... do you ... have ... children?” Her chest wouldn’t allow in air as she watched his face for an answer.
He shook his head, a new flash of pain clouding his eyes. “Sophia wanted them, but ... we didn’t have any.”
A wash of thoughts and emotions swirled inside her. Sophia. What an elegant name. French, too, just like the people of Laurent.
Her mind churned with questions, but only one burned to be answered. “How long ago did she ...?” What word would be appropriate to mark the passing of a loved one? She struggled with the same question about her mother.
Passingseemed so flimsy, as though the awful day that Brielle’s heart had been forever shredded was only a flimsy blade of grass that could blow off in the wind. Not the marking of the day a young woman was a girl no longer. Not markingthe day she became mistress of the home, mother to two hurting children, one who would never hold a memory of the woman who bore them.
Evan’s answer pierced through her thoughts. “Two years ago. While I was—” his voice broke, then he looked to be forcing out the rest of his words—“gone. A fever took her life. She’d been helping in one of the soldiers’ hospitals when she took ill. Some might not blame the war for her death, but the war was also what kept me from being with her at the end.” A hard grunt slipped out that might have been a chuckle. “It was another five months before I came home and learned she was gone.”
She could understand the tinge of bitterness that laced his tone. “You were a soldier?” Maybe she shouldn’t have pressed with that question, but now she wanted to know more about this man. He drew her like no man ever had before.
He dipped his chin. “I worked for the army.”
“You ... don’t work for the army any longer?”
A slight hesitation. Just barely a pause, but enough to make her carefully consider his next words. “After Sophia was gone, I had nothing left to hold me to Maryland. I dove into my work with everything I had, trying to lose myself in becoming the best. I worked hard.”
The cords in his throat flexed. “I did everything asked of me. But things didn’t always turn out well.” His voice took on a raw edge, like the memories were almost too much. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t handle the horrors of war.” He inhaled a breath, and his voice leveled out. “So, I began exploring. First I went west, and found I liked the freedom. On my second trip, I came northwest.” He held out a palm. “And here I am.”
Brielle nodded, but her mind was turning with so many thoughts, she needed time to sort through everything. She laid her head back against the stone wall behind her. “You must be tired. I’ll not bother you with any more questions.”
Maybe Evan’s thoughts were as cluttered as her own, for he stretched out on his side. But it was a long time before his eyes closed, and even longer before his breathing settled into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Good thing she would be staying awake as his guard, for the longer she dwelt on their conversation, the more questions she had. But they weren’t questions about his whereabouts and intentions here in Laurent. Her mind struggled to fill the gaps in the picture that was his life before he came.
Now that she knew a little about him as a person, her heart craved to know so much more. What of his parents? Were they still alive? Had they been loving? Where had he grown up? Village or farm? When had he married?
And that question that burned every time it raised its nagging head—Had he loved his wife? Did he love her still?
12
