“Not that I’ve seen.” He flicked a glance to the rain pelting the windows. “The place seems pretty deserted.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Elsa also noticed Tom petting Barney and growing more at ease by the moment. “What exactly are you two doing in here?”
“We’re deinstalling this library and will assemble it again in our warehouse on Long Island.” Luke snatched a short pencil from behind his ear and tucked it into his pocket. “Our clients often want to purchase entire rooms either for their own homes or for houses they are building for their clients. Tom’s helping me take down all the measurements, photograph from every angle, and label every single thing we move—and I mean every panel, shelf, every piece of crown molding, even the floorboards and books. Then a contractor and his crew will come in and start dismantling. At that point, I’ll go through the rest of the mansion and salvage whatever else I deem worthy. Door fixtures, chandeliers, fireplaces, things like that.”
Elsa hadn’t expected to hear so many words from Luke all at once. He seemed more comfortable half-hidden in shadows than he’d been in glaring daylight. She hoped she was wrong about that. How sad that would be. Yet an aversion to exposure was a feeling she understood.
After inquiring a little more about the process, she asked, “Were there any birds in here when you arrived? I’ve seen them in most of the other rooms.”
“There were,” Tom volunteered. “We heard someone was coming from the museum for them and didn’t want them to get dusty while we were working, so we moved them. Much to Barney’sregret. Right, boy?” Smiling now, he rubbed the dog between the ears.
“Thank you for that.” Elsa tried not to wrinkle her nose at the wet smell coming from Barney’s fur. She spotted a narrow door beside the fireplace, most likely a closet for storing firewood, which would make it empty this time of year. She pointed to it, and Tom nodded.
It was too dark to see inside properly. “Did either of you find a kerosene lamp about, by any chance?”
“Tom did. Spalding insisted on shutting down the electricity to the estate before we got here, to our great annoyance. Natural light isn’t always enough for good photographs, and we need good photographs. Gobs of them.”
“I imagine. Would you mind terribly, Tom?” Elsa asked.
Tom fetched the lamp and turned the knob. Amber light radiated from the hurricane as he crossed to the fireplace and set it on the mantel.
Thanking him, Elsa walked to the closet. The door budged open with a squeak. Crammed onto the shelves inside were birds to match the library: a great green macaw, an African emerald cuckoo, European greenfinch, a mitred parakeet.
“Shrapnel?” Tom asked.
She turned around. “Pardon me?”
He nodded to her leg. “Were you a nurse over there? Red Cross? Was your hospital hit?”
She shook her head, realizing they’d seen her limp for the first time. “I’m afraid it’s nothing so courageous as that. Just polio.”
Luke frowned. “Justpolio?” His grey eyes assessed her, seeming to look past the flippant comment. The dim light, storm, and remoteness of the place had cast the three of them into an unintended closeness. But she hadn’t come here to talk about the disease that wasn’t through with her yet. Compared to going towar, this was nothing. She didn’t want pity, but neither did she feel qualified to accept the respect in their expressions.
“I would have counted it a privilege to serve, but no one thought I’d be much good as a nurse given my physical limitations.”
“It’s better you weren’t there with us.” Tom fished a Lucky Strike from his front pocket.
Luke took it from him and slipped it right back where it came from.
“Count yourself lucky you didn’t go.” Tom stared at his now-empty hand. It trembled.
“I count myself fortunate that brave men like you did.” Elsa took his hand in hers and shook it. “You gave up more than we can ever imagine. Thank you.” The tremor faded in her grip, and Tom’s cobalt gaze met hers. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and the dimple flashed once more.
She didn’t know many veterans of the war, though it was her generation that had fought. Archer hadn’t joined up, and neither had his friends. She had the utmost respect for those who had.
Luke turned to the crates on the ground. “How about we move the birds to the dining room for you?”
“That would be lovely. The table in there will make a better work surface than that small writing desk I’ve been using in the parlor. Handle them by the mounting bases rather than touching their bodies, if you please.”
As the men fetched the birds, Elsa brought her things from the parlor to the dining hall. Cobwebs stretched across the chandelier and netted the crown molding at the ceiling. At one end of the room, an arched window held stained glass in shades of red and burgundy. But the colored glass had broken in places, and water damage stained the wall below it.
Luke set the last two birds on the table. “Thanks, by the way, for how you were with Tom. He feels overlooked most of the time. It’s nice for him to be seen by someone other than me.”
“Oh.” Surely she didn’t deserve praise for such a small inadequate thing. “I—of course. I meant what I said, and that appreciation extends to you, too. That is, if you also fought in the war?”
“Safe assumption,” he said. “I did.”
“Thank you.”
