It helped that Mrs. Huddleston already knew the chair was there, with a broken wheel that her husband had repaired in less than half a day. And now Farley was sitting in it wearing a white shirt buttoned high on his neck, dark-brown trousers that went past his ankles, and thick woolen stockings that he would grow out of before he wore a hole into the sole of them. His damp hair had been trimmed by Bitsy and was neatly parted on the right side. But the thing that had brought a smile to Loretta’s face was that, for the first time since coming to Mammoth House, Farley had a little color to his lips.
She walked into the room but before she could utter the first word, Farley started coughing. Long, deep, and hard. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and bent double. She hated seeing him in such agony and wanted to go over to him but didn’t. Now that he’d gotten better, he’d made it clear he didn’t want her help. And really there was nothing she could do but whisper calming words and wait until the spasms ceased.
After the coughing spell was over, he slumped to one side of the big chair. She saw his chest moving slow and heavy with each breath. After the fever left him and he’d started eating better, she thought the bouts of coughing would subside, but she wasn’t even sure their frequency had decreased. More and more she was beginning to worry that instead of simply having a lingering cough, Farley might have consumption.
Keeping those disturbing thoughts at bay, and with her voice cheerful, she said, “Bitsy did a wonderful job on your hair, Farley.”
He didn’t respond, so she added, “It makes you look older.”
Still no acknowledgment from him, but she refused to let his attitude discourage her so she went on. “And Mrs. Huddleston did fine work of remaking the clothing for you.”
Loretta recognized that Farley was still quite ill, and she knew he didn’t feel well, but it didn’t take much breath to say thank you. “I hope you managed to let Bitsy and Mrs. Huddleston know how much you appreciate what they’ve done for you.”
His dark-brown eyes glared at her. “I didn’t ask ’em to do it for me,” he answered in a hoarse whisper and straightened himself in the large chair.
With all the coughing night and day, she had no doubt his throat stayed sore and talking wasn’t easy, but it wouldn’t help him if she treated him like an infant. He needed to manage a few words every now and again.
“Oh, I see,” she said, keeping her tone light while folding her arms across her chest and looking down at him. “You think you have to ask someone to do something before you can say a word of thanks to them. Let me assure you that isn’t true. A thank-you is never out of place, and every time someone does something nice for you appreciation is in order. Why don’t you try saying it?”
He lowered his head, stared down at his folded hands in his lap, and mumbled, “Thank you.”
Loretta smiled. They’d just made progress.
“That’s better, and thank you for saying it for me.” Loretta turned and tugged a wool blanket from the foot of the bed and laid it on his lap. “I thought you might enjoy getting out of this room for a while since you are sitting up.”
The look in his eyes was wary. “And go where?”
She bent down in front of him and started tucking thewrap around his legs. He must have been treated very badly at some time because he was very watchful. “Only to the other end of the house—which in this old place can be quite a stroll. I thought I’d take you to the music room with me. There’s a big window there that overlooks a garden and a fountain.”
“What do I want to look at flowers for?”
“Well, I hope you don’t want to today. You’d be disappointed if you did.”
“What’d ye mean? Ye said a garden.”
It pleased Loretta that she’d actually gotten him talking. “There aren’t any flowers to see right now. Just barren trees, bushes stripped of all their leaves, and a few dead vines that are still clinging to the trellises as they flap and fly in the wind. It’s too early in the year for flowers to bloom, and the freezing storm that brought you to our door killed almost all the budding that had already started. So I expect it will be a while before we have any color in the garden this year. And it’s also too early for Mr. Huddleston to put the fountain into working order.”
“What ye want me to look at that for?”
“Oh, I don’t,” she said, lifting his feet and folding the blanket under them. “This time of year you can clearly see the stone-and-tile pathway that was laid in the garden when the house was built. It’s a beautiful, intricate circle pattern. There are paths leading off the circle that are mosaics of some of the constellations, most of them having to do with hunting because this used to be a hunting lodge. There’s Orion, which is the hunter. Sagittarius is the archer. Taurus is a bull and—” She looked up and saw that Farley’s mouth hung open and his eyes were glazed. He had no idea what she was talking about. Not knowing about the constellations meant he hadn’t had much schooling—and she wondered if he’d had any at all.
“But never mind about all that right now,” she said. “We’ll just leave it as the pathway is interesting to look at when there are no colorful flowers or overgrown bushes to distract from it.”
Satisfied the blanket was tightly tucked, she rose. “If you want to continue to stare at these four walls and wish you were tall enough to look out the one small window over there, I’ll leave you be and go play the pianoforte alone.”
“I’ll go with ye,” he mumbled.
More progress.
“Good.” Loretta moved behind the chair and gave it a push.
She soon realized it was not as easy to roll the big chair as she’d expected it to be. It was definitely easier to move on the wooden floor than on the rugs. With a lot of effort she managed to get it out the door and start it down the long corridor toward the music room. She hadn’t played the piano since Farley had arrived because she hadn’t wanted to disturb his rest. Sounds carried very easily from one room to the next in the mostly empty house. Now that Farley was better, perhaps a little music might lift his spirits.
It would hers.
Loretta finally stopped the chair in front of the double window in the music room. She should probably just call it the pianoforte room. There was no harp, lyre, violin, or any other type of instrument, and by the size of the room there must have been at one time.
She drew the draperies back as far as they would go. It would have been lovely to see sunshine streaming in and feel its warmth on her face, but it was not to be. The sky was a vast expanse of smoldering gray clouds that promised rain before the day was at an end.
