Sol spent the entire night and most of the morning thinking of Hannah. He was losing her. He’d felt it when she left, despite his efforts. She was going to end things because she didn’t believe that they could be more. Didn’t truly believe he was offering more.
And in a way, she was right to think that. How exactly was he different from those men she’d spoken of before? The ones from the community who were happy to take from her in the dark, but ignore her in the light?
He’d made pretty promises, but all were vague, at best. He’d showed her nothing. No, he’d continued to take the easy, well-traveled road. Why should she believe him?
Something he’d need to rectify.
Not the easiest task when stuck there. He glanced at his still bandaged ankle. Doc had told him he’d be able to walk without assistance in a day or two, but the wait was agony.
Especially as even if he could convince Hannah that a future was possible, he needed to be alive to have one. Which meant he needed to find out who was after him. Though the more he considered the matter, the more he came back to the attack on Stoudmire and Frederick’scourtship of Lady Drucilla. Perhaps there was another rival for her affections? He needed to discuss matters with his brother. Between the two of them, they should be able to puzzle it out.
Oy. So much waiting. With a sigh, he retook his hook and started anew. Even if he could not concentrate. At all.
A knock on the door interrupted the cycling of his thoughts.
“You have visitors,” Gertrude called through the door. “I trust you’re presentable?”
“Visitors?” He repeated. Plural? Who would be visiting him? “I—” Sol started, patting around the bed. He placed the yarn to the side. “Yes, I’m dressed. Thank you so much for mending my garments. They and you can come in.”
The door swung open before he could even finish the words.
“Sol, thank goodness,” a familiar voice cried out. And the last person he expected to see burst into the room.
“Hello, Solomon,” a poshly accented voice drawled as the—strike his first thought—actuallast person he expected to see followed.
“Aaron.” Grimacing only a little, he pushed himself up so he could reach out and shake his friend’s hand.
However, that was clearly not good enough, as Aaron instead pulled him into a tight embrace. Not what he was used to, as Frederick had stopped holding him when he was eight in adherence to gentile parenting treatises that explained how such treatment would corrupt his character—or more, foreclose their chances to rise.
“It is so good to see you, Sol.” Aaron’s voice was a touch tight. “We were quite worried.”
“You as well,” he told Aaron, patting him on the back. Wobbling only a little, he turned and gave his companion a small nod. “And Mister—Roger. What are you doing here?” He looked back and force between them, just in time for Aaron to wrap his arm around his shoulders in a sideways embrace.
“Miss Moses paid us a call last night and let us know your whereabouts.” Roger glanced around the room before strolling to the window with a rather judgmental sniff.
Hannah? Sol started at her name.
“And while it’s still snowing, and I most certainly would’ve preferred being in my own home today”—Berab turned back around—“Mr. Ellenberg insisted on seeing you for himself and it was decided that, given the alleged circumstances of your… injuries… it would be prudent for him not to come alone.”
“Fair,” Sol said with a nod.
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Aaron said, clasping his hands together. “You’ve had so many close calls lately.”
“I know.” Sol rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t been sleeping enough and I’ve been distracted, but I promise, when I get back, I will be in top performance. You can assure Isabelle that I won’t let her down.” He winced as pain shot through his ankle. Oy. Not quite as ready as he’d thought.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not—” He frowned. “Isabelle isn’t displeased with you, Sol. She’s worried. We’re all worried.” He raised a finger. “I’m beginning to wonder if it hasn’t been all bad luck.”
Grimacing, Sol moved back to the edge of the bed, sitting himself down. “Why?” he asked as he rubbed the swollen joint. Perhaps a crutch would help.
“Because we’re your friends.” Aaron shook his head before nodding in Berab’s direction. “Well, some of us are. And you said yourself this wasn’t a normal robbery.”
“I will pretend not to have heard that,” the other man called as he finished clearing a chair of its sewing contents and pulling it over next to the bed. “Actually, Mr. Ellenberg, would you mind assisting the sisters, as I believe they’re preparing us some tea.” He took his seat, crossing his legs. “You’re still good at that sort of thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment whether you meant it as one or not.” Aaron sent him a withering glare.
“Skills of any sort should be cherished,” Sol told him and meant it. Something he’d most certainly learned.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” his friend said with a roll of his eyes before exiting the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
