Susanna’s eyes and she cried, too, both of them denied motherhood, one by cruelty and the other by biology.
They cried until there were no more tears. Her arms were still tight around Maeve Rattigan, and Susanna knew the warmth was gone from the blanket at the woman’s back. “Lean forward,” she said. “I’ll make it warm again.”
She did, returning with the oven-warmed blanket. She slipped it in place, and Maeve leaned back gratefully. Her eyes were raw and swollen with weeping, but her face was calm now.
“May I read to you?” Susanna asked. “Major Randolph has a brand-new book here.” She opened it. “I do like Mark Twain. Do you?”
No answer. Maeve just looked at her with the same expression in her eyes as when she had looked at Major Randolph, as though there was something she could actually do that would end the pain. Susanna touched her hand. “It’s called Sketches New and Old. Let’s see now. Ah. ‘My Watch.’ Maeve, dear, would you mind if I take off my shoes and put my feet by that pig, too?”
Maeve smiled and shifted slightly so there was room. “It’s still warm. ‘My Watch,’ you say?”
Susanna made herself comfortable. She cleared her throat and began. “‘My beautiful new watch had run eighteen months without losing or gaining, and without breaking any part of its machinery or stopping. I had come to believe it infallible in its judgments ….’”
She looked at Maeve, already asleep, and closed the book. “You dear lady,” she whispered.
Chapter Eight
When Maeve woke up an hour later, Susanna made her comfortable, with no embarrassment. When she finished, Susanna sat beside her and took her hands.
“Johnny helps me, but it pains him,” Maeve said simply. “Major Randolph, too, I think.”
Susanna nodded. She opened the book to “My Watch,” and continued reading through the afternoon. Maeve dozed, then woke for the story, which was starting to make her smile, then dozed again. She laughed out loud with “… I brained him on the spot, and had him buried at my own expense,” and gave a satisfied sigh when Susanna closed the book.
“I can leave it here so you can finish it on your own,” she said, looking at the clock.
There was no overlooking the color that bloomed suddenly in Maeve’s pale cheeks. “I can’t read,” she said softly.
I think I have my work cut out for me at Fort Laramie, Susanna thought, gratified. “Would you like to learn?”
“Aye,” came Maeve’s equally quiet reply. “Will you have time?”
“I can teach you at night.” And keep myself out of Emmy’s unwelcome parlor, she added to herself. “Private Benedict told me about night classes for the enlisted men.”
“Johnny doesn’t want me there.”
Susanna sat back, her finger still in the book. “Might there be other ladies who would like to learn in a separate class?”
“There might be.” Maeve turned her head toward the door, her face alert. “Here comes my Johnny.”
Susanna didn’t hear anything, but she wasn’t married to Johnny Rattigan, and from the soft look on Maeve’s face, in love with him. “I should leave,” she said.
“Not yet, please. Meet him.”
The door opened to reveal a handsome man with worry on his face. His eyes brightened to see Maeve, but the worry was still there. Major Randolph was right behind him. The two tall men seemed to fill the sitting room, the modest allotment of a sergeant in the U.S. Army. They brought with them a rush of cold air, and the winter Susanna had forgotten about for a few hours with Maeve Rattigan, struggling with sorrow, and Mark Twain, who had made them both laugh.
The sergeant knelt by his wife’s chair. Susanna felt the tears start in her eyes when Maeve pulled him tenderly toward her and kissed his head. Susanna glanced at the major, who was looking at her. She had already decided the post surgeon wasn’t a man well versed in hiding his emotions. He seemed to be telling her, Look, some marriages are lovely.
Major Randolph introduced her to the sergeant, who was feeling the warming pad behind his wife’s back now. He took out the pad and went to the kitchen. He had obviously done this small thing for his wife many times, which made Susanna swallow and wonder why she had ever thought for the smallest moment that hers were the worst troubles in the universe.
At his wife’s whispered words, the sergeant put the newly warmed pad on her abdomen this time. Susanna knew he must be a man