used to command, but his voice was calm and quiet. “I greatly appreciate your kindness,” he told her, his accent as charming as Maeve’s.
“Glad to help,” she said. Were all sergeants so handsome? “If you’re busy tomorrow, I will happily return.” She touched Maeve’s blanketed foot with her hand. “We have more stories to read.”
“I am busy tomorrow,” he said. “The army doesn’t stop for family difficulties.”
“Then are we agreed?” Susanna asked. She looked at the sergeant, feeling decisive for the first time in months. “What time do you have breakfast here?”
“Around six, I suppose, eh, Maeve?”
“If the post surgeon can locate us some eggs, I’ll make an omelet. I know he has cheese and it’s not very good, but …”
“That’s army issue,” the major interrupted. “Likely found in the dark corner of a warehouse sometime after Appomattox, reboxed and christened Aged Cheddar. I have eggs.”
“Major, they’re so dear,” Maeve said in protest.
“Not as dear as you, Mrs. Rattigan,” he told her cheerfully. “Come, Mrs. Hopkins. I want you to meet some of your Monday-morning pupils. Good day to you both.” The post surgeon put the back of his hand against Maeve’s cheek. “If you feel so much as a twinge, send the sergeant on the double. He knows where I live.”
The Rattigans looked at each other and smiled, but only an idiot could not have seen the sorrow, too. They knew only too well where Major Randolph lived.
Outside, Susanna took a welcome lungful of winter, then shivered against the January cold. She stopped in surprise on the Rattigans’ postage-stamp porch when the post surgeon pulled her muffler tighter around her neck.
“Mrs. Hopkins, if you won’t button that top button on your coat, you’ll have to do better with your muffler.”
She was silent as he arranged her muffler to suit himself, not fooled at all.
“How do they bear it?” she asked, when he offered his arm and she took it with no hesitation. The walk was icy.
“I don’t know. There aren’t two people in this whole garrison who love each other as much as Maeve and John Rattigan, and she cannot give him what they both want so much. When they make love, it only leads to sorrow. I’m sorry for my plain speaking.”
“It only leads to blood in a bucket. I can speak as plain as you,” she finished. “How tragic.” She stopped before the footbridge. Children returning from Private Benedict’s school were running across the icy planks. “Did you take me here today to remind me that it’s time I quit feeling sorry for myself?”
“No, but if that’s a byproduct …” He took her arm again when the children were across the bridge. “I took you because the last thing Maeve needed to see was another sergeant’s wife towing her own children over, to sit and commiserate, which I swear the Irish do better than anyone. You watch—she’ll be fine in a few days. But right now, a reminder of children isn’t good. What did you learn today?”
“That I like to prop my feet up on a warm pig, too, and maybe I could teach some ladies to read. Can you really find eggs?”
“Bam, can you change a subject,” he joked. “I have a small pig in the hospital which I will gladly loan you for cold nights, and yes, I have an egg source, officially listed in my supplies as medicinal. As for teaching ladies to read, bravo.”
He was quiet then as they strolled along. She could tell how tired he was. “When did you last sleep, Major?” she asked.
“Two days ago, I think.”
“I can meet my students tomorrow afternoon,” she offered.
“Tomorrow there will be some other crisis,” he told her, pointing to the adobe house on the end of Officers Row. “Let’s begin here.”
“There really isn’t any point in arguing with you, is there?”
“None whatever.”
It was dark by the time they finished the visits. It amused her to see eagerness on some faces and discontent on others, who probably saw her as a spoilsport ruining their idyllic existence.
“I would be upset if Mrs. Hopkins showed up, ready to confine me to a classroom, when there is a fort full of swearing men, tales of scalps being lifted, and the promise of riding with Papa on campaign,” she told him as they neared the last house.
“There will be Nick Martin in the back row with his gallows smile,” the major said. “A daunting prospect.” He stopped then. “Speaking of daunting prospects, here we are at Chez Dunklin.