The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,21

Lawrence, the Spa Corporation treasurer, told him. “And it isn’t as if Grace-by-the-Sea has an armory.”

“Well,” Abigail said, “that is going to be a problem. What will they do if the French arrive?”

“Spit in their eye,” Mrs. Tully said darkly.

Ethan stood. “I think they’re very brave. Perhaps I’ll be a soldier when I am old enough.”

“Absolutely not.”

The words left Linus’ mouth before he could stop them, and he found himself the focus of all gazes. At least Abigail appeared to understand why he feared for his son, as her eyes dipped down with her mouth. Mrs. Howland and Mrs. Tully looked disappointed in him. Mrs. Archer seemed to be more shocked at his unpatriotic declaration.

And Ethan curled in on himself as if Linus had struck him.

Chapter Seven

Abigail knew the hurt spreading across Ethan’s face, the tightness pressing his shoulders in. Likely it hurt to draw breath. How many times had she slunk away from her father’s temper?

But Linus Bennett wasn’t a man like her father. Her father had never listened to anyone’s concerns the way Linus did. When she or Gideon had been hurt or sick, he’d left all care to his wife. Still, the important thing right now was Ethan.

She slipped her good arm about the boy’s shoulders. “Soldiers are fine fellows. My brother is one. But architects are fine fellows too. There are even soldier architects. Plenty of time to decide which way you want to go. And whatever you decide, I’m sure your father will be proud of you.”

She glanced up and met Linus’ gaze, determined to make him agree with her. But his face mirrored a similar pain.

“I am always proud of my son,” he said.

Ethan’s head came up, eyes wide in hope.

A dozen questions crowded her mind, but now was no time to ask, not with her mother watching her that way and Mrs. Tully narrowing her eyes. Keeping Ethan close, she turned to watch the militia.

Unfortunately, Mr. Greer must have realized the drill was going against him, for he dismissed the troop a short time later. Their audience began packing up to leave as well.

“Never could abide beatings,” Mrs. Tully said with a scowl to Linus. “By rod or by word. Men have been haunted for less.”

Mrs. Howland linked her arm with the lady’s. “I feel the need to refresh myself with our marvelous mineral waters. Let’s visit the spa. We might even ask Doctor Owens to join us.” She nodded to where his colleague stood watching the Grace-by-the-Sea militia shamble past.

“He may be a troll,” Mrs. Tully confided in Linus before suffering herself to be led away.

As her mother beckoned Ethan to her side, Linus stepped closer to Abigail. “Has Mrs. Tully always been this way?” he asked, clearly bewildered.

“From before I was born,” Abigail told him. “She married a sailor, who was lost at sea, and she retreated to a fantastical world for comfort.”

She waited for him to begin diagnosing illness and prescribing cure, but he merely nodded. “If that brings her solace and no one else harm, then I can only applaud her. Others have found far more deleterious methods of dealing with such pain.” His gaze moved to his son.

“May we go now?” Ethan asked her mother.

She took his hand and gave him a smile. “Of course. But I think we should stop by Mr. Ellison’s before we go home.”

Ethan’s eyes brightened, then he glanced at his father and some of the joy leaked away. “I’m not supposed to have treats.”

Her mother deflated, but Linus flinched.

“Mrs. Archer’s offer is very generous,” he told his son. “Make sure you thank her when you accept it.”

“Yes, sir! Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He hurried along beside her mother toward the village.

“Please thank your mother for me as well,” Linus said, watching them. “It’s been a while since anyone took such an interest in him.”

He’d opened a door, and she didn’t hesitate to walk through. “Has his mother been gone long, then?”

He started moving, and she fell into step beside him. Jess and the spa guests were just ahead, but Abigail felt as if it were only her and Linus on the wind-swept Downs.

“She died eight months ago,” he said, gaze on the dusty track before them. “It was a carriage accident. Ethan was ill at the same time. He was insensible for three weeks. I couldn’t even tell him. We weren’t sure he would survive.”

“How horrible.” She had to touch him. Her fingers wrapped around his arm and held tight. “I’m so glad