"Thank goodness for that," she whispered, as she worked to arrange the pillow again and position him onto his good side. She sat cross-legged on the bed for a while, both hands against the small of her back. You really are too heavy to roll over, she thought. Sitting there with Mrs. Innis's nightgown comfortably up around her knees, she a.s.sessed her husband and found him not wanting in any way, except for the business with his shoulder. She touched his chest, pleased with the feel of him.

"For goodness sake, Lyddy, cover me .... Go ... sleep."

She squeaked in alarm. He still had not opened his eyes. She tugged her nightgown down and covered him with the sheet. "Sam, are you awake?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "Too much trouble ... open my eyes."

"Does it hurt?' she asked.

He nodded again. She lay down beside him, not as close this time. "Closer," he said.

She inched herself back into his embrace again. He sighed as her back rested close to his chest, and said nothing more until morning.

He still slept when dawn came and she edged herself out of his embrace. Mr. Wilburn had decided not to bandage his shoulder, so she rose up on her knees again to get a better look at it in the early light. "Drat," she said softly, seeing the rash on his neck still. Is it higher? she thought. Am I borrowing trouble? After all, the light is poor yet. She knew she was not when she saw the spots of high color in his cheeks, and felt his forehead. "Oh, Sam, no," she whispered.

Moving quietly, she got out of bed and came around to the other side for a better look at his shoulder. It was red, and the st.i.tches were pulled tight. She touched the skin, and he flinched. As she watched, he began to pat the s.p.a.ce where she had been. In another moment, tears began to pool under his cheek.

Touched beyond words, she leaned over him and hugged him as carefully as she could, then rested her cheek against his. Could I possibly mean so much to one person? she thought in stupefaction. This one? It must be the pain. "Poor man," she whispered in his ear. "All you want to do is get home, don't you?"

After a long pause, as though her words had to filter through miles and miles of pa.s.sageways, he shook his head. "No?" she asked in surprise. "What can I get you?"

"You," he whispered finally and patted the bed again. "Sickness and health," he said quite distinctly, his memory making a strange parabola from the effect of the fever powder.

She returned to bed, feeling honored and shy at the same time. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was conscious because he smiled slightly when she jiggled the mattress as she laid herself down next to him. With an effort he put his hand on her stomach and prodded her to move closer. She turned to face him this time. Lydia, I wonder why you never thought he was handsome before? she asked herself. Even with fever branding holes in his cheeks, he is handsome. Any ninny can see that. She smoothed his hair back from his face. You need another haircut, Sam, and a shave, and a good shoulder, and some money to get home. I can supply the first two, you must do the third, and I think the fourth is my task, too.

"Will you get well soon?" she asked him, not knowing if he would answer. It was probably a complicated question for someone involved in pain, circled about with it, throbbing with it.

"Soon," he said after the long pause she expected now. The word came out more like a sigh, his hand became heavier, and she knew that the fever had pulled him under again. She twined her fingers through his hand as it warmed her stomach and slept, too.

He did not wake up when she left the bed an hour later, dressed, and went downstairs. Maria was sitting in what must have been a high chair left from a smaller Innis, finishing a pear that Suzie was feeding her piece by piece. Lydia kissed her. "How nice not to worry about her," she said to Mrs. Innis as she accepted a bowl of porridge. "Sam is so hot now. Should I send for Mr. Wilburn?"

"He stopped in earlier and said he would be back after he paid court on the miller's wife and her rheumatism," Mrs. Innis said. "There are others in the public room who want to speak with you when you finish breakfast."

"Oh?"

"The magistrate." She made a face. "He told Dave that he wants a complete report, though why he needs to be bothering you, I am sure I do not understand."

"Probably because I was the one who pulled the trigger, Mrs. Innis," Lydia replied. She thought about the road agent: the anger in his eyes, followed by bewilderment, then excruciating pain. "Poor man," she murmured.

Mrs. Innis stared at her. "I hope you are not feeling sorry for that ... that dreadful man!"

"I am a little," Lydia replied honestly. "I don't think he was much used to robbing people." She touched Mrs. Innis's arm. "And really, Mrs. Innis, my virtue was never in any danger. It seems that this story is being embellished far beyond its reality. I'm only grateful I did not hit Sam, instead. My hands were shaking. Oh, Mrs. Innis, I could have!"

She didn't mean to cry then, but just the thought of the damage she could have done set her off. Mrs. Innis's arms were around her immediately, and she cried until she felt better.

"You needed that," the innkeeper's wife declared as she handed Lydia a second handkerchief. "There's nothing worse than hanging onto tears." She gave Lydia another pat and released her. "And don't canker over what didn't happen, my dear. Most days have enough trouble without adding more. Your major is in good hands with Mr. Wilburn ... and yours, I would imagine."

My major. "Oh, I hope so," she said, almost surprised at her own fervency. "I will feel better when the surgeon has seen him this morning."

Feeling the need of Maria, she took the baby with her into the public room, which was empty now of customers, if one did not consider the magistrate a customer. He did have a pint of ale in front of him, and there was Mr. Innis, beaming his encouragement at her from behind the bar.

"You have requested that I speak to you?" she asked from the doorway.

The man rose, nodded to her, and indicated the chair opposite him. "Have a seat, Mrs. Reed. I am Reginald Barton, the magistrate's solicitor," he said. He drew pen and paper form the voluminous coat that draped the back of his chair. "It is my duty to take your statement regarding yesterday's incident," he intoned, as though he stood in the magistrate's office.

She held Maria close on her lap. "Sir, will you tell me, what is the condition of the man I shot?" she asked, discovering how hard it was even to say the word.

He glanced at the notes before him and became a little less gloomy. "It appears that the ball fired from that pistol broke his arm, which was amputated at Ealing last night."

"Ah, me!" she said, making no attempt to keep the remorse from her voice.

"Never fear, madam," he replied as he dipped his quill in the ink bottle. "He will have ample time to heal, and then he will do a rope dance."

She frowned. I know it cannot be any other way, she thought, but, oh, to be involved at all is something I do not find appealing. "What are the charges against him, sir?"

"Attempted robbery, attempted a.s.sault, attempted murder," he said, referring to the paper. He dipped his quill in the ink again. "Now, madam, if you would ...."

"Attempted murder?" she asked. "You are saying he did not kill the clergyman?"

In some exasperation, the magistrate's solicitor put down the quill. "He merely creased the man's leg, although apparently the clergyman was quite convinced at the time that he had been killed." He put his fingers together, and she saw the ghost of a smile around his mouth. "Mrs. Reed, it appears that you are the better shot, only I pray you, do not consider a life of crime."

I suppose he does not wish me to rob coaches to earn money, she thought. She smiled down in Maria's hair, and could not resist. "Mr. Barton, are you a member of the vicar's congregation?"

The smile vanished. "I am, indeed." He looked around and leaned forward. "Do you realize that this means there will be dissections and cross-references from the pulpit of this incident enough to last him until the twentieth century at least?"

"Oh, I am sorry," she replied, grateful that this was not her parish. "Let me give you my statement, sir, and then I have a request."

He nodded, and she told the event again, which troubled her more than she would have thought. He interrupted with a few questions to clarify the situation, but soon the subject was exhausted to his satisfaction. "Very well, madam, that will do." He capped the inkwell and returned it to the overcoat. "You said you had a request?"

"I wish that you would be lenient. Surely he should not hang," she said in a low voice. I must be crazy, she thought. Sam lies upstairs wounded and in pain, and I would wish the law to be kind to the man who had certainly increased the difficulty of our journey? I cannot understand myself. Couple this with my bold statement at the victory banquet, and I could be accused of indiscriminate charity running unchecked. And it does not trouble me. I doubt it will even trouble Sam. "Please, sir," she added, testing herself, and finding her conviction unchanged. "What if I choose not to press charges of attempted a.s.sault?"

"There remains the attempted murder charge, and robbery," the solicitor said. "He could still hang."

"Could you send him to Australia instead?" she asked. "No one died, although we are all poorer. Mr. Reed's injury was brought about at Toulouse by Napoleon, and I was not harmed at all. I think the road agent fell in with bad company, sir, which is unfortunate, but hardly a crime punishable by death, for goodness sake. The clergyman would have provoked anyone. I know Sam wanted to throttle him," she said frankly.

"Did he? Your husband is to be commended for his common sense, then." The solicitor held out his hand to her as he rose. "Mrs. Reed, you are too kind." He permitted himself a smile. "Were such things not impossible, you would have made an eloquent advocate at the bar! I will certainly give your recommendation to the magistrate. You can still expect a visit from the justice of the peace, however."

"Very well," she said as she rose with Maria asleep in her arms. My family would never recognize me, she thought as she watched the man leave. I have become an eloquent, persuasive crusader. I wonder what the justice of the peace can possibly want? Lord, apparently it is hard to shoot someone and keep it quiet.

"Mrs. Reed, you are a kind, kind woman," said the innkeeper from his place behind the bar.

She smiled at him and returned Maria to the crib in Suzie's room. I think I was never anyone before I was Mrs. Reed, she thought. How odd this is. Now I must become an entrepreneur, if I am to save the Reeds from financial ruin. She laughed softly as she bent over the sleeping baby, unable to leave her alone. "The Reeds," she whispered, liking the sound of it. Nothing in this entire situation puts me at ease, but I must admit that nothing is boring about it.

a.s.sured that Maria slept, Lydia climbed the stairs to her room again. Mr. Wilburn was there. He put a finger to his lips as she entered the room, and she sat quietly while he did all those things she had done earlier. He stared for a long time at the major's rash, smoothed his hair to feel his forehead, walked around to look at the st.i.tches, and ended up by the window, rocking back and forth on his heels, regarding the market street below.

She felt a chill, and shook it off. Can you do no more than I have done? she thought in sudden alarm, as she hurried to stand beside him at the window.

"Tell me, sir," she said quietly. "You know that I can take it." I cannot, of course, but you expect me to say that.

He clapped his arm around her. "Mrs. Reed, this is the interesting part of medicine," he said.

She felt herself crumble inside. I will not be a ninny, she thought fiercely. "Interesting?" she repeated putting all the backbone she could spare into the word.

"Yes, my dearie. I have done all I can, and it is good work. You appear to be doing everything you can. I doubt a man was ever in more capable hands."

"I feel so incapable," she confessed.

"Well, it does not show, dearie," he said, giving her another comfortable squeeze. "Now we have to see what Sam Reed is made of."

It was as though a giant hand had whooshed all the air out of her. She sank onto the window seat and put her forehead on her knees, staying that way until the surgeon sat beside her. "Mrs. Reed, I did not mean to frighten you ...." he began, alarm in his voice.

She took a deep breath, sat up, and hugged him, to his surprise and hers. "Mr. Wilburn, he will be fine, then. I know what Sam Reed is made of! He is the strongest person I know." She could have cried with relief, so good was this news.

He absorbed her news, then shook his head. "I bow to your better knowledge of your spouse, dearie, but let me venture to suggest that he is the second strongest person in the Reed family."

She let his words soak all the way into her heart, where they felt like balm of Gilead. They sat together in companionable silence then, listening to the major breathe. "He's not really wakened yet, sir, but he talks to me sometimes. Why does he do that?" she asked. "Next to the fever, I think it is my biggest concern. I mean, is he all right?"

"Healing is hard work, Mrs. Reed," the surgeon said. "Your good husband-and he must be good, if he had the sense to marry you-has shut down everything that is not essential. Is he at least voiding?"

She nodded.

"No blood in the urine?"

She shook her head.

"Excellent! Try to get him to eat, if you can. Just watery gruel. The fever powders?"

"I had to hold his nose until he gave up and opened his mouth."

Wilburn laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand when Sam stirred and muttered something. "Sorry, laddie," he murmured. "Does he know what a lucky husband he is?"

Such a question, she thought. I would like to know the answer. "Sir, you will have to ask him," she said, suddenly shy.

He sat with her another moment, then slapped his knees. "What a month this had been for Merry Glade, dearie, a regular beehive of excitement! First, the midwife delivers triplets-triplets-for the butcher's wife; the village's only barber drops down dead during the middle of shaving the squire; a cat has a litter of six-toed kittens; and now there is a wounded Toulouse hero with a lovely wife and daughter, and road agents. We will be discussing you at table long after you have left us." He rose and took another thoughtful look at the major. "I'll be by tonight again, if that will make you happy."

"You know it will," she said fervently. She looked at him shyly. "I suppose what you are saying is that I am managing?"

He nodded. "You are managing."

She walked him down the stairs and into the street. She turned to go back inside when what the surgeon said hit her like a brick between the shoulders. She sat down on the bench outside the door to catch her breath, and was joined a moment later by the innkeeper.

"Mrs. Reed, are you well? I saw you from the door. Is all this too much for you?"

She thought a moment, her excitement barely contained. He will think I am certifiable if I jump up and down, which I want to do, she thought. "I am fine," she said, and took a deep breath. "Mr. Innis, do you know how I can make arrangements to open the barbershop?"

He stared at her, his mouth open. She gave him what she hoped was her most radiant smile. "I think I am about to go into business here in Merry Glade. Do let me explain, and while I am at it, make a slight confession."

Chapter Fourteen.

Sitting there in the sun, warmed by the genuine concern of the Innises, she spilled her budget. Reasoning that there was no possible benefit in going all the way back to Genesis, she told them merely that the Reeds had lost all their traveling money when the other road agent appropriated Sam's wallet and her reticule.

"I know that my husband has a banker in Durham, but I confess to little interest in his finances and I do not know the name of the business," she said.

Mrs. Innis patted her husband's knee as they sat close together on the bench. "Remedy that, my dear, when your husband comes to himself. A wife should always know where the money is." The Innises looked at each other and laughed.

You dear people, Lydia thought as she watched them. "I know how true that is now," she said, feeling contrition at the tale she told.

"Don't take it so hard, my dear," Mrs. Innis said. "Davey called me out here to tell me that you have a scheme to change your financial picture."

"Indeed I do," she replied. "I propose to open the barbershop. When I met my husband ... met him after Toulouse, he was in the hospital in London. I have some talent with hair, so cutting his was no difficulty. He kindly let me practice on his face."

The Innises looked at her with some concern. "That's not much practice, my dear," Mrs. Innis said.

Lydia laughed. "And what was I drafted to do then but shave all of his men who were invalided there with him, and cut their hair, too! You know how husbands are, Mrs. Innis, I daresay." More than I do, I am sure, she thought, but I have discovered how coercive the male s.e.x can be.

The innkeeper's wife nodded. "I would say that you are a regular proficient now."

"I am," she declared. She cast a critical eye at the innkeeper. "I would be happy to demonstrate on you, Mr. Innis. Do you have any scissors? A comb?"

Mrs. Innis did. While her husband was still thinking about it, she went inside and returned with the scissors. "He's too much of a s.h.a.gbag for me, Mrs. Reed," she said as she handed Lydia the scissors, a comb, and a dish towel.

Lydia put the towel around Mr. Innis's neck and combed his hair, praying for the best haircut she had ever given. She snipped in silence until Mr. Innis put up his hand to stop her.

"Mrs. Reed, this will never do," he said.

Oh, please, she thought. This is my one talent. "Sir?" she asked, determined not to cry.

"You are supposed to carry on a conversation with me, tell me the latest news, and complain about the government," he said with a grin. "What did your husband's soldiers talk about?"

She continued clipping, her heart light. "Mainly they told me all kinds of stories about the major. I believe I have sufficient information in my possession right now to get my way anytime I want." She stood in front of him to compare the sides. "Beyond that, I fear I am not given to much small talk."

He shrugged. "Inconsequential, Mrs. Reed, inconsequential. There is a wonderful old mirror in the barbershop. They'll use it to admire your beauty and be struck dumb anyway. I know the lads in Merry Glade."

"I am not beautiful!" she exclaimed.

"You are far easier on the eye than the last barber," he retorted. "He was bald and had only one eye."

"If you are trying to put me at my ease ... you have succeeded," Lydia said as she removed the dish towel and shook the hair into the street. "What do you think, Mrs. Innis? May I be taken seriously?"

To Lydia's amus.e.m.e.nt, the innkeeper's wife made a slow circuit around her husband, surveying the haircut from every angle. Finally she stopped in front of him and gave him a loud smack of a kiss on his forehead.