"Davey, you haven't looked this good in years," she said, then grasped Lydia's hand. "My dear, what a difference it makes to have his ears covered a little!"

"Well, they are a prominent feature," Lydia said, trying to keep her voice serious.

"Of course, this will mean less of a breeze for him, without all that flapping, and that could be a trial in the heat of summer," Mrs. Innis teased. "Oh, Davey, you're a sight to behold now! Mrs. Reed, let us take a walk to the barbershop while he admires himself in the mirror."

She put her arm through Lydia's, and they strolled down the market street. "Are things truly in a bad way with you?" she asked in a low voice.

Lydia nodded. "All our money is gone, and we ... I must find a way to pay you and the doctor." She took a deep breath, relieved to unburden herself. "Since Sam must convalesce here, obviously, I can easily occupy myself as a barber." She stopped and took Mrs. Innis's hands in her own. "Is it too wicked? Too forward? Will anyone come? Please tell me if I am being silly. It is just that I cannot think of anything else."

Mrs. Innis squeezed back. "It is different, I will allow, but since the whole village is caught up in the story of the gallant major and his brave lady, I think you will have every success. Come now, we are almost there."

It is amazing to me how quickly a place can get shabby, once the owner quits the premises, Lydia thought as she peered in the dusty window of the barbershop. She could make out a barber's chair, and there was the striped pole inside the front door.

"I believe he should have pulled in the pole several years ago," Mrs. Innis was saying. She smiled. "His hands shook so bad that I told Davey to quit going there for a shave!" She rubbed at a small s.p.a.ce on the pane of gla.s.s. "Oh, look! You can still see everyone's shaving mugs on the shelves."

Lydia looked. She smiled at all the mugs. "It is certainly fortunate for me that most men of a certain age and heft acc.u.mulate whiskers on a daily basis," she told Mrs. Innis. "Tell me: Who do I see about renting this place for at least two weeks?"

"It can only be his widow, Mrs. Broadbent," the innkeeper's wife said as she changed directions and took Lydia with her. "If you don't mind shouting to be heard, I predict success."

Lydia left Mrs. Broadbent's house an hour later in a less sanguine mood, her ears still ringing from so much shouting to be heard. I wonder the neighbors did not call the constable on us, she thought. She and the innkeeper's wife walked along in silence past the apothecary's and the wig maker's.

"Five shillings! It might as well be the crown jewels," Lydia said at last. "Who would have thought someone so old, dried up, and toothless-not to add deaf-would be so shrewd?"

"Five shillings," Mrs. Innis echoed. "It seems like a fortune. What are you to do now?"

What, indeed, Lydia thought as she went upstairs to the bedroom with a bowl of soup. She opened the door hopefully. I need someone to talk this over with, she thought, someone with right good sense who will take me seriously. The only one I know is my husband.

The major had scarcely moved since she left him. Absently she twisted the wedding ring on her finger. "What am I to do, Sam?" she asked. "Five shillings will rent me a shabby little barbershop, where I hope men will appear for shaves and haircuts. Never mind that such a thing is unheard of, and their wives would probably rise as one to smite me. I will never know, because I cannot lay my hands on five shillings!"

The major muttered something, and she was instantly sorry for disturbing his curious sleep. She washed his face with cool water, hoping to wake him sufficiently to eat. By tugging him here and there, she managed to work him into a half-sitting position. Armed with a spoon, she perched on the bed and brought some soup to his mouth. "Oh, please, my dear," she whispered. "You simply have to eat. What will I do, if you won't?"

His eyelids flickered. He opened his mouth when she put the spoon directly against his teeth. Remembering something she had seen at St. Barnabas, she stroked his neck to remind him to swallow. To her relief, he swallowed more soup without the reminder until the bowl was nearly empty.

She was an expert with the urinal now, keeping him modestly covered, wishing he was not hot everywhere. Her own anxiety mounting, she wiped him with a cool cloth, then lay down beside him. She stared at the ceiling. "I do not know what to do, my dear," she said, moving as close as she could. He sighed, turned his face into her hair, and sighed again, as though he was relieved at her return.

She closed her eyes, and woke an hour later with the sun slanting across the bed. She sat up, sweating from contact with the major's feverish body and the heat of early July. Even the braids she wound around her head felt heavy with heat. In another moment she had pulled out the pins and was brushing her hair forward. I should cut off this nuisance, she thought. I tell myself that every summer, but my one vanity persists.

She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair, enjoying the feel of it, soothed somehow. It was not the beautiful blond of Kitty's hair, but a dark brown the color of old wood. Soon it was hanging straight and shining down her back. I have a wedding ring, she thought. Perhaps .... She looked at it, letting the light catch the gold and set it winking, then shook her head. I cannot sell this.

She went to the mirror and stood there a moment. She stared at herself, then quietly put on her shoes again. With fingers that shook, she braided her hair in one loose plait, kissed her husband's hot forehead, and let herself out of the room.

Lydia returned to the Mill and Glade an hour later as the sun was going down, in vast need of consolation. She hurried past the public room and knocked on the door to the Innises' private quarters. Mrs. Innis opened the door, gasped out loud, and pulled her inside, closing the door behind her. She reached out her hand tentatively to finger the remnants of Lydia's hair.

"Oh, my dear, your pretty hair," she said finally.

"It was, wasn't it?" Lydia said, holding out her arms for Maria. She cuddled her close. "It will grow again, Mrs. Innis."

"Did you get enough money?" the innkeeper's wife asked. Lydia shook her head. "Only two shillings. Mrs. Innis, I had three pounds in my stolen reticule, and you cannot tell me that a road agent ever needed it more than I do!" She had cried all her tears at the wig maker's, so she sat and hugged Maria to her. "This means I must p.a.w.n my wedding ring in the morning."

She closed her eyes against the physical pain her words brought, even as she wondered why it meant so much. It's just a ring found after a grubby siege and carried around and stuck on my finger to signify a marriage that is half joke and half bargain, she thought. I hardly know the man who gave it to me, and yet I know him well. I wonder: do I love him? Is he trusting me to solve our problem? How many people do I have to fail before I am a failure? Mama would say I am already well beyond my limit.

"Suzie, bring a bowl of soup," Mrs. Innis said quietly as she sat beside Lydia. "My dear, perhaps something will happen."

"I do not know what it will be, then," Lydia whispered into Maria's curls. I continue to be a disappointment to myself. Silent now, she ate the soup put before her, looking quickly at Mrs. Innis to see if she gave it grudgingly, but seeing nothing in the woman's eyes except concern. Her cup ran over, and she could scarcely swallow. Maria ate every other bite, leaning against her as if she belonged there. How am I to care for Maria, much less Sam? she asked herself in perfect agony.

"My dear, it will grow," Mrs. Innis reminded her as she took away the empty bowl. She looked back at Lydia. "But that is not your concern, is it?" She set down the bowl and took Lydia's hands in hers. "Lydia! You've already solved your problem! You're going to p.a.w.n your ring in the morning, and you will have enough money to open the barbershop."

"It was not the solution I wanted," Lydia said in a voice so small she could hardly hear it herself. She held out her hand. "It's just a ring, isn't it?"

"Yes, dear, it is. When the major feels better and you return home to-to Durham was it?-he'll buy you a better one. Now give Maria back to Suzie tonight and get some sleep! I know things will look better to you in the morning."

I think there are some things that cannot be cured by a good night's sleep, she thought. After a long moment of resting her chin on the top of Maria's head, she nodded. "Love doesn't have anything to do with rings, does it?" she asked.

Mrs. Innis smiled. "No, it does not, Mrs. Reed." The smile left her face. "My dear, are you afraid that the major will not make it, and you won't have a ring, either? Is that it?"

Was it? she wondered. I will be almost where I was before, she thought. "I don't know," she said. She handed Maria to Suzie, nodded to Mrs. Innis, and hurried upstairs. She opened the door quickly, not knowing what she expected, but relieved to see the major lying quietly, his breathing strong. He was on his back now, which surprised her. She came closer.

With the sun down the room was cooler now, but he was sweating. She touched his chest and took a deep breath. His skin was cool, his face relaxed. She leaned over him. The fever spots in his cheeks were fading, and she could see no new rash on his body. The st.i.tches no longer strained to contain his wound. She took a towel and returned to the bed to dry him, patting him gently, then covering him so he would not be too cold. "You're better, Sam," she said. "I know you are."

She hoped he would open his eyes, but the effort was still beyond him. He nodded and tried to edge himself closer to her. She accommodated him by moving closer instead and taking hold of his hand. She lay down beside him, feeling the tension leave her for no discernible reason other than that he was there and he had never made her feel anything but comfortable.

She took his hand and rested it on her stomach. "Sam, I did something that my relatives would declare quite distempered." He said nothing, but she thought his hand moved slightly on her stomach. "I arranged to open a barbershop, and I cut off all my hair to pay for it, but I still don't have enough." She sighed and tightened her grip on his hand. "I have to spout my wedding ring in the morning to raise the rest. I hope you are not upset with me, but I think I can raise all the money we need."

Lydia moved closer to him, grateful that he was cool now. "If you have any hidden sources of wealth, do tell me please."

"Trunk."

He said it quite distinctly, too distinctly for her to ignore. She sat up and looked around the room. The major's campaign trunk lay in the corner next to her bandbox. Bless Mr. Innis's heart, she thought. He did promise to fetch them from Ealing. "The trunk, eh?" she asked as she got up and knelt by the battered trunk, probably a veteran of as many battles as the major himself. She opened it, shy at first because it was not hers, then bolder when he repeated the word again.

"Very well, sir," she murmured as she carefully pulled back a layer of shirts and uniform trousers, each one worse than the one before. "Heaven knows why you saved such rags, Mr. Reed." She smiled at him. "Are they too comfortable to part with? I can see that you are going to be a difficult husband."

The next layer held a uniform case, and she opened it. Goodness, but the artillery certainly has it over every other service, she thought, as she ran her fingers over the rows and rows of handsome gold braid tacked horizontally across the bosom. "Elegant, but not the answer to our problems, sir."

Another probe of the trunk unearthed his razor of Toledo steel, which she s.n.a.t.c.hed up with cries of delight. "Oh, very good, sir," she exclaimed. "I can shave everyone to a hair's breadth with this wicked thing. Let there be a strop, too." There was, and an extra cake of Spanish soap. She put the items beside her and continued her search. She glanced through several books of geometry and trigonometry, as applied to the science of artillery, and shook them, in the hopes that banknotes were hidden somewhere within. "You are intelligent, Major Reed," she said to him. "My compliments, certainly, but we are still as poor as Job's rooster."

There remained only a nightshirt that she would not have used to wipe off a wet dog, a towel so full of holes that it would have been useless for all but the skinniest of men, and a tablecloth with a chessboard drawn onto it, and what must be chess pieces knotted into one corner. "Sam, whatever treasures you once possessed, they are long gone now," she said as she carefully replaced the items in the proper order. "I will keep your shaving gear, though."

"No treasures," she told him as she took off her dress and petticoat and lay down next to him in her chemise. "Oh, well. I can manage tomorrow. Come put your arm around me again, and say something sweet and tell me not to worry, that you will solve all my problems," she said. He was deep asleep now, and did not move, and she knew he had no power to help her at all, but she went to sleep with a sigh of considerable contentment, resting close beside him.

He was even better in the morning, able to hold the urinal himself, even though he still did not speak or open his eyes. "What an effort you are going through," she said to him when he finished and she helped him lie back on his side this time. She kissed his forehead, and she smiled to see him purse his lips at the same time. "You're getting better every day," she told him as she washed his face. "Your sickness is turning to health, but I am afraid we are still poorer instead of richer." She looked at the wedding ring. "I have the remedy, Sam. Lie here and get better please."

She picked up her tearfully earned two pounds from the bureau, counting it again to make sure that it hadn't grown magically overnight, like Jack's beans. Combing her hair took no time at all, and truly, because her hair was inclined to curl, it didn't look too dreadful.

Mr. Innis was sweeping the floor in the public room when she came downstairs, with Maria fenced off by a ring of chairs on their sides. "Ta' missus and Suzie had a small errand this morning," he explained as she retrieved the baby. "I promised to watch."

She sat with Maria. "Will it be forward of me to come in here tonight and announce that I will be offering shaves and haircuts tomorrow?"

"I think everyone will be happy to hear you, Mrs. Reed," he said as he swept up the dust and deposited it behind the counter. "You would be amazed how many people have been inquiring after your husband. This whole adventure has caught everyone's fancy."

She smiled at him, and set Maria down, balancing her against the chair. "I have discovered something about adventures, Mr. Innis. I suspect they will seem much more exciting five years from now, when viewed from a distance." She looked at her ring. And some will never be right, no matter how many years pa.s.s.

"I don't doubt it," he said, leaning on his broom. "Well, here come my darlings, Mrs. Reed. Tell me what you think."

She turned around when Mrs. Innis and Suzie came into the room, and her greeting froze on her lips. There is nothing I can say, she thought finally, when her brain started to function again. There is nothing I can do to repay the kindness so visible before me, except succeed at my attempt. If there is a stronger bond than the love and confederacy of women, I do not know it yet.

She got up slowly and came toward Mrs. Innis first, putting out a shaking hand to touch her shorn hair, and then putting both her hands on the woman's cheeks, which were now as tear-stained as her own. "Your hair," she said. "Oh, what have you done for me?" And then her arms were around Suzie, too, a girl-almost-woman who already knew more about kindness than Mama or Kitty could ever imagine. These are my sisters, she thought as she kissed them both, wept with them, and laughed at the same time.

"Oh, my dears," she said. "Oh, my dears."

Suzie burst into loud sobs and hugged her tighter. "We couldn't have you p.a.w.n away your ring, not with the major so ill," she said. "It was only hair, Mrs. Reed. It will grow back."

Mrs. Innis reached into her reticule and pulled out four coins. "With what you have, this makes six shillings. I believe that is enough for the rent, plus any supplies we need." She smiled at her husband and blew him a kiss. "Davey had already promised to ride to Ealing today for any special soaps or creams we cannot purchase here. Take it, Mrs. Reed, with our love."

Lydia did, looking down at the money in her hands, and knowing in her heart that no offering in church or chapel was ever more sacred than that which she held. "I will pay you back, of course," she murmured, "except that I can never really do that."

"We know you will," Mrs. Innis said, and hugged her around the waist. "This is our investment, and we expect a good return."

Lydia nodded. I am loved, she thought in wonder. I think now that I can do anything. "Very well," she said as she pocketed the money. "I am off to Mrs. Broadbent's house. If you want to compound the felony, I would welcome your help in cleaning that shop. You say Mr. Broadbent only had one eye, Mr. Innis? I am certain there will be dust and grime enough for us to see."

Mrs. Innis was looking beyond her with her mouth open, so Lydia turned around in time to see Maria-hands upraised, eyes fierce with concentration-stand by herself before waving her arms about and plunking down. "Mrs. Reed, what a day this is!" she declared as Lydia picked up the baby and kissed her. "We are shorn like sheep now, and ready to dig into a dusty barbershop, and Lady Maria has favored us with progress of her own. Tell me please that the major is better, and I will be full enough for one day."

"He is better," Lydia said. She went to the door, her step light for the first time in days, her mind clear. "I hope you will not stand around all day! Our investment awaits. We have a barbershop to open!"

Chapter Fifteen.

Skirts hiked up, sleeves rolled to their shoulders, they toiled like Turks all day in the barbershop. There wasn't a single surface that didn't need cleaning, and nothing that escaped their attention. "You know, of course, what the amusing thing is about all our effort," Mrs. Innis told Lydia after she had removed two wigs that looked remarkably like dead things. "A man would never even notice this dirt. Essentially, my dear, our labors are in vain."

Lydia worked steadily, stopping only long enough to return to check on the major. The first time, Mr. Wilburn was there. "Delightful, delightful, Mrs. Reed," he said, gesturing to his patient, who stretched out in comfortable sleep. "We even had a couple words of conversation."

"Then I envy you, sir," she said, sitting beside her husband.

The surgeon shook his head, even though none of the merriment left his eyes. "It was a strange conversation. Something about chess."

"He has a tablecloth with a chessboard drawn on it," she said, her hand on his foot. "And look! You have got him into a nightshirt. You must have discovered that his shoulder is better."

"Much better." The doctor rose to go. "Mrs. Reed, I predict that his eyes will be open tonight, but I would not hold out for too much sensible conversation yet." He kissed her cheek. "But, then, my dear, how many men engage in sensible conversation when they have no excuse of a morphine pick-me-up? Good-day!"

How many, indeed, she thought, as she pulled his nightshirt neatly below his knees and wondered if this was a loan from the shorter Mr. Innis. As she watched him, alert for any change, he opened his eyes and slowly stretched out his good arm.

I know an invitation when I see one, she thought as she lay down beside him and rested her head on his outstretched arm. "It's been a long day, Sam, and here we are only at noon," she said. "I am cleaning out a barbershop, and I will go into business tomorrow morning." She turned her head to watch his expression, and to surmise that none of this was making any sense to him. "The only thing of value I found in your trunk was your shaving razor, my dear Mr. Reed, but that was quite enough."

He lay watching her, his expression blank. In another moment, he closed his eyes and slept. Taking her turn, she looked at him, sorry to see his cheeks so sunken, but gratified by the evenness of his breathing. Soon you will be robust again, she thought, a state in which I have never seen you. She kissed him, rested her cheek against his for a brief moment, then hurried downstairs to feed Maria. In a half hour, she was scrubbing shelves in the barbershop again.

She had never worked so hard before, not even at St. Barnabas, spurred on by the unwearying efforts of Mrs. Innis, who obviously took her investment seriously. She was ruthless with dust. If this venture fails and I am left to sit outside on the road with a tin cup, at least I will know that I did everything I could, she told herself.

Her fear of failure turned dinner to sawdust. I might as well nibble on the tablecloth, she thought as she carried on what she felt was sparkling conversation. She could have saved her breath; after fifteen minutes of witty repartee, she stopped to see both the Innises grinning at her.

"What? Am I making no sense?" she asked.

"None whatever," the innkeeper replied cheerfully.

"We don't mind, if it makes you feel better, dearie," Mrs. Innis said.

The only thing that will make me feel better would be to dump all my problems in someone else's lap, she thought. With a sigh, she excused herself and looked in on Maria, who already slept under Suzie's watchful eye. "I confess, I wish I could sleep that peacefully," she whispered, her hand on Suzie's shoulder.

"You will, Mrs. Reed, tomorrow night when you have made pots of money," the girl said.

Everyone is confident but me, Lydia thought as she left the public house and breathed deep of the cool night air. Unable to help herself, she walked back to the barbershop and scrutinized their day's work through a window so clean it was nearly invisible. Mentally she ticked off all the soap, shampoo, and pomade which lined the shelves. There was the stack of barber's linen, basins, and combs and brushes, and Sam's Spanish razor, honed to a wicked edge.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Reed! Ready for business tomorrow?"

She gasped and leaped back from the window, her hands behind her back like a child in a china shop. It was only the constable, out for his own evening stroll. If he noticed how fine-tuned she was, he chose not to remark on it, but only tipped his hat to her. "I'll be there tomorrow," he a.s.sured her. "And tonight, I'll try all the doors all over Market Street and look out for evildoers who might be after pomade or talc." He looked around elaborately and gave her a slow wink that banished the terror from her mind.

"I will look forward to giving you a haircut tomorrow, sir," she said, then gasped again when he whisked off his hat and exposed a bare scalp. "Perhaps a shave, instead?"

He grinned, wished her good night, and continued on his rounds. She returned to the inn, and steeled herself for one last ordeal that night.

The public room was full. Well, Lydia Reed, you have tended fearful wounds, harangued a whole banquet hall of lords and ladies, wounded a road agent, and turned short hair into a community fashion. Put one foot in front of the other and go in that room. They may be rough and uncouth, and Mama would spit nails if she could see you, but there is not an enemy in the bunch. They want you to succeed.

She went in and stood in front of the bar. The pub fell silent so quickly that she knew the inhabitants could hear her stomach thud down to her ankles and bounce back. She cleared her throat, a sound so puny that she blushed. "I just wanted to announce that the barbershop will be open tomorrow morning and every day thereafter for the next two weeks, excepting Sundays," she said.

Several of the men nodded and smiled at her. The rest returned to their pipes, drinks, cards, cribbage, and conversation. I could almost use a pint of ale, she thought. Now, wouldn't that dumbfound these men? She smiled at Mr. Innis and walked quietly up the stairs.

The room was dark, but she did not need a candle, considering that the moon was full and seemed to be stopped right outside their room. She admired the night for a moment, resting her elbows on the windowsill to absorb it all. It's a moon to share with someone, she thought, and glanced at Sam. Mr. Wilburn has great confidence in you, Sam, and so do I. Maybe we can admire next month's full moon?

She unb.u.t.toned her dress and stepped out of it, wishing for a bath again, but contenting herself with a thorough wash in the basin, after making sure that Sam Reed slept. From habit, she went to take the pins from her hair, then stopped. I must admit that short hair is simple to deal with, she thought. I wonder if Sam will like it. A few pulls of her hairbrush sufficed, and then she was lying next to her husband. He was turned away from her, and she lay down with her back against his.

"Lyddy?" he asked.

"If I am not, then we won't tell her," she teased, relieved to hear his voice again. "Oh, Sam, can you talk now? I wish you would talk to me."

"Move a little."

She obliged him, and he slowly turned onto his back. "Wrong side, Lyddy," he said. She got up and walked around the bed to lie down next to his good shoulder. He had stretched out his arm for her again. When she lay down, he hugged her to him with more energy than she thought he possessed. I wish I could adequately express how good that feels, she thought. She put her arm across his chest, resting her hand on his heart. "I'm scared to death," she confessed.

He didn't say anything, and she wasn't even sure that he had an inkling of what was going on tomorrow. It was enough that he could hold her. "If no one comes to have a haircut tomorrow, we will probably be sharing a cell with our favorite road agent," she whispered into his chest. "The doctor and the innkeeper will shut us in debtor's prison and swallow the key. Only think what terrible examples we are as parents for Maria! The mother superior would smite us on the spot. We will probably receive a free ocean voyage to Australia and all the stale bread and moldy water we can consume twice a day."

"What else could possibly happen?" he murmured, tugging her closer, speaking in that slow, dreamy way.