With This Ring (29 page)

“
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 amusement, 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.

“
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 space on the pane of glass. “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 accumulate 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 pawn 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 pawn 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 stitches 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.”