4. Regrets and Repairs

REGRETS AND REPAIRS

" I insist you stop and rest," called Naomi as she opened the front door, carrying a tray with lemonade and sandwiches. She'd been avoiding him and so was more than a little taken aback when she realized he'd already pulled up every last floorboard that had previously made up her porch. A second glance revealed a wagon drawing to a halt at the end of her drive, loaded with roughly cut planks of wood.

"I thought…" And then her voice trailed off when her eyes landed on him, her mouth having gone dry.

She ought to have considered this, what with the unusually warm temperatures of late.

Since she'd abandoned the major to his own devices, he had shed his heavy coat and hat and other military adornment and was now standing in the hole where her porch had once been, wearing only his shirt, boots, and tightly fitted breeches.

Sweat caused the white linen to cling like a second skin to thick, broad, and well-muscled shoulders. His jacket had not been padded in the least.

Her gaze dropped to where sinewy and tanned forearms peeked out from rolled-up shirt sleeves and then lower to where one booted foot rested on one of the beams.

"My apologies, Mrs. Gilcrest." His voice brought her gaze back to his face. As he went to reach for the coat draped over the railing, Naomi put out a hand to halt him.

"Don't be ridiculous." He couldn't work wearing that heavy coat.

"You'd be surprised at the conditions this coat has emerged from intact."

And then an image of her husband dying while wearing that uniform wiped the smile from her face.

"I can't afford to buy wood," she admitted. It didn't make sense to keep her circumstances private from this man. He was very determined to fulfill whatever promise he'd made to Arthur.

"You may repay me if you'd like some time in the future." Naomi hated being in anyone's debt. "Gil would have my hide if I allowed you to set foot on that porch one more time. You've more than yourself to keep safe."

She couldn't argue with that, so instead, she turned to observe the two laborers unloading lumber from the old farmer's cart that had just arrived. She could hardly allow herself to keep ogling Major Cockfield's chest, for heaven's sake.

She'd been alone in this house for too long. Even before Major Cockfield's arrival, she'd been missing having her husband in her bed. Ester swore up and down that a lady was most plagued with irregular urges while expecting. Wanting a man's attention was natural.

Naomi had wondered what her mother would have to say about that.

Luke hopped out of the pit he'd created and strode along the dirt path to the drive. Without hesitation, he set himself to assisting the men unloading the long pieces of wood.

Naomi hated the voice in her head that reminded her how many times she'd begged Arthur to repair that floorboard.

"I'm going to fall through to the ground one day, Arthur Gilcrest. Then you'll be sorry." She'd joked with him.

"Just step around it." He'd sent her a cocky grin, his cinnamon eyes shining with mischief, and then chased after her, patting her on the bum. "I've never known a woman better at worrying than you are, Naomi. It'll still be there tomorrow."

And then he'd lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed. How could she complain when his highest priority had been loving her?

He'd been rather good at that.

A shiver ran through her when she realized she was still holding the tray of sandwiches while staring at Major Cockfield again.

"You've more than earned a break, Major," she hollered across to him as he piled the last board on top of a neat stack. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her gaze, and then… He winked. She could almost believe she'd imagined his audacity when he again exchanged a few words with the older of the two gentlemen who'd brought over the lumber and then shook each of their hands. As they drove off the property, he turned to jog back across to the house.

"Might as well eat in the kitchen," she said. "Go around back and I'll meet you…" But the major was already jumping down and climbing through the nonexistent floor towards the doorway. Naomi stepped back to allow him inside as he heaved himself back up to floor level and into the parlor. "There."

With a little shrug, she led him through the cottage towards the kitchen, which tended to be darker than the rest of the house. Naomi found it rather soothing, especially of late, but she ought to leave the major to lunch alone. There were chores that needed tending to, and besides, she was a married woman.

But then she felt like something struck her.

Because she wasn't.

She was a widow.

She carefully lowered the tray onto the table and herself onto a chair, feeling as if her knees were going to give out on her.

Naomi had just barely begun to think of herself as a wife. She and Arthur had joked with one another, calling each other ‘husband' and ‘wife' in a sort of ironic way, neither of them quite yet adjusted to the truth of those titles.

Now, she was a wife no more. She was still Mrs. Gilcrest, but she had no husband.

"Mrs. Gilcrest?" The words spoken aloud echoed the name in her mind. She shook her head.

Major Cockfield stood just inside the door, sun streaming in behind him. His skin was slightly flushed with exertion, his shoulders rising and falling with breaths that were still somewhat labored but already starting to steady since she'd called him in to rest.

This man had returned so very alive. It wasn't fair.

"Come in," she managed. "Sit down."

He did so and, without waiting for further permission, he poured lemonade into one of the glasses and lifted a sandwich to his mouth but then stopped. "Aren't you eating?"

Had she eaten? For the life of her, she couldn't remember. If she wasn't careful, she was going to fall apart completely. But she deserved to fall apart, didn't she? When her husband had gotten himself killed?

But there was not only herself to consider. She couldn't afford to fall apart.

Major Cockfield narrowed his eyes. "You need to eat."

Ester chose that moment to step out of the pantry. "I've been telling the missus that for two days now."

Naomi hadn't really eaten anything since she'd taken breakfast with the major yesterday morning. Had that been yesterday? Time was losing all meaning.

"I'm alright, thank you, Ester." She didn't want to enjoy the flavorful chicken and spices Ester had cooked the night before. She didn't want to savor the texture of the freshly baked bread.

The major appeared not to have any such qualms. He'd eaten nearly half a sandwich already. "It's delicious," he said.

How could he take such enjoyment in it? Hadn't he lost his friend as well?

"How can you eat at all? Knowing you've led men to their deaths?" Naomi spoke the words aloud without thinking through them first, and she instantly regretted them. It was an inordinately cruel thing to say, but there was some part of her that found it simply intolerable that he could sit there at her table, enjoying his lunch as if nothing had happened. Still, that did not make it right.

Ester froze across the room and the look on her face sent shame washing through Naomi.

The major stopped chewing but, after a moment, finished his bite and swallowed.

"Seventeen," he said, his gaze locked on her as his frame suddenly stiffened with tension. "The first was three years, two months, and eight days ago. Lieutenant George Platt. He was not yet nineteen. Mourned by six sisters and his mother. Hit by a sniper in a routine march along the coast. He lived for an hour after he was injured. I had all but convinced myself he was going to make it. Left his side to write up my report and when I returned to the tent, he was gone."

Naomi immediately felt horrible, but she didn't know what she could say. An apology wasn't going to erase her snapping cruelty.

"The second man, Second Lieutenant Bart Goulding. I hated that I'd lost even one man on this march but losing a second made me the worst sort of failure. Goulding was seven and twenty when debris from an explosion ripped him to shreds. He had a family awaiting him at home. The year before, he'd lost his crops to a flood. He only joined up so he could send money back to his wife."

Naomi held up a hand. "I'm sorry."

Cobalt eyes burned as they stared across at her, his shoulders set like steel, on alert, expecting another attack.

Naomi reached across the table and clasped the wrist of his hand that clutched the blasted sandwich. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. Please… forgive me?"

How stupid and thoughtless could she be? How sorry he must be that he'd ever promised Arthur he would help her.

And then, with a deep exhale, he relaxed his jaw and nodded.

"The thing is, Mrs. Gilcrest…" He paused, taking the time to choose his words with care. "I am still alive. You are still alive. Your baby is still alive. We don't know what the future holds so we are beholden to make the most of the days we have now."

"I had no excuse to say that to you."

"But you do. Now, take a bite and savor it. I haven't had homemade bread in months." He removed his hand from beneath hers but instead of raising the sandwich to his own mouth, he extended it across the table.

Too confused to decline, Naomi took it from his fingers and then bit into it. The chicken tasted of hints of rosemary, and the bread was soft and yeasty. Ester had just removed the bread from the oven before Naomi put the sandwiches together. The combination of savory meat and spices was good. It was delicious, even. Before she could swallow, the major was pouring out a second glass of lemonade and sliding it toward her other hand.

As she took a sip, the little miracle inside of her chose that moment to kick.

The food ought to have gone down like sawdust—everything else had in recent days. But it was good. "Thank you," she said.

Before she could give him back his sandwich, he'd already claimed a second one off the tray to replace it. So Naomi kept the food.

"You know, I was curious, Major—how did you manage to get the wood here so quickly?" If possible, she wanted to prove to herself, and maybe to him as well, that she could continue on like a normal person. She could make normal conversation without falling apart. She hated that she'd been so out of control—taken over by her emotions.

"I purchased it yesterday. After seeing that porch, I knew it was just a matter of time before someone broke an ankle."

Naomi nibbled at the sandwich and watched as he made quick work of his own. She wanted to apologize again for insulting him but kept remembering how unhelpful she'd found his apologies that first day. He'd told her that he was sorry over and over again, but it had meant nothing to her, less than nothing.

It didn't make sense.

"You said you wanted to stay in the area for a while. When will you return to the conflict?"

"I've been allotted a month before I'm due to travel south again. I have two sisters who will skin me alive if I don't visit while I'm on leave, though. And of course, my brother will want to see me."

And at that moment, he was suddenly no longer the random soldier whose sole purpose in life had been to destroy hers.

"How old are your sisters?"

"They are recently turned seven and ten. Twins."

Naomi shook her head. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to carry and then deliver two babies. "Do they look the same?"

"Identical. Before I joined up, I was able to differentiate between them for the most part. Since I no longer live at Crescent Park, it has been more difficult each time I come home." He took another bite and shrugged. "Before this past spring, I was away for three years. They've turned into young women while I was away."

She'd realized military life would be difficult for any man with a family. Whenever she'd discussed Arthur selling his commission, he'd changed the subject. He'd promised he would sell out eventually. And he would have.

Of course, he would have…

"When Arthur left—while he was gone, the worrying, it was worse than I had imagined it would be," she said. Imagining that he was in danger… wondering if he was ever coming home. And now…

There it was again. That giant weight on her chest—that strangling feeling.

That wondering if she was going to be able to go on.

"This will pass." His voice penetrated the swell of despair. "It'll never go away completely, but the terror, the explosion of pain, it will subside into feelings that you can eventually live with." And then the cold glass she'd been drinking from was pressed into her hand. "Drink up."

She did as he said.

"Now breathe. In and out. Tell me to go to hell if you think that will help."

She couldn't stop the ironic chuckle that he had come so close to reading her mind.

"He left in August. We've been apart for almost three months now," she managed. "And although I know he isn't coming back, there is a part of me that still believes he will return."

Major Cockfield nodded in agreement. "It's not so simple a thing as people would like to believe. Don't expect to know how to handle everything right away. Focus on caring for yourself. And your baby. And in the meanwhile—" He slid his chair back, reached for the last of his lemonade, downed it, and then pushed the chair back in. "—I'm going to see what progress I can make on that porch before I lose the sunlight."

Before he could disappear outside again, Naomi remembered her manners. "Thank you, Major."

He turned and stared at her thoughtfully. "No need to thank me. This is what friends do."

"Still, Major…"

"Luke. Will you call me Luke while I'm here?"

How could she deny him when he'd been so ridiculously kind? "Luke." At his raised brows, she added, "And you may call me Naomi."