Epilogue

The Following Summer

Kniveton, Derbyshire

Reaver remained in alt, his long tongue lolling past his lips as he savored the taste of the oncoming night. Kept his eyes on a family of chirping birds flying about with more haste than care as he debated rousing himself to snag one versus remaining right where he was, leaning against the old wooden chair, outside with his man.

What a blessed, exciting day!

Not only had the cart his man's lady sketched and requested Captain Tucker build worked beauteously (allowing either Tucker or his big mare to haul Reaver's magnificent self across more miles than his paws might want to travel)…

Not only had he enjoyed the attention of numerous younglings excited to see his freshly bathed self (and equally excited to sneak him ham from nuncheon)…

But the alluring bitch he'd sniffed out as they returned home and he'd abandoned his cart and run off to investigate had been more than amenable to an encounter with his impressively long?—

Well, that was neither here nor there.

For satisfaction still thrummed through him.

Oh happy, happy day.

Happy dog, too. Pleased by how close his newly met, alluring canine lady was—less than a quarter mile!—but also thoroughly invigoured by the venturous hours since dawn.

Not that each of his days weren't enjoyable, for they were. Today had just been…special. More eventful than most.

But as for the others?

Now that he and his captain were no longer investigating rats—i.e., rat-faced humans? Now there was time to explore the nearby countryside together, time to lull about in the barn, where Leo (so sayeth the captain's lady) had created something of a workshop, a place for them both, he and his man, to tinker about…

Leo repairing furniture he brought out, building new things for inside, making garden benches (and drag-abouts for Reaver's quality self, heh heh)…whatever he thought might please his lady.

As for Reaver? An amorous meddle on the way home late this afternoon? A bit of raw steak for dinner? And now his man's reassuring touch upon his flank…

Eh. The birds would live another day. For he would remain, right where he was.

Puff, puff, puff. The sound of Reaver's swift pants.

The whistle of the wind, rustling through the trees, gliding through first his mama's perennial flowers, and then the ones Susanna had planted just this spring.

Thump-thump, bump. He thought that one with an audible laugh that cocked one of Reaver's ears. The sound (felt) of the broom handle hitting the ceiling just beneath their bed that morn when Susanna thought it was time he roused so they could be on their way.

Could he help it if holding her in his arms, if loving her during the night, if no longer being a captain on board an ocean-going ship had given him a tendency to sleep in past dawn, on occasion?

The broom handle had been her idea. But only after he had suggested she throw a log up the stairs, to land in the doorway, both of them testing the floor to see what he could feel, and potentially "hear". Even though it was the vibration of the old house, not the sound, they had turned the exercise into a bit of a game.

Something his nieces and nephews had joined in during the earlier visit today, having him face the opposite wall while they took turns dropping things on the floor—to their mothers' (and even his)—dismay, given some of the, he gathered, exorbitant sounds they had made. Not to mention a couple of things shattered. (Which yes, dealing with his siblings, the trio had insisted he tidy.)

The memory, of a few hours past, spirited both his cheeks and chest upward.

Back home now, Leo sat outside on his father's old and favorite chair, repaired, sanded and varnished anew more than once over the years, appreciating another glorious day.

His hand stretched past the arm of the lounge-about chair, fingers resting against Reaver's side, feeling the steady pants that caused the canine's lungs to lift and fall in time with the gentle flap of his long tongue. Both of them relaxed, content.

The cottage at their backs, the overly gardened plot of land bursting with colors to his front. From trees to flowers to leaves—mayhap even a daring weed or two—Susanna had taken to gardening (to Leo's mama's sheer delight) as though she'd been born with a trowel in one hand and seeds in another.

Upon their marriage, his mama had moved in with Liz and John, saying she would help with her grandlings and give the "newly wedded couple a wee bit of time to themselves".

Thankful, were they all, that Mama Tucker was a smiling, blessed spirit to be around and not a harpy or a morose one, as he knew some siblings endured. His father? Susanna had asked of him when he'd joined her at her brother's.

Leo's father had been a stern, somewhat abrupt, but fair man. He had also been satisfied to leave the rearing of his children to his wife while he occupied himself with "manly" pursuits. Leo couldn't fault him for that, thankful to his sire for teaching him how to fight, either in the ring, or against bullies and evil. But neither had he grieved overly much when the man died shortly after Leo reached his twenties; nowhere near the grief he would feel when his mama's time came.

Fortunately, the spry female, who Susanna had pointed out Leo took after in temperament, showed no signs of slowing down.

Leo chuckled, relishing the wind against his face and arms where he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves as he watched the sun casting long shadows as evening approached its end. Nighttime ready to march forth.

And that knowledge brought no small amount of pleasure, now that he had no reason to dread the darkness.

For his love had explained their "private, intimate" language to him during his brief but earnest courtship, the one that saw them wed with Oliver's blessing (and continued surprise).

A language she continued to add to.

A tilt of her head toward her right shoulder? Wait a moment, dear, and I will explain it all. Often "said" when they were around others who didn't know Leo was deaf.

Two blinks and a quick wrinkling of her nose? You completely mistook whatever was just said. Whether it had come from her lips or another's.

He'd learned to glance at her after responding to someone whose expression indicated betwattlement, often needing to ask them to repeat themselves or to slow down. Other times, his wife could quickly speak for them in a way he understood.

His favorites, though? Were when they "spoke" betwixt each other.

Her nails along the back of his scalp, just above his nape, accompanied by a nuzzle to his jaw? I am feeling amorous.

Her palm, circling his heart and then tapping twice? I love you so much, my big and strong and handsome husband.

He'd twitted her over that one, but she insisted that is what it meant, and he could not love her more.

Tonight, when she joined him to watch the sun's final descent, making sure to walk in a wide arc so he saw her (not needed, as he had sensed her approach before he saw it), he gave Reaver a final scratch before tugging her down into his lap.

He imagined her squeal of surprise—for he'd given her no warning.

"All right, wife," he spoke as he pulled her against his chest, placed his hand, fingers wide over her belly. " When were you going to tell me?"

Now he imagined her startled gasp. Thrilled to the unladylike clamber that saw her pushing off from his shoulders and gaining her feet.

"You know? How? I only…last week…to visit Mama to confirm…" Why they'd gone earlier today after Susanna's impatient, broom-handled awakening: the convivial gathering of his family— their family—and great romp outside after nuncheon with his many nieces and nephews, along with his three brothers-in-law, while his sisters, Mama and wife stayed inside to jaw. "…to surprise you…"

The breeze riffled through the drying strands of her midnight hair, down just the way he liked it, after her bath.

"Mrs. Tucker." He gave her his best rumble, the one he knew fluttered her insides (because she had told him). "With a mother and multiple sisters, all younger sisters, mind, and every one of them adept at bringing life into this world, how would I not notice the changes in the woman I love most of all?"

Ah. And there it was.

She climbed back into his lap. Her palm met his nape, thumb stroked along his neck, up toward his ear where the sensation numbed. But unlike the scarred flesh that was deadened, Leo's soul alit.

For she'd just told him, in words he could hear, that he was her everything .

Howdy. Thanks for reading!