Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

" I t is an absolute delight, I swear!" Silas exclaimed during the dinner party two days later. Philomena Oswald, no doubt freshly flattered by the note Mary had penned on her brother's behalf, blushed prettily beside him given his effusive response to her question regarding his opinion on her family's presence. "I do declare I am glad to be home."

The whole table agreed obligingly. Even the gruff Captain Hayes, whose rudimentary acquaintance Mary had gained in the interval since the soldiers' return, grunted in a more light-hearted way than usual. Mary tried her best to swallow the piece of mutton she had in her mouth before joining in the laughter. It was a dish that often lent her an upset stomach, but she didn't want to voice a complaint when the rest of the party was so thrilled to have their brave officers back home. Given the long list of foods that tended to cause her ill, it was hardly reasonable to expect Mama to avoid them all.

"I cannot disagree with you on that account," Lieutenant Peyton said from Mary's right, his eyes fixed on a flushing Fanny. "Many a day during the war, we kept our spirits high only by imagining the warmth of home. To be able to enjoy home in its actuality is a large blessing indeed."

The generous party once more murmured their agreement of the more sentimental statement, and Fanny looked ready to swoon into her lieutenant's arms, regardless of any dishes or silverware that might block the way.

Mary forced down another piece of mutton and smiled. It was good to have her family together, at least the ones still unmarried. Soon, Fanny and even Silas might be setting up homes of their own, and Greybrook would only have Siegfried and Mary left in residence with their parents. Mary stole a glance at the youngest of the eight Danforth siblings. Skinny, speckled Siegfried was seated next to the tiny Miss Peyton, together making up the youngest end of the table. And even a cursory glance was enough to show how much of an effort Siegfried was exerting to flirt with the lieutenant's little sister.

Soon, there would only be Mary left. And as much as she loved Greybrook, it was not particularly exciting to look forward to a future of being left behind. Being alone was hardly a curse, but it was so much less mortifying to be alone because one chose to be rather than to be alone because everyone else had managed to find a life without you.

Dessert came around, with the friendly neighbors marveling just enough at the new pudding recipe to make Mama beam. Mary declined her share, knowing that it would only fuss with her stomach further, and she soon found herself taking sips of water while everyone else enjoyed the pudding. It was only one of the many ways she seemed to always be different.

Soon, as was often the case in the last two days, the conversation turned to matrimony.

"Oh, but it is a most pleasant business, is it not?" Papa responded to the older Mr. Peyton's question about the timing of Fanny's impending nuptials—a much-anticipated union that would unite their families. "I dare say I have enough set aside for Fanny's dowry without us having to wait particularly long."

"Truly, Papa?" Fanny breathed, sparkles in her eyes.

"Your mother and I have been making plans for all of you."

"Mighty thoughtful, I must say," portly Mr. Oswald declared. He clucked his tongue. "Not an easy task with war ongoing."

"We manage." Papa sounded rather proud of himself. "And with Silas, Siegfried, and Mary still at home for the foreseeable future, we have no reason to worry over multiple children all at once."

"But what if I were to have other plans?" Silas piped up, his mischievous face aglow. Poor Philomena Oswald blushed so hard Mary thought she might burn. "Would the household be ready for such changes?"

"You have your own funds to manage." Papa reminded. "I can hardly be called upon to provide for every single cent that every single one of my children need."

"But Mary needs so little," said young Siegfried, his voice as sharp as his adolescent elbows, as artless with his words as with everything else. "Surely, you can spare some more for your sons?"

"If anything, she might need more," said Fanny.

"Why?"

"Because when a lady doesn't—" Fanny seemed to think better of what she had been about to say, and she cut herself off before casting an apologetic look Mary's way.

Mama looked nervous for a moment, while Papa sighed and shook his head. "Let us not talk of such gauche topics, shall we? Tonight, we celebrate our heroes' return, and we drink to their health. Tomorrow has enough cares of its own." He raised a glass, prompting everyone else to follow suit. "To Captain Hayes, Lieutenant Peyton, and our very own Silas—may your happiness in peacetime be according to your bravery in war."

Everyone echoed the toast, and Mary breathed a sigh of relief over not having to discuss why she would need more or less of a portion from her parents. She knew her lot as a spinster, but it still wasn't particularly enjoyable to have the fact so openly acknowledged and discussed.

The ladies adjourned promptly after dinner, with a besotted Fanny sending lovelorn looks at Lieutenant Peyton as if they were to be parted for weeks rather than an hour at the most. Mary smiled at the image, glad that at least her lively young sister had a marriage of love to look forward to. It would have been difficult to part with her for anything less.

No sooner had the women entered the parlor, however, that a slight chill informed Mary of her need to retire. She was rarely an active participant of post-dinner conversation, but there was some degree of amusement to be found in listening to everyone else.

What a pity that she was to be robbed of even that tonight.

"Mama." She reached out to her mother, tugging the latter back momentarily. "I—I fear I may not be well appointed enough to stay longer tonight."

Mama looked at her in understanding. Mama always empathized with Mary's physical limitations, even if she did not always comprehend the emotional strains that came with those selfsame limitations. Mary might be resigned to being an eventual spinster, but no one ever truly wished to be infirm.

"Do rest, darling." Mama patted Mary's hand. "Shall I have some tea brought up for you?"

"Not at the moment. Thank you."

With a nod and another reminder to watch for her health, Mama turned from Mary to her other guests. Mary slipped away, the usual disappointment of having to live her life so differently from everybody else as familiar as the lines on her own hand.

The narrow hallways at Greybrook were rarely lit at full light, but there was at least always some light guiding the way, and Mary weaved her way easily around the corner to the stairways rather briskly for her standards, only to run into a large human being.

"Oh!" She stepped back, tugging her shawl around her, and looked up. "Captain Hayes."

He nodded his head deeply, perhaps in lieu of a bow. His tall, broad frame seemed to render the usually spacious hallway smaller somehow. Without his red coat, he appeared even more somber and grave. "I beg your pardon, Miss Danforth."

Mary smiled cordially. "As I beg yours. I'm sorry for my haste. I did not think to find the hallways occupied."

He nodded again. At this distance, Mary could see how his seemingly permanent frown was not quite a frown but rather a deep-seated solemnity that had been etched into his features. His features were handsome, in the most classic sense—but his dark impressions rendered them to look more forbidding than affable.

Did the man bear much weight upon his shoulders, or many troubles in his mind? It was perhaps to be expected. Most people did not live through the rages of battle and remain as buoyant as her brother Silas. In fact, standing between the wall and the large human being she had just run into, Mary had a stray thought that her brother and Peyton were merely boys while this particular guest was every inch a man.

"I must admit myself to not be the sort who prefers lively company," said the captain, perhaps to explain his own presence. "I prefer my early hours."

"My family can be boisterous. I hope we are not oversetting you."

"They can be— lively ."

"It is perhaps a result of having so many siblings. One cannot hear you if you speak softly."

" You speak softly, and you are most definitely not boisterous."

"Perhaps not." Mary chuckled quietly. "But I am hardly the person steering most of the conversation."

"Ah, no—I do not think anyone can wrestle that role from Danforth—that is, Silas Danforth." The captain's face softened slightly to veer close to a smile. The dim light rendered his scar almost entirely invisible.

Mary smiled. "I suppose even the battlefield cannot dampen Silas's spirit."

"It did at times, I think. People can hardly maintain high spirits at all times in the midst of war. But while an expressive personality might not be what a commander prefers, it can at times be invaluable to maintain morale."

"You seem a wise man, Captain Hayes."

He met her eyes as if he were trying to decipher something from them. "You strike me as a wise woman as well, Miss Danforth."

Mary almost blushed. "There is not much wisdom to be gleaned from a spinster who has never left home."

"On the contrary," he said in a low, confiding tone, "it is often the quiet ones who know best. At least, I would like to think so."

She smiled at the compliment, recognizing the kindred spirit before her. They'd managed to exchange a few cordial conversations in the last two days, but this was the first time they were speaking at length. A smatter of laughter echoed down the hall. It sounded as if the gentlemen had already finished their port.

Mary sighed and lowered her head for a brief moment before looking up once more. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Not at all. It is I who am inconveniencing you."

"Hardly. My mother has bid me to rest, and I am only off to retire before I risk another bout of illness."

"Are you ill often, Miss Danforth?"

"I—" Mary paused a moment in consideration. She used to be sickly. And it had seemed prudent to avoid returning to such sickly ways, knowing as she did that her constitution was hardly on par with other young people's. "Not as often of late. But given my common brushes with serious ailments as a child—the dangers are never far from mind."

He nodded. "That is understandable."

"I bid you a good night, Captain Hayes."

He bowed his head deeply once more, just as Mary realized that he could not possibly bend his body in the tight quarters they currently occupied. "And I you, Miss Danforth."

With another parting smile, Mary shifted her way around the captain and slipped up to her room. The fire in the grate had been lit early enough to welcome her warmly, and a few quick tricks she had acquired over the past years allowed her to slip out of her evening clothes with minimal effort and ensconce herself in bed.

Then she wrote.

My dearest husband,

Did you enjoy the dinner party at Mama's? I regret that I had to retire so soon after the meal's conclusion. I hope that my brothers, as rowdy as they might be at times, proved ample company for you. Silas might never have a serious bone in his body, but Jacob and John do have plenty of sense when one takes the time to talk to them. It is interesting, is it not, that the children of one family with the same parents can span such a spectrum of personalities? Just because one sibling can talk ceaselessly the entire evening does not mean that the rest of them could string together more than a few words in company. Just because one sister finds love young does not mean others might ever find love at all.

Mary sighed. She was rarely this morose with her secret letters.

She shook her head, as if to clear the cloud over her mind.

The baker has promised to give us the freshest rolls tomorrow morning. I must ensure that the housekeeper remembers to arrive early lest the poor man be tempted to break his promise once more. I fear my digestion has barely recovered from the last round of stale loaves. It is intriguing to think that a loaf of bread that can so easily appear the same can have such detrimental effects upon a person's body if it were not kept fresh. It is a stark reminder indeed that one's inward character ought to be much more valued than one's appearances. A person healthy in body is quite different from a person healthy in spirit.

With luck, one might be blessed enough to be both. But if forced to choose, I must admit myself unconventional enough to believe that it is the inward soul that matters more. How fortunate am I that you, my darling, have chosen to see past my external limitations? Not many men would desire a gentle and quiet spirit over a pretty face and an able body. I count my blessings every day that I have crossed paths with at least one of them.

Yours evermore,

Mary

And with that footnote upon her dearest private wishes, Mary allowed herself to sleep.