A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(10)

Barker yipped and put both front feet on the bed. He dug his nose under RJ’s arm and, eyes pleading, whimpered.

The fragrance of brewing coffee called his name. “All right, fella, I’m coming.” He rolled to his side, the dog dropped to the floor, and RJ stood, all in one smooth motion.

His room still looked the same, rocking him for an instant, as if time had stood still. His engineering books from college still sat on his desk.

One year left—such mockery. Who cared if he returned to college? For certain, he didn’t. His service in the army qualified him for any position he’d apply for.

He heaved a sigh, the weight of the burden lessening enough for him to pull on the pants he’d hung on the bedpost and slam his feet into the boots waiting with military precision at the end of the bed. The habits of military life were now part of his being.

“RJ, breakfast is ready,” Esmay, his sister, called up the stairs.

“Coming.” He stopped at the dresser to brush his dark hair and pull it back with a thong. The face in the mirror, with its scar flashing like a beacon, was no longer the man he’d known. He snapped the black patch in place and, slapping his thigh to call Barker, made his way down the stairs.

RJ joined the family in the dining room, where Esmay, George, and their young daughter waited at the table. Jemmy stood nearby, the cook and general do-anything-needed freedwoman who had helped RJ’s mother raise her children and maintain the home. She lived in an apartment over the carriage house along with her husband, Jehosephat, also freed. RJ was thankful the couple had decided to stay after his parents passed—at least that part of home hadn’t changed.

“Good morning, RJ,” George said as he folded the paper and laid it beside his plate. “I trust you slept well.”

RJ nodded and pulled out the chair next to Emmaline. His niece grinned up at him, showing a gap where her front tooth used to be. He gently tugged on her pigtail and returned the smile.

At least he could still smile at children in spite of the horror on some small faces when they saw him.

Jemmy set platters of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes on the table while Jehosephat poured the coffee. “Now, you eat up, RJ. Don’t you go pickin’ at yo’ plate.”

“Yes’m.” He’d eat fast, then go find Francine. His urgency was increasing by the moment. How had he even waited this long? But after he arrived yesterday, it had been a blur of seeing his family and filling them in on his story. As much as he preferred not to relive it.

“How is your friend—you said Anders, correct?” George tried to start a conversation. “Isn’t that who your letter was from? We wondered. It’s waited here for you for weeks.”

RJ nodded and patted the folded paper he’d stuffed in his chest pocket, having read it last night. “From Ohio.” He exhaled. “He invited me to visit him.”

“Really.” Esmay laid down her fork. “How lovely. Are you going to?”

“I—I don’t know.” It was too much to think about just yet. “I need to see Francine first. I’m heading over as soon as I eat.”

“Ah.” Esmay glanced at her husband. “So soon?”

RJ stared at his sister. “It’s been four years.”

“Yes, but . . .” George tapped his finger on the folded newspaper. “Well, people can change in four years. Perhaps you should give it some time.”

“Doesn’t Uncle RJ know that Miss Francine got married?” Emmaline’s pigtails swung from one side to the other.

“Emmaline,” Esmay hissed.

Emmaline shrank down in her chair under her mother’s glare.

RJ dropped his fork. A dull pounding began behind his eye. “What?”

“We wanted to break it to you gently,” Esmay said.

RJ’s vision darkened around the edges. He focused his good eye on his sister. “Tell me.”

Esmay glanced from side to side. Did she not want to meet his gaze, or did she find him that repulsive? “I’m sorry, RJ, but you were gone so long. And I never did think Francine was right for you. She’s always been flighty. I do think you’re better off—”

“What happened?” He gripped his knees under the table to stop their shaking.

Esmay sighed. “She married that haberdasher on Third Street last spring. He opened a millinery for her to run next door, attached to his shop.”

RJ lunged to his feet.

“Robert Joseph Easton, wait.”

But RJ was already stumbling out of the dining room and down the hallway. He nearly collided with an end table—his peripheral vision was still learning to compensate—then slammed open the front door.

Blindly, he strode down the street, his feet pounding with the pain behind his eye sockets. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. But he had to see for himself.

Hardly knowing how he got there, RJ found himself standing on the corner of Third Street, under a beech tree heavy with summer foliage. He leaned his hand against the slender trunk a moment, catching his breath.

There, directly across from him—Miller’s Haberdashery. He remembered Morton Miller vaguely, a stout, nervous man with a tight hold on his purse strings and balding early, though he couldn’t be out of his thirties. Morton had climbed to business success young and gained a spot on the town council, then avoided the draft by paying some other soldier to go in his stead.