In His Eyes(24)

Westley turned his face aside. No. He would not entertain voices that did not emit from living people. First the misplaced memories, then names and faces he could not recall, and now this? If he allowed such, he would most surely descend into madness. Mrs. Preston had said she’d seen men who’d suffered the fever show mental slowness, but none that lingered this long.

She’d assured him this too would pass, but he’d seen the concern in her eyes. The infection had raged within him, and he had spent three weeks hardly waking enough for her to get enough broth into him for survival. Who knew what damages he had sustained from that? What’s more, they had no way of knowing if he had hit his head hard enough to cause lasting damage upon falling from his horse.

A few moments later Mrs. Preston returned with the promised plate of bread and cheese in her hands and a placating smile upon her lips. Telling himself she meant only the best, he brought his emotions to heel and offered her his best attempt at affability. “Ah, my dear nurse returns.”

Her smile widened and she handed him the food.

“Where would I be without you?”

Her smile faltered and he cringed. He’d not meant the question in earnest, but rather as a form of affectionate gratitude for her care. She patted his arm, both of them knowing the real answer, yet neither wanting to upset the other by speaking it.

Westley shoved a slice of bread into his mouth and spoke around it. “When shall the corporal arrive?”

“Tsk tsk.” She shook her head. “Have you abandoned your manners, Major?”

Westley grimaced, swallowed, and spoke again. “Forgive me. May I inquire as to when the corporal is expected?”

Mrs. Preston smirked and set about dusting the room. “They said soon. That is all I know.”

“And you are sure they knew my name and rank?” Westley popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and consciously slowed chewing that wished to reveal his ravenous hunger.

“I am.” She lifted the Bible Westley hadn’t touched since he’d tossed it to the floor and wiped it off.

“And they know I have been injured and am neither a deserter nor dead?”

She didn’t pause her cleaning. “Yes, Major. The boy there told me word was already sent to family and to the necessary officials.”

Westley snorted. “There is no family.”

Mrs. Preston didn’t respond, though she paused.

Feeling her heavy gaze upon him as he stabbed at a bit of cheese, Westley mumbled, “At best, they are sending a note to an abandoned house.”

Mrs. Preston’s brow creased. “You expect your home to be abandoned?”

Forgetting that he had not told her he hailed from the South, he shrugged. “Both my parents died this past winter, and I am their only child. It stands to reason.”

Something close to pity entered her eyes, and he looked away before the weight of it could settle on him.

“It would be best to know for sure, though.”

Westley considered it. If the army did send word to Belmont, only Sibby would be able to read it. Did she worry over him? He tossed aside the foolish thought. Once news of Jefferson Davis’s recent surrender reached them, surely the Negroes that had called Belmont home would seek a new life in the North rather than face the scorn of defeated Southerners. Assuming they hadn’t all left already since no one remained to care for them.

If he did return to his home, it would be only to see that any stragglers left. There might yet be a few, Sibby among them, who would hesitate to leave the only home they had ever known and attempt to eke out a living from the land.

That was something they would not be able to do for long, and an attempt that could prove dangerous. Freed or not, Westley wasn’t fool enough to think that they would be able to live at Belmont alone. If fortune seekers didn’t run them out, then soon enough the Federal Army would commandeer the home to settle debts his father most surely owed. He’d been meaning to settle his father’s accounts, but he’d been a mite too busy trying not to get shot.

“Some heavy thoughts pucker that handsome brow of yours.”

Westley blinked and looked up at Mrs. Preston, whom he had forgotten stood in the room with him. “Just thinking about what I will need to do once I am strong enough to leave, and deciding which responsibilities will require my immediate attention.”

Sadness tightened her features for just an instant, then she brightened them with a smile. “That’s good, then. Making plans for the future will help you work toward healing.” She crossed to the bed and plopped down beside him. “Tell me.”

Westley withheld his lament at being drawn into yet another personal conversation. The woman had a way of working information from him, especially since he had no means of escape. But he owed her much and would not be rude to her. At least, as much as he could help it. “I think I may volunteer to go into the western territories.”

Mrs. Preston’s mouth turned down. “Oh, I had hoped you would have tired of the army.”

“I am a career military man, ma’am.”

Her eyes darted away, but not before he caught something in them. Instinct warned she hid something. “Mrs. Preston?”

She fiddled with her cap. “Of course, but—”

“What are you not saying?”

She stared at him a moment, then he felt her will give way to his own. “Well….” She fidgeted with her skirts, trying his patience. “I’d hoped you would be inclined to return to your home and be full up of this war. And then….”