In His Eyes(28)

Westley shifted his gaze to the other man, who came to attention. “Good day, Corporal. Take your ease. As you can both see, I am on my feet and will soon be ready to return to duty.”

The men exchanged a glance that soured Westley’s stomach.

Nelson stepped forward. “Sir, I have come bearing a message from General Sheridan.”

His pulse quickened, but Westley kept his face passive. “Speak, then.”

The smaller man shifted his weight from one scuffed boot to the other. “His orders are that you are to take an extended leave of absence until you are fully recovered.”

Westley started to growl, and the doctor held up his hand. “I’d say, Major, that these are most prudent orders. Force the leg too quickly and it may hinder your stride all the more.”

Westley bit back disagreeable words. “I understand.”

“Very good, sir.”

“The usual ninety day furlough is the extension, then?”

The small man attempted to make himself seem taller, but he still only reached Westley’s chin. “He said that by way of your great service, he has decided to grant you a more extended leave, should you wish it.”

Westley’s face must have revealed more of his thoughts than he wished, because Corporal Nelson lifted his eyebrows.

“He seemed to imply the furlough was a well-deserved reward, sir.”

Westley ground his teeth. Curse it! How to insist he return without spurning the general’s offer?

Another thought occurred to him, and he narrowed his gaze at Captain Albright. Did the doctor tell the general about Westley’s memory lapses? Did that, more so than the leg, make the army feel it was prudent to give him extended recovery time?

His jaw began to ache, and he had to force muscles to relax ere he broke a tooth.

“You will, of course, continue to earn a wage,” the corporal stated, as though money made up for Westley’s humiliation.

Westley shifted his weight off his bad leg, a motion that did not slip past the doctor’s notice.

“Giving you trouble?”

“No.” It took every ounce of his patience to remain affable, yet he sensed he failed in his attempt.

Corporal Nelson glanced between the men, but said nothing.

Westley cleared his throat. “Please send word to the general that I am honored by his generosity, but I shall report back for duty no later than one month’s time.” Better he set things on his own time schedule.

“But, sir….” The man twitched his thick moustache, his beady eyes darting nervously to the doctor.

“I have been healing for several weeks already, Corporal,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That shall be plenty of time for me to have healed sufficiently to return to duty. Already in the days since I regained consistent wakefulness, I have improved dramatically.” He swung his gaze to the doctor. “Isn’t that correct, Captain?”

A smile twisted the corner of the man’s mouth. “It is, Major.”

A small tap at the door drew their attention to Mrs. Preston. “Gentlemen, dinner is ready.”

The doctor eyed Westley. “Are you fit to eat at the dining table?”

Given that he didn’t fall over on the way there, he would make it so. “Indeed, Doctor. As I said, I am much improved.” He flicked a glance at Mrs. Preston, expecting her to protest, but she gave him an encouraging smile that bolstered his confidence.

He was slow—humiliatingly so—but he made it to the dining room without the pain undoing him. Six weeks now since the injury, and his leg would finally hold his weight. At least, as long as he leaned heavily upon the cane.

Easing into a chair at the well-used table, Westley took in the dining space of Mrs. Preston’s home. Like everything he had learned to be true of the woman herself, the space was simple, warm, and inviting. The beams overhead were sturdy, as were the humble walls free of elaborate paintings. The window on one wall stood open, letting the afternoon breeze ruffle the linens placed over the dishes to keep the bugs at bay until they began to eat.

“So, Mrs. Preston, I find I am a bit curious,” Corporal Nelson said as he settled in his chair. “I am told this is the Hillsman farm.”

She lifted the covering from a platter of roasted venison. “Yes, sir.”

The smell scurried to Westley, and his mouth began to water. When had his nurse been able to get a deer? They’d had naught but chicken and mutton previously.

The corporal shifted in his chair to allow her to pass the vittles to him. “Forgive me, but I am confused.”

“Preston is her married name,” Westley supplied, stabbing three pieces of meat. “This farm belonged to her father, Mr. Hillsman.”

“Ah, of course.” The man reached for a bowl of potatoes. “How dense of me.”

After they had served themselves and Mrs. Preston took it upon herself to ask a blessing over the meal, they ate in earnest.

“So, Doctor,” Mrs. Preston said, “as you can see, my patient has fared quite well.”

The doctor wiped his mouth. “So I see. In fact, I suspect he shall very soon be leaving you.”

Her face tightened, but she smiled anyway. “I do believe you are right.”

Westley reached for another helping of beans. “It is only by her good care I am alive.” Never mind the doctor who had tried to take his leg and then let orderlies proclaim him dead. “Ever will I be thankful for her, and she shall always hold a place of high regard with me.”