by Ava Devlin
Callum's smile slipped from his lips as quickly as it had appeared. For just a second, he had forgotten that everything was different now.
"I don't suppose you might show me to where I'm sleeping?" Callum said, too weary to insist on familiarity. "Perhaps I might have a bath drawn as well?"
Far from taking offense, Albert looked relieved, as though Callum assuming the role of a gentleman was far easier for him to stomach than any nebulous outlier who hovered between classes. He gave a crisp nod and held his arm out in the direction of the staircase, indicating that Callum's accommodations would be abovestairs, in one of the lush guest rooms on the second floor.
The room itself was far more opulent than any space Callum had ever occupied. Its sheer size was larger than some of the houses he had imagined himself owning, in the more optimistic days of his youth. In the center of the room, quilted and piled with pillows, was a massive four-poster bed that he could swear was singing to him, calling him into its embrace.
"I shall have the bath water brought presently," Albert informed him, his posture stiff and respectful. "We've already got several pots heated, in anticipation of those who are returning from the township. Might I bring you a spot of food or anything else, Lieutenant?"
Callum shook his head, his eyes falling on the array of materials already laid out for him—combs and a razor on a leather strip, soaps and towels and even a pair of bedroom slippers. He had no appetite to speak of and wasn't sure he would have been able to taste much over his fatigue anyhow. "I think I've more than enough here, thank you."
Albert gave a curt nod, turning on his heel to see to his business. It wasn't until his hand was already turning the knob on the door that he hesitated, pausing in his movement without turning back.
"It is truly good to have you home, Callum," he said quietly. "We were all very worried."
"It is good to be home," Callum replied, a smile spreading unbidden to his lips as the other man exited the room in search of the promised bathwater. Those simple words had put a warmth into his bones that even the most luxurious bath could never have matched.
He sat on a bench at the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes with a relieved sigh, and leaned back against the footboard. He realized that it was true, despite all the missteps he'd made, despite the fire and the heartbreak and the state of the bridge he must mend to find his way fully back to Heloise. He was home, and glad of it, no matter which bedroom they stuffed him in.
It was a thought that stayed with him, comforting as a warm fleece and light as the bubbles of soap that rose from the bathtub. It was a feeling that kept a curve on his lips as he dried and dressed and crawled into that obscenely big bed. It was the hope that took him swiftly to sleep, filled with optimism for what the morrow might bring.
There was no gentle launch into the process of rebuilding the township.
The church had emptied by about half in the day following the fire, with those who were able returning to their homes. Those who remained were gifted whatever small offerings their neighbors could spare in the way of bedding, clothing, and food. Many of the little ones also volunteered their toys to their friends whose own things had been lost to the flames.
It was surprising how quickly those in charge of the restoration efforts fell into a pattern. Callum would never say so out loud, but he found the people of Somerton to be rather more efficient than the Royal Arms ever had been, especially for the task of building rather than destruction.
The girl Alex Somers had married, the pretty little blonde he'd imagined delicately flitting through balls and hosting tea parties, was in actuality a shrewd and exacting accountant, whose keeping of the expense ledgers and lending receipts left more than one full-grown man walking away with an armful of supplies borrowed from the manor house, wide-eyed and muttering to himself.
The local children seemed to have a fixation on her, which she bore with brief smiles and endless little quests to keep them out of the way while she worked, much to her husband's amusement.
"You know," Alex had chuckled to Callum as they'd hauled lumber through the churchyard, "I can't tell if the way she herds those children means she'd make a wonderful mother or a horrid one."
"They think she is a princess," Callum had told him, having overheard many breathless conversations to that nature from the children he'd been dodging in his work.
"Mm." Alex had sighed fondly. "And she's not one to correct them either."
As to Heloise, she had been primarily in the township itself, taking stock of the damage and what was salvageable in the way of wood and stone from the damaged buildings. She had met his eye more than once, a sphinx-like mystery of a smile playing about her lips, and then turned back to her tasks before he had much time at all to attempt to decipher what she might have meant by it.
He was reasonably certain that she wasn't deliberately avoiding him anymore, however. The work itself had consumed all of them in its intensity, and left them all so depleted by the end that there was nothing to do but trudge home and fall back into bed until it was time to begin again.
Perhaps it had taken a night for Callum's scent to find the room in which he was staying, but every night since the first, he had arrived back at Somerton to find Nero curled into his blankets, awaiting the additional warmth of his chosen human bedfellow. Callum found that even if Nero had chosen the exact center of the bed, he preferred to adjust his body around the cat rather than attempt to move him. He told himself it was out of a desire to avoid being scratched, but deep down, he knew he simply did not wish to disturb such endearing slumber.
His own mother had been much at Somerton during this time, continuing to prepare porridge in the morning and soup for the evening, with cold meats and cheeses sent in between. This food fed everyone alike and was essential to keep the laborers and survivors going day by day. He knew she would be just as hard worn as the rest of them, even if she was not in the thick of it, and likely distressed to be overseeing such paltry offerings day after day. Still, it was the best way to extend the rations of food they had available, and no one had uttered a single word of complaint, only gratitude.
The dowager viscountess and the reverend worked closely together to manage the church's temporary guests, attempting to keep the injured ones fed and entertained as the rest worked around them. The doctor made so many rounds in the span of each day that he had begun to take on a sallow appearance, as though he might keel over himself soon, which would put them all in a fine lurch.
It was well when the dowager instructed him to take a day to rest in the tone of an American businesswoman who would broker no argument. Callum felt somewhat guilty resenting the man for his open and bold interest in Heloise when he was so clearly run down, though it was not enough to instill him with any friendly impulses.
The first of the dispersed aid to return was Sheldon Bywater, whose manor was only a day's ride away at a gallop. He came with two carriages, filled to the brim with all manner of necessities and two young men from amongst Graham the driver's brood to assist with the work. It was the youngest son, the stable boy Robbie, who jumped first from the carriage, with a parcel in his arms and a look of determined ferocity on his face, off to some mysterious destination with his supplies.
Sheldon ... that is, Lord Moorvale, for all his persistent joviality, was a seasoned military officer and a marquis besides. He knew when and how to bark orders which would be followed quickly and effectively. Still, authority did not put a damper on his general amicability, though somehow he was able to balance the two without ever compromising an air of necessity to his commands. Perhaps it was just the sheer size and presence of the man that did it, though Callum thought that even a dwarf of a man with Moorvale's countenance might be just as effective. Something about his general joie de vivre was unarguably contagious.
Soon, a startling number of township residents were wrapped in Moorvale tartan, staving off the cold like proper Scots in a weave of blue and gold, which seemed to put Sheldon
himself into an even better mood than usual, giving him an air of energy as he bustled around, directing this and that into its designated place. Only a few hours after his arrival, they had stockpiles of coal, lumber, stone, and fabric for Heloise to use as she saw fit.
The first time Heloise spoke to him, some days into the project, was unfortunately in the context of addressing a group of the most able physical laborers and the Somerton household members involved in the disaster management.
"Tomorrow, we will begin the process of pulling down the ruined buildings," she informed them, upright and confident as any lord of the Realm. "We've three experienced carpenters here to guide us in the process, but I think to be safe, we ought to evacuate the surrounding buildings while we work. If, by the end, we have intact foundations upon which we might feasibly begin rebuilding, we may make better time in restoring the township to its original state than we initially believed. All in all, it has been a very encouraging week, and I am more grateful for all of you than I can possibly say."
"As we are for you, Lady Heloise," the Reverend Halliwell said, giving rise to murmurs of agreement.
For the first time since he'd arrived, Callum Laughlin saw Heloise Somers truly smile. Her cheeks flushed and her teeth flashed, rose-gold eyelashes lowering to hide the pleasure she felt at the compliment.
He had missed that smile. It was enough to light up the entire world.
13
On the fourth day of the new year, an unexpected gift had arrived.
Heloise had been taking stock of one of the damaged houses, making tallies in a ledger, when she was nearly toppled over by a red-faced young man tearing through the township, presumably in search of her. She'd stepped aside just in time to avoid being knocked flat by his speed, allowing him to skid to a halt in the sooty pebbles that made up the pathway.
The lad had regained his footing and his breath, hunched over with a parcel clutched to his middle, and when he raised his head again, she recognized him as the stable boy from the manor house, one of Graham's brood.
She'd held up a hand to silence the admonishments of the two builders she had been surveying alongside that morning, and instead crossed her arms across her chest while awaiting an explanation, one eyebrow quirked with genuine curiosity.
Robbie thrust out the box he was holding, wrapped in a Moorvale tartan, and as she reached for it, the boy launched into a breathless explanation.
"My sister said this was to go to you straight away, m'Lady, no delays!" he exclaimed. "She said she didn't trust Da or Lord Moorvale to deliver it quick enough and that it was utmost important."
"Your sister," she repeated curiously. "Do you mean Meggie?"
At the sound of her name, the boy's face lit up in a wide smile. "The very same! She said you'd be wanting these things right away and asked that you write her when you can and let her know how you're coming along. She sent her apologies that she couldn't come down herself, but she's still abed with her new babe."
"Of course she is," Heloise murmured, clutching the box close to her chest. "I have been remiss in my correspondence with Meggie. I must write to her very soon. Thank you, Robbie. Run ahead to the church and my mother will give you a cup of porridge."
She turned to the builders with an apologetic shrug. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid this parcel comes to me with some urgency. I am going to head back to the church to open it. If you would like to join me and take part in some rest and repast, you are more than welcome. We have accomplished quite a bit already this morn."
She had led the way, boots crunching in fresh snowfall as her heart felt light as air in her chest. Meggie would have sent along a midwifery kit, much like the one she'd given Heloise during her training. Inside would be a great many herbs and supplies that would be very useful in the coming days, particularly with Abigail fit to burst at any moment.
Many of the items in the kit would serve as pain relief for some of those who were injured from the fire, and cleansing balms to ward off infection in those who may be at risk of it. She made a mental note to check the laceration above Alex's eye and give more salve to Gloriana so that he might actually stay vigilant in using it.
She chuckled to herself, her breath a little cloud of rising amusement in the morning air. Fate was a funny thing, wasn't it?
Truth be told, she had been in an unusually good mood since awakening after the fire. She had expected a great deal of emotions to come crashing down upon her. All the horrible thoughts she'd had on the night of the disaster seemed to have evaporated with the flames themselves. And the sickening regret she'd expected after her impetuous encounter with Callum Laughlin hadn't yet made itself known, if ever it was going to.
It was the strangest thing, the sense of calm that had overtaken her after that. As ridiculous as it was, and as irrational as their coupling had been, it was as though a tiny piece of her soul had been restored. Perhaps the damage done when she'd thought he could so easily leave her had finally been repaired, regardless of how realistic any actual future with him may or may not be.
He hadn't demanded anything of her since that morning. He hadn't cornered her with expectations or questions, nor had he fallen into obvious brooding or discontent. He had thrown himself into his half of the restoration of the township with a work ethic and passion that she felt matched her own, and though they had not had a moment to speak, watching the progress he made and the way the people reacted to him filled her with something perhaps a little more warming than simple respect or gratitude.
Fate indeed had a sense of humor.
Once she'd freed herself of her cloak and gloves, allowing the shiver of warmth to roll over her from the homey embrace of the church, she noticed just how cold she'd gotten. The tip of her nose and the curves of her ears stung with the change in temperature. She suspected there were little flakes of ice on her eyelashes as well.
She wiggled her toes within the stiff confines of her boots and reasoned that at least some of her had stayed warm out there, somehow.
"Ah, the lad gave you the box!" boomed Sheldon Bywater, appearing by her side so quickly that, for the second time that morning, Heloise nearly found herself bowled over. "He was very somber about the task."
"Yes, he was most devoted to delivering it," Heloise agreed, tossing back the tartan blanket that had swaddled the wooden box on its journey to her. "This will assist in the coming days most dearly. I will have to find a suitable gift in return to send to Meggie once we are back to rights around here."
She nodded in the direction which she was headed, to check on Abigail Collins, who lay in her little cot with a book propped on her pregnant belly. Sheldon grinned, shoving his big hands into his jacket pockets, and strode easily alongside her. If they hadn't looked so very different, it would have been easy to imagine him her third brother. He certainly had always played the role well enough.
"Abigail," Heloise said, drawing the other woman's head up from her intent reading. "Have you met Lord Moorvale? He has just arrived with some essential supplies for our rebuilding, and a particular gift to help you and I along in bringing your little one into the world."
Abigail snapped her book shut and straightened, tucking her short brown curls behind her ears. "Pleasure to meet you, my Lord!"
"Likewise," Sheldon agreed. "And might I say, congratulations!"
"Oh." Abigail pinkened, her hand finding the swell of her pregnancy over the blankets. "Thank you so very much."
Heloise hid her smile, perching herself on the foot of Abigail's bed to open the box. Abigail’s condition had been no secret amongst the township, but she had stayed hidden since she had begun to show, as to avoid creating awkwardness for herself and her mother amongst the townspeople.
The fire had forced her into the open, where people could see her bright and pink and expecting. Perhaps they would not whisper to each other about the sensibility of shunting the baby off to an orphanage doorstep now that the wee thing was more of a reality to them. Perhaps they would tamper their ju
dgemental imaginations after seeing how close she had come to death.
Hel took her time pushing the box open, savoring it, even though she already knew what was inside. She was greeted with the smell of cedar, just like the scent of her first box, which had been lost in the fire. Her heart gave a happy little tug, as though something had been restored to her, despite it all.
She was surprised to find a few items not generally used for midwifery, including a healthy supply of willow bark and a bottle of laudanum for pain as well as a large jar of simple ointment. Meggie truly was a treasure. Inside was a carefully penned note suggesting a mixture of animal fat and the laudanum with a dash of spirits for a burn poultice, to be wrapped in linen.
She inhaled deeply of the cool, late-morning air, closing her eyes to savor this moment of hope. When she opened them, they fell upon her mother, who was ladling the last of the porridge out of a large cauldron at the back of the church.
Ruthie reached out to steady the hands of the old coopmaster, a man of many years whose body had become unwieldy as he’d aged. Together they held the cup still and gently filled it with sustenance, not a drop spilled. She was smiling in a way Heloise rarely saw, allowing the lines that appeared in the corners of her eyes to show. She seemed simpler here, more natural. Even her dress was far less fine than what she’d wear at home. Even when Ruthie was on her knees in the garden, she held up a standard of couture.
Today she was dressed in simple white, silhouetted by the large stained-glass window behind her. She was hardly recognizable as the cynical and brusque Ruthie Cunningham Somers that she’d fashioned herself for Heloise’s entire life. She looked like she had cast aside a suit of armor. She looked happy.
Hel’s eyes drifted across the room,curious if anyone else was witnessing this change, and fell upon Reverend Halliwell, who had paused over his folding of freshly washed linens to gaze at her with a sweet little smile on his plain face.
