by Kris Tualla
Kirsten sat in her mother’s study and sipped tea behind closed doors. “Told him what?” she asked innocently, though more than one secret jumped to the front of her mind.
Her mother shot her an irritated look. “Don’t play games, Kirsten. You know what I’m talking about.”
Kirsten shook her head. She did indeed know what her mother meant. “There is no reason to do so. He’ll be gone soon of his own volition.”
Marit’s attempt at a compassionate expression was as upsetting as it was misplaced. “I saw the way you looked at him.”
“You are wrong, Mamma,” Kirsten insisted.
“Am I? He’s a compelling man. Even I noticed,” Marit admitted.
“I already told you, I have no intention of marrying. Even when a tall, Norwegian army officer is deposited at my own feet, in my own parlor,” Kirsten declaimed.
“What about his feelings?” Marit pressed. “You know that injured men often become enamored with their nurses.”
“He is not enamored with me, Mamma,” she objected.
“Are you certain?”
Kirsten flipped her wrist at her mother. “He is merely bored with lying around and wants a diversion. I don’t blame him—do you?”
“No,” Marit conceded.
“I’m bored as well, Mamma. Having someone interesting to talk to brightens my day. But there is nothing more to come of it.” She sipped her tea, and stared intently at the pattern in the carpet. Her mother’s interrogation prompted emotions best left buried.
Marit was silent for a minute and Kirsten believed her mother’s chastisement might be finished. She was wrong.
“If I believe that either his affections for you, or yours for him, grow to an unacceptable level, then I will take matters into my own hands.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes, unable to restrain her irritation. “When will you ever trust the things I say? Stop treating me as if I cannot control my life!”
She set her empty teacup down with more force than the delicate china could withstand. The handle snapped off.
“Kirsten!” Marit exclaimed angrily. “Now look what you have done!”
Kirsten jumped to her feet, the broken cup clenched in her hand. She felt like a canon ball about to be loosed in the room. “Nothing beyond a brief friendship is going to occur between Captain Hansen and me. Not one thing. How can I make you understand that?”
“Give me that before you cut yourself.” Marit took the broken china from her daughter. “All I’m saying is that Captain Hansen is not a suitable choice for your husband.”
“I know that. You have already made it quite clear,” Kirsten declared. “Why do you keep harping at me?”
Marit pinned her with the intent gaze of a mother protecting her only offspring. “If the time comes, I want you to understand. That’s all.”
“Trust me, I do understand.” Kirsten strode toward the door. She hesitated, her hand resting on the handle. She drew a deep breath and spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you for the tea, Mamma. I’m sorry about the cup.”
CHAPTER SIX
September 9, 1781
Reid waited all morning for Kirsten, but she didn’t appear. He listened for her voice, but that too was missing from the house. An hour after the midday meal, he rang a little brass bell to summon assistance—a helpful addition to his accommodations after he was forced to shout George’s name during the dinner party.
“Yes, sir?” It was Horace who answered the call.
“I was hoping to exercise again today, but Miss Sven appears to be otherwise engaged,” Reid explained. “Is there someone who might accompany me and act as my guide?”
“I shall send George with you, Captain. He enjoys your company and would be happy to assist you.”
Reid smiled. “Thank you, Horace.”
“I understand your blindfolds come off tomorrow?”
“That is my expectation,” Reid replied. “So I should be able to see my own way after this.”
“We are all glad to watch your recovery, sir.”
Reid dipped a nod. “Thank you again.”
George arrived several minutes later. Reid grabbed his cane and stood. George snickered.
“I understand Miss Sven used a candlestick to lengthen my appendage,” Reid said with a grin. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“No, sir. It’s funny-looking is all,” George said cheerily. “But I expect it works just fine.”
Reid extended his hand. “I’ll hold your shoulder and follow you. Warn me if we encounter any obstacles, such as stair steps.”
George placed his shoulder under Reid’s hand. “I will, sir. Are you ready? It’s a right fine day out.”
“Lead on.”
Once again, Reid stopped and breathed in the aromas of the land. “Tell me what I’ll see tomorrow, George. When I stand here.”
“Well… the fields are all around us,” he began tentatively. “But they’ve been harvested.”
“What did they grow?”
“Wheat. Barley. Corn. Hay for the winter.” George paused. “There’s cows in the fields now, eatin’ what’s left.”
Reid chuckled. “Yes, I smell them.”
George twisted his body if the pull on Reid’s shoulder was a trusted indicator. “Out back are the chickens.”
“And one happy rooster. I’ve heard him in the mornings.”
George turned back to Reid. “Yes, sir. He’s happy alright. And meaner’n a son-of-a-bitch!”
Reid laughed. “Protecting his harem, no doubt. Let’s walk shall we?”
“Any particular direction?”
“Take me where I can walk without tripping.”
George began to move. “We’ll walk to the end of the drive. That’s flat.”
Reid followed along, stretching his good leg and testing the injured one. He moved more easily than yesterday and was glad to mark the improvement. Once they left the shade of the portico, the afternoon sun warmed his head and shoulders. His headaches were abating, dimmed to a dull pressure just behind his crown.
I’m feeling quite human, he realized. Except for not recalling the actual explosion Reid would have to say he was on an encouraging road.
And speaking of roads, they had been walking further than he expected. “How long is this drive?” he asked George.
“It’s not a quarter of a mile,” he answered. “But it’s close.”
Reid halted. George stepped out from under his hand, but quickly moved back in place.
“Are you tired?” he asked, concern defining his tone.
Reid shook his head. “How many acres does Sven own?”
“One thousand, two hundred and eighty-five,” came George’s very precise response.
“How far are we from the city?”
“Oh, you can see them buildings from the upper rooms,” George assured him. “We are only a mile from the dock where you were hurt.”
Reid struggled to map out what he remembered of Philadelphia from the first day he arrived. “Which direction are we from the city?”
“North mostly, and a little west.”
Reid nodded and gave George’s shoulder a little shove. George understood and started walking again.
“I didn’t have much time to explore when I arrived,” Reid said. “I was waiting for the French to come so I could send them after the New Jersey regiment.”
“Oh they came through, alright,” George said. “And they went on their way. I guess someone else told them.”
“Did they?” he mused. He knew the French were less interested in helping the Americans than they were in hindering the English whenever in the world that particular opportunity arose.
Something about that thought pinged in his mind.
When he arrived at the dock to search for the Pennsylvania regiment’s quarters, he remembered interrupting a conversation. Two men, talking about stopping the French army’s progress. Or did they say, hoping the French army progressed? The elusive snippet wasn�
�t clear. Thinking about it made his head hurt.
“Will you be rejoining the New Jersey regiment, sir?” George asked.
“I suppose so,” Reid answered. “Unless I can find a regiment from Massachusetts.”
George made a clucking sound. “I hope this war gets over with. And that we win it, of course.”
“No colony has ever broken away from its parent. We’ve already made history by attempting to,” Reid observed.
“England can’t make us stay with them. Can they?”
Reid blew an exasperated breath. “They are certainly trying.”
“We’ve reached the end of the drive. Now we’ll go back.” George led Reid in a tight half circle. “And here comes the carriage. Miss Sven must be returning.”
*****
Kirsten saw Reid and George from the carriage window.
The sight was quite comical, she had to admit. The tall captain, his eyes covered with a thick white wrapping, wore a too-short shirt which barely reached his hips and tight breeches with a hem which hovered above his military boots.
With one hand he gripped the shoulder of her much shorter, though better dressed, servant. Extending from his other hand was the black-lacquered brass-handled cane; an elegant accessory until one’s eye followed it down to the wide bottomed brass candlestick which was jammed on its tip like a round metallic snowshoe. Only then did she remember she should have bought him a cane.
As the carriage rolled into the drive and past the pair of men, George touched his forehead in salute. Reid didn’t acknowledge the vehicle’s passage.
A stab of guilt told Kirsten why.
Though he could refer to his blindness as an excuse, Kirsten assumed George would have warned Reid that a carriage was approaching, and then led him to stand aside and make room. It would also have been natural for George to comment on who was in the carriage.
After her emotional outburst yesterday, Kirsten avoided Reid. She took her supper in her room, claiming a headache after arguing with her mother. This morning she slipped out without eating breakfast, choosing to have her first meal of the day in town while she waited for her errand to be completed.
As much as she wished to think of other things, the fact that her errand was on behalf of Captain Hansen naturally kept him the forefront of her mind all day.
Kirsten opened her little leather satchel and took out the linen-swathed bundle that embodied her assigned task. She unwrapped the spectacles for Captain Hansen and held them up to the carriage window. The flat lenses were made of gray-tinted glass intended to block light, and they appeared to do an adequate job.
The task did require the better part of her morning as she searched for someone who would fabricate such a thing. She was about to give up when, in a desperate attempt to find someone creative who worked with glass and metal, she entered a jeweler’s shop.
The jeweler was from Scotland, and as she explained what she needed he grew quite excited, claiming to know exactly what to do.
“I have a countryman who makes such things. You go on and have tea, lass, and come back in two hours,” he said, rubbing his hands gleefully.
She did as he bid, and when she returned he laid the spectacles in her hand. They were perfect. Kirsten wrapped them back in the cloth and placed them in her satchel.
Now she only needed to summon the nerve to give them to him.
*****
The clock chimed three times, its soft melody a jarring cacophony in Kirsten’s sleepless ears. Though the attempt would no doubt be fruitless, she knew she had to speak with Reid once more—alone—before the doctor removed the bandages from his eyes. So for the second time in four nights, she snuck downstairs to the parlor.
His door was closed, now that he was awake and mending well enough that his nighttime needs were not an issue to be dealt with. Kirsten rested her forehead against the panel and listened to the snoring on the other side.
I’ll ease the door open. If he doesn’t awaken, I’ll leave.
The click of the latch echoed through the entryway and seemed loud as a pistol. She paused, then eased the door open, hoping equally to wake him and not disturb him.
The snoring marched on, its rhythm unbroken.
Kirsten pushed the door shut until only the slightest crack remained. To the casual night wanderer it would appear closed. Yet in her conscience she knew that she and the captain were not actually closeted. It was a fine point, but an important one.
She crossed the room not trying to be quiet, though bare feet on carpet made scant sound. Once she stood beside his pallet she struggled with what to do next.
The wooden chair had been moved to another part of the room. Should she search for it and carry it to Reid’s bedside? Or perhaps she should sit on the floor. The cot was too narrow for her to sit beside the slumbering soldier, but that was too intimate a choice for her to make in any case.
She settled for pulling a cushion off the settee and placed it beside Reid’s bed. When she knelt on it and rested her head on the edge of his mattress, she was comfortable enough to fall asleep.
Kirsten scolded herself not to do such a thing. She wasn’t certain why she was compelled to be here in the first place, but being discovered in this room, asleep in her nightclothes, would make any other disaster she could imagine look like an idyllic picnic by comparison.
Reid’s snores halted. He adjusted his position, turning on his side toward her, and resettled. He sighed in his sleep and his breathing returned to its calming pace.
Kirsten wished the night wouldn’t have to end. She had been acquainted with Reid for such a short time that she was amazed at how safe she felt in his presence. Certainly he had dark secrets she knew nothing about; all men did. But his secrets were still buried in the fact he was a stranger. All she knew of the injured man were his limitations.
That might be the key, she realized. She hadn’t yet seen his strength. The strength he clearly possessed and could use to hurt her.
She gasped when his hand landed softly on her head.
“Why are you here?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“You couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
They were silent for a while. Reid’s fingers began a soft massage on Kirsten’s scalp and she leaned into his hand.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she offered.
“The day you cried, or the day I didn’t see you?” he asked.
It was a fair question. In the middle of the night days don’t have sharp boundaries.
“Both, I suppose,” she admitted.
Reid’s massage moved to the back of her neck. “Why did you cry, Kirsten?”
“Because I hurt you.” Yet she had no idea why she cried so hard.
“Hm.” He began to knead a knot she didn’t know was there. “And why are you sorry about not seeing me?”
“I—well I thought that you expected me to spend time with you,” she ventured. “And I left without saying anything. And then I didn’t check in on you afterwards…”
“You were embarrassed and avoided me.” His hand on her neck was warm and soothing all the while his words defined her humiliation. “I understand. Though in truth, I am the one who should be embarrassed.”
“You?” she squeaked. She re-lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why you?”
“I was the one standing by the road, holding another man’s shoulder and wearing a tight shirt, short breeches with my knees on display over my boots, a mask that makes me look like an effeminate pirate, and out walking with a candlestick stuck on the end of a cane!”
Kirsten began to laugh, holding her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Reid began to wheeze huffs of mirth. He had described the vision to perfection. The absolutely memorable-until-she-died and hilarious vision.
“I must have been a sight,” he managed between exhalations. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
And then she knew. The r
eason she needed to talk to Reid tonight. It was so stunningly clear that she didn’t know how she nearly missed it. Her laughter died.
“I just realized why I felt compelled to come to you tonight,” she murmured.
Reid’s chuckles faded. “Tell me,” he urged gently.
“Your bandages come off tomorrow. You are going to see me for the first time.”
She couldn’t see his mouth in the dark, but she thought he smiled. “I must confess, I am curious.”
“It will change everything,” she whispered.
Reid hesitated. “Why?”
“I am always judged by how I look, as all women are,” she began.
The neck massage resumed. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“It seems that men won’t take the time to examine what sort of mind, or heart, or character awaits behind any unsettling façade,” she explained.
“Are you claiming that no one has truly known you?” he asked, his disbelief evident. “In all of your twenty-six years?”
“It’s true, Reid. Remember our honesty? I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not now.” Tears thickened her throat. “Not when it’s so important for you to understand.”
His hand stilled. “What do you want me to understand, Kirsten?”
“That as long as you couldn’t see me, then for once in my life how I look didn’t matter. All you knew was me.” She sniffed and ran her hand under her nose. “Tomorrow, the woman you think I am disappears the moment your blinders are gone.”
Reid was quiet for a long time.
“I’d like to believe I’m not so petty as that,” he said.
Kirsten clambered to her feet, her grief threatening to swamp her. She needed to return to the safety of her chamber and her bed before it took control. She leaned over and felt for Reid’s face. She laid a hand along each side of his jaw. And then she kissed him.
His lips were soft and warm. They pulled at hers as if trying to keep the kiss from ending. She wanted to kiss him forever, to stop time at that moment, and live in their shared darkness untouched by the harsh reality of day. But she could not.
Kirsten pulled her mouth from his. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?”
