“Here you are,” she said, handing each boy a piece of paper and a pencil. “You’ll have to find a flat surface to draw on, I’m afraid, as I don’t have any board with me.”
Both raced to the stone path that circled the garden and crouched down with their borrowed pencils.
“They were excited about the gate being unlocked. If I had realized that you were sketching, I would have told them not to disturb you,” Captain Hastings said.
“They’re not disturbing me at all. I like children, and I’d been hoping that I would have the chance to meet Robin for some time.”
“Then you knew Bobby already?” he asked.
She settled again onto the shawl she’d spread over the grass, and after a moment’s hesitation, he followed her. “His aunt is Miss Adderton, the cook for Highbury House. I met her when I started making the weekly delivery.”
“When you were giving paper to the boys, I couldn’t help but notice that you have several envelopes with a service number on them. Do you have someone special?”
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she held his gaze. “A friend who looks forward to a kind word from back home.”
The corners of Captain Hastings’s mouth pulled up.
“Should I expect to see the boys with you when you go walking in Mr. Penworthy’s fields now?” she quickly asked.
He laughed and shook his head. “Will you think less of me if I say I hope not? They’re good boys, but the two of them have enough energy to power all of Birmingham.”
They sat a moment watching the boys jab at their paper, their hunt for buried treasure temporarily forgotten.
“How is your shoulder healing?” she asked. He still wore the sling, but he seemed to be far less ginger with it than when they’d first met.
He looked down at his arm, resting half out of the flap of his jacket. “It’s funny you should ask. Just yesterday the doctor was trying to decide if I need another surgery.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, even though she was selfishly relieved. He was the person she looked forward to seeing most mornings. She liked the way he listened to her and how he once reached out to lift off her face a stray bit of hair that had escaped her pins. When he healed, he would leave, and she wasn’t ready for that.
“I was never in danger of losing my arm like some poor devils, but the surgeon is worried that I might lose some mobility. I told him that I don’t need to throw hay bales or climb mountains. I just need to be able to rejoin my men.”
“Rejoin them?”
He tilted his head to study her. “They patch us up at Highbury to send us back.”
“But you’ve been hurt.”
He shrugged his good shoulder. “I’d ask to go back regardless. I’ve been a solider for eight years. I’ve never known another profession. Men who served under me are still risking their lives out there. I can’t abandon them.”
“But surely there are other people who need you as well,” she pushed.
“I don’t have a wife. My parents worry, but I suspect they’d worry regardless of what I was doing in the war. Are you all right? You’ve gone pale.”
She pressed a hand to her temple. “I just hate to think that you might be hurt again.”
He took her hand, time slowing like golden syrup poured from its tin. “Miss Pedley, before I picked up those ruffians, I had hoped that I would find you today, even though it’s your day off.”
“Why were you looking for me?” she asked.
“I enjoy the days when I see you much more than those when I don’t.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. When she didn’t move, he let his large hand cover hers.
“Miss Pedley—Beth—I wondered if you would do me the very great honor of allowing me to accompany you to the charity dance in two weeks’ time.”
“You want to take me to the dance?” she asked.
“If you intend to go,” he said, almost shy. It was the first time she’d seen him unsure of himself. As though he didn’t think she’d say yes.
“I would love to go with you,” she said.
His hand tightened around hers. “Splendid.”
They sat like that until the boys began to lose interest in their drawings and found a pair of sticks to swashbuckle with.
“I should step in before Captain Hook puts Blackbeard’s eye out.” He let go of her hand and used his good side to push himself up. “We’ll leave you in peace.”
She murmured a goodbye as Captain Hastings rounded up the boys. Robin and Bobby returned her pencils and thanked her before Captain Hastings shooed them out of the garden. She thought he would leave, too, but he stopped on the threshold of the gate and whipped around quickly, returning to her in a few long strides. Her lips parted when he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. His lips felt soft against her skin, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. But just as quickly, he was pulling away.
“Right,” he murmured. He pulsed toward her, but at the last moment he seemed to pull himself back. “Right.”
Then, he was gone.
Beth sat there a moment, stunned. She’d never been kissed before. A little laugh of disbelief escaped her lips, and she shook her head before taking up her sketchbook once again and beginning to draw two boys, their heads bent diligently over scraps of paper.
• EMMA •
MAY 2021
Emma let her head fall against the woven back of the patio chair she’d dragged from the shed in Bow Cottage’s garden.
“You’re going to fall asleep if you sit like that for too long,” said Charlie.
She opened one of her eyes and squinted at him through the late-day sunshine. The days were stretching toward summer now and becoming longer, and when she and Charlie wrapped up an inventory of the plants, she’d invited him over for a drink.
“It’s tempting,” she said.
He laughed. “Now you know why I bought those deck chairs last year.”
“I still don’t understand how you can live on a narrow boat. It’s so…”
“Narrow?” he asked with a grin. “I like it. I don’t have to worry about getting stuck next to neighbors I hate.”
“Free to roam the open waterways?” she asked.
“So long as I can find a mooring space. You should come out again. We’ll take the boat up the Avon through some of the locks,” he said.
“At least you’re mentioning the locks up front. The last time you conned me onto your boat with promises of sun-drenched picnics on the roof and a slow jaunt down the river, you had me working the locks every twenty minutes. And it poured.”
“The risk of an English summer,” he said, tilting his beer bottle toward her before taking a sip. Then he paused. “What are we listening to?”
She picked up her phone and glanced at the home screen. “ ‘Ain’t That Terrible’ by Roy Redmond.”
“Not your usual thing,” he said.
“Soul’s kind of growing on me. It’s happy music,” she said.
“I’ve known you for almost ten years and worked for you for five, and in all that time I’ve heard you listen to three things.” He held up his fingers. “Indie rock like the Killers and Razorlight, oldies, and terrible pop music.”