“I’ll check on that one first then.” She could feel his gravelly voice in her chest.
“Thank you.” She stepped backward, bumping into a wheel barrel and then stumbling around it. Her emotions scrambled into an even less intelligible puzzle. “Do you have need of anything? Water? Tea? Are you hungry?” She barely remembered her manners. He was a guest, after all, who was laboring for free on her estate. A major, no less!
His eyes dancing, he shook his head. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“All right then. And thank you again, for everything.”
“Naomi?” He called out just as she was about to bolt.
She didn’t answer but met his gaze.
“There’s no right or wrong way to handle this. There’s no one here to judge you. Whatever is right for you, is simply… right.”
The back of her eyes stung at his words and she nodded.
In the days that followed, Naomi made it a point to rise each day before Luke arrived, wash up, and with Ester’s help, don her short stays and one of her recently dyed gowns.
She’d intended to return to the task of sewing coverings for the windows, but when she discovered a lovely mint-colored muslin in one of the old trunks, she instead washed out the musty smell and went to work making a quilt for her baby’s bed. She embroidered stars and moons on the leftover material and made a few small pillows for decorations.
But babies didn’t require pillows, did they? For the hundredth time, she wished her mother were here to answer these little questions she’d never before considered.
It was handy having the major about, however, and… interesting.
Even when Arthur had lived here with her—before he’d joined up with his regiment—most days he’d grow edgy and irritated if he couldn’t go into town almost daily. He hated being housebound, he’d told her once.
It was always Arthur who completed any necessary shopping, and Naomi had usually been content to remain at their home. She’d not been naïve to the fact that he passed a good deal of his time at the tavern. A few nights, she remembered, he’d not returned until the following morning. On those instances, he’d show up looking sheepish, bearing flowers or some gift, and full of apologies.
Ale made him sleepy. He’d always be sure to be home most of the next day and make love to her the following night. Sometimes, they’d lie in bed in the mornings together, he’d rest his cheek on her belly and talk to their baby.
He’d said he was excited that they would become a family and had promised to fix up the nursery before he left. But time had run out.
Luke’s reliability was a stark contrast to Arthur’s habits.
They were very different types of men, she reminded herself. Arthur’s devil may care attitude toward life had attracted Naomi. All her life, she’d been a good girl, done the right thing. He had personified some of what she’d longed for.
Luke, however, was levelheaded and practical. Solid.
Dependable.
He arrived daily, without fail, and tackled each repair in a level-headed manner. And aside from the first day that he’d purchased the supplies without speaking to her first, he always consulted her before commencing a new project. He’d patiently explain the different options and then answer any questions she’d had.
Did she want the porch painted white or brown to match the stone accents on the house? Which part of the roof needed to be repaired next? And would she mind if he added bins in the pantry when he repaired the cupboards?
His presence was comforting and consistent. And he never chastised her if he caught her wiping a tear or, on the one occasion, when he’d come upon her sobbing in her garden.
He’d simply taken the hoe out of her hands and gone to work digging up the last of her potatoes.
When she had pulled herself together, he’d handed it back and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“At least now you won’t have to worry about watering them,” he’d said.
And she’d gone from crying to almost laughing. It had not been the first time he’d done that for her. Given her the chance to grieve and then brought her back to the present in a way that she knew she could go on.
On the eleventh day of her widowhood, Naomi determined it was time she did some real work on the nursery. Water stains aside, the white color of the room had grown dull and gray from age and the pale-yellow paint Arthur had purchased over the summer had yet to be applied. Surely, she could manage to brush the color on herself. How difficult could painting be?
She dressed in her oldest frock and, after drinking a cup of tea with cream and sugar and eating a plate of eggs, climbed back up the stairs and entered the charming little room she’d selected for her baby.
First things first, she drew back the heavy drapes but then immediately bent over coughing from the heavy cloud of dust she’d unsettled.
“Want some help?” Luke’s sudden appearance made her jump.
“You need to make more noise when you walk.” She sent a mock glare to where Luke was standing in the doorway. “Or wear bells.” He had a habit of appearing out of nowhere, often leaning against a doorframe and giving her that crooked smile that was becoming far too important to her.
He pointed outside where splatters of rain were hitting the window. “I can’t do much outside until it stops, and Ester is baking and has shooed me out of her kitchen.”
“She must be baking bread.”
“And an apple pie.”
“Well then, we mustn’t hinder her in any way.” Ester’s pies were legendary, and Naomi’s appetite seemed to have returned almost voraciously.
The volume of splatters on the window increased and the thrumming rain was now a dull roar. Autumn was flying by unapologetically. Whereas a few weeks ago the rains had felt almost warm, a biting wind now accompanied them. At least half the leaves had been blown off the trees and the other half glowed red, orange, and yellow quite spectacularly. But picturesque, or not, Naomi could hardly expect Luke to work outside in the rain.
“I’ve never done anything like this before.” She gestured toward the walls with one hand, rubbing her belly with the other. “But I’d like to fix the room up for my little radish.”
“She’s becoming more of a potato now. Far too big to be a radish.”
“You keep calling her a girl.” She shook a finger at him. But when splayed her hand over the mound growing inside of her, she couldn’t help but add, “Perhaps a pumpkin.”
“Cockfield intuition.” Damn that grin. “Perhaps a cantaloupe but not quite a Pumpkin.”
“Cockfield intuition!” She couldn’t help but shake her head at that. He was so very good at this. Making her laugh at the simple things when a week ago she’d doubted she could ever laugh again.
“I wouldn’t mind a little guidance.” She winced as she stared at one of the walls. “This color is too dreary, regardless if my potato is a girl or a boy.
Luke pushed away from the doorframe and sauntered in. After running his fingers along the wall in various places, he brushed his hands together, scowled, and came to a decision. “We need to wipe it down first.” He startled her for a moment by jumping up and down a few times. “But the floor seems solid enough.” When something in the darkest corner of the room caught his gaze, however, he frowned. “I thought I’d repaired this leak already.”