She took another bite of the braised pork and allowed herself to ponder the thought for the amount of time it took to properly chew and swallow. Then she took a longer drink of wine and pushed the pondering from her mind completely. It did not serve her to fantasize.
Upon finishing the meal, she and Duncan would step into the carriage that would take them to Ipswich, where they would sleep in separate rooms for the first of three hundred and sixty-five nights.
Tomorrow morning, she would awaken in her own home with a husband and begin a life that, for one year, she would live like any other woman.
What a remarkable thing a single day could be.
Amelia arrived in Ipswich on Tuesday and took rooms at the Ipswich Inn for the next week, spending her days at Lavender House teaching Hazel how to properly run it. The small house was lovely, but nearly half a mile from the Burrow Building. Duncan complained every single day about how much more convenient it had been to live in the same building where he worked. After a few attempts to talk it through with the goal of improving his understanding, Hazel stopped defending their decisions and simply agreed, moving on to a new topic each time he renewed his dissatisfaction.
Thursday morning, Amelia stayed at the house to write a letter to Uncle Elliott, while Duncan escorted Hazel to the cobbler. Hazel was looking forward to the new boot almost as much as she was dreading the appointment. When Uncle Elliott’s carriage pulled up in front of the squat building with the shoe-shaped sign that simply read “Cobbler,” Duncan jumped down from carriage and put up his hand to help Hazel descend—always a tricky action for her.
“Thank you,” she said when she reached street level. “I shall manage the rest on my own.”
“I will go with you,” he said, dropping her hand, but then extending his arm for her to take.
Hazel did not move. “I prefer to do this alone. In fact, the Burrow Building is only a few blocks away—you can go to work if you like.”
“I planned to take the morning off in order to accompany you to your appointments as you are unfamiliar with Ipswich.”
Hazel took a breath. That he’d arranged this appointment, and the dressmaker’s appointment for later in the day was very thoughtful, but she did not want him hovering, especially here. “But I do not need your attendance, though I thank you for coming with me in the carriage and having arranged the appointment.”
He furrowed his brow. “You do not want me to come?”
You appreciate his honesty and directness, she told herself, you should trust him enough to give him the same. “No.”
“Why?”
It required another fortifying breath to remain honest. “Because I do not want you to see my foot.”
His shoulders slumped, betraying his intrigue about her foot, which annoyed her. “I am only curious, Hazel, not in judgment of a deformity that was no fault of your own. In the Bible, Christ teaches that physical defects are not the punishment for sin on the part of the person who suffers or their parents, as was a prior belief, but rather an opportunity for growth and personal development of virtue.”
Christ again. They had argued religion Sunday morning when Duncan was surprised she did not want to attend church. It had ended with her flat-out refusal and his mood dour as he left for church alone. By the time he’d returned from church, she had read up on Pythagoras and his wife, Theano, enough to begin an engaging conversation that had left the religious discussion in the past. She had no interest in revisiting the topic.
“Your curiosity does not overcome my right to privacy, Duncan. Thank you, again, for your assistance with this appointment. Please either return to work or wait here.”
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. He looked around the particular block of shops and buildings. “I shall go see Dr. Randall.” He turned west.
“Dr. Randall?” Hazel repeated, suddenly worried. “Are you unwell?”
“No, I just enjoy talking to him about his work,” he said, pointing to the end of the block. “His office is on the corner of Westgate and Elm Street.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You talk to the doctor about his work?”
He put his hands into the pockets of his knee-length wool coat with patched elbows. Amelia had been encouraging him to purchase a new wardrobe that would better reflect his position as a landowner and married man, but he was resistant, claiming he had made enough changes and could not tolerate uncomfortable clothing in addition to everything else.
“If he is not too busy, he will let me practice with his instruments and review his more curious cases. He once let me help him set a broken leg where the bone had come apart. It was quite fascinating.”
Hazel made a face; that did not sound fascinating at all. “Do you visit Dr. Randall often?”
“Not often. It has been some months since I have stopped in.”
“So, Dr. Randall is a friend, then?” She’d wondered if he had friends, aside from Elizabeth and Delores, a friend of Catherine’s he talked of a fair amount.
“We do not socialize, other than my visits and when we greet one another at church, so I do not know that I would call him a friend. I consider him more of an associate, like the blacksmith or Mr. Talmage, the butcher.”
“Do you visit with them as well, observe their work?”
“When I can,” Duncan said. “Before deciding upon accounting for my occupation, I made it a goal to observe as many men at their work as possible. I was quick to determine my aptitude, but still felt a great deal of appreciation for the work some of them perform as their occupation. Some men found my attention irritating, but there are some who invited me to return and I have continued my associations with them.”
“That is very good, then,” Hazel said, finding this information odd but encouraging. It was good that he had some sort of relationship with other men in town. “Enjoy your visit. I imagine I shall be finished in about half an hour.”
“I shall meet you at the carriage and accompany you back to the house until it is time for the dressmaker appointment.”
Hazel watched him walk a few steps before she turned back to the cobbler shop and the uncomfortable appointment ahead.
A bell sounded when she entered. The shop smelled of leather and polish. There were a few finished shoes on display in the window, but as most shoes were custom-made, there was not much variety. The interior of the shop itself was more workshop than store.
“Good day,” a voice said from behind the counter set in the middle of the room.
Hazel approached and looked over the counter at the small man hunched over a boot upended on a metal shoe form. He finished pulling at a thick thread at the top of the boot, then looked up at her over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose.