When Henry Came Home (5 page)

             
"Pa!" she protested, laughing as they lumbered off the porch and down to the grass. When they had gone, she turned to Henry. "I hope he didn't embarrass you terribly," she said.

             
"No," he said solemnly, putting aside the glass, "--not terribly." He put only the slightest emphasis on the last word.

             
She rolled her eyes, but laughed and hugged him fiercely. Then she quieted, and they looked out over the field before them, littered with children and picnicking families. The light had grown dim, and the sun was heavy on the western horizon. "Shall we go now?" she asked, moving a little closer.

             
"Yes," he said, relief and yearning in his voice.

             
"All right," she laughed softly, standing and pulling him up with her. "You go and call the carriage, and I'll say good-bye." She led him to the stairs and helped him to the grass, then left to go inside.

             
Henry walked around the side of the house to the barn, only to find the carriage there but the driver gone. He looked out over the picnickers, but did not recognize the man he sought. He began, slowly, to go back to the house, when a little boy ran across his path. "Jake," he said, quiet but distinct. The boy halted.

             
"Yessir?"

             
It was the first time he had ever been called "sir" outside of the army, and for a moment it unnerved him so that nothing came from his mouth. "Do you know where the carriage driver is?" he asked at last.

             
"Um, sure," said the boy. "Want me to get him?"

             
"Yes, please. Tell him we're ready to go."

             
"Alright." With that, the boy raced off.

             
Henry turned again, and retraced his steps to the barn. He paused a moment before the open door of the carriage, then quickly hoisted himself into the cabin, sucking in a short gasp.

             
A few minutes later, Mary arrived, along with the driver. Seeing that he was already inside, she grinned and clambered up beside him. Her method was unladylike, but there was only he and the driver to see, and she didn't care.

             
There was a jolt as the carriage started, and they waved out the open windows as everyone stood to see them go. When the crowds were behind them and there was a relative silence, they held hands and whispered tenderly into each other's ears.

             
"Why do you love me?" he asked aloud, although it was more of a rhetorical question.

             
She hugged him tightly around the shoulders and pressed her cheek against his. "Mmm…" she sighed. "Because you're gentle and kind and you like to picnic and because you love me." She paused, sighing softly, contented. "Why do you love me?"

             
He took a deep, almost sleepy breath of her flowery hair. "Because you're sweet and you love everyone. And because you smell like flowers."

             
She sat up. "I smell like flowers?"

             
He closed his eyes and breathed in. "Yes. Always."

             
She giggled and then was still, closing her own eyes and breathing deep. "You smell like—" her brow furrowed. "Like—tanned leather and soap!" She opened her eyes and he was smiling at her. "Oh, look," she said, pointing past him and out the window. "We're here."

             
They climbed down from the carriage in the cool dusk of late afternoon, and the driver carried their bag up the stairs and into the hotel. It was the nicest hotel in town, of three, and they had reserved a small suite on the first floor. They went up the stairs and inside, where a boy was already waiting to take them to their room. It was small, but cozy and secure, with three lamps lit, warm in the chill of evening. The boy left their bag just inside the door and exited without a word.

             
Mary faced her husband and turned down his collar, which had somehow gotten displaced, and then reached up to put her arms around his neck. "This," she said, soft in his ear, "has been the best day of my life."

             
He circled her waist with his free arm, his hand almost touching her shoulder blade, and found himself suddenly trembling. He pressed her body to his, fearfully tight. "Mary," he said, "how—can I—ever thank you?"

             
She sniffed, and then laughed at herself softly. "I love you, Henry."

             
"Mary—I love you." They fell slightly apart, though still touching, and sat together on the edge of the bed. Delicately, almost shy, she presented her back, lowering her head and turning it slightly to reveal her slender neck. Her modesty only made her more lovely. Henry set aside his cane and reached out with both hands to untangle the ribbon that bound her dress at the back, his hands patient until at last it fell loose. He removed the crown of daisies on her head and placed them to the side, then, one by one, tugged out the pins which held her hair, letting each shining chestnut strand cascade down her back and feeling as if he might be content if that sight were the sum and whole of his existence. At last, it was undone, and she stretched, arching her back as she ran her fingers through her hair, sighing minutely at the release of pressure. She turned and the front of her dress, stiff, heavy material, fell open slightly, revealing pale, milky cleavage, a part of her that had never seen the sun.

             
Her hands found his face, cradling it softly for a moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed. She slipped the jacket from his shoulders, careful of the medals, and then, slowly, unbuttoned his shirt. With a soft, fluid motion, she removed it, and he looked away, down at his hands, which lay flat upon his knees.

             
She tilted her head slightly and her eyes softened as she looked at him. Barely brushing the surface of his skin, she ran her fingers down the scar that tore, ugly and uneven, from shoulder to elbow. She traced it upward again, and let her fingers continue until they reached his face. She turned his head and waited until he glanced up, fleetingly. "Everyone has them," she whispered.

             
He swallowed again, and looked at the floor. "There are more," he said, low, fingering the seam of his pants.

             
She smiled gently, and closed his mouth with a kiss. Slowly, tenderly, it began, and soon their warm bodies lay close and trembling together on the bed. She moved a little closer, her heart pulsing wildly, and his arms took her in. He breathed out, almost sharply. She paused. "Am I—" she began, "am I—hurting you?"

             
"No," he breathed, "no."

              Mary's eyes sparkled in the morning, like maybe she was going to start crying but didn't want to unsettle him and so she held back. He could tell, though, after a minute of staring at her, that it was mostly out of happiness, and so he smiled a little, relieved. She grinned and hugged him so tight he gave out a little cough, then patted his back in apology and squeezed his hand instead. He didn't mind because he wanted to squeeze back the same. Her stomach complained loudly.

             
"Hmm," he said, and she giggled. He squeezed her hand again, experimentally, but nothing happened. "Broken, I guess."

             
She laughed and sat up. "Well, I'll be fixed when I get something to eat. I kinda wish there were a kitchen in here. I'd make breakfast." She smiled at him over her shoulder. "Prove my worth."

             
"So far—I guess I got my money."

             
"Don't be so quick to judge. My eggs will just about kill you."

             
"I'd die for you any day, Mary dear." He instantly regretted his flippant remark; not because he didn't mean it, but because perhaps she would not know he
did
by the way he had spoken, and because he did not take death lightly.

             
"I know it," she said kindly, sensing his self-reproach. She got up, letting his hand fall away from hers, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, trying to cover her underclothes a little. They were at the end of a hallway, away from everyone. She opened the door a crack, staying behind it. "Maybe I can get that little boy who brought our bags in to get us some breakfast." She opened it a little further, then laughed. "We already been thought of," she said, and bent down to pull in the platter sitting outside on the floor. The silver plate was still warm, and when she had closed the door again she discarded the shawl and brought it over to the bed. "Careful," she said, removing the two glasses of milk, "don't spill." She set them over on the floor.

             
Henry started to eat. "What'll we do today?"

             
Mary sat down next to him and shrugged. "Not much to do, ’round here," she said. She smiled secretly. "But I wouldn't mind stickin' around all day, anyway." She shifted, the bed bouncing a little under them, and picked up a biscuit. "Of course, I guess folks'll expect us out sometime. How long's our reservation here?"

             
Henry shrugged. "I just signed my name," he said. "I reckon they bill us after everything's all added up. They ain't gonna kick us out if we wanna stay."

             
"Still, I guess we should do somethin', to celebrate. Train's comin' in today, I think. Wanna go see what gets off?"

             
"Sure."

             
"All right." She got up and began to dress. "There ain't any clean water left in the basin to wash with—I'm gonna run out and see if I can find us some."

             
The hallway was empty, but when she turned the corner she found the little dark-haired boy that had carried in their things the day before. He was squatted down, leaning against the wall, but jumped to his feet when he saw her. "Yes'm?" he asked.

             
Mary smiled. "Can you get us a pitcher of water? Ours got used up."

             
"Sure, Ma'am," he said, and then stood there, looking nervous and a little sick. "Can—can I ask what for?" he asked haltingly.

             
Mary laughed kindly at his rather impertinent request. "Of course," she said. His hesitance reminded her of Henry. "We're going down to see the train come in and wanna get freshened up."

             
"Ma'am," he said quickly, "if there's anything you want, I'll bring it right to your room for you--"

             
"But we want to see the train," she grinned.

             
He looked ill.

             
Mary bent down a little. "Is something wrong, dear? What's the matter?"

             
He stood one foot on the other and wrinkled his smooth little brow. "Ma'am, it's a secret—I ain't supposed to tell. They'll be awful upset—"

             
"Who will?"

             
He wriggled in place. "I ain't s'posed to let you out," he begged. "You'll see."

             
Mary bit her lip, thinking. "See—what?" she prodded. "No, wait—" she turned and hurried back down the hall, motioning for him to follow. At the door across from theirs, she stopped and pointed. "Is this room empty?"

             
He nodded, agonized, but she went in and across to the window that looked out on the main street. "Ma'am..." the boy pleaded, in desperation.

             
Mary pulled aside the shade just enough to peek out, and laughed. She turned back. "Don't be upset," she said. "We won't let on." She hurried back past the boy, standing in the hall.

             
"You'll stay here?" he said.

             
"Yes, darling, don't worry a bit." She opened the door to her room. "Hen," she called, "you've got to see this!" She went inside and found him buttoning his shirt. "Come on, don't bother with that. There's no one around."

             
"But—“ he glanced down and then away from his bare legs.

             
Mary shook her head. "I'll send the boy away. It's fine."

             
"Oh," he half-whispered, not moving. He seemed frozen.

             
Mary looked at him another moment, waiting, then came fully inside the room and shut the door behind her. "All right," she said, not irritated, and picked his pants off the rack where they hung. She came over and helped him put them on, then handed him his cane and took his arm as he stood. "There," she said softly. "Is that all right?"

             
"I—I'm sorry," he whispered.

             
"No," she said, "don't be. Come on. I want you to see." They went over across the hall, and Mary hurried and pulled back the curtain a little. "Look," she said. "Don't pull back too much or we'll get caught."