Chapter 21 The Homecoming
Feeling Aaron's hand at her elbow she stepped back onto the cobbled walk, watching the driver unlash their bags from the roof compartment. One covert glance in her husband's direction revealed the firm set of his jaw in profile, for he was gazing up the street in what must be the direction of his home. Breathing a sigh that was partly relief and partly exhaustion, she nevertheless welcomed the walk to which he had alluded in their muttered conversation upon arrival. She felt stiff all over and the musty air in the crowded coach left her eager for fresh air and the chance to stretch her legs. And, judging by Aaron's somber mood, they needed the extra time to ready themselves for whatever awaited them once they reached it.
Wincing at the loud smack with which their worldly possessions hit the frozen ground, she met his gaze. His lips were pursed in frustration as he headed to retrieve their bags. She frowned at the driver's snort of apology as he climbed back up, yanked the brake off and called gruffly to his team to be off. The coach lurched into motion, leaving them with a spray of slushy snow and mud which splattered Aaron's boots and dampened the hem of her gown. With an unladylike protest she yanked up her hem and backed into the solid wall of Aaron's chest, turning to glance up at him in apology.
He pressed a steadying hand to the back of her waist, his eyes firing with silvery light as he gazed down at her. His eyes shifted from hers to the blush creeping over her cheeks, caused by his heated regard. Turning slowly, she placed her palm over his stomach and rose to the toes of her boots. At the same time he bent his head and met her kiss, one which was partially shielded by his hat but unrepentantly public. Closing her eyes at the power of even a gentle kiss from him, she slipped her other hand beneath his coat and caressed his back. For some odd reason neither of them seemed to care that they stood thus in broad daylight right on the street, but when he began to pull away she lowered herself to the ground. He straightened, his eyes burning even brighter and chasing away the chill of the wintry day. As he slowly bent to pick up her bag he was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek.
"Are you all right?" he paused to ask, his attention focused upon her lips.
She smiled, sliding the hand at his back around to his stomach. "Are you?"
His gaze lifted to narrow upon hers, as if doubting the implication of her words. "It is a relief to be off that coach," he said hesitantly.
Ecstatic to discover he knew she'd referred to their kiss and not their journey, she slid her hand up his chest and rested it over his heart. The tension in him was obvious, and she doubted that he'd closed his eyes once the entire trip. She on the other hand had fallen asleep pressed against his side in the crowded coach, comforted by the solid warmth of his body and the thud of that heartbeat.
"There were some pleasurable aspects to the journey," she hinted, noting how understanding lit his eyes.
He cleared his throat and shot a glance up the hill. "We should be off," he said huskily.
Taking his arm, she fell into step with him, though his steps were much wider apart than hers. "How far is it?" she asked, reaching to take her bag from his grasp. He shook his head and retained it. Off in the distance she could see stately homes atop the hilly terrain, each separated from the other by iron gatework, no doubt delineating the better part of town.
"Not far," he sighed, diverting his attention to the opposite side of the street as if he longed to head in the opposite direction.
She crossed her arms over her cloak to shield herself from the stiff breeze pressing against them. After a few moments of prolonged silence she gazed up at his profile, praying that the gloom of his mood might somehow lift.
"If there is anything I might do to make the transition easier," she offered, "just ask."
"You already have," he stated, looking into her eyes, "just by coming with me."
She sighed in frustration. "No really, Aaron, I wish to help. Whatever you advise, I will take it under earnest consideration."
"If only I knew how, I would."
Marching with more determined steps she knew the instant that he realized how fast she had to walk just to keep up with him. Immediately slowing his pace, he nodded apologetically.
"And I will do my best to keep my lips sealed, even should things prove strained," she vowed.
A ghost of a smile played about his lips. "Really," he breathed, "…that is quite a sacrifice—pray that is not sorely tested."
She grinned mischievously. "I am not saying that if the need arises for some objection or protest, I would fail to provide one."
He laughed softly. "Now I almost look forward to that happening."
She hugged his arm as they hiked harder uphill. "Then I would be happy to oblige, Mr. Green."
His smile faded as he directed his attention forward yet again. "Greenberg," he corrected softly. "And may we both remember to use the proper name."
"I'm sorry—I forgot," she said, biting her lower lip and staring up at his profile. "Really Aaron, I don't know how you manage, changing names and personalities, even this King's English you are now employing."
"Practice," he stated, looking down at her. "Though I have every confidence you will prove adept at role playing, as unfortunate a necessity as that may be."
"Well your tutelage has been masterful," she argued, aware of the need for both of them to keep their voices low. "I am quite prepared to share the alternate account of the circumstances of our meeting and marriage, should the opportunity arise."
He chuckled softly. "I'm sure you are."
"Surely you know that as your wife, I am eager to help in any way."
He gazed at her in challenge. "Any way?" he whispered suggestively, his lips curling toward a smile.
Smiling despite the hated blush she felt spreading over her cheeks, she focused her attention upon the hard beauty of his sculptured lips. "Of course—our marriage remains of utmost importance."
"I'm relieved," he sighed, shaking his head good naturedly. "For a moment I thought your interests in playacting might outweigh those of marriage."
"Were I married to anyone but you, sir, that could very well be the case," she said saucily.
He bowed in response, slowing his steps as his expression sobered. Gazing up at the towering edifice beneath which they stood, he frowned. "This is it."
She gazed up at the wide expanse of what could only be called a mansion, one of the grandest she'd ever seen. Its exterior was dark gray and foreboding, its entrance guarded by twin granite columns beyond which extended two wings, each containing what appeared to be three levels. Its façade was somewhat softened by a generous arrangement of expertly manicured trees and shrubs. The only reassuring aspects were its countless windows and balconies, alleviating the sense of its prison-like stature. As they neared the main walk Aaron passed it by, continuing at a faster pace so that she had to nearly run to keep up. Eyeing the next break ahead, she noted the drive which led from it up to a side entrance. This he approached and stopped by, opening the gate and standing aside as she entered. He latched it behind them before continuing on. As they drew nearer she saw a nerve jump above his tightly clenched jaw.
"Even if you are truly the son of the cook or the stableman, I will love you just as completely," she told him just above a whisper.
He choked back a laugh, lowering his chin as if to hide his amusement beneath his hat. "I have often wished that myself."
She pouted. "Then you're not?"
He glanced up, his expression amused. "You seem disappointed."
"I am, especially after seeing such obvious wealth—I'm not sure that even my imagination could elicit a performance convincing enough to narrow the vast gulf separating our backgrounds."
"It's not what you think—I'm not noble at al—"
"Of course you are!" she hissed, her stomach knotting with tension as they approached the side entrance. "Your taking the servants' entrance fools no one."
"I've always entered here," he huffed, reaching for the latch and slowly opening the door. They pressed together to listen, but heard nothing. He glanced down and nodded before leading the way.
They were immediately enveloped in warmth as well as the enticing aromas of cooking—baking bread, apples and cinnamon, roasting potatoes and a meaty sauce smell. Aaron set their bags in a corner of the mudroom to their right while she studied the rows of boots and shoes in all sizes and conditions. Coats, cloaks and jackets hung over hooks upon the wall, and as they slowly made their way down the hall she stared in disbelief at the vast kitchen opening up before her eyes.
There were many counters and sinks, not to mention work tables and a giant hearth. Bubbling over the fire was a large black pot which bubbled and hissed, its fragrance sweet and spicy as if emanating from a hearty soup. Her stomach growled but Aaron did not seem to notice, so intent was he upon sweeping the room with a hawk-like gaze she'd never seen before. Wondering what was going through his mind, she decided against breaking their silence and risking being found out. Though she felt like a burglar he tugged her hand and she followed him out into another corridor. This one was just as empty, as were the rooms opening from it.
"Where is everyon—" she whispered as he raised a finger to his lips, waiting until she nodded.
He led them down its vast length, despite its darkening light and narrowing confines. She remembered the tunnel and prayed that he would not experience any additional torment even here. Thankfully there were windows here and there, but they were smudged with long forgotten fingerprints and cobwebs. He released her hand and she rested it upon his back, staying closely behind him. The few times he glanced back at her she discerned the change in him, analyzing his behavior. Then it occurred to her what the problem was.
He's on another mission, she realized, wondering why his coming home demanded he revert to his role of soldier instead of returning son. Not approving their entering his home in such a manner, she nevertheless trusted him to do the right thing.
Having come to a neglected staircase they began to creep up its narrow, steep stairs, the top of which she could not see. It was draughty and dusty, making her wonder again about his fear of tunnels and confined spaces. Trying to distract herself from her own fears, she tried to envision him sneaking her into a private room and keeping her locked up, hiding her away until he battled whatever enemies that surrounded this place. Loving him for his desire to protect her, she nevertheless worried about how his return would be met.
What are you hiding, Aaron? she asked his broad back, sliding her hand up to his shoulder in an encouraging caress.
He stopped abruptly on the landing and pulled her into his arms, kissing her in sudden hunger and desperation. Momentarily stunned, she forced herself to move and cradled his head between her hands, kissing him back with as much love and need as she could communicate. They had arrived at this level panting from the climb, now breathless with love and passion. He wound his hand into her hair and gently pulled it down, kissing her with such intensity she feared it might somehow be the last time they would ever do so. After some time he groaned softly and fell back against the wall, his arm steadying them both. Dropping his head back, he tensed while she kissed the column of his throat, tightening his arms around her. When she tugged at his shirt he cupped the back of her head and kissed her fervently until she fell still against him.
"You tolerate the worst treatment from me," he derided himself, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers.
"I love you," she whispered, kissing his lips with fascinated interest, "and I have to admit that though this is quite scandalous, I find it exciting."
He swallowed a laugh and pulled her head beneath his chin. As she wrapped her arms around his waist he sat down, taking her onto his lap.
"Where did I ever find you?" he whispered, tracing her lips with the tip of one finger.
"I found you," she whispered back, dropping her head to his shoulder.
He nodded, leaning his head back against the wall once again. They sat that way, listening to the howl of the wind over their heads.
"Is this your room?" she whispered, toying with the edge of his collar.
He shook with laughter, tightening his hands around her waist. "What if I said yes?"
"I'd suggest another hotel room."
"Good idea," he sighed, glancing up at the door just above them which no doubt led into a main corridor inside the house. "In fact, why don't we just leave and find one?"
She shook her head. "We're both too tired—and you have to face them sooner or later."
"They're not home."
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
"Then why don't we go find your staff and get set—"
"Shhh," he breathed, tensing as they heard a door close just above them. She rose with him and they crept up to the landing, where he pressed his ear against the door separating them from the others.
"It's got to stop!" a man's voice croaked. "I'm taking matters into my own hands!"
Aaron tensed, bracing his arm around her shoulders as they eavesdropped.
"But the master said we'd be fired!" an older woman hissed in warning. "And he might show up at any moment!"
"I'm going for Dr. Kimball instead—"
"He only lets Dr. Stevens examine her—"
"They're in it together, I swear," the man insisted, trying to contain himself to a whisper. "Since he started treating her she's only gotten worse!"
"If only Master Aaron were here—then we'd have hope…"
Ceara glanced up at Aaron, who nodded. He pushed on the door and opened it, and light flooded into the dim passageway, hurting her eyes. She heard the indrawn breath of the two older servants, eventually focusing upon their frightened, amazed expressions.
"What's happened to my mother, Bennett?" Aaron demanded, gripping Ceara's hand and pulling her to his side.
She wound her arm around his waist and stood pressed up against him for support as they found themselves the continued study of two open mouthed staff.
"It cannot be," the man croaked, stumbling as the much shorter but plumper woman gripped his arm.
"Praise be, it is him!" she gasped, rooted to her place beneath the small chandelier that lit the hall.
Ceara smiled at them as they rushed toward them, watching as the woman threw her arms around Aaron. The man gaped at him, his lined face lit with a hopeful expression.
"It is you, sir," he said in awe, his sharp eye upon Aaron as he stepped from the woman's embrace to shake his hand. "After all this time…"
"She needs you," the woman cooed, "and at long last, you're back."
"Why is she ill?" Aaron asked quietly.
"She had an attack just two days ago, but once she sees you she'll recover," the woman nodded, her gaze resting upon Ceara. "I'm Harriet—but who are you, little lady?"
"This is Ceara," Aaron said, his gaze apologetic as he eased her forward. "My wife."
"Wife?" both servants whispered, their expressions a mixture of joy and fear. "Does he know?"
"He will soon enough," Aaron said, turning to the man.
Ceara swallowed at the foreboding tone of their voices, wondering what kind of encounter they might share.
"Bennett, if my mother needs a different doctor then go fetch one," her husband instructed in a masterly tone. "I will take full responsibility."
"God is good," the man muttered, nodding to Ceara as he rushed down the stairs. "I'll return be as fast as I can."
Ceara bit her lower lip to hide her amusement at the elderly man, noting how he ran with sudden agility down the staircase. Her eyes went to Aaron as Harriet hugged her.
"Where'd you go and find such a pretty wife, sir?" she wanted to know.
Ceara met his gaze and smiled weakly.
"She found me," he said softly, his eyes lit with a combination of anxiety and warmth.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Harriet," Ceara said, shaking her hand.
"You must meet the Missus," Harriet insisted, looking up at Aaron. "When she sees you and Ceara she will surely recover."
He nodded. "Let's hope so—Ceara?"
She took his outstretched hand and followed him down the hall, glancing back to see the woman standing gazing fondly after them. She was nodding and mouthing the word "wife" it seemed.
Aaron slowly opened the door to his mother's suite, astounded by the stale odor and murky darkness which greeted them. Tightening his grip on Ceara's hand, he walked toward the bed, stopping at the foot to stare down at the frail looking figure lying upon it and finally deciding it must be his mother.
Five years, he tallied quickly, guilt piercing his heart at the number of years since he'd last seen her and devastated by what they had apparently done to her. How strange that she of all people should be lying abed in the middle of the day, something he'd never seen her do except only upon the rarest of occasions. Worse, her eyes remained closed despite their entrance, her breathing barely discernible. He studied the veins in her pale skin, the bluish tint beneath her eyes and the sunken cheekbones of her once lovely face. Beneath her nightcap her hair had somehow grown white and was considerably thinner. The hand atop the blanket covering her from the shoulders down lay immobile. Lowering himself to sit upon the edge of the mattress, he reached for and found it cold. Her stillness brought an unexpected flood of tears to his eyes and he dropped his head in dejection.
Ceara's hand gripped his shoulder as he remembered this cold hand once ruffling his hair when he was a boy. It had purposefully laced his vests, doctored his cuts and guided his fingers over the keys of their old piano. He heard the distant echo of her laughter and her voice calling his name. Shuddering with the sudden sensation of death entering the room, he lifted his head at Ceara's soft gasp, as if she too sensed its presence. Accustomed to its sinister presence from years of battle and torture, he could not reconcile its overshadowing his own mother here in her bedroom. He felt shaken to the core and eerily unsettled. Ceara began to whisper something under her breath and he was overwhelming comforted by her being a woman of faith and prayer as well. Nevertheless he choked back a sob.
"Mother—," he croaked, longing for some sign of her stirring. "It's Aaron…I've come back to see you."
There was no response, yet he continued to wait, watching her carefully. "I'm sorry…I've not come for so long."
He glanced up at Ceara, who tore her gaze away from his mother's face to meet his. "May I look at her medications?" she whispered, and when he nodded she stepped away.
"I have some time off," he went on, though he doubted the effort would produce anything. She looked too weak, almost as if she were awaiting death. What despair gripped her, he wondered, despite his knowledge of her situation. She had always seemed to manage even that. "I want you to meet Ceara, Mother—she's my wife."
Their gazes met and she smiled, her fingers sliding around the small vial she held. He lifted his brows to prompt the opinion she obviously wanted to share. Glancing at his mother with a frown, she met his gaze once again.
"I'm not sure she should be taking this," she whispered to him, holding up the vial.
He slowly trailed his fingertips over his mother's cold knuckles, shaking his head. "What else do they have her on?" he whispered back.
She held up a hand before continuing to examine each label, having moved on to the tins. He he leaned closer to his mother.
"I've finally married, Mother," he reminded her, remembering all their arguments over the past few years. "Open your eyes and meet Ceara, Mother…We've traveled some distance to see you…"
Whether it was a sigh or a gust of wind he could not tell, but as he studied her lids he thought he saw something move. Glancing up at Ceara, he found her distracted by her inventory.
"You will like her very much," he continued, hoping the conversation might pull her from whatever depths wherein she drifted. "She's got beautiful blue eyes, and black hair…she is very intelligent but engaging," he smiled weakly, waiting for his wife's attention, which he found came soon enough. "She's not at all the simpering type…if you remember, you will know to what I refer when you open your eyes."
Ceara put down the last of the vials and glanced at him, then bent to gently stroke his mother's hair. "Mrs. Greenberg—" she said, her eyes shooting back to Aaron when she realized her mistake.
As she did Aaron felt a twitch in his mother's hand. His attention shot back to her, and as he studied her intently he saw her lids move.
"I'm sorry, I forgot you've remarried," Ceara tried to explain.
They heard a whoosh of air and the patient's eyes slowly opened, blinking even at the dim light. Aaron gripped her hand, nearly shouting for joy. He nodded to Ceara, who gently stroked her temple and kept talking at his bidding.
"When I first met Aaron, I thought he was the most stubborn, intelligent and handsome man I'd ever seen—"
"Aaah-ron!" his mother breathed, holding her eyes open as she gazed up at him. Squinting, she turned her hand in his, weakly smoothing her thumb over his.
"It's me, Mother," he encouraged, smiling for joy.
"You've come…" she sighed, her expression brightening.
"Yes, Mother," he choked, leaning close to cup her cheek in his palm. "I've come to see you—
forgive me for waiting so long."
"You're…war."
"Not now, Mother—I want to introduce you to Ceara, my wife—"
"Wife!" she gasped, pulling her hand from his to cough into it. She tried to turn her head toward Ceara, who reached for a glass of water and held it for her.
"Just take a sip," she encouraged, touching the glass to her lips.
She took two sips and rested back, her eyes lowering from Ceara's face to return to Aaron's. "Where—"
"Shhh," he encouraged. "We're here now, and will take care of you."
"Now rest," Ceara said softly, glancing at Aaron as she put the glass back upon the table.
"I'll sit with you until you go to sleep—" he offered.
"No!" she sighed, closing her eyes but grasping his hand. "Don't leave…"
"We're here to stay, Mother," he assured her, nodding in thanks as Ceara moved a chair close to the bed for him. "If you need anything, anything at all, let me know—"
"Stay…" she breathed, calming considerably.
"Whatever you want," he reminded her gently. "Just let me know."
She motioned weakly, so he leaned closer, listening for her request. "Baaab," she sighed, a smile curving her lips while her eyes remained closed.
Aaron leaned closer, gripping her hand. "What was that, Mother? Anything, just say it."
"Ba-by," she sighed, relaxing back toward sleep.
Aaron stiffened, glancing up at Ceara, who hid a smile behind her hand. She was blushing furiously. He gazed back down at his mother in consternation.
"You want a baby?"
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