I'm going to be doing an illustration for this soon. Let me know what part you'd like to see drawn :D

Chapter 10: The Return

Margaret was sitting by the fireplace, near the front windows of the house. It was a very quiet night. They had found themselves talking about her impending engagement, much to Ben's chagrin. However, they were interrupted when they saw Jean through the window, coming up the path on his horse. Ben stood up quickly, heading outside, and walked down the steps.

"Ruth has been worried-" Ben stopped when he saw Jean's sleeve was soaked with blood .he was trying to act as if it was nothing. The blood on his jacket's sleeve was dried. It looked as if the wound had been treated.

"Ruth is worried?" Jean looked surprised. Margaret grabbed his arm and forced him to take off his jacket. Sure enough the wound had been wrapped very tightly in cotton strips.

"What happened?" Margaret admonished him.

"I had a little encounter with a sharp branch on my way to the camp is all," Jean dismissed it.

"It must have been an awfully sharp branch," Margaret said suspicially. Ben chuckled at how Margaret was poking at it. Jean was trying to be patient with the girl.

"You've been gone for over two weeks, Jean," Ben brought them back to the topic at hand, "Ruth has been held up in the house worried sick."

"Worried sick?" Jean seemed a little happy at the news because he expected Ruth not to care about his absence. She hadn't exactly seemed sad to see him go.

"Some men thought you might be dead and came courting, Jean," Ben laughed, "you know that now if anything were to happen to you, you wouldn't be cold in your grave before Ruth had another proposal."

"James Wilkins already proposed to her," Margaret laughed.

"What?" Jean looked a bit perturbed. Ben and Jean stared at Margaret and the silence was deafening.

"She told me yesterday morning," Margaret smirked, "What? It's not a surprise considering-"

"Margaret-" Charlotte came out on the porch, shaking her head to make Margaret stop.

"It's not my business," Margaret said quickly as she got up out of the rocking chair and went inside.

Jean was incredibly confused.

"Why-" Jean tried to find his words, "why is James Wilkins proposing to my wife?"

"He probably thought it best to be the first before her mourning period began," Charlotte interrupted, "Why are you here? You should have gone straight home. That poor girl has been cooped in the house."

"I thought she wanted more time away from me-" Jean bluntly stated, "Considering-"

"Yes, well, about that," Charlotte said sternly, "Ruth is tired of being the brunt of every joke these days. She attacked Jeremiah Hawkins the other-"

Jean shot a look at Ben and he shook his head.

"I think it would be best if Ruth told him first," Ben quickly interrupted.

"What did Jeremiah do?" Jean asked. He knew Jeremiah well, considering that he had fought with him in the war along with Ben.

"He made a very disrespectful comment," Charlotte spoke up, "I think it's time something be done about this."

Jean huffed and mounted his horse. He was frustrated and he could tell charlotte was too. Ben was trying to keep the peace. However, he had heard what some of the men had been saying at the tavern about Ruth and it concerned him too. He knew why his friend and his new wife weren't doing what everyone expected of them. He wished everyone would let it go and allow time to work it out. Charlotte had been trying to keep the gossip at bay but it was beginning to get to the point where people were speculating that James and Ruth were having an affair.

….

Ruth was sleeping soundly. The house was dead silent and all that could be heard was the wind outside. Jean quietly approached the bed and sat on the edge, looking at her. He sat there for a few moments and placed his hand on her arm to wake her up. She let out a startled gasp and nearly kicked him.

She calmed herself when she realized who it was. She looked down at his arm and gasped again.

"Where have you been?" Ruth asked him, "what happened?"

"I had to stay at the camp for a little to make sure it didn't get infected."

Ruth lit a couple candles for better light and flung herself out of bed to grab some dressings and the washing basin. She unwrapped the wound and stared at it contemplatively for a moment. She loosened her grip on his arm and stared at him.

"How did you get this?" she asked sternly.

Jean sat for a few moments and didn't answer. She had seen the wound before during the war. It was a gunshot wound.

"I-" Jean didn't want to worry her.

"Don't lie to me," Ruth said as she examined it further.

"Old Wilkins and a couple of his men caught up to Ephraim and I on the trail," Jean finally said, "We outran them but not before I got this-"

"It doesn't look infected," Ruth sighed in relief as she washed it. The bullet had been removed and the wound had been crudely stitched up.

"What happened with Jeremiah?" Jean asked after a few moments. Ruth slowed her task for a few seconds, trying to find the words to tell him.

"I taught him that saying inappropriate things isn't something to go unpunished," Ruth said as she tightly wrapped his arm, "how did you know about that?"

"I stopped at the Martins before I came here," Jean said. She tied the ends of the dressings together tightly. He winced and then looked at Ruth. Her face was turning the bright red of a young woman who was bubbling up with anger.

"Are you alright?"

"I thought that you'd died, you know," Ruth admonished him, "and now to know that Old Wilkins has it out for you. Life isn't exactly going as I wanted it-"

"It's not easy for me, either," Jean informed her. She glared at him and he knew it was best to back away from saying anything further.

"Tell me the truth," Ruth spoke up again, wanting to ask him the question that Jeremiah had put into her head, "did you visit any women while you were gone?"

Jean looked at her in shock. He hadn't. The thought hadn't crossed his mind. In the past, it had and during the war he hadn't been the picture of saintly perfection once in awhile when they visited taverns. However, after marriage he kept himself from that. He was a firm believer in not having mistresses. Despite what many believed about the French and their morals, he didn't do what was expected of his countrymen in that regard.

"Some of the men implied that you have."

"During the war-" Jean stuttered, "yes- but not now."

Ruth wasn't surprised. She had heard her cousin John ramble about those sorts of things when he was drunk. She cleaned up the old bandages and his bloodied shirt and threw them in the fireplace. They burned quickly as she placed the wash basin back down on the dresser. She picked up his jacket and looked at it. she figured she would pick the sleeve off and sew a new one onto it. there was no sense in discarding it when only the sleeve was destroyed.

Jean looked down at his freshly dressed wound. She had done a beautiful job despite the anger he sensed from her. She sat back down on the bed and laid back down, pulling the blanket over herself. She was relieved he was all right but she was angry about what had happened. More frightened than angry perhaps, she thought to herself. Jean rummaged about and sat down in a chair to return to his nightly routine of boot shining. It was a bit harder with with his arm hurting so badly but he did it nonetheless. He waited for Ruth to fall asleep before he laid in bed.

….