Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [13]
Joseph felt a surge of hope and found himself smiling widely. “Of course I won’t tell her. That should be your privilege anyway.”
“To be able to tell her will be one of the greatest rewards of all. But I’m glad you will be home with her for a while. Take good care of yourself. Allow yourself to mend slowly. Build up your strength again. You’ve done such a lot already, you deserve a little time to see the spring.”
Ten minutes later, as Corcoran bade him goodbye, Joseph felt there was a new warmth in the room, an easing of pain. Instead of going back to sleep, or trying to read, he contemplated the reality of being at home for the blossoming of the year. He would see the lambs and calves, the first leaves on the trees, the hedgerows filled with flowers, and all of it untrampled by marching feet, far from gunfire—with nothing broken, poisoned, or burned.
He thought quite suddenly of Isobel Hughes, to whom he had been obliged as chaplain to write and inform her of her husband’s death. She had written back, thanking him for his kindness. A correspondence had developed, only a letter once a month or so. Although they had never met, Joseph was able to convey his feelings of weariness—and his guilt that he could do so little to help. She, in turn, did not make futile suggestions, but gave him accounts of the village in Wales where she lived, providing little stories of gossip, even the occasional joke. It brought him a remembrance again of the sanity of village life where quarrels over a piece of land or a churn of milk still mattered, where people danced and courted, made silly mistakes and gave generous forgiveness.
Should he write and tell her that he had been wounded and was at home for a while? Would she care or worry if she did not hear from him? Or would he be presuming on her kindness? He liked her very much. There was a gentleness and wry honesty in her letters he found himself thinking of more often than he would care to tell her.
In the end he asked Hannah for pen and paper and wrote a brief letter. After she had posted it, he wondered if he had been too terse, and rather silly to think Isobel would be concerned anyway.
He thought of the dugout where he had slept and where most of his belongings were, the books he loved best, and the portrait of Dante. That was where he wrote the almost daily letters he had to, to tell of a death, or a serious injury . . . presumably someone had done that for him, to tell Hannah? He had not thought of it until now. It would have been one of the easy ones to write, because he was still alive.
Who was doing it now that he was not there? Would they have got another chaplain? But he would not know the men, or their families! He would not know the rivalries, the debts of kindness, the weaknesses, and the strengths. He himself should be there! But not yet. He still had time to watch the slow spring at least begin.
The next day he got up for a little while. He knew if he didn’t, he would begin to lose the use of his muscles. The fever was gone; it was just a matter of his wounds healing and his gaining strength again.
It also meant he was well enough to receive visitors outside the family. The squire was already dealt with; however, the local minister was not, and he arrived in the middle of the afternoon. Hannah showed him in to the sitting room where Joseph was sitting quietly, the dog at his feet, tail thumping on the floor now and then as Joseph spoke to him. Hannah shot them both a quick glance of apology.
Hallam Kerr, a man in his forties, was of medium height and build with straight hair parted in the middle. His manner was full of enthusiasm, rather like a school sports master at the beginning of a match, but there were lines of anxiety in his face and something faintly dated in his dress.
“Ah! Captain Reavley! Congratulations!” He thrust out his hand, then as if feeling that Joseph might attempt to get up, he snatched it back again. “Please, please don’t stand, my dear fellow. I simply came to see if there is anything I can do for you. And of course to say