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By Root 1414 0

for several days, and the house had brightened, all the promise of a spring that was still to come. He had been surprised at his own sense of relief, that his retirement had meant more to him than he would ever have believed. He had spent as much time as her energy would allow in talking to her about the repairs, all the projects he was beginning to plan. She had listened politely, pretended to share his enthusiasm, until he finally understood that details of woodworking were boring even to him. Their talk had turned to travel, the chance to visit Ireland perhaps, places he had long taken for granted. Her happiness had opened up a place in him he had never known, so different from a soldier’s life. It was as though the war didn’t exist, and the very criticism he had voiced of the government had instead become a blessing. It was indeed so very far away, and so very removed from this family, this soldier who was now only a husband and father.

But the winter had dragged on, and the enthusiasm they shared was weaker now, cut down by the return of her ailment. He still tried to bring her out of the bed, waking her to a new day, hopeful that she would feel the energy. But the humor, the playfulness had faded away. As he slipped quietly from their room, he had grown more afraid that she might never find the strength to share all the joyful plans.

He had fashioned a study out of a side room off the large entrance hall, but could not avoid the uncomfortable dampness that plagued so much of the house. He had been absorbed in his reading, a manual on herbs and flowers, something he had bought for Jemima. He set the small book aside, reached for the tea, cold, had let it sit too long. There were padded footsteps in the hall, and he said, “Yes? Who’s there? Ruthie?”

The old woman peered around the door.

“Aye, sir. Would you be needin’ a thing from the kitchen, then?”

He glanced at the teacup.

“No, quite all right.”

“If you’re sure, then.”

She did not move away, and he looked at her now.

“Is there something else?”

He could see the concern on her face, and she seemed to hesitate.

“I don’t mean to be troublin’ you, sir. I’m a mite worried about Miss Jemmi.”

He looked down, felt himself sinking into the chair.

“She’ll be all right. We must allow her to rest.”

The old woman said nothing, backed away, and he said, “What else should we do?”

It was a question he had asked himself every day, and she said, “I don’t know, sir. Everyone says that with you coming home, she’ll be up and right just anytime. I just don’t know . . .”

“It will still be that way, Ruthie. I’m not going anywhere now. Nothing is as important to me as Jemima, and getting her strength back. She has been . . . somewhat better.”

“I hope so, sir. It’s all she’s talked about, you coming home. You two ought to be together.”

He stood now, moved past her into the hall. He looked at the stairway.

“You’re right. Surely, that’s all it will take.”

FEBRUARY 14, 1779

The doctor had come, a younger man, had stayed with Jemima for most of the afternoon. But he was gone, no answers to their questions, only reassuring words that convinced no one.

Jemima had not left the room in two days, and Cornwallis had climbed the stairway to look in on her yet again. Ruthie had brought tea, the tray on the floor outside the door, and he opened the door slightly, the small dark room holding tight to the odor of sickness.

“Jemima?”

He waited for her response, small movement in the bed, but the room was silent. He eased inside, put a hand on the blanket, said again, “Jemima? There’s tea. Ruthie has prepared . . .”

He saw her face now, the sad frailty replaced by a quiet calm. He moved close, put a hand on her cheek, felt the soft cold stillness. His hand shook, and he backed away, felt a hard icy hole open inside of him. He reached behind him, felt for the open door. He could not look away from her, backed away still, was outside the room now, his eyes fixed on her face. He wanted to speak to her, some words, her name, but there was no voice in him, no sound at all, and with