Page 70 of Libby's London Merchant
He glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “Of course, maybe that sets differently with you, considering that one of these days, in the fall, more like, you’ll become part of the Cooks’ traveling circus,” he said, in his best imitation of Wallis Casey.
She did not smile, but merely looked thoughtful. Why did I say I would marry him? she asked herself again.
“Regrets, Libby?” he asked then, his voice gentle.
“I would be lying if I said no, Anthony,” she replied, unable to look him in the eye. “I mean, it is no one day, and yes the next. Am I so fickle?”
“I said I was a patient man, my dear,” he reminded her.
“So you did. So you did.”
Joseph rode ahead of them on the tree-shaded path that led from the Casey holdings, careful not to get out of their sight. They traveled the lane past two more modest holdings, where children came out to wave as they went by, and to jump up and down when they saw it was Dr. Cook.
Libby watched the excitement at each crofter’s cottage. “You are a popular man among the infantry,” she commented. “What is your secret, sir?” she asked, teasing him, atoning for her second thoughts.
“Lemon drops,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a linty clump of candies all stuck together from last night’s rain. He pulled one off the wad, dusted away the lint, and handed it to her. She popped it in her mouth.
Joseph waited for them at the next rise, his eyes dancing with excitement. Libby smiled to see him sitting so straight on her uncle’s horse. I wish Papa could see you, she thought. He would be so proud.
“What are you so exercised about, Joseph?” Anthony asked as he reined in beside his father’s horses.
“Dr. Cook, I think I know where I am!”
“Tell me then, Joseph,” said the doctor.
Joseph pointed. “Isn’t that your house? The one with the stone facing and four chimneys?”
“The very same,” said the doctor. “Well done, my lad. Libby, I think Joseph has found our way home.”
She clapped her hands and Joseph beamed. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Race you!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Rascal,” said the doctor. “How can I win, think on?”
They watched Joseph ride toward the house. Libby sighed and touched Anthony’s arm. “Do you suppose his memory will ever come back completely?”
The doctor considered the question and then shook his head slowly. “I do not. It will likely come and go. He will probably have to be told over and over, and we will always have to know precisely where he is. A lowering thought, Libby?” he asked.
“Well, yes, in a way, but. . .”
She stopped. Her thoughts were becoming too tangled. She wanted to tell Anthony how good it made her feel when he said, “We will always have to know,” instead of “you.” She realized for the first time how much easier her responsibility for Joseph would be if she shared it with another. But is this really the one I am to share my life with? she asked, and stole a glance at the big man seated so tall beside her.
She watched his face, surprised that he did not notice how hard she was staring at him. After a moment’s bold contemplation, she realized that he was intent on the meadow before him. She sucked in her breath as his face paled and he rose up in the gig.
“Joseph,” he was whispering. “No! Go back!” And then he was shouting at her brother, waving his arms, as she stared at the field in sudden fright and wondered what he was looking at.
Libby clutched his arm and he shook her free, sat down, and slapped the reins smartly on the horse’s back. She grabbed the seat as they lurched off the main road and down the little-used track that led into the Cook estate.
Joseph looked back once, waved, and continued on his way, unaware of Anthony’s shouts. It was then that Libby noticed a quick movement to the side of the field by the hop gardens. Squire Cook sat on his horse, statue-still, a musket pointed at Joseph as he ambled along, unconcerned, unaware.
“Oh, God,” Libby breathed. “Anthony, does your father think he has stolen those animals?”
Anthony was beating the horse with the reins now, unmindful of her, his eyes full of Joseph, who had stopped as if he finally sensed danger but could not locate the source. He looked back at them over his shoulder, uncertain what to do.
“Get off the horse,” the doctor said, his voice low and intense, as if he were willing Joseph to do as he said through some telepathy between man and boy. “Just do it, lad. Ah, God!”
Libby screamed as the gun smoked and Joseph jerked backward, clapped his hand to his face, and toppled from his saddle, a spot of red blossoming on his cheek. Libby tried to leap out of the gig, but Anthony grabbed the back of her skirt and jerked her down.
“He may have another gun. Hold still. Hang on.”
