Page 21 of Caroline Saves the Blacksmith
Caroline evidently noted the movement of his hips. Putting her cup down firmly, she rose and walked across the room without a word. William twisted his lips, then brightened when he heard the creaking of the stairs as Caroline climbed them with soft thuds. She must have concluded what his needs were.
Shortly she returned downstairs, walking over to place a chamber pot on the sitting room floor before leaving and closing the door behind her. William sighed his relief that he would shortly alleviate the pressure. As soon as he calculated how to do so without hurting himself.
With some careful exertions, he was eventually positioned back on the settee. “You can return!” he called out so she could hear in the other room.
The door opened, and Caroline came in holding a bowl of water and some cloths. She brought them over to place on the table, moistened a cloth, and handed it to him. William took it and discovered she had heated water to assist him in washing up. He smiled his gratitude as he used the cloth to wash his hands. He put it down on the tea tray, and she handed him another, which he used to mop his face and neck before placing it with the other soiled cloth.
“Thank you.”
“Not at all. I should have thought of it before. You have been trapped here for hours.”
She returned to her seat to drink her tea while William chewed on the wafers. They sat in amiable silence for a while until William finally broke the lull with a question that he had wondered about since their first meeting.
“Why did you move to Chatternwell, Caroline?”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? I came here to start my business.”
“Yes, but … why Chatternwell? How did you choose this town? Are you from Wiltshire?”
Caroline colored slightly, stirring William’s curiosity. Was the modiste embarrassed about something?
“I am originally from Somerset. My man of business searched for a good location to open a fashionable shop, but I wished for it to be in a smaller town with a strong community. Mr. Johnson did excellent research and found this location while I apprenticed with Signora Ricci in London on managing a millinery and dress-rooms of quality.”
“You did not want to have your business located in London? Similar to … Signora Ricci?”
She shook her head. “No, I have no family left, and I miss the time I worked at Baydon Hall. There was a strong sense of community amongst the servants, and I enjoyed the support we provided each other. Chatternwell is a good town. The people are productive, the town is doing well, and one can build professional relationships with honest proprietors. London is too large and aloof for the likes of me. I … like it here. It feels more like a home.”
William leaned back on the settee to stare at the beams of the ceiling while he thought about what she had revealed.
He had grown up here in Chatternwell. Worked here as a boy, and then a man. Other than leaving to fight Boney, he had been nowhere else. He had no other towns to compare it to other than the nearby town of Bath.
It was intriguing to hear his home described by an outsider who was here, not from the happenstance of birth, but by election based on a thoughtful evaluation. It made him appreciate, as he drifted back to sleep, what he had never taken time to consider. Caroline’s words made him realize that, for better or worse, Chatternwell was his home.
* * *
William satin the back of the local church, in the very last pew. It was nearest the door, so it would allow him to leave quickly after the service. In other words, he could reduce how many of his neighbors he would need to engage with. When they visited him in his smithy, he could feign politeness for the sake of business. But after a church service, people were more garrulous. Friendly. They invited him to their homes for Sunday dinners. If he left in haste, he would offend fewer of the townsfolk and be able to return to his smithy to work without interference.
Although this could have been any given Sunday, William realized in a vague sense that he was dreaming because his ankle was miraculously healed. The last thing he could recall was falling asleep in his front room, and the soft sound of Caroline breathing deeply as she slumbered.
He tilted his head in an attempt to hear the vicar’s words. For some reason, they were garbled as if coming from a great distance, but he could just make out the word manger. This must be Christmas service! If he had not injured himself, he would have been here for service this very day.
The vicar droned on, William scarcely able to hear any of it from the back of the church. He stood dutifully and sang hymns, sitting back down but prepared to run for the door as soon as he possibly could. Glancing up at the windows high behind him, William noted that the sky was overcast and it was snowing lightly.
Rustling in the pews ahead of him brought his attention back to the altar. People dressed in their Sunday best were beginning to stand, chattering to each other. The service must be over! Springing to his feet, he made for the exit, jamming his hat on his head as he opened the door to stride out into the wintry landscape beyond.
“Mr. Jackson!”
The voice was directly behind him—he could not pretend he did not hear. He continued to walk on, but threw a glance over his shoulder. “Dr. Hadley, how are you this fine Christmas Day?”
The doctor nearly ran to keep pace with him as William’s longer legs ate up the distance down the path to the roadway. “I am well, Mr. Jackson. It is good to see you in fine health, sir!”
William threw a smile at the older man. He did not wish to offend Dr. Hadley, who he had to admit was a good sort. The doctor had taken care of the town’s people for decades, accepting trade when they had not the means to pay. William reached the road and started toward Market Street, his boots crunching on freshly fallen snow as the doctor hurried to keep up with him.
William would relent his pace, but if he did, then more of his neighbors would engage him in conversation, and he wanted to build the new lock he had been thinking of. If it worked, the device could make him a fortune. Perhaps allow him to sell the smithy and live on its proceeds.
Beside him, Dr. Hadley was huffing in his effort to keep up. “Mr. Jackson, I would be remiss if I did … not invite you to our Christmas feast … I promised Mrs. Hadley I would!”
William halted. They were some distance from the church, and most of the parish was still inside. “That is very kind of you, Dr. Hadley. Tell your wife thank you, and bid her all the best wishes for the holiday season.” He knew the doctor was merely being polite by extending the invitation. They had no true bonds between them. William had cultivated no friendships since his return from the war. These people would barely notice if he left town.
