Page 30 of Hearts at Home

Gwen was finishing up a few jobs before the holiday, while supervising her daughter Rina. Not that Rina needed a great deal of supervision. At nearly nine years of age, she could already make a simple chain that was nearly indistinguishable from one made by her mother. The triple chain she was attempting was far fiddlier, but not really a great deal more complex. Not once you got into the pattern of it.

“It is hard to keep the heat only on the joint you’re cooking,” Rina commented.

“Slow and careful,” her mother advised, and Rina flashed a smile.

She was not yet heavy enough for much of the farrier work, but she had taken to the more delicate work like a duck to water.

Salt, the apprentice, was making nails. He was getting faster, managing around sixty in an hour, and she had begun giving him other simple tasks. When he could consistently produce one hundred nails per hour, he would have the confidence and the speed to copy some of the metal puzzles she had made herself, both as an apprentice and later for sale. That would teach him much he needed to know about twisting, turning, and shaping the hot iron.

She walked over to examine his bucket, which was more than half full of finished pieces, all of them of the right shape and size to attach a horse shoe.

“Mr. Bridgeman will be very pleased with you, Salt,” she told the boy. Uncle Truth, as Gwen and her children called him, was expected before nightfall, with as many of the aunts as could get away from the orphanage. Almost everyone in the household old enough to keep a secret knew about their visit. Only Jack had no idea that his Bridgeman family was coming for Sunday, the Harvest Festival the following day, and Jack and Gwen’s tenth anniversary the day after that. This year, the three events fell three days in a row.

The Bridgemans had been thrilled to reconnect with Jack when he wrote to them a decade ago, though they had not arrived in time for the wedding. They came for the following Harvest Festival, though, and remained to celebrate Jack and Gwen’s first anniversary later in the week. Victorine Charity Hughes made her first entrance to the world on that auspicious day, a week late and demanding attention. Gwen had been attended by all the Bridgeman sisters as well as Meg Wagner, who had become a close friend.

Gwen’s assistant Michael and her journeyman, Richard, would be handling the forge at the Harvest Festival the day after tomorrow. She had hired the assistant farrier when she was heavy with Rina. Richard was another protege of the Bridgemans, starting as an apprentice with her eight years ago. Richard had been known as Righteous when he arrived, but within two months had followed Jack’s example and chosen a name of his own.

Uncle Truth had taken the news in his stride, as he had the name Jack had chosen so long ago. He had also been fully in support of Jack’s decision to take Gwen’s surname on their marriage, which had been more than a seven-day wonder in the neighbourhood. Indeed, some of the old people had been sure it signalled the second coming of the Christ, or at least the downfall of civilization.

People got used to it in time, and Gwen adored Jack for making the choice. The Hughes’ name lived on at the forge even though her father was seven years in his final rest. It would continue into the next generation if just one of her children chose to follow their mother’s path. They were young yet, though Rina certainly had a gift for iron and the fire.

The double celebration on Tuesday would be particularly special: Rina’s ninth birthday and the tenth anniversary of hers and Jack’s wedding. And within the next hour or two, Jack’s surprise would arrive. She wanted to hug herself with glee as she thought of his reaction.

She found herself turning toward the back wall of the forge, as if she could see through it to the training ring beyond. Between schooling young horses and teaching young riders, Jack had made himself a full-time career, and their nephew Sam loved nothing better than to escape from lessons for an afternoon to assist.

Jack had recovered use and strength in his damaged arm over the years. In the early days of their marriage, they had continued the exercises and massage for months without result.

Jack had been ready to give up, but Gwen insisted on continuing, and was rewarded when he began to get movement back again. Full recovery was achingly slow, but her reward was to see him now, carrying a child or fixing the hinge on a door or, as he was now, training a horse. No one who had not known him ten years ago would be able to guess that one arm had once hung limp and useless at his side.

Right now, Jack and Sam had the new horse on a long lead and were putting it through its paces. Undoubtedly, the rest of the children were watching from the rails. Not that they were visible from here. Jack is my sun, and I turn toward him whether I can see him or not. She laughed at her fancy, but it held a core of truth. Jack and the children were the centre of her world.

The rumble of wheels and the clop of hooves drew her attention to the gate, through which a smartly dressed lady was driving a curricle. Victorine Lady Barlow had come to collect Sam.

“Carry on, Salt,” she commanded. “The bucket needs to be full to here before you can have the day off tomorrow.” She pointed to a spot a bare half inch above the current level, and put one hand in the small of her back to help her straighten.

This fifth child seemed to be twice the size of any of its brothers or sisters. It was not due for another three weeks, but was already inhibiting her bending—and especially her unbending. Meg and Adam Wagner said it would arrive when it was ready, and predicted that the Bridgeman aunties might be attending another Hughes birth in the week they planned to visit.

“Gwen,” Vicki called. “Good afternoon. I am here to pick up Sam. Am I interrupting?”

Gwen picked up the soap to wash her hands in a bowl of water. “I have just finished. Let me wash my hands, Vicki, and I’ll be with you. Rina, came and say hello to your Auntie Vicki.”

“Auntie Vicki,” Rina greeted. “Would it be rude for me to finish just this single joint?”

Vicky told her to go ahead and hurried over to watch the process.

As Gwen dried her hands, Jack and Sam came around the farrier, followed by three more of the children, with the fourth riding on Jack’s arm. “Auntie Vicki,” shouted Ellen, who was seven. “Did Yvette come with you?”

Vicki held out her hand to Ellen. “Non, ma cherie,” she replied. “Yvette and her brother Etienne are at home, which is where Sam and I must be, soon.”

“Sam should live here,” announced Adam, who was five, and very dogmatic. “His name is Hughes and our name is Hughes.”

Sam ruffled Adam’s hair. “I belong to the Hughes, sproglet, and I also belong to the Barlows.” At nearly twelve, he still had his mother’s colouring, but he was also showing signs of his inheritance from his father. For one thing, he was shooting up. In time, he would be as tall as Evan, or even taller.

Evan the first, that was. Evan the second was wriggling in Jack’s arms, begging to get down. “Me bang hammer,” he demanded. “Me bang hammer, please, Ma.” They had named him for her brother when Lord Barlow had finally managed to confirm with army records that Evan Hughes had died at the Battle of Toulouse. Gwen was glad that neither he nor Yvette could have known that the other was gone, and took comfort that their love lived on in Sam, and in the warm friendship between their sisters.

Evan was fascinated with the forge, and kept the nursemaid on the hop, except when Jack stole all the children from the nursery, which was not unusual.

Sam and Vicki had no sooner trundled out of the yard, than another conveyance approached, this one a carriage dusty with travel. Sam waved wildly as Vicki passed the vehicle, and Gwen’s heart kicked up a beat.

She slipped her hand into Jack’s elbow. “Come and see who is here, Jack. It is a surprise.”

In moments, the Bridgemans were descending from the carriage. They were quite agile, given their ages. All five had come, and were exclaiming over how the children had grown. The aunties had a kiss, a hug, and a twist of barley sugar for everyone, and Uncle Truth could not stop grinning.

It took them quite fifteen minutes to sufficiently conclude greetings to take the Bridgemans into the house and up to their rooms in a joyous procession.

“You’ll see we’ve finished that new wing since you were last here,” Jack told Uncle Truth. He shrugged. “What with the apprentice and the journeyman, as well as our own growing family, it seemed like a good idea.”

“Very nice,” said Uncle Truth. “Very nice indeed.”

Salt came inside, swearing he’d finished his task, and saying that Tom was home and was banking the forge, which left Gwen with nothing to do but bathe and change for dinner.

What a difference ten years had made. She now had a cook and a kitchen maid to prepare the food, a parlour maid to put it on the table, and an upstairs maid who doubled as her ladies’ maid when she needed help with her gown and Jack was occupied.

As well as that, a nanny ruled in the nursery with the support of a nursery maid. The laundry, which had grown with the family, still went out to be washed, dried, ironed and folded. Two women from the neighbourhood came in twice a week to help with the cleaning. And out in the stables, three grooms helped Jack look after the horses.

The nursery servants would have little to do in the next week. The Bridgeman sisters were there in the nursery when Gwen went to put her little ones to bed. They had the children bathed and into their nightgowns, and were reading them a book, one aunt and one book with each child.

On a previous trip, Gwen had protested that they did not need to work, and had been firmly told that spending time with the children was not work but pleasure.

“We will not linger after dinner,” Aunt Blessed said, as they came downstairs. “Old bones do not travel as easily as young ones. When did you say that baby is due, Gwen, dear? It looks as if you might deliver at any moment.”

“Babies arrive when they please,” Aunt Joy pointed out.

“It should be another three weeks,” Gwen insisted. “It certainly cannot be before Wednesday. On Tuesday, we have all our friends coming for a meal to celebrate Rina’s birthday and our wedding anniversary.”

And the niggle in her back was merely a result of spending too much time bending over the past couple of days. She hoped.

Tuesday dawned sunny, which meant they could put the trestle tables up under a marquee on the meadow closest to the house, with lawn chairs borrowed from all their neighbours. The weather held, too. Aunt Heart had spent the morning with the kitchen staff, and a series of wonderfully smelling trays made their ways out to the tables.

By noon, their closest friends had begun to arrive, all with plates of food and bottles of liquid. The group of veterans who had arrived back from the wars a full decade ago had become comrades in life, even if they had never actually been comrades in arms. Their wives, too, formed a tight group–sisters under the skin who could be depended on to lend a hand or a shoulder at need.

Soon, the older children teamed up into games, some chasing a ball, some skipping or playing tag. A group of girls sat under a tree making daisy chains, and some of the boys were trying out the stilts one of the fathers had made, with many falls and lots of laughter. The older children kept an eye on the younger ones, all under the supervision of the adults who sat near the tables or under the trees, joined in the games, or walked around the grounds.

As the afternoon wore on, the niggles in Gwen’s back became quite clear contractions. She continued to ignore them, though she whispered to Meg asking her to follow if Gwen disappeared into the house for any length of time.

Just as a precaution. Each baby had arrived more quickly than the last, but she figured she would have at least two hours before she needed to take her labour seriously. And everyone would be heading home by then.

She almost made it. Only their closest friends remained when she was beset by an urge to push. By five that evening, Meg put newborn Griffith Hughes into his father’s arms. Jack always insisted on staying with Gwen while she gave birth. “My doing, my responsibility,” he told Gwen, who always assured him that she had an equal part in the conception.

To which Jack always responded, “I cannot have an equal part in the birth, my love. But I can, at least, hold your hand.”

Except this time, apparently . Jack had his arms full, and Gwen had given birth to enough babies to know what was happening again.

Ten minutes after Griffith, his brother slid easily into the world. Jack stared at him, stunned. “We only have one name prepared,” he stammered.

“This one will be Jack,” Gwen decided.

Meg and the aunties sent Big Jack downstairs with his new sons, one nestled in each arm, to be admired by his waiting friends and the children. He was back again by the time the ladies had finished cleaning Gwen up and settling her against her pillows, ready to put the babies to her breasts.

Everyone except Jack tiptoed away once mother and babies were settled, leaving the four of them together. “What do the children think of their new brothers?” Gwen asked.

Jack chuckled. “Ellen asked why we always have babies in the harvest season,” he said.

It was true. In addition to Rina, and now her two smallest brothers, two of the others had birthdays in October. Only Adam was an exception, being born in March.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up and he smirked. “I told her that Autumn is a season for love,” he said.

Gwen blushed. “Midwinter is a season for love, you mean,” she said. “But I can understand why you did not want to explain that to her.”

He kissed her cheek, being careful not to disturb Griffith, who had fallen asleep on her chest. “Midwinter, when it storms, and there’s little to do for days on end.” His voice had dropped to a sultry purr.

She smiled because it was true, but also because it was not the whole truth. “To everything there is a season,” she said, knowing he expected it, and he did not disappoint. As he had, so many times since they married, he said, “Now, and for the rest of our days together, it will always be the season for love.”

THE END

* * *

If you like returned soldier heroes, you might enjoy Jude’s Lion’s Zoo series, about a group of men who served as exploring officers with Wellington’s army, under Colonel Lionel O’Toole, known as Lion.

Famed for their varied skills and their intrepid courage, they were renowned for carrying out missions where others had failed.

Now Napoleon has fallen, they all have a new mission. Each must use his own unique abilities to carve a niche for himself in civilian life.