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“I’m sorry,” Hester said, and she meant it profoundly. She had mourned dreams herself, and knew the pain of it.
Merrit lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand him,” she said under her breath. “He didn’t ever really love me, did he? Not as I loved him.”
“He probably loves you as much as he is able to.” Hester searched her mind to find the truth.
Merrit looked up. “What shall I do? He’s an honorable man, I always knew he wasn’t guilty! Not just of actively being there, but of persuading Shearer to do it either.”
“Are you sure he wouldn’t have taken the guns even if he had known that they were tainted by murder?” Hester asked.
Merrit gulped. “No …” she whispered. “He believes the cause is great enough to justify any means of serving it. I … I don’t think I can share that belief. I know I can’t feel it. Maybe my idealism isn’t strong enough. I don’t see the great vision. Perhaps I’m not as good as he is.…” That was almost a question; the pleading for an answer was in her eyes. Even now she was half convinced the fault was hers, that it was she who lacked a certain nobility that would have enabled her to see things as he did.
“No,” Hester said decisively. “To see the mass and lose the individual is not nobility. You are confusing emotional cowardice with honor.” She was even more certain as she found the words. “To do what you believe is right, even when it hurts, to follow your duty when the cost in friendship is high, or even the cost in love, is a greater vision, of course. But to retreat from personal involvement, from gentleness and the giving of yourself, and choose instead the heroics of a general cause, no matter how fine, is a kind of cowardice.”
Merrit still looked doubtful. Part of her understood, but she had not found words to explain it to herself. She frowned, struggling to make final the realization she had been trying not to see for days.
“I couldn’t love anyone who would put me before what he believed was right. I mean … I could love him, but not with a whole heart, not the same way.”
“Neither could I,” Hester agreed, seeing the momentary relief in Merrit’s eyes, then the confusion return. “I would want him to do what was right, no matter how it would hurt. That’s the difference. I would want the cost to me to tear him apart … not to add to his sense of glory.”
Merrit trembled on the edge of tears. “I … I really believed … you can’t leave it behind so easily, can you?”
“No.” Hester touched her arm very gently. “Of course not. But I think going with him, pretending all the time, watching the reality grow sharper, would be even more difficult.”
Breeland was coming towards them. He looked a trifle awkward, uncertain what to say now that the tension had passed. He had the guns; he was proved innocent and acquitted. Perhaps he did not even understand the chill in the air.
Judith turned to watch, but she remained where she was.
“Thank you for your efforts on our behalf, Mrs. Monk,” Breeland said stiffly. “I am sure you did it because you believed it to be right; nevertheless we are grateful.”
“You are mistaken,” Hester said, meeting his eyes. “I had no idea whether it was right or not. I did it because I care for Merrit. I hoped she was innocent, and I believed it as long as I could, because I wanted to. Fortunately, I still can.”
“That is the sort of reasoning a woman is free to have, I suppose,” he said with faint disapproval. “But it is too emotional.” A very small smile touched his lips. “I do not wish to be ungracious.” He turned to Merrit. “Perhaps you would prefer to remain some time with your mother before we return to Washington. I understand that. I can wait at least a week, then I should rejoin my regiment. I have very little reliable news of what is happening at home. At least now my honor is vindicated and England will know that the officers of the Union are upright in their dealings. I may well be sent back to purchase more arms.”
There was a moment of silence before Merrit replied with her voice level, but it was apparent it cost her all the strength of will she possessed.
“I am sure your honor is vindicated, Lyman, and that for you that is the most important thing that could have happened. I am happy it is. I am equally certain that you deserve it. However, I do not wish to return to Washington with you. I thank you for the offer. I am sure you do me great honor, but I do not believe we should make each other happy, therefore I cannot accept.”
He looked as if he had not grasped what he had heard. It was incomprehensible to him that she could have changed from the girl who had adored him so completely to the young woman who now made such a considered judgment that, incredibly, amounted to a rejection.
“You would make me very happy,” he said with a frown. “You have all the qualities any man could wish for, and what is more, you have shown them under the greatest pressure. I cannot imagine I could find any woma
n I should admire more than I do you.”
Merrit drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Hester saw the resolve flicker in her face.
“Love is more than admiration, Lyman,” Merrit said with tremendous difficulty, gasping to control her breath. “Love is caring for someone when they are wrong, as well as when they are right, protecting their weakness, guarding them until they find strength again. Love is sharing the little things, as well as the big ones.”
He looked stunned, as if she had struck him, and he had no idea why.
Then quite slowly he bowed and turned and walked away.
She gave a little gulp, drew in her breath to call him back, and remained silent.
Judith came and put her arms around her, allowing her to weep with deep, wrenching sobs that were the end of a dream, and already just a thread of relief.
12
Monk and Hester dined out on the most excellent poached fish, fresh vegetables and plum pie with cream. They walked home arm in arm along the quiet, lamp-lit streets. There was an arch of light across the sky between the rooftops, and a few windows glowed yellow.
