The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

“Yes, a perfectly nice girl,” he said.

Whatever the rest of his thoughts were, he kept them to himself.

The next few days passed awfully slowly. The gardener, Jacob, came to the house the next day. He was perhaps ten years older than Henry Roche and had a fastidiousness about him that the other boys lacked. John Paul found him easy to like, but at the same time, hard to talk to.

He reminded the Colonel of many of the men he had served alongside for all of those years down in Australia. When he revealed that his father had been in the army and he had considered joining himself, John Paul was not surprised in the least.

There was, he said, a considerable amount of work to be done. Thomas and Mark had never brought up any need for workers under them. Jacob took one walk ‘round the yard and immediately declared that he would need at least one assistant.

He added that the state of the gazebo was quite poor, which John Paul indicated he had known. If he and Henry had time, the gardener said, the destruction job would not take more than an hour. As Jacob began preparing for the task at hand, John Paul went inside to find his nephew reading one of his books.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a bit of work to do.”

The young man stood and followed the Colonel into the back without questioning it. He had long-since learned that it was quicker not to ask questions. There would be no argument if he disagreed, and the explanation would be forthcoming in either case.

John Paul opened the door and stepped through, nearly bumping into Henry, who had stopped for a moment. When John Paul looked up, he had no doubts about the reason why.

Jacob had looped a trio of ropes around the pillars holding the gazebo’s top up, high up for leverage. John Paul mentally kicked himself for not having thought of it himself. He was becoming soft, he thought, to have not come up with such an obvious solution himself.

Even still he walked up to the center of the three ropes, by far the largest, and looped the end of the cord ‘round his waist. He took the slack out of the rope by wrapping it around his arm and setting his weight against it.

When he looked over, he could see the other two doing similarly, and when they were all ready he cried out “Heave!” and set about pulling against the rope with all his might as the other two did the same.

The structure gave a mighty fight, and for a moment John Paul could not feel any give as he tried to push away with his feet. And then the entire thing gave a loud, creaking groan and John Paul felt his weight slip. He took a step back and redoubled his efforts, the groan grew into a loud, sharp Crack! that resounded through the yard.

With that, the entire thing began to snap in half and John Paul began stepping back, trying to keep constant tension on the rope in his hands. When finally he saw it about to fall free, he gave a mighty tug and watched with satisfaction as the whole thing began to fall.

John Paul looked at the other men and saw the same look on their own faces. Clearing it up would be as simple as chopping what was there up for kindling, another hour or so of work. But it was an hour that John Paul didn’t have.

He had a date to keep.

He spent the better part of the day fretting over what suit would be most appropriate. He could still fit easily into his uniform, and he confessed that it cut a rather striking figure. The newer suits looked so much nicer, though. Whether to take the added gravitas of the uniform, if it mattered...

In the evening, he called on the Wakefield home, and a young man answered.

“Is Lydia available?”

The man indicated that he would be a moment and closed the door. A moment later, he was back, and stepped back to clear the doorway.

“This way, sir,” he said. “She’ll be only another few moments.”

I st

epped in and waited. There was no special reason she would have known exactly the time, even if she had known the opening night. So there was certainly no reason to fret over her taking the time, but John Paul found himself fretting nonetheless.

Had she seen this play, as well? Would she enjoy it? Would he? Should he bring up his proposal of marriage, or would she? Lydia appeared atop the steps to find John Paul pacing anxiously by the door. In his hands was a red rose, and he wore a fine suit she hadn’t seen him in before. She couldn’t help but think that he looked as good as he ever had.

“We’re going to the theater,” she asked, though John Paul knew that she knew.

“Yes, miss Wakefield, to see the very same play that you asked to see before.”

“Nan will just be a moment, mister Foster.”

“Of course,” he said. A moment of silence passed between them. “I brought you this.”

John Paul held the rose out for her and she took it, smelling it gently. The fragrance was sweet and sharp, and she couldn’t stop a smile from crossing her face.

“Thank you, mister Foster,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”