The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

The burning pain in his hands and his thighs faded away, and his breath came as deep as ever even as it burned his lungs. The only things he felt were his own determination and the burning in his chest. He ignored the pain and pushed through still more, but this time the pain didn't fade.

It didn't matter, though. He continued up the steps, and through the door, and they lowered the desk down to the floor. Thomas looked at his employer as he leaned over to catch his breath a moment.

"Are you sure you're quite all right?"

John Paul shot him a look and that was the end of the questions. They went back down the steps and grabbed the mattress from his room, carrying it easily up the steps and propping it against a wall before going to get the next item.

The frame was heavier and harder to carry, but again John Paul pushed past it. He knew this was not normal for him; the younger men, even Jacob, all looked nearly fresh-faced, but he felt as if he had worked himself to the bone.

Chapter 13

John Paul slept like a rock that night; he was glad for not dreaming; it meant that he didn't have to wonder what was more wondrous, his dreams of the future or the future that lay before him. He always wondered, also if perhaps the sleep didn't make it all the more tiring to him; he found himself often thinking that he was more tired when he awoke than when he went to bed.

Outside, Henry was standing on the porch watching the gardeners work, and as John Paul dressed he thought he might go himself.

"Thomas, will you make me some lunch, perhaps?" he said as he passed by the kitchens. Thomas called out that he would.

The Colonel pushed the door open and walked up beside his nephew. For a while, neither of them said anything. The work was coming along nicely in the garden, going along nicely on the flooring. John Paul was quickly running out of problems in the house; in a month's time, he thought, they would have a proper-looking house to live in, and then they'd be able to insinuate themselves into society.

At last John Paul broke the silence.

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"Henry, my boy. Would you care for a bout of fencing?"

Henry looked at him closely in the face for a moment.

"You really should see a doctor, uncle. You don't look very good."

"Is that a 'no' then?"

"I suppose it is," Henry said, sounding bored. It was an odd change of pace, but the Colonel didn't press the issue. He looked out instead at the garden once again.

"I'll be inside, then, if you need me," he said, and pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Thomas was about ready with the food, it seemed, so he waited in the kitchen for him to announce that he could take something. Eventually he handed a plate to the master of the house, with a grilled sandwich on it.

"Thank you Thomas; you always know what I want, it seems."

"No trouble at all, sir, you're not particularly picky, after all." Thomas smiled and sat back down on the chair set aside for his use. He picked his book back up and started reading while John Paul stood there, until finally the Colonel turned on his heel and pushed the door to the main room back open.

It really was quite good, he thought. There was absolutely no complain to be made whatsoever. The bread, just crisp enough; the beef, crisp but thinly-sliced. There was no better sandwich, and if there was then he hadn't eaten it.

There was a plan later that day, of course; he would see Lydia for a while, perhaps half an hour, at a park. She had implied when they made the plan that Simon might insinuate himself into the date, and so John Paul had come up with a plan to have him stay occupied by bringing his nephew along as well.

The lad was about the same age as Simon, and they would probably get along well enough. That was assuming, of course, that they didn't already know each other, since it seemed as if you couldn't get any sort of debt that Simon had at his age without the rougher element, and it seemed as if Henry were the type to go back to that sort of life after the time that he'd spent there in the life before he'd come here.

Still, he wondered if Henry weren't angry with him over something; he had been awfully distant these few weeks, never around or available in spite of the fact that John Paul was the one who paid for the vast majority of his food,m kept the house over his head. The gall of it was not entirely lost on John Paul, but he packed it away and instead pursued the novel he'd picked up weeks ago.

He seemed never to have time to read any more, as things got quicker and quicker with the wedding. He had been aware that preparations were expected, but he hadn't known what they were to be, and it seemed now that he was involved that there were thousands of things needing to be done, letters to be written, clothing to buy, jewelery, and a thousand other things he hadn't thought of yet.

Still, Lydia seemed to know well enough what to do, and she had so far had no problem keeping him updated on what was to happen next. A whisper here and there, a guiding hand where needed... she was a fine teacher when it came to matters of society. She had no difficulty keeping her help subtle where necessary, so as not to have him make an embarrassment of himself taking advice from a young bride on matters that he should have been well aware of himself.

"Henry," he said as thee young man came in from the outside. "Don't forget, we've got that meeting with Lydia and her brother this afternoon."

"It's not a meeting, you said."

"Yes, a simple walk in the park, I remember. Don't argue with me, now, just get ready to go some time in the next couple of hours."