Chapter Forty-Five

The day after the funeral was Sunday, and Jacob and Grace slept in rather than going to church. The day was a bit warmer than the previous one, so Jacob let Grace run around the backyard all morning while he pretended to read a book. He was grateful when Grace fell asleep after lunch—getting the three-and-a-half-year-old to nap was growing increasingly difficult—because it gave him a chance to sleep as well rather than having to while away the afternoon.

He was relieved the following morning to open the store and immerse himself in his work. Mercifully, Luo Jun didn’t try to express condolences. He greeted him with his usual nod and “Good morning, Mr. Lewis,” before disappearing into the sewing room and firing up the Singer. Even when they ate lunch together and he couldn’t possibly have not noticed, Luo Jun didn’t ask about the bandage still wrapped around Jacob’s right hand.

If only the customers had been as reserved.

Everyone who came through the store that day, even people Jacob had never seen before anywhere in town, had heard of Eleanor’s death and felt it necessary to tell him just how very, very sorry they were to hear of his family’s loss. And wasn’t it just horrible, that poor little baby now having to grow up without his mother?

Whatever Clara said about childbed fever, this was his fault. He’d had to play the hero and perform a surgery he’d never attempted, and somewhere along the way, he’d made a mistake. And Eleanor had paid the price for it. Andrew paid the price for it. So did Benji.

Over the next few days, he fell into a pattern. Get up, go to work, focus on the clothing—don’t forget to smile at the customers!—go home, feed Grace, put her to bed, go to sleep. Get up the next morning and do it again.

From an outsider’s perspective, he probably looked like he was doing fine. Yes, they’d had a terrible loss in the family, but life goes on, doesn’t it? And they had Benji to carry on Eleanor’s memory.

But inwardly, he was rotting. He vomited into his chamber pot nearly every morning when he awoke, and after a week of waking up drenched in sweat halfway through every night, he began taking a swig of laudanum before bed. He didn’t like that it thrust him into such a deep sleep that he wouldn’t hear Grace if she called out in the night, but he couldn’t bear any more dreams of Eleanor. Standing in the sunshine on the deck of the Novato and holding up Grace’s dropped rattle. Appearing at his door on Grace’s first birthday and making him explode with laughter over her tales of a cursing parrot. Blushing every time Andrew paid her a compliment.

“It should have been me,” he mumbled to Hannah’s portrait one evening as he sat at the desk in his bedroom before turning in. Claire had written him, asking to abandon the remaining weeks of her semester at school and come home. He’d just finished a response, telling her there was nothing she could do to change the situation here, so she’d be better off finishing the semester. He rotated his brown bottle of laudanum absently in one hand while staring at the photo of his late wife. “You were the better of us. If one of us had to go, it should have been me.”

He fingered the Minié ball through his pocket where it resided again and imagined Hannah, older than in her portrait, perhaps with graying streaks in her hair. Life would have been difficult for her immediately after his death, but her sister would have taken her and Lyddie to Boston to live with her. They would have been happy. Perhaps Lyddie could have attended college. They would have made bandages to send to the front and raised money for the Union effort, but the war would not have touched them in any significant way.

“It should have been me,” he repeated.

“It still could be,” the Minié ball said.

Jacob tore his eyes from Hannah’s portrait and stared at the brown-glass bottle in his hand.

It could be.

He made a mess of everything he touched. He’d not only killed Eleanor, but he’d ruined Andrew’s life as well. God only knew what would happen to Grace and Claire if he continued to be in charge of them. And all those poor boys during the war who’d died under his knife…

And those were only the things he’d ruined directly. Never mind the burden he’d been on everyone these past three and a half years. Will constantly supporting him, having to care for him.

He didn’t have a lot of money saved, but if Will sold the store, there’d be plenty for Claire to finish school and to at least get Grace started. Grace adored playing with Declan. She’d be quite happy living with Lyddie and Fionn. And Will would look after Claire. No one truly needed him. He needn’t continue to be a burden on the family.

Thanksgiving was next week. He didn’t have one damn thing to be thankful for, but he’d go to Will and Mary’s for dinner. One last family gathering for everyone to remember. A chance for him to kiss his daughter and grandson one more time. To embrace his brother. And then depart.

He sagged against the back of his chair, giddy with relief. This time next week, everything would be fixed.

******

Jacob and Grace arrived at the Lucky Star early on Thanksgiving. Jacob greeted Mary with a kiss on each cheek and handed her two bottles of wine he’d bought for the occasion.

“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Will said, shaking Jacob’s hand.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m with my family, we’re about to have a wonderful meal, and Claire will be home in a few weeks.”

Will stared at him a moment. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Where’s Frank?” Jacob asked, pulling off his coat.

“He’s been staying at Andrew’s. They should be along soon.”

“That’s good of him.”

Will shrugged. “That’s what brothers do.”

Jacob remembered Will coming to Washington after Hannah’s death, and the memory dampened his high spirits.

“I suppose that’s true.” He forced a smile. He wouldn’t spend any part of today feeling sad. “Well, it’ll be good to see them. I bet Benji’s grown a foot and a half already. You know babies.”

When Lyddie, Fionn, and Declan arrived, Jacob swung his grandson around in a circle, eliciting squeals of laughter from the little boy. Lyddie, too, commented on Jacob’s good mood, and Jacob gave her the same explanation he’d given Will. She looked suspicious, but Andrew, Frank, and Benji arrived and interrupted whatever question she was going to ask next.

Jacob marveled over the cans of Nestle’s Milk Food that Andrew and Frank had brought along for Benji. He read over the label and remarked to Grace how much he wished it had been available when he’d found her.

“This looks better than that condensed milk I fed you,” he said.

“Doc Titus says it’s good,” Andrew said. “I know I could have left Benji with Lyddie, but I needed him with me. And he seems to be doing just fine.”

And he was. The infant’s color was good, and he was starting to get chubby in all the right places. A wave of relief washed over Jacob. He may have robbed the child of his mother, but at least he hadn’t robbed him of his own health.

“You grow up big and strong, just like your father and your grandfather, all right?” Jacob whispered to him when he was able to snatch the baby away for a moment alone. “Don’t be like me.”

After having eaten little for two weeks, Jacob sat down before Mary’s magnificent Thanksgiving feast absolutely ravenous.

“I know we’re not feeling especially thankful this year,” Mary said. “Or, at least, not very festive, but it felt important to keep up the tradition.”

“It is,” Will said, patting her hand.

“Ellie would have wanted us all to be together,” Andrew added.

“Hear, hear!” Frank said. He lifted his glass of wine. “To Eleanor.”

All the adult around the table raised theirs, too, and even Grace and Declan lifted their cups of milk.

“To Eleanor,” they all said.

Jacob sipped his wine. It tasted like ashes in his mouth.