the meager fare, Captain. My husband and I were hoping to have a more formal dinner on the Lord’s Day, after services.”
“Nothing to forgive, ma’am. I’ve been on a ship for seven weeks. It’s been weak broth and hardtack for far too long.” Owen smiled, breathing in the aroma from the thick brown stew. “It smells wonderful.”
Hettie and Bethany joined them at the table, book-ending Caleb, with Bethany closest to her father. “Please, Captain, eat.”
Owen spooned up a carrot, a pea, and a small piece of beef and ate. He closed his eyes, letting the scent fill his head. Things were tender enough he didn’t need to chew, but chew he did so he could savor the mouthful. He washed it down with more of the wine, then smiled.
“This is the best I’ve eaten for over a year.”
Caleb arched an eyebrow. “I’d have thought the Wurm Guards would have the finest of everything.”
“They do, if they have a wurm.” Owen broke a slice of bread in half and dipped it into the stew. “The Regiment has five battalions; one of wurms, one of heavy cavalry, two light cavalry, and one of light infantry. We’re the skirmishers. First to battle, last to leave; last to mess, first to leave. Story is they keep us around in case the wurms get hungry—and wurms prefer their food lean.”
Mrs. Frost took a salt cellar and pepper mill from the side table and placed them near Owen. “Captain, may I ask if you were at Artennes Forest?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was. I have a lot of respect for the Mystrian Rangers.”
Mrs. Frost’s smile broadened, but Bethany’s slowly evaporated. “Do you remember Major Robert Forest?”
Owen sat back. “Very well, ma’am.”
“He is my brother.”
“Is he well?”
Caleb snarled. “Isn’t much of a one for a handshake, being as how he left half an arm in the forest.”
Owen rested the bread on the edge of the bowl. “I ask after him, Master Frost, because I dragged him out of the woods, him still shouting orders to his men. I tied off the arm so he’d not bleed to death, and I fetched him brandy for when the butchers decided the forearm had to go.”
Bethany leaned forward. “Did you know Ira Hill? He was in the Rangers.”
“I do not recall the name, Miss.”
“He was tall, black hair, green eyes, darker than yours.”
Owen searched his memory. “I can’t promise, Miss, but I recall a man fitting that description. Always had a joke?”
Her face brightened. “Yes, yes, that was him.”
“I remember digging beside him as we tried to clear a road. It was raining. He said he’d trade his shovel for a bucket and bail more than he could dig. I didn’t know his name, though. Is he a friend?”
“Was.” Her face closed again.
Caleb glowered. “He died in those same woods, Captain.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Bethany nodded. “It’s hard not knowing, and people, they say…”
Dr. Frost took one of Bethany’s hands in his own. “The Rivendell book, you understand, Captain. Ira had asked for Bethany’s hand before he went off and, well, most people are believing the Rangers were cowards.”
Owen turned to Bethany. “Look at me, Miss. The Rangers did more than most on that campaign. I got assigned to liaise with them, some folks thinking I was as expendable as they were. The Rangers fought well and hard. Don’t believe anything different. What Lord Rivendell wrote is fable beginning to end. He wrote it to make himself and his son look good. You just remember that the Tharyngians feared the Rangers enough that they sent their best against them. They won, but it was a close thing. If there had been two Ranger battalions, the war would be over.”
Bethany’s lips pressed together and tears glistened. She nodded, then kissed her father’s cheek. Wordlessly she left the room. Her mother followed her.
Dr. Frost patted Owen’s arm. “Eat, sir, don’t let it get cold. I appreciate your saying what you did. You have to understand something about us
“Nothing to forgive, ma’am. I’ve been on a ship for seven weeks. It’s been weak broth and hardtack for far too long.” Owen smiled, breathing in the aroma from the thick brown stew. “It smells wonderful.”
Hettie and Bethany joined them at the table, book-ending Caleb, with Bethany closest to her father. “Please, Captain, eat.”
Owen spooned up a carrot, a pea, and a small piece of beef and ate. He closed his eyes, letting the scent fill his head. Things were tender enough he didn’t need to chew, but chew he did so he could savor the mouthful. He washed it down with more of the wine, then smiled.
“This is the best I’ve eaten for over a year.”
Caleb arched an eyebrow. “I’d have thought the Wurm Guards would have the finest of everything.”
“They do, if they have a wurm.” Owen broke a slice of bread in half and dipped it into the stew. “The Regiment has five battalions; one of wurms, one of heavy cavalry, two light cavalry, and one of light infantry. We’re the skirmishers. First to battle, last to leave; last to mess, first to leave. Story is they keep us around in case the wurms get hungry—and wurms prefer their food lean.”
Mrs. Frost took a salt cellar and pepper mill from the side table and placed them near Owen. “Captain, may I ask if you were at Artennes Forest?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was. I have a lot of respect for the Mystrian Rangers.”
Mrs. Frost’s smile broadened, but Bethany’s slowly evaporated. “Do you remember Major Robert Forest?”
Owen sat back. “Very well, ma’am.”
“He is my brother.”
“Is he well?”
Caleb snarled. “Isn’t much of a one for a handshake, being as how he left half an arm in the forest.”
Owen rested the bread on the edge of the bowl. “I ask after him, Master Frost, because I dragged him out of the woods, him still shouting orders to his men. I tied off the arm so he’d not bleed to death, and I fetched him brandy for when the butchers decided the forearm had to go.”
Bethany leaned forward. “Did you know Ira Hill? He was in the Rangers.”
“I do not recall the name, Miss.”
“He was tall, black hair, green eyes, darker than yours.”
Owen searched his memory. “I can’t promise, Miss, but I recall a man fitting that description. Always had a joke?”
Her face brightened. “Yes, yes, that was him.”
“I remember digging beside him as we tried to clear a road. It was raining. He said he’d trade his shovel for a bucket and bail more than he could dig. I didn’t know his name, though. Is he a friend?”
“Was.” Her face closed again.
Caleb glowered. “He died in those same woods, Captain.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Bethany nodded. “It’s hard not knowing, and people, they say…”
Dr. Frost took one of Bethany’s hands in his own. “The Rivendell book, you understand, Captain. Ira had asked for Bethany’s hand before he went off and, well, most people are believing the Rangers were cowards.”
Owen turned to Bethany. “Look at me, Miss. The Rangers did more than most on that campaign. I got assigned to liaise with them, some folks thinking I was as expendable as they were. The Rangers fought well and hard. Don’t believe anything different. What Lord Rivendell wrote is fable beginning to end. He wrote it to make himself and his son look good. You just remember that the Tharyngians feared the Rangers enough that they sent their best against them. They won, but it was a close thing. If there had been two Ranger battalions, the war would be over.”
Bethany’s lips pressed together and tears glistened. She nodded, then kissed her father’s cheek. Wordlessly she left the room. Her mother followed her.
Dr. Frost patted Owen’s arm. “Eat, sir, don’t let it get cold. I appreciate your saying what you did. You have to understand something about us
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