Read Dream Time (historical): Book I for Free Online Page A

around her in the depths of fatigue-induced sleep, she was awake. She entertained thoughts of the captain. How old was he?
    Twenty-five to thirty, she decided. A young man who was lonely for home and all that reminded him of it. She had judged him shy, but she sensed a certain courage he himself was most likely unaware of having.
    The pity that had prompted his offer of help stung her pride. Yet, as she lay in the dark, her palms curving over the globe of her huge stomach, she decided that, yes, he could help her.
    He could marry her.
    The officer came again two days later. She was ready for him. She had deliberated over the man for the full two-day interval. What kind of man was he? Why would he want a wife? Some men wanted to be waited on, some constantly wanted to be reassured of their wonderful attributes, some merely wanted a son, some married for companionship.
    So they wouldn’t have to face living with their thoughts?
    And this man?
    This man, she decided, was one of those people who only felt good when he was helping. She had seen people like him at her father’s parish church. Always helping, always trying to make things right, getting in the way, getting on one’s nerves. These were the same people who fought revolutions in the trenches, while their leaders issued orders safely behind the line of fire.
    In short, her captain was one of those foolhardy souls with the best intentions.
    She watched him approach her as she carried water pails from the well behind the main house. Knowing the approximate time he arrived in the afternoons, she had dallied until she spotted the small plume of dust churned by his horse’s hooves. The pails’ handles cut into her palms. She set the pails down on the cracked earth and chafed the circulation back into her hands.
    By that time, his bay was cantering toward her. He dismounted. Without looking at her, he said, “If you’ll take the reins, I’ll get the pails.”
    She waited until they began walking, then said, “I appreciate your help. And you need my help, Captain.”
    He looked at her askance.
    She fixed her gaze on his profile, studying it as she talked. “The baby is coming soon. It will need a name— and a father. You need a wife to make a home for you in the wilderness outposts, wherever you are stationed. A wife who is clever, who can withstand hardships, who can help you get ahead in your career. I am that woman.”
    She was honest, if nothing else. She fully believed she could offer him something in return for his releasing her from a sentence of lifetime imprisonment.
    He came up short. Water sloshed over the pails he carried. Behind them, his bay snorted and shifted its stance, as if also awaiting the outcome of this one-act play.
    The officer’s head swerved in her direction. Eyes wide, he stared back at her. “Good God, you are serious?”
    She had nothing to lose if he turned her down. “Captain, I’ve danced in the same room as His Majesty King George.”
    “I looked at your record. You were transported for treason against His Majesty.”
    He was asking her to expound. She would explain herself when she was ready. At another time. First, the gaining of her objective. “I’ve supped with ambassadors and generals, including Nelson himself. What pretty lass with half a brain is going to follow you to the mountainous wilds of India”—she flung out a hand—“or to this strange, ungodly wilderness?”
    He fumbled for words. She waited. “I had thought to . . . Mary had said she would wait . . . letters take so long getting here.”
    “Do you know when, if ever, you’ll get back to England again?” she asked softly.
    He shook his head.
    They began walking again. She said nothing more. At the doorway to the hut, he passed her the pails. Without a word, he strode on to the main house.
    The waiting that afternoon was long. She scrubbed and rescrubbed the rough-hewn table.
    Soon Pulykara came in, toting a bag of peas she had been issued from the