Free With This Ring by Carla Kelly Page B

that morning. Humming to herself,
she removed her stained apron, scrubbed her hands and face until
they hurt, then sat down with the dress and her sewing
basket.
    Usually she hated Kitty’s mending,
mainly because her sister was so careless with her clothing, but
also because the material was always so much more lavish than
anything Mama begrudged for her. Today was different. She kicked
off her shoes (noting that her usually trim ankles were swollen
from so much standing), propped her feet on her bed, and applied
the tiny stitches that Kitty depended on. It was relaxing this
time, a refreshing change from the pain and suffering she witnessed
all day.
    She finished the flounce, and just
sat there, fingering the lovely fabric, pleased with herself to
know that she was charitable enough to hope that Kitty wore it well
tonight. Her peace was ended by Mama’s sudden entry into her
room.
    “ It is done, Mama,” she said,
holding out the dress to her parent. I suppose you can be furious
with me because I was so slow in getting to this, or angry that I
was not concerned, she thought, but to her surprise, she did not
care.
    To her further amazement, Mama
barely glanced at the dress. “Lydia, I have such news,” she
said.
    “ Kitty is engaged
already?”
    “ I depend upon that to happen this
spring, but no, that is not my news.” Mama wrinkled her nose.
“Lydia, you have brought the smell of that dreadful
place!”
    “ I suppose I have, Mama,” she
replied. “I was shaving the soldiers today, and that necessitated
close quarters. I’ll have the laundress boil
everything.”
    Mama stared at her, and inched her
chair farther away. “You touched those men?” she asked, her
voice rising to unpleasant decibels.
    Lydia waited for the familiar chills
to travel up and down her back at Mama’s dreaded tone, but they did
not. I am either too tired, or I do not care anymore, she
thought.
    “ I cannot think of another way to
shave whiskers than to touch someone’s face, Mama,” she said with a
slight smile.
    Mama put up her hands. “Lydia, too
little cannot be said about what you are doing! Granted you do not
possess in the slightest degree Kitty’s beauty, flair, or
sensibilities, but I still feel that tending the wounded is not an
occupation for a lady, especially when we need you so much
here.”
    “ Mama, anyone can sew Kitty’s
flounce,” she said. “Even Kitty.”
    She waited for Mama’s explosion, but
it did not come. If anything, her mother’s expression brightened.
“Daughter, you remind me again why I came here. I must thank you
for this opportunity you have given Kitty.”
    Lydia stared in surprise, unable to
think of a time in her life when Mama had thanked her for anything.
“I … I don’t understand,” she said.
    “ This afternoon we received from
General Thomas and Mrs. Picton these vowels to the banquet
celebrating ….” She looked down at the card she had been
carrying. “… ’The victory at Toulouse of the Duke of
Wellington over Napoleon Bonaparte.’ ” She frowned. “Daughter,
when did this happen? Where is Napoleon now?”
    Oh, Lord, spare me from the
disinterested, Lydia thought, feeling weary again through her
shoulders. “It was in the middle of April, Mama. Everyone was
talking about it. Don’t you remember all the church bells in Devon
ringing?”
    Mama closed her eyes in thought for
a moment, then opened them. “Oh, I know! We were putting the
finishing touches on Kitty’s wardrobe and probably packing her
dresses in tissue. I knew there was something more important
to claim my attention. But tell me, where is that beast Napoleon,
then?”
    “ Mama, he has been these two months
on Elba,” Lydia explained patiently.
    “ I hear it is a lovely place for a
holiday,” Mama said. “So convenient to the Aegean.”
    “ Mediterranean, Mama, and he is in
exile, not on holiday!”
    Mama shrugged and stood up. “Then,
Elba will soon be fashionable. Perhaps I should suggest to