Ruth was awakened from a nap by Selma, whose words shocked Ruth out of her sleepiness like a splash of cold water.
“He’s home; your husband is home.”
“Oh, my!” Ruth sat up and slipped her feet into her shoes. “He’s all right?”
“I saw him with my own eyes,” Selma said. “I believe he’s in his office. He’s been here a good hour or more, but you was sleeping so good and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Why did he not wake me himself?” Ruth asked without expecting Selma to have an answer. It just didn’t seem like Thomas to not came straight to find her after being gone for ten days.
“I’ll watch out for the little one when she wakes up,” Selma said.
“Thank you,” Ruth called back on her way out of the bedroom door. She ran the length of the halls and down the stairs, imagining—as she had since he left—the moment of being in his arms again. She opened the office door without knocking, surprised to see Thomas going through a drawer in his desk in which she knew his most important papers were kept. The key to unlock the drawer, which was normally tucked beneath some things in a different drawer, was on the desk, which was unusually disheveled, as if he’d been searching frantically for something. In the one or two seconds she had to take in his frenzied manner and the appearance of the room, she concluded that something was terribly wrong. This, added to the fact that he’d not come to find her right away—and that he’d been gone far longer than he’d said he would be, without sending any word—all came together to make her feel a mild panic that was lessened only by the very fact that he was here and alive and well.
“Thomas!” she said, and he looked up. Immediately her panic deepened into a heart-pounding fear and a stark dread in the pit of her stomach. He looked different; something in his eyes was all wrong. As soon as she thought it, his eyes widened with shock, as if he had been completely surprised to see her there.
“Ruth?” he said, and her heart pounded faster. His voice was wrong; his attitude, his bearing. Something was wrong. It was subtle, difficult to define, but it was wrong. She noticed that his clothes were new; they were different. Why would he have purchased entirely new clothing when he usually preferred wearing what was old and comfortable?
“Who were you expecting?” she asked while the handful of seconds since she’d opened the door felt like as many minutes. “I’m your wife,” she said as if she needed to convince him. Through the span of another second or two, one part of her mind asked why she would instinctively feel the need to convince him. Why? Because his expression told her he didn’t know.
Heaven be merciful, she thought and gripped the open door tightly with one hand, as if doing so might keep her upright. Her mind frantically considered the possibilities, with madness standing out high on the list. She’d gone mad. She was hallucinating. She was mixing old memories and fears with new ones.
“Of course,” he said with a little laugh that sounded more like Thomas. “Forgive me, my dear. I needed to make certain some things were in order, and . . . I got distracted. How are you, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? Never once had Thomas called her sweetheart! But Lucius had! No, it wasn’t possible! It couldn’t really, truly be possible! Ruth added up all of the evidence, combined with her instincts. What clinched it for her was the way he just stood there. How are you? he’d asked. Thomas would have dropped everything and leapt over the furniture if necessary to take her in his arms. No, Thomas would have run upstairs before he’d done anything else and wakened her with a kiss. This wasn’t Thomas! It wasn’t Thomas and she knew it! But she felt a sense of danger, and instinctively knew she needed to tread carefully.
Ruth felt the need to test him, and at the same time she knew that whatever his reasons for this charade, he must never suspect the most important truth. She doubted he would know the age of a baby without being told, and she didn’t want him to add up months and even suspect that he had anything to do with her baby’s existence. Since he seemed surprised to see her there, he likely hadn’t even known there was a baby. While there were a thousand unanswered questions—the most prominent being why he was here instead of Thomas, and where was Thomas—in that moment she felt a deep maternal need to protect her child.
“The baby finally smiled while you were gone,” she said, knowing Joy had been smiling a great deal for months—and Thomas would have contradicted such a comment.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” said this man who was here in this house, pretending to be her husband.
Ruth closed the door behind her, knowing as she did so how foolish it was to put herself alone in a room with such a man. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Lucius looked exaggeratedly innocent, and Ruth impulsively needed absolute proof. She crossed the room and unbuttoned his shirt, even though doing so made her cringe slightly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said in a seductive tone Thomas never would have used. She pushed his shirt and waistcoat aside and gasped. No scar!
Ruth took a step back and raised her hands as if they’d betrayed her by getting anywhere near him. Her shock was so deep that her mind seemed to demand further proof. Without even thinking, she grabbed his left arm and tore at the cuff, making the button pop off.
“What are you doing?” he snarled, trying to pull his arm away.
“You know what I’m doing,” she said, recalling well the distinctive mole that Lucius had on his left forearm. But now, in its place, was a hideous burn scar.
“I had a nasty dispute with a fire poker,” he said, jerking his arm from her grasp.
“Thomas only left here ten days ago,” she snarled and took several steps back. “No burn that severe would heal that quickly. And apparently you didn’t know about the scar on his chest, and you didn’t know about me being here.”
“So, what are you doing here?” he asked, almost snarling in a way that made it evident he’d given up his attempts at pretense any longer. “I’m thinking you must have either been terribly in love with me, or at the very least found me extremely attractive. You went out and married a man who looks just like me?”
To hear him talk now made her realize he’d been trying to talk like Thomas, but his natural intonations sounded nothing the same. But where would he have learned how Thomas talked? Where he lived? Where his private papers were kept? That a man who looked so much the same even existed? And how could it possibly be only some bizarre coincidence that—of all people—she would be the one standing here facing Lucius now, fully aware that two men looked so very much like each other? Two things seemed starkly obvious. The first being that Lucius had obviously figured out the possible advantages of his identical resemblance to Thomas, and he was here with the intent of creating mischief of some great proportion. And secondly, Ruth was here—in this house, with this family, fully aware of this man’s true identity. She’d like to think that God had placed her in this position to help protect the family of which she’d become a part. And if that was the case, she needed to exert her greatest courage and do everything in her power to protect those she loved.
Forcing back the hurricane of torment she felt brewing inside her at the implications of what this might mean in regard to Thomas, Ruth focused on the moment and stated firmly, “Whatever you are trying to get away with here, I will not let you do it.”
“You,” Lucius snarled, stepping abruptly toward her, “will do or say nothing to even imply the truth about who I really am, or I assure you that you will regret it.”
Ruth stepped back, clenching her skirt with fists that were attempting to hold all of the fear rushing into her. She was almost believing she could still stand up to him until he added, “If you so much as breathe a hint to anyone about this, who knows what might happen to that precious baby of yours?”
“You wouldn’t!” she hissed.
“Oh,” he lifted a brow, and his eyes betrayed an evil in him that she had once come to know well, “you of all people should know that I would! I have worked long and hard to be here now, and I will not leave without what rightfully belongs to me, and you are not going to stand in my way. The equation is simple, sweetheart: you stay silent and everyone in this place will stay safe. The choice is entirely up to you.”
“You are a heartless fiend!” she declared, trying to keep her voice down while she felt like screaming. He had her and he knew it. She would never do anything to risk the safety of her baby or anyone else here. He might not have known she would be here, but he’d quickly figured out that the most powerful threat to hold against a mother was the well-being of her child.
“I may well be.” He chuckled with self-sa’tisfaction. “But given my good fortune of looking like Thomas Fitzbatten, I am now a very wealthy heartless fiend.”
Ruth found it more difficult to maintain any facade of courage and strength as the horror of the situation began to break past the barriers of shock that had been holding it back. She heard her own breathing become audible as she demanded, “Where is Thomas? What’s happened to him?”
“Well,” Lucius said as if talking about the weather, “if this is going to work, there couldn’t very well be two of us, now could there?”
Ruth stumbled backward and fell awkwardly into a chair, gasping for breath. “What have you done to him?” she asked breathlessly.
“I, personally, have done nothing to your precious Thomas. I left that up to one of his old army friends who puts a much higher priority on the profits of bribery than friendship.”
“Teddy would never—”
“No, I’m certain you’re right. Teddy would never do anything to harm Thomas, but thankfully Teddy is enjoying a very lengthy holiday in France, which created the perfect opportunity to let Thomas believe that Teddy needed his help.”
“How in the world . . .” Ruth couldn’t finish the question due to the fact that she was barely managing to breathe. While her mind was frantically trying to accept the possibility that Thomas might actually be dead, she realized that Lucius was now bragging about this horrible scheme of his. She fought to keep her emotions subdued and to listen, feeling the need to get as much information as she could. He certainly held power over her in his threat against the safety of her child and others she cared about, but she could never let this go on indefinitely, and she needed all the knowledge she could possibly acquire in order to have any hope of eventually finding a way to wield some power over him.
“Imagine my surprise,” Lucius said whimsically as he leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest, “when one day in London a man stopped me on the street and called me Thomas, and he was astonished to realize that I was not Thomas, and I didn’t know who he was talking about. I asked him some questions and bought him a drink, and I soon realized he was someone who knew a great deal about this Thomas—having served in the army with him for quite some time—and between us we had a potentially profitable endeavor that was too good to pass up. There was a great deal of work to be done and many questions to be answered, but between us we eventually figured out the details and discovered things I would bet not a single person in this house could even guess.” He laughed maniacally as if he reveled in the power of knowing a secret no one else knew, and Ruth felt terrified of what that secret might be.
“I wondered if I could actually get away with it . . . if I could be convincing enough to make these people believe I’m Thomas.” He chuckled. “Well, I’ve done that. Even his parents believe I’m their precious son.”
“You didn’t convince me!” Ruth snarled.
“I didn’t know about you,” he said as if that fact made him angry. “But I know better than to think you would stand in my way, especially when you have so much to lose.”
“I cannot believe that even you would do something as atrocious as this!”
“You’d best believe it, sweetheart, because it’s happening, and you have great incentive to keep my secrets.”
“I cannot even begin to imagine how you . . . did this.”
“Well,” Lucius went on, unable to resist his natural tendency to brag about his accomplishments, “my new friend had in his possession more than one letter from Teddy Grayson; it was easy enough to find someone who could forge the handwriting for a price. And now, while I pretend to be Thomas Fitzbatten, I will make certain I walk away from here with the fortune I deserve. But don’t you worry, sweetheart, I won’t be here long. Once I’ve got what I’ve come for, I will mysteriously leave and you can go on with your luxurious new life—although the Fitzbattens might have to cut back a bit given the dramatic decrease that’s about to take place in their bank accounts and such.” He laughed again, while Ruth was so stunned by the horror of it all that she couldn’t even make a sound. “But I’m certain you’ll still have enough to live better here as a widow than you would have lived anywhere else, and—”
Ruth acted on a sudden surge of grief and terror and anger that pumped energy and strength through her veins, making it possible for her to hurry out of the room and up the stairs, desperately needing to be completely alone before the numbness and shock fully wore off and her true feelings took over. She could feel the threat of something akin to a volcanic emotional eruption as she ran up the stairs, down one hall, around a corner, and down another. She went into what she knew was a long-unused guest room and closed the door, knowing no one would be in this section of the house, no one would hear her, no one would find her. She pressed her back to the door, and the eruption began with sharp gasps of breath and a tangible pain smoldering in the center of her chest. She pressed both hands over the pain and dropped to her knees, unable to remain standing another second.
Ruth heaved with helpless sobbing over the probable death of her husband while at the same time her mind frantically bounced around from one horrible realization to another. She couldn’t show any evidence of her grief to anyone. She couldn’t breathe a word of suspicion or imply even a hint that anything was wrong. The life of her child depended on it. Her absolute belief that Quin and Yvette should be warned about what was taking place battled with her belief that they would not be capable of pretending this intruder was their son. And if Lucius was not convinced she’d kept his secret, she could never underestimate the lengths he might go to in order to succeed in this sick and loathsome game he was playing.
Ruth prayed fervently while she attempted to expel enough weeping to lessen the pressure in her head and chest. She struggled to regain a measure of composure and forced herself to breathe normally and attempt to appear calm and in control. She reminded herself with renewed horror that she had to pretend she was happy to have her husband back. If she behaved differently, the household would become suspicious.
Steeling herself to play this role perfectly for the sake of those she loved, Ruth returned to her own room, sneaking in quietly in order to have a few minutes to smooth her hair and use some face powder to try to conceal the fact that she’d been crying. She found Selma in the nursery with the baby, thanked her for her help, and sent her away to see to other things. Ruth just wanted to be alone with Joy and hold her close and try to believe that Thomas couldn’t really be dead. It seemed impossible, felt impossible. But surely that was just her own disbelief trying to convince her. Wanting something to be true wouldn’t necessarily make it that way, and eventually she was going to have to accept that fact. Right now she just had to think about how she was going to get through the rest of the day without creating any suspicion.
That evening at supper, Ruth was astonished to see Lucius behaving very much like Thomas—at least in his general attitude and mannerisms. His parents and the servants didn’t seem to even notice that something wasn’t right, but then not one of them would have even conceived of the possibility of another man looking and behaving so much like the Thomas they all knew and loved. Surely the idea wouldn’t even occur to them, and therefore if anything felt off, they would likely disregard it.
The man pretending to be Ruth’s husband smiled at her across the table and told her how lovely she looked. He talked about how good it was to be home and told an elaborate story about the reasons for Teddy summoning him and how he’d been able to help solve the problem, even though it had taken longer than expected. Ruth felt dazed and barely able to remain upright while she couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to Thomas. If her husband was truly dead, she couldn’t imagine how she would ever survive. She was worried about Quin and Yvette, and everyone on the estate who depended on them. She was worried about Joy. And the whole thing just made her sick to her stomach and a little light-headed.
Unable to bear it any longer, Ruth finally stood and said, “I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll just go up to bed.”
“You have been awfully quiet,” Quin said.
“Is there anything we can do?” Yvette asked.
“No, thank you. I’m certain I’ll be fine. I probably just need some rest.”
Ruth moved toward the door, longing to get out of the room and be alone. But Lucius stood and said, “I’ll walk up with you, my dear.”
Ruth wanted to scream at him; she wanted to scream at Thomas’s parents and tell them this man was an evil imposter. But she forced a smile and said, “Oh, that’s not necessary. You can—”
“Oh, I insist,” Lucius said and put a hand on her back to guide her out of the room.
When they were a safe distance up the hall, she whispered, “Get your hand off of me immediately.” He did so, which helped her feel a little less powerless. A new and horrible thought occurred to her, and she added in the same sharp whisper, “You will not be sleeping in the same room with me. Pick a guest room and mind your manners if you want me to keep your secret. We’ll just tell the servants I’m not sleeping well and it was disturbing your sleep.”
“Fine,” he said, almost as if he would do anything she asked. “Although I confess I am going upstairs with you because I have no idea how to find my things, and perhaps you can direct me to a proper guest room. Remember all of the incentive you have to help me make certain everything goes smoothly.”
“Extortion? Threats? Blackmail? Oh yes. Great incentive.”
“I’m only here to get what should have been mine,” he said, which wasn’t the first time he’d made such a reference. She wanted to ask what he meant, but her anxious desire to be away from him stifled any such conversation.
Her most pressing question seemed more important. As they started up the stairs, she asked, “What have you done to Thomas? You can’t really be so heartless as to kill a man in order to take his place.”
“I would never do such a thing,” he said, which gave her a moment of hope, until he added, “But your beloved’s so-called friend who helped make all of this possible assured me he would make certain the real Thomas didn’t show up and foil my plan. Exactly how he meant to go about that I can’t say.”
“You’re a fiend,” Ruth snarled.
“It’s not the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, as if he found the total sum of his cruelty amusing.
“And it won’t be the last,” she said, grateful that no more conversation took place except for her giving him a few simple instructions on how to summon the servants and what they would expect from him. She guided him to a guest room that would be the most logical for Thomas to occupy if there was any reason for them to spend the night in separate rooms, and even though it made her sick, she took some of Thomas’s clothes to him, her only motivation being to avoid any attention that might make Lucius feel the need to carry out any of his threats.
Ruth went to the nursery and took over the care of her baby, and once she and Joy were alone, she wept and held her daughter close, wondering what might become of them now.
* * *
For the next few days, Ruth claimed to not be feeling well and remained in her rooms, where she had contact only with Selma and Liddy, who brought her meals and helped just a little with the baby. She believed she would be better able to carry off the charade if she just remained at a distance from Lucius. The whole thing had her so upset she doubted her own ability to maintain her composure and dignity; therefore, it felt safer for everyone if she just pretended to be ill. Doing so also helped justify her puffy, red eyes that were a result of the seemingly endless tears she cried over the loss of her husband. With every passing hour it became more and more difficult to convince herself that he was coming back.
Yvette came to check on her more than once, and Ruth assured her it was nothing serious but she did feel the need to rest. Given Yvette’s long history of frequently feeling under the weather, she didn’t ask for any other explanation. During their conversations, Ruth learned—much to her horror—that Quin and the man Yvette assumed was Thomas were working together to make some changes in the financial management of the estate. Apparently she believed her son had returned—from his time spent with Teddy—full of ideas to make the estate run more efficiently, and Quin—of course—was completely trusting of all that his supposed son was doing, even if he didn’t fully understand it. It took all of Ruth’s willpower to not tell Yvette the truth, but she knew that eventually Thomas’s parents would know, and the very thought only made Ruth feel horribly ill.
During one of Yvette’s visits, she talked to Ruth about having strange dreams again and rambled for quite some time about how upsetting they could be. And for the first time ever, Yvette told Ruth the content of her recurring nightmare. Long after Yvette had left, Ruth stewed over the entire situation, unable to push away an idea that was as preposterous as it was perfectly logical. She just didn’t know what to do about it. For now, she could only muster enough strength to pray and to grieve and to care for her baby.
Ruth eventually realized the only possible hope for ever freeing herself—and her family—from Lucius’s evil grasp was for her to obtain as much information as possible. Lucius had easily taken to bragging about his exploits to her in the little time they had talked privately. As much as she loathed the idea of even being in the same room with him, she mustered her courage and strength, determined to be the very best actress possible.
While Yvette was plagued with a recurring nightmare, only Ruth was aware that they were all living in the midst of a very real threat that was so thoroughly haunting and ironic that she doubted any of them would ever recover.
* * *
Thomas could barely recall the reasons why he would be waking up in the woods, in the dark, with his head pounding and plagued with dizziness. His thigh was throbbing, and he reached down to find it sticky with blood, but in the dark he had no idea what that actually meant. He lay there drifting in and out of consciousness until the sky began to lighten. He considered it a miracle that whoever had shot him hadn’t come searching for him to make certain the job was finished.
When he was finally able to sit up, he assumed he must have hit his head—very hard—when the bullet that hit him knocked him from his horse. The wound—for all that it hurt—wasn’t very deep, and it had stopped bleeding. It appeared that the bullet had only grazed him, which would hopefully make it possible for him to find his way out of here and stay alive. But he had to assume that whoever had been tracking him—and had tried unsuccessfully multiple times to do him in—would be searching this area of the woods, leaving nothing to chance. His assailant surely wouldn’t assume Thomas was dead without finding proof of a body.
Praying and trying to think clearly, Thomas removed his cravat and tied it tightly around the wounded leg, mostly to absorb any blood should it start bleeding again. He instinctively moved deeper into the woods, going carefully and quietly, praying with every tentative, limping step, constantly looking in every direction and listening keenly.
Thomas lost track of how long he had wandered in the trees with no sense of direction, with nothing to eat, while growing increasingly weak. When he came upon an obscure little dwelling, he thanked God for what seemed a miracle and prayed that whoever lived there would be inclined to help him rather than turn him away. It occurred to him that his unknown enemy might have found this place first, but he felt desperate, knowing he had no choice but to take the risk.
Thomas knocked at the door, and it was answered by a scraggly looking man near his father’s age. Thomas was trying without much success to explain his plight when he lost consciousness. He woke up on a makeshift bed to find a woman—probably this man’s wife—offering him some broth.
Thomas felt weak and little hazy while he gratefully accepted the food and listened to this man and his wife arguing as if he weren’t there. Through the course of a couple of days, Thomas learned that this man was a gamekeeper on a large estate, and while he considered himself too much of a Christian to turn away someone in need, he wasn’t necessarily happy about Thomas being here. However, since Thomas had money to offer them in exchange for food and a place to sleep for a few nights while he got his strength back, the gamekeeper became a little less surly. The gamekeeper’s wife was more compassionate, but she offered her kindness to Thomas very quietly, as if she feared that any evidence of it would displease her husband. Thomas found this man’s view of being a Christian rather ironic, but he focused his attention on his gratitude for their help. Without it he likely would have starved to death while wandering aimlessly, hopelessly lost in the woods.
Thomas’s anxiousness to get home and make certain all was well compelled him to leave, even though he still felt weak. Yet he also felt rather terrified of trying to make his journey, knowing there was someone out there who wanted him dead. While he couldn’t begin to comprehend his assailant’s motives, he had absolutely no doubt of his vicious intent.
Despite the time spent in the gamekeeper’s little home, Thomas never once heard the man’s name spoken—or that of his wife. The churlish man simply called her woman, and she in return hardly spoke to her husband at all. The gamekeeper grumbled continually, and his wife just listened, as if that was the best way to keep the peace. The man said a great deal about Thomas, as if he weren’t there, but actually said very little to him.
Only when Thomas was getting ready to leave—supplied with some bread and dried fruit by the gamekeeper’s caring wife—did the gamekeeper reluctantly mention, “I assume the horse that wandered here the day before you arrived might be yours. You might as well take him.”
“Thank you,” Thomas said to both the man and his wife, “for everything.”
The man grunted while his wife nodded and smiled, as if she might miss his company. Free now of pain, dizziness, and hunger, Thomas was able to follow the gamekeeper’s directions and find his way out of the woods and onto a road he recognized. But he knew he needed to stay away from any main roads where he might be seen. With the necessity of traveling so discreetly, Thomas was forced to travel more slowly, managing to acquire food in villages along the way while staying mostly in the woods. He preferred the cover of wooded areas and cursed the openness of long stretches of moors and meadows that offered him nowhere to hide. He felt on edge every waking moment and slept very little, usually on the ground next to stone fences or large trees.
When Thomas finally found himself on Fitzbatten land, he felt far more than simple gratitude; he felt as if the Red Sea had parted on his behalf. He was home! Now he could find his way with no difficulty whatsoever, although his instincts told him he might be in danger here more than anywhere else. If someone was trying to kill him and his previous efforts had failed, then his home would be the logical place where his assailant might likely lay in wait for his return.
Thomas waited in a wooded area until it was past two in the morning, knowing it was the most likely time for every person in the household to be asleep. He made his way to a little-used door and knew exactly how to get in and where to find a lamp. He crept quietly with the lamp in his hand, its wick only high enough to barely illuminate his way. He still couldn’t fathom that he had to sneak into his own home by cover of darkness because his life was in danger for reasons he couldn’t begin to imagine. Not understanding what was happening or why, he feared for the safety of his family as well and refused to take any unnecessary risks.
Thomas wondered in that moment if his family might have reason to believe he was dead. He had lost track of how long he’d been gone, and he had no idea what news might have reached their ears. He had many unanswered questions, and many reasons to feel afraid. But right now he only needed to see Ruth, to be with her, to hold her, to let her know he was safe and alive and well. As he crept up the back stairs—taking each hallway corner with extreme caution—he prayed she would not be terrified by his unexpected appearance in the middle of the night.
Thomas breathed in relief when he arrived undetected at the door of the room where he knew Ruth would be sleeping. He crept into the room and closed the door behind him, hardly making a sound. He waited and listened, relieved even more to hear her gentle, even breathing. He stepped slowly and carefully toward the bed and held the lamp higher, turning up the wick to cast more light upon her beautiful face. She looked like an angel, sleeping with her hair strewn over the pillow.
Fearing she might have good cause to scream when she saw him, he set the lamp on the bedside table and knelt carefully beside the bed. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d thought about the fact that the man who had once been so cruel to her had looked so much like him. But he thought of it in that moment, fearing she might wake up and see him and be reminded of horrible events from her past. Telling himself he just had to do it, he gently put a hand over her mouth to prevent her from making any sound, at the same time whispering, “Ruth. Ruth, wake up. It’s me, Thomas.”
Her eyes flew open in terror, and she responded exactly as he’d feared, trying to push him away while his hand muffled her attempts to scream.
“Ruth, it’s me. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’m all right.” She stopped fighting but still looked terrified, and he wondered why. “I’m going to move my hand. I just didn’t want you to make a sound that might wake anyone else.” She nodded, and he moved his hand. “You thought I was dead?” he asked, attempting to understand why she still looked so afraid.
While he was expecting her to say something and wanting to just hold her in his arms, she leapt from the bed and in one stealthy movement grabbed the fire poker with one hand and the letter opener from the desk with the other. With her weapons poised, she looked at him as if he were the devil himself.
“Ruth?” he said. “It’s me. It’s Thomas. Forgive me for frightening you. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but . . . I’m here. It’s me. It’s really me.” He took a step toward her, but she raised the fire poker to a more threatening position. He stopped and held up his hands. “I would never hurt you, my darling. What’s happened to make you think I would hurt you?”
Ruth looked at what appeared to be her husband standing there in the lamplight and wondered if she was truly going mad. Now that she was fully awake, she had to ask herself if this was Lucius once again, trying cruelly to push her to the edge of insanity, or if she was looking at some ghostly apparition. Then it occurred to her with a rush of wind coming into her lungs that there was another possibility. She recounted all the words he’d said while she’d been too dazed with sleep and too panicked to fully hear them. And she allowed herself to rationally assess his appearance. Lucius was crafty and impeccably deceitful, but he could not have made his hair grow a couple of inches since she had seen him at supper, and his freshly shaven face couldn’t have produced days’ worth of growth in that same amount of time.
Suddenly weak with relief, Ruth teetered slightly and allowed the fire poker to fall to the floor while she absently set the letter opener back on the desk at her side. “Thomas,” she breathed.
“It’s me, darling. I swear to you that it’s me. I’m not dead. I’m here.”
Ruth tentatively stepped toward him while he kept his arms out to his sides in a gesture of surrender. In the lamplight she searched for the love and goodness she had always been able to see in his countenance, qualities that had never been present with Lucius. She gasped when it became readily evident, but standing close enough to touch him, she still had to look up into his eyes for a long moment in order to be certain. “Thomas,” she said again, her heart pounding as she comprehended the miracle. He was alive! He was here! She touched his face to be assured that he truly hadn’t shaved for days. She touched his hair and his face again while he just watched her and waited, as if he would give her all the time she needed to be certain it was him.
Still unable to fully perceive this as truth, she frantically unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt and pushed it aside, gasping again to see the scar. She knew its every detail by heart. She touched it and laughed while tears stung her eyes. Still needing to be completely certain, she firmly took hold of his left hand and pushed up the cuff that was already unbuttoned. His forearm looked as it always had. No scar. She laughed again as her relief deepened, and with complete certainty that he was indeed her Thomas, she threw herself into his arms, relishing the feel of his tight embrace.
“Oh, Ruth,” he murmured near her ear. “My precious Ruth. I feared I would never see you again.”
“Oh, I feared it too,” she said and took his face into her hands, weeping with joy and relief. He kissed her and that too assured her it was Thomas. As much as she loathed the fact that she had once been kissed by Lucius, she distinctly knew Thomas’s kiss. He kissed her again and again, and she had to keep telling herself she wasn’t dreaming.