Lucy awoke to the sound of the area war. Sitting up in his bed, he trained his telescope over the mountain’s face and to the pivot of the battleground. He took an idle pleasure in witnessing the birth of the cloud-puffs, these “rudely bloomed” (the phrase had ambled into Lucy’s mind) then thinned by the wind, only to be replaced by yet more puffs when the following volley occurred. He could make out the soldiers’ movements but not their faces, and this was preferable to him. From this distance it all seemed something more like an elaborate stage play than actual combat—some ambitious re-creation of a factual happening.
He worked all that morning assisting Agnes in the cleaning of the larder and ovens, then chopping and stacking wood through to lunchtime, but with his afternoon free, he wandered into the village. He had his pipe with him, the pipe he’d yet to master; it smoldered and had to be relit time and again, but no sooner had he done this than the wind would shift and hurry the smoke up his nose or into his eyes. Coughing, and with tears skating down his face, he put the pipe away. The puppy sat in his coat pocket, as before, taking in the sights with interest.
Lucy saw Klara standing in the marketplace, showing off her cape to a half-dozen village women, a meaty group of red-faced peasants turning her about as they studied the garment. Klara was smiling with pride as they handled and rotated her. Lucy stepped nearer, and now he could make out their conversation.
“And what does master Adolphus think of it?”
“Do I know any Adolphus?” Klara asked innocently, looking this way and that. “I see no Adolphus around here.”
“And how long has he been gone this time?”
Klara threw her hands up in the air. “Bah!” she said. Lucy entered into the group and Klara, beaming, told the others, “Here, now. This is the gentleman who brought the cape.”
The women swarmed Lucy, grinning devilishly, prodding him with stubby digits and speaking of him as though he weren’t there at all:
“What are his intentions, do you think?”
“Will he give her a ring next?”
“Adolphus will rip this one in two.”
“Clean in two, I should think.”
“Will he buy me a cape? You can plainly see the state I’m in.”
They slapped at Lucy’s back, laughing and congratulating him for his boldness. He smiled weakly but said nothing; he didn’t suppose there was one among them he could better in a fair fight. Once they dispersed, Lucy was left alone with Klara, and these two stood awhile, looking at each other. Winter sunlight spilled across her face; Lucy’s vision smudged and blurred.
“Would you walk with me, Klara?” he asked.
“Yes, I’d like that,” she answered, and they fell into line, stepping through the marketplace, neither of them knowing just what to say. When Klara spied the puppy in Lucy’s pocket, she took her up to hold her, asking Lucy what she was called. He explained the name hadn’t arrived yet, and now Klara grew thoughtful, peering at Lucy from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps you might name her after your sweetheart, wouldn’t you think?”
“I suppose I could,” he said. “Only, I don’t have a sweetheart.”
“Oh no?”
“I did have one, once. Marina, she was called.”
“That’s a pretty name. And whatever became of her?”
Lucy watched his breath horseshoe in the wind. An unpardonable lie came to him, and he clapped his hands to welcome it into the world. “If I’m to tell you the truth of it,” he said, “she died.”
“Oh, no,” said Klara. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“But how did she die?” Klara asked. “That is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”
Lucy held up his hand. “I don’t mind at all.”
“You’re certain?”
“I don’t mind in the least. Which isn’t to say I enjoy talking about it.”
“Of course not.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. We were happy enough, Marina and I—in our modest fashion. But then she got it in her mind to marry, and when I wouldn’t go along with this, she became so distraught about it that she killed herself.”
Klara gasped. “Oh, but that’s dreadful!”
“It was a sorry occasion,” Lucy agreed.
“And why wouldn’t you marry her?”
“She was not my own true love,” he stated simply.
“But you were hers?” Klara ventured.
“I suppose I was. As a matter of fact, I can state that I surely was, for she told me this many times over. So, when she came to understand I would never be hers alone, then did she hang herself—and from a tree before my own house.”
Klara covered her mouth; Lucy nodded sympathetically.
“Perhaps worst of all,” he continued, “she had pinned a note to her dress, a note addressed to me, but which all the citizens of the town read before I had a chance to. In this way, all were made to know the finest details of her ruination.” Here Lucy paused, as if the memory were too much a burden to recall.
Klara laid a tender hand on his forearm. “Is this why you’ve come here?” she asked. “To get away from the memory of it?”
“That’s partly the reason, yes.”
“Only partly? I would think that would be reason enough, all on its own.”
“Yes, surely it would be. But then the matter was compounded by another unpleasant element, this in the shape of a local man, named Tor. He had always been after Marina, but he was such a stupid and ugly and sickening individual that she rebuffed him at every pass. This ate at Tor like a rot; then, once she had hung herself, for another man no less, Tor swore an oath to all who would listen that he would avenge her honor.”
“By coming after you, do you mean?”
“Just that.”
“And did he do this?”
“Yes, he was a man of his word, I won’t deny it. In fact, hardly any time passed at all before he broke into my house and came upon me like a storm while I slept.”
“While you slept!”
“Yes, yes.”
“A madman,” Klara said, shaking her head in wonder.
“Not mad,” said Lucy. “Just simple. A barn animal, really. I might put his mental age at that of a five-year-old, and not a particularly bright five-year-old, either.”
“But whatever did you do?”
“I defended myself, naturally, and forced Tor from my home. Not without a knock or two to remember me by, I might add.”
“You? Oh, but you are so slight.”
“I am agile, is what.”
“Is that so?”
“Very agile and quick and fit.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“I could cross a room in the time it takes you to blink your eyes.”
“Well.”
“Yes. So it was that I sent him packing that first night, thinking that would be the end of it. But he was relentless, and it seemed that each time I left my home, then Tor would come barreling around a corner and make for me.”
“Who in the world could live under such circumstances?” asked Klara.
“Not I.”
“No one could.” Klara became thoughtful, and again she regarded Lucy from a sidelong angle. “Perhaps it is that this misfortune will lead you to something better,” she said.
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Lucy. “As a matter of fact, I’m sure you are.”
This made Klara happy, and she hooked her arm in Lucy’s. “But, what shall we name the puppy?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Lucy was staring at her snaking hand.
Wistfully, she said, “I like the name, Rose.”
“Rose?” said Lucy.
“Rose,” she repeated.
Her hand came to rest atop Lucy’s, and he said, “We’ll call her Rose, then.”
And they did do this.