Return to Exile (20 page)

They’d located the slave trader in his holding cell near the docks. The plan they worked out was simple. Cyprian gave Felicissimus a sizable sum of money for hiring extra men to help clear the streets. After that venture was successfully under way, they would commission medical carts to patrol the slums. Meanwhile, Cyprian planned to do the hardest job alone: find enough of his father’s friends in the Senate to propose a shutdown of the trade routes and to hold the majority when Aspasius threw a fit.

He’d confessed to no one that using up favors owed him to close the port rather than oust the current proconsul made him weak-kneed. But having Felicissimus shut down his personal shipping lines would not be enough. Every highway, cart rut, and footpath needed to be closed as well. Actions this drastic required government support and approval.

A fortunate cloudburst had given Pontius and Cyprian the cover necessary to make their way back to his estate undetected. Cyprian stood under the eaves of the cottage, brushing water from
his sleeves. “Pontius, no need to hurry off to the stables. Stay and share a meal in the warmth of the cottage.”

“I’d rather bunk with the broodmares than watch two women fight over the destiny of one man.”

Until the issue of having two wives was resolved, he had to admit, moving in with the horses held a great deal of appeal. “Coward.”

As his friend’s lantern disappeared into an enviable night of freedom, Cyprian shook water from his cloak and stepped inside. The warmth and coziness that followed Ruth wherever she went enveloped him. As she had every night since their marriage, she sat at the low table mixing herbs into healing remedies. The dogs rested at her feet.

“You were gone for hours. I’ve been worried.” Ruth seemed exceptionally tired by the pregnancy tonight. There was no point in mentioning this again. Nothing he said so far had convinced the woman to stay off her feet or give up even a portion of her caregiving duties, especially now that Lisbeth had returned. In fact, Ruth seemed more determined than ever to keep up the rigorous schedule. He suspected that this behavior would continue until they figured out their future.

“There were many patrols out,” Cyprian told Ruth as he dried his hair with a towel and then scrubbed his hands with hot water and soap.

She handed him a bowl of figs poached in wine and pointed to the stool near the fire burning in the brass brazier. “Did you find Felicissimus?”

“Yes. He’s going to start with hiring help to get the streets cleaned.”

Ruth gave a nervous nod. “That should speed things along.”

He wished he could tell her everything would be fine, but the truth was he couldn’t make that promise. The men his father
trusted had been strangely silent when Aspasius sentenced him to exile. If he couldn’t persuade a majority to get behind him now, appearing before the Senate would end him. He pushed the memory of his haunting dreams aside, determined to prepare the best future he could for his families. Both of them.

Cyprian stuffed a spoonful of the mushy sweetness into his mouth. While he was out Ruth had managed to bring tranquillity to the chaos of the day. Across the tiny room, Barek and Naomi sat huddled over bone dice. From the pout on Barek’s lips he hadn’t forgiven being assigned to help his mother. In the opposite corner, Junia, Laurentius, and the girl with Lisbeth’s spirit and his blond curls were deep into a game of playacting.

He regretted that the arrival of the Ciceros and typhoid had left him little time to get to know his daughter. For her to know him. He ate his figs while studying her intently.

The tiny, blue-eyed blonde bustled around the cottage bossing Junia, telling her how to rearrange glass vials of cosmetics on the windowsill. She didn’t seem the least bit deterred by the fact that Junia was older and nearly a finger-length taller.

The mother-daughter resemblance between Lisbeth and Maggie was undeniable. Maggie’s voice had the same clipped inflections, the same never-take-no-for-an-answer directness, and the same need to have everything in the order she thought best. Her eyes were fierce, determined, and not easily distracted from whatever they had locked in their sights. She had Lisbeth’s perfect face, beautiful complexion, and that upturned nose capable of snubbing royalty.

But there the resemblances stopped.

Where Lisbeth had a mane of silky raven hair, this child’s face was framed by the same unruly curls he’d fought his entire life. White as the dunes baking in the afternoon sun, Maggie’s tresses had not taken on the darkened stain of struggle his hair had ac
quired, but there was no denying his part in this child’s creation. Warmth spread in his chest.

He shoveled another spoonful of mush into his mouth as he observed the young girls playing their game. Both of them were dressed in silk stolas. According to Ruth, they’d spent hours dressing themselves in the few remaining pieces of her fine clothes and clomping around the cottage in strappy shoes several sizes too large.

Maggie gave Junia another curt instruction, then turned her attention on her uncle. “Larry, I can’t take your temperature if you won’t open your mouth.” Maggie waved the handle of a wooden spoon under Laurentius’s nose as he sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat staring up at his niece with adoring eyes. Tufts of his thinning hair had been tied up in different-colored ribbons, his cheeks sported bright red smudges of rouge, and one of Ruth’s heavy gold earrings dangled from his left ear.

“But I’m not thick.” Laurentius pursed his lips, refusing the spoon’s insertion.

“You said you were tired, and my mommy says that’s a typhoon symptom.”

“I’m tired of being the baby.”

Maggie put her hand on Laurentius’s forehead. “Junia, this baby has fever.”

“Why don’t you leave the guy alone?” Barek let his dice smack the wall. “He said he was tired of you ordering him around.”

“Ruth!” Maggie tattled. “Barek’s not being nice.”

“Barek, please,” Ruth corrected. “Don’t worry about him, girls. Go on with your game.”

Junia clicked over to where Laurentius sat and placed her hand on his forehead. “I believe you’re right, doctor. What shall we do?”

“Shots!” Maggie produced a whittled stick. She flicked the sharp point. “Hold still, Larry.”

“No!” Laurentius tried to get his feet under him. “No more thots.”

Maggie pressed him back into place. “Shots only hurt for a second.”

Laurentius rubbed his arm and shook his head. “I’m tired of being the baby.” He crossed his arms over his round belly. “When can I be the mommy?”

Maggie crammed her hands upon her hips and gave Laurentius the same determined look Cyprian had seen on Lisbeth’s face when she proclaimed war on the new scourge. “I told you, we don’t have a doll. You have to be our baby.”

“There’s a doll at my house.” Junia placed her index finger over the opening of Ruth’s expensive perfume and tipped it sideways.

Maggie cocked her head. “What kind of doll?”

“Perpetua.”

“Is that like an Ariel doll?”

Junia looked confused, then shrugged. “My Perpetua has a delicate clay face, a soft rag body, and she was named after the beautiful martyr who died in the arena.”

“What’s a martyr?” Maggie asked.

Barek snorted. “You don’t know anything.”

“I do, too.” Maggie said. “I know how to dial nine-one-one. I can work the remote control. And I can download games on my mommy’s phone. Do you know how to do that?”

Barek scowled. “What?”

Cyprian chuckled to himself. The girl had spunk, and he knew exactly from whom she’d inherited that equally irritating and irresistible trait.

Maggie squared her shoulders and turned to Ruth, who was pouring mustard seeds into a mortar bowl. “Ruth, what’s a martyr?”

Ruth’s glance shot to Cyprian. “Someone willing to give their
life for what they believe. Perpetua was a brave Christian woman who refused to renounce our Lord. Standing up for her faith cost her life.”

Maggie smiled. “Let’s go get her.”

“The doll’s probably not even there anymore,” Barek said.

Ruth ground the pestle. “Barek, please.”

“I hid her under the bed.” Junia dabbed perfume behind Laurentius’s ear.

“Thyprian, pleath let them get the doll.” Laurentius tugged ribbons from his hair. “I don’t want any more thots. I want to draw.”

Ruth glanced at Cyprian. “What do you think?”

Keenly aware of how easily he could destroy Ruth’s hard work to bring peace, Cyprian waded in cautiously. “It’s not a good idea to go anywhere right now.”

“You went somewhere.” Maggie pointed at Cyprian’s head. “You’re wet.”

“My errand was a necessity.”

“Perpetua is all alone,” Maggie declared gravely. “Saving her is a necessity.”

“The tenements are especially dangerous right now.”

“Hold this, Larry.” Maggie gave Laurentius the spoon. Then she clicked across the tiles. She pulled up a stool opposite Cyprian, climbed aboard, and spun around until her knees nearly touched his. She smelled of Ruth’s perfume, and wild clover honey stuck to the curly lock falling across the pained expression on her face. Cyprian reached toward her silky head, hungry to touch his own flesh and blood. To wrap her in his arms and keep her safe forever. As his hand neared her head, she wiggled out of reach, bending to free the gown’s hem from the heel of her shoe.

“Here, let me help.” Cyprian released the snagged fabric.

As he straightened, his hand brushed hers. Warm. Real. Part Lisbeth’s . . . part his.

There was a pause, a moment when neither of them knew what to do next.

How to proceed deserved some serious consideration, especially if seeking senatorial support alerted Aspasius and cut his time with his daughter short. He slid back on the stool, dropped his elbows to his knees, and placed his hands on his chin.

Maggie observed him carefully and quietly. After a few moments she scooted to the edge of the stool, shrinking the distance between them until her knees were in full contact with his. She slowly lowered her elbows to her lap and plopped her chin into her cupped hands. Her posture and serious consideration matched his perfectly. Nose to nose, they were two thinkers contemplating the same deep chasm.

Maggie spoke first. “Mommy says you’re my daddy.”

He admired her directness. “Yes, Maggie. I’m your father.”

She stared straight into his eyes. “And that you love me.”

“We don’t know each other very well, but I knew I loved you the moment I saw you.”

She smiled. “Mommy says we’ll be a family, because you’re gonna come home with me.”

Rain rattled the tiled roof of the cottage. Cyprian broke eye contact with Maggie and let his gaze slide around the room. Barek fisted the dice, his jaw clenching back obvious anger. Laurentius’s mouth hung open. Junia held the perfume bottle in one hand, the stopper in the other. Ruth’s white-knuckle grip ground the pestle against the bowl. Her eyes were misty, and he could tell she was holding her breath, waiting for his answer.

Cyprian turned his gaze back to the wide-eyed and hopeful little blonde. “Wouldn’t you like to live
here
forever?”

She thought for a moment. “Okay. But if I’m going to live here, I need a doll. Daddy, can you please go get Perpetua?” Her eyes were the color of his, but they had the enticing clarity of purpose
of her mother’s. “Larry’s a good baby, but he’s cranky as Barek when he doesn’t get his nap.”

Cyprian laughed out loud.

Barek glared from the corner and slung the dice against the wall again.
“Stulte!”

“I’m
not
an idiot.” Maggie returned the full intensity of Barek’s glare. “I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Barek scoffed.

Cyprian held up his hand. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

“Junia can run in, grab Perpetua, and then run back out.” Maggie presented the details as if her way of thinking made perfect sense.

“That’s crazy.”

“Barek, please,” Cyprian said. “Going back to the tenements isn’t a good idea right now, Maggie.”

“I can do it, Cyprian.” Junia returned the stopper to the perfume vial. “I promise I won’t touch anything else.”

“Tell you what, girls.” Cyprian shuffled through the options, looking for one that provided a way for everyone to save face. “Get some rest, and first thing in the morning, we’ll figure out how Laurentius can go back to his drawings and you and Junia can have a real doll . . . even if I have to send Felicissimus out to buy one.”

“I told Mommy my daddy would fix everything.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Can she live here forever, too?”

Cyprian held her close, his tangled emotions lodged in his throat. How could he fix this without breaking his daughter’s heart? He couldn’t divorce Ruth and leave Barek and his unborn child without a father. And he couldn’t bear to send Lisbeth and Maggie back to Dallas. Letting them go had the added benefit of ensuring their safety, but the idea of losing Lisbeth a second time was a sinking stone in the pit of his belly.

He dared not glance at Ruth, or he would lose his composure
for sure. “Your mother can do whatever she thinks best.” He stood and carried Maggie to her mat. Her body weighed nothing, yet his arms ached as if he carried the weight of the future. He’d expected burdens to accompany fatherhood, but this taxing desire to protect his child no matter the cost was a surprise. He gently removed Ruth’s heels from Maggie’s small feet and kissed her forehead. “Good night, little one.”

“Daddy, wait.” She grabbed his neck and pulled him close. “Mommy’s not here to help me say prayers.”

“Your mother taught you prayers?”

“Of course.”

“To whom do you pray?”

“Duh. God.” Her brow wrinkled. “Who else?”

Had Lisbeth embraced the one God? “Ruth knows how to say children’s prayers.”

“No. I want you.”

He risked a glance at Ruth. Surely she felt as tangled as he? His efforts to judge Ruth’s frame of mind yielded nothing.

Ruth kept her eyes on the folds of fabric wrapped around Junia’s tunic. She concentrated on removing them with the same gentle grace she demonstrated attending all the broken things under his roof. “We’ll say them together.” She helped Junia slide in next to Maggie.