The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the fire. After a little bit, Rafe heard Eleanor rise from the sofa and add some wood to the flames. “I hate that I’m helpless and that you have to do all of this,” he grumbled.

Eleanor sat down, twisting her body so that it faced Rafe on the other end of the sofa and tucked her right leg under her body. She studied him for a moment, seeing the tight muscles in his face and the way he clenched his hands. “Why is that? It is because I’m a woman? Or your employer? Or do you just hate feeling helpless in general?”

Shaking his head slightly, his lips twitched. “You go right to the heart of the matter, don’t you?” Sighing, he said, “I guess it’s mostly that I like being in control. I mean, sure, I was taught to always take care of a lady, so it goes against my grain to have you build the fire…not that you can’t handle the job, but it’s just not how I was brought up.”

“Um…Miss Ethel?” she asked, her voice filled with hesitation. He smiled and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You know Miss Ethel?”

“Well, she was good friends with my mom. I think she still goes to the same church that they used to. That’s how she found out I needed someone here, I suppose.”

“You’re right about her. She definitely taught me how to treat a lady. But, my dad would have been disappointed to think that you were building the fire for me.”

“But, you’re injured,” she protested.

Nodding, he amended, “I guess I should have said that my dad would have been disappointed if there was any way I could have accomplished it myself.” Chuckling, he said, “I suppose I could try it but I’d be afraid I might set fire to your curtains.”

Laughing, Eleanor settled back deeper into the cushions, enjoying the repartee. Other than Sally and the occasional visit by her attorney and accountant, she rarely spent time with others…and certainly not just for the conversation.

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost five o’clock.”

Rafe visible startled, “Wow, I can’t believe it’s so late already. Is the electricity still out?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I’ve got a gas stove and thought we could have some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in a little bit.”

“Sounds perfect.” After a moment, he began, “What about tonight…I…uh…”

“Don’t worry, Rafe, I won’t throw you out,” she laughed. “Remember, Bellamy House has six bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, so once I get you upstairs, you’ll have your own space. My room is at the end of the hall and I’ll put you in the room across from me, in case you need something. And, it’ll be farthest from the stairs, in case you decide to wander in the night.”

His hand drifted to his forehead again, and she leaned forward, placing her hand on his knee. “Are you in pain?”

“A dull throbbing,” he confessed.

Standing, she said, “I’ll get our supper and another pain pill. We’ll turn in early and hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

As Eleanor’s voice moved away from him, Rafe hastened to say, “May I come with you? To the kitchen?”

A few seconds of silence passed and he readied himself for rejection but, to his relief, she replied, “Sure.” He felt her take his hand and he stood, moving closer to her body.

She moved to his other side, taking his arm instead of his hand. Retracing their steps, they made their way to the kitchen and she gently deposited him in a chair. “Originally, my grandparents did not have a table in the kitchen, only eating in the dining room. But, with it just being me here, I had a small table added. You can sit and keep me company while I perform culinary delights making soup and sandwiches.”

Laughing, he said, “Don’t knock your culinary delights. Since I am completely at your mercy, a peanut butter sandwich would be a delight!”

He heard her moving about the room, the sounds amplified without visual cues. The can opener. Pouring of liquid. The spoon scraping along the pot. The whoosh of the flame on the gas stove. The scent of tomatoes and cheese filling the air.

Soon, he heard platters being set on the table in front of him, the warmth curling from the hot soup reaching his face. “Smells great,” he enthused honestly.

“Here’s your spoon,” she said, placing the utensil in his hand. “The bowl is at twelve o’clock. The sandwich is on a small plate at ten o’clock, and your water is at two o’clock.”

His brow knit, causing pain which he ignored, as he turned his head toward her voice. “I didn’t expect military lingo from you.”

Silence ensued again and he was afraid she was not going to talk to him. About to apologize, he released a held breath when she spoke.

“I suppose there are lots of things about me you don’t know.”

Unable to see her face, he instinctively knew she did not want to discuss that topic. Dipping his spoon into the soup, he leaned over the bowl to taste the warm broth. “Man, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Well, I can open a can of soup with the best of them,” she quipped, sitting down at the table with her own bowl. “Just wait until you taste my sandwich. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to grilled cheese heaven.”

Barking out a laugh, he reached over, finding it just where she indicated, and took a large bite. The buttery, toasted bread housing the melted cheddar was perfect, and he grinned. “Yep, heaven.”

They ate in silence until the simple meal was finished. As he scraped the bowl with his spoon, he leaned back in his chair, hearing her still munching. When it sounded like she had finished, he asked, “Tell me about Bellamy House. I’d love to hear about this fascinating manor.”

“Bellamy House? Really?”

He heard the warmth in her words and knew he hit upon a favorite topic. “Yeah…I’d really like to know the history.”

“Let me clear the dishes first and then I’d love to talk about my house.” As she stood and gathered their plates, he silently vowed to take care of whatever he could for her as soon as he was able to see again. He heard her rinse the dishes before placing them into the dishwasher.

Eleanor washed the pot and pan, leaving them in the drying rack, thinking about how to describe her home to him. “The short version is that my great-grandfather built this house for his bride. But then, I can give you the long, wonderful version, if you like.”

“Very much, please.”

“For that, I suppose we should get comfortable.”

“Lead the way, dear lady,” he said, holding out his hand.

She walked over, her gaze on his outstretched hand and hesitated. His hand was strong. Long fingers. Short nails. It was beautiful. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she reached out her left hand and wrapped her fingers around his. The electricity in the house may have been out, but the zing she felt from his hand through hers could have lit the entire area.

Rafe cocked his head to the side, the slight pressure of her hand in his causing his breath to quicken. He cursed not being able to see her face. Her hand was soft…and yet strong…sure. He remembered the piano playing and it all made sense. If the hand that was holding his now was the same one that created the soulful music, there had to be strength in it.

“Come on,” she encouraged, sliding her body under his shoulder again, leading him out of the kitchen.

“Back to the study?”

“No, this time I think we’ll move to the library.”

“That sounds impressive,” he admitted.

“To be truthful, many of the rooms in this house are filled with books. My grandmother loved to read. There were bookshelves in the family room where we were earlier. My father’s study had his books, and my grandmother and mother loved the library.”

She once more talked as she guided him down the hall, explaining what they were passing along the way. “The entry foyer is on your right, the front door in the center. The main staircase is also on your right, but I usually use the one near the back, where we were. The formal dining room is directly behind the foyer, to our left. The formal living room is straight ahead.”

“And the library?”

“Right here,” she said, gently guiding him toward the left. “It can be closed off or opened to make the formal living room larger. My parents rarely did that, but my grandfather would do so when they hosted a large event.”

He tried to imagine Eleanor’s life, full of soirées, teas, dinner parties. Different from mine, that’s for sure.

He knew as soon as they entered the larger room, her voice having a slightly different echo than in the large, tiled entry foyer. He felt soft carpets underneath his feet and the scent of old books filled the air. Inhaling deeply, he relished in the odor of old print, leather-bound books, and the rose from the woman next to him.

It was impossible to ignore the way she was tucked in, offering support…while at the same time feeling distant. Cursing that the dignified lady had to assist him, he tried to move slightly away but immediately stumbled on the edge of a rug.

“Careful,” she cried out, moving in closer. “Here’s the sofa. It’s comfortable also, although I prefer the one in the family room. It’s just that this room feels like the right place to begin the story.”

Rafe settled back, sinking into the soft cushions. Hearing her sit close by, he smiled, longing to have her close. I haven’t seen her and I’m already getting attached. Turning his face toward her, even though his eyes could not see, he prodded, “So, this house. Tell me all.”