On a Midnight Clear

by Sandra Sookoo

“Why did it happen, God?” His cry, as he looked up into the heavens, slammed through her chest at the forlorn sound of it. “Why did they have to die, yet I’m still here to remember?”

  Oh, Cecil. Sarah’s heart squeezed as her heart raced. Had he gone ‘round the bend? She lifted a hand toward him, but he fell to his knees, continuing his one-sided dialogue with the Creator.

  “Why won’t You take the memories away? They’re crushing me from the pain, the guilt.” His breath clouded about his head in the chilly air. “I cannot continue on, cannot find the good while this rests on my shoulders.” Cecil beat a gloved fist on the ground and screamed for all he was worth. “Why am I here, because I’m tired of suffering.”

  The frustration in that sound tore at her. “Cecil.” But her whisper fell on deaf ears. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, but how to do that and not make the situation worse?

  Great, soulful sobs came from him as he knelt there before a few trees that bore savage hack marks. “Why do You feel so far away?” His body shook from the force of his emotion; his voice quavered and caught. Tears left silvery tracks down his cheeks as the halved moon came out from behind a cloud bank. “Do I even matter? To You? To her?”

  Does he refer to me? Her throat constricted and she couldn’t wait another moment to render aid. If ever he needed her support, it was now in this, his lowest hour. “Cecil?” With timid steps, she crossed the ground to his location, the lantern’s light bouncing over the tree trunks as her fingers shook. When she laid her free hand on his shoulder, he stiffened. “Let me help.”

  “Go away.” He hung his head, his strong shoulders bowed. “Leave me in peace.” The growl was back in his voice.

  She wasn’t about to let him slip into the gruff, shunned soldier. “The last thing you need right now is my defection.” Leaving him only long enough to set the lantern on the ground a few feet from him, she returned, a hand on his shoulder while she stroked the other through his hair. Had he worn a hat? Once more his body went rigid at her touch. “You’re hurting. Tell me why so I may better understand you.”

  So I can perhaps find the peace you so desperately need—that we need.

  “No.” He shook his head, refusing to look at her, the muscles in his shoulder still hard and taut.

  “Now is not the time for stubbornness, Major,” Sarah whispered, and once more passed her fingers through his hair. “If nothing else, you’ll feel better. Doctors and surgeons can only do so much, but at times, the mind needs attention too. And I...” She forced a hard swallow and moved so that she faced him... or at least the top of his head. Now was not the time for more lies either. “I don’t want you to continue your life as a broken man.”

  “Sarah.” Her name was propelled on a ragged gasp. “I feel as if I’m losing myself, as if I’ve forgotten who I am, who I was before the war.” When she thought he’d push her away, he launched himself into her, hugging her around the hips. He buried his face into her stomach and the tremors moving through his body transferred to her.

  “Tell me,” she crooned. She yanked off her gloves, let them drop to the ground and then furrowed her fingers into his hair, holding his head against her. “Help me understand the world you’re fighting.”

  He snorted. “I never wanted to fight at all.” Her apron and skirts muffled his response.

  “I know.” She waited, never stopped stroking his head. Sometimes, when Simon didn’t wish to talk, she held him, and her patience usually won out. The tactic should work the same with the boy’s father. “Does this happen often, this being lost in your mind? I thought you were happy these last few days, or at least more cheerful than you were when you showed up on my doorstep.”

  “At times, the memories of the war, of the aftermath, take me by surprise and grief wells up like a huge, heavy cloud that wishes to swallow me. It comes on without warning.” His grip didn’t lessen. “I had finished with the gate then wanted to chop more wood, but then the way the breeze whistled through the trees reminded me of my time in France, and...” Another sob shook his body and he again buried his face into her apron.

  “I, too, have experienced that sort of grief. There is nothing we can do to stop it, but we can confront it and remove some of its power.”

  “Anger is always with me, and I don’t know how to remove it.” He shrugged. “And that makes me angry because I’m angry.” Frustration rode the comment.

  “You are entitled to your feelings; no one can live without them. They’re a part of life and they let us know that we are, indeed, living it. But you must know there are better days ahead.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  Patience was the key. Stubborn men broke just as hard as others, but then, she’d been exceptionally gifted in piecing together puzzles. “Tell me what’s bothering you. It’s the only way to diffuse those feelings.” She stroked her fingers through his hair, dislodging the bit of leather he’d tied it back with. Tossing it away, she made soothing sounds, much like she might do with Simon. “Please talk to me, Cecil. Don’t shut me out.”

  Once he did so, they could never return to where they stood right now. Pain went too deep for that, but only when wounds were laid bare could the healing begin.

  “You will think differently of me.” His voice was raw, ragged, fearful.

  “No, I will know that you’ve been incredibly brave to trust me with what is a huge part of you.” Sarah cupped his cheek and gently lifted his face until their gazes connected. “And I will know what everyone else does—that you are a true hero in every sense of the word.” The sensation of falling assailed her as she stood, his anchor, as he clutched at her as if he were drowning.

  This man, so strong yet so fragile in this moment, had crept beneath her skin and had touched her heart. She would do everything in her power to bring him back from the darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I don’t deserve this kindness,” he whispered, the shadows in his eyes blending into the rapidly gathering nighttime around them. “I deserved to die on that battlefield with my regiment.”

  “You are wrong on both of those counts.” So, so wrong. Unshed tears in her throat nearly choked her. “I truly believe you’ve survived for a reason. You must believe that.”

  “How can I when my friends are gone?” Abject sorrow rang in his voice and once more he buried his face into her skirting. “I, alone, was left in that aftermath. Even though I carried three of my men—men I’d promised to keep alive—across the line to safety, they died from their wounds anyway.” Another series of sobs wracked his frame. “It didn’t matter one whit what I did on the battlefield that day. They died, and I miss them so much.”

  “As long as we remember the people we’ve lost, they’ll always be with us, and in that, fate has been kind, for they will never age or know further pain.” She recognized that waver in his voice, for she’d heard the same in Simon’s when the boys in the village excluded him from their games. It tugged at her heart as much now as it had then.

  “They left me here alone.”

  “I feel like that at times, too, the being left, the enormity of the future facing me. The not knowing what to do. We must carry on for the others around us—for ourselves.”

  “I have no one.”

  “You have me.” She continued to stroke his head, his cheek.

  “In what capacity? At times, I feel as if you’re too far away for me to reach.” His fingers tightened on her hips. “I miss that life, Sarah. The structure, the rules, the comfort in doing what was expected. I feel at sixes and sevens right now with no purpose.”

  “There is always a purpose to everything.” How could she make him see he was worthy? That he’d survived for a reason? “It is a matter of finding a new path, a new niche where you’re comfortable. You must give it time.”

  “Time?” A bark of bitter laughter left him. “I have had nothing but time the last months since April. It has yielded me nothing.”

  “Once more, Major Stapleton, you are wron
g.” She patted his cheek. “It is becoming an alarming habit of yours.” When he didn’t laugh at her attempt at levity, she sighed. “It gave you time to heal, to think over the second chance you’ve been given to perhaps put something good into the world. To reconnect with those you left behind when you went to war.”

  Perhaps to find me.

  Where had that thought come from?

  Cecil shook his head. He glanced up and caught her gaze. Infinite sadness pooled in those dark depths. “Do you refer to my family?” With a jerk, he shook his head. “My father wishes I were perfect. In his eyes, I should have died in battle instead of returning to England wounded, a constant reminder of my failure, and by extension his.” He dug his fingers into her waist, and she planted her feet more firmly lest he unwittingly tug her down. “At least my brother had the good sense to die with honor on the field. My father is proud of him.” He uttered a low curse. “The damn war took so much, even my brother.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once more, she hugged his head to her, hoped her touch brought him slight comfort. “But you are not a failure, Cecil Matthew. If your father cannot see that, it is his loss, for I see you as a hero. You are like new growth in the forest after a wildfire.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Perhaps you are like a phoenix rising from the ashes.” Was that the best she could do? With a sigh, she tried again, more along the lines of how she helped Simon. “Sometimes, in life, we are brought low so that we might show others how to conquer the mountains set before us.”

  “Why must you be such a shining example of goodness?”

  A thread of doubt wrapped its icy finger around her heart. “I think you’d find I’m not that good, if you truly knew me.”

  For long moments, he cried into her skirts as the lantern light danced and threw eerie shadows through their temporary shelter. Then, he spoke again. “If I am here for a reason, as you say, tell me why I should try when Simon will never know me as his father?”

  She reeled from the change in subject matter, but anger was never rational, and if this was a piece of the collective wad of guilt and rage he felt, it made sense. “You are here for Simon now, and that is what matters.” Over and over she stroked his head, the side of his face, his shoulders. “I think he knows that. As do you, deep down.”

  “How can I be an example to the boy when I’m crippled and scarred? Simon will never wish to be like me, nor should he.” He shook his head. “A father is a heavy responsibility any time, but I cannot be what he needs, not like this.”

  The hopelessness in his tone broke her heart and a piece of it flew into his keeping. “Such gammon you speak, Cecil. I thought you military men knew better.” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “If you’ve never listened to me before, do it now. You are not worthless for your scars or your limp.” Conviction rang in her voice. “And you are growing stronger each day. Why, there are times when you don’t use your cane. You know that’s true as well, for the work you’ve done around the cottage shows you that.”

  He grunted. Did that mean she’d broken through to him? “Then there is the problem of you.”

  “Me? I’ve welcomed you into my home and—”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He shook his head, but his grip lightened. “Despite all your pretty words, you don’t think of me as the man from that night. How can you when I’m a shell of him?” His voice wavered. “Now you never will, for you’ve seen what my body looks like.” A bit of humor wove into his voice. “Perhaps my ego doesn’t know when it’s been beaten even if it did take a blow.”

  “Oh, Cecil.” Over and over she raked her fingers through his hair. Tremors of awareness buzzed down her spine. “You are as handsome to me now as you were that night.” She dropped her voice even though they were the only ones there. “I don’t see your scars. I only see you.” It was the single greatest truth she’d ever uttered to him. “As for that night, I always remember. I’ve thought about it—you—all these years because I haven’t managed to separate my life from my memories. And...” She had to see him, so she once more forced him to look up at her until their gazes connected. “I don’t want that to change, for I’m glad you’re here.”

  He remained quiet, the silence marked by the pounding of her heart, the short pants of her breathing. Then, Cecil pulled away from her. What would he do? What was he thinking? He rubbed his eyes, scrubbed away the remaining moisture from his cheeks. With a sigh that seemed to come from his soul, he struggled into a standing position. If anything, he appeared more refreshed and exhausted. “Did you tell me the truth?” he asked in a barely-there whisper, but his piercing gaze held her captive with emotions she couldn’t read.

  “Yes.” Her whispered one-word answer was a breathless affair.

  “Then perhaps there is hope after all.” He looked at her, held her gaze, peered into her face for long moments. Then he cupped her face and brought his lips swiftly down onto hers.

  This wasn’t a gentle, tender embrace. Oh, no. The kiss was raw and powerful and all-consuming, as passionate as that night long ago when they’d come together in mutual need. Sarah reeled from the sudden change in his mindset; he hadn’t lost any mastery of kissing. In fact, if anything, he was more potent. It was all she could do to remain upright as she clutched at his shoulders and gave herself over to him.

  Finally, finally he was giving her the kiss she’d wanted since her impromptu overture two days ago. And she couldn’t have enough of him.

  As much as he drank from her again and again, treated her to deep drugging kisses that were both desperate and welcome, Sarah matched him in ferocity and passion. She pressed her body against the hard wall of his, held him to her in a blatant bid to feel every bit of the desire he invoked inside of her. Heat licked through her veins. Emotions she thought long buried and dormant sprang into bloom with every frantic meeting of mouths, every satiny glide of her tongue along his. It was as if the years apart had never happened, yet they had and the two of them were better because of it, for now they had the experience of life behind them.

  Would that translate into something tangible or was this kiss merely a reaction to the emotions of the moment?

  All too soon, Cecil pulled away, his breathing as heavy as hers. His eyes gleamed like sapphires in the faint moonlight. “I’d say we’ve been moving toward that for a long time.” An unrepentant grin curved his lips.

  She nodded, her ability to think scattered. “There is no chance of me forgetting you.” When she tried to take a step backward, her knees wobbled, and she stumbled.

  His laugh, devoid of bitterness or guilt, rang through the trees and made her stare as if she’d never seen him before. “For the first time in a long while, I feel... decent.” Marvel stole through his expression. “Not quite giddy, let’s say, but better than when I gained this space.”

  “Good.” Sarah searched about the ground for the shawl she’d lost during that kiss to end all kisses. “I’m glad I could help you.” She snagged it from the ground, shook it out and then set it about her shoulders. Never had she felt the cold when with him.

  “You have all along, Sarah.” His baritone whisper sent gooseflesh sailing over her arms. “You’ll probably never know how deeply I appreciate that.”

  She nodded, but she had to know before they went forward. “That kiss...”

  “It was quite lovely, was it not?” he asked as he moved away then retrieved the axe. “And if I may say, needed?”

  Heat burned through her cheeks. “Yes, but...” She forced moisture into her suddenly dry throat. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “I wanted to.” He shouldered the axe and flashed her another grin. “Did I overstep?”

  “No.” The word sounded pulled from her. “Was it prompted by true emotion or were you merely grateful after you poured out your soul?”

  Cecil came near, close enough to put his lips to the shell of her ear. “I kissed you because I’ve wished to do so since the moment I saw you in my doorway. But I must warn you
, I might do it again if the spirit moves me, for you are every bit as enchanting as you were that long-ago night.”

  “Oh.” The heat in her cheeks spread out to encompass her whole body. “What now?”

  “Now? I intend to do justice to the evening meal you’ve worked so hard on.” He winked at her from over his shoulder. “After that, I suppose only time will tell, but I’m looking forward to whatever fate has in store.”

  What did that mean? Not knowing and too much a coward to inquire further, Sarah retrieved the lantern and hurried after him. How could men rebound so quickly after unburdening their souls? She would have been exhausted and taken to her bed after something like that, but Cecil? He seemed reborn.

  A slow smile spread across her face. It was a start.

  “If you don’t mind, Major Stapleton, would you bring in some firewood? We’re running low upstairs,” she murmured as she caught him up. Without his body wrapped around hers, the chill of the night seeped in through her shawl.

  “Only if you promise to sit with me later, Mrs. Presley. I’m of a mind to read you some poetry, if I can locate a volume.”

  The brush of butterfly wings crashed through her lower belly. The progress they’d made stole her breath, and she rather enjoyed his flirting. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Once they gained the garden gate and the cottage with cheerful, golden light flickering in the windows and the smoky scent of the fireplace permeating the air, Sarah sighed. This was home, and Simon had been correct earlier. Having the Major there only enhanced that feeling.

  We are a family. Fractured, perhaps, but with the right amount of glue, they would get through nicely. With that thought in mind, she handed Cecil the lantern, pushed the gate open and proceeded into the garden.

  No sooner had she passed into the dark of the familiar area than she felt the brush of a hand on her arm. The shawl slipped from one shoulder. The hairs on her nape quivered. Her heart hammered beneath her ribcage and she paused. All instincts told her to run, that there was a threat in the garden. Oh, dear Lord, is Simon safe? She glanced toward the door, but it remained tightly closed.