Her knitting needles slid across each other, adding a background rhythm to the tune Angel hummed while washing her stockings. Heaven hoped that by having to wash on a day that wasn’t washing day, Angel would remember to put her shoes on instead of racing across the floor that never seemed clean.
Heaven squinted in the dim light, not wanting to light the lamp until she came back from the barn. There was still time to knit a few more rows before the last bit of red faded from the sky. The scarf was a Christmas present for Pa. The one he’d taken up north was thin with wear. She’d unraveled her mother’s blue wool sweater. There was enough to make two scarves for Christmas gifts. This one was for Pa. Then she’d make one for Angel. A few more inches and Pa’s would be completed.
Then what? The rocker creaked faster against the plank floor. She didn’t have an address to send it. She would continue to pray they would hear something soon. Just because there wasn’t a letter at the post office today didn’t mean they wouldn’t be in St. Louis or Chicago to celebrate the Savior’s birth. Not likely though. She knew how long it had taken them to travel to Friendship from Nashville, even though they came by wagon and not a train. She could only imagine how long it would take to get to one of those northern cities, especially on a steamboat. It was time to realize they would still be living in this cabin come Christmas.
Heaven’s shoulders sagged. She lowered the knitting to her lap and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. She would have to go hunting soon or go into town hanging her head and asking for help. She couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that. She was a Wharton, and Whartons made their own way no matter what life planted in their path. Pa had made that clear. Whartons weren’t moochers.
She longed to have her pa back in control. No longer would she have to worry about Angel’s health and safety. At least she wouldn’t have to do it all alone.
Maybe she ought to consider taking Angel to Sunday school. Mrs. Reynolds had said something about a Christmas social, too. Not that there were a great deal of men around here to marry, but maybe she would meet someone. Someone who wouldn’t mind that her sister would have to be included in any future plans.
Maybe the man at the store today?
She had pretended to ignore him, but when he took off his hat, she couldn’t escape the desire to pat those wavy dark brown curls into submission. The scar on his cheek looked fresh, but so many men these days wore scars visible and invisible from the war. Maybe he’d be at the social. They’d be properly introduced and fall in love, and then she wouldn’t be alone.
Humph! Now she was dreaming. She was awful close to the age of being considered a spinster. Her chances of finding love would be better up north—if Pa would just send for them. She picked up her knitting, the needles clicked faster and no longer accompanied Angel’s tune. There wasn’t one. Angel had stopped humming.
Heaven slowed the rocker. She set her knitting aside and glanced over to see what had caused the cessation of the happy tune.
Angel stood with a back stiff at their ironing board. One hand held a dripping stocking as her head cocked to the left, listening.
Heaven’s heart quickened. She dropped her knitting into the basket sitting next to the rocker. “What do you hear, Angel?”
“Pa’s home!” Angel squealed. “His horse is coming down the lane!” She let the stocking she’d rinsed fall back into the bucket. Hands held in front of her, she bolted across the cabin floor toward the door.
Springing from the rocker, Heaven caught Angel by her mutton sleeve as she raced past. She pulled her to a stop and encircled her arms around her. “Wait. Let’s make sure it’s Pa before we go telling someone we’re here alone.”
With quick steps, she reached the corner where they kept the rifle. Pa told her to leave it there so she’d always know where to find it. She picked up the heavy weapon, cradling the barrel in her arms. She’d get Angel settled before getting in her shooting position. “Get up in the loft and stay there. I’ll call you out if it’s Pa.”
Angel whirled around and faced Heaven with her hands curled into fists.
“Go, Angel!”
Her lower lip curled into a pout, but she turned and headed for the loft. She counted off each of her steps like a nail driven by a hammer until she reached the stairs.
At every number, Heaven flinched. It was Angel’s way of expressing her anger. She wanted to be independent, but Heaven knew Angel wasn’t ready. When her sister’s feet cleared the last step on the loft ladder, Heaven turned back to the door. She cracked open the wooden door and shoved the Spencer’s barrel through the narrow opening. Her hands shook, and her mouth lost all its moisture.
She stepped onto the covered porch, aiming the rifle. One rider came trotting around the bend. One rider. Her shoulders felt lighter. Maybe Angel was right. Maybe it was Pa! She shielded her eyes from the setting sun.
Then her heart broke into chunks. It couldn’t be him. This man sat taller on a horse than Pa. He wore a hat down low over his eyes, but she could see enough of his face to know it wasn’t someone she knew. His clothing resembled what the man outside the store this morning wore. Someone must have told him about her being alone up here, probably Mrs. Reynolds. She didn’t care how good-looking she thought he was when he tipped his hat to her. He was just another one of those marauders trying to take their place. Where grief had settled in her heart, anger now planted its boots. This time she wouldn’t bother to warn the rider. No need to waste the words—they didn’t seem to change any of their minds. By accident she’d learned that if she fired in the air, they turned around and left.
She set her feet like Pa trained her and brought the butt of the gun above her shoulder, aimed above the man’s hat, and fired. The rifle kicked. She stumbled two steps back and slammed her elbow against the cabin door frame. She tumbled sideways, dropping the gun to the porch. The shot echoed in her ears. Then horror blossomed in her throat as the man slid from his horse to the muddy ground.
She’d killed him. Now Angel would be alone, because she was sure once the sheriff found out Heaven had murdered the man, she would hang.
Chapter 3
The rumble of stagecoaches, the blare of a train whistle, and the din of shopkeepers calling out their wares on the Nashville street pelted Jake Miles as he rode in his enclosed carriage. He kept his focus on the horses’ twitching ears as they pulled the carriage. They weren’t immune to the bustling noises, but they didn’t flinch the way the man holding the reins did.
The team’s iron shoes clanked against the cobblestone, scraping against the stone sideways as they hit a sunken place in need of repair. His raw nerves reacted, tightening each muscle like knots on a ship’s rope. He concentrated on keeping the panic inside of himself. You’re home. You’re safe.
Glimpses of stores he’d frequented before the war snagged the edge of his vision. He narrowed his lids to tunnel his line of sight, not wanting to see the harsh marks etched on his city by the Union Army or the face of anyone who might know him. He didn’t want to be singled out, called a hero, or asked if he had news of others who were still missing. He had nothing to offer any of them. After his unexpected arrival two nights ago, he had hidden in his boyhood bedroom at his parents’ home. He extracted promises from them and the house staff not to let news of his return be told to anyone. He was too broken to be seen. Broken on the inside where it counted. Once again he wished for a missing limb or eye. If he had something broken to show on the outside, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so much weighty guilt.
Today he’d ventured out among the living, knowing after all this time that he must release his fiancée from her promise to wait for him. She needed someone whole, not the shell of a man he had become. He pictured her golden hair and blue eyes tearing the moment she saw him. She, like the others, thought he was dead. Maybe she hadn’t even waited for him. His stomach reached for his heart, and they twisted together. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. His parents hadn’t heard from her since the false news of h
is death had been confirmed. She’d been beyond consoling, they told him, hiding away in her home grieving. His own parents hadn’t even lived their lives. Instead, they’d quit all aspects of societal life, including attending church. They’d turned into hermits, facilitated by the help of servants who saw to their needs for food and clothing. He found that disturbing and hoped that would change now that they knew he wasn’t dead.
It would be for the best if Heaven had married someone else. Still he needed to talk to her, see her, and touch her soft hands one last time. Make sure she was all right. Then he could let her go and could get out of Tennessee. Head for the West where a man could leave behind the coward and find something decent within him. If there was any to be found.
If he hadn’t run into Bradford Pickens at a market in Knoxville, he wouldn’t have returned at all. Pickens kept going on and on about Jake being a hero and getting out of the war alive. Jake wanted to punch him in the mouth to stop his lies. Then Pickens said he was heading back to Nashville, and he would let the others know he’d seen Jake.
He knew he had to get back before Pickens did and tell his family he’d survived the war. And Heaven. He wanted at least that small bit of respectability left to his name.
A man waved at him from the sidewalk, and Jake fought the urge to turn the carriage about and return to his parents’ home. He kept going, his last bit of courage growing smaller. His mother made him promise he would see Heaven today. Jake wished he was off to see the place and not the woman. It would be much easier to face the Almighty than the woman he was about to disappoint.
The redbrick two-story house didn’t have the same appearance. The drive was overgrown, but there were fresh buggy tracks. He parked his father’s carriage in front of Heaven’s home, fighting the instinct to turn and run.
The big tree that had graced the yard still stood. A shaft of sunlight reflected off of something in the bark, and he walked over to inspect it. Bullets were lodged in its majestic trunk.
“Yankees shot the tree and the house, inside and out.”
Jake looked up to see who was speaking. A man, one he didn’t know and several years his senior, had stepped out onto the porch. Had Heaven married after all?
Jake said to the man, “They left their mark on a lot things around here.” Including me. “Were you here then?” Maybe Heaven had been spared living through the Battle of Nashville.
“No, the other family was. They were anxious to sell and leave those memories behind. What brings you by the place?” He hung his thumbs on his overall straps.
The other family. Did that mean the Whartons had experienced what he had not? The dark feeling of guilt swirled thick around him. “I was looking for an old friend, Heaven Wharton.”
“They don’t live here anymore. I heard her father lost this house in a poker game to the man I purchased it from. They were gone by the time the Yankees got here.”
Relief snapped the band of tension around his chest, and he relaxed. She was safe and not married, at least not to this man. He was grateful she hadn’t married an old codger. “Do you know where they moved to?”
“Heard tell they moved out west somewhere.” The man’s cheeks sucked in as he pursed his mouth and then spit a wad of tobacco off the porch into Mrs. Wharton’s once-prized rose bushes. “Hope you find your woman.”
Jake slid his hand across the rough tree bark. The last time he’d been here, he’d kissed his girl good-bye and made her a promise. She’d worn a blue dress the color of a stormy sky that brought out the jewels in her eyes. The tears in them made them sparkle. His gut clenched. If only he still deserved her, he’d have run home the moment they set him free. But he didn’t, and that’s what he had to remember.
“Me, too, sir. I’ve some things to say to her.”
Heaven scrambled to retrieve the fallen rifle. She held it and aimed at the man on the ground in case he was fooling her and sprang to his feet. She waited, but he didn’t move. She lowered the rifle to her side, unsure of what to do next. The world seemed to have gone silent. Maybe God had taken her hearing for this awful act of murdering a man.
Angel appeared in front of her, tugging at her sleeve. “Did you kill him? I didn’t hear the horse run off, and I don’t hear a voice. Shouldn’t we go see if he’s dead?”
Sounds of the farm joined her sister’s questions. The chickens were cackling, and the rooster crowed. Heaven let out the breath that had clogged her throat. “I—I guess we’d better see. I hit him, Angel. I never hit anything.”
“Where did the bullet get him? Could you tell?” Her sister’s eyes were wide, and Heaven worried the images she was envisioning were more vivid than the reality.
“I aimed in the air like always and pulled the trigger. Then his hat lifted off like a blackbird in flight, and the reins slid from his hands. Without making a single sound, he slipped off his horse and hit the ground.” Heaven stepped off the porch. “I’m sure I killed him.”
Angel grabbed Heaven’s arm. “I’m going with you.”
“Stay here, Angel.”
“No. I’m coming, too. If he’s dead, he ain’t going to hurt me.”
Heaven’s fingers felt numb, and her legs were as heavy as that rifle in her hand had been. She vowed she’d never shoot that thing again, at least as long as that man lying in the mud wasn’t dead. Maybe she’d gone too far. Maybe she couldn’t handle taking care of Angel and the farm. Maybe it was time to go to town and throw herself on the mercy of the good preacher and his wife—if the man wasn’t dead. “Stay close just in case he’s foolin’ us.”
“What are we going to do with him if he ain’t dead yet?” Angel asked.
“I hope he’s wounded and not badly.” Heaven walked a bit faster, pulling her sister along by the hand at a pace she’d never before used. “We’ll have to tend to his injuries.”
“Then he’ll tell the sheriff you shot him. If he is dead, we can bury him in the back field. That way no one will ever know. We’ll be long gone and living with Pa before anyone finds him.”
The casualness of Angel’s voice sent shivers of dread through Heaven. Had they suffered so much loss that life had become trivial to her sister? She stopped, and with her free hand, she pulled her sister closer, looking into eyes that couldn’t see. “Angel, I was wrong to shoot that man. I didn’t even know why he was coming here. I acted out of fear, and that gets me and a lot of people in trouble. We will try and save him, and if he isn’t saveable, well then, we’ll just have to think of a way to save me without burying the poor man where no one will find him. He might have a family, and they’ll want to know what happened to him. Think about us. We haven’t heard from Pa in a long time, and that causes us concern, does it not?” Please, God, if he is dead, don’t let him have a family waiting for him the way we wait for Pa. She took her sister’s hand in hers and squeezed it. “I know you mean well, little one, but we have to live right. Come on, let’s see what we can do for this fella.”
Annabelle Singleton’s special order for wool had come in this morning. She waited for it to be brought to the counter, excited to get it. She had plans to start her stock of fine knitted accessories. When she had enough made, she would somehow open a shop in Memphis, no matter what her father said. It had to be that far away, where her father couldn’t interfere with her ideas and try to take over, keeping her his little girl. And far enough away that no one would know about her embarrassment.
She’d waited out the war for her fiancé to return, not once even casting a longing look at another man. She’d rolled bandages and thought of William, made sewing kits and wondered if one of them would get to him. She did it all, holding the love of William in her heart. Then he’d broken hers. He didn’t even have the decency to tell her in person. Instead, he’d sent a letter about how sorry he was to hurt her, but you can’t help love, he’d said. When it comes, it comes.
Apparently it had come in the form of a Yankee woman who now bore his name.
She’d decided then a
nd there she would become an independent woman of means and, thanks to her grandmother leaving her some gold, the opportunity glistened in front of her.
“Here you go, Miss Singleton.” The clerk placed the wool on the counter for her to inspect.
She brushed her fingers over the strands. Its softness would be perfect for her project. “Thank you. Can you wrap that for me, please?”
“Of course.” The clerk drew out some brown paper and placed her precious bundle inside. “Mrs. Kirby, I’ll be right with you.”
Annabelle went cold. She hadn’t faced William’s mother since the letter. She bit her lower lip. How could she smile and be graceful to her when her son had broken Annabelle’s heart?
“That’s all right. You all take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Annabelle sucked in air at the unfamiliar voice. Could she be here? Annabelle angled her body slightly, wanting to see the woman that attracted William enough to jilt her. Had William even mentioned Annabelle? Both Mrs. Kirbys stood behind her. The younger one offered a smile so sweet Annabelle felt like she’d eaten too much Fourth of July ice cream. William’s mother ignored her.
“Miss Singleton?”
“Yes?” Did her voice shake? She’d wanted William’s wife to be ugly, thinking—hoping—maybe he’d felt sorry for her and that’s why he married her. But that wasn’t it; the dark-haired beauty with porcelain skin could have been a china doll. Everything Annabelle wasn’t.
The clerk pushed the package tied with twine across the counter. “Would there be anything else you’ll be needing?”
“Not today, thank you.” The package crinkled in her hand, and she clutched it tightly. Her face felt hot. She had to get out of the store away from the fiancé stealer. With a quick step, she turned and brushed past the two Mrs. Kirbys without a word, making a beeline to the door.
Bride's Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee Page 3
