Where Dandelions Bloom

by Tara Johnson

  “Do you want to talk?”

  The hissing streams of milk were shrinking.

  “No.”

  Gabe sighed. “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “Pushing me away, I see.”

  She clenched her teeth but refused to be prodded.

  “Cassie, look at me.”

  She released Molasses and slowly lifted her gaze to his, shame tightening within her.

  “I can take a lot of things, Cass. War, flying bullets, and an angry father. But the one thing I can’t bear is you pushing me out. Please don’t.” He reached up and skimmed her cheek with his fingers. The brick wall of her resolve crumbled into ash.

  Dropping her head into her hands, she whispered, “I can’t believe I acted the way I did last night.”

  “What do you mean? What way?”

  She couldn’t look at him. “Like a—a hussy.”

  Deep, rumbling laughter burst from his chest, and she snapped her head up, glaring. “I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

  He smiled, his green eyes darkening. “I was the one who kissed you, remember?”

  “But I—I—” She didn’t want to say it.

  His white teeth flashed. “You enjoyed it?”

  Warmth bloomed. “Yes. Far too much.”

  He reached for her fingers and tucked them into his own. “Is that what troubles you?”

  “Partially.” It felt strange confiding in him. She’d never told her deepest thoughts to anyone, save Granny. “Mostly I can’t let go of Father’s accusations. The thought of Mother wandering through the woods and succumbing to the chill of damp and exhaustion—” she forced down the ache in her throat—“it’s tormenting me. How could I have been so selfish?”

  Gabe emitted a dry laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing about myself.”

  “Your mother and father?”

  “In the past, yes. But more recently.”

  She studied his downcast face. Stubble lined his angular jaw. Shadows smudged under his eyes. “Why would you feel selfish? You’re the kindest person I know.”

  He was quiet for a long moment before locking his gaze on hers. “How did I come to be shot, Cass?”

  Puzzled at the question, she frowned. “Don’t you remember? Rebels shot at you while you were getting ready to photograph our regiment crossing the Potomac.”

  “But why did they fire?”

  Her breath thinned. He didn’t need to know. She wouldn’t let him know. Yet she could not force a lie past her lips.

  He smiled sadly. “I know it was my fault.”

  Her heart churned. “But how? How did you find out?”

  “There was a cheery little piece in the paper about my inadvertent signal to the Confederates camped nearby. I happened to read it on the train while you were sleeping. One of the injured soldiers told a reporter he saw a flash from my camera lens just before the firing began.” Pain shuddered across his features. “After waiting half the morning for the sun to be in position, you can bet I remember how bright it finally was. Its reflection, and my foolishness, is what caused our friends to be captured. Some of them drowned.” He looked away and released her hands. “And I put you in danger.”

  “Gabe.” She reached for his arm, trying to press her words deep inside him. “It was only an accident. War is anything but predictable. Any number of things could have caused the same results. Please don’t blame yourself.”

  “But Selby and Johnson and so many others lost everything because of me.”

  She frowned. “Don’t you think God saw it all? Don’t you believe you can trust him, despite the pain or how chaotic his way might seem at the moment?”

  He stroked her cheek. “Listen to you. Couldn’t the same be said of you and your mother?”

  She stared at him. “So what do we do?”

  “I don’t know.” He fingered a wayward lock of her hair. “I suppose we learn from it and keep living. Each day is a gift from God. I don’t want to squander it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He leaned in to brush her lips with a kiss, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him short. “Gabe—”

  He watched her, the desire in his eyes palpable.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  A dozen excuses flitted through her muddled mind, but they all eluded her when he looked at her with such tender longing. She latched on to the first thing she could think of. “We’re not courting. It’s not proper.”

  He kissed her forehead, murmuring against her skin, “Easy enough to rectify.”

  Heavens, but her body hummed to his touch like a hive of bees. She forced herself to be logical. “In the middle of war? With me dressed as Thomas Turner?”

  He eased back and sighed. “That is a challenge.” His face brightened, hopefulness replacing his weary expression. “Of course, you could just choose not to return.”

  A strange twinge niggled at her. “What are you saying?”

  “Let Thomas Turner go.”

  She blinked, trying to understand what he was asking of her. “Just disappear? And do what? Make myself subject to Father’s drunken tirades or whatever other lusty-eyed suitor he drags over to challenge your claim? And he will, you know.”

  Gabe stood and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “He thinks we’re married.”

  “But we’re not.”

  He looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “Have you given up your dreams, Gabe? Will you wash your hands of your photography and abandon your work?”

  He frowned. “Of course not.”

  She held his gaze, challenging him. “Neither can I.”

  An uncharacteristic spark of anger lit his eyes. “Your dream is to bunk with rough, swearing men? To don a Union uniform and be shot at? To die young or be so traumatized you wish you had?”

  His outburst was like a slap across the face. The sting cut deep. “What are you saying?”

  He studied her, his jaw tight. “I think you know.”

  Dread washed over her. Yes, she knew.

  “You take on a man’s duty.”

  “Yes, and I do it well. Better than most.”

  His anger appeared to siphon away as he rubbed the back of his neck. His shoulders slumped. “But you only ran away to fight to avoid marriage to Leeds. To continue now, if he believes he cannot claim your hand, is ludicrous. Why put yourself through it further?”

  She fought to speak calmly past the anger roiling through her. “I admit it was about that at first, but it’s more than that now. Do you remember the evening the contraband soldiers sat around the fire with us, sharing how they escaped slavery only to enlist as soon as they could find the Union lines?” Her resolve hardened. “After all those years of dreaming of freedom, yearning for it, begging the Almighty for one taste, the first thing they did upon receiving it was sign up to fight.” She swallowed. “They understand their purpose on earth is about more than themselves. Those men showed me the shallowness of my own motives.” She looked down into the full pail. “It must be about more than hiding from Father. It has to be.”

  “It has to be? Sounds to me as if you’re looking for reasons.”

  Tears burned as her chin rose. “If it’s not, Mother may have died in vain.”

  “Cass—”

  “This is about right and wrong. Ideals and convictions.” She searched his eyes, wishing she could erase his glare. “It’s my duty. I can’t abandon our friends or the cause many of them have already died for. I won’t.”

  He stared hard at the barn wall for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. “I don’t know if I can let you do that.”

  Let her? Did he think that exchanging kisses and affections with her entitled him to control her decisions? Her future? Panic clawed the back of her throat.

  Were all men controlling like her father, demanding their own way at the risk of crushing her heart in the process?

  Something within her curled in on
itself. How foolish she’d been.

  The thud of horse hooves clopping through dry leaves snagged her attention away from the words begging to burst past her lips. A lone man rode up to the cabin, his lumpy hat pulled low over his face. After he tethered the horse to a nearby tree, she watched his gait as he strode to the cabin’s front door. Something about him seemed so familiar. . . .

  The man looked from the cabin to the barn’s open door and her blood froze. Erastus Leeds.

  She stood on shaky legs and stepped closer to Molasses’s head, hoping to hide in the shadows. Gabe must have sensed her unease, for he moved to stand like a sentinel in the frame of the barn door, his form strong and unyielding.

  “May I help you?” he called across the yard, his voice jovial, though Cassie knew him well enough to realize he was as tensed as a rattler.

  “The name is Leeds. I come by to verify the gossip spewing from Kendrick’s mouth. Is it true his daughter has returned?”

  Gabe whispered, “Let me take care of him. Stay here.”

  Before she could reply, Gabe walked from the barn. “It’s true, all right. But his daughter won’t be receiving any more marriage proposals.”

  As the men’s voices and footfalls faded, the coil in her chest tightened. Erastus was cruel and cunning. If they came to blows . . .

  She dropped her head against Molasses’s, her heart sore. The cow made a guttural noise and nuzzled her neck.

  She had opened her heart to a man who would surely break it. Had she learned nothing from her parents’ volatile relationship? Men commanded and domineered. Women meekly obeyed and suffered in silence.

  Not her. She refused to let any man control her as Father had done to Mother. She must guard her heart. Her future and happiness depended on it.

  Yet she feared the damage had already been done.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I’d like to talk with my intended.”

  Gabe studied the man glaring at him. Greasy hair hung in his dark eyes. A crooked, hawkish nose jutted above a stubble-covered jaw. His form was lean but by no means weak. He looked sly and tough . . . like a hungry coyote spoiling for a fight.

  “If you’re speaking of Cassie, you’re mistaken. She’s not your intended.”

  Leeds spit out a curse and took a menacing step forward. “I paid what Kendrick asked. His daughter will be my wife.”

  Gabe planted his feet and crossed his arms. “That’ll be impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s my wife.”

  Leeds’s jaw went slack. “What? You stole my property?” His fist swung, but Gabe ducked.

  Grabbing the man by his shirt collar, Gabe slammed him into the barn wall, letting his head bounce against it with a sickening crack. “Cassie is not your property!”

  Leeds struggled against him, but Gabe tightened his push as he dug his forearm into the man’s throat. The squirming reminded him of a pinned rat.

  “Did you pay . . . Kendrick too?”

  Gabe glared. “I’ve paid Cassie’s father nothing.”

  Leeds grimaced under the pressure of Gabe’s arm. His face became mottled with red as he gasped for breath. “So . . . it wasn’t . . . because of his gaming debts . . . then.”

  Recognizing the defeat in the man’s face, Gabe slackened his hold. “I have no idea why Cassie’s father does what he does. What I do know is that Cassie will not be marrying you.” Gabe released him with a small shove.

  Leeds glared and rubbed the back of his head. “More’s the pity.” He smirked and Gabe’s fingers curled into fists.

  Leeds saw the movement and stepped toward his horse. “Kendrick will pay for this. He’ll pay or I’ll kill him.”

  And then he was gone.

  Something was wrong.

  Gabe watched Cassie from the corner of his eye as she observed him preparing his camera to capture Ardie’s image. He could see it in her stiff shoulders, the way she averted her eyes whenever he looked toward her. Since their quarrel in the barn, she had avoided him completely. Quiet, intense . . . too much like Thomas Turner.

  “You don’t suppose I’ll break your fancy camera box, do you?”

  His focus swung back to Ardie and he smiled, watching her primp her gray curls as she sat in a patch of sunlight behind the cabin. The breeze was cool, but the sun was brilliant. The exposure would not need to be long.

  “As pretty as you are, capturing your image will only improve my lens and make my work better than it normally is.”

  Her blue eyes danced. “Stuff and nonsense.”

  He chuckled as she smoothed the shawl draped over her shoulders. Ducking underneath the black curtain, he dropped the prepared plate into the camera and let his hands hover over the cap. “Here we go. On the count of three, hold very still until I tell you we’re finished. One, two, three.”

  He removed the cap and ticked off the seconds under his breath. The image was sweet and nostalgic. Ardie sitting in a simple chair, the cabin in the background. A peaceful expression illuminated her face. He prayed he wouldn’t accidentally ruin the image when he developed it. Finding a spot dark enough to finish the chemical wash would be tricky.

  “All done.” He stepped out from under the cover of the curtain to find he and Ardie were alone. “Where is Cassie?”

  Ardie frowned. “She snuck away into the woods a moment ago. She’s been acting a mite peculiar today.” She speared Gabe with a sharp look. “Did you two have a tiff?”

  He ran his fingers under his suddenly too-tight collar. “Something like that.”

  Ardie sighed. “A word of advice? Don’t let any strain between you fester. My Cass is an angel, but the longer she stews about something, the bigger it seems in her mind.”

  He’d gathered as much already. “I’ll go find her. First, let me get you inside and out of this breeze.” He winked. “And thank you for letting me take your photograph. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve captured in months.”

  Ardie laughed and stood carefully, placing her veined hand in Gabe’s waiting elbow. “That’s not saying much when most of your work consists of photographing the dead.”

  He found Cassie, but she asked to be alone.

  Gabe watched her retreating form as she buried herself deeper into the woods. Was it so wrong to want to protect her? To ensure her safety so they could build a happy life together?

  He didn’t understand her one bit. She was retreating in on herself like a turtle slinking into its shell. And he was helpless to know how to love her out of it.

  They had only one more day before they must leave. One more day to listen to her silver laughter and watch her dazzling smiles. One more day for her to steal his breath with her warm looks and feminine grace. One more day to kiss her intoxicating lips. Then she would be gone, replaced by a mirage.

  How could he give her up?

  He stared at his curled fists. The stain of chemicals darkened the tips. Dirt from splitting firewood blackened his nails. So much like Mither’s. He blinked.

  So much like Mither’s . . .

  He’d grabbed her hand that February morning in the cold flat. Her fingers were calloused and rough from working at the textile mill day after day. Her stout figure had whittled away, and dark rings shadowed her eyes. When he’d tugged her to a stop, she had turned slowly, her face resigned, too weary to fight.

  “You must not return to the mill. It’s too much for you.” He rubbed her frigid hands between his own and let his gaze drift to the coal bin. Empty. Again.

  She smiled sadly. “I must, Gabriel. You know I must.”

  “It’s killing you. The hours are too long. The lack of proper air, the chemicals . . .” He paused and searched her face. “Da’s been gone six months. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”

  She tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “We’re both doing all we can. Your job at the docks helps tremendously. Between that and what I make—”

  He released a harsh breath and turned away. “And yet w
e have no money for coal. None for clothes. We barely make the rent and have stretched our food stores until we eat but two meals a day.” He stared at the floor, his heart shredding. “Da would have never let this happen. I should be doing more.”

  “Gabriel.” Mither breathed his name and rushed to him, her eyes flooding with concern. “You take on too much. You’re barely out of boyhood. You can’t be expected to manage as a man like your da would have, nor would anyone want you to.”

  He shook his head. “I tried, you know. I tried getting a better-paying job in one of the nice shops downtown. I didn’t want to be working at the wharf. I applied to keep the books for shopkeepers, be a salesclerk, anything that would provide you an easy go of it.” He ran a hand down his face. “No one would take me. Jobs are in short supply. If I could just find better work, all of our problems would go away. You could—”

  “Gabriel.” Mither cupped his cheek. “You have a beautiful heart. Everyone who meets you loves you. The way you see the world is so incredibly special, but, Son—” she shook her head slowly—“you can’t take care of me alone.”

  And then she’d left for her shift.

  His heart had twisted and bled that day.

  Bitterness wrapped around him. He’d not been able to help Da, nor his mother, and now Cassie was choosing to push him away as well. He was never enough.

  “The way you see the world is so incredibly special . . .”

  He glanced at the camera clutched in his hands. On impulse, he’d dropped a wet plate inside after photographing Ardie that morning. He knew why now. He wanted to capture Cassie’s likeness—to remember her as she truly was, not the mask she donned in battle. He wanted to cling to the warmth of her vibrant beauty, to have her entrenched in his heart. He wanted Cassie. Not Turner.

  His steps quiet, he slunk through the woods, searching. He wouldn’t let her see him. Leaves crunched under his feet. He drew slow breaths, his gaze roaming the gray woods . . .

  There she was.

  She sat on a flat rock overlooking a gentle stream wending its way through the hilly terrain. Her dark hair brushed her shoulders, curling at its tips. She leaned over the rock, a dried crimson leaf held between her fingers as she swept it over the water, watching it cut, slice, and swirl a path through the rippling creek.