No wonder Bledsoe was so smitten with her.
He’d nearly mastered using the broom, at least. About halfway across the floor, he glanced up and found Miz Lydia regarding him with a wry smile as she stirred the stew on the stove. With a slow shake of her dark head, she turned back to the pot.
Was that because of his clumsy insistence at sweeping, or something else entirely?
Miss MacFarlane finished up the letter, blotted and folded it, and patiently had Johnny dictate the address. Then, after tucking the packet into her lap desk, she set it aside. “Might I get you anything else?”
Johnny sank back with a satisfied sigh. “Not presently. Thank you.”
From the corner of his eye, Josh saw her nod—just a little too tightly—and heard her murmur, “Please do excuse me, then,” in a voice that pitched a little too high.
Snatching her woolen shawl from the peg by the door, with one hand clutching her skirt, she fairly fled the house.
He angled toward the window to watch, but instead of the barn or even privy, she headed for the open field leading toward the hillside, running.
Where the devil was she going?
And should he follow, just to make sure she came to no harm?
He’d barely time to think the thought before one of the men loitering outside by the barn pushed himself upright and wandered in the same direction. His companions jostled each other and laughed.
He didn’t think. He simply went. Thankfully, he already wore his boots, having gone out to chop wood and whatnot.
The wind held an edge, but he hardly felt it. Someone greeted him as he crossed the porch, but he threw them a wave and kept going.
God … oh God … keep her safe.
She’d already disappeared into the cover of the timbered hillside, with that no-account still following.
Josh broke into a run, though his arm ached with the exertion and his body felt oddly off balance. He was a fast runner—or had been, because apparently losing a hand made him clumsy, but he drove himself harder up the slope.
Pearl simply could not bear it a moment longer. The closeness of the house, indeed, the despondency which hung about the entire farm these last few weeks—Lydia was there and could surely spare her a half hour.
She had a vague idea of running to Mama’s grave—which now shared the family plot with an assortment of Yankees—but once her feet were on the hillside, she decided against it and kept running until she’d gained the timber. And even then, she climbed steadily, over rocks and around boulders, through the brush, until she’d nearly gained the top of the ridge and lack of breath forced her to stop.
So—much—hurt. So much sorrow. Too much death, and blood, and—where would it end?
She collapsed against a boulder, half gasping, half sobbing. Lord, where are You in all this? Are You even here? Have You forgotten us? My eye wastes away with grief, my years with sighing …
A snapping of twigs brought her upright, and she whirled to find a shabbily dressed man approaching—one of their wounded Yankees from the barn, although she couldn’t be completely sure in the moment. An all-too-intent gleam shone in his eyes. “Hullo there, missy. It’s lonely out here. Care for some company?”
A ragged gasp rattled from her throat. “I—no. I prefer to be alone, sir. Pray return to the house.”
His smile grew more oily. “Ah, but your talent for comfort is renowned. I thought I might get me a taste of it meself, iffen ya don’t mind.”
Anger fired through her veins, hot and desperate. “I do mind, very much.” She scrambled away, sliding along the boulder, the burning in her side forgotten as she poised to dive away and take flight once more.
And then—a roar came from behind the man, and he jerked around to look just as a second man plowed into him. The impact sent them both tumbling, until they slammed against another rocky outcropping. Pearl caught a glimpse of fire-red auburn hair.
Mr. Wheeler?
Indeed, though she hardly recognized him in his fury, it was he, rearing back now to slam his fist into the jaw of her would-be assailant, then rising to haul him to his feet. “Get—get out of here, right now,” he snarled. “And don’t let me catch you within thirty feet of Miss MacFarlane without Portius or myself present.” He shook the man so hard even Pearl heard his teeth rattling. “Do—you—hear—me?”
With a single, hasty nod and the barest glance toward Pearl, the soldier stumbled away, limping and clutching his shoulder.
Mr. Wheeler watched him go before swinging toward Pearl, eyes dark as night, face flushed, teeth bared. The ferocity faded only a little as his gaze swept her. “Are you unhurt?”
Hands across her mouth, she nodded, unable to move, unable to speak. Trembling seized her.
As her knees buckled, he was suddenly there, at her side, catching her before she too tumbled. And all she could do in the moment was let herself fall against him, cheek pressed to his chest, hands reflexively clutching his shoulders.
“All’s well now,” came the soothing rumble of his voice, under her ear. “He won’t touch you, I promise.”
A whimper tore from her throat. His arms tightened around her, and as the weeping took over, she sank into him.
How could his embrace be so unexpectedly comforting? But it was—and he seemed not to mind that she was blubbering all over the front of his blouse, or that she was clinging to him as if her life depended upon it. His warm strength not only held her up but also soaked through her like the heat of the fire in the hearth at home, or her best quilt wrapping her about. Even as the sobs lessened, he held on to her, and she found herself content to be held.
More than content, actually. It eased a hurt she didn’t even know she had until this moment.
She became aware of him rocking her slightly, of his bearded cheek pressed to the top of her head. He shifted, and as his lips brushed her forehead, a shiver coursed through her, this time for a very different reason.
With a long, unsteady breath, she straightened. Those deep brown eyes stared into hers, fiery hair wild about his face. His arms fell away, and the chill rushed back in.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His mouth compressed, and he nodded. “I saw him take off after you—”
Fresh tears poured down her cheeks. His hand came up to brush them away then lingered on her cheek. Pearl found herself swaying toward him again, but—surely that was mere weakness from the fright she’d just had.
Of course she’d find his embrace comforting. It had been so long since she’d felt such from Pa or any of her brothers—
No, Mr. Wheeler was somehow not like her brothers at all.
His thumb traced the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught. And before she could react, he was the one leaning in, oh so gently pressing his lips to hers, shifting, caressing, his fingers cupping her jaw and sliding into her hair.
For a long moment—or was it an hour?—she was floating.
It was also most decidedly not like being kissed by Travis, either.
Holding her was one thing, kissing another entirely. He shouldn’t let himself do this.
Wind moaning in the trees above them, and a riot of warning bells clamoring in his head, Josh couldn’t bring himself to let go, quite yet.
And she didn’t seem to want him to let go.
He pulled away only enough to set his lips against her cheekbone, then simply breathed her in, sweet and soft, smelling faintly of lavender and beeswax. “Pearl,” he sighed.
Her sigh answered his, and she settled a little deeper into his arms.
Why did it feel as if she belonged there?
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” she murmured. “I just wanted half an hour alone.”
He could well understand that, with the noisy press her home had become. Life in the army afforded very little quiet—or privacy either, for that matter. “Are you sure you’re unhurt?”
She nodded against his shoulder then drew away. Her eyes were wide, a dark green s
ea, shining like stars. Her cheeks flushed pink.
Oh, but she was lovely. He nearly dived back for another kiss.
“Mister Wheeler—”
“Josh. Please. Surely we are not so formal with each other still.”
She went completely crimson at that, and consternation filled her gaze. “Surely we must be.”
Must they, truly? Josh’s mind stuttered over the possibilities. Couldn’t he, a Federal soldier, and she, a Rebel girl, be more than enemies across a line? Didn’t these last few minutes prove that?
Tightening her shawl about her shoulders, she edged away. “I—I thank you again for assisting me. Now I must get back.”
“Pearl—”
But she was gone, skipping across the hillside as if he were the villain and not the one he’d just chased off.
Pearl slipped inside the back door, avoiding the crowd on the front porch, but feeling the sharpness of Lydia’s gaze as she took off her shawl and hung it beside the door. She refused to meet the other woman’s eyes, lingering to smooth her apron and tuck the wayward strands of her hair back in place. Not that such things would matter, but it gave her an extra minute to collect herself.
Lydia sidled up to her. Of course. “Is everything all right?” At her tight nod, Lydia pressed, “I saw Mister Wheeler skedaddle after you—”
“I’m perfectly well, Lydia. Thank you.” Sorry for her sharpness, she faced Lydia and met the golden eyes full of concern. “Is supper ready?”
Lydia’s mouth compressed for a moment. “Not yet.”
Pearl glanced past her. Nothing had changed about the scene inside the house. How could that be? Everything in her world had shifted in the past half hour.
Through the window on the other side of the room, she caught a glimpse of a figure in simple blouse and trousers, with vivid hair and beard, crossing the yard toward the barn.
Her heart faltered. Josh. Oh, how she’d wanted to answer him in kind. But she dared not.
“Did he hurt you?” Lydia demanded, under her breath.
She shook her head. “Not him.” Never him. “But … someone else nearly did. Mister Wheeler … stopped him.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. Pearl smiled a little. No small feat, that—Lydia was rarely so impressed.
She sighed. Lydia would also be undeterred. Especially since she’d spilled that much.
“I … went up on the ridge. I just needed to pray, compose my thoughts. And one of those ruffians out in the barn saw me and followed. Thought I owed him more than simple food and shelter.” She raised a brow, and Lydia’s expression hardened in understanding. “And then—Mister Wheeler was there. Dusted him off and sent him back down, tail between his legs.”
Lydia’s brow also popped, her mouth quirking. “Good for him.”
“But then … of course he lingered to make sure I was not hurt.” Her eyes snapped shut. The memory of the rough tenderness in his voice nearly undid her even now. “And of course in my female weakness I cried, and then … well … he thought to comfort me—”
Lydia seized her elbows. “Tell me already, woman.”
A sound bubbled from her chest, half a giggle, half a sob. “He ended up kissing me.”
The breath escaping Lydia was pure bliss. Even Pearl could hear it.
“And then what?”
“What do you mean? That was all. I had to come back to the house. What else could there be?”
Lydia just looked at her.
Pearl rubbed a hand across her face. Why, oh why, had she given in and told Lydia anything? “He’s a Yankee, Lydia. That’s the plain truth. And we”—her next breath hurt—“we are in the middle of a terrible war. There can be no good end to this.”
“Oh Pearl.”
Lydia’s arms came around her, and then Pearl found herself weeping on the other woman’s shoulder, as well.
It was easier, here, to compose herself, because Lydia had to dash to the stove and stir the stew before it scorched, while Pearl wiped her face with her apron, but the woman was back at her side in double time. She set her hands on Pearl’s shoulders and leaned close once more. “You listen to me.” Thankfully, the men’s chatter from the sitting room covered their conversation. “When your brother first told me he loved me, you know well how scared I was to believe him, much less act on it. How impossible it seemed that he and I could have a life together. And though now, yes, I’ve lost him, it was worth the risk. I have Jem and Sally. I have—you.”
The tears threatened again.
“Has it been an easy road? Not at all. I am still learning to trust our God in all of it. But He has never let us suffer want, though times have been lean enough.”
Pearl had no response. She was the one scrambling day to day to find enough to feed their motley group of houseguests. Watching Pa fail, week by week. Still mourning Mama’s death, and the loss of her older brothers. Granted, one of those brothers had become Lydia’s entire life—but hadn’t the woman grown up suffering hardship, being born Negro as she was? Easy enough for her to speak of faith, in this moment.
Or was it? Pearl searched the beautiful face of her sister-friend, hardly seeing the difference in their skin and features. “Some things more important than color,” Portius had said. And if they truly believed, as the Declaration of Independence had said and scripture itself attested, that all men were created equal—
That did not change the fact that bluebellies were the invaders. That it was wrong to force political policy on people who had not consented to it. Slavery was a horror, for sure, but to simply sever ties to a practice without giving all involved time enough to find a solution, to adapt to the changes—
The front door opened, and Josh stepped inside. His gaze met Pearl’s from across the room. He hesitated then shut the door behind himself.
She glanced away, but the damage was done. Her arguments had already collapsed in ruins.
After everyone in the house had been served, Josh carried the pot of stew to the barn. His arm ached more than usual from the climb up the hill and back, not to mention sending that poor excuse for a Kentucky soldier running, but he could still heft the pot. And he would not show weakness in front of Pearl, who opened the door and accompanied him, but still refused to meet his eyes—just as she had all throughout supper.
They started across the yard together. “Pearl—”
“Nothing is changed between us,” she snapped, very quietly.
He huffed. “It is, and you know it.”
Not a line of her stance altered as she marched across the yard before him.
Stubborn, beautiful woman. Hearts such as this one were the reason the Union had found it so difficult to prevail over the Confederacy, he was sure.
He wouldn’t tell Pearl he’d gone straight to Portius and reported how that reprobate had threatened her. How Portius made no hesitation but turned to Clem and directed him to run to take a message to Bledsoe, and be “most particular” about mentioning that the trouble involved Clem’s sister.
Nor would he mention the long, speculating look Portius gave Josh after delivering the order. “It goes without saying that if you likewise give Miss Pearl trouble, I’ll gladly pass that word on to Mister Travis as well,” the black man had said.
“I understand perfectly,” Josh answered, and he did—both the sentiment and Portius’s willingness to carry out such a thing.
Head tucked, Pearl opened the barn door and stood back while Josh entered. How hard was it for her to enter, knowing her would-be assailant was within? Yet she did not shrink from the duty.
A cheer rose at their appearance, and the clattering of tin cups and plates—a usual occurrence with men who were in high enough spirits to appreciate being fed. It was handy that most if not all the men here had their own dishes for receiving their portions, and while they were collected after a meal and washed at once, they were always returned shortly after.
Another bit of organization by the sterling Miss Pearl MacFarlane that Josh could n
ot help admiring.
She moved about the men now, one by one taking a cup or plate and filling it from the pot as Josh held it, or holding it for him if he’d set the pot down and was handling the ladle. About halfway around the room they stopped before the Kentucky man who had accosted her earlier. The only sign Pearl gave of discomfiture was the slight tremor of her hand as she filled the man’s cup. Josh fixed the worthless fellow with a steady glare, and he kept his own head properly bowed while Pearl dished his supper.
They moved on to the next man, where Josh noted a little more belligerence toward himself and open ogling toward Pearl. Josh had to chew back a snarl. This one certainly bore a closer watch. Hungry men, and for more than mere food, and a comely woman trying to show simple kindness were not a good match under any circumstances.
As Josh and Pearl moved on to the next in line, the man met Josh’s stare with one of his own, but Josh refused to break eye contact until the other did.
At last supper was finished, dishes washed, wounds tended, and everyone fed, bedded down, or otherwise settled in for a quiet evening. Pearl sat near a candle, bent over a piece of mending, and Josh perched on the hearth as the other men took turns telling stories of where they’d come from and things they’d seen. It was at the behest of Johnny, who’d grown markedly weaker, and his breathing more labored.
Would he even survive the night?
Still the young man commented when he could, and prompted the others with questions. Josh felt oddly reluctant to chime in, and over on the other side of the room, Pearl gave all her attention to the mending.
Her indifference cut far more deeply than he expected, after that moment up on the hillside, when she’d simply fallen into his arms and he’d forgotten his wound, forgotten even why he was there, except to ensure she was kept safe from harm. And of course, after their kiss—especially after that, brief as it was, but oh, so sweet.
Could things be different between them if they were not surrounded by an entire room of people, and the two of them could speak only with each other? If he had the leisure to court her properly?
The Rebel Bride Page 14
