by Lexy Timms
“Why not?”
“Because I never, ever want you to know,” he said forcefully. “Never, Cee. I want you to wake up every morning in the same world you’ve always known. Because we kept it that way for you. That’s how I make sense of it, that you’re still alive and living as we used to.”
“But it’s not like we used to,” Cecelia said, frowning. “We have Jasper now, and we knew that something happened to you, that you...” She looked away. “Those things don’t just happen because of nothing. You think you’re protecting us, and maybe you are, from the truth. What you have to understand is, we watched you die every night in our dreams, and until you tell us what’s true and what’s not, we’re going to carry every one of those nightmares.”
Every one of those nightmares is true, Solomon wanted to say, but he did not. He looked over instead to where Violet was leaning close to peer at a wound in Jasper’s side, studying the blood and broken skin alongside the jagged scar when Solomon had nursed the man back to life.
“It’s okay,” she said finally. “I know what it’s like to need to keep secrets.” She watched him, almost as if she was hoping for something, and he saw a fleeting disappointment when he patted her hand absently.
“You were always the understanding one, Cee.”
She sighed. Seconds ticked by in the rustling of the trees.
“Why do you look at him like that?” Cecelia asked finally, as if she knew Solomon would never tell her what she wanted to know.
“Like what?” Solomon felt his heart leap strangely.
“Your face...comes alive.” Cecelia fumbled for the words. “It’s like when you look at him, you don’t know if you’re happy or sad, but it’s eating you alive inside. Are you...” Her eyes widened, and Solomon tipped his head back against the tree with a sigh. “Solomon.”
“All right, hush.” He rolled his head slightly. Cecelia could only trust Violet more if she knew the truth, he reasoned, and she was hardly likely to share the information with the soldiers here. “Ambrose,” he said, his voice barely a thread of sound, “is a woman. Her name is Violet.”
Cecelia’s eyes went as round as saucers, and she stared at Solomon as if he’d gone mad.
“Really?” she breathed at last, and when Solomon nodded, she looked over intently, to peer at this strange new apparition.
Solomon tried to see it with new eyes. He had spent the days since he learned studying every tiny movement. Violet’s hips swayed just a tiny bit more than a man’s when she rode. The attentiveness in her face was uniquely feminine, and when she forgot herself—as she did, Solomon had noticed, at the sight of blood—her lips parted slightly, and she chewed on the lower one.
“Why didn’t I see it?” Cecelia asked softly. “I should have, shouldn’t I?”
“I didn’t either.”
“You love her.” His sister’s voice was matter of fact.
“I—I do not—what?” Solomon looked over at her in alarm. He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “I don’t love her.”
“Of course you do. Why else would you look like that?”
“Cecelia...” He groaned, and ran his hands through his hair. This was not the sort of thing he had ever wanted to explain to her. “Cee, a man can...he can...”
“Yes...?”
He looked over, and Cecelia was staring at him, bored, as if she wished he’d get on with it. “Very well. A man can desire a woman, without loving her. I’m sorry to tell you that, but I suppose it’s best you know.”
“Oh, I know.” Her voice was bitterer than he would have expected. Had Cecelia had a beau? He should have been paying closer attention. Then she looked up, brown eyes focusing on his. “But that’s not what this is. You love her.”
“I don’t!”
“Oh, can you possibly—” She broke off and took a deep breath, looking so like their mother for a moment that Solomon bit back a laugh. She was not amused. “You are so dense,” she hissed at him. “You are in love with her. No man stares like that at a woman he just wants. You don’t stare at her...” She blushed. “At her chest, or her waist, or her...”
“Get on with it.”
“You stare at her face, Solomon. You look at her like you want to stare at her forever, like she’s some sort of angel dropped to earth, and you also look like your heart is breaking. I know why, I just...”
Solomon looked away, his heart racing. He loved Violet? No, that was impossible. Of course he had been consumed with the thought of her mouth against his own, or her legs wrapped around his waist. He had wanted to know what would make her arch her back with pleasure and cry his name into the dark beside their campfire. But love? It couldn’t be love. If it were love, would he...
Yes. He would crave every moment of her conversation, as he did. He would be angry when she judged him to be a man without honor, as she once had. He would tell awful jokes, as he had all along their ride, to see if he could make her smile. And, he would dream, as he did in the mornings, of waking up to find her head laying on his chest and her hair spread across his pillow. He would notice, as others might not, that it was not just a pale brown, but that it had strands of gold and red and pale...
He was in love with her.
As Violet sat back and nodded to Jasper, Solomon pushed himself up off the ground and tried to think what to do. His heart was pounding. His palms were sweaty, and he could feel his hands shaking.
“Solomon?” Cecelia asked him.
“I love her,” he said simply. “I can’t let them take her south, Cee. I have to save her.”
“But—”
He did not wait around to see what protest she was going to give him, only bent to whisper in Violet’s ear. “I have to talk to you.”
She whirled, holding a hand to her chest when she saw it was just him. It was such a feminine gesture that he felt himself grin, and she sighed, trying not to smile. “You scared me.”
“I apologize.” He led her away, trying not to take her hand in his. They were being watched, even if no one was listening to them. How did one confess to love when there were eyes and ears about, when one could not get down on one knee, or hold the woman close? Ordinary men had it so easy.
“What is it?” she prompted, and he realized he’d been staring at her.
“I, uh...I have a plan.” Yes, that was it. He could just not tell her at all. That was a much easier way of going about it. “To get you and Cecelia out.”
To his surprise, her face closed off at once. “They’re never going to let me go.”
“I know. That’s why we need a plan.”
“Well, why not all of us then?”
“Because...”
“Because I’m a woman?” she asked dangerously. Her hazel eyes flashed, and even when she was angry, the way her hair escaped from its braid made him want to tuck it behind her ear.
“Not exactly.”
Their voices fell into a tumble of hissed words.
“It is, isn’t it? Well, I’m not about to let you pull some heroics—”
“—Someone has to get Cee out of here—”
“—knowing I left you to die—”
“—And let you die!”
They stopped, staring at one another suspiciously.
“Vi—Ambrose. Please listen to me.” It was killing him not to be able to take her in his arms, and her eyes were darting from his mouth to his eyes. “You know what they’re going to do to you. What they do to spies. They’ll find out what you are.”
“And they’ll hang you.” She looked at him without blinking. “Do you understand that if I walk away now, I’ll always wonder if I could have saved you? If I go with whatever this plan is, I’ll take Cecelia back to your sister, to your mother, and tell them that I left you two here to die without my help.”
“I can’t bear to let you be hurt.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in love you!” The words erupted out of him, and she fell silent, her mouth open. Some of the soldiers
looked over at him, and he lowered his voice desperately. “Violet Stuart, from the moment you held me at gunpoint, I knew there was something different about you. I felt at ease in your company before I knew who you were. I fell in love with every damned honorable thing about you, and if things were different, I would ask you to be my wife, but they aren’t. If we go back together, I’m still going to die. You heard my confession. It’s treason, what I did.
“I don’t know you well, but I think, I hope, I know you well enough to say that you’ll blame yourself for my death if we go back. It will hurt you just as much to march me away from the farm as it will to leave me here. So let it be my choice. Let it be someone else’s noose, and for Pete’s sake, Violet, because I love you so much I could die of it. Let me save your life.”
She stared at him, her lips still parted, tears trembling in her eyes, and he wanted to sink his head into his hands, howl with rage that he had not been a better man. “No,” she whispered finally.
“What?” He looked up.
“I don’t know what the ways are out of this when we get home,” she told him softly, “but I know this is a certain death, leaving you here. I know that if I do nothing and save myself, I will have condemned you to a crueler death, but that if I fight to save you at home, I might win.”
“You would...”
“You’ve turned my world upside down,” she whispered helplessly. “You were just another traitor, another one I’d have to hear beg for his life while he told me how he’d needed money, or wanted...” She took a deep breath and looked away. A tear spilled out over her lashes. “And instead you asked me to save someone else’s life. You told me the truth. You told them the truth. No one tells the truth. I know it when I see it. And your truth, Solomon, Your truth was that you wanted to find the right side in a war that’s filled with horror. I can’t let you die for that without fighting to save you.”
Her lip trembled, and she drew him back out of sight. Their captors were in conference around the horses, bent over a map, and when Solomon looked back, he saw Violet’s eyes shining. “And the truth is...” She nipped at her lip. “I believe I’m falling in love with you as well.”
She took his shirt in her bound hands and pulled him down, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him.
Chapter 16
There was a hand over his mouth. Jasper thrashed, but the hand pressed down, another hand clamping over his bound hands as he tried to pummel them up. His head was wrenched sideways and then there was hot breath in his ear, and hissed words. Jasper did not bother to listen, struggling until the hands gave him a sharp shake.
“Hell, boy, do you want to wake the whole camp?”
Knox. Jasper went limp. He opened his eyes and found the man fumbling with the ropes that bound Jasper’s hands.
“What in—”
Knox jerked his hand for silence, then pointed to the others. The spy had his eyes open to slits, and Knox stared at him for a long moment before shrugging and going to untie the man’s hands. As he moved on to Solomon, Jasper, struggling to move quietly despite the pain in his many bruises, crawled to Cecelia. He shook her gently and put a single finger over her lips to still her, and then untied the ropes around her hands. Holding a finger now over his own lips for absolute silence, he helped her up out of the bed of dry leaves.
Knox motioned for them to follow him out of the camp, his burly form melting and reappearing into shadow as the trees swayed in the wind. Jasper followed, his head a whirl of thoughts. No one seemed to be following them, but he jumped at every crackle in the dark forest; a fool’s action, for a forest at night was a riot of sound. What mattered was Knox. Why was the man helping them?
It felt like hours before they stopped, but Jasper knew well that it might have been only a few minutes. Time passed strangely in the night, and he was lost in the sound of their careful footsteps, and Cecelia’s labored breathing. Every once in a while she caught her breath as if she might vomit, but nothing came of it—and Jasper did not want to speak to tell her that there was no point in continuing the charade now.
“Here,” Knox said at last, his voice a strange sound in the cacophony of chirps and clicks. He pointed to a glimmer in the distance, where a river gleamed in the moonlight. “Follow that; it’ll take you due north, and at the boulders, turn west for a time. You’ll know which boulders.”
“Knox,” Solomon said quietly.
“Aye?” The man knew what was coming. He was wary.
“Why?” Solomon asked. No more.
Knox did not answer at once. He circled as he thought, rubbing at his beard and peering back through the woods as if he feared pursuit.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t, Delancy. If I could tell you, I would.”
“You’re freeing us for...no reason?” The spy’s voice was surprisingly delicate, not rough and low with sleep as Jasper would have expected. The man cleared his throat hastily.
“Not no reason,” Knox said stiffly. “I just don’t have words for it, see? That’s all.”
“Well...” Jasper looked around at them, and then to the faint lightening of the sky in the east, visible even in the sky above the trees. “We’ll be going then.”
“Aye. I suppose you will.”
They started down the hill, picking their way carefully, and Jasper was just beginning to wonder if it was a dream when Knox’s voice carried down amongst them. They halted to look back.
“It was your speech, Perry.”
“What about it?” Jasper turned, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
“What you said—that this is all a mess. You were right about that if you were right about anything.” Knox gave a half laugh. “It is a mess, and we’re all so busy hurting each other for what harm we did to our own side in the war that we’ll never heal even if the Union stays intact. You, Stuart, hauling Delancy off to be hung. Perry leaving his woman alone. This little one, carrying a baby with no father—well, we all knew, girl, don’t look so surprised. Perry told us.” He shook his head at Cecelia’s whispered protestation. “And here we were, coming to punish Perry like that’s not God’s task.”
It was enough to make tears come to Jasper’s eyes, and yet...
“That’s not all of it.”
“Dammit, boy, you don’t have all night.”
“Why, Knox?” Suddenly it was the most important thing.
“Because you have something worth saving,” Knox said roughly. “You ever lost love, Perry?”
“No,” Jasper whispered.
“You ain’t ever seen your face when you talk about Clara, either, I’ll reckon. Well, let me tell you something: love like that doesn’t come every day. And sure, you might die for her and it’d be a fine thing, very poetic but better to live. Better to give her babies and live in that pretty farmhouse and die in your bed. I’m not going to be the one who keeps that from happening.”
“You’re a good man, Knox.” Jasper swallowed. “They won’t hurt you for this, will they?”
“Eh.” The man shrugged. “They think the spy’s capable of working miracles. I’m sure—”
A gunshot rang out, and he staggered and fell, blood spreading down the arm of his shirt as he roared in pain. They scattered, Jasper and the spy dragging Knox behind a tree as another volley of bullets rained down. Eight militia this time, if Jasper was counting correctly.
“Helping them escape, Knox?” A voice called out of the dark.
“Damn,” the spy muttered, heartfelt. He yanked a knife from his boot and Knox’s pistol from the man’s belt, handing the latter to Jasper.
Jasper peered out. Shadows were streaking through the trees, taking their places in the shadows. Wraiths, demons. How often had he seen this in wartime? And now they did it to one another; Knox had been right about this. The nation was tearing itself apart.
There was a gunshot next to him, and he jumped and swore—and saw a soldier topple from his place behind a tree. That would be Solomon. The man had always been an eer
ily good shot. Now the Confederates were learning just what it was to be fighting against him.
“Go home.” His voice rang in the night air. “Go back to your families. This isn’t worth it.”
“Damn you, Delancy!” A shot came back, chipping one of the trees, and all of them ducked. “You turned Perry, and now Knox. It was all lies. You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
“I’m not a spy!” Solomon’s voice was cold. “How can you both want to hang me?”
“Your own fault, Delancy.”
Jasper wondered if it was easier to hear curses hurled at one’s false name, and decided this was not the time to ask. He was just aiming the pistol, when Knox’s hand dragged him down, and a knife passed through the space his head had just been occupying. With a grunt, he slammed his foot out and met someone’s shin, and then covered his face as the man tumbled.
The spy was on him in a moment, grappling in the dark, his own knife flashing. For a moment they rolled downhill, leaves flying and neither side daring to aim a pistol for fear of killing their own man. Then there was a scream, hastily choked off, and the spy was panting, blood on his knife. He dove back for cover as another round of bullets clattered around them.
“Go! Now! While they’re reloading.” Knox pushed at them.
“But you...”
“It’s my word against theirs if they haul me back. Get home to your loved ones. Go now!”
Even as Jasper protested, the spy grabbed his hand and pulled him downhill, hissing for Solomon and Cecelia. They ran with no thought to the noise, throwing themselves flat by instinct—all save Cecelia, who they pulled down with them—in time for the next volley to go over their heads. Then they were up and running again, running until they thought their lungs would burst with it.
“Get the horses!” someone yelled.
The sound of Solomon’s laughter echoed through the trees.
“What in Heaven’s name...” the spy began.
“I feel so alive,” he gasped back. “I haven’t felt so alive in years, Vi. Cee, are you all right?”
“You’re insane,” his sister gasped back. She had her skirts hiked up and she was heaving for breath, but she kept on running gamely.
