From This Day Forward

by Victoria Thompson

  He sensed as much as saw her instant reaction, the rigidity of her body and the widening of her eyes with a kind of horror he could only imagine.

  Shame twisted inside of him like a dull knife curving at is soul, and he straightened his shoulders, as if by doing so it could more easily bear the burden of her contempt. “I can’t expect anything from you, Lori. I’ll continue to sleep in my old room until...” Until when? Until he went out of his mind and put a bullet through his brain? “... until you feel ready to share this room with me.” Whenever that might be. Please, God, let him live to see the day.

  Her eyes were still wide, but now he thought she was more surprised than anything. And if she was also relieved, he didn’t want to know. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with what he hoped was a friendly smile. In the instant before he turned away, he thought he saw tears glittering in those wide eyes, but he chose not to notice. It was all he could do to leave her standing there unmolested, and he didn’t think he would have the strength, to do it if she was crying.

  With the last of his will power, he pulled the door tightly closed behind him and walked the short distance down the hall to his old room where he would spend this night alone.

  Lori stared at the closed door for a long time. She wanted to weep, but she no longer had the energy. She was simply too exhausted. It was all she could do to comprehend that the thing she had most feared was not going to happen. Adam Ross was not going to claim his rights as her husband. He was not going to share her bed or use her body for his pleasure. She was not going to have to lie there while he smothered her with his weight and forced his way inside of her, grunting and sweating the way Eric had.

  She had been right! He wasn’t like Eric, and she didn’t have to be afraid of him. He would never hurt her. He was too good and too kind.

  Or else he was simply too disgusted. Because he didn’t want the little tramp his brother had used and thrown away. Because she was soiled goods, a brood mare whom he planned to discard after she had foaled.

  The pain of it was raw, like a half-healed wound ripped open again. Why was this happening to her? What had she ever done to deserve such suffering? To deserve being married to the only man she would ever love when he could not even stand the sight of her?

  The agony of it boiled inside of her, doubling her over, and with what was left of her breath, she damned Eric Ross to hell.

  ***

  Eric Ross thought he might be in hell. The air was so dry and the dust was so thick, he could hardly breathe as he rode along in the seemingly endless line of ragged soldiers which made up the Cavalry of the West.

  When they’d left San Antonio just a few days ago, they’d ridden proudly past the Alamo singing “The Yellow Rose of Texas” as the citizens cheered. Old Rip Ford had ridden at their head wearing his black hat emblazoned with a Confederate States of America emblem, a crimson sword sash and run-down boots. The rest of the troops had been garbed in an odd assortment of whatever clothes they had brought with them and whatever official Confederate uniform parts they had managed to scavenge. Since they weren’t officially part of the Confederate Army, they weren’t entitled to uniforms, even if the South had had the money to supply them.

  Now, of course, every man in the brigade was so covered with dirt, it didn’t matter what he was wearing or if he had any sort of uniform at all.

  Up ahead, someone called a halt, and the column gradually lumbered to a stop. The men swung down from the horses to “rest their saddles,” and some pulled off their bandanas and poured a bit of the precious water from their canteens and swabbed out their horses’ mouths. Eric took a long pull from his own canteen, wincing at the brackish taste, then walked over to where several men from his company had gathered in the dubious shade of a scrawny live oak tree.

  “Hey, Lieutenant, when do we get to fight some Yankees?” one of them demanded good-naturedly as he approached.

  Eric instantly felt some of his fatigue lift at the sound of his new title. As one of the few men in the entire army who was in the prime of his life—almost all the others were either boys fifteen or younger or men approaching their dotage—Eric had quickly been elected an officer. “I expect you’ll have to wait ’til you get to the coast, Billy,” Eric told the boy who had confided to Eric that he was only thirteen and hat he’d never owned a pair of shoes. “But don’t worry, there’ll be plenty to go around. I expect we’ll each kill ourselves an even dozen the first day alone.”

  The rest of the “men” grinned, some showing missing front teeth.

  “How many Yankees you figure you killed already, Lieutenant?” another boy asked.

  “I lost count a long time ago,” Eric said, squatting down in the dirt beside the tree to bask in their attention. He’d told them he was a wounded Confederate veteran who had only recently been pronounced fit to return to the fighting and had decided to help protect Texas’ shore. “In the heat of battle, it’s sometimes hard to tell.”

  “At least a hundred?” a third boy prodded.

  “At least,” Eric admitted modestly. He glanced around at the boys’ faces, soaking up their admiration.

  “Tell us again how you was standing right beside Stonewall Jackson when he got shot at Chancellorsville,” Billy begged.

  “Yeah, tell us,” another insisted.

  Eric shook his head, as if all the attention embarrassed him. “Well, now, I was sitting up on my horse beside the General—”

  “I thought you said you was standing beside him, holdin’ his horse,” the boy named Alex protested.

  “I was on my horse, and I was holding his horse so it wouldn’t bolt from all the noise,” Eric corrected in irritation.

  “Wasn’t the General’s horse used to battle noise?” Alex asked. The kid was a jackass.

  “He was riding a new horse that day,” Eric improvised. Damn, why didn’t he just shut up and listen to the story like everybody else? “He was looking through his field glasses. I always figured that’s how the Yankees found him. Picked him out from the reflection on the glasses, and the sharpshooter knew just where to aim.”

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t get hit, too, sitting up on your horse right next to him,” Billy noted, his pimply face slack with awe.

  “Well, you know,” Eric mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “later on I did find a crease in my saddle horn where a bullet went right by me. I always wondered if that wasn’t the same one that hit Ol’ Stonewall. If it had just hit me instead, General Lee would still have his good right arm,” he added. Lee had said when Jackson died from infection after having his left arm amputated that, while Jackson had lost his left arm, Lee had lost his right one in losing his best general.

  The boys were gaping at him in wonder—all but Alex who was frowning. He was going to ask another stupid question, so Eric pushed himself to his feet and said, “Better pee while you got the chance, boys. We’ll be heading out again soon.”

  “Hell,” said one of the boys, the dark skinned one that Eric suspected might be a nigger. Sometimes they could be as white as a white man, so you couldn’t always tell. “I’m so dry, I ain’t had to pee all day.”

  The other boys chuckled sympathetically. Eric didn’t have to pee either, but he walked away from the group and pretended to anyway, just to avoid more questions. He’d have to make sure Alex got shot in the first battle they were in. Eric was getting mighty sick of his questions.

  He was getting mighty sick of soldiering, too. Ford had promised them excitement, and they’d been stuck in San Antonio for two stinking months waiting for supplies that never came. Now summer was starting in earnest, and if it didn’t rain soon, they’d all choke to death on their own dust before they ever got to see a Yankee.

  But when they did, Eric would be ready. He’d told so many battlefield stories, he was starting to believe he really had killed a hundred Yankees. He couldn’t imagine it would take him long, though. How hard could it be? He’d already shot a man, after all, and that had been
damned easy. Fun, even. And this time the old man would be proud, instead of coming after him with a razor strap.

  The order to mount came down the line, and Eric sighed and buttoned up his pants. The act reminded him of how restless he’d been feeling, and he tried to remember the last time he’d had a woman. That whore in San Antonio hadn’t really counted. The other men had been lined up outside her door, and she’d just wanted him finished and out of there as quick as he could.

  He’d wanted to smack her ugly face in, but he figured the men who were waiting wouldn’t take too kindly to that. His fingers curled into fists remembering his rage, but he had to open them again to mount his horse. The animal, he noticed, was looking kind of sickly. Maybe he should take its saddle off at the next stop or give it a little water. The dumb thing didn’t deserve it, but the prospect of walking to Brownsville didn’t appeal to Eric, either.

  He could almost hear the old man yelling at him for not taking proper care of the animals. The old man was always yelling at him for something. Sometimes Eric forgot that he couldn’t yell at him anymore. He couldn’t yell at anyone because he was dead. So now it was Adam’s turn to yell at him.

  Except Adam didn’t yell, Eric remembered with a grim smile as the column shifted into motion again. He pulled his bandana up over his face to filter out the dust and kicked his stupid horse into motion. No, Adam was too much of a gentleman to yell. He just spoke reasonably and told Eric what he thought Eric should do. Adam thought he was so damn superior.

  But Eric had gotten the last laugh. He’d gotten Lori McClintock. Oh, Adam had never said he wanted her, but Eric had known. It was plain as day, every time Adam set eyes on her. Tipping his hat so polite while all the time he was figuring out a way to get under her skirt. And she’d been silly for him, too, making moony eyes at him in church every Sunday.

  But that was before. Before Eric had changed things. And now pretty little Lori belonged to Eric. He’d told her to wait for him and that he’d marry her when he got back. Hell, he might even do it, too, just to see the look on Adam’s face. Yeah, that’s what he should do, marry the bitch and move her into the house, right under Adam’s nose. Where he’d have to see her every day and know Eric was humping her every night.

  The thought was so delicious that Eric was smiling behind his bandana until the dust started sifting into his mouth, and he had to cough and spit to get it out.

  Yeah, the last time he’d really had a woman had been Lori McClintock, he realized when he’d stopped spitting. She’d been a fighter. He hadn’t had a fighter in a long time. But she wouldn’t fight so hard next time. They never did. Next time she’d be as sweet as pie. They always were.

  ***

  When Lori woke up the next morning, at first she didn’t know where she was. Startled, she sat bolt upright and gazed around at the beautiful room. Then she remembered. The strange, new ring on her finger. She was Adam Ross’s wife and this was Elmhurst and she was in Adam’s bed. Except it wasn’t really Adam’s bed because Adam was in another bed and likely to stay there.

  Lori slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes against a fresh onslaught of despair. Just when she’d thought her life couldn’t get any worse. Just when she’d thought the worst thing in the world had already happened to her.

  Well, so much for Bessie’s theory that Lori could make Adam happy. He didn’t even want her to try. And who could blame him after the way she’d acted yesterday? Getting sick just because he kissed her. Fainting when he tried to kiss her. He would think she was crazy, and perhaps she was. How else would she have gotten married to a man who had no use for her?

  She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, but this morning she refused to surrender to them. Lying in this bed and crying wasn’t going to solve anything. If she had any chance at all to make a life for herself here, she was going to have to get up and face him. Face him and that slave Sudie and all the rest of them. And show them she wasn’t crazy or stupid or whatever else they might think her.

  She threw off the covers and would have jumped out of the bed except the first wave of nausea hit her then. Biting it back, determined not to be sick again, she lay perfectly still until it passed. Then, moving more carefully, she got up and tried to decide what to do next.

  Probably, she realized, she should call a slave to help her, but she didn’t know how to call a slave and the last thing she wanted was to have Sudie looking at her while she washed and dressed. Fortunately, she hadn’t used all the water last night, and although it was now stone cold, she was able to wash up and clean her teeth.

  What to wear was her next problem, but her choices were limited. She wasn’t going to wear her wedding dress for every day, so she put on the dress that used to be her Sunday best. The once-dark blue calico gown was badly faded and frayed at the hem and cuffs, but it would have to do. Then she put on the new shoes she’d bought with Adam’s money. When she was dressed, she went to the dressing table and sat down.

  The reflection staring back at her from the mirror startled her. She hadn’t expected to look so well today after last night, but except for the circles under her eyes, no one would ever guess anything was amiss. Using the silver-backed brush that Sudie had used last night—she couldn’t help wondering if it had belonged to Adam’s mother—Lori brushed the tangles from her hair, then pinned it up into a modest bun. Or as modest a bun as she could manage with her reluctant curls.

  Satisfied that she looked as well as she could, she pinched some color into her cheeks and bit her lips until they seemed redder. Then she walked over to the bedroom door, drew a deep breath for courage, and threw it open.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the hallway was empty. And perfectly still. No one seemed to be in this part of the house at all. Remembering that the halls were in a cross shape and the family dining room was down a different hall, she made her way there, walking quietly so she wouldn’t attract the attention of anyone who might be about.

  She’d only gone a few steps when her stomach growled, and for the first time she wondered what time it was. Of course she hadn’t eaten much last night and had lost all of what she’d eaten earlier, so naturally she was hungry. But the sunlight seemed awfully bright. Probably she’d missed breakfast—by a long shot.

  Indeed, when she reached the dining room, it was empty, although she could still smell the aromas of breakfast past. Her stomach growled again. She could go back to her room and wait until noon, but she didn’t know how long that would be, and besides, she’d already decided she wasn’t going to hide in her room all day. She was the mistress here now, or at least the master’s wife. Surely, she could have something to eat if she wanted it.

  She walked through the silent dining room and out through the door that led to the covered walkway connecting the house to the outside kitchen. The kitchen door stood open to the morning breeze, and she could hear someone moving around inside. She looked in to find one lone slave woman kneading bread. The yeasty smell made Lori’s empty stomach clench.

  The woman hadn’t noticed Lori’s presence, so Lori said, “Good morning.”

  The small, round woman jumped and looked up in almost comic surprise. “Land sakes, Missy, you give me a fright!”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Lori said quite honestly.

  The woman smiled broadly, her large white teeth making a bright slash in her dark brown face. “I expect you’s looking for something to eat, since you plumb missed breakfast altogether.”

  “Did I? I knew I’d overslept, but...”

  “Yes’m, Massa Adam, he say to let you sleep. I was expectin’ to hear the bell anytime now, though. A body can’t sleep all day, can she?”

  Lori wondered how close she had come to doing just that. And she also wondered why Adam had given orders not to wake her. Probably, she couldn’t help thinking, he hadn’t wanted to see her this morning.

  “Do you... uh... know where Mr. Ross is?” she asked reluctantly.

  “Oh, yes
ma’am, I expect he out in the fields. That where he is most mornings. Now what can I get you to eat?” she added, rubbing the bread dough off her hands before wiping them on her apron.

  Lori didn’t want to be a bother. “A piece of bread would be fine.”

  The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval. “If Sudie find out I give the mistress just a piece of bread for breakfast on her first mornin’ here, she skin me alive. You go on and sit down inside, and I’ll fix you up something here in just a minute. You want coffee or tea?”

  Until the coffee she’d drunk at her wedding supper yesterday, Lori couldn’t remember when she’d tasted either, and she’d never ever had the choice of both. “Tea, I think,” she said, thoroughly enjoying the small pleasure of making such a decision. She might learn to like it here, in spite of everything.

  “I got some water already hot. It’ll be ready in two shakes. Go on now and I’ll bring it in to you.”

  “Thank you,” Lori said and turned to go. Then she remembered something and turned back. “Oh, what’s your name?”

  The woman gave her that broad smile again. “I’m Eliza.”

  “You’re the cook?”

  Eliza nodded proudly.

  Lori decided to try friendliness to see if it worked better on the cook than it had on the housekeeper. “The dinner yesterday was delicious.”

  Eliza beamed. “Thank you, ma’am. Sudie, she planned it out, but I did the work. I do believe that cake was the best I’ve ever made.”

  “It sure was beautiful,” Lori replied. “I don’t think I ever saw a cake so pretty.”

  Eliza just stared, as if she was so unaccustomed to compliments that she didn’t know how to respond.

  Satisfied that she had at least started to make one friend in this house, Lori turned again and made her way back into the house.