From This Day Forward

by Victoria Thompson

No, she had to go to the oak tree again in her mind, and this time she had to change what occurred there. As her fingers worked the knitting needles, her mind drifted, plotting and planning.

  She was waiting when he came, but she wasn’t frightened, oh, no. She was strong and she was brave. She wasn’t afraid of anything, not even him. He’d lied to her, and that made her angry. He’d tried to trick her because he thought she was stupid and weak, but she wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t weak.

  He got off his horse and came toward her, smiling that evil smile, but she wasn’t fooled, oh, no. She wasn’t fooled at all! She knew him for the liar that he was. She stood up to him and laughed in his face.

  But now he was angry! He reached out and grabbed her. He was strong, so much stronger than she... But no, she was strong, too. She could fight him. She wrenched away. She slapped his face! Yes, yes, she slapped his face. She slapped him hard, and he cried out in outrage.

  But that wasn’t enough because a slap wouldn’t stop him. He came for her again, lunging and grabbing with his hands that were so strong and so relentless. And this time she fought him better because she was stronger, too. She punched him and kicked him and made him howl with pain, and when he tried to force her to the ground, she wrenched away. She was free! She was getting away!

  Was that enough? Was it enough to run? No! He had a horse! He could catch her even if she ran like the wind, so she didn’t run at all. Oh, no, she turned and faced him down because... because she had a gun! Yes, that was it! She had a pistol, that old hog leg pistol her father had left for her and Bessie to protect themselves! She lifted it with both hands, pointing it right at his face, and she saw his eyes grow large with terror and—

  “Lori?” Adam’s voice startled her back to reality, and she was surprised to see he was staring at her with a worried frown. “Is something wrong?”

  With difficulty, she banished the fading remnants of the too-vivid image. “No, what could be wrong?” she asked with what she hoped was a normal voice.

  He didn’t look reassured. “You were... I don’t know. Making noises or something.”

  “I was?” Oh, dear. Had she said anything aloud? Would he be able to guess what she had been thinking about?

  But he was smiling now, a puzzled little grin that told her he was simply intrigued and trying to figure something out. “I hate to say you were grunting—that sounds so unladylike—but I can’t think what else to call it.”

  “I was... thinking,” she excused herself, trying valiantly not to blush.

  “It must have been hard work,” he pointed out in amusement.

  If he only knew!

  “What were you thinking about?” he added.

  Frantically, she cast about for a topic that might have distressed her. “I... uh... I’ve been trying to think of a name for the baby.”

  Instantly all trace of amusement vanished from his face. “Oh.”

  She’d been right, this was a topic he didn’t want to discuss. In spite of his promise to be a father to the child, he still wasn’t thrilled about its existence. She hurried on. “I was wondering if you... if you have any preferences? On names, I mean.”

  “I haven’t really given the matter a lot of thought,” he said in a carefully neutral voice. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine.”

  He was being polite. And tolerant. And generous. She hated it when he was like that. She wanted him to be happy and enthusiastic, although she knew she was foolish to even dream of such a thing. Tolerance was probably the most she had any right to expect.

  “I was thinking...” she said, forcing herself to go on when every instinct warned her to let the subject drop. “If it’s a boy, I’d like to name him Matthew, after my father—if that’s all right.”

  “It’s your baby, Lori,” he reminded her, still the model of courtesy. “You can call it whatever you wish.”

  His words were like a whip lash across her heart. It’s your baby, Lori, not mine, was the unmistakable implication.

  Her pain must have shown on her face, because he frowned. “Lori? What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Resolutely, she turned her attention back to her knitting.

  But Adam wasn’t fooled. She could feel him watching her, trying to figure out what was wrong and why. He hadn’t hurt her on purpose, after all, and now he was trying to figure out what he had done and how he could make amends. If she had loved him for no other reason, she would have loved him for that, and the knowledge helped soften the sting of his earlier reminder. Still she was surprised when he spoke again.

  “And what if it’s a girl?”

  She looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “I said, what if the baby is a girl? Surely, you won’t name her Matthew, too.” His smile was tentative as he tested her mood. Was she angry? Hurt? Or simply annoyed?

  All her anger, hurt and annoyance evaporated in gratitude, and she returned his smile. “I thought I’d name a girl after my mother... Faith.”

  “That’s a lovely name. Faith McClintock Ross.”

  As if the baby had heard the name and wished to offer an opinion, it kicked Lori in the side in almost the same place it had kicked her this morning. “Oh!”

  “What’s wrong?” Adam asked in alarm, just as Sudie had done.

  Lori shook her head as she absently rubbed the spot of the kick. “The baby moved,” she said, feeling the wonder of it all over again. As the child grew larger and more active, her own enthusiasm grew, too.

  “It moved?” Adam echoed incredulously. Lori nodded. “And you could feel it?”

  Lori nodded again.

  “But it’s so small,” Adam argued, still unable to believe.

  Lori touched the swell of her stomach. “It’s getting big¬ger,” she reminded him with a self-conscious smile. Beneath her hand she felt the familiar fluttering as the child shifted inside her. “There it is again.”

  “What does it feel like?” he asked, laying aside his book and leaning forward in his chair.

  He was interested, she realized, and felt a tingle of excitement at the knowledge. She rewarded him with a smile. “Sometimes it feels like an angry butterfly, and sometimes it feels like an angry mule.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned forward even farther. “Does it hurt you?” His beautiful face was creased with a concern that warmed her heart.

  “Oh, no,” she assured him, and then an idea occurred to her. It was bold, perhaps too bold, but wasn’t she growing stronger and braver every day? She decided to take the chance. “You can probably feel it, too. Would you like to try?”

  This time his eyes widened in shock. “How?”

  “I think, if you put your hand on here...” She laid her hand on her stomach again to show him how... then you could feel it.”

  As she had suspected, he needed no second invitation to touch her. In an instant he was beside her, down on his good knee, offering her his hand.

  She took his hand in both of hers, surprised as always at how warm his flesh felt beneath her fingers. Even kneeling beside her, he seemed huge and formidable and so strong she knew he could easily overpower her. Yet he had never used his strength to hurt her. In fact, he had taken great pains not to hurt her. He was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, a gentle man.

  Only when she laid his hand on the mound of her stomach did she realize she had been holding her breath. His palm was large and hot against her stomach, almost covering it. The warmth seeped into her, stirring her blood and settling in her loins. She glanced up at him to see if he had sensed her reaction, but he wasn’t looking at her face at all. He was staring intently at his hand, as if he expected to see something as well as feel it.

  His eyes were so blue, they took her breath, and she used this moment when he was so close but not looking back to study him. She loved his face. The sun had darkened his skin to the color of oak, making his hair look even blonder in contrast. The tips of his eyelashes were blonde, too, and could only be seen up close
like this. She adored the line of his nose and the way his finely shaped nostrils flared slightly when he took in her scent. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners. And the curve of his mouth, so straight and unyielding except when he was kissing her and it became soft and tender.

  She traced the curve of his ear with her gaze, learning it and loving it, as she loved everything about him. And she inhaled his masculine scent, growing more intoxicated by it with every passing second.

  For what seemed an eternity, neither of them moved, and Adam hardly even seemed to breathe, so intent was he. But perversely, the child lay perfectly still, and finally, Adam lifted his gaze to her face.

  “I don’t—” he began, and as if it had been startled by the sudden sound after the long silence, the baby jumped.

  “Did you feel that?” Lori asked breathlessly.

  Plainly, he had. His expression was total amazement.

  “That’s it? That was the baby?” he asked in a near whisper. As if he was afraid the child would overhear.

  “I think he jumped when he heard your voice,” Lori told him in delight.

  This was more than Adam could accept. “That’s impossible,” he insisted aloud, and this time the baby kicked, striking Adam in the heel of his hand.

  “My God, what was that?”

  “That was the angry mule,” Lori told him with a smile.

  His wonderful mouth stretched into a wondrous grin. “It’s almost like he did hear me.”

  “Sudie said he can,” Lori was happy to report. “She said that when he’s born, he’ll know our voices, mine and yours, too.”

  Adam shook his head, not certain whether to believe her or not, but he didn’t move his hand. As if the child could feel the warmth of that touch, he stirred again, almost the way a cat curves itself under a human hand for a caress.

  “My God,” Adam murmured again, and when his gaze lifted to hers again, his eyes were full of awe. “It’s really alive. I don’t think I truly believed that before.” Then his eyes narrowed. “How soon... I mean, when will it come? I just realized I don’t have any idea.”

  “The middle of September, I think, although Sudie says babies come when they want, so it could be two weeks either way.”

  “So soon?” They had less than three months to wait. He glanced down at the knitting that still lay in her lap. “And you’ve got enough clothes for it? Everything you need?”

  “I will, yes.”

  “How about a bed? I think there’s a cradle in the attic—”

  “Sudie said she’d get it down.”

  Adam frowned thoughtfully. “We’ll have to find a wet nurse. Several of the girls have babies. I’ll have Sudie send them up, and you can pick the one you like best.”

  Lori frowned, too. “Adam, I...”

  His gaze met hers, and for a moment all she could think of was how much she loved him.

  “What is it?” he prodded when she didn’t continue.

  “I... I think I’d like to nurse the baby myself... at least at first,” she added at his frown of disapproval.

  “Lori,” he said gently. “The master’s wife doesn’t nurse her own children. You’ll have too much to do, too many responsibilities.”

  He was right, of course. Only poor white trash nursed their own children, and probably he was thinking that very thing. And Lori should have been glad for the opportunity to turn the child she’d never wanted in the first place over to someone else. But she wasn’t. Oddly enough, she found herself possessive of it instead. Probably that was guilt because she hadn’t wanted it. Or penance to make up for wishing it dead. But whatever the reason, she knew she couldn’t turn the child over to a slave.

  A slave! Why hadn’t she thought of that before! “But what if we lose the war,” she reminded him. “What if the Yankees free all our slaves, and they run away?”

  Adam shook his head and gave her a tolerant smile. “I told you before, that won’t happen. Even if they were free, where would they go? You don’t have to worry about that, at least. I’ll tell Sudie to find you a good mammy.”

  She wanted to argue with him but decided it was too soon for that. She’d made her point, and now she’d have almost three months to drive it home and convince him that she was right. That should, she judged, be long enough.

  Adam stayed just where he was for a few more minutes, but he waited in vain for more movement from the baby. “He must be asleep,” Lori finally decided.

  Adam grinned with renewed wonder. “It’s hard to imagine he sleeps and wakes up in there.”

  “Don’t forget he also kicks,” Lori reminded him, returning his grin.

  His gaze met hers, and suddenly the warmth in his eyes became heat of a very different sort. The hand on her stomach which had been as impersonal as a handshake had begun to caress her.

  The instant she was certain of his intention, she felt the instinctive resistance tighten within her, the resentment that he was going to take possession of her body. Why did she still feel that resentment? This was Adam, not his brother. Adam who had never hurt her and never would. She was a fool to let that other one come between them. Ruthlessly, she squelched those feelings and concentrated on responding to him as his hand moved in ever-widening circles.

  And then she remembered something very important.

  “Adam,” she began, “Sudie said...” Her breath caught as his fingers grazed the apex of her thighs through the fabric of her skirts.

  “What did Sudie say?” he asked, knowing full well what he was doing to her and taking great pleasure in the knowledge.

  “She said that the... the last two months we can’t...”

  “Can’t what?” he prodded, but he kissed her then so she couldn’t answer him right away. When he was finished kissing her, she’d almost forgotten what she’d been about to say.

  Almost.

  “She said,” Lori continued breathlessly and determinedly, “that for the last two months we can’t make love.”

  She saw the consternation flicker across his beloved features, but then he grinned again. “Well, then, since that’s not for a few weeks yet, I think we should take advantage of every opportunity remaining to us.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, taking great care so he wouldn’t stumble or appear clumsy before her. Then he offered her his hand and drew her to her feet.

  “How is it possible,” he asked, cupping her face in both his hands, “that you’re even more beautiful now than when I married you?”

  Dear heavens, he thought she was beautiful! Her heart seemed to swell in her chest as a dozen different emotions warred within her for preeminence. What had she ever done to deserve such happiness? And how could she ever repay it? Without thinking, she offered him the one thing she had yet to give him. “Oh, Adam, I love you so much!”

  She’d expected surprise, but not the flicker of pain she saw deep in his eyes. He smiled, but the expression did not reach those eyes.

  “Do you now?” he asked as if he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t wait for her reply. “Whatever have I done to deserve such a tribute? Oh, I know,” he said, pretending he had just discovered the answer. “And if you’ll come along with me to our bedroom, Mrs. Ross, I’ll be only too happy to do it again.”

  Lori made her mouth smile, but she knew her expression of joy was as strained as his and equally as false. Because she had just discovered a very frightening thing about her husband: that no matter how much she might truly love Adam, he didn’t believe that she did.

  Why he should doubt her, she had no idea, just as she had no idea how to convince him of the truth.

  ***

  Fight and wait. Fight and wait. If Eric had only known what war was really like. After their victory at the Las Rucias ranch house, the Cavalry of the West had been kicking their heels for almost a month, sweating and sweltering in the mid-summer heat, but now they were finally moving toward Brownsville. Surely, this would be the end. They’d slaughter the Yankees and drive them into the sea, just
like they’d driven them into the river the last time. At Las Rucias, only eight Union cavalrymen had escaped, and this time there’d be no river to cross to safety.

  All around him, boys and old men were coughing and swaying in their saddles. Some of them had swamp fever, others dysentery or worse. Old Rip Ford himself hadn’t been able to climb into his saddle this morning without help, but once astride, he’d stayed put. If he could ride, his men would do no less.

  Eric reached into his coat and took a quick nip from the flask he’d concealed there. He figured the whiskey he’d managed to buy or steal was what had protected him so far from the various diseases that were plaguing this army, so a little fortification was always in order.

  As he glanced up and down the line of grim, gray and ragged men, he grinned. They sure as hell didn’t look very dangerous, but God help any Yankees who got in their way.

  A while back, they’d had a brief, screaming battle and driven the Union screening forces back to the Brownsville city limits. Having outrun their supply line—again!—they’d had to wait almost two weeks for it to catch up, sitting on their side of the river across from the city. At first they’d been surprised to see civilians coming toward them, wading through the river carrying white flags. Traders, they’d thought at first, until the men arrived. But they were citizens, the ones who’d been too old for the regular army and had remained behind. One of them had actually fought at San Jacinto almost thirty years ago. And they were all volunteering to fight with Ford.

  Rip Ford had earned his nickname years earlier as a Texas Ranger. His job then had been to compile the lists of the Rangers killed in the line of duty. At the end of each list, he’d written “Rest in Peace.” But as the lists got longer, he began to abbreviate the sentiment “RIP.”

  Showalter’s troops were at the front of the line, marching on foot, and the line halted while they did a quick reconnaissance of the town.

  “What’s taking so damn long?” one of his boys wanted to know as they stood around, resting their saddles.

  Several of them had sunk wearily to the ground and a few were even lying flat, their faces flushed and damp with fever. Eric wanted to kick them. What did they think they were doing, getting sick just when they were facing the final showdown?