by Karen White
“What? Is it about Stuart?”
He stood abruptly, making the back of the rocking chair bang against the front of the house. “Well, yes, in a way, I suppose it is.”
I stood next to him, one hand on the railing. “Is he hurt? For Pete’s sake, would you just spit it out before we both grow old and gray?”
He blinked his eyes quickly. “I would like to move into the preacher’s room. I would be out of your way, and I could help take care of Zeke.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s wrong with your house? The preacher’s room is barely big enough for a bed and a Bible. Why on earth would you want to do that? And we both know Zeke is on the mend and I am more than capable of nursing him back to health.”
He shifted on his feet, looking down at his boots, seemingly examining every scratch.
“And what has this got to do with Stuart?”
He finally looked at me, his watery brown eyes full of embarrassment. I had to strain my ears to hear him. “Stuart thought that you, um, might need my protection. I told him you would not like it, but he insisted. So here I am.”
The echoing honks of geese flying overhead in their V formation brought my gaze heavenward. I turned back to Charles and placed my hand on his forearm, the brown wool of his coat rough under my fingers. “There is no need for you to move in here, but the fact that you would be willing to do that for my sake is admirable. And appreciated.”
He pressed his lips together. “I beg your pardon, Mrs.— I mean, Laura. But for your safety, you need a male on the premises.”
“I appreciate your concern, but there really isn’t any danger. The Yankees are still up in Tennessee and no immediate threat. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know how to protect myself. And Stuart himself showed me how to use this.” I reached into the pocket of my housedress and pulled out the gun Stuart had given me.
Charles stepped back, his eyes widening. “Be careful with that—it’s liable to go off.”
“Not very likely, Charles. I’m not an idiot.” I turned away from him and started to shove the gun back into my pocket when my ears were split with a sudden explosion. I looked down at the front of my dress and saw a large, smoldering hole decorating the pocket edge.
“Are you all right?” The concern in his voice was genuine, but I was too embarrassed to soften toward him.
“Of course I am. But my dress certainly isn’t.” I stuck my fingers through the hole and was dismayed at the extent of the damage. My whole fist could have fit through the opening.
Charles straightened. “I will move my things into the preacher’s room this afternoon.”
I looked at his determined face and hoped against hope that Pamela wouldn’t object to his presence. But I had no doubt that when she was ready to speak to me, she would have no trouble avoiding detection from anybody else.
“Fine, Charles. If you think it best.” I shrugged. “You Southern gentlemen sure are stubborn.”
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “And so are our women.”
I gave him a grudging smile, and then we said our goodbyes before I turned to go into the house. I opened the door and went into the hallway, the sight of a figure at the top of the stairs startling me.
“I heard a gunshot.” Zeke held a precarious foothold on the top step, one arm clutching his crutch, the other one holding an enormous musket of ancient vintage.
I rushed up the stairs toward him, before he could pitch forward and do more damage to his leg, or worse. “Zeke, what are you doing on the stairs?” I took the musket out of his hands, placed it on the floor, and grabbed him securely by his arm. “It was only me being stupid. I accidentally fired my gun.”
He nodded, making the fine beads of sweat on his forehead run down his face.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” I led him to his room and settled him onto his bed. He leaned his head back, his skin ashen against the stark white of the pillow.
His eyes didn’t leave my face. “You are in great danger, Laura. My dreams show me a dark shadow hovering behind you. Leave here. Leave while you still can.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and saw the challenge in his eyes. “I can’t, Zeke. There’s a problem.” Restless, I stood and went to the window, looking out at the gray landscape of naked trees. A few stubborn leaves clung to branches, unwilling to let go. Buds covered the tree limbs, promising a new spring. I pressed my hand against the window, the glass cool against my palm. I knew I could take him into my confidence, and the strain of keeping my worry about my daughter a secret pulled at me. “Sarah is in great danger. Pamela’s taken her and won’t release her unless I do something for her.”
He grunted softly. “Sarah is well, Laura. I would see in my dreams if she were harmed.”
I shook my head. “I want to believe you, but we both know what Pamela is capable of. And she isn’t working alone. I know Matt Kimball and others are involved, too.”
His eyes, glazed with pain, regarded me gently. “Sarah is safe. Now, tell me: What is it that Pamela has asked you to do?”
“I’m not going to tell you. It could put you in grave danger. I don’t know if I can do what she asks, but I’ve got to do something. I cannot lose my daughter again.”
“Does Stuart know?”
“No. He would most likely want to do something that could put us all in danger. He can’t know.”
I walked over to the bookshelves and pulled out the backgammon game and began setting it up on the flattened bedclothes next to him. “I must find Sarah and bring her back soon. According to your books, the next time a comet will appear in conjunction with a total lunar eclipse will be September first, 1864. That gives me seven months. Seven months to sell my soul.”
A strong hand grabbed my wrist. “Do what you must, Laura. But remember the legend: The ancient travelers who journeyed with evil spirits were always hunted down and slaughtered. They must not be allowed to walk in this plane.”
His grip tightened, and I shuddered. “What would you have me do, Zeke?”
He let go and placed his hand on my head, just as he had done when we first met. “Sometimes we are called upon to do something greater than ourselves, against forces we might not understand. It is a gift.” He pulled my sleeve up over my forearm. The crescent-shaped birthmark looked like a bruise on the pale skin. “You have the mark. It is a very rare mark—I have never known of more than three people born within a century to be blessed with it.”
Again, I shuddered. I saw his eyes droop and his mouth soften. His hand fell to my arm and he muttered, “Be careful,” before succumbing to sleep.
I settled him, then gathered up the game and left the room. I faltered at the top of the steps, the game board slipping from my grasp and somersaulting down each stair. The markers danced on the wooden treads, their eventual destination determined by the hands of fate.
I sat down on the top step and rolled down my sleeve. A spark of light caught my attention and I reached over to a corner of the step. I picked up a marble and rolled it in my hand, feeling the cold smoothness. Fresh grief flowed through me as I recalled Sarah playing with them, lying close to the floor and flicking them with her little fingers toward Willie. I ached for my child with the same intensity I had felt when she went missing on Moon Mountain so many years ago. Her life was in my hands, and I wouldn’t fail her again. I stood and began gathering the round markers as I descended the stairs.
The days passed in almost nerve-jangling precision, and still no word from Stuart or Pamela. I prayed for Sarah, for there was precious little else I could do, except wait. And then in mid-April, Stuart came back to me. I was in the chicken house, battling with the hens. My skirt was full of eggs, which were quickly forgotten when I heard his voice.
“Hungry again?”
I whipped around, the eggs jumbling against each other in the corn
er of my skirt.
“Oh,” I said, letting go of my dress and listening to the muffled crashing of the eggs in the hay. “You’re back.”
He stood silhouetted against the henhouse doorway, a tall, dark shadow. “Is that the way a bride-to-be greets her groom?”
I walked toward him, a nervous smile teasing my lips. I looked into his eyes and saw my reflection. “You should have called first. My hair’s a mess and I haven’t a thing to wear.”
With a quizzical look on his face, he stilled my chattering by bringing his mouth to mine. “Hush, woman, and allow me to give you a proper greeting.” He kissed me again, his skin moist and smooth and smelling of soap.
I broke away, laying my hand on his cheek. “You shaved.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know how you feel about beards. And I did not want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
I snorted. “I didn’t know I had any.”
His mouth tilted at the corners. “You might have a few, but not too many. That’s what I find so attractive about you.”
His expression became serious. “Is there something wrong?” He reached out a thumb to smooth the frown lines over the bridge of my nose.
I blinked, trying to get rid of the sting in my eyes. “I miss Sarah—and the others. And you, too. I missed you.”
He bent to kiss me, his firm body pushing me against the side of the building. I pressed myself against him, showing him how much I had missed him.
Stuart broke away, his breathing heavy. “I am riding into town first thing tomorrow to talk with Reverend Pratt. I have two more days of leave, and I would like us to be married before I go.”
“For my protection, right?”
A dark eyebrow bent over a blue eye. “Yes. For your protection.”
We walked toward the peach orchard, the new buds just beginning to emerge on the branches above us. Despite the warmth of the day, a chill breeze brushed through the neighboring pines and settled cool air on us. I wrapped my shawl closer to me.
“I wish things could be different, Stuart.”
I felt him still, the air bristling between us.
His voice, with its studied antipathy, stung. “I do, too. And they could.”
I turned away from him, not able to stand the hurt in his eyes. The sky cast deep shades of gold through the trees as the sun set in the distant sky.
I looked down at my shoes peeping out from under my frayed hem, the cracked brown leather coated with red dust. “I want you to promise me something. If something should happen and we are separated forever, I want you to get on with your life. Nobody should go through life alone. I’ve tried it and I don’t recommend it.”
I felt his fingers on my shoulders, turning me around gently to face him. A stray breeze lifted the hair off his forehead. “You always have the choice of going to Valdosta—you will be safe there. When this war is over, I will come for you there.”
The earnestness in his eyes stopped me from saying more. “Just promise me.”
Slowly, he nodded; then I reached for him in the twilight and held him close.
We were married the following afternoon at the Roswell Presbyterian Church—the same church in which my Annie would be baptized in the future. I stood silently clinging to Stuart’s arm, feeling like I was having an out-of-body-experience. Charles was our witness, as was a perturbed Eliza Smith, who also doubled as organist. I shivered throughout the ceremony, wondering if there should be an added clause concerning unexplained disappearances.
Stuart kissed me, his lips warm, thawing the brittle ice on mine. He took my hand and led me down the aisle as Mrs. Stuart Elliott. I halted halfway down and looked at my husband. “Wait. I don’t know what your middle name is.”
He stopped next to me, his expression puzzled. “Did you not hear Reverend Pratt say it?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t listening. Too nervous, I suppose.”
“Are those your teeth chattering?”
“It’s either my teeth or my knees. But I really must know—what’s your middle name?”
“Couper. Why do you want to know?”
I slid my arm through his as we continued down the short aisle. “I don’t really know. I guess I thought that I couldn’t know you well enough to marry if I didn’t know your full name.”
He stopped to lean down and whisper in my ear. “Laura, I would say that we know each other better than most couples on their wedding day.” He gave me a sly wink.
I averted my head with mock prudishness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
He chuckled quietly as he led me out into the warm April sunshine.
We spent our wedding night in the room and bed I had shared with Michael in another place and time. I had at first protested, not wanting to add an unwanted memory into our marriage bed. But Zeke had insisted, and I couldn’t refuse when I saw all the brightly colored blooms strewn over the coverlet, smelling of spring and new beginnings. Stuart and I lay under the half tester bed, filling our lungs with the heady aroma and lush petals of violets, azaleas, and roses, the stately mahogany posts bearing witness.
I thought suddenly of Mrs. Cudahy, and a bubble of déjà vu floated through me. Most of my ancestors were conceived on this bed. I stared into Stuart’s eyes, and it occurred to me where I had seen them before. A tall, elderly woman with glorious skin and eyes the color of the Caribbean.
We lay together in the cool night air, our bodies chilled. I impatiently kicked off the covers, letting them slide into an ungraceful heap on the floor. Stuart’s fingers slowly traced circles on my skin. A rough finger slid from my collarbone to my navel, pausing on my C-section scar. He hadn’t mentioned it the last time we’d been together.
“What is this?”
“It’s the scar from an operation I had as a child.”
He bent to kiss it, his lips warm on my bare skin.
“Did it hurt?”
His lips traveled to my side, reaching my ticklish spot. I squirmed. “I don’t know, Stuart. Did it hurt when you got shot?”
He looked at me, his head cocked to the side. “You certainly have an odd sense of humor, Mrs. Elliott.” A warm tongue licked at the curve of my waist, flooding me with liquid heat. “But I like it.” He nibbled at my skin and I clawed at his back, to make him stop or continue, I couldn’t tell.
He took one of my hands and moved it over my head, his face now over mine. I felt his wanting me, but he held back.
His voice was hushed but fueled with urgency. “Now you know what it has been like to be me these past few months. The endless needing of you—without you giving me what I want. It is a little bit of torture, is it not?” He pulled my other arm over my head and bent toward my lips, biting me gently.
“I have wanted to break you, bend you to my will so many times, but I cannot. Your strength is what I love most about you, Laura. You are killing me little by little, but I will not take your strength from you. God help me, I will not.”
I wrenched my hands from his grasp, sliding them down his back to his hips, pushing him against me, my need too urgent to put into words.
His breath caught. “I will leave my mark on you.”
My eyes stung as the tears ran heedlessly down the sides of my face. “You have, Stuart. You already have.”
I reached my arms around his neck and pulled him down toward me. Afterward, I stayed awake while Stuart slept, watching the distorted shadows dance across the walls. I thought again of Mrs. Cudahy and her words, then drifted off to sleep, dreaming I was floating in a sea of spring blossoms and seeing a pair of startling blue eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
—ROBERT FROST
I awoke before sunrise, the hint of a word
whispered in urgency lingering in the cool morning air. Moonlight illuminated the room, etching vague outlines of the furniture. Stuart slept on his back, his face turned toward me, soft and innocent as a child. His even breathing told me he had not spoken.
Carefully lifting the covers, I rose from our bed. A flower petal, disturbed by my movement, floated to the ground, its blackness against the wood floor like a drop of blood. I went to the window and looked out.
The dark shadow rose like an obelisk on the lawn, the hidden eyes catching the misty morning light. My breath caught in the back of my throat. It was time.
From under the bed I grabbed my carpetbag, already packed with a few belongings, including the red dress and the necklace and earrings Stuart had given me. Stopping by the bed, I leaned forward to feel his soft breath on my skin. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, remembering the previous night, then stood. I wished I had had time to write him a note, but anything I could have said would have made him come after me.
I blew him a silent kiss, then took the chain he had given me, with Julia’s key on it, off the dressing table and slipped it over my head. I escaped to Julia’s room, where I had stashed a few things on the day Stuart returned. I shimmied out of my nightgown and threw a blouse and skirt on, skipping the underpinnings. I had no idea how we were traveling, but I wanted to be as comfortable as possible.
The front door squeaked as I opened it and I paused, listening for any stirrings in the silent house. Hearing nothing, I opened it farther and stepped out. Matt Kimball waited for me on the porch.
I smelled his fetid breath in the early-morning air. “So, Laura. We meet again. I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to our little trip together.” I turned my face, trying to escape the stench of him. “Come on. We have a train to catch.”
“Where’s Sarah? And where are we going?” I cursed my voice for wavering.
His teeth appeared gray in the twilight. “Do not bother your pretty little head about all that. You will find out soon enough.” He reached out a hand, but I ignored it, stepping past him.
