"Now this," she told Brant, "is beautiful." He nodded and sat down on the gold brocade sofa that faced the fireplace.
"If you like that sort of thing, there are many more pieces just lying about in the cellar. There are also a few in the Chippendale cabinet."
"Really?" Leia couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. If she was going to be stuck in 1863, access to 'new' antique glassware could provide a small distraction. Looking at him to ask about the glass, Leia caught her breath and forgot her question.
Brant was seated, twisted to face her with one arm propped on the sofa's back. His head was outlined by the glow from the fire, almost aura-like. The strength of his shoulders was emphasized by the way they were set, his arms open and welcoming. Flame light softened his features from their normal stern look. He seemed to be watching her with fascination.
"It sounds nice to hear happiness in your voice," he told her. "You are far too young to be a widow."
She racked her brain for an appropriate response. "I'm afraid the war has made many widows out of young women."
"Did you love him?" Brant asked her the question in his softest voice. He looked at her, still seemingly entranced, but she didn't respond. "Your husband, did you love him?"
"Hmmnn, I..." she mumbled, and turned back to the fire. She grasped the mantle with one hand and leaned her head against it. She hoped he would assume her to be very distraught, but the truth was, she didn't even know the name of the man who had been Leah's husband. She could call up the image of her late grandfather, though, and felt the familiar pangs of grief begin in her stomach. The face she turned back to Brant felt truly sad, her eyes welled up with fresh tears.
"I'm sorry," he said, rising to place his arms around her. She buried her face in the warm material covering his chest, the wool of his uniform tickling her nose. The strength she felt coming from this man far exceeded anything she had ever felt from Jason, who had tried halfheartedly to comfort her after Grandfather's funeral. From Brant it was almost a tangible thing, a force emanating from somewhere deep inside him. She was grateful to Brant for not speaking, but holding her in a tight embrace while her tears poured out in a gurgling stream. She couldn't stop them once they had started. Her grandfather, her parents, her unfathomable time-travel...all these things racked sobs from Leia that she couldn't control. Brant held her, a silent comforter, for a quarter of an hour. When finally the flow ebbed, Leia grew embarrassed.
"Now I'm sorry," she said, pulling back from his grasp. "I can't believe I burdened you like this. Please forgive me." He handed her a handkerchief of stiff white cotton, and she wiped her eyes. Looking down at the wet material, she was amazed. It had been years since she had cried and not found mascara all over everything. She blew her nose as quietly as possible.
"No, I am. I spoke about your being happy, and then I drew you back into a state of grief."
"It felt good, though. I think I needed to do that. But look at your wet uniform! And I bet that wool's dry-clean only."
"What does that mean? How can something be cleaned dry?"
"Oh, it's just an expression. In Baltimore. Because wool shrinks if it gets wet." She quickly changed the subject. "Will you tell me about the other glassware now?" She managed a smile, because despite the tightness of her face and pounding behind her eyes, she felt much better.
They remained huddled together for some time on the brocade sofa, Leia's head resting on Brant's shoulder. When the fire's crackling slowed to a smolder, he lifted her chin with one hand.
"It's getting late. Perhaps you want to retire now?" He looked into her eyes, holding them level with his own.
She sighed. "I suppose." She made no attempt to move. Although she was certain her face was swollen from her earlier tears, she didn't break away from his gaze. The way he looked at her made her feel pretty.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Much. I really appreciate you letting me cry on your shoulder, Brant. I don't know what got into me to be such a baby."
"You have every right to cry. You just lost your husband. You're staying in a house with family you don't know, with strangers, and a man in uniform stares at you constantly," he said, trying to make the last phrase sound light.
It was true, though, and she smiled, not fully sure if she was amused by his statement or pleased with its truth. Impulsively, Leia leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.
"Goodnight, Brant," she said, shifting her weight to rise.
"Goodnight, Leah," he replied and pulled her shoulders closer to him. His lips were on hers before she could move, crashing down on hers with the same intensity of her earlier racking sobs. He turned his cheek to hers, moving it over her face, as if to wipe away the salty tears. She felt his hands reach for the back of her head, supporting her and stroking her hair. Leia felt his support in her heart, where it warmed her and relieved some of her anxiety. She slid her arms around his waist, reaching for his strength, leaning forward into the embrace. She knew if he looked down, he'd see right down into the lacy black bodice of her dress. It was a high neckline, compared to the other women's, but it gaped a bit from her body. She didn't care.
His head bent so he could kiss the tops of her breasts, through the lace, and a swirl of sensation pulsed through her. Her nipples seemed to reach for him.
Brant suddenly sat up straight, as a soldier comes to attention, took her hands in his, and apologized.
"Forgive me, I should not have been so forward."
"It's okay," she said, not knowing how naive she should be in this century. Being a widow would make her experienced, but also put her in a prolonged state of mourning. She stood. "How soon do you have to leave?"
"Any day now. A messenger will call for me on his way to Pennsylvania." He pulled back from her, almost imperceptibly. "Tomorrow, time prevailing, we can search the cellar for glassware."
Thanks to Hettie, Leia soon found herself immersed in a bathtub filled with moderately hot water. Being short, Leia could stretch out a bit, though her knees were still raised. The bar of soap Hettie supplied smelled unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. It didn't lather well, but Leia tried to relax and make the best of it. She'd had no bath her first night. She hadn't even tried to wash her face. Cold water this morning had erased the last traces of twentieth-century makeup.
"Miz Leah, do you need anything?" Hettie had returned, always moving silently.
"No, thank you. I'm just going to sit here till I look like a prune."
"Yes, ma'am." Hettie started for the door, her shoulders rounded and leading the way.
Now was her chance to ask questions, though she felt a twinge at the woman's obvious discomfort. "Wait...Hettie?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Can I ask you something? It may sound a bit strange." Probably everything she said sounded strange in this time.
"Yes, ma'am."
Leia wanted to tell her to stop calling her ma'am, but she didn't want to be called Leah, either.
"How long have you been here?"
"Ya mean workin' here?"
Leia nodded.
"Since I was fifteen, ma'am. Masta Patrick hired me and my brother to work in the house 'cause he didn't keep any slaves. Been a good place," she added, her eyes wary.
"Relax, Hettie. You can tell me anything." Leia tried to rinse her body parts as the water cooled. "Who else lived here while you've been here?"
"Well, Miz Eve before she died, and the boys."
"Boys?"
"You hadn't forgotten your own daddy? Mistas William, and Michael and James grew up here." The maid helped Leia dry herself and get into a rough cotton gown. "But you had to run off and marry that Jonathan, and your daddy never got over it." She clicked her tongue. "So now all its left is Miz Martha, with me here to take care of her, but I'm gettin' on in years. And o' course Masta treats her just like his own daughter."
Leia felt confused, like she had some puzzle pieces but needed many more. Was Martha Leah's mother or her aunt? Had to be her aunt, jud
ging from what Leia had observed so far.
"Anyone else?"
"Well, just my brother, like I said. I ain' seen him for years and years, since he disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Leia was instantly alert. Disappeared, how?
"Just uppin' disappeared from his plantation in Virginia one day. Never been seen again." Hettie had Leia buttoned up and under a thin quilt before the door knock that startled them both.
"Your timing is excellent, Hettie," she said, smiling and motioning for her to open the door. Brant stood in the door way, his shoulders filling the entire width of the frame.
"Just came to say goodnight again," he said, crossing his arms and smiling.
Hettie slipped out the door to an adjoining room, looking pointedly at Leia before leaving them alone. It was like having a disapproving nanny.
"Goodnight, Brant." Leia let the quilt fall from her chest and watched his expression change. Although she knew he couldn't see anything, she felt wanton.
"I see widows don't sleep in black gowns," he said, smiling.
"You noticed." She wondered about his intentions, smiling at her own old-fashioned thought.
"Good night, Leah Grahm," he told her, and abruptly closed the door as he left. Silently, she wished Brant knew who she really was. It bothered her deceiving him now. Leia didn't have long to ponder Brant's feelings, because those tears earlier were such an effective depressant, she was asleep before her conscience could squawk.
Almost immediately Hettie was waking her for breakfast. Dressed in yet another near-black gown, Leia joined the others in the dining room. The others were again dressed in bright colors, and Leia wondered why they did not wear mourning for her husband. She remembered from the movie, Gone With The Wind, that when Scarlett's first husband died, the whole family had worn black. It seemed that every McGarland female had donated her own black gowns to Leah.
They were nearly finished eating when she arrived, due to Leia's struggles dressing in the restrictive clothing. She smelled bacon cooking, probably because greasy odors lingered when the June humidity blanketed the house. She walked to the sideboard to choose something, and decided on mixed berries and coffee. The fruit choice seemed healthy to Leia until she dolloped heavy cream onto the blue and red berries. She realized she'd been eating very heavy in 1863, but that her thighs could expand unnoticed under the full skirts she wore here.
"Good morning, Leah. Deep in thought?" Brant asked, as she took her place next to him.
"Nothing you'd want to hear," she said, smiling impishly.
He turned back to his coffee and Leia continued to watch him. His profile was even more classically rugged than his full face, she thought. Wouldn't the girls be jealous if she'd met him in her own time? Sara would positively drool. Sara. Leia had nearly forgotten. Her best friend had practically disowned her the last time they'd talked. Was Sara worried about her now? At least Martin must be looking for her. Unless...the time line wasn't parallel, and no one knew she was missing.
"Leah, are you listening?" Martha had paused in the arched doorway, obviously waiting for some kind of response.
"Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"She asked if you would like to visit the Bauers again," Brant spoke up. "But I have already planned her day, Miss Martha." He briefly outlined their plan to search out the nicer glassware in the cellar and clean it up for display. After a warning from Patrick not to display any valuable items that marauding Confederates might steal, the room was cleared of the other diners.
"Leah, I have one errand to run before we can begin our search. I'll return within an hour." Brant rose to leave, nodded to the McGarlands, and disappeared without further explanations.
When Leia caught up with Brant, he was well on his way to the neighboring property. He looked immense atop the mare. She could almost picture him charging into a medieval battle, strong as a fortress, ready to do battle for what he believed in.
A very light breeze tickled the trees, but had little effect on the humidity. Brant pushed sweat from his forehead as if he were swatting gnats. He must have sensed her approach, quiet though it was in a pair of MaryKatherine's fabric slippers. The man and horse whirled around as one.
"Leah! What are you doing out here without an escort?" His eyes blinked with anger.
Leia's stomach contracted, but she ignored his question, doubtful it was her safety he was really concerned about. "Are you waiting for someone?" That she should feel even the smallest jolt of jealousy irritated her.
His blustery gaze settled down around her, and Leia shivered despite the heat. "Are you following me?"
Amazed that a human spine could be as stiff and straight as his, Leia shook her head slowly. "Of course not. But I didn't realize you were being so secretive out here." She started to add a line about this being a free country, but thought better of it. "Shall I head in the other direction?"
He stared down at her, having the advantage of higher elevation. Leia had come on foot, hoping to meet Brant in a comfortable situation. This accusatory reaction was not what she had imagined. He didn't know her well, of course, but why was he so suspicious?
The breeze increased to a wind from the south, suddenly as if to usher in change. Brant's expression softened then, and before she knew what was happening Leia was on the horse in front of him, legs draped gracefully over one side of the animal. His height allowed Brant to see over her head as the mare trotted farther away from the McGarland property. Leia's heart beat quicker as she drew a whiff of Brant's clean, woollen scent mixed with pine and horse. She smiled and relaxed her shoulder muscles. Wherever he was headed, she was along for the ride.
Leia had lost all sense of direction when Brant finally stopped and helped her dismount. The feel of his hands at her sides made her tingle, and she sighed as he released the grip.
Brant motioned for her to be quiet as he tilted his head in listening posture. Soon Leah, too, heard the shuffling feet among dry pine needles. She gave up any ideas she'd had that he was meeting a woman.
"Stay here," he told her in his soldier's voice.
"Be careful," was the best she could whisper in reply, not knowing what he was about. Were they in enemy territory?
He nodded, handed her the lead and strode to greet the couple emerging from the trees.
Leia watched Brant, comfortable that they couldn't see her in the pines. His expression, an intense look of furrowed brows that could only be concern, caught her attention and held it. When she saw him reach for a tree, she was startled to recognize two of the Bauer's slaves approach Brant.
The trio kept looking around, as if they feared being watched. Brant touched the small of the woman's back, steadying her and guiding her in his chosen direction. It was a gesture of gentlemanly manners, completely acceptable from a soldier to a lady, yet unheard of between races in the 1860's. Yet another anachronism sent shivers down her arms, despite the heat.
Leia could almost feel that large hand on her back, warm and firm as the lumbar support in her car. A man, obviously the woman's husband, moved behind her and looked to Brant with pure hero-worship in his eyes. Leia could see that from where she waited.
Conversation she wasn't privy to lasted for three or four minutes, peppered by vigorous head-shaking and shoulder-clasping.
Brant crossed back to where she waited. "Leah, come out."
Carefully she stepped in front of him, offering a shy smile.
He took her elbow. "Something has happened, and since you're here with us, I need to be able to trust you now. Can I depend on your silence?"
Leia looked up into his eyes. "Of course." Without a doubt, Brant had her loyalty, and although it might not be the appropriate response for a gentle lady, she knew it was the right thing to do. Time may not last long for Leia in this world, and she wanted to spend some of it with this chocolate-eyed soldier. If she could help a few unfortunate people along the way, so much the better.
Brant was impressed, pleased at Leah's stamina as they
made their way through the woods. Not only was the terrain rough, but twice they'd had to hide from straggling troops. Leah had ducked and hidden with the other three, holding an unnatural position for some time, and they had not been discovered. Margaret's under used muscles would have given out long before. He shook off the memory, focusing on the present. It would not have mattered, he knew, whether the soldiers had been blue or gray, because either side would object to what he was doing.
She hadn't asked any questions, either, which was a relief. Soon enough, she'd know exactly what was going on and his part in it all. Would she then turn from him in disgust? Not if she was half the woman she seemed to be today. He reminded himself that trusting a female before had ended in disaster.
"Where are we?" she asked, breaking his train of thought. He smiled as he watched her dismount and rub her backside.
"It's probably better if you don't know. But there's a cabin around that bend in the creek, and we need to see these two there safely." He held his breath, waiting for the questions to begin. Margaret had always asked pointed questions, annoying and potentially dangerous ones.
When Leah remained silent, he led the small party across a stony-edged stream, following its curves from a clearing into a deeper section of pines. The heat of the day lessened under the tree cover, but the air still hung heavily around their heads.
"There," he said, tilting his head. "Just a few yards away, hidden in the trees." He lapsed into silence, and the group followed, quiet as well.
The cabin was rustic and neglected. The timber shivered like matches ready to spark. The door of rough, splintered wood swayed in and out, though the air was still.
"Looks haunted," Leah said, whispering while testing the stability of a floor plank with one foot.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." The four were inside the cabin then, looking at the interior of the vacant shack.
"Leah, this is John and Bitsy. That's all you should know. It's all that's safe for you to know." He watched her face, scrutinizing it for her thoughts. What did she think about all of this?
The Will of Time Page 5
