Leia nodded and Brant held the heavy door open for her to pass. As they descended the staircase, she felt his eyes burning into her back. She knew he was attracted to her. So why was he selectively avoiding her ? And why did she care so much? She whirled on him at the foot of the stairs, in front of the library door.
"Come here a second," she said, pulling on his muscular arm. She opened the wood door and tugged at Brant to follow her into the darkened room.
"What is it?"
"I want to show you the bottles we found in the cellar, now that they're cleaned up." Leia pulled open the heavy brocade draperies to allow sunlight to filter into the library. The morning rays were pale, and filled with dust particles. As she fought back a sneeze, Leia wished for a vacuum with a drapery attachment.
The clanging plunk of something striking the window made Leia jump away from it, raising an arm to deflect possible flying glass.
Brant moved forward, standing to one side of the window to allow just his head to approach the panes. His flat mouth curved upward and he waved to someone outside the house.
"Who did that? Are they trying to kill us?"
"The pebbles he threw would not likely break this glass, Leah. He's trying to get our attention, or I should say, my attention."
"Well, it worked. Who is he?" She knew her voice was pouty, but didn't care.
"Gabriel. He's the son of a slave couple in Roanoke, and he must be the little shadow John and Bitsy recalled trailing them on the last leg of their journey." Brant waved again, then pulled the heavy fabric closed again. "Come with me, Leah. I want you to meet my young friend before he stirs up any unwanted attention."
They slipped through the back door, and made their way around the side of the house that held the library window. No one was in sight, the only noise being a slight breeze tickling dehydrated pine needles. Even with the breeze, the heat was stifling and Leia began to perspire. Actually, she knew her skin had grown damp when the window she stood beside had threatened to shatter. A girl tended to get jumpy when she found herself in the middle of the Civil War.
"Come this way," Brant said, taking her hand and leading her to the edge of the trees. Pausing, he made an unusual whistle call, then pulled Leia a bit further into the woods.
"Where is he?" she asked, looking for moving 'shadows.'
Without any noise, a three-foot boy appeared before them, smiling without benefit of several front teeth. "Here," he said, moving to stand before Brant. His grayed clothing hung tattered at the edges.
To Leia's surprise, Brant went down on one knee to greet Gabriel. She sighed, watching the small hand as it was placed trustingly in Brant's larger one. The striking contrast of warm brown in strong white hands was rivaled only by the contrast of their sizes. Brant, tall and well developed, and Gabriel, underfed and skeletal, could have been long-lost brothers judging by their actions. One manly hand completely covered the child's back below the shoulder blades. Leia held her breath as the boy teetered, but Brant carefully steadied the small frame into a hug.
Still poised on bent knee, Brant listened as the child stammered out pieces of information. Could any of this be helpful to the war effort? Brant concentrated, his deep eyes never leaving the smaller set. The wool of Brant's trousers touched a gaping hole in the boy's thin pants, undoubtably scratching the bare skin peeking through.
Leia moved to stand behind Brant, resting her hands on his shoulders. She felt him stiffen, but relax almost immediately upon registering who belonged to the touch. Brant introduced Leia to Gabriel, covering one of her hands with one of his own. She liked the feeling, and crouched to greet the boy at his own height. He was adorable.
"Hello, Gabriel," she said, not trying to touch him so he wouldn't be startled. Something in his face made her want to pick him up and cuddle him. Of course, he really needed a decent meal first...and a bath.
The boy only looked at her, deep brown eyes wide in their surrounding features, the effect overshadowing the entire little face. Sensing his fear, Leia slowly extended her hand.
The child shot past her, moving before she could pull her hand back. Instantly he disappeared into the forest.
"Brant, I'm so sorry. I scared him off."
He smiled. "He'll be back, don't worry. He's a good little tracker."
"How old is he?"
"Six or seven. Has no parents still living, if that's your next question."
Leia felt her stomach roll over. "I know how the little guy feels," she said, thinking of her own parents, so long ago.
He put an arm around her shoulders in a loose embrace. Without any trace of sarcasm, he said, "No, I don't think you could."
"Did you ever think about having children of your own? I mean, I know you had brothers around when you were growing up." Leia asked the question in a voice she hoped came across as casual, like she was just making conversation.
He didn't answer right away, but pushed a tree limb out of her path. Silence had been the order since they parted from Gabriel a few minutes ago.
"Brant?" She followed him from the dark cover of pine into the sun's beaming heat.
"I suppose everyone thinks about such things sometime during their life. Everyone has a future to plan for, as no one has forever. Children are a way to grasp that immortality. And there's always that problem of how to continue the human race without repopulating the Earth."
Leia reached out and caught his arm, forcing him to turn toward her. "I wasn't trying to start a philosophical debate."
"Then what was the question?" He resumed walking but slower, at her side instead of in front of her.
"I watched you with Gabriel just now. I've watched you caring for the others, too. You were meant to be a father, I think."
"Oh, do you?" he asked, stopping again. He put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her very slightly. "Leia, there's more to being a father than caring about children."
She had to suppress a grin. "Such as?" Such as making love to conceive them in the first place, she thought. What a strange variation of a twentieth-century lecture on responsibility.
"Such as being able to provide for them! Such as securing a home for them with the promise of food on the table, and a loving mother to nurse their skinned knees and other childhood ailments. Such as a father who is respected and known in the community, who owns a farm or business. Such as a larger family of grandparents and uncles that can be trusted to care for them if their parents fall on bad times..."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry I asked."
"But you did ask. And Leah...I'm not certain that I will ever be in the position to have a family. In fact, it's not very probable," he said, dropping his hands and turning to walk away. "Let's go back to the house. You wanted to show me something?"
She nodded, though he couldn't see her. "Brant, can I just say something while we're on the subject? I promise to drop it right after."
He turned back toward her again, and rubbed his hands over his face as if he could wash away his own words. His eyes were empty of their usual hot cocoa warmth.
"I can't argue with anything you've said, not one word of it. All of that is important. All of that sums up the model family situation. I wish I'd had the parents you had, loving and watching you grow up. But I did have a grandfather and his friends, a home, and a full belly."
"Yes? Are you trying to make a point?"
She sighed heavily for effect. "Brant, the point should be obvious. I had only a few of those items on your wish list, just a few of the ingredients you spouted off, but not all of them. And I turned out okay."
"You did."
"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that you'd be a good father. I can tell just by watching you with Gabriel...and from all of the other things you've done."
"And you'd be a good mother?" He looked skeptical.
"Exactly, but I'm not really talking about myself. I'm sure whoever you picked as the mother of your kids would be loving, and the two of you would have a lot to offer a family." She paused
for a breath, surprised that her own words could make her feel envious of the imaginary woman. "You'd come up with a suitable home and kill the food yourself if you had to. You're an officer of the U.S. Army, for heaven's sake. How much more respectable can you be? And how much better of an extended family could you offer them than the McGarlands? You don't have to consider your own relatives. You still have Patrick, Martha, MaryKatherine, Hettie, and ..."
"You?" he asked, allowing a smile to turn up his previously flat mouth.
"You could say that, I think."
"Mmm," he said, taking her arm as they climbed the back steps. "You go on inside."
"Aren't you coming in?"
"Later. I need to do some chores, in the barn."
Leia watched him head for the stable, his hips lean and swaggering involuntarily. He should pass those genes on, because that butt would do very well in jeans. Perhaps some soul-searching was what he needed to do, and in that case, he would need to be alone.
He didn't want to give her up, not entirely. Yet he struggled with the idea of trusting another beautiful woman with his heart. A tiny civil war raged within him, the longing constantly forced back behind the ranks of regret.
Brant checked the dirt floor of the barn in several spots, to make certain the goods he and Patrick had buried were still hidden. Then he checked on things he had hidden by himself, supplies he'd stashed for his travelers. Was it terribly unfair if he asked her to wait for his return, and if she did, was he then obligated to propose? Couldn't courting start later?
Every man he knew had married his sweetheart before going off to fight. It was acceptable, even desirable, to know your lady had taken your name, could even carry your child, perhaps the only part of you that would survive, into a new era after the war.
None of his friends' ladies had been in mourning for their recently departed husbands, making their circumstances very different from his currently with Leah. It was just like everything else where Leah was concerned..an unusual situation.
"See that cabinet?" Leia pointed, but Brant had already located the display, and was busy inspecting an olive green bottle.
"This looks very nice, Leah. Perhaps I can bring you some additional pieces from Pennsylvania. I believe they make a great deal of glass there." He closed the little fretwork-covered door, having removed the bottles and lined them up on a side commode.
"That would be wonderful. Do you think it will be safe?"
"For me? Or the glass?"
She looked up at him with a quick head motion, but saw he was teasing her. "So, are you hungry?"
"Yes, quite famished, actually. But before we go, I'd like to ask you something." Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door to the hall.
Instinctively Leia took a giant step back, mentally preparing.
"Leah, I've reconsidered my earlier statements. I was too hasty. I'd like to ask permission to call on you, next year, or when ever it's considered acceptable. I won't be able to offer you anything permanent until I've made my fortune and purchased a farm. That won't be an easy task, if it'll be possible at all, seeing all the destruction this war's caused. I'd go to your father if he was alive, but I guess it will have to be Patrick."
"Brant, please don't..."
"Not now, of course, Leah. I may be gone for a very long time. I don't know what will happen. But I like you, I care what happens to you, and would like you to wait for me. You will be in mourning part of the time as it is. And then...then we could get to know each other better. Do you think you can do that for me?" He had closed the gap between them, and picked up both of her hands. He rubbed the finger around her wedding ring.
"Some things aren't fair in life, Brant. And some just can't be explained," she said, initiating a hand squeeze for emphasis.
"I know it's not fair for me to ask you to wait, especially with the very real possibility that I'll never return. And there are still things you don't know about me. You don't have to make any eternal commitments, no promises from either of us except to spend time together, later." His face was blank, unreadable.
She shook her head at his misunderstanding. How much should she tell him? Gently, she pulled her hands away and turned toward the wall-length bookcase. They both remained quiet, the chirping of birds outside the window the only sounds.
"Leah?"
"I am sorry, Brant, but I can't make that promise. I like you, too, but there's more to it than that. It's complicated."
"Tell me."
"I can't. You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't believe me, either." She pushed a hand across her forehead, moving bangs off of the moist skin. The humidity of the time certainly rivaled modern conditions in June. Some things never changed.
"Try me."
She thought about telling him everything, just spitting the words out because it would feel so good just to say them. How she'd love to stay right here for a long time...just in her own time, but she knew what happened to women believed insane in the 1800's.
"Leah?" His voice had grown impatient, and looking at him she noticed that flash of anger again. "Is there someone else?"
"No." No! If it was anyone, it would be him.
"Then what is it? What aren't you telling me?" She knew he was probably imagining all types of scandalous reasons she could give. She also knew he could not be imagining the truth.
"Do you trust me?" His voice was soft, gentle.
She only nodded.
"Leah, will you wait for me? I need to know before I leave, which could be any time now. I'm not saying we have to make permanent plans. You can tell me your secret when I return. I trust you, too." His face was blank, except for those eyes.
She shook her head with a slow, firm motion, feeling perspiration begin to form above her lip. Keeping her eyes down, she shook it more emphatically. At last, she glanced up at him, only to see his face contorted into an expression she did not understand. She heard only the birds chirping again, and as she watched Brant raised his arms over his head. He threw them down again toward his sides in obvious frustration. His right hand flailed into the commode, as if guided by anger. The bottles fell and shattered like a line of glass bowling pins.
Speechless for only a few seconds, Leia brushed past him to leave the room. As she left, she spoke
briefly. "Be sure not to kneel in the shards this time."
Chapter Five
Leia rose the next morning and dressed in multiple layers of wool and cotton. She had secretly washed her bikini underwear, and wore them now forsaking the pantaloons. The humidity remained extremely high and Leia couldn't believe that people were wearing wool clothing that allowed no moisture to evaporate. She also skipped her chemise and petticoats, hoping no one would notice.
She certainly was not about to let Brant notice. The mean-spirited way he had smashed those bottles was unbelievable. In her heart, she knew he hadn't intended to be destructive, but on the surface she needed to vent her anger. Especially after the pep-talk she'd just given him on family. She paused, deciding to wait for Hettie to button up the last few mid-way down her back. Nothing was easy about dressing in the nineteenth century, not even a simple cotton blouse.
Noise from the yard drew her attention toward the side of the house. She went to her heavily draped window and opened it. The wood sash groaned as it gave way, and Leia was able to lift it and look out unencumbered by screens. She saw Brant and Patrick trotting about on horseback, appearing to be deep in conversation. The older man's gray head contrasted sharply with Brant's warm brown one, just the tip of the iceberg as far as their physical differences were concerned. Patrick's short, slight frame appeared almost child-like next to Brant's large physique. They did not appear to have any purpose in their activity...just two men talking. Perhaps they felt their conversation was more private out in the side yard, encased by trees on one side and the house on the other. Their words would fall only on the ears on the two brown mares.
She watched as Patrick pointed out something that was invisible
to her eyes, and the men and horses took off in a hurry. She closed the window and turned back to her room, still wondering about Brant. How could such a well-developed adult male have so carelessly flailed about in anger? To Leia, it seemed that so many men had bad temper lurking just under their pleasant facades, and that fact wasn't limited to any specific century.
A timid knock brought Hettie into the room, and the maid automatically reached for Leia's undone buttons.
"I'm sorry about your bottles," Hettie began, sweeping Leia's hair into a chignon bun.
"Thanks. I am too, but there are probably more down in that awful cellar."
Hettie nodded, but didn't respond. Her dark hands made swift work of the last flyaway locks. The maid handed Leia a shaw, an open-weave pinkish cotton.
"Can you get away for a spell, Miz Leah?"
Leia looked at the other woman with surprise. "I have no plans for today. Why?"
"There is someone I'd like for you to meet, someone I know. I talked to her about you, and she thinks she can help. She's waiting this mornin'." Hettie stood behind Leia with her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. Their eyes met in the wavy distortions of the mirror and Leia thought she saw a flicker of temporal recognition in Hettie's dark irises.
"You have troubles, Miz Leah. My friend can help."
Leia rose from the wood dressing table. "Okay," she sighed, "I have to admit my curiosity has the best of me. Let's go...but not a word to Miss Martha!"
They slipped down the back stairs, Hettie leading the way. Leia saw the maid could move faster than she could because she didn't have to wear as many layers of clothes. The back door was convenient to their unobserved exit, the only indication being the bent grass footprints they left in the dew-coated lawn.
Leia was glad she still had MaryKatherine's boots, for Hettie dragged her a good distance from the house. After the McGarland stable and outbuildings, the pair entered a dense green forest. Hettie seemed to know exactly where she was going, following a narrow, barely visible dirt path through the trees. The humidity clung to each breath of air Leia tried to draw, until her sinuses felt filled with water.
The Will of Time Page 8
