The evening's light had faded almost entirely when Leia turned to face him. He didn't seem to notice the environment, only her. He lowered his head to hers, lips hot and demanding as military orders. She tilted her head back, eager for his kiss, and felt him crush her breasts against the scratchy wool of his coat.
"Oh, God, Leah, I don't care who you are. You are beautiful," he said, at last raising his mouth. He took both of her hands in his and pulled her to the ground. They lay down on their sides facing each other, propped on their elbows. She felt like a teenager again, with desire overriding her common sense.
Brant's eyes seemed to meld with hers, holding them steady while he reached for the curve of her breast again. The wet grass under her skin added chilly shivers of excitement to Leia's heightened senses.
He set his mouth on her chest, roaming before settling on one erect nipple, then the other. Leia forgot she was in the nineteenth century, becoming immersed in Brant's lovemaking. She unbuttoned his coat, then his shirt, exposing his dark chest hair that covered his muscles. She experienced a brief feeling of Deja Vu, having done the same thing years ago with an old college boyfriend, but she had never wanted to surrender everything to that other boy, never ached for him like she did now for Brant. Leia bent to kiss his hard nipples, felt him shiver and heard him moan. He moved his leg between hers, pushing them apart with a scissoring effect. He worked her gown up to her thighs without taking his mouth away, just working while he held her lips hostage.
Brant moved closer, pressing his warm chest onto hers. They fitted together like puzzle pieces that had not yet interlocked. She wasn't sure if it was minutes, or hours, she only knew she had the most divine need that could only be met by this man she held. Her tongue danced into his mouth, asking for a waltz.
And then someone not connected to them cleared his throat, to cut in.
Instantly, Brant jumped to his feet to face the two Union soldiers. He bent to pick up his coat, handing it to Leia as a shield. She had already turned away to hide her body from their gaze.
"Lieutenant?"
"What are you doing here? I have already received my orders. I report tomorrow...not tonight," Brant snapped, offering his hand to assist Leia from the grass carpet.
"Sorry, sir, General Doubleday sent us to escort you tomorrow seeing as we were on our way anyhow. Didn't mean to startle you. We heard some noises and wanted to make certain the place was secure for Miss Martha. She's invited us to stay the night." Leia imagined that the men were doing their best to disguise leering, youthful grins.
Brant moved forward, leading them toward the house. Not even attempting a fight with her underthings, Leia pulled Brant's wool coat on and wrapped her arms in front of her. Her hair was damp from the dew. Her skirts were soaked and heavy, pushing down against the hoop frame. Humiliated, she followed the men.
They had turned the conversation to tomorrow's travel, and Leia's mind was planning her mad dash for the back staircase. Mentally she was kicking herself for losing control. This was not the modern, permissive time she came from. This was 1863 and women just weren't found sprawled about in the grass with men. As they reached the clearing, one of the soldiers stepped back and took Leia's arm. He guided her around several tree stumps. She was about to thank him and head toward the back of the house when the front porch came into view. Suddenly, she dismissed all thought of escaping unnoticed.
Poised for observation and judgement on the front porch, grim as the pitchfork-bearing couple of American Gothic, were Martha and Patrick.
"I told you, Mrs. Callaway, we don't know where Leia is. The police have been notified, but they don't have much to go on. And I'm very sorry, but the 1863-dress is missing, too." Sara was doing her best to keep the frustration from her voice. Mrs. Callaway, head of the project committee sponsoring her historical revue, was more concerned about the missing costume than Sara's missing friend.
"Well, dear, do you suppose Miss McGarland would have left town with the dress?"
"I really don't know, Mrs. Callaway. It's possible. I'm hoping she'll return home anytime now. Surely there's some logical explanation. And I will call you the moment I hear something," Sara promised her, and hung up the receiver. If Leia is okay, she thought, I'm going to kill her.
Her show was only a few days away, and she was a nervous wreck. An entire semester grade, along with permission to graduate, was riding on this presentation. Her best friend had certainly picked the worst time to disappear.
The front door banged open, making Sara jump out of her self-pity. "Who's there? Leia?"
"It's me," Jason answered, entering the kitchen with a box in his arms. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking on things. And you?" She reached for the box.
"I thought I'd stay here a while. Like you...just keep an eye on things." Jason left the kitchen, taking his box up the front staircase.
"What do you mean, 'stay here a while'?" She saw three suitcases in the front hall, then followed her boyfriend up the stairs.
"Someone ought to use this place, and since Leia can't be bothered to take care of her own home, I certainly can do it." He closed a bedroom door behind him, leaving Sara open-mouthed, clutching the bannister.
Having gone out for food, Sara returned after dark to the McGarland house. She hoped their silly argument hadn't caused her friend to take off. Sure enough, Jason's Mustang was still in the driveway. She was overwhelmed by his nerve and his attitude...qualities she'd not seen the worst of since middle school days. Sara had keys, just as Leia had keys to her own home, and she was tempted to have the locks changed without telling her boyfriend, but she also had to worry about her show, and precious time was wasting away. She'd check one more time for the 1863 costume, and if she did not find it, she'd drive to Harper's Ferry or Gettysburg for another. There would be not time to make a duplicate before the show.
She let herself in, quietly, and turned on the kitchen lights. Sara knew she should re-check all of the bedrooms first, but something called to her from the basement. After all, that was the last place Martin had seen Leia go, and she was still in the costume then. There must be some type of clue to the disappearance in that basement. The fact that Leia hated basements was not lost on Sara, who was convinced that there was some connection. There had been many routine house inspections Sara had accompanied Leia on just because of the basements...a boring job, but Leia always reciprocated by going with Sara on fabric-hunting expeditions.
Taking a flashlight from the counter where a collection of five had remained since the search had begun, Sara descended the cellar stairs. She clacked downward, playing the small beam of light off of each wall. They looked as always. She checked the closet door, the furnace room door, and behind the wine rack. Patterns in the dust indicated no one had come or gone recently. The one, tiny shoe-box size window was intact. The musty basement smell was typical. In fact, unavoidable with dirt flooring. Look at that! Yes, something was different here. She reached into her pockets, finding only a quarter and a shoe-horn. She used the latter as a digging tool, carefully scraping away loose, dry dirt. About six inches into the pile the plastic horn hit something lightweight.
She gasped and finished uncovering the object. Sara stared at the dirty, plastic-coated object in her hands. Although the printing was faded, there was no doubt of what she held. It was Leia's driver's license.
Sara splashed cold water on her face, as cold as the faucet could pump from the well. A few odd tears had become a small shower as she let her fearful thoughts play through her mind. She'd seen enough crime dramas and murder mystery shows to understand the implications of finding the driver's license or other personal item of a missing person. It did not bode well for her friend.
"Pull yourself together," she whispered to her reflection. She lifted her damp bangs and patted her forehead with a fluffy hand towel. Her bangs, evenly trimmed and perfectly straight, reminded her of the day Leia had attempted to play hair stylist.
"Just a few
snips, that's all," Leia had promised...and so Sara had given permission for the experiment. To this day, Jason still would grab her fringe of bangs and pull in different directions, teasing about the uneven job Leia had done.
"You gonna be in there all day, Sara?" The knock on the bathroom door was Jason's. She joined her boyfriend in the hall to tell him about her ominous discovery.
"Should we go see Mr. Sanders?" she asked, after Jason had taken his turn at face-washing.
Jason shook his head. "I don't think we should bother him. Tell you what, I'll call that police detective we spoke with the other day. If he wants to see it, I'll take it right over."
Sara nodded. Jason had always been the logical one. They entered the kitchen, and he turned away to use the phone. Sara decided to roam through the huge house again, contemplating for a moment the irony of the situation. She needed her best friend here to help her through the trial of her missing best friend. She circled the first floor, then crossed back into the kitchen. Jason was still talking, the phone cord wrapped around his waist as if he had been pacing.
"Yeah.. it would be an office slash shopping complex. Maybe some outlet stores, like in Lancaster. Yeah. A Mason-Dixon theme complex."
Sara didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation. He was constantly talking business.. trying to sell this person's property for a shopping center or that person's farm for an apartment complex. Once he had practically stolen a distant relative's prime real estate plot and delivered it to a tract building developer.
A sudden thought stabbed Sara like a knife. What if he were trying to sell this house? He wouldn't, couldn't. Jason cared what she thought of him. Of course, he had tried to sell Leia's glass collection, but that was different, wasn't it? Besides, he couldn't sell something he didn't own, could he? Her pulse pounded behind her temples and Sara decided to contact Mr. Sanders' law office herself.
A thud drew her attention to the front porch. Martin had returned from town with a few sacks of groceries.
"Hi Martin, can I help?" He handed her a paper bag with protruding paper towel rolls. She followed him once again to the kitchen, where Jason was hanging the white receiver back onto the wall phone.
Sara saw Martin eye Jason with what she called an "evil eye," and shove cartons of milk and juice into the intruder's hands. The tension between the two men was far thicker than the liquids in those containers. Jason placed both cartons on the top refrigerator shelf, then turned back to Martin.
The older, black man continued to shove food products at the younger one, silently ordering him to follow instructions and put each away. Jason played along, placing each item in the spot he felt appropriate, keeping an even pace with Martin's movements. The room was silent, except for the pass and plunk rhythm. Cans, cabinet, plunk. Frozens, freezer, plunk. Soaps, sink, plunk. Bread, box, plunk. Sara watched as if hypnotized. Each man refused to let the other get ahead or miss a beat. The bags emptied but the animosity grew. It was over as quickly as it had started, ending on a jagged note as Jason stomped out of the room. The corner of Martin's mouth inched upward, hinting to Sara of the grin he was trying to suppress. Sometimes the older man displayed the most amazing perceptions of character.
Chapter 7
"You understand, now, don't ya Brant?"
"I do," he admitted, sitting very straight at the small, round library table. He sighed and rubbed the taut muscles in the back of his neck.
Patrick nodded, pouring himself and Brant crystal tumblers of brandy. "Good. My brother asked for me to watch over young Leah, you see, after her husband was killed. But I've told you all that. Now I have to fulfill that duty, Brant. It's a matter of honor. And I must say I could not find a more suitable match for Leah."
"Leah is still mourning Jonathan," Brant reminded him, taking a double sip. He tapped his free fingers on the oak table.
"Yes, that's very true. But this is war time. We must be flexible. The social graces just are not quite as important when young men are dying off. I have to do what's best. You are fond of her?"
Brant nodded, amused at Patrick's sudden concern for his feelings. "I was just sharing that same concept with Miss Martha, when she asked me to keep my distance from Leah."
Patrick snorted, a drop of brandy shooting out of his nose.
"Yes, as you have discovered, I do like her. She is quite attractive. However, I was not planning to marry anyone."
"Hmmph. And why is that, Brant Douglas?"
"I'm not sure I can answer that question, sir. I can tell you I have nothing to offer a lady, no wealth, no property. Once the war's over I'll be just another farmer without a farm." He spoke matter-of-factly about his situation.
"Horsefeathers!"
"Sir?" Brant sensed a change in the older man's attitude.
"The minister is only a mile from here. As soon as he arrives, he will marry you to my niece."
"And tomorrow I will leave my new bride."
"Well, Leah will deal with it. She has no choice in the matter. She made her decision when she laid with you in the grass."
Brant started to explain that things had not gone as far as Patrick assumed, but he stopped. It made no difference, the compromising position had called for a proposal regardless of what had actually taken place. Brant also doubted the odds of his having a future. There were only so many times a man could be blessed with surviving a major battle. An actual, day-to-day life with Leah would probably never come to pass. So if he could spend one night with Leah in his arms...that might carry him through the next rain of shots and cannonballs. If he should somehow make it home again, well, he'd return and solve the puzzle of the identity of Leah-Leia. And take her to bed. Again.
Patrick poured more brandy, his eyes fixed on Brant.
Brant felt a smile wiggle its way onto his face.
"Now, boy, that's more like it."
"Oh, dear, Leah Graham, how could you do this to us? Now everyone will think you are too, too. . " "Too what, Aunt Martha?" Leia was fresh in another black gown, this one adorned with a piece of delicate white lace. Like a trail of snowflakes, the lace blanketed her bodice. Hettie was buttoning the back of the dress, at least twenty tiny pearl buttons that required expert, nimble fingers. The maid was wisely keeping quiet.
"Oh, don't be fresh young lady. If you could have seen yourself brought to the porch forcefully by a military man! And you, with your dress down to your knees and your bodice torn. No one has their bodice torn anymore." Martha wrung her hands, a trait Leia had come to associate with the older woman.
"Please, Aunt Martha. It wasn't that bad. Nothing really happened," Leia said, sitting down so Hettie could arrange her hair.
"How can you be so calm? So stubbornly calm? You have been compromised. It doesn't matter what actually happened. Now you're being married off while still in mourning. Oh, it's so shameful."
Leia felt very calm. After all, this was not her real life, and would mean nothing once she returned to the future. If she was going to finally surrender her virginity, which she really didn't think was something all that special, it may as well be to Brant...handsome, strong, caring Brant, who could not have possibly been exposed to HIV. Why hadn't she met someone like him in the 1990's? And now that she had met him, she couldn't even enjoy her status. He thought she had been married! He would expect her to be experienced, not scared.
"Miz Leah's already had one weddin' night," Hettie injected.
"Yes, that's true I suppose. That would explain her serene posture. However," she clucked her tongue, "she should at least feel remorse for the predicament she's caused Patrick and the family."
Leia risked sounding sleazy to take a jab at Martha. "I am sorry, Aunt Martha. I honestly must say I was not thinking of your feelings at all while Brant was kissing me."
Martha's cheeks glowed tomato-red and she left the room in a flourish of matronly skirts and disdain.
The small, informal wedding party assembled in the front parlor. Brant and Leia stood facing the firepl
ace with Reverend Kelly poised in front of them, Bible open in his spread palms. To Leia's left stood MaryKatherine, her white hands folded in front of her. Patrick stood beside Brant. The group was silent, solemn.
The vows were repeated and the prayers said quickly. Before Leia knew it, she was married to a Civil War soldier. As the minister proclaimed them to be man and wife, Leia thought of her grandfather. Was he with her parents now, up there somewhere, watching this? She knew they'd want to know she was married, but she wondered how they would take this cosmic joke.
Brant turned and pecked her on the cheek. It was a perfectly chaste, respectful kiss. Leia could not help but wonder if her grandfather had somehow arranged all of this, from his angelical new home, since she was not doing so well on her own in the love department. She wondered if this would count for the requirement of the will. Could she possibly take Brant home with her? Would the marriage be legal?
Suddenly MaryKatherine, Martha and Hettie were kissing her cheeks and hugging her. Martha took Brant aside, chatting about procuring a wedding ring, and Patrick took Leia's arm to pull her aside.
"Leah, my dear, I do hope you understand why I insisted on this wedding. You see, I promised your daddy before he died that your next choice would be a good man..."
Leia broke in mid-sentence. "It's fine, Patrick. Really. I'm sure you had my best interests at heart." She kept emotion out of her voice, set her irritation aside as well, and laid her hand on the man's fatherly shoulder.
The smell of melting candles drifted through the room, reminding Leia of childhood birthday cakes. The flickering light threw shadows over the family members, and Leia's gown was nearly invisible in the darkness. Only her lace trim reflected the candlelight.
"Mrs. Douglas?" Brant asked, coming from behind her to whisper in her ear. " Will you come with me upstairs?"
Leia glanced around the room at the remains of the impromptu wedding. A few wine glasses, a few waning candles and a few grim faced McGarlands were the only remnants. She knew a proper new bride would blush, not rush, upstairs with her groom. She smiled and hooked her arm in Brant's.
The Will of Time Page 11
