Promise of Time

by Moore, S. Dionne

  Theo waited for her appearance, nerves stretched taut. His first glimpse of her rooted him to the spot.

  She smiled his direction and lifted the stack of towels, eyes shining more than he thought acceptable for a woman facing an impending birth with no help. “Thank you for fetching Martha for us. Rose is doing quite well.”

  ten

  Ellie made as if to turn then realized Theo looked at her with slack-jawed wonder. Fear shot through her as she wondered if he was having a bout with some strange illness.

  “Dr. Selingrove is here?”

  Ellie lowered the stack of towels to the table. “Why no, of course not. We don’t know where Robert is, to be truthful.”

  “Robert?”

  Ellie shifted her weight, frustrated at the delay explaining would force. “Robert Selingrove is Rose’s husband. He joined the Northern army some time ago. It’s been months since Rose has heard from him, and he’s believed to be missing in action, dead, or a prisoner.”

  “Then who is up there? With Rose?”

  “You mean Martha?”

  “Martha?”

  She nodded. “She’s Robert’s midwife, but she knows more than most doctors.”

  “But she—I mean, how. . .”

  A muffled scream rent the air.

  Ellie clutched the towels tighter to her chest and spun on her heel, heart slamming against her ribs. It was hard enough for Rose to endure the unknown of Robert’s whereabouts, but to have his child with that knowledge. . . Her throat closed over that grief.

  ❧

  Theodore could endure no more. The muted moans and occasional cries jangled his nerves and sent him fleeing from the kitchen and to the sanctity of the cellar. Chills held him captive as he dropped to the floor.

  In his ears he heard not the moans of a woman in labor but of his comrades, his friends, shot full of shrapnel, falling to the ground and writhing in pain. The spot vacated by his fallen friend was replaced by another familiar face and together they advanced. In his head, the cacophony of war set his skull to throbbing. He heard a blast, heard yet another scream, and watched the man beside him go to his knees then fall face forward, hand clutching his midsection, blood streaming through his fingers.

  Theodore sucked air into his lungs and tried to block the deluge of painful memories. It seemed the further he got from the war the more the memories plagued him. Was it his own guilty conscience? He had left his friends to warn Ellie out of disgust for the deed and respect and love for his cousin. No matter what, it seemed he was a coward.

  Coward. The single word seemed to explode in his mind, and he felt the weight of the label pull at him, demanding penance. Images of fallen comrades, of Martin as he tried to halt his execution, bit at his soul, and he fell into a restless sleep full of blood and screams.

  The earth below him seemed to shake, and someone grabbed his arm to pull him forward. He didn’t want to advance. Not into the enemy’s line, but the hand would not let go.

  “Theo!” The voice came close to his ear, pitched low, yet higher in tone. “Theo, wake up.”

  He could feel the hand tug at him and realized it was not a dream at all. When he opened his eyes, Ellie stared down into his face with watchful eyes and sober concern.

  “Settle down. You were screaming so loud I feared you were hurt.”

  He blinked and relaxed. Her words sunk in slowly as his mind returned to the present. No war. No men surrounding him, running. No shots. Just Ellie and the smells of dirt and overripe apples.

  He covered his face with his hands to staunch the sob of relief and cover the emotion that flooded his senses. He shuddered.

  “You were dreaming,” Ellie stated, her tone sympathetic.

  No, he wanted to correct her. Dreams are light things, not terror-riddled images of men so real he could see their faces, hear their voices, and taste their fear.

  Her eyes shifted over his face, and her expression softened. The sight of her empathy made him turn his face away. He gasped to staunch the tears then felt something soft press into the palm of his hand. He stared down at her hand nestled in his.

  “Martin came home only once. He had nightmares, too.” Her voice became a whisper. “It must have been terrible.”

  He wanted to explain the horror, but words failed him. Instead, he pulled his hand from hers and pushed into a sitting position. “I’m sorry.”

  Her compassionate expression rolled over him, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to pull her into his embrace and feel the comforting warmth of another human. Someone alive and real and unmarred from the war. Again he forced the urge back. She would not welcome the advance and would never understand the frailty he felt or the security her presence offered.

  She tugged on her skirts and rose to her knees, her smile more relaxed. “It’s a boy.”

  The words seemed strange, yet it jarred his mind to a world far from that of his nightmares. Rose. Of course. “A boy?” He forced a smile.

  “I thought the cries were from him, but the sounds weren’t those of an infant.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to offer.

  The muscles in his neck loosened as the last events of his wakefulness slid into sharp focus. Rose. Dr. Selingrove. The mysterious Martha. He blinked and wondered at the beauty of new life. One untouched by such things as he had known in the war. He forced his mind away from that thought, knowing it would only pull him down.

  “You never got supper. You must be starved, and you were right. There’s a whole platter of fried chicken upstairs.”

  He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Maybe he’d smudged something on his face in the midst of his restless sleep, but the thought of food woke his appetite. Perhaps eating would calm him.

  “He’s the cutest little thing,” Ellie said then held out her hand. “Stay here and let me make sure the coast is clear.”

  His eyes followed her as she disappeared. He could hear the doors opening and her light steps on the wooden planks of the stairs.

  He inhaled a slow, long breath, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the wall at his back. A low-level pain pinched at the top of his neck. He shrugged and rolled his head to relieve the tension.

  “Come on up,” Ellie’s voice whispered down to him. As he emerged, she continued her scan of the area. With a flick of her hand, she motioned him forward. “There are some things that need fixing on the house itself, starting with the porch.”

  A lone horseman trotted up toward the drive and guided the horse toward Ellie’s house. Ellie stiffened then relaxed and lifted her voice. “There are some supports on the front porch that need straightening.”

  Puzzled by her words, he cast her a sidelong glance. She lifted a hand to point to a sagging section of the porch. He caught on to the ploy she was using and played along with his role as a handyman being shown what needed to be done.

  “The fence needs a good whitewash, though it might be best to wait on that since cold weather will hit in full force at any time.” She waved toward the man dismounting from a black mare, a uniform of blue covering his slender form.

  Theo’s spine went ramrod straight. In a reflexive action, his hand went for his Colt, but as the man neared, Theo realized the folly of his actions and relaxed. He was not in battle. Far away from the fields that had honed his instinct, not so much to kill the enemy, but for survival.

  In the growing dusk, the stranger stroked along his horse’s neck and lifted his broad-brimmed hat from his head, revealing wiry gray hair to match his beard.

  Beside him, Ellie grew still, her mouth firmed into a hard line.

  He didn’t like what he was seeing in her expression and wondered if the man’s presence meant trouble. “Ellie?”

  She turned her gaze on him. “It’s all right,” came her whispered reply. Ellie took a step toward the newcomer.

  Theo remained where he was.

  As she drew closer to the man, he turned from his h
orse and gave her a hug that seemed awkward for both of them. They exchanged words too low for his ears.

  Theo stepped forward at Ellie’s encouragement. “This is the help I just hired. We were just talking about the work that. . .” Her voice faded.

  Horror edged up Theo’s spine as his gaze locked with the man. The hair. Those eyes. That beard. He’d seen that profile once before.

  Ellie’s voice, oblivious to his sudden tension, continued, “I’d like you to meet Theo.”

  eleven

  Theo left her alone with her uncle but returned in time to eat with them. Several times Ellie caught him casting sidelong glances at Uncle Ross. And in turn, when Theo wasn’t looking, her uncle’s expression would become questioning as he took in the hired man. That Theo knew her uncle was obvious, though she wasn’t sure if her uncle merely picked up on Theo’s hard stares or if he had seen Theo before but couldn’t place him. Other than her wedding, which her uncle didn’t attend, she couldn’t recollect one time when the two would have met over a family event.

  The meal she offered provided more of the same behavior between the two, though Theo kept his head down most of the time and remained quiet unless directly addressed. If she hadn’t already invited him for fried chicken, she would have suggested he use the time to settle in the barn and allow her to bring him a plate. She forked a bite of chicken and slipped it into her mouth.

  “You’re quiet, Ellie. Have you been alone so long that you’ve forgotten how to be social?”

  Though her uncle’s comment seemed harmless, and there was a twinkle in his eyes, the chunk of meat she’d been chewing seemed suddenly flavorless and dry. She washed it down with water and pasted on a smile. “There’s been a lot going on. Rose had her baby right before you arrived.”

  “Ah. That would be your neighbor?”

  “Her husband hasn’t returned from the war, and she hasn’t heard from him in months.”

  “Most unfortunate. What regiment?”

  “The 28th Pennsylvania, I believe. As surgeon.”

  “Generals Lee and McClellan agreed to grant surgeons neutral status, so even if captured by the Southerners, they wouldn’t be imprisoned.”

  “That’s a comfort.”

  There was a long pause in which Ellie struggled to find something civil to say to her uncle. She knew all too well that his visit wasn’t a simple social call. “I expect you came here seeking my answer to your proposition.”

  Her uncle made good use of his napkin then shoved his nearly empty plate back. “You’re as forthright as ever, Ellie, my dear. Yes, I wondered why I never received an answer. But then mail service isn’t always reliable. I was in the area.” He paused and seemed to collect his thoughts. “You must agree, Ellie, that your newfound widowhood would be much less taxing if you allowed me to help.”

  She cast a glance at Theo. He caught her eye and pushed back from the table. “I’d better turn in for the night.”

  “You’re not going to stay for Rose’s pie?”

  “I expect you two have business to discuss,” he said in a perfect Yankee accent. “I wouldn’t want to hinder.”

  Ellie stood up, tense at the thought of his leaving her with her uncle. “At least stay for pie.”

  His presence offered her a modicum of protection against what would certainly be her uncle’s long diatribe on the reasons why a woman should not be hindered by “business.” Since Martin’s death she’d received several letters from her uncle Ross inquiring if he could help.

  She didn’t know if it was her tone or Theo’s hunger or simply an act of kindness on his part, but he nodded and lowered himself back down onto the chair.

  As she crossed the room to slice the pie, Uncle Ross wasted no time in peppering Theo with questions about his heritage and upbringing. Subjects that had her holding her breath and straining for his answers. She sliced two large pieces and a smaller one for herself.

  Theo’s answers were vague. He’d grown up in the North. Happy childhood. Normal boyish pranks. No lies in anything he’d revealed so far, but she wondered if her uncle would ask the ultimate question. “Why aren’t you fighting?”

  She hurried to get the plates to the table and plunked one down in front of Uncle Ross before further questions could slip from his mouth. He frowned up at her then down at the plate. How was it her once lighthearted, fun-loving uncle had become such an uptight old man since her mother’s death? Whatever the reason, she didn’t like the change.

  He lifted his fork and dug in. “Your mother’s pies were unbeatable. I still remember her making me a cherry pie when she was sixteen.”

  Ellie set the other wedge in front of Theo. “It’s apple.”

  Theo nodded and clipped off a small wedge of pie with the edge of his fork.

  “Reminds me of the old days,” Uncle Ross said, his lips smacking. He shoved another generous bite into his mouth. His head bobbed in rhythm to his chewing. “Really good, Ellie.”

  “Thank you.” She caught Theo’s glance and nodded, hoping he might understand the words to mean far more than a trite answer to her uncle’s appreciation for pie.

  As soon as she sat across from her uncle, he crammed the last bite into his mouth and shoved his plate away.

  Her mind shuffled for something to say to distract him from further questions of Theo, and she decided to take the offensive. “I received your latest letter earlier today, so you can imagine how surprised I am at this visit.”

  “You haven’t answered any—”

  Ellie held up her hand. “I didn’t answer, Uncle, because the answer has not changed. I am not selling the farm. There are too many memories, and it was my mother’s legacy to me.”

  Uncle Ross’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think it might be too much for you to handle, my dear? You could sell it to me at a good profit and leave all the fuss of renting it out and the lands—”

  “No.” The word slipped out on a rising wave of frustration. She popped a bite of pie into her mouth to buy her time to think.

  A storm rose in her uncle’s dark eyes. He glanced over at Theo then back at her. She could see that he wondered about the relationship between them.

  In an effort to cut off the inquiry sure to come, she turned to Theo. “Before you leave this evening, we need to make a list of the things you’ll be working on in addition to what we’ve already discussed.”

  Theo inclined his head. “A sound idea, Mrs. Lester.”

  “I’ll be staying the night, Ellie. I assume the guest room is available? I’d like to turn in early.”

  She would not rise to the bait he laid, chagrined at the suggestion behind his question. “The linens are fresh, though the room may be a bit dusty from disuse.”

  There, let him chew on that for a while. But if she hoped to dissuade her uncle from further debate on any subject, he disappointed her.

  “We’ll speak more of this tomorrow. I’d like to look the property over if you don’t mind. For old times’ sake, you understand.”

  twelve

  “My foot.”

  Theo suppressed the chuckle that threatened to erupt as Ellie’s words, spoken in a whisper after her uncle left the room, showed exactly what she thought of the older man’s idea.

  “What farm is he speaking of?”

  Ellie met his gaze. “Ever since Martin’s death was made public knowledge, he has wanted to buy the farm Mother left to me.”

  “A farm?” He cocked his head, absorbing the fact she had just shared and what it meant in relation to what he had witnessed. “If it’s yours, why do you live here?”

  Ellie lowered her eyes. “She left me this house as well.”

  So Ellie Lester was a rich woman. If Uncle Ross was the man Theo thought him to be. . . Theo rubbed a finger over the bridge of his nose and scratched down the growing stubble along his jaw. He had no proof. There were hundreds of thousands of bearded men fighting in the war. The sight of Ross’s beard and general physique seemed similar,
but his position wasn’t such that he could easily point a finger at any man, Union or Confederate.

  “Are you not feeling well?”

  He clenched his teeth for a second. “I’m fine.”

  “You should get settled in the stable. At least the air there might be better than. . .” She gave him a huge smile and laughed. He caught on to the turn of her thoughts.

  “Fresher?” he suggested.

  “Well, maybe not that.”

  They laughed, their gazes locking. Theo enjoyed the sound of her laughter and the way her curls brushed against her shoulders with the tilt of her head. What they shared felt a little bit like camaraderie, and the warmth of the emotion bit hard into his soul. He was here to deliver a message—to let a grieving widow know that her husband’s death had been anything but accidental, that he was not a casualty of war. Yet here he sat, beguiled by her laughter in a way that was not what he had expected.

  She blinked and the fringe of her lashes shadowed her cheek for a slow second. She looked away. “I need to check on Rose. I’ll probably stay the night with her.”

  He rose when she did, watching as she quietly gathered a shawl from a peg on the wall and slipped open the back door.

  He followed her onto the back porch. The yard was dark, though the moon shimmied along a gossamer cloud, trying to shine its light. “I’ll stay until you’re inside.”

  She turned toward him. “There’s no need. Really.”

  Theo looked out over the yard toward the garden.

  Beside him he heard Ellie give a gasp.

  He jerked to face her. “What is it?”

  Her eyes flicked to his face. “I thought I saw something. Probably a rabbit.”

  He didn’t believe her. The way she hugged herself, her direct gaze seemed forced, as if her eyes wanted to look elsewhere. But she didn’t give him time to press her. She shrugged around him and hastened to Rose’s back door, giving him a little wave and shutting the door firmly.

  Theo scanned the yard, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated by Ellie’s swift departure, he whipped around, restless at the idea of retreating to the barn so early. With no choice, he crossed to the stable, glad he’d brought his knapsack and the lantern up from the cellar after Ellie’s uncle’s arrival.