Promise of Time

by Moore, S. Dionne

  She met Uncle Ross’s dark eyes and wondered why, then, she felt so afraid.

  ❧

  Theo lowered his arms and rested his back. The constant pounding on the loose boards that made up the fence sur--rounding the barn and house had left his shoulders tense and his back sore. His broken finger throbbed, but he kept on. Without an official list of repairs, he had eyeballed the various buildings and picked the tasks he would undertake based on the tools he had available.

  He’d kept an ear cocked toward the springhouse all morning, wondering about the couple. Hoping they had made it into the secret compartment of the wagon and not entirely sure they had. How could they be so quiet? What if they hadn’t made it at all? Or if they had arrived late? He had no way of knowing whether they were there or not, and it troubled him.

  He’d told himself a million times that he was better off not knowing and not getting involved. Still. . .

  Theo gripped the hammer tighter and knelt to fix the lower boards. His stomach growled a protest, and he swallowed a gulp of water he’d fetched from the pond at the springhouse. He needed food, and he would need more nails soon, too. If Ellie wanted the farmhouse siding repaired, he would need planks and paint, and if she wanted stonework on the barn fixed, he would need sand and lime and some hand tools. Maybe if he did a great job, she would relent and let him stay on to help fully restore the buildings. By then he would know if she would be capable of returning his love.

  He screamed out in pain as the hammer came down on his thumb. He popped the mashed digit into his mouth and sucked. Served him right for letting his mind wander to business that wasn’t his. He sank to the ground and pulled out his thumb. Purple. And swelling. Fast. He grimaced at the sight and twisted around at the sound of a horse clopping closer. When he cupped his hand over his eyes, he could make out the form of a woman in the saddle.

  He waited as Ellie came up the dirt lane toward the barn. Her coldness the previous evening left him unsure of how to approach her, or even if he should.

  He turned back to the loose board, lifted it into place, and began to sink the nail. In his mind, he traced the path she would take to reach him, if indeed she had come to speak to him. She might have come to collect rent or check on the runaways. But no, she wouldn’t have come down the dirt lane toward the barn. For rent she would have gone to the house. And for the runaways she could have cut across the field.

  He tried to wring her from his thoughts by pounding hard and fast. The nail sunk in three strikes, his broken finger throbbed from clutching the hammer so tight, and his purple thumb on the opposite hand beat its own pained protest. He got to his feet, tempted to look over his shoulder but forcing himself to focus on the fence. He checked the next board and found it stable and firm.

  “Theo?”

  Despite his desire to remain aloof, the sound of her voice tripped the rhythm of his heart. He took his time straightening and finally turned to face her with a thin smile and a casual, “Howdy, boss.”

  twenty-three

  Ellie caught Theo’s glances as she directed Rose’s horse up the dirt lane to the barn. Her stomach tickled with nervousness as she neared him. His back to her, wide as any wall, effectively separating them. She dismounted and took a step closer, stopping when he faced her and ground out his flippant greeting.

  The planes of his face were hard, his mouth without the usual good-natured smile. But his eyes were what she didn’t understand. The gray light of his gaze was cold. “I—I came to see if there was anything you needed. And to bring you something to eat,” she hastened to add.

  His eyes raked over her, bold and careless. “Now why would you think I need anything? I’m just a Rebel without responsibility or care.”

  His flippant attitude stung her, confirming her fears that he could be the liar and her uncle the innocent victim. If he could act like this to her, what made him incapable of being a vicious liar bent on destroying. . . Who? What? Her heart raced, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She took a quick step backward, closer to the horse.

  He closed the distance between them and grasped her forearm, his fingers a gentle band of iron. “Ellie, forgive me. I. . .” His gaze commanded her attention, gray eyes searching, no longer remote and cold.

  “Let me go!”

  He did and she slid away from him, closer to the dappled gray. She stroked the horse’s neck, her back to him. She had come for some measure of reassurance. Evidence that her trust in him had not been ill placed, and she had gotten coldness. Anger. Why was he angry?

  When she finally found the strength to turn, she avoided looking at him on purpose. She moved to the saddlebags and retrieved the food. She set it on the rock and forced herself to say something. Anything. “If you’ll give me. . .a list”—the quiver in her voice could not be quelled—“I’ll get what you need.”

  But the other matter pressed on her. She could not leave without asking for his help. She brought air into her lungs in an effort to still her fears. The horse’s warmth beckoned to her. She could pull herself into the saddle and leave, but Martha’s news meant she needed him. At least until tomorrow night, then she would tell him to leave. Rose had been wrong about him, and the thought brought a hollow ache to Ellie’s heart.

  She stiffened her spine, finally locking on his face.

  ❧

  Theo allowed her the time to think things through. When she had turned back to him instead of riding off, hope burgeoned that she would be quick to forgive. She didn’t immediately say anything, and every throb of his thumb and ache of his broken finger ticked off the seconds of her silence.

  When at last she met his gaze, he dared to speak. “I’ll get a list together.”

  Tension seemed to ebb from her shoulders at his simple answer. He chided himself for being so careless with her but acknowledged his own hurt feelings. “Last night. . .” He wondered if she really wanted to hear his explanation but forged ahead. “You were so quiet. Then when you told me I should leave in a couple of. . .”

  She bit her lip and stared down at her feet. “I brought more poultice for your finger.”

  Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said? “You really want me to leave, Ellie?”

  Her eyes slid shut, and she dug a hand into the pocket at her waist and pulled out a small package. “Why don’t you sit down on that rock and let me look at your finger.”

  Without pushing the issue further, he retreated to the rock and sat. She blinked in the sunlight, seemingly shocked that he had obeyed her request. With growing impatience, he lifted his hand and began work on the bandage, but his injured thumb was too swollen and clumsy. He groaned at the stabbing pain and she was there, by his side.

  “What did you do now?”

  He grinned up at her, drinking in her concern, the soft curls that framed her face.

  As she captured his hand in hers, she sat beside him and began inspecting the swollen, darkening thumb. “How. . . ?”

  “Hit it knocking in a board.”

  “I would think you would learn to be more careful.”

  “I was being careful, but I got distracted.”

  She pulled his hand closer, clearly exasperated. “What on earth is there out here to distract you?”

  She unwrapped the bandage and laid it aside, her fingers stroking along the edges of his thumb. The sensation of warmth and the tickle of her touch filled his senses. “Nothing.”

  She leveled a glare on him, eyebrows raised. “Then what?”

  “I was thinking about you.”

  He saw panic rise in the depths of her blue eyes, and she turned her face away. “I’m a married woman, Theo.”

  “You’re a widow,” he whispered.

  She gave a nervous laugh. “Rose said the same thing.”

  He lifted his free hand to her chin and brought her face back so he could see into her eyes. Confusion settled in her gaze, and something else. . .fear. He wanted to erase both of those emotions. He would test the waters first. “I can leave in tw
o weeks if you’d like.”

  A flash of emotion sparked in her eyes, and he wanted to believe it was because her feelings were matching his. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  He leaned in, forcing her to pull away or surrender.

  “It’s too soon, Theo.”

  “Too soon for what?”

  She swallowed hard, her lips trembling. “For this.”

  “For a conversation?” he teased.

  She shook her head, the warm smoothness of her cheek rubbing against his palm.

  “For what, then?” He could see evidence of the war within her, the longing to love again and the chains that bound her to the memory of Martin.

  “A gentleman would understand and—”

  He brushed his thumb over her lips to stop the flow of words. He could feel the pulse in her neck that matched his own racing heart. He lowered his head and smiled into her eyes, whispering the words. “I’m a Rebel, remember?”

  Her soft exhale blew warm against his face, and he closed the distance between them. Her lips, so soft. Her hair silky beneath his hand. And when he pulled away and she opened her eyes, he saw the beginning of something new shining there.

  twenty-four

  So many emotions crashed around in Ellie’s mind. Anger at herself. Fear of letting Martin go. Terror at the desire that propelled her to want Theo to kiss her. But his lips smoothed all the knots of her distress. The feel of his fingertips along her jaw and the innate gentleness of his lips, only when he pulled back did she breathe and float back to reality. His eyes held mischief, and his lips pursed in a knowing little grin that brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She would have turned away, but his hand still cupped her face.

  “I didn’t come here to fall in love, Ellie.” His gaze, steady now, all humor gone, sucked her in.

  She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. “What about Martin?”

  Theo’s deep chuckle surprised her. When she opened her eyes, his were luminous. “You love the memories you made together, the love you shared, and you make sure there’s room in your heart for me.” He leaned away from her and winced.

  She remembered his broken finger, the poultice, and Martha. “Here.” She reclaimed his hand with the swollen thumb in her own, trying to absorb all that had happened in the last few minutes and figure a way to shift the conversation to the runaways.

  “Yes, boss,” he ribbed.

  They shared a laugh.

  “Ellie?”

  “Hmm?” She rubbed the poultice over his thumb.

  “When did you find out about Martin?”

  “About a month before the Confederates arrived here.”

  “So you were still helping the runaways despite your own hurt.”

  “Yes. I wanted to help them. After I found out about Martin. . .” The pang his name invoked was dull. Guilt stabbed momentarily at the kiss she’d just shared with a man other than her husband.

  Rose’s admonition tugged at her. But you forgot a very important detail—till death do us part. He’s gone. . . .

  “Ellie?”

  She focused on him. This man. Her lips still warm from his kiss. She realized for the first time in a long time that maybe God hadn’t abandoned her. Her own stubborness and, yes, bitterness, had robbed her of hope. Her gaze went to the sky. He was there. Waiting.

  I am so sorry.

  Theo’s hand moved in hers, and she felt the touch of his fingers along her cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It’s just. . . I realized something important.”

  His eyes searched hers, a question there, but he didn’t ask.

  She looked away.

  “You were saying about your work with the blacks.”

  He was giving her some space, and she was grateful. “Martha talked to me about it. She and I grew up together, and I couldn’t imagine a world in which black people were treated as, well, as property. She told me stories of her kin in the South. Then one night she needed help and asked me if she could use my cellar. I’ve helped ever since.” She shifted away from him and scooped some of the poultice from the wrapping. She felt the hard calluses of his hands and tried to remember what Martin’s hands had felt like. She couldn’t. “I read Martin’s letters.”

  “It must have been hard to see his writing after so long.”

  She gave him a quick smile and concentrated on wrapping his finger. “Yes. Very hard, but it was. . .I don’t know. . .healing somehow. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” She raised her gaze to his. “Martin mentions Uncle Ross several times. I get the impression that he was careful how he said things, probably because he knew Ross was my uncle, but his last letter indicated that Uncle Ross was acting strangely.”

  Theo inclined his head. “Go on.”

  “There wasn’t much else. He went on to express his disgust with the war and how much he just wanted to come home.” The telling and Theo’s closeness made her waver from her earlier conviction that Uncle Ross might be the victim. Or was the kiss distracting her from seeing the truth? How was it Uncle Ross could be innocent? How could she doubt Theo? He’d risked so much to get to her.

  “Most of the men just want to go home, Ellie.”

  ❧

  “You did?” Her gaze held no guile, but the question begged more than a pat answer. It wasn’t hard for him to find the words.

  “You feel trapped. You’re expected to kill on a daily basis at the whim of a man you only hear about.” He firmed his jaw, the old anger coming back. “You march for miles with little food then sleep in a tent if you’re lucky enough to have one.”

  He watched her tie a small knot in the fresh bandage. She waggled her fingers, indicating he should let her look at his other hand. She unwrapped and examined the broken finger and began to rub fresh poultice over it. He wanted to tell her it didn’t hurt as much but figured there was no reason to, being that he enjoyed her closeness. Her touch.

  “Then there are actual battles, where men you’ve become friends with die right beside you, blown to bits or shot up so bad. . .” His mouth went dry, and he felt the now-familiar chill of nerves. “You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

  “I think I can.” Then softer, “Why did you leave?”

  Hadn’t his explanation made it obvious?

  “I mean, why did you risk everything to come here to tell me about Martin when you could have gone west and written it out in a letter?”

  Theo stared down as she finished wrapping his finger. “It was the only place I could think to go, and I knew if the roles were reversed, if Martin had lived and I had died, I would have wanted him to be there for my wife.”

  She lifted his hand and twined her fingers in his, an unexpected gesture that should have sent a warning signal that the next question might rattle his world. “What if you’re caught?”

  He tilted his face toward the sun, stretching the muscles in his neck and squeezing her hand, knowing the answer to the question and suspecting she did as well. “I’ll be shot.”

  They sat side by side for a long time before she released his hand and began wrapping up the rest of the poultice. “Uncle Ross came to me this morning.”

  “About this place?”

  She stared at the fields stretched out to their right. He followed her gaze where, in the distance, a lone man and a small boy walked, probably looking for relics. It was the same man he’d seen before, probably explaining to his grandson the reason why his father wasn’t coming home.

  “He confused me.”

  Theo waited. There was more, he was sure.

  “It made me doubt your intentions and wonder if Uncle Ross might be innocent.” She patted the pocket wherein lay the package of poultice. “I got so mixed up.”

  “What changed that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But he suspected her reaction to him, their kiss, had confused matters in her mind.

  “Before he arrived, Martha was with me. There’s
a group of runaways. Some of them were caught and the others escaped. They’re scared, and Martha needs a place large enough for them all. I offered the farm.”

  It flitted through his mind that the kiss was just her way of getting him to help her, but he rejected the suspicious idea before it had a chance to take root.

  “Martha began to act strangely, and we discovered that the door hadn’t been closed all the way. When I went to open it—”

  “Your uncle was on the other side.”

  Her eyes went huge. “How did you know?”

  “Guessed. Where is he now?”

  She stood, and he slipped off the rock as well and followed. She moved her eyes along the fence he had repaired, running her hand against the now-straight line of boards. “I told him I would have a decision for him, and he’s coming back tomorrow evening.”

  “When do we need to transfer the runaways?”

  “Tomorrow evening. Late. Martha will give me the signal if all is well, and I’m supposed to let her know tonight whether we’re clear to use the farm.”

  “You mean whether or not I agreed to help.”

  She sent him a brief, sheepish smile. “Well, yes.”

  He had to know. “Didn’t you just say you were afraid to trust me?” He had thought he glimpsed emotion in her eyes after their kiss, but if she couldn’t trust him now, with all he had risked for her, he wondered if she ever could. Or maybe he was being unfair to expect so much. Maybe the better question was did he want to risk his heart to a woman who might not return it to him whole?

  twenty-five

  Ellie waited as Theo made a list of things he needed for the work on the buildings around the farm. She tried hard not to admire his profile or the way his hair curled on his neck or the remembered touch of his hand on her jaw or the look in his clear, gray eyes after he had kissed her. She hugged herself, more pleased than she could have imagined, refusing, for this moment, to let the doubts assail her.

  Theo, leaning against the rock and using the surface to write on, caught her movement and sent her a wink that made her catch her breath. “Think we’re almost done here.”