Promise of Time

by Moore, S. Dionne

  She walked to Rose’s dappled gray and stroked the horse’s neck to take her mind off the man. She couldn’t help but see the irony of her situation. To feel such things for another man so soon after Martin’s death. . . Yet it had been seven months. A year total, she realized, since his furlough late in 1862. The last time she had held him. Was it right to feel so strongly about someone else so soon, or was she fickle? She tried to imagine Rose’s response and knew her friend would tell her to embrace the moment. She would point out the fact that Mrs. Emma Bradley and Mrs. Louise Shevring had both remarried since the death of their husbands at Gettysburg. True, Mrs. Bradley had remarried a man much older than herself, but Mrs. Shevring, now Mrs. Nelson, had married a Union soldier who had hidden in her home at one point in the Gettysburg battle. Did every widow feel such a sense of guilt about moving on?

  “Ellie?”

  She started, Theo’s hand on her arm steadying her.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his smile was lazy.

  “I didn’t expect you to be done so soon.”

  “It was harder to write, but I managed.” He held out the paper.

  She accepted the sheet with trembling fingers and turned to collect the reins of the gray. Without her mounting block she would need to find a surface high enough from which to mount. She clicked for the gray to follow her and led him toward the rock she’d used previously.

  “Need a hand?” Theo appeared beside her. “You need only ask, my lady.”

  Ellie glanced between the rock and Theo and wondered if she could stand being so close to him again. Would he press her for another kiss or could she escape. Did she want to?

  Without waiting for an answer, Theo took the reins from her hand and brought the horse in closer to the rock. He grasped her waist and swung her up to the rock and climbed up beside her.

  She arched a brow. “You could have just given me a leg up.”

  “Naw, this is much more fun.”

  Heart pounding, she made sure the horse was in position. He waited for her to arrange her skirts then pulled her closer where they stood inches apart. Before she had a chance to draw another breath, his hands went to her waist and he picked her up.

  She gasped. “Theo!”

  He set her down on the sidesaddle. “There now, you’re ready to ride. Except one thing.”

  Head swirling, she shot him a look and shifted to settle herself, looping her leg around the pommel.

  He leaned toward her, creating a shadow over her face, and planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

  Words jammed into her throat, waiting to be spoken. She gulped air and groped for something else to say. “You’ll go into town tonight to pick up the supplies?”

  His grin was crooked. “Yes, boss.”

  ❧

  Theo watched her wheel the horse around. She glanced over her shoulder at him then tapped the horse’s flank with the crop.

  He’d been tempted to plant that last kiss on her lips but thought it might be pushing her too hard. If she’d known the intensity of his feelings, no doubt she would have run and hidden. Even he hadn’t known how much she had gotten under his skin until he had seen the light in her eyes upon pulling away from their kiss.

  Lord, keep me strong.

  He picked up his hammer and returned to driving new nails into the board fence or pounding the loose ones in. It was boring work. Lonely. He’d welcomed the lonesomeness after leaving camp. Having been surrounded for so long by shouting men, the sounds of cannon and gunfire, or the bugle corps, solitude appealed to him. But now, with the taste of Ellie’s kiss still on his lips, he became aware of a need for something more.

  As she had suggested, he could take the oath of the U.S. Government and settle down to farming. If not in Gettysburg, maybe Ellie would go west with him.

  He worked out his plans as he hammered then added to them as he went into town to fetch the supplies. The south road into town seemed busier than usual. He felt the stares of the older men at the store and knew they wondered who he was and where he’d come from. Keeping his mouth shut as much as possible, he made sure to limp as he loaded the wagon. At last, he turned the wagon and headed north, back to the farm, his heart lighter than he could remember it being for a long time.

  twenty-six

  Ellie glanced up at the back of Dr. Selingrove’s office in the distance, to the second floor, barely visible, where Martha had a little room. She unlatched the iron gate and swung it wide, latching it so it could not be easily shut, then crossed her backyard to knock on Rose’s door. From the security of her second-floor room, Martha would see the signal that all was going as planned.

  The kitchen area was empty, though a plate gave evidence that Rose hadn’t been down since breakfast. She hurried upstairs, afraid to find Rose in the midst of a raging fever because she’d done too much too soon. The stillness of the little house seemed heavy, eerie. She gave a light knock on Rose’s door before peering through the crack and nudging it open.

  The bed was empty, but the rocking chair was not and her friend sat, baby Colin close, as she nursed her son, her arm perched on a collection of pillows to support his position.

  Rose put a finger to her lips, but her expression held no joy. “We’ve had. . .a trying afternoon.”

  In the dim light allowed by the setting sun, Ellie sensed a darkness within her friend, and the only possible reason for it came to her. She hurried across the room and knelt at her friend’s feet. “You heard from Robert.”

  Rose reached over Colin’s body and squeezed Ellie’s hand. “No. Not from him. From—”

  Ellie went up on her knees and hugged her friend as best she could. Rose’s shoulders heaved once, twice, before the tears dripped down her cheeks, wetting Ellie’s face as well. Baby Colin’s snuffles punctuated the moment, the irony of his life in the face of Robert’s death not lost on her. She would do all she could to be there for her friend, just as Rose had been there for her all these months.

  When her tortured knees could not stand being pressed into the hardwood another minute, she leaned back to give Rose some room to tend Colin. “Tell me about it.”

  Rose’s lips trembled, and she stroked the back of her hand against Colin’s cheek. “They think he went out onto the field to a fallen soldier and got caught in cross fire. They said he was still alive when they got to him but died later of infection.”

  How she hated the war. All it had taken from her. And now Rose, too, would suffer the pain and grief of loss. She stood and lifted baby Colin close to her as Rose went to the basin and splashed water into it. “Why don’t you lay down and rest. I can take care of Colin.”

  Rose wrung out a cloth and pressed it to her face. “I don’t think I could sleep, but I would like some time to myself.” Her eyes softened when she stared down into her son’s face. “He’ll be hungry again in an hour or two.”

  “We’ll manage, Rose. I’ll take good care of him, and I’ll be here tonight for you.”

  Rose gave Ellie a smile full of shadow and grief and sat down again in the rocking chair. “Thank you, my friend.” From the table beside her, she pulled a black book onto her lap, and Ellie retreated with her small bundle, hoping Rose could find the comfort she sought in her Bible.

  ❧

  Another crash of cannon. Another scream. A man raced toward Theo, and his gun belched a cloud of dark gray smoke. He watched as the brown-clothed man twisted, face contorted, hand to his gut where oily red liquid already pumped through his fingers. His plunge to the earth was a slow buckling of knees and twisting of the upper body, and Theo watched in morbid fascination.

  “Get up! Get up!” his fellow soldier yelled in his ear. “Go! Go!”

  He stood, tripped, and went down on one knee. His hand reached out for balance and touched the body of the enemy he’d just shot. The dark eyes stared at him, his lips moved, but Theo could understand nothing. Do nothing. He was the enemy and had to be conquered. The boy’s lip
s continued to move, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

  “Get up!” He heard the command, yet he was rooted to the spot, to the face of the first soldier he had shot. And as the seconds ticked, he watched the lips still and the man’s gaze grow unfocused.

  Theo opened his eyes to the stillness of the barn. He shoved himself upright, bent a knee, and rested his forearm across it, massaging his head, touching the sheen of sweat there. The same dream. He would never forget that face. Those staring eyes. The guilt that weighted him. Images of a mother waiting for her son flipped back to that pair of staring eyes. The images collided and repeated, tormenting him.

  A waking torrent of war-torn memories. His friends. The smell of fear. Dismembered corpses. Bodies flying into the air upon impact and landing like the lost rag dolls of an errant child. And Bud. Always Bud. His charge forward that day in battle, a shot, then the fading warmth of Bud’s hand in his as life seeped from his body. Another casualty. Another friend dead.

  Sweat beaded on Theo’s forehead, and he leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. His breathing went rapid. He tugged at his hair, the pain grounding him, pulling him back to reality, even as he felt entrenched in another world where darkness ruled. The images tore at him. Accusing. Building desperation.

  He hummed a hymn, but the thoughts battered him. He sang louder, thinking each word before he sang it. After one verse and chorus, the song left him, and he leaned his head back and tried to suck air into his lungs in measured breaths. To blank his mind. Lord. Lord, help me!

  He forced himself to focus on the bits of scripture he’d heard throughout his life. “T hink on these things.” What were those things? Peace? Peace, yes. Joy. Love. A sound mind.

  God, help me.

  “Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge ofGod.” He couldn’t remember it all, but the words etched a deep path in his tortured mind. Those things that exalt against God.

  God was all powerful. Even in the mind. But peace came only from a clear conscience. Why hadn’t he thought to ask forgiveness for his sins? To set them at the Lord’s nail-scarred feet.

  His chest heaved and his mind groped for the words, but he could not utter them. They twisted and lodged in his throat. Theo doubled over in a ball.

  I didn’t want to do it, God. I killed him. Oh, God. Oh, God, forgive me. He pressed his hand to his mouth, his mind frenzied now to be free of the burden. His prayer eased him with each syllable, and when he cleared his mind of all the words, his declaration of freedom, the peace did come. Sweet. And pure. And joyous.

  twenty-seven

  In early afternoon, Ellie finally felt comfortable leaving her grieving friend. Rose had not cried again, and she’d gone about taking care of little Colin and busying herself with laundry. They talked of Robert’s clothing, and Ellie urged her not to make too hasty a decision.

  “Nonsense, Theo can use the clothes. Robert won’t be back anyway.”

  So she took the clothes, noting that Rose held back a couple of shirts and the tears that flooded her friend’s eyes despite her matter-of-fact words.

  Rose swiped a hand down her left cheek then turned to face her. “Are you going out there today?” Rose asked later. “You should, you know. He’ll miss you.”

  Ellie bristled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Has he kissed you yet?”

  She gasped at her friend’s straightforward question. “Why—” The protest was on her tongue before she remembered the look in Theo’s eyes and the warmth of his lips.

  “Ah. . .” Rose breathed. “Well, good!” Her friend sent her a huge smile and headed out into the second-story hallway. “I thought it might happen soon.”

  Chagrined at Rose’s ability to read her so well, Ellie frowned and followed her down the steps. “Honestly, Rose.”

  “It’s putting the pink into your cheeks and the shine back into your eyes. Why fight what you’re feeling?”

  Rose moved into the kitchen where a small pile of linens lay on the table. Ellie plucked one up and smoothed the fabric, considering her response. “It makes me feel unfaithful.”

  “To what? A vow that shattered as soon as Martin drew his last breath?”

  Rose’s words seemed so harsh. Yet Ellie could no longer deny the truth of them. Martin was not coming back to her. Holding on to his memory was like trying to hold a rainbow in the palm of her hand. Impossible.

  “Do you feel that way?” she dared to ask. Boldly assured that Rose wouldn’t be able to agree with her own words once they were turned back on her.

  A shadow passed over Rose’s expression, and she closed her eyes. Ellie didn’t know if her friend prayed in that moment or simply made up her mind, but a smile quirked along her lips, and when she opened her eyes, relief shone in her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Ellie, I do.”

  Ellie flinched.

  “You’re surprised.” Rose lifted a stack of dried linens into her arms, and Ellie did the same with the other stack, following her friend upstairs. “Did you think what I said was somehow easier for you than for myself? I’ve had these months to consider that Robert might not return, and though I’ll miss him and grieve for him, he would want Colin to know a father and for me to love again. I’m not ready for that now, but neither do I believe that God wants us to bog down in our grief. To love and be loved by another is His gift to us.”

  As Ellie left Rose to rest, she crossed to the stable, considering her friend’s words. She stopped at the iron gate and removed the latch that had held it open. Open gate meant all was a go, and Martha would have seen and interpreted the silent message long before now. She would let Theo know it was safe for him to come into town later that night. He would go to Martha’s, and should anyone ask, his fingers would be a good excuse. Martha would probably change his bandage just to lend credence to the excuse.

  Ellie saddled the dappled gray and mounted, picking up the reins and heading out to the farm to deliver the message and check on Theo’s progress. She couldn’t stay long, though, for she knew Uncle Ross would be back at some point in the evening, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to let him know her decision. Between Martin’s letters, her uncle’s odd behavior, and the risk Theo endured getting to her—not to mention his friendship with Martin—she had chosen to believe his version of the story. Though she still struggled to reconcile the uncle she had known as a youth with that of a man capable of murdering her husband.

  Her mind tripped over that part of the revelation. Why would he kill Martin? What did it matter whether Martin lived or died? Was there a private problem between them that Martin couldn’t, or wouldn’t talk about? And was it wise to confront her uncle with the truth?

  Ellie sighed. It seemed a foolish thing to tell her uncle about Theo seeing him kill without some form of protection. Maybe it was best not to mention it at all, but to tell her uncle firmly and with resolve that she was not selling the farm to him and that she did not need him to help her with managing the property, or anything else for that matter. Her mother had not trained her to be coddled and dependent on a man anyway, and she didn’t plan on beginning now.

  Then there were Rose’s words to consider. The deeper truth of what her friend was encouraging her to do. That she needed to move on from her grief for her own well-being.

  Even now, she felt that swell of love for Martin, but its edges were blurred by time, like an old friend she hadn’t seen for a long time whose face took a few minutes to process before recognition. In her heart, she realized she was letting go. It was the promise that time would heal grief, blur the line, and dull the edge of the pain.

  She felt lighter. Free. She smiled at the image of Theo before he had kissed her. Why had she been reluctant? Hadn’t she felt a pull toward him since finding him in the cellar? An attraction she tried to outrun at every turn but couldn’t.

  His desertion troubled her, though. Martin’s talk of such things, coupled with Theo’s storie
s, had swelled a sympathetic understanding within her, yet other men endured and even returned to their families honorably. Could she love a man who deserted the ideals he fought for, or had they never really been his in the first place? Did he, like so many, fight because of the conscription or because, like many others, he felt a need to defend his home and family from an idea contrary to his own?

  Martin believed that the South should have stayed with the North and not seceded. He believed in the right of a state to govern itself but within the guidelines offered by a government unifying those ideas. Yet he, too, had struggled with the war, the death and fighting. Could she, then, fault Theo? Did his desertion make him a coward?

  As she guided the horse onto the road leading to the barn, she struggled with that question the most.

  ❧

  The springhouse squatted at the edge of the woods, a small pool of cool water surrounding it. Inside, Theo found nothing to trace the presence of the runaway couple. He used the chill water to bathe then dressed again, soaking in the peacefulness of the spot and the seclusion the small house offered from the main house and barn, though he could catch the back of that structure through a row of evergreens. The small house was the perfect place for the runaways to hide. It chilled him to think the people moved so quietly as to be untraceable. Like ghosts. He only hoped the woman had borne the move well.

  He had decided to stay in the barn, what with another group needing the springhouse that night. But the roof needed a patch, and he intended on working on that and rehanging the door to make it square. He needed the work to keep him busy and his mind occupied and away from the tormenting dreams of the previous night.

  Making a mental note of the supplies he would need for the repairs, he returned to the barn to gather everything, feeling refreshed in body. He would have to purchase a washbasin and stand soon. Not that he’d be here that long. . .or would he?