by Kim Bowman
“Of course, my sister and I, we’re beholden to you. We’d be glad for you to visit.” The words came out more softly than I intended and he leaned forward. Our lips were almost touching and it took all of my will to refrain from closing that distance.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you feeling indebted; I don’t want that at all.” He straightened, released my hand. “I was thinking...”
A throat being cleared ended his words and we sprang apart like two guilty children sneaking a cookie before dinner. Mr. Lofton stood in the door, the faintest of smiles on his face as his eyes passed over me and Grayson. “Sorry to interrupt. But I need to speak to you, Miss Olivia.”
“Is it Rachel? Does she need me?” I rose to my feet, clasping my hands in front of me. I couldn’t look either man directly in the face. What must Mr. Lofton think of me? Of Grayson? Was what we had done that wrong? A few stolen kisses and warm touches couldn’t be that sinful.
“Your sister is fine, this is about something else.” He scratched his head, looked away. Suddenly I knew he was nervous, and I felt the trepidation filling my own stomach. He motioned for me to sit down and I did, slowly. Grayson moved to stand beside my chair, a warm hand resting on my left shoulder, an instant comfort.
“Seems there’s been a stranger around. Asking questions about you and your sisters. Know anything about that?” His words were blunt, yet it took me a moment to decipher what he meant.
“No,” I whispered, looking up at Grayson.
“Go on, sir.” Was all he said, not looking at me, though his hand tightened briefly.
“Well, thing is, man claims to be your father.” Mr. Lofton rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke and I found myself fascinated with his hand’s sheer size and the various scars and nicks covering its surface.
“No. My father is dead. Died in the war. I don’t know who that man is.” I shook my head. No, it wasn’t my father. My father was gone, dead. Long ago.
“You sure? Ole Thomasson sent him out your uncle’s way. Scuttle is they had some pretty harsh words. Don’t know what happened next. But those who’ve seen him think there’s a good chance he is who he says he is.”
“No, you’re wrong. My father wouldn’t have left us here, not while he was alive. He wouldn’t. I don’t know who that man was, but I know ¯ he was not my father!” I jumped to my feet and hurried from the room, not stopping until I reached the room I shared with my sister.
Amelia looked up from the book she was reading when I opened the door. “Liv? Are you okay?”
“No.” I wrapped my arms tight around myself, pacing the small spans of room between the bed and window. “They said... they said Papa has been in town.”
“He’s dead. You said he was dead.”
“I know. He has to be dead. He wouldn’t have left us here, not if he were alive.” I told her, false confidence lifting my voice.
“Liv? Do you think it could be him? I mean, what if he was hurt or something? And couldn’t come to us?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Amelia Ann. It’s been four years; we would have heard something by now. Don’t you think?” I snapped the words at her and the child lowered her head. I felt a momentary pang of guilt and I touched her cheek gently. “I’m sorry.”
“So if it wasn’t Papa, then who was it?”
“I don’t know.” I sank onto the window seat, staring across Mr. Lofton’s fields to the wide expanse that was my uncle’s. I could just make out a group of men near his center barn, preparing to work the fields. Life went on, it seemed, and I was perversely angered that our departure had apparently had little effect on what remained of our family.
When I thought of all that had changed since that night I felt physically ill. Yet it had only been seven days ¯ or was it eight? I couldn’t remember. What did that say about me?
“What are we going to do?” Amelia asked, setting her book aside. “We need to find out who this man is.”
“No. You are to stay out of it. Let me... and... Grayson handle this. Whoever this man is, I don’t want you or Rachel near him. We have no way of knowing exactly what it is that he wants.”
“And if it is Papa? By some miracle?”
“It isn’t Papa.” I jerkily began straightening the quilt on the mattress, removing the almost non-existent wrinkles in the soft fabric. “Now, head on downstairs and help with dinner. We’ve been idle enough. I’ll see to Rachel and the boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She dutifully followed my instructions, but I could tell from her posture that the discussion was not over.
I knew what she was thinking, hoping. She wanted the strange man to be our father. Wanted to believe that we truly weren’t all alone in this world. She’d seen so much in the last few days, had been forced to face some harsh lessons, and that small childish part of her was dreaming of a world where the father returns heroically, searching for his lost children.
I hated that she’d soon learn that life was just not that way. Life was not a fairy tale. Parents did not come back from the dead.
Chapter Sixteen
I refused to listen when Grayson trapped me in the hallway, his body blocking my path. At breakfast he’d attempted to broach the subject of this strange man but I had ignored him. I’d been relieved when Matthew requested his help with an order at the mill.
“Olivia... we must talk of this.” His voice was firm, quiet near my ear.
“What is there to say¯this man is not my father. For the final time ¯ my father is dead!”
“I’ve met the man, Olivia. He wants to talk to you.”
At this claim I stopped, looking up into his face. How dare he? “You’ve what?”
“I spoke with this man. He’s come a long way and you owe him a chance to explain.” His hands wrapped around my waist as he stood in front of me. He held me in place when I would have turned and fled back to my room. “You cannot always run from things.”
“I’m not running from him. But what kind of man leaves his daughters to fend for themselves while he goes off to fight some man’s war?” The words burst from my mouth and I shocked myself at the vitriol in my tone. “How dare you speak to this man?”
“I had no choice. He approached me and Matthew down at the mill.” In contrast to my own voice, his remained calm. “He’s real concerned.”
“So? Where was that concern three years ago when Amelia was sick and my uncle refused to buy the medicine she needed? I had to sell my mother’s wedding ring to Clara Sooney!”
“Olivia. It was war! What was he supposed to do?”
“Take care of his children.” I tried to pull myself free but he held tight, his strength increasing my anger. I twisted, tried to dislodge his hands, but they held firm.
“Why are you two fighting?” Rachel’s voice came from behind me, the first sentence she had spoken all morning.
“There’s a man in town who says he is your father.” Grayson told her and I gasped. Rachel didn’t need to be bothered by such nonsense. “He wishes to speak with your sister, and you, of course.”
“Liv? Is it true?” Rachel turned to me and I was surprised to see a look of such hope writ on her face. “Papa?”
“No!” I told them both. “I won’t speak to him, I won’t!”
My words broke and tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I twisted in his arms but soon gave up the struggle when he pulled me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin.
“Well, I will.” Rachel’s voice rang with a certainty and an anger that brought my head around. “If Papa has come back for us then we should go with him ¯ at least go see him. I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to.”
“Amelia is my responsibility and has been for four years.” I told her, my own temper once more rising. “Talk to him if you want to ¯ but Amelia does what I say. He left us. No ¯ he sent us here. To this place. Why would he do that? No word in four years, Rachel!”
“I’m sure he had his reasons.” Rachel’s tone
evened out and I lowered my gaze. Guilt flooded me as I recalled all my sister had endured over the past days and yet here she was faced with this.
“He may, but I’m not sure I want to hear them.” I mumbled the words into Grayson’s chest, not wanting to see Rachel’s expression.
“Well, I do.” She stated bluntly.
While I was happy Rachel’s spirit was returning I felt a moment’s hope that it would stay away a bit longer¯just until we had begun the journey to Tennessee. Apparently I wasn’t to be that fortuitous.
“Where is he?” She demanded of Grayson.
He hesitated before answering and his hands tightened around me almost bruisingly. “He’s staying at your uncle’s.”
“I won’t go back there!” I yelled into his chest, the cotton of his shirt rubbing my lips as I spoke.
“He said he’ll come here sometime today.” Grayson told us, pulling me back so that I could look up into his face. “He’ll expect you all to be here. Reckon there is a lot to discuss.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel asked softly.
“What you’ll be doing next. Whether you’ll be returning to Maryland and such.”
“Go back?” My heart fell at his words. I didn’t want to return to Maryland. Not now. Not with the father I wasn’t sure I knew ¯ if it were my father. Though my doubts were sinking the more I thought about it. If I went with him, would I ever see Grayson again? “I don’t want to go back.”
“Where would you go then?” Rachel asked harshly and I found myself staring up into Grayson’s eyes again.
I hesitated before answering her, my eyes looking into his, waiting for something from him. It didn’t come so I paused, “I’m not sure. I... I just don’t want to go back with Papa.”
“I can’t believe you!” Rachel said, eyes filling with sudden tears. “Papa’s come all this way to find us and this is how you act? Here we thought he was dead and now you don’t even want to see him! That’s horrible, Olivia, horrible! You’re horrible!”
“That’s enough.” Grayson spoke in a firm tone to my sister as I buried my head once more against his chest. “Your sister had a big burden placed upon her shoulders and is now very confused. You can start helping her by showing her some compassion.”
“But...” I protested, the urge to protect my sister warring with the awe I felt at having someone ¯ anyone ¯ take my side in anything.
“Quiet. He’ll be here soon and I’m sure you all want to prepare yourselves.” He set me back a step and bowed politely, a move I found incongruous to our earlier closeness, before turning and heading back down the hallway.
“Well. I for one think you would be stupid to go with him. What do you know about him? Really know about him?” Rachel’s words held a bitterness that I had never heard before.
“I know he’s a good man.” I told her quietly, surprised that there was no rancor in my tone. I loved my sister but sometimes she and I had our differences. “I know he has been wonderful to me... and Amelia.”
“But why? What did you give him in return?” Rachel followed me into the bedroom where she sank onto the bed.
“What do you mean? I’ve given him nothing¯I’ve no money or anything else of value. Where is the boy?”
“Napping. You’ve been with him, haven’t you?” I was shamed to admit that I preferred the silent, weeping Rachel to this demanding shrew of a woman.
“No, I have not. Not that it is any of your business, missy.” I opened the armoire that housed the blankets and sheets and set about replacing the freshly laundered linens. “Yes, he has held me, and yes, he has kissed me. Anything else that may have happened is between me and him. Not you. So tell me, what of you? Are you to stay here? Go with Papa? What of young Elias? Do you plan to take him with you? What are your plans, then?”
“I...I don’t know. Gideon’s father wishes me to stay here, but...” Suddenly the termagant that was my sister just moments ago was replaced by a scared and unsure child, standing in front of me, eyes imploring for guidance. “I just want to forget this, Olivia. Forget Gideon even. Is that so horrible?”
I folded her into my arms, much as I had when she was smaller and rocked her gently, whispering soft words of comfort to her. But what could I really say? She’d lost more than her husband in that fire ¯ she’d lost her hopes as well.
How did I help her regain them when I had long ago lost my own?
Rachel soon excused herself to return to the boy and I settled gratefully into the beautiful wooden rocker that faced the small window. I thought over the last few days as I rocked and then over the last few years. Who was that child running barefoot in her father’s fields, chasing her golden-haired brother? Who was that girl, frightened beyond measure, sat clutching her youngest sister as they traversed the long and frightful path through the wilds of Ohio? Who was that woman, leading a wounded man to safety, all while fearing for her own just days ago?
Who am I, sitting here waiting to take that next leap off a terrifying precipice? I just didn’t know.
Soon it was the luncheon hour and I joined the others in the dining room again. One of the twins, Daniel, helped me into my chair, shooting a small glance in Grayson’s direction. I wondered briefly what it meant as my gaze touched each face for a moment.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Lofton said politely as he handed me the plate of warmed rolls.
“Your father will be coming round today. Is that all right with you?” Grayson asked, scooping a pile of steaming potatoes on to my plate for me. So it was up to me whether I spoke to the man? Somehow it didn’t seem like it.
“I suppose.” I stared at the food before taking one small bite.
“Papa is coming here?” Amelia asked around the biscuit in her mouth. I gave her a look and she swallowed quickly before repeating her question.
“Looks as if he’s already here.” Mr. Lofton said, watching out the nearest window.
I followed his gaze and my breath once more backed in my throat. A tall man walked determinedly through the nearest field. His shoulders were broad, but slightly stooped, and it took me a moment to realize that he leaned slightly on what appeared to be a cane.
I vaguely heard Mr. Lofton order his sons from the room and then it was just my sisters and Grayson left with me in the room. He stood, one hand going to the small of my back. I leaned into his touch, wanting nothing more than to turn around and cling to him until this stranger, this man claiming to be my father, was gone.
But I couldn’t do that. I had to think of Amelia’s future. Rachel and I were grown; we were as free as we ever would be to make our own decisions. But even though I had had the raising of Amelia for the past four years, her fate rested in this man’s hands.
I watched as the man maneuvered up the polished steps of Mr. Lofton’s front porch, watched as he raised a fist and knocked against the oaken door. Grayson moved to the door, opening it swiftly. The man stepped in, removed his hat with his free hand as he did so. At the familiar patch of golden hair, tipped white by the sun, tears streaked down my cheeks.
No words were said as we stood there, my father and me, staring at each other. Finally I had to look away. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words would come forth. What did I say to this man?
Rachel made an indistinguishable sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and my father turned toward her. He leaned his cane against the table, still laden with rapidly cooling foodstuffs, and held open his arms. Rachel nearly threw herself into his embrace, sobbing a mixture of his name and that of her husband.
Shame filled me at the momentary rush of jealousy that flooded my chest at the sight. Why was it so easy for Rachel to forgive him his abandonment? Was it because it was I who was forced to take on the role of parent to her and Amelia?
I felt Grayson shift beside me and I turned more in his direction. My uncertainty must have shown in my face for he drew me nearer to him, his arm resting more firmly around my waist.
My father’s eyes went to that arm
then back to my face, surprise written on his. I pressed my lips together and raised my chin ¯ daring him to comment on the closeness between me and the Rebel I had traveled with.
Grayson may have been a southerner but he had treated me and my sisters with more respect than anyone had since the damned war had begun.
My father sat Rachel to one side, patting her on the back. Amelia still sat at the table, though she had long since stopped eating. She just stared at our father, her uncertainty plain to see on her pretty face. It was apparent the child knew just as little as to what to say as I did. I moved from Grayson’s side, left his unstated support, to stand beside the girl.
“Amelia, I see you’ve grown.” He spoke and his voice was rougher than I remembered, a gravelly sound that spoke of old whiskey and hard nights.
“Yes.” She replied, her voice soft and timid. She looked away, a faint pink touching her cheeks.
“You’ve the look of your mother’s mother, you know. A very beautiful lady.” His words were just as hesitant and my gaze took in the roughened and scarred hands as they clutched at the equally roughened and scarred hat. “And Rachel, my dear, always so much like your mother. I’m sorry for your loss, daughter. I’m sure he was a fine man if you chose him.”
“He was.” Rachel’s words were broken, but it was the first I could recall her actually referring to her husband in the past tense.
“It hurts to lose the one you love, child. But with time, it hurts just a little less.” He looked away then, his face showing the old memories.
My own mind flooded with images of my mother, and my father, in a happier time. A time before the fever had ravaged my mother’s body. Before we’d sat waiting for the doctor to arrive ¯ only to have him arrive smelling of corn liquor, too late to help my mother.
I remembered my father’s hands as they held me, tossing me in the air when I was no older than the boy Elias. He’d been so strong, so steady, and I had thrilled at the height he could achieve. I had felt so safe in his arms, so loved and protected. Yet now here I stood unable to even form a word of welcome.
