Once Upon Forever

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “I figured you’d be asleep by now.”

  “Of course not, Hunter. Not with you leaving tomorrow morning. I stayed up to wish you a proper goodbye.”

  He stumbled over and flopped down on the bed. “You mean last night wasn’t an end to it? I thought you’d run to Jordan today, telling him what a brute I was last night and begging him to take you in.”

  Larissa’s heart lurched in fear when he mentioned Jordan. She prayed Hunter’s twin hadn’t told him about the other morning. She didn’t want Hunter to find out that she’d visited Broad Acres alone—not ever!

  “Why did you marry me, Larissa?”

  His question struck her speechless. When she had gathered her wits, she said, “Hunter, I don’t know how you could ask me that. I love you. That’s why I married you. Do we have to waste these last precious hours fighting? I had more pleasant things in mind.”

  He laughed—a cold, hard sound. “You’re quite the little actress, aren’t you? Well, save your act for a more appreciative audience. I know you hated every minute of last night. You made that plain enough. And you have every right to despise me for demanding my husband’s rights. It won’t happen again, ma’am. You have my word on that. I do have enough pride left to know when I’m not welcome.”

  “You’re wrong, Hunter!” she cried. “So wrong! I do love you!”

  As if he never even heard the words, he said, “Chin up, darling. Maybe you’ll get lucky and some Reb bullet with my name on it will find its mark. Then I’ll be out of your way and you and Jordan can be together. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve always wanted.”

  Larissa couldn’t hold back her tears. Hunter knew! He knew she’d gone to Broad Acres. She’d ruined everything.

  “Darling, please!” she begged. “I want you. You’re my husband. We have so little time left.”

  Suddenly, the old Hunter returned. He reached up and wiped the tears gently from her cheek. “I’m not worth crying over. And, if you truly love me, darling, I can forget everything else. We can pretend last night never happened.”

  “Oh, Hunter, yes! Let’s do start over. I wish we could turn the clock back to the night in the gardener’s cottage. That was wonderful, beautiful. I’d give anything if we could live it all again. And you’re here now, and we’re married, and there’s nothing to stop us from…”

  She glanced down, only to realize that her words were falling on deaf ears. Her husband, still fully clothed, lay stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. Most of that night, Larissa sat beside him, staring down at his face through her tears. What a mess she had made of things. What a ghastly, sickening, miserable mess!

  The dawn brought no easing of her pain. She awoke to find Hunter already dressed in his spanking new uniform—brass buttons gleaming and his shining saber swinging from its scarlet sash.

  “You needn’t stir,” he told her when she started to get out of bed.

  “Well, of course, I’m getting up,” she replied. “I want to see you off.”

  Her words were ill-chosen and brought a grim smile to Hunter’s face. “I should have suspected,” he said.

  Within the hour, he left. Long after he had ridden away, Larissa stood on the lawn where they had said their final farewell, where he had kissed her for what she suspected might be the last time. The morning breeze rustled her pink ruffled skirt and a misting rain began to fall. But she could not make herself move. She could not bear the thought of going back into the house, empty now without her love.

  “Come back to me, my darling,” she whispered through her tears. “Come back soon so that we can start all over again. I do love you so.”

  Chapter Three

  Within a few weeks of Hunter’s departure, everything changed at Bluefield. And everything changed for Larissa. Jordan left the same day as his brother, only his uniform was gray and he rode under a different flag.

  Mr. and Mrs. Breckinridge removed themselves from Bluefield to Broad Acres, leaving Larissa to care for her new home alone. Although it was a huge responsibility, she welcomed the task. She needed to work long and hard to make the time go more quickly until Hunter came home. Reports of the war made it seem unlikely that the Union forces would put down the rebellion in a few short weeks or even months.

  On their wedding day, Hunter had freed all the slaves at Bluefield. His parents had followed suit at Broad Acres once they heard of their other son’s defection. Many of the Negroes left immediately, making even more work for those who remained. But it relieved Larissa’s mind to know that those servants who stayed were loyal to Hunter and to Bluefield. Things seemed to be going along smoothly.

  Not until two months after Hunter’s departure did disaster strike. Larissa told herself long after that she should have seen it coming. She’d had her terrible dream every night for a month before nightmare became reality.

  She’d ridden into Lexington for a brief visit with her parents—the first trip she’d made since her marriage. On the ride home she became more uneasy with each mile.

  Leaning out of the carriage window, she called up to her driver, “Cassius, can’t you make the horses go any faster? We need to get home before dark.”

  He’d mumbled back something about bad roads and rough going, but he had urged a bit more speed out of the team. Still, it was long past dark before they came within sight of Bluefield.

  Far down the road, Larissa had seen an eerie glow in the sky. A forest fire, she’d imagined. Not until they were almost home did she realize that some of Bluefield’s outbuildings were ablaze. She leaped from the carriage and raced to the huge bell in the yard, clanging an alarm for all to hear. But no one came.

  “Cassius!” she yelled. “Go find the others. We have to form a bucket brigade from the well to the horse barn.”

  “But that’s the corn barn burning, ma’am.”

  “Never mind the corn. We have to save the horses. Their stable is going up any minute now. Hurry! Get help!”

  Larissa knew this scene. She had lived with it in her dream for years. But would there be a shining bridge at the end of it to save her? She doubted it.

  Even as she raced toward the horse barn, she saw sparks from the other burning building land on the roof. Wrenching open the heavy doors, she hurried inside, opening stalls as she ran. The high-strung Thoroughbreds, panicked by the smell of smoke, danced frantically. She knew if she didn’t get them out of the stalls quickly they’d injure themselves. She led Hunter’s best pair of stallions to the open door and gave each a sharp slap on the rump, then hurried back inside.

  The wind was coming up, making the sparks swirl and fly through the air. Larissa glanced up and spied the first orange flames eating through the roof. The smoke grew thicker by the minute, while the horses still trapped in their stalls grew more frantic.

  Back and forth, back and forth Larissa ran, freeing the horses. She could hardly see the door any longer. The smoke choked her and filled her eyes with tears. She heard a crash. One of the mares screamed. A back corner of the roof had crashed to the barn floor, trapping the unfortunate animal. Larissa raced back to try to help, but her problems had only begun. The skirt of her gown caught fire. While she tried to beat that out, her sleeve began to smolder.

  Stumbling, gasping, crying, she headed for the door. She had done all she could. All the stall doors were open. She would have to leave it to the horses to seek safety for themselves. Just as she staggered into the open and drew the first breath of clear air into her smoke-clogged lungs, someone grabbed her burned arm.

  “Well, lookee here!” the man said. “If we ain’t flushed us out a right fine filly. You must be Larissa, wife of ol’ Jordy’s Yankee brother. Course Jordy don’t know nothing about it, but after hearing all his tales about this fine place and his right handsome sister-in-law, me and my buddy, we lit out from the army and figured we’d pay you a call. So, how ‘bout some of that fine Kentucky hospitality we’ve heard tell of?”

 
Deserters! A warning alarm went off inside Larissa’s brain. She’d heard tales of soldiers—disgruntled that the war was not all glory—leaving, then using the conflict as an excuse to burn and loot. Hunter had warned her in a letter that she might be in danger at Bluefield since he and Jordan were fighting on different sides.

  Larissa went limp, but by design, although it took very little acting on her part. “I’m badly burned,” she moaned. “You’re hurting me. Please.”

  Sure enough, the scruffy fellow eased his tight grip on her arm. And when he did, she jerked away from him and leaped to the back of one of the Thoroughbreds. She dug her heels in and the horse shot away across the yard.

  Behind her, she heard the man shout, “Goddammit, let’s get her! We can chase her down. There’s the two of us. You head her off and I’ll catch her.”

  Larissa had to cling to the horse for dear life. She was without a saddle, astride with her skirts bunched up under her. And once she got away from the glow of the fire, the night was pitch-black. Had she had time to study the stars, she would have known that she was headed southeast. But there was little opportunity to do anything but hold on tight and pray.

  All night the men chased her. She could hear their horses pounding on determinedly and the men shouting curses after her, calling out what they meant to do to her when they finally caught up.

  Suddenly, they were no longer on the open road, but in deep woods. Larissa’s whole body ached and her burned arm throbbed painfully. She put her head down on the horse’s neck and cried into his mane.

  “Hunter,” she whispered. “Oh, Hunter, where are you? I can’t get away. I can’t save myself. I need you! I love you!”

  Then a total, black void swallowed her up.

  Who am I? She couldn’t think—didn’t know.

  Where am I? How long have I been running?

  As hard as she tried to remember, it was no use. She knew she was cold, wet, weary, lost, and that someone was chasing her, closing in fast. Beyond those obvious facts, her mind seemed incapable of functioning properly to give her the answers she sought.

  Exactly who her pursuers were or what their intent, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that she had to keep moving in order to escape.

  The woods loomed thick and black around her. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were still out there somewhere. She glanced about, frantic, then realized that they couldn’t see her either. In that moment, the sinister darkness was her only comfort.

  Relieved, she slumped down and huddled close to the dark trunk of a massive ironwood tree. She had to rest, to think, to plan some strategy. She’d come too far to let them capture her now. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d keep going. But she had never been this weary in her life. Her body ached with fatigue. Her arms and legs burned and itched from insect bites and bramble cuts. And she was weak with hunger. The few berries she’d picked in the woods earlier in the day had hardly served to stave off starvation. How long had it been since she’d had a decent meal? She couldn’t remember. Days? Weeks?

  Somewhere off in the distance she heard the rush of water, perhaps a swollen river or a waterfall—perhaps a way of escape.

  If only my horse hadn’t gone lame.

  Her blue eyes widened in the darkness. Yes! She remembered something; she had been on horseback when she set out. That thought spawned another. She recalled horses—many horses—screaming, dying, while flames leaped all around. She touched the tender burn on her arm. She had tried to put out the fire. But then the men had spotted her and swooped down like so many vultures, ready to capture her and kill her … or worse.

  The tender throb of her injured arm seemed nothing compared to the pain she felt deep inside. It was a pain of need and loss and bewilderment. There was something else, too. Guilt! Why? What had she done that was so terrible? If only she could remember.

  Somehow she knew that whatever had happened to her, her life would never be the same again. Everything she knew was gone. Everything from now on would be as strange and unfamiliar as this black, forbidding forest.

  “Gone … all gone…” she murmured, brushing at tears with the back of her hand.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree trunk. As she forced herself to relax, bits of scenes—like unfocused dreams—floated just at the edge of her memory. She saw a great white-columned house set in rolling blue-green fields as a backdrop for a tall, dashing U. S. Cavalry officer. His brass buttons gleamed against his blue uniform as he mounted his horse. The coal-black stallion stamped the earth, anxious to be off. She heard music playing at a ball and cannons firing on some distant field of battle. She heard men screaming and dying. She shivered and gripped the tattered sleeves of her ruined gown. What did all this have to do with her? She was simply too tired to think.

  “If only I dared sleep for a time.”

  But sleep would be suicide. Somehow she had managed to elude capture, even though the men had pursued her for days. She could take no chances now, not even in the sheltering darkness of the thick forest.

  She gave her sore body a good shake, forcing herself to remain awake and alert. The moon would be up soon. Then she could see to move on. But they would be able to see, too. The thought sent a shiver through her.

  “How long?” she murmured. “How long do I have before they find me?”

  She hadn’t realized that the forest was alive with night sounds until everything suddenly went deathly silent. Gone now were the soft whispers of creatures scurrying through the underbrush, owls hooting, and the wind sighing through branches overhead. She held her breath, waiting. Waiting for what? she wondered.

  Then in a terrible moment, she knew.

  “Jesus-H-Christ!” she heard one of the men curse. “I can’t see my dad-blamed nose on my face. Where the hell did she go to?”

  A harsh laugh erupted in the night. “Take it easy, Jeb. She ain’t gone far. And she sure as hell ain’t crossed the river in the dark. We got her penned up good as a shoat ready for slaughtering. Come moonrise, that silver hair of hers’ll glow like torchlight. I reckon we ain’t tracked her all this way for nothing. We’re about to have that little gal. All we gotta do now is sit tight and bide our time. Pass me that jug while we wait.”

  So, they were still there—rough and mean and drunk. She began to tremble—tremble so violently that her teeth chattered. They were right, of course. Her long, silver-blond hair would shine in the moonlight, a dead giveaway. She clawed at the earth, scooping up handfuls of rich, dark dirt, rubbing it into her hair. It was no use. If only she had her hooded riding cape, but she’d lost that somewhere along the way. The river was her only chance. She might drown trying to cross it, but better that sort of death than what those men had in mind for her.

  She took a deep breath and clutched at the cool moonstone dangling from the silver chain around her neck. Someone had given her this token, someone she loved. Perhaps the handsome cavalry officer? At the moment, the smooth crystal felt like a talisman, a good-luck charm that had brought her this far and might save her yet.

  Moving carefully—blindly—through the dark woods, she edged ever closer to the sound of the rushing water. Her heart pounded. It was so loud she feared the men might hear it even over the roar of the falls.

  Just as she crept out of the thick forest and onto the uneven rock ledge that verged the river gorge, the full moon broke from the clouds. Her heart sank. She found herself on a high cliff over the river. There was no way across, no way of escape.

  Behind her she heard one of the men give a whoop. “Well, lookee there! She done come out of hiding, just a-standing there waiting for us, Jeb. Come on! Let’s get her.”

  Seized with panic, she turned back to the deep river gorge and the falls dashing on the rocks below. A single step and she would be free of her pursuers forever. But could she take that step? Could she leave this world? Could she desert the man she loved even to save herself from the unspeakable horrors he
r tormentors promised?

  Even now, she heard them crashing through the woods, coming closer and closer. She held her breath and closed her eyes.

  “Only one step,” she urged. “One tiny step and this nightmare will end.”

  Suddenly, just as the men broke out of the forest near her, she was blinded by a brilliant glow. The throbbing, silver light seemed to radiate from the falls, forming a pulsing, glowing bridge across the gorge. The soft colors of a rainbow shimmered in the rising mist.

  “Grab ahold of her ’fore she jumps, Jeb!” came the cry from behind her.

  Holding her breath, she stepped off solid ground and onto the shimmering bridge. At that moment, the men’s cries faded in the distance. She felt the warm silver light enfold her. Her fear vanished. She was safe at last.

  Then the light of the moonbow faded and total blackness closed in around her.

  Somewhere off in the distance, the woman from the other side of the moonbow heard the crackling sound of a man’s voice. “Dateline: Chicago, October 1, 1982. Cyanide placed in Tylenol capsules has now caused seven deaths in the Chicago area. The makers of Tylenol have recalled two hundred sixty-four thousand bottles of the pain reliever. As yet no one has been arrested for the crime.”

  She glanced toward the sound. It seemed to be coming out of an odd-looking brown box that sat on a nearby table. She was in a strange bed, in a strange room. As she slowly regained consciousness, the unfamiliar words added to her confusion.

  Then she heard other, clearer voices—a man and a woman. They seemed to come from far, far away, but somehow she knew they were very near her, watching her.

  “Switch that blame radio off, Lonnie. It’s all static,” the woman said.

  There was a soft click, then the more distant voice died.

  “Who is she, you reckon?” the man whispered in awe. “She’s a right pretty little thing, ain’t she? But it looks like she’s been through some bad times of late.”