Luke began and ended with Luke, and the memories she carried.
She made her way through the kitchen, which overlooked the back garden. She sat briefly on the high backed, cushioned chairs in the sitting room, and listened to the sounds of this hollow and lifeless house.
Eventually, she found her way into his bedroom.
Of all the rooms in this place, this one was distinctly Luke’s. He was all over—in the bed, in the walls, in the floors. She could smell him, and for a moment, she simply inhaled his familiar scent. The little time he’d spent in this house he’d spent here.
Wanting more of that, Jessie opened up his wardrobe. Found another of his hats and put it on. She took one of his shirts and held it to her face, and the scent of desert rain filled her nostrils. His smell wrapped itself around her heart and refused to let go.
Taking off her blouse, she put his shirt on and pretended for a moment that he held her. She closed her eyes and wished with everything she had that he was here with her.
She sat on the floor and imagined what it would be like to have him back.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed the lock boxes on the floor. Two boxes, lining the floor of his wardrobe. She tried the latches. Locked.
She took Luke’s keys and, on the second try, the latch turned.
She didn’t know what she expected to find. A special weapon, maybe. Money, perhaps. She didn’t expect to find letters.
She pulled out one envelope and immediately recognized the handwriting.
The first box contained every letter Jessie had ever written while he was away at war, starting with the first one, and ending with that last letter she’d written before they’d found out about Gideon. Opening the letters was like reliving the past, remembering the love and pain of those days after he’d left.
He’d kept her letters.
With trembling hands, she opened the second box.
It contained letters too, all filed neatly away. At the front was that first letter she’d written after Gideon had died.
Behind it was his response. The one she’d never gotten.
There were hundreds of letters addressed to her, each one bearing a stamp. He’d answered every one of those letters she’d sent him and then filed them away. These were dead letters from a dead man, put away until someone found them and sent them to her.
He’d never forgotten her.
Jessie remembered some of those words she wrote, those love letters that had become a testament to her pain of living without him, those final letters where she had given him up for dead but still wrote. She found one of the final letters she wrote and opened his response.
Dearest Jessie,
I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. If I could write to you, I would. If I could tell you that I’m alive, I would. I only want to touch you one more time, and to tell you how much I love you still and always will.
But I can’t.
I hope you’ll move on. I hope you’ll forget about me and find a man to love. I hope you’ll have children, because you deserve that. But it kills me to think of you with someone else. The thought of another man touching you tears me up, but it’s not fair of me to try to keep you.
Just because letting you go is the right thing for me to do doesn’t make this any easier. I want to keep getting your letters, but one day soon you’ll give me up for dead. I hate that, because I want you to write to me and I want you to wait for me.
I know it’s wrong to want that, especially when I don’t know when this damn war will end and I can come back to you. It’s not fair of me to ask that you wait for me while your life passes you by.
The life I have now isn’t right for a woman. When I first started with this job, my boss told me there was no room in my life for anyone but my team. My loyalties must lie with them first. Then country. Then God. There is no room for family.
But they don’t, and they never have. My first loyalties are, and always have been, with you.
Forever yours,
Luke
For a long time, Jessie held his letter in her hand and wept.
There were other letters behind that one, too, letters written long after she had stopped writing hers. Judging from the sheer volume, she’d wager he’d written at least once a week for the two years after she’d stopped writing to him. She pulled one out at random.
Dearest Jessie,
God, I miss you. I miss the feel of your hair beneath my hands, the smell of you. I miss your hand in mine. I miss your smile.
I saw a girl today who reminded me of you when we were kids…
She put that one down and read another.
Dearest Jessie,
I heard about your father. I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there…
And another, dated about seven months ago.
Dearest Jessie,
I’m sorry I haven’t written in some time. There was some trouble a while back, and I’ve had a time of it recuperating…
And the last one, dated right before he left.
Dearest Jessie,
I talked to the general, and he’s agreed to assign my team to your case. I convinced him he needed someone the locals would talk to. Because let’s face it, if you want information in Virginia City, you don’t go to the sheriff. You go to the town whore. Who better than the son of a whore to go then, right?
She could almost hear his wry laughter as he wrote those words.
The general may have fallen for my line, but Mordecai didn’t. He was going to send Whitfield, someone who could charm any woman, including you. Whitfield has a thing for the West, and what’s more western than cowboys and Indians? Mordecai seemed pretty certain his new brother-in-law could get the information we need out of you, and that he’d enjoy doing it.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
This case is mine, because the thought of you with Whitfield just about kills me. I know it’s been a long time, and I have no right to your affections, but no one would protect you like I would. If you’re involved, I’ll find a way to get you out of this mess. If you’re not, I’ll protect you with my life.
I know I hurt you when I left. I only hope that time has eased your pain and that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.
I miss you.
Yours,
Luke.
Over the course of that afternoon, Jessie read many of his letters, where he told her about what had happened to him over the years. He told her about how he got involved with Mordecai and his team. He wrote to her each time he’d gotten wounded and told her what happened. He told her how he’d lost most of his leg, and why he’d elected to have the doctors take it rather than giving himself time to recuperate.
He told her in so many ways how much he cared about her and always had.
Jessie wept.
Suddenly, she thought of the neatly piled letters she’d seen on the table by the door. The post he’d received during his absence.
Maybe there’d been letters in there, too.
She raced down the stairs and rummaged through the bundle. And there it was: a letter addressed to her, dated the day before they’d left to rescue Jessie’s father. The day before he’d proposed and given her the ring she still wore and always would.
Her heart stopped for a moment, and she sank to the floor with his letter in her hand.
Luke.
She tore it open and began to read.
Dearest Jessie,
It’s late and I’m watching you sleep. I’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful as you lying in my bed. Being your man is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.
I wish you weren’t going with us. I want to think of you here, safe. I want to think of you like this. Trust me, I would go through both heaven and hell to get back here to you.
But you’re as stubborn as you ever were, and I know I can’t force you to stay behind. I won’t do that to you, even though it goes against my very nature to allow it.
Like all the other letters, i
f you’re reading this, it’s because I’m no longer with you. If I believed in some benevolent higher power, I’d say that no God of mine would ever be so unfair as to take me away from you now. I don’t know what I believe anymore, but experience tells me life isn’t fair.
These last few days with you have been paradise. I’ve lived lifetimes in the time we’ve had, but even if we have our forever, it won’t be enough.
I love you.
Forever yours,
Luke
Jessie held the letter in her hand and stared at it for a long time. She read and re-read the words, and traced his handwriting with her fingers, feeling the spark of his life and his love for her beneath his words.
She wilted. The icy numbness she’d let take over so she could function melted, and grief weighed heavy in her chest.
Tomorrow she’d get herself together and find a purpose for her life, since her ancestors had refused to take her with them
Tonight, she’d mourn.
Right now, she’d sing.
She sang for the girl she’d been. For a bright future that had lasted only a matter a days. For a man she’d loved her whole life and would never see again.
Only this time, she didn’t ask to join him, as she had when she danced.
Instead, she sang of the life that could have been, and lived a lifetime in the space of a few notes.
It was not a song of mourning, but one of celebration. A song of life, where her grandfather had only sung of death.
Little Singer, the voices whispered.
She’d heard them for most of her life, but ignored them. Now, when they spoke, they brought her comfort. They reminded her of home. Of her mother and Gideon. They reminded her of Luke.
She listened to them, and welcomed them. And she laughed.
Magic caused the air to pulse, quickening like a heart beating for the first time. It felt so different from the songs of her mother and her grandfather. This magic was hers.
She understood now that the song of death had never been for her. Hers was a different song entirely.
She would live, and it would be all right. She didn’t want to die anymore.
I sing of life, and I want him back.
Her request was met with silence.
Chapter Thirty
For two days, Jessie sent everyone who came for her away.
Her father begged her to come home with him, but she refused. Elizabeth came by, insisting that she come by for dinner. Whitfield had spoken to her through the door, asking when she planned to leave. Jameson had even left his house, on the pretext that he wanted her to build her revolving shotguns for his team.
Then, just a few hours ago, Parker had come by and threatened to break down the door.
Jessie had dared him to try.
She’d leave when she was good and ready. When she was done, she’d sell this place, get a place of her own, and start over. But only when she was ready. They wouldn’t take her from here until she was ready to leave.
Something scratched at the door, the sound of someone trying to pick the lock. She thought maybe it was Parker or Whitfield, coming to collect her and take her back.
As Luke would say, Like hell.
If she needed to be alone, she should be allowed. They didn’t need to watch over her like she was some helpless child. She had no intentions of dying any time soon. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t shouted that at them several times already.
She flung open the door.
Startled eyes met her face.
Jessie screamed once before her vision went wobbly and everything went dark.
* * * *
Jessie woke on the sofa.
Her heart stumbled, her pulse racing, and she flinched.
Luke.
She closed her eyes. She must be dreaming.
When she opened them again, he was still there, kneeling beside her.
Jessie shot up to sitting, and her vision went soft around the edges, her mind fuzzy.
“Jess,” the vision said with a worried smile. Its touch felt so familiar, so alive, and her blood rushed in her veins.
“Not real,” she murmured.
He laughed. “I sure feel real. I’ll just get you some water.”
She reached for him with frantic hands. “Don’t you dare leave me!”
“I’ll be right back.”
“No!” Real or imagined, Luke wasn’t going anywhere without her. She clutched at his shirt, and felt the warmth of his body.
Not an apparition, like her ancestors.
A hallucination, then. She’d take it.
Her vision went hazy again.
“Whoa, Jess.” He pushed her head between her knees. “Just breathe, sweet. Breathe.”
His hand was on the back of her neck, his touch warm and gentle and it felt so… so real. She’d wanted this. She’d begged her ancestors for it. And here was the visitation she’d asked for.
Only she’d expected some specter, not the feel of warm flesh against hers. She hadn’t expected it to feel so real. She had expected tears and kisses, not a hand pressing her head between her knees.
Jessie turned her head and his concerned eyes met hers. She sat up, and for a moment, she saw stars.
“It’s all right, Jessie.”
“You’re here.” She gasped.
“Yeah.” He inhaled slowly again, and she followed suit.
He did it again and she imitated him.
She reached out and touched his face, felt the stubble of his unshaven jaw beneath her hands. She trembled as she traced his lips and felt his warm breath against her fingers.
Dead men didn’t breathe or kiss a girl’s fingers.
“You’re alive,” she whispered.
Amusement lit his pale eyes. “Yep.” He moved back a little. “You’re not going to slap me and slam a door in my face again, are you?”
Laughter burst from her, uncontrolled and verging on hysterical. Flinging herself at him, she wrapped him in her arms and held him tight.
“You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.”
He pulled back and kissed her cheeks. “I’m here. But how did you get here so fast?”
“Fast? Luke, I’ve been in Chicago two weeks. You’ve been gone for six.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and held her tight. “I’m so sorry, Jessie. It only felt like a few days to me.” Luke traced the tearstains on her cheeks with his thumbs. “Oh, love, you suffered.”
“I can’t… I can’t… How are you even here?” She shook her head and put her fingers to his lips. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
He smiled and settled her into his lap, and she felt the warmth of his body against her. Every moment of pain was worth it, if this was the reward. Every single one.
Luke rubbed her back gently. “I still can’t really make sense of it. I don’t really know what happened. I woke up in Denver two days ago. Your cousin Cheveyo was there. He warned me that time passes differently on the other side, but I didn’t quite know what that meant. Then he told me to go, and I was drawn… here.” He grinned, but Jessie saw wariness in his eyes.
The spell she’d woven around Luke the night he’d died hadn’t worked, and she hadn’t saved him. He’d asked her to let him go, and that’s what she had done.
She’d asked for him back, but she’d never thought her ancestors would answer.
Luke kissed her temple. “I’ve never believed in this kind of thing, Jess. All I know is I woke up in Denver, and I wasn’t hurt. For the first time since my accident, my leg didn’t ache. I meant to buy a ticket to Salt Lake, but the next thing I knew, I was on an airship to Springfield. Then something told me to come here, and so here I am.”
Jessie wrapped Luke in her arms, buried her face in his shoulder, and cried.
Her ancestors had finally taken it upon themselves to smile upon her. Though she’d begun dancing for Luke, she had danced for them as well.
She never would have done it if it hadn’t been
for Luke. She never would have known she needed to.
Luke had, indeed, been the bridge between her grandfather and his final peace. He’d been the bridge between Jessie and her grandfather.
He had fulfilled his duty, and Jessie had fulfilled hers.
He kissed her cheeks, her hair, her eyelids. He pressed his lips against her mouth, and she kissed him back with everything she had. He slowly removed the pins from her shorn hair, releasing it, and it tumbled about her shoulders.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
“I missed you, too.”
He cupped Jessie’s head and laid her back on the sofa. “I’ll never hurt you like that again,” he said, bracing himself on his elbows above her.
She smiled. “I think you should make it up to me.”
He slowly began lifting her skirt and petticoat, and Jessie shivered. “What do you suggest I do?”
“I don’t know, but I bet you’ll think of something. I guess you could start by taking off my drawers.”
He did it with his teeth.
The End
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Goodreads, or wherever you discovered it.
www.MegganConnors.com
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 32
