This Time Forever

by Linda Swift

  She had mustered enough strength to manage that midnight ride to Mimosa Manor in the open wagon carrying Lawton’s coffin and then she had lapsed into a lethargic state of melancholy, subject to frequent outbursts of temper and tears.

  "Here," Angeline gave her a glass of sparkling spirits, then sat down on the sofa beside her. "It’s good to have you and Polly and the children with us. I’ve missed you so much."

  "And I’ve missed you. Whitehaven was never the same without you."

  "But if I hadn’t left, Nathan might never have fallen in love with Mary Jane, and what a pity that would have been."

  "Yes, they seem very happy. And especially since the baby is coming."

  "Mary Jane and I will be giving birth near the same time." Angeline smiled and tilted her glass. "And do you know what we will call our baby if it is a boy?"

  "I’m not good at guessing, so tell me."

  "Philip Lawton, in honor of our brother and the major."

  Clarissa winced at the mention of Philip Burke’s name and took a drink from her glass. "And if it is a girl?"

  "Then it will be Mari Etta." When Clarissa looked surprised, Angeline laughed. "Don’t you see? It is for the town in Georgia where we were married. Only we made two words of it."

  "Oh, now I see."

  "So you are not the only one who will have a daughter with an unusual name, sister."

  "I wonder what our girls will be like, Angeline, when they are our age?" Clarissa asked pensively as she sipped the wine.

  "I’m sure I can’t imagine. But I would hope they won’t have lived through times like these."

  Clarissa thought of Philip, then of Malcolm. She looked at her bruised arms, the purple now turning a greenish-yellow, and shuddered. "Nor I."

  "I wonder what has happened to Captain Burke since the war is over? Have you heard from him?"

  "Not since he left Atlanta," Clarissa didn’t meet her sister’s innocent gaze.

  "I suppose he’s gone back to Oswego," Angeline mused.

  Clarissa thought of Katherine Kingsley, who was marrying his brother, and said without conviction. "Perhaps."

  Angeline sighed. "I suppose we’ll never know. But I will always hold the major in high regard in spite of his wearing blue, and I wish he could know our first son will bear his name."

  The two women sat in companionable silence, each lost in thoughts of Philip Burke until Clarissa broke the spell. "I really should say goodnight, Angeline."

  "I’ll help you up the stairs, then. You haven’t gotten your strength back yet. And no wonder, with what you’ve been through." As she assisted Clarissa to her room, she asked with a worried frown. "Do you suppose they will come for Polly and try to hang her for the murders?"

  "I don’t know." Clarissa shook her head angrily and tears welled up in her eyes. "But she had nothing to do with it."

  "We all know that. And Devon says they’ll have to take her away over his dead body. But we will pray the officials believed the reports of the servants and that is the end of it."

  Clarissa looked at her hopelessly. "You know the word of Negroes means nothing to them. I’m not even sure they’d believe my testimony after Malcolm’s family expressed their opinions of me. But there’s no undoing what is done. Only God knows what will happen now.”

  • ♥ •

  Chattanooga, June 1865

  Philip gazed at the barren landscape as the carriage bumped over the rutted roads of north Georgia; land that should have been planted in cotton lay fallow from a lack of workers and wealth, and dead tree trunks stood like sentinels with their fire-blackened limbs pointing toward an unsympathetic sky.

  The scene reflected his own desolate state of mind. He knew it was folly to return to Chattanooga, but he had been unable to fight the desperate urge to hear from Clarissa once more before he headed West. He had no illusions about actually seeing her or holding her in his arms again. It would be enough to know that she and her children were safe and well.

  And he had called in a debt as the means to accomplish this, because there was no other way he could be certain of knowing. His note to Nathan Forsythe days ago had mentioned only that he would be passing through the city on his way to Indian Territory. And he had used the excuse of wanting to see the results of his surgery on Nathan’s face as a reason for meeting him.

  He had told Colonel Forsythe that he would be staying overnight at the Union Army headquarters in Chattanooga and he hoped the man would find it in his heart to comply with his request for a meeting.

  The mountains loomed ahead, and the road became more rugged as they approached Missionary Ridge. A tight knot of pain clutched Philip’s heart as he remembered the ecstasy and agony of the months he spent at Whitehaven, the joy and the sorrow of loving Clarissa. He had been wrong to come. It would not ease his mind; it would only make things worse. But perhaps it was what he needed to drive him west of the Mississippi and keep him there forever.

  • ♥ •

  "Major Burke, a gentleman to see you, sir." The private saluted and gestured to the man who stood behind him.

  "Colonel Forsythe," Philip put down his pipe and rose from his chair in the sparse barracks room and offered his hand to Nathan. "Thank you for coming."

  "Your letter mentioned a post-operative examination," Nathan cocked one eyebrow. "How could I refuse when your surgery was so successful?"

  Philip peered at him intently. "And so it is. You're one of my best cases, but then, I had good material to work with here." He motioned to a chair beside the desk. "Won't you sit down? A drink perhaps?"

  Nathan, absent crutches now, walked to the chair with practiced ease on his wooden leg and seated himself. "A drink would be appreciated. It's a hot one out there."

  Over drinks, Philip indirectly broached the subject for which he'd made the long trip. "How are things at Fleur-de-Lis? And Cedarhurst? Are they all well?"

  "My Mary Jane is splendid, and she sends her best regards. She's expecting a child in the autumn. And my parents are ecstatic with the news." After Philip congratulated him, he continued. "Lydia and the elder Mrs. Townsend are well. But I fear Mrs. Wakefield will never leave her bed again. The last tragedy was just too much for her."

  Philip's heart began to beat furiously. "Tragedy?"

  "Yes," Nathan suddenly looked solemn. "But of course you haven't heard, have you?"

  "Heard what?" Philip held his breath as he waited for what he was about to hear.

  "It was Malcolm. He was...shot, killed by his father."

  "My God," Philip slowly let his breath out.

  "And that's not the worst of it, I'm afraid. The poor old man killed himself, too."

  "Josiah Wakefield is dead? By his own hand?" Philip asked in disbelief.

  "It is hard to believe isn't it? But that is the story Luke and Canaan and Harriet have told. Though there are many who believe that Polly shot them both."

  "My God," Philip said again.

  "And some are even whispering that Clarissa may have been the one who did it."

  "Not Clarissa!"

  "I don't believe it, but if she did there was plenty of reason, I suspect."

  "What do you mean?" Philip demanded.

  "Well, Major, my cousin was never the same after he came back from the dead, and shocked hell out of all of us on Christmas Eve. I don't think he had many sober moments from then until the time of his death last week."

  "And Clarissa, is she at Whitehaven now?" Philip didn't even notice that he had used her given name.

  "No, she and her children and Polly fled to Kentucky that very night it happened. Some are saying that proved they had a part in it. And Ruane—she was my cousin's quadroon mistress—is rumored to be ready to swear she saw Clarissa pull the trigger. So I suspect they will have to return at least for trial when Clarissa is able."

  Fear clutched Philip's heart. "Able?" he asked hoarsely.

  "She birthed a child only the week before the tragedy. And she is said to have suffered injurie
s of some sort that night."

  Philip clenched his fists and willed himself to keep control of the emotions that raged within him. "She has another child?"

  "Yes, a baby daughter." Nathan shook his head regretfully. "We never got to see her, though."

  Suddenly, a fact that Nathan had mentioned earlier registered in Philip's conscious mind. "You said your cousin returned at Christmas?"

  "Why, yes."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course, Major. He arrived right in the middle of our wedding supper at Fleur-de-Lis and that was Christmas Eve. What is it, Major, are you all right?"

  "I'm...fine. Just fine." He took a deep breath. "And where is this Ruane you mentioned?"

  "She's back at Fleur-de-Lis. She was my sister-in-law's maid before she...went to Whitehaven with Malcolm."

  "Would you dispatch her to see me, Colonel? I have an interest in the outcome of this unsolved murder case, and I believe she may be persuaded to help insure a satisfactory conclusion to the investigation."

  "I'm sure I can arrange it, Major Burke. In fact, I'll give her a personal escort, if necessary." Nathan hesitated, then went on. "And Major, there's something else you ought to know. The woman is carrying a child."

  "Christ, is there no end to this madness?" Philip asked with disgust.

  "It is the folly of our heritage, Major. It is one of the reasons you fought us and won the war." He stood. "I'll be going now."

  "Give my regards to Mrs. Forsythe. And offer her my best wishes for her expected baby."

  Philip sank back into his chair as soon as Nathan left the room, his thoughts in chaos. Clarissa was free. She could be his wife, after all. His thoughts turned to the baby she had given birth to just days ago. A baby daughter born in May. Malcolm Wakefield had not returned until late December. It didn't take a surgeon nor a mathematician to know a baby born at five months did not live. He smiled to himself. He would be changing his itinerary; the West would have to wait. He had a woman and a child to see. But first, he had to lay to rest the matter of the suspicion that hung heavy over his beloved's head.

  • ♥ •

  Clarksville, June 1865

  "We be nearly there, Majah," Luke said when they left Clarksville and headed northwest as the sun disappeared below the horizon. He gave the slack reins a jerk and encouraged the tired horses to increase their pace.

  "Good." Philip sat beside the old Negro in the landau that Nathan had insisted he take on his journey to Mimosa Manor. He had also sent Luke along to drive since he knew the way to the plantation.

  Philip had lingered in Chattanooga just long enough to take care of what he had to do and make a courtesy call on Florence Wakefield at Nathan’s request. And he had found the woman so far withdrawn in her opium-addicted state that he held little hope for her recovery. But worst of all, she appeared to have no wish to live or face reality and he supposed she had every right to make that choice. After all, her entire world had disappeared and there seemed nothing left she felt worth living for.

  As the shadows lengthened, the silhouette of a large, rambling house appeared on the horizon, partly hidden by towering oaks that bordered it.

  "That be Mimosa Manah up ahead, Majah. We almost there."

  Philip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Clarissa was waiting in that house beyond the oaks. His beloved. Maybe there was a God in Heaven after all.

  • ♥ •

  Clarissa sat on the veranda, gently rocking her baby in the cool evening breeze. Demanda had been fretful from the heat all day and only now had gone to sleep. Angeline sat nearby knitting a baby shawl, her needles keeping time with the sound of the whippoorwills.

  "I thought when the war ended I never wanted to see another pair of knitting needles, but it is a labor of love to be knitting for my own expected baby." She stood and gathered her things. "It is too difficult to see out here in the dusk and I want to finish this row tonight, so I'll go in now, sister. Would you like me to take the boys?"

  "Yes, please. I'm sure Polly is ready to put them to bed."

  Angeline walked to the edge of the veranda. "Come, children. Time for bed, now. If you hurry, I'll ask your Uncle Devon to read you a story."

  Robert and Elliot came running from the yard where they had been chasing lightning bugs and hugged their mother and kissed their sleeping sister.

  "I'll be in soon," Clarissa promised as she told them good night. "Don't forget to say your prayers."

  "Yes, Mama," they answered in chorus as they went inside with Angeline.

  Clarissa looked at the lengthening shadows and felt a sense of peace at being back home again. Her bruises had faded now, and she was slowly healing inside, too. She would make a life for her children here at Mimosa Manor, here with Devon and Angeline and Matilda where they would all be safe, if only the matter in Chattanooga...

  She heard the soft thud of horses’ hooves on the dirt road and wondered who could be traveling at this time of night. And when the landau came in sight, then turned into the drive that led to the house, her apprehension grew.

  "Whoa. Whoa, now."

  She recognized Luke's voice and stood, clutching Demanda to her breast, as a tall figure got out of the landau and started up the brick walk. It looked like...but it couldn't be...Philip! Her heart soared and tried to escape the cage that held it prisoner. Too stunned to move, she stood and waited as he approached the steps and stopped.

  "Clarissa?"

  "Philip?"

  "I went to Chattanooga looking for you."

  He must have heard of Malcolm's death. But how?

  "I was headed for Indian Territory, and I wanted to—no, had to know if you were all right before I left. I thought to speak to Nathan and learn about your welfare."

  "And did you?"

  "Yes, and what I learned persuaded me to seek you here."

  "I wish you hadn't."

  "Why?"

  "Because nothing can come of it. I truly am a widow now, but the circumstances of my husband's death have besmirched my name and left me nothing."

  "You have a daughter now." He came onto the veranda and stood close enough to touch her, but his hands remained at either side.

  "Yes." She turned the baby so that her tiny face was faintly visible in the shadows. "Her name is Dove Demanda."

  "She's beautiful." His voice was choked with emotion. "Like her name."

  "I'm sorry you came all this—"

  "Missa, you bettah let me have that baby 'fore she git the colic in this cool ni—why, Major Burke! Lord a'mercy, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes."

  "Hello, Polly." She took the baby from Clarissa and turned to go inside, but Philip spoke again. "Wait. I have something to say that concerns you, too."

  "Yes, suh?"

  "When I stopped in Chattanooga, I heard from Major Forsythe about your recent trouble." Polly looked frightened but remained silent. "And I took the time to investigate a few things for myself. It seems there was a witness to what happened, and she has signed a sworn statement to that effect."

  "Ruane?" Clarissa asked without emotion.

  "Yes. And the facts show that it was a murder-suicide. Your husband's family is willing to take this woman's word on it and they have asked that the case be closed."

  "The Lord be praised!" Polly said happily. "Oh, thank you, Major. This be the first good night sleep I had since all that happen."

  "Go along now, Polly, and put Demanda in her cradle. The major and I will be in directly."

  "I shore will, Missa. And won't Masta Robert and Masta Elliot be su'prised when they wake up and see who here."

  "I may not—"

  "Yes, they will, Polly." Clarissa cut in. "And don't tell the others yet either."

  "Does this mean you've changed your mind about my coming?" Philip asked softly when Polly had gone.

  "It seems you've come to the aid of my family once again, Philip. How can I turn you away without appearing an ingrate?"

  "Are you grateful enough to marry m
e, Clarissa?"

  Clarissa sighed. "Travesty though it be, I'm once more in mourning. I need time, Philip."

  "And you shall have it, my love. I've never had a chance to court you properly. Just clandestine meetings and even a secret marriage. This time, I'll do it right. And when you're ready, there'll be flowers and a wedding feast fit for a queen."

  "How could I resist all that?"

  He took a step and reached for her; she walked into his arms and he enfolded her against his wildly beating heart. "My darling. My own." He gently lifted her chin and bent to claim her mouth in a gentle kiss that said all the words he had not spoken. He felt the outline of her breasts against him grow taut with longing, but his hands did not seek to caress her. His arousal strained for contact with her thighs, but he held himself back. She had been wounded and she needed tender care, not passion, until she had time to heal. And they had all the time in the world.

  EPILOGUE

  Clarksville, December 1865

  Large snowflakes were falling on a ground already white, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland. Inside Mimosa Manor, the aroma of baking bread and cinnamon mingled with the fragrant scent of pine and an air of hushed expectancy was embodied in the tinseled tree where tissued and ribboned gifts promised delight to come on Christmas morning.

  Upstairs in Clarissa's bedroom, Polly knelt on the floor, pinning the hem of an almost finished wedding gown while Angeline watched from a chair by the window where she was nursing her baby daughter, who was already showing evidence of her father's flaming red hair.

  "You know, sister, that damask tablecloth has made a beautiful dress. And soaking it in tea was just the thing to give it an ivory caste that is perfect with your hair and eyes."

  Clarissa surveyed her image in the beveled mirror before her and nodded. "Thanks to Polly's fine needlework. And the lace window panel has made a perfect veil."

  "If you doan hold still, Missa, I be till the new year gittin' this dress done and you have to marry the major in a petticoat if you have the weddin' Christmas Eve."