Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  Yes, the tiny moppet had struck again. She'd wrapped her little fist around one more adult's heart, an incredible feat, considering who the adult was.

  Marin looked at her mother-in-law differently now.

  "Will you join us, Lucille?"

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hunter's eyes were gritty with fatigue. He rubbed them with the heels of his hands, stretched until his limbs shook, then pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open. Two a.m. She had to be asleep by now. He closed the ledger he'd been killing time with and scraped the chair back to rise. The softness of their bed beckoned his weary body. He tried not to think of how Marin's arms beckoned his weary soul.

  Things could not go on this way. Sooner or later he would have to deal with all his emotions concerning Marin's abstract view of her past and his jealousy over the man she cried out for in her sleep. But not until he'd had a good night's rest.

  He slipped noiselessly into the darkened bedroom and peeled off his waistcoat and shirt. His boot made a gentle thud on the floor and he froze, listening for sounds of Marin stirring. When no rustling sounds rose from the bed he pulled off the other boot, then finished undressing, careful to leave on his smallclothes to help avoid any temptation. He slipped between the cool sheets and sank thankfully into the bed.

  Something was wrong. The bed didn't feel quite right. He lay quietly for a moment until he realized he was alone. He slid his hand over to Marin's side and encountered nothing but cold, empty sheet. His heart went suddenly as cold and empty as her side of the bed. A clammy sweat formed on the back of his neck. Bile rose in his throat. Had she left him? Had the bride he'd neglected for over a week left him for the man in her dreams? It was his own fault if she had, he would never forgive himself. But, damnation, the sound of her tortured voice calling "Ryan" stirred too many memories.

  Dead husband, indeed.

  A muffled noise sent a shock of hope rippling through him. He swung his feet to the floor and followed the sound. It seemed to be coming from the dressing room. With hope and dread he soundlessly eased the door open and peered inside.

  He didn't know what he'd expected, but it definitely was not the scene he encountered. The small room was lit with a dozen scattered candles. A soft breeze from the stained glass window stirred the flames with an elusive hint of gardenia in the warm, humid air. But the focal point of the room - dear lord, the focal point lit a fire in his blood and stole his breath. He swallowed hard passed the sudden lump in his throat.

  Marin soaked in scented water in the huge, enameled bathing tub in the center of the room. Her hair, normally styled in flawless, intricate braids and loops and twists, was piled loosely atop her head. Huge, silky tendrils cascaded haphazardly to frame her face. Some were damp and stuck to her cheeks. Some had fallen to float in the water which rose only high enough to barely cover...he swallowed hard again. Oh, lord.

  Marin's head rested against the high back of the tub. Eyes closed, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, she exuded an air of serenity. Her elbows rested on the edge of the tub while she dangled her fingers in the water, making languid ripples every now and then.

  Hunter could hear his heart beating in his ears. The lump in his throat grew as his breathing became shallow and the room became suddenly very hot. Marin presented a picture that would make a priest give up his vows.

  And he was no priest.

  "Would you hand me a towel?" Marin asked in a low, husky voice without opening her eyes. From her tone, Hunter knew she hadn't mistaken him for Mamie. How had she known he was there? She opened her eyes and rose from the tub without waiting for an answer. He watched, mesmerized, as the sheet of water turned to rivulets, then trickles, then dewy droplets shimmering on alabaster skin in the candlelight. The droplets slid, one by one, to join another, hover for a moment, then continue the downward journey. How he wished his hands were those droplets of water.

  He dragged his gaze back to her face. She watched him through smokey, half-closed eyes. Just watched him. He waited for her to say something, anything, but she just stood there. Finally her gaze traveled slowly downward, burning him as if she were physically touching him. Her eyes lingered for a moment, then returned to his face, a knowing smile barely curving her lips. He knew what she was thinking. He could neither deny nor hide his feelings. Nor did he want to.

  He picked up a towel from the chest by the door, held the ends and opened it as he walked to the tub. Instead of stepping into the towel, however, Marin pulled it from his grasp and dropped it. The towel slipped into the water with barely a noise. Her eyes never left his as she slid her finger into the band at his waist, pulling him nearer as well as loosening the thin garment. Her free arm wrapped around his neck as her lips brushed a feathery kiss against his.

  The feel of her welcoming him into her arms lifted a weight that had pressed on him all week. He was no longer tired. His eyes no longer burned. Other parts of him burned now, but he would quench them soon enough. He stepped into the tub as she continued to pull him to her. The lukewarm water did nothing to cool the fires she stoked in him as she reached behind him and untied the drawstring at his waist.

  *******

  Hunter was helplessly weak, euphorically weak from the strenuous night Marin had put him through. If he hadn't felt the evidence for himself on their wedding night, he might be persuaded to believe she really hadn't been a virgin after all, so inventive was his bride.

  But in the midst of his mellow afterglow, he couldn't help but wonder if his virgin bride had acquired her knowledge of men from the elusive Ryan.

  At some point during the night the lovers had given up the bathing tub and then the deep carpet in front of the cold fireplace for the comfort of their bed. And now here he lay, his wife curled against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, her arm draped possessively across his chest. Her love wrapped around him like a warm, soft blanket. But a man named Ryan was an arctic wind in his soul.

  "Hunter?" Her breath fanned across his collarbone.

  "Hmmm?"

  "I love you."

  Amazing, how one minute those three simple words could cause such elation and the next raise such terrible doubt.

  She raised up on one elbow and stared down at him when he failed to respond. She continued to look at him solemnly. "I don't ever want you to forget that I love you. Only you. No matter what."

  His jealousy had caused her to feel the need for that declaration. But he was not the type of man to shrug off hearing his wife call out for another.

  "I don't want things to ever be between us again like they were this past week," Marin said. "I don't think I could bare it. Just believe me when I tell you that I honestly believe what I've told you about myself." She touched his cheek with her fingertips, then traced the outline of his stubbled jaw. "But that's in the past now, and Ryan is dead. You're the most important thing in the world to me, and I don't want my past to come between us again." She hesitated for a moment. "Do you think it will?"

  Hunter took a deep breath. What he said now, how he reacted, could ensure or destroy their future together, but no matter what, he had to be truthful.

  "Marin, when you first came here I heard you call out that same name in your sleep. You said 'I love you, Ryan.' I have heard this man's name more than once. The last time, you said it with such tortured pain, there could be no denying that you love him." He stared at the circle of mosquito netting still hovering above the bed and wondered if he would ever completely trust her again. She drew in her breath as if to speak, but he stopped her. "Put yourself in my place. What if I told you I was from the 1700's? That I had a dead wife whom I mourned for in my sleep. Yet on our wedding night you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had never been with another woman. None of this makes sense, Marin. I tried convincing myself this was all a result of your accident, but I cannot make myself believe that. We corresponded two months before you arrived here. Your handwriting is the same. For God's sake, you had a fiancé show up on my doorstep!"


  He finally turned his head on the pillow and looked at his wife. He expected her to reiterate her story. Instead, she searched his eyes with a sad, defeated look. For a moment he thought she would confess to loving another.

  "How can I win back your trust? Just tell me and I'll do it," she said after several long, heart-stopping seconds.

  Win back his trust. What would it take from her to make the ache in his scars, as well as in his heart, go away for good? He went back to staring at the mosquito netting.

  "I am not certain there is anything you can do, Marin. This is something I must work through on my own. You have said your piece, and I have said mine. Now I have to deal with it in my own way, in my own time."

  Marin was quiet for several minutes, the only sounds in the room that of their gentle breathing and the high-pitched chirp of dozens of crickets outside the open window. He felt her warm palm slide onto the center of his chest, but he didn't allow himself to move.

  "Could I ask one thing?" she said, her sweet breath caressing his ear.

  He turned his head just far enough to look at her.

  "While you're working this out, will you try to act like nothing's wrong? Don't ignore me or avoid me?"

  He let the question hang in the air. The silence stretched like a long, empty road as he considered her request. If he didn't avoid her, he wasn't sure he could think clearly enough to think this through. Even now it was all he could do not to pull her atop him and absorb her through his skin. Even earlier in the day the gardenias by the veranda muddled his thinking and warmed his blood simply because they wore the same scent as she. He wanted so badly to trust her.

  "I shall try," he finally said. "But I cannot promise things will be as they were. Not until I resolve this in my mind."

  Marin nodded, then cuddled up closer.

  "Did you see your mother and Katie at the reception this afternoon?" she asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject. Here was his chance to try acting normal.

  "Do you know," he said, "she seemed to be actually tolerating Katie's presence? And what is even more odd is for one moment I could have sworn I heard my mother laugh! I cannot remember the last time I witnessed my mother laughing. I am sure it was well before the war - and not often, even then."

  Marin's head nodded against his shoulder.

  "Apparently those two have been spending more time together than we thought. Do you know that they are now "Kathleen" and "Gwandma" to each other?"

  "No!" Hunter could not believe his ears. Thoughts of their earlier conversation faded momentarily at this news. Marin related the story of Katie bringing his mother lemonade and cookies, and how the three of them had a pleasant lunch together.

  "Of course, Lucille didn't say much, but Katie jabbered enough for the three of us." Marin fell silent for a moment. "Did you know your grandparents were alcoholics?"

  "Alcoholics?" Hunter wasn't sure he knew what she meant. He'd never heard the word used in that way before.

  "You know. Drunkards?"

  "Oh. Yes, I suppose I had heard it mentioned that my grandparents liked their liquor. I don't remember them, though. They both died before I contracted the fever."

  "Did you know that your mother had to amputate her father's arm from a reaping machine because there was no one there to do it? And that your grandmother packed her bags and left? Lucille took over your grandmother's duties when she was fourteen."

  Hunter didn't know what to say. He'd never heard even a hint of this story.

  "Did Mother tell you this?"

  "Part of it. Katie started the story. While we had lunch I asked Lucille a few things. She answered my questions but didn't offer any other information."

  Hunter tried to assimilate this news. Why was he never told? Did his sister Blake know? Was it possible his mother's hatred was directed at someone other than him?

  How very interesting. And how very sad.

  *******

  Niles stood in the center of the room, running the brim of his derby through his hands when Marin stepped into the parlor.

  "Hello, Niles."

  "Mari, me - " Niles broke off the endearment. "Mari. Ye look well."

  "Thank you. You're looking prosperous yourself." Marin sat and motioned for Niles to do the same. She waited a moment for him to state his business, but he just looked at her and nodded. Did he mean to take up where he and Mari had left off? "You know Hunter and I are married now, don't you?"

  "Ah, yes." He nodded. "I heard the news right enough. I'm supposin' I should extend my best wishes."

  Marin nodded her thanks, then the two sat there in silence for a moment longer.

  "I've come to tell ye good-bye, Mari. I'll be leaving for St. Louis at first light."

  "Oh?"

  "I told ye I'd be seein' ye again before I left." Niles, every bit as uncomfortable as Marin, mangled his hat some more. "Are ye happy with him, Mari?"

  So this wasn't to be a simple good-bye. But Marin knew instinctively that Niles was a good man, and she didn't want to hurt him any more than she already had.

  "Yes. I'm very happy with Hunter. Niles," she leaned forward in her chair and took his hand, "don't you think it's best that this happened before we got married? We might have lived to regret our choice of partners."

  Niles placed his other hand on hers and brought his face to within inches of Marin's.

  "And then again, we might not have," he answered quietly. "We might never have had reason to question our choices."

  Marin could think of no answer to his statement. She leaned away from his pleading face and searched her mind for something to say to ease his pain, or at least fill the awkward silence.

  "Shall I have Mamie bring us some tea?"

  "No," Niles breathed with a frustrated sigh. He stood and placed his hat just so on his head. "No, I'll be leavin' now. I just wanted to say good-bye." He pulled Marin from her seat and slid his hands around her waist. "If ye ever regret your decision, if he ever makes ye unhappy, ye know where to find me."

  "Awfully accommodating of you, Kilpatrick, but I have no plans to make her sorry she married me."

  Hunter stepped into the parlor wearing a forced smile if ever there was one. Niles took his time in removing his hands from her waist, so Marin moved backward enough to break his hold. Hunter slid his arm about her shoulders as Niles dropped his hands to his side.

  "I loved her before you did, Pierce. And I love her still. I won't be leavin' without her knowin' she has someone to turn to."

  Hunter's dimples were both in evidence, a very misleading sign as to his humor. The flexing muscle at his jaw showed his true feelings.

  "She has someone to turn to. Her husband. But we appreciate the gesture. Don't we, Sweetheart?" Marin found herself tucked possessively under Hunter's arm as she and her husband walked Mari Sander's former betrothed to the door.

  Once on the veranda Niles turned and glared at Hunter, obviously wanting a moment with Marin. Hunter simply deepened his dimples with his smile and stood his ground. Niles chose to ignore him.

  "Mari," Niles began, then searched her eyes with determination. His mood changed to one of acceptance. "I hope ye have every happiness, Mari." Before she could reply he trotted down the steps to his horse and swung into the saddle.

  "Kilpatrick!"

  Hunter stepped down onto the first step when Niles turned an irritated gaze on him. Hunter bowed his head for a moment and studied the gravel drive. Lines creased his forehead when he raised his eyes to look at Niles.

  "What's your middle name?"

  A knife plunged through her heart as surely as if Hunter had buried a dagger to the hilt in her chest. He still didn't trust her. He was going to be civil, but all the while he would be looking for a Ryan that she might call out for in her sleep. God, how his distrust hurt her! She looked at Niles and prayed his middle name was not Ryan.

  Niles glared at Hunter with one raised eyebrow. He glared so long Marin thought he would refuse to answer. Reining the hors
e around until it turned full circle, he stared at Marin, then back at Hunter, a look on his face that said he knew all was not well between them.

  "Robert," he finally said, then kicked his horse into a dead run without so much as a backward glance.

  Marin closed her eyes with a mixture of relief and pain. When she opened them, Hunter stood before her, still on the top step, unrepententant in his stance. She narrowed her eyes and tried to convey to him with that single look how he had made her feel. When his expression failed to change, she looked back at Niles's retreating figure, silently apologizing to him for ruining his life with Mari.

  She watched him gallop down the length of the shady drive. Marin couldn't help experiencing a sadness for him. If not for her, Niles and Mari may well have found happiness together. She felt personally responsible for two lives being torn apart. But what choice had she had? The events of her life were not of her choosing. And now her husband in this alien time didn't trust her, was jealous of a man who hadn't yet been born, but who'd been dead to her for years. She felt as if she had lost all control over her destiny.

  She wouldn't allow herself to dwell on those thoughts. She would lose her mind if she did.

  "Marin," Hunter interrupted her depressing thoughts with only civility in his voice, "William sent a message from Tranquille. He needs some advice on how to proceed with preparations to open. Can you be ready to leave by this afternoon?"

  So, he wasn't going to apologize. There was not even a hint of remorse in his face for his flagrant show of distrust. Part of her wanted to lash out at him, but she quelled the urge and refused to show any more pain. Instead she concentrated on the prospect of returning to Tranquille. At least doing something she knew how to do well might give her back a sense of control.