The Heart of Home

by Stephenia H. McGee

  He pumped his arms, slicing his body through the water. Something struck his back, sending a surge of pain down his spine. Still he kicked, fighting water more furiously than he ever had the enemy, until he finally grasped a handful of fabric. He gave a mighty yank, and her body snatched toward him.

  Opal screamed, but the terrified sound was choked off and dissolved into a spasm of coughs. She threw her arms wildly, smacking him and making it difficult to get a hold on her.

  “Stop!”

  She paid no heed to his command and continued to fight against the waters. She coughed, and then slipped beneath the surface. His arm shot out and wrapped around her, and he pulled backward. She broke the surface, sputtering, and then went limp.

  Tristan pulled her against him, setting her head against his shoulder. Her body floated up to the surface, the water splaying her skirts like a yellow ribbon on a canvas of muddy brown. Tristan groaned and began to swim backward, hampered by her weight and only having the use of one arm.

  He kicked and fought against the current, a desperate battle against a foe that never wearied. Moment by moment, and inch by inch, Tristan hauled her back toward the house. He would not let the river take them.

  Behind him, Shadow barked frantically. Fatigue pulled at him, his muscles burning. Still Tristan fought until his shoulders hit against something solid. Praise the Lord! He’d reached the house. He turned, thankful that he could get his feet underneath him this close to the foundations. He shifted his body, using the waist-high bricks of the house to keep him steady as he struggled to lift Opal to safety.

  She groaned as he hefted her head and shoulders up onto the safety of the rear porch. Then he braced himself against the bricks and set his feet against the tug of the water. Ignoring the burning and trembling muscles in his arms, he slowly worked the rest of her body out of the river. Then with what little strength still clung to him, Tristan hauled himself out of the water and crumpled beside her, heaving.

  Opal turned her head, her chest burning. Her lungs heaved, bringing up a mouthful of dirty water. She coughed, then inhaled a blissful breath of air. She gulped it in, thankful to be free of the waters. With a groan, she rolled to the other side, finding Tristan beside her.

  Alarmed, she bolted up and grabbed his shoulders, flinging him onto his back.

  “Tristan!”

  His eyes popped open, and she let out a protracted breath. He was alive.

  She remained leaning over him, her hands pressed into his shoulders and her face hovering above his. He studied her, and something about his eyes seemed…different. She leaned closer, and he grinned.

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  She gasped and leaned back, but didn’t move away. “What a thing to say!”

  He chuckled. “Seems a fitting reward for saving your life.”

  Opal blinked at him a moment, then allowed an impish turn of her mouth. “Is that so?”

  Tristan started to nod, then his forehead crinkled and the playfulness left his gaze. “Why did you get in the water?”

  Heat crept up her neck. “I saw you start to fall and….” Her heart lurched. “Oh! We have to get Mama!”

  She struggled to her feet, her dress a heavy mass of soggy fabric. Tristan mumbled something, but seemed to be gaining his legs as well. Opal glanced behind her, amazed that the river now flowed at the very edges of her home. She sucked a breath, and with it released a prayer. “Don’t let it take us.”

  A hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up into Tristan’s tired face.

  “You shouldn’t have tried to jump in for me. Can you even swim?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. It had been foolish. She hadn’t even been thinking. “Mama has fainted. I need your help.”

  He followed her inside, the two of them leaving trails of water and mud like oversized slugs. Mama lay right where Opal had left her at the front door. She scrambled over to her and lifted Mama’s head, relieved she breathed slow and easy.

  “Mama?”

  Mama remained still even as Tristan put his arms under her and lifted, his face revealing some of the strain he obviously tried to hide. He puffed out his cheeks and hauled Mama into the parlor, gently setting her on the settee.

  “What happened?”

  Opal twisted her fingers. “She just fainted, and fell to the floor. I fear she may have bumped her head.”

  Tristan stood there dripping on the floor, watching her. “What happened to Mr. Weir?”

  “I….” She glanced toward the window. “I don’t know. He left, Mama fainted, and I came to get you….”

  Tristan followed her gaze. “He left during this storm?”

  She nodded. “I do hope he didn’t get caught in the waters.” And she did. No matter what kind of scoundrel he was, she didn’t wish for him to come to harm. She merely wished for him to leave her and Mama alone. But at the same time, it was a pity, since now he expected her to marry him and would soon return. She just hoped she could keep him at bay when he did.

  “Go and get yourself into something dry. I will sit with her until you return.”

  Opal nearly refused, but something about accepting the gentle offer of his aid seemed right. Mama should awake soon, but if she didn’t Opal would send Tristan to fetch Sibby. The intrepid woman always seemed to have something to help. Opal whispered her thanks, cast Mama another glance, and then hurried from the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tristan looked down at the woman on the small couch, amused when her eyes flew open as soon as Opal scrambled from the room.

  “I knew you were not asleep.”

  The dowager sniffled and pushed herself into a sitting position, somehow still managing to look refined even under the circumstances. “Nonsense. I have just this moment regained my senses.” She glanced at him, a small spark of worry in her faded eyes. “I take it I succumbed to the flutters?”

  “That would be my assumption, ma’am, as you were unconscious on the floor.”

  She lowered her eyes to study her clasped hands. In the time he had spent here, he had not seen Mrs. Martin look this subdued.

  He scratched the wet hair at the back of his scalp. “If I may ask, did something happen to upset you?”

  She looked up at him, studying him as though to assess whether or not she found him worthy of an explanation. Then she angled her chin toward one of the chairs flanking the settee. “Sit, Mr. Stuart, if you please.”

  “I cannot, for as you can see, in my current state, I would ruin your furniture.”

  She glanced down at his clothes, as though just now noticing he dripped from crown to boot. “I do not wish to unduly burden you, but since I am not blind to the way you look at my daughter, I feel you should have the right to know.”

  Unease settled in his stomach, and he clenched his fists at his sides.

  “Mr. Weir has declared he will marry Opal and send me away with a stipend and a train ticket. He aims to pry Riverbend from us.”

  He’d expected an underhanded deal from the carpetbagger, but…. “You mean he thinks to gain the house by marriage, rather than purchasing it as he said?”

  Mrs. Martin nodded.

  “Opal mentioned you and he had entered into a discussion about a marriage arrangement.”

  Mrs. Martin scoffed, making a rather unladylike sound from the back of her throat. “Don’t be absurd, sir. I merely said I would entertain the discussion for courtship after he agreed on my price for the house.” She lowered her eyes. “It was only meant to be a tactic to get him to agree to a more favorable price. I never intended for that miscreant to make a claim on my daughter.”

  Tristan’s jaw clenched. “And what does Miss Martin think of the proposal?”

  Mrs. Martin stared at him. “Surely you do not need to ask such a thing. I assure you, I will not allow her to marry that man in exchange for the money he provides. I do not think he will treat her in a gentlemanly manner.”

  Despite himself, Tristan’s shoulder
s relaxed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he blurted, “What about me?”

  The corner of Mrs. Martin’s mouth twitched. “What about you?”

  “Well, I….”

  “Yes? Do you have intentions you wish to speak to me before she returns?”

  Tristan glanced at the door. “War took a great deal from me, and though the Lord is merciful, I fear the horrors will visit me for a long time to come.”

  “I believe this entire country will suffer such a fate with you, dear boy. Best we learn to deal with it together.”

  He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed an acceptance of his struggles, and perhaps a blessing upon the question he longed to ask. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Martin, would you accept my intentions to court, and eventually wed, your daughter, if she will have me?”

  Mrs. Martin made a point of studying him overlong, but he kept his gaze steady under her regard.

  “And what of Riverbend? You have seen her attachment to it.”

  “I have the money I put away from my time in the army, as well as what remains of my family’s estate. It isn’t what it once was, but my father was wise in his finances.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “And to think I once considered it unpatriotic of him to keep a portion of his money in Northern banks instead of turning it all into worthless Confederate currency. It would be my honor to care for the two women whom I hold great affection for.”

  She stared at him a few moments longer, a smile belying the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Then you have my blessing.”

  “Blessing?” Opal’s voice danced into the room. “Blessing for what?”

  Tristan whirled around. “We were….” He hesitated. “Why are you dressed in mourning?”

  Opal glanced down at her dress, her cheeks turning a fetching shade of pink. She had twisted her damp locks up into a braid that wrapped around her head, and even in blacks, she looked fetching.

  “It was the only one I had that was…clean.” She looked to her mother. “Are you feeling better, Mama?”

  “I am, dear. Quite better, in fact.” She looked back at Tristan, who shifted his feet. Drat! Why must he feel like a new recruit under the assessing eye of a commanding officer?

  Tristan looked down at his wet clothes, and the dark place he’d made on the rug. “If you ladies will please excuse me, I am in need of a fresh set of clothing.”

  Opal crossed her arms. “Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

  Mama smirked. “If you see Mr. Weir on our land again, shoot him.”

  “Mama!”

  She waved her hand. “What?” When Opal made a face, she laughed. “Oh, fine. You may shoot at him, but you don’t have to wound him. The crack of gunfire should do enough to get his attention and get through to him that we will not allow him on our property again.”

  Opal bit her lip. “I cannot marry him, Mama.”

  “Ha! Of course not, child. Do you think me daft? I’ll not have my daughter in the hands of that monster.”

  Relief swept through her even as she asked, “But what of Riverbend, and your new life in Massachusetts?”

  “Never you mind that.”

  Opal resisted the urge to glance behind her, in the direction Tristan had gone. They had other pressing matters. “The river flooded, Mama. I am surprised it has not yet breeched the house.”

  Mama jumped to her feet. “What!” In a flash of black cotton, she dashed toward the rear door and flung it open. The waters flowed through the yard, a swift current that beat upon the kitchen, no doubt ruining everything they had not stored on an upper shelf.

  Mama put her hand to her lips and gave a muffled cry. “It will all be ruined.”

  Footsteps sounded from behind and Tristan came to stand by them, watching the waters rush past. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had lightened to a dull gray.

  “A miracle it didn’t rise over the porch,” Tristan said.

  They watched the river sweep by in a display of power only a force of nature could perform. After a few more moments, Mama declared she needed a rest, and disappeared into the house.

  Opal and Tristan continued to watch, time slipping away. Finally, the water slowed in its devilish rush, and it seemed they were free from the danger the river would claim the house. They had been spared.

  Thank you, Lord.

  “That water nearly took me away,” Opal whispered.

  “Me, too,” Tristan said, his eyes focused ahead.

  “Thank you for coming after me. I meant to come for you, but instead almost got us both drowned.”

  He turned, and she could feel his gaze on her. That feeling, the one Ella had described, took up residence in every thud of her heart. But was it merely a hope that something akin to the romance in storybooks existed? Or, at the very least, a more blissful alternative than the kind of life Mr. Weir represented?

  “What happened to Millie?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but then, she needed to know. Perhaps the truth would shake her free of these odd feelings, and give her the strength to face whatever tomorrow might bring.

  Tristan sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “She died. I wasn’t there to protect her.”

  Opal waited, wondering if he would explain more. But after he remained silent for several moments, she finally decided it wasn’t a memory he wished her to be a part of. She gazed back over the thrashing waters, reminding herself that she’d been blessed beyond measure. They had likely lost most of their supplies in the kitchen, but the house had escaped the river’s wrath.

  For now, that would be enough.

  “It was my fault.”

  Tristan’s voice startled her. She glanced at his profile, noting the hard set to his jaw.

  “Millie always said slavery was wrong,” he said, flexing his fingers at his side as though they itched to reach out for something. “Even at a young age, she defied both her elders and her social standing and spoke against it at every opportunity. The war only made her more outspoken. When my father died, she begged me to free our slaves.”

  Our….

  Had she been not only his love, but his wife? Opal let this new truth settle over her. Of course, it would make sense. And why should it make a difference?

  He cleared his throat, as though it constricted against his words. Opal wrapped her arms around herself, not sure she wanted to hear more.

  “But I was a coward. I told her we would win this war, and then I would decide their fate on my own terms.” He looked at her, his eyes clouded in the waning light. “It shouldn’t have even been my decision. But…I was the only one left.”

  “Your fathers and your brothers?”

  “Dead,” Tristan said, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And Mother’s health was already failing by then. I begged Millie to stop speaking out. She was gaining attention. I told her just to wait until I came home, and we would devise a suitable solution.”

  He looked back out over the waters. “That wasn’t good enough for Millie. When I returned to the battlefield after a short furlough to mourn my father and brothers, she started taking drastic action. Mother was too sick by then to do much to stop her.” The look in his eyes turned haunted again.

  “You don’t have to tell me, if it causes you pain.”

  “No, it is a wound that needs to be lanced. I cannot heal if I refuse to let the pain out.”

  Opal turned her gaze back to the lawn, giving him the time he needed. The birds tentatively started their songs once more in the gathering dusk, brought on all the earlier by the cloud cover. The thick scent of rain permeated the air, and drops fell from branches, swallowed up by the rushing sound of the misplaced river.

  Beyond where they stood, the water had dipped lower on the stairs, now leaving the topmost step uncovered. Hopefully, the waters would continue to recede and leave them in peace.

  “Millie escorted slaves in small bands through the woods,” Tristan said, his voice hard. “She was helping them to a meeting point where they could be taken to another route to esca
pe to the North. Somehow, she must have been discovered.” He sighed, the telling seeming to weary him as much as the waters had. “Discovered by the kind of men who didn’t take too kindly to such things, even though it was none of their business.”

  Opal’s throat tightened, and she clenched the fabric of her skirt, its color now seeming appropriate for this day.

  Tristan’s voice grew deeper, and his words came out at a growl. “That night, she took her maid, Pat, a girl she had been fond of her entire life, and another young woman who was swollen with child.”

  Opal reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve, aching for the pain that radiated in his voice.

  “She was so young, Opal. Barely seventeen. A sweet child that had always been a light to our lives. The things those men did to those girls…..” His voice caught and he hung his head.

  Overcome, Opal slipped her arm around his waist and pulled herself against him. It was meant in comfort, the only means by which she could think to offer it. “I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your family, and for the pain caused to your wife.”

  He shifted underneath her grasp, but she didn’t look up at him.

  “My wife?”

  Heat crept up her neck. That is what he’d said….right? She picked through her memories. No, he’d never actually said anything of the sort. She’d merely assumed. “Millie…she wasn’t your wife?”

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Millie was my sister. Stolen from us and abused because she believed differently than people thought she was supposed to. When did I ever say anything to make you think otherwise?”

  Embarrassment washed over her, but she kept her chin high. “You spoke a woman’s name with such pain, I thought she had to be a lost love. And then when you said freeing our slaves, I assumed she must have been your wife.”

  “Yet you never thought to simply ask?”

  “I thought it too painful for you.”

  Those expressive eyes bore into hers, then he turned back to the yard, where the water looked like ink flowing from a giant’s overturned inkbottle. The shadows clung to the trees, settling the house into darkness.