by Ginny Dye
Thomas was suddenly very, very fatigued. “We were friends once,” he said heavily. “I can hardly believe you have allowed yourself to come to this.” He turned Granite and rode back into the night. He would let Sheriff Horn do his job, though he harbored doubts the man would do anything more than issue warnings to Southerlin and Stowe to be more careful.
Thomas was anxious to get home to be with his family. He longed to feel Abby’s body pressed to his. He needed to know Carrie was still alive. He wanted home. He had fulfilled the mission that had given him a sense of purpose during the long days of waiting, but it had done nothing to fill the void in his heart.
He stopped long enough at the gates to pull off the offending cloak and wait for everyone to do the same. He watched with grim satisfaction as Moses set fire to the white mound, and then he urged Granite into a gallop.
It was time to bury his son-in-law and granddaughter.
Chapter Twenty-One
June 1, 1867
Carrie stepped out onto the porch, barely aware of the early summer heat causing a misty fog to hover over the plantation. The morning air was still cool, but it would be in the mid-eighties by the middle of the afternoon. She took long walks every day—anything to get away from the house—but she had been banned from riding until her incision healed.
Her incision. Every time Polly cleaned it or put new ointment on, it was like she was losing her daughter all over again. Over and over again. When she was awake. In her dreams. She felt an empty void where life had once kicked and demanded to be acknowledged.
Carrie walked slowly down the porch steps, refusing to glance up at the window to her and Robert’s room. Abby had cleaned out their bedroom and placed her in another room at the back of the house. There was part of her that felt grateful to be separated from the memories, but another part felt she was being ripped further away from the man she loved. Instead of resisting, however, she simply acquiesced. She didn’t deserve to feel close to the only man she had ever loved—the one she had allowed to die.
She looked up, startled, when Miles suddenly appeared before her holding Granite. She had no energy to do more than stare at him as he smiled brightly.
“It’s been a month, Miss Carrie,” Miles said. “Dr. Wild said you could ride again after a month if you take it easy.”
Carrie absorbed this new information. “Oh.” A month. It had been a month since Robert had died from a bullet in the back. A month since Bridget had died within the supposed safety of her womb. A wild pain ripped through her, but she had become somewhat accustomed to it. It was the way it would be for the rest of her life.
Miles continued in an easy voice. “I figured you and Granite could go on down to the river for a while.” He pointed to a bag tied to the saddle. “Miss Annie put together a picnic for you. It’s all your favorite foods.”
“I don’t think so,” Carrie said vaguely. Granite nickered and moved forward to nudge her with his head. She reached up, more out of habit than anything else, and put her hand on his neck, welcoming the soft warmth. Her horse had not seen her since she had ridden him home that fateful day. The memory almost caused her to double over in pain, but she held herself erect. It had been her choice. Her fault.
“Your horse needs to be ridden,” Miles said in a firmer voice.
Carrie scowled. “I’m not a little girl anymore,” she snapped, anger surging through the painful deadness filling her.
“No, Miss Carrie, you’re a grown woman,” Miles replied steadily, holding her in place with his eyes. “A grown woman with a grown horse that needs to be ridden. He calls for you every day.”
Carrie’s knees almost buckled. In her dreams she could hear Robert calling to her. She could hear her little girl calling to her. She willed back the tears she had no right to. The life she was living was all her own doing. No one was responsible but herself. She sucked in her breath when Granite nudged her again, his dark eyes staring into hers like they always had. Carrie trembled and touched his neck again, feeling the longing that coursed through him, just as she had always been able to. She nodded slowly and reached for the reins.
Miles didn’t smile, but his eyes lit with deep pleasure. “Dr. Wild said to take it real easy for a while.”
Carrie nodded. It seemed more than she was capable of to simply mount her horse. Her days of riding as a carefree young woman were long gone. Miles gave her a leg-up into the saddle and then stepped back.
“Have a good time, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie stared at him for a long moment, but could think of absolutely nothing to say that would not sound rude. She turned Granite and walked slowly down the road. Her usually energetic, prancing horse seemed to know there was no place for antics today. He settled into a ground-swallowing walk, his head bobbing happily in the morning air.
Carrie fought to hold back the memories of her last ride and the frantic fear that had driven her to reach the plantation before Robert died. She remembered almost nothing of that journey, just the fear that had propelled her forward. Her first memories were when she walked in the bedroom, took one look at Robert, and knew she was about to lose her husband forever. The vivid recollection of his slack face caused her to almost double over in pain. “Robert…” she whispered, certain her pain and guilt would never ease.
Carrie pushed back the darkness, forcing herself to look around at where she was riding. Only then did she realize she was on the road in between two of the tobacco fields. When she had left for Philadelphia, the seedlings were less than a foot high. Now, tall stalks of tobacco swayed in the breeze, their blossoms filling the air with their sweet, smoky aroma. Carrie inhaled out of habit, her thoughts turning to the long rides she and her father had taken when she was a child, and he had been so eager to teach her everything he knew. The blooms would not be left on the plants long. Her practiced eye said they would soon be broken off, and the plants topped in order to stop the growth of suckers, forcing the remaining leaves to grow thick and broad.
The sight of men in the distance caused her to jerk her eyes away. She saw one raise his hand in greeting, but she ignored it and pressed on. All she could think about was getting away from everyone and everything. She had been forced to stay close to the house while she was healing. She knew she should appreciate everyone’s solicitousness, but every kind word only made her guilt and grief more impossible to bear. She could tell people were thinking carefully about every word they said. It made her tired. She could only imagine how they truly felt.
Amber came every day to invite her out to the barn to work with the foals. Every day, she fastened a polite smile to her lips and said no. It took every ounce of energy she had to not lash out at the child. She had no intention of ever entering the barn again. How could she ever walk over the spot where her husband had lain, his blood pooling on the ground as his life ebbed away?
The vision she attempted to push down every day caused her to urge Granite into a trot. He tossed his head joyfully as she carefully posted, relieved when there was no pain in her stomach. The feeling of relief made her scowl. Who was she to feel relief? She longed for the pain that reminded her every minute of the tiny casket that had been placed into the ground next to Robert’s. She had never been able to hold her baby. Never seen her sweet face. Never been able to keep her promise to Robert to make sure his daughter knew how much he loved her.
“No!” Carrie screamed. Granite tossed his head as she leaned forward, giving him the signal to run. It was the only way she knew to escape the pain threatening to swallow her. Much to her amazement, her horse, who loved to run more than anything, only sped up to an easy canter. “Run!” she screamed. “Run!” She didn’t care who saw her. She didn’t care who heard her. She simply had to alleviate the pain that was ripping her up from the inside.
Granite continued to canter smoothly as Carrie cried and gasped for breath.
She lost track of time, but she knew the minute they reached the trail that would lead down to the river. The sky disap
peared, and the woods swallowed them. The embrace of the forest calmed her, allowing her to regain control. She took several deep breaths as she patted Granite on the neck to express her reluctant gratitude, though a very large part of her still wanted to run wildly. She made herself continue to take deep breaths. As her heart rate slowed, she noticed the violet-blue monkey flowers that grew beside the bubbling stream. Soapwort blooms added their faint pink glow to the early morning, while small daisies nodded at her. There was a time when the sight of them would have filled her with joy, but now there was nothing but regret that she would never share their magic with Robert and Bridget.
When Granite followed the familiar path to the river, Carrie swung off him, removed his saddle and bridle, and turned him loose to graze. A part of her felt at home. Another part of her was consumed with memories that stole her breath. Her and Robert’s first kiss. The lovemaking that had produced Bridget. She groaned with agony and moved over to sit on a boulder as close to the river as possible. It had probably been a mistake to come here, but then, there was no place on the plantation that did not taunt her with recollections that produced searing pain and regret. There was not a day that passed when she didn’t dream of escaping the plantation, but she could also not imagine leaving the home she had shared with the man she loved. More than that, though, she could not fathom leaving the tiny grave that held the daughter she had never had a chance to know.
Carrie gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and stared out at the sparkling waters of the James River. As the breeze picked up, the ripples were teased into dancing waves crowned with glowing white caps. A large fish broke the surface, the water droplets falling as diamonds back into the river. The beauty nearly took her breath away, but suddenly, with no warning, a dark rage consumed her.
Robert would never see this again. Bridget would never experience what she had experienced as a child. The dancing waves turned into a taunting melody of all she had lost. Never again… Never again… Never again…
Carrie, hardly able to breathe, bent over, rage darkening her vision until the river disappeared entirely. She was completely unaware of the screams that ripped from her throat. She could feel rocks cutting into her hands as she grabbed them frantically and threw them in great clumps into the river. “Robert! Bridget! No! No!”
Carrie spun around, vaguely aware of Granite standing at attention as he stared at her, but the fury in her still demanded release. She grabbed more handfuls of rocks, smashing them into the closest tree, ignoring the pain as several ricocheted back at her, cutting her arms and face. She continued to scream and heave rocks until there was no breath in her lungs. Only then did she collapse to the ground and let the tears come.
Moments later, she felt arms enclose her.
“Carrie,” Abby murmured, pulling her close. “Let it out, my dear, let it out.”
Carrie didn’t question her sudden appearance. She grabbed Abby like the lifeline she needed to keep from drowning, and let the sobs rack her body. She had no idea how long she cried, but finally she was spent. She sagged against Abby, comforted by the steady stroking of her hand against her hair. There was a part of her that resisted, her consuming guilt telling her she wasn’t worthy of this kind of comfort, but she didn’t have the energy to push away. She needed it too badly.
Abby remained silent, stroking her hair as she held her close.
Carrie looked up. There was no peace in her heart, but the violent rage had been appeased. “What are you doing here?”
“When Miles told me you took Granite, I knew where you were coming. I thought you might need me.”
Carrie hesitated. “How long have you been here?” She couldn’t remember much of the rage, but she was certain it must have been ugly.
“Just long enough,” Abby murmured.
Carrie thought about that for a moment and decided it didn’t matter if Abby had seen her. Nothing mattered anymore. Another long silence passed. She almost wished Abby would say something, but her stepmother had spoken very little to her since the funerals—she had simply sat with Carrie for long periods of time, letting her know she wasn’t alone. Carrie appreciated it, but it was also another layer of guilt because she knew she was keeping Abby away from Thomas, and away from the factory. Her father had stayed for three weeks, but had finally been forced to return to Richmond.
The breeze died away as heat settled the day. Carrie was gradually aware of buzzing bees and the call of birds. “How did you do it?” she finally asked.
“Survive Charles’ death?” Abby responded. “Much like you are. My world was full of pain and loss.”
Carrie thought about it and shook her head. “You didn’t kill your husband and daughter,” she said.
“And neither did you,” Abby responded steadily. “But I know you’re not ready to believe that yet, so I’ll just tell you I thought my grief would swallow me for the first months after Charles died.”
“It’s been one month,” Carrie whispered. “It seems like yesterday.”
“It will seem like yesterday for a very long time,” Abby said sadly.
Carrie wished that wasn’t true, but she appreciated Abby telling her the truth. She wasn’t going to ask if things got better. She could look at Abby’s life and know she was happy now, but she hadn’t carried the burden of knowing she had been responsible for her husband’s death. Abby couldn’t possibly understand how she felt.
Still, Carrie couldn’t hold all the pain locked away inside her any longer. Even if the future was nothing but a stark mockery of what she had dreamed life would be, hurling the rocks had at least eased the band around her heart. “None of this seems real,” she admitted. “I hear Robert and Bridget calling me in my dreams. I can’t save them…” She paused as her voice cracked. “When I wake up, I realize it’s a dream, but I forget it’s real—that they are really gone. And then…”
“And then you remember,” Abby said tenderly.
Carrie decided to be honest. “I wish Robert hadn’t told me to return.” The words hung in the air, but she had no desire to take them back. It was the truth.
“I know,” Abby replied. There was no judgement in her voice, just soft understanding shining from her eyes.
Carrie wanted to ask if she would stop feeling that way, but her burning guilt kept the words lodged in her throat. She had stolen the lives of the two people she loved most so it was only right that she would suffer for the rest of her time on Earth. “Why?” she whispered, the words forced from her throat by a power greater than herself.
“Why did Robert tell you to come back?”
Carrie nodded, desperate to understand. She didn’t know why she thought Abby would know the answer, but the question haunted her every waking minute. She had such vivid memories of the rainbow colors in the waterfall. She could feel the pull to take the final step and join the dance that would have reunited her with Robert and Bridget. Mixed with her grief, was anger that Robert had not let her join them—that he had sent her back to suffer. “Did he want me to suffer for killing him and Bridget?” she asked. “Is that it?” Voicing the question ripped an even larger gaping hole in her heart.
“No.” Abby’s voice was firm and certain.
“How do you know?” Carrie pleaded. “How can you possibly know?”
“Because Robert loved you,” Abby stated as she lifted Carrie’s face so she could peer in her eyes. “What were his final words to you, Carrie?”
Carrie frowned, not because she didn’t remember her husband’s final words, but because she was certain he wouldn’t have said them if he knew she had killed their daughter.
“What you’re thinking is not true,” Abby said tenderly.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Carrie asked, though she already knew Abby had always been able to read her heart and mind.
“Tell me what Robert said,” Abby repeated.
Carrie’s voice cracked with pain as she spoke the words that played over and over in her mind. “I’m sorry I
’m leaving you. I’ll always be watching you.” As if he were right there, she listened to his voice fade as his eyes closed and reopened. “Always love you…” she finished, tears clogging her throat.
“And that is why he told you to come back,” Abby whispered. “Robert loved you so much. He wanted you to continue to live.”
“Without him and Bridget?” Carrie cried. “Why?”
“I know you will not believe me when I tell you a day is coming when the pain will not be so crushing, but it is true. Right now every time you think of Robert and Bridget it is nothing but a dark blanket that smothers your soul.”
Carrie listened, knowing that Abby understood at some level.
“Honey, it is not just Robert and Bridget’s death that has sucked the life from you. It is an accumulation of everything during the last six years. You have had to be strong for so many people. You have had to care for so many. You have finally run into a grief and tragedy so terrible that you have nothing left.” Abby’s hand rested on Carrie’s cheek. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t even have to feel like living. I’m here.”
Carrie absorbed the words, but they couldn’t touch the pain. She thought of all the women in the country who had lost loved ones during the war. Husbands… Sons… Brothers… Many had lost more than one. She had been spared all that. If she was honest, at some level she had hoped it meant she was somehow special enough to be spared that pain. She knew now that she wasn’t special at all. Death had come to perch on the threshold of her life, never to leave.
“May I ask you a question?”
Carrie nodded, certain before Abby opened her mouth that it was a question she wouldn’t want to answer.
