Freedom's Touch [Legacy of the Celtic Brooch Book 2]

by Sarita Leone

  "Oh, Marsh...” Kay moved to hold him close, tears running freely down her face. “How awful, how gut-wrenchingly despicable."

  "Exactly,” he said, patting her gently. The room was beginning to grow lighter and the time for his departure was near but he pulled her tightly against his shoulder and held her while she cried. “So know, Katy-did, that all we do—and all we can do—is not done without just cause."

  Chapter Four

  Marsh managed to visit twice more before summer's arrival. Both times their hours together were brief, passing far too quickly, but the visits were precious. Kay was thankful for any time they had together.

  Arden grew more ungainly with each passing day. By the time they began to feel the summer heat, she was uncomfortable, her feet swollen, her back aching and her nerves raw. Frank hadn't been home in months. The last letter she'd had from him was a month old and hinted at the elder Frank having caught a grippe.

  Between thinking about their husbands, the ailing patriarch and the babe's arrival, the two women spent many sleepless nights. But that was par for the course and had anyone ventured to peer out a window into an ordinary night's gloom, they would have seen many fretful women silhouetted against their window panes.

  Come daylight, though, those selfsame women forced smiles to their tired faces and pretended they'd slept the previous night away in the arms of some blissful dream.

  No one was fooled. No one was exempt. No one was comforted. But all were wary. The first touch of summer on the land brought an increasing feeling of unrest. Where it came from or where it was headed, no one knew. But all were watchful.

  "How can they march down our streets so brazenly?” Arden stood near the front window, her belly protruding so fully that it nearly touched the glass, and scowled. “Have they no shame? Do they not care how we feel about them being here?"

  Kay came out from behind the counter. She'd been tallying receipts, a job she'd been putting off doing. To think they were doing little business was one thing. To actually know, and be faced with the dismal columns of figures, was quite another. Happy to leave her pencil and paper behind, she walked across the floor.

  Standing beside Arden, whose hand on the small of her back was a silent announcement that she was yet again uncomfortable, Kay put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “That's the thing. They don't care—what we think, how we feel. They don't care whether or not we want them here. And no, they have no shame, Arden. Why should they?"

  With more speed than anyone would have credited her with, Arden whirled to face Kay. “Good Heavens, Kay—why should they not?"

  She reached down and rubbed a hand soothingly over the other woman's back, making circles on the tight, tense flesh. Matching her voice to her movements, Kay said, “Think of it from their point of view. We're trying to change their way of life, corrupt their economy, and smash their will beneath our own. Goodness, most of these men had no intention of lifting a firearm to any of us until they were, to their way of thinking, pushed into it. No, they care not what we think, Arden, because they believe we have no regard for them. And that, I fear, is what turns brother against brother, friend into foe. It's the idea that one simply does not care for the other."

  Kay felt Arden's tension ease as she relaxed beneath her massaging fingertips. Moving her hands to the shoulder area, Kay continued to speak. “As long as there is a lack of feeling, there will be strife. For really, it is the southern depravity regarding their slaves, their unwillingness to see those people for what they are—people, just like you and I—that has brought this terrible calamity to us all. It is the southern opposition to seeing that segment of the population as feeling that—well, you know. It is all due to lack of feeling, an absence of care. And it is all so very, very sad."

  Arden inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, the sound filling the silence.

  "Feeling, the absence of care,” she said quietly. “Oh, Kay, how desperately I understand those things. To feel Frank beside me—it is the thought that consumes my every waking moment. It is, I own up to it, my most debilitating sadness. Do you understand?” Turning to face Kay, Arden smiled, the marching troops beyond the glass temporarily forgotten. “You do understand, don't you? Now that you are married, there is nothing about missing a man you don't comprehend. Oh, dear sister-in-law, I am so pleased that you and Marsh wed. Although I do admit I would have liked to witness the ceremony with my own eyes.” Laughing, she waddled over to a chair and sat down with a groan. One hand cradled her stomach while the other fanned her pink face. “It must have been more than Reverend Price has ever seen, you in your night dress. How downright romantic!"

  With one eye on the columns of Grey-coated soldiers who streamed down the street, Kay went to get a glass of sweet tea. Not cold, not even cool, but it would quench the thirst that was upon Arden so often now. She poured, and then held it out. Arden drank most of it in one long swallow.

  "I don't know how romantic it was,” Kay said, grinning. She went back to stand behind the counter and took up her pencil. “But I will say that, much to the Reverend's credit and my never-ending gratitude, he did not laugh nor indicate that my choice of wedding attire was anything out of the ordinary. No, he performed the ceremony with the utmost decorum—while he was wearing his house slippers."

  To laugh the way they laughed, the peals resounding off the walls and filling the empty spaces in their hearts, at least temporarily, was a luxury. The two women laughed until their sides ached, until tears ran down their cheeks and their noses streamed. Then they laughed some more, wiping their eyes on the back of hands and their noses on the hems of their aprons, as taking the time to dig for their handkerchiefs would have taken away from the delightful exercise of laughing.

  When the Captain entered, the tinkling bell was no rival for the sound of the women. As he made his way across the floor to them, they struggled to regain some semblance of restraint. It was difficult, but not impossible, although a few hiccupping gasps took time to quell.

  "Ladies, please don't let me interrupt your jolly moment. We all know we have far too few of those now, so please, indulge yourselves. Your joy is without a doubt the most harmonious sound I've heard in ages.” The Captain removed his hat and blotted his forehead with a neatly-folded square of linen. As she watched him withdraw the fabric from his waistcoat pocket, Kay stifled another peal of laughter. She couldn't help but remember her recently ill-used apron hem.

  "We're only being silly.” She picked up her pencil, hoping the short stubby piece of lead would give her a more businesslike deportment. “A bit of summer heat, perhaps, washing over two fanciful women. But it is a pleasure to see you today, Captain. To what do we owe this gift?"

  Watching the man blush, the skin beneath his white whiskers growing the pinkest, was a joy nearly as great as the laughter had been. Kay smiled broadly as she watched him shuffle from foot to foot before he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and affected a serious expression.

  "I only came in to be sure you two ladies are well,” he said. “It seems our small town is in the path of some military action, that we are but a trail on the way to somewhere larger. I know that seeing these ... these ... secessionists in our midst is disturbing, but I wanted to assure you that this too will pass. I believe that if we just let them go on their way, our troops will take good care of them. My hope is that they will be dispatched in another venue, not right in the center of Chambersburg.” The gnarled hand tightened on the sword, leaving no doubt to their minds that he'd like nothing more than to be in on the “dispatch."

  "We are well,” said Arden from her chair. “But, I must admit, Captain, I am a mite uneasy at the scene outside. It is unsettling, to say the very least."

  Nodding, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. When he answered, he kept his eyes firmly on Arden's, stubbornly refusing to allow his gaze to fall on her womanly curves. “I understand your feelings, truly I do. But you ladies will have to endure this march for a day or two more, I suspect. And
, I fear, it may become worse before these Rebs all get to their destination, before the flow of grey peters out."

  Kay thought she'd never again yearn for the sight of grey after seeing so much of it these past years. She was sick to death of it and all it stood for and knew that for her there would never again be a steel-grey ball gown or a bluish-grey wisp of lace on a hat brim. No more sensible grey coats and gloves and no grey kidskin boots, not even if there was ever again money for such frivolities.

  The closest color she could bear to grey was the silver brooch. That, gleaming from the polishing she'd given it this morning, was more an anchor than a reminder and as such could be borne, regardless of color.

  She touched it now, lightly, with her fingertip. The Captain's eyes followed her movement but he shook his head, a hint of a movement that wouldn't have been picked up by anyone save those in the shop.

  No passengers. Again. My, it's been weeks since I've had anyone at my station, weeks since I've carried lives to freedom. Damnation, these troops won't let any but the crazy or feeble-minded attempt to sneak through! How on earth am I supposed to help people to freedom with these Greybacks milling about? I wish they'd get to where they're going already, and leave us in peace.

  "Would you consider closing the shop for a few days? Just until this northbound march has come to an end?"

  Shaking her head, Kay smiled a tight-lipped smile. “No, I won't do that. Arden can go upstairs if she wants, she does not have to stay here with me, but I won't be chased out of Father's store. He's counting on me not to run and hide. Marsh is, too, as well as my brother Frank. I won't do it. I won't let anyone chase me away from what is mine, away from where I have a right to be."She closed her fist so tightly around the pencil it cracked, the sound underscoring her words.

  "I won't leave you, Kay. The baby and I will stay with you. After all, Frank and your father, they're my family now, too,” Arden's voice wavered.

  "I know that, dear, I know that,” Kay answered quietly. So often now, Arden was moved to tears and she wondered, not for the first time, if that was a normal part of the pregnancy. Turning to face the Captain, Kay managed a bright smile. “You see, Captain, we're quite determined to stay. The marchers will simply have to be on their way and leave us be."

  "As you wish,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. Tapping his walking stick on the floor hard, he furrowed his brow. “I will return frequently to check on you. Since you will not leave, I will come to you but send word, by all means, if you should require assistance before I return. Either Mr. Parker or myself will gladly come to your aid.” He went to the door and put his hand on the knob. Turning back, he added, “And please, ladies, stay inside until these men pass. I don't believe they would harm a woman; they are, after all, gentlemen beneath their uniforms. But still, let's not tempt them, shall we?"

  "Of course not, Captain,” Kay said. She knew the man's reference to indelicate activities had been an embarrassing one for him and she was touched by his depth of concern for their safety. “But may I ask ... do you know where these men are headed? They seem to have a destination in mind, their stride is so purposeful. Have you any idea?"

  "They are marching to Gettysburg, Ma'am."

  Chapter Five

  By the first of July the purposeful, steady marching they'd witnessed earlier had deteriorated. The ragtag columns of southern soldiers who streamed through the center of town no longer kept their ranks. Their civility, too, was gone and they created a ruckus everywhere they went, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

  The sound of shattering glass mingled freely with the staccato beat of hoofs on wooden sidewalks as the mounted soldiers abandoned the road to follow their whims. Gardens were trampled, flowerbeds reduced to scattered blooms and nearly every fence in town was toppled.

  Arden and Kay were in the store when the worst of the troops rode through town, their uniforms sweat-stained and their grins a telling sign that they'd been at a tavern before coming upon Main Street. The women watched, their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, from behind the counter.

  Thank goodness the farm is so far out of town, thought Kay. So far I've escaped notice, and vandalism. I would hate to see the garden, my roses, any of it misused like this. Why, they're damaging private property for no reason. No one is safe from this mob—no one.

  They'd locked the door but an ordinary bolt was no match for the man that pushed against it. The door splintered and a short, reed-thin man wearing a ragged, stained Confederate uniform walked in. His eyes scanned the room before his gaze rested on the women. With a face-splitting grin and a swagger that befitted a ballroom, he moved across the room with more than a trace of his former graciousness.

  Stopping just short of them, he leaned forward from the waist into an exaggerated bow and said, “Ladies."

  Kay pressed her sister-in-law behind her and hurried out from behind the wide wooden counter. She felt Arden's grasp on her wrist but jerked free, determined not to appear frightened at the intrusion.

  "Sir,” she said. It was easy to tell he'd been drinking. The whiskey fumes wafted off him in almost-visible waves. They did little to mask the ripeness of his person, his lack of attention to personal hygiene, and Kay stifled her gag reflex. Her hand rose instinctively to cover her nose but she stilled it part-way. Better, not to offend the offensive. “Is there something we can assist you with?"

  "Assist me? Hell, I'm sure there's something you two women could do for me.” The leer chilled her blood but she remained poised, despite the churning she felt in her stomach. “Mind, I'm not impressed w-w-with f-f-fat women, but you'll do. Yes-yes, you'll do just fine."

  It seemed senseless to correct his assessment of Arden's condition so Kay kept silent on that front. And his stuttering, coupled with the swaying he was currently doing, gave her hope he'd either turn around and leave or pass out.

  Either was, she knew, a stretch but hope was something that did, in fact, reach the farthest.

  "What I was referring to, Sir, was your appearance in my store,” Kay said, as seamlessly as if he hadn't been insulting. Waving a hand toward the limited assortment of merchandise, she said, “I assumed by your presence here today that there was something you required, something I could perhaps furnish you with to make your uniform more presentable. A new pair of socks, perhaps? A wide-brimmed hat to shade your eyes when you walk back out into the hot noonday sun?"

  A gallon of lye soap and a brush to rid yourself of lice?

  A sloppy grin spread across his face. Nodding, he said, “That sounds ‘bout right. A h-h-hat, that'd be a good ‘un. Yeah, get me a hat, woman, and be fast about it."

  Kay reached for the display beside the counter and chose one at random. Holding it out to him, she was amazed her hand wasn't shaking.

  "Here, this is the best hat we have in the store. You're welcome to it, Sir. Please take it, with our best wishes, and go. Leave us in peace."

  Clapping the hat on his filthy hair, the soldier seemed to consider her words. He stood before her, placed his hand on his holster and fondled the grip of his gun. For a fleeting second Kay thought he might shoot her but he took his hand from his weapon, passed it over his face and adjusted the hat to sit low on his brow.

  As he looked at her, his gaze dropped to the silver brooch. She knew before his hand reached for her bosom that he was going to take it.

  "No—not that, please,” she said, covering the brooch with her hand. The thin wedding band glinted in the light, momentarily distracting him. She pressed hard against her body, not feeling the pain of the pressure against her tender skin. “Anything else—anything. Take anything else in the store, but please, not this."

  His dirt-caked fingernails dug into her hand but she didn't loose her grip on the brooch. Stronger and just as determined as she, the stranger made their struggle brief, pulling the brooch so brutally from her dress that the fabric beneath it tore and the pin, wrenched open, tore across her skin.

  "No, plea
se!"

  In an instant, it was over. Kay was bleeding but the blood was not a true indication of the wound she felt. The brooch was gone. Her heart was broken at the loss of the link between her past and the hope of the future.

  Strong arms held her when her legs became wobbly. Arden cradled her against her body, stroking Kay's hair while they both cried. Their comfort was short, however, as the front door crashed open a second time.

  "Ladies, are you hurt?” The Captain and Mr. Parker filled the space completely, their excitement giving their typical characteristics increased presence.

  Kay's hand covered the rent in her dress but the bloodstain spread further than her palm could conceal.

  "Are you shot? Have you been wounded, Madam?” Mr. Parker's usually-even tone was frenzied.

  "No, I'm not wounded.” She looked at the Captain and said, “One of the soldiers took my brooch. The heirloom brooch, you know the one."

  "I do. What did he look like?"

  "Short, dirty, drunk,” Kay said.

  "Wearing a new straw hat!” Arden said, pointing to the others left on display. “Kay gave him a new hat. He was wearing it when he left."

  "Good enough,” the Captain said. “Jacob, remain with the women. I shall be back presently—with the brooch."

  They watched in amazement as the elderly man moved swiftly from the doorway and out into the chaos on the street. Kay and Arden stood still for a long moment as Mr. Parker attempted to secure the door. Finding it was damaged beyond quick repair, the man wedged it closed with his foot and stood before it with a sidearm dangling from one hand and his large hearing horn hanging from the other.

  Finally Kay said, “But he can't possibly imagine he can locate—and reclaim—my brooch."