Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

  “Don’t worry about Dinah. She can’t stop me from marrying you.” He sounded so sure about this, but Emily had seen her eyes when they were in town the other day. She was the kind of girl who would not give up easily.

  “She might try.”

  “She already tried. She sent a telegram to my father. But as you can see, it had no effect. We will still be married,” he paused slightly and squeezed her hand. “As long as you wish it.”

  “Oh, I do!” Emily said, her heart feeling lighter. “I almost wish the wedding could be tomorrow, or right now and then we could spend all our time together until you have to leave.”

  “We can still spend most of our time together,” Sam said. “Two weeks is the quickest the seamstress can promise to get the dresses done, and the priest didn’t want to do it before then anyway. Besides, Mother needs a bit of time to plan the ball and invite everyone.”

  “I feel like I should be doing more of the preparations.” She had helped Dayna with so many of the wedding preparations, it was odd to not be able to even plan her own.

  “No, Mother thrives on things like this. Don’t interfere, and she’ll be happy as a clam.”

  “If you insist.” She relaxed against him, feeling the warmth of his body beneath his linen shirt.

  “I do.” He led her to a bench under a bower of roses that were starting to bud. They sat and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. She leaned into the kiss and let herself melt into him. Two weeks. It seemed an impossibly long time to wait, but yet, it was nearly all the time they had left. She didn’t want to wish those two weeks away because then they would only have one week more together.

  He stopped kissing her long enough to whisper in her ear. “I want to make the most of every moment we have left.”

  She wanted to make every moment last forever, was that too much to ask?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sam

  All he wanted was to spend every minute with Emily. He couldn’t get enough of her, it was like he’d been in a desert and now had water again and he couldn’t drink it in fast enough. But every minute of every day seemed to be filled with other things that needed doing. Getting ready to go off to war was not quite as simple as packing a few shirts in a saddle bag and heading out. He and George would be lieutenants in Yuengling’s company, and they needed to get coats tailored and the rest of their uniform prepared. There were meetings with Yuengling and the other officers nearly every day. There was more involved in being a soldier than he had ever considered. At least there had been no sign of Wilkins. Rumor around town was that he had enlisted. As long as it kept Wilkins away from Emily, Sam didn’t care what he did.

  Spring was progressing; the trees were in bud. The roses would be in full bloom soon, and he would go off to war. He should be sitting by the waterfall with Emily composing poems to her. Instead he was riding back from yet another meeting with Yuengling, George by his side.

  “Your head doesn’t really seem to be in this,” George observed as he stopped prattling on about some new provisions they had to procure before they left.

  “It’s not,” he admitted. He let his gaze take in the pastel green of the budding trees and the light pinks and yellows of the wildflowers that were dotting the landscape. It was too beautiful a day to think of being a soldier. To think of death. “I’m more suited to be a poet than a soldier.”

  “Anyone could tell you that,” George agreed taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow before replacing it. “But if you are going off to war, you’re going to have to be a soldier, otherwise you’ll be a dead poet.”

  If Emily was right, he’d be a dead soldier. It didn’t really matter much. Either way he’d be dead. He’d rather not be. He’d rather stay with Emily.

  “I am sorry,” George said quietly, plucking a bud from a low hanging branch.

  “For what?” He turned to look at his friend, surprised by sympathy where there often was teasing.

  “That you have to leave her,” George said with a shrug. “You’re finally happy again, and you can’t stay. I am sorry.”

  So it was obvious to everyone. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “At least you’ll have her to come home to,” George said and waggled his eyebrows at him.

  Sam nodded, acknowledging the implication and grinned politely. But that would only be if he came home. And if she didn’t leave, go back to her own time before then. Would she be there when this was over? Would he? All he knew for certain was they had a couple of weeks together, and he wanted to make the most of it.

  He got back to the house and found Emily standing in the ballroom, her arms crossed tight in front of her, hugging herself, her brow wrinkled in a frown.

  “Has something happened? What’s the matter? Are you ill?” He rushed to her side, hoping the distress was something he could fix. They had so little time together, he wanted all of it to be happy.

  She started at his voice, but then saw him and a smile spread across her face, and he relaxed.

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that!” She assured him, but then the distressed look crept back on to her face. “I’m worried that I’ll disgrace you.”

  “Disgrace me? Not possible!” He took her hand in his. Even if she used their wedding ball to make an abolitionist speech, it would not disgrace him. Instead he would be proud of her courage.

  “But I can’t dance. Remember?” Dancing? That’s what she was worried about? She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and he wanted to laugh, but she was so honestly upset that he didn’t dare. “You showed me the waltz, but it’s all I can do, and I can’t even do that very well. I’ll be here in my beautiful gown, the most handsome man on my arm, and yet still be a laughing stock.”

  “You won’t.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and looked down into that face he had grown to love. “Come, we’ll go back to the waterfall and practice some more. I think the wedding and war preparations can go on without us for a few hours.”

  He sent Tobias for a bottle of wine from the cellar, had Moses hitch up the buggy and soon he and Emily were alone by the waterfall, where the wildflowers provided a carpet of color and the light filtered through the emerging leaves.

  Emily clasped her hands in delight and let out a happy sigh. “It’s as magical as the first time. I was afraid that it wouldn’t be, that I only imagined it because I was falling in love.”

  “Perhaps it’s still magical because you are still in love.” He touched her hand lightly and she gave him that smile he never tired of seeing.

  “Quite possible.”

  He helped her down from the carriage and tucked her hand protectively in the crook of his elbow and walked with her to the edge of the creek. It was wrong of him, he knew, but he wouldn’t mind simply stripping off her clothes and laying her down on the moss by the creek and taking her right here and now. A week. One more week until the wedding. He could make himself wait. He would not dishonor her by taking advantage of her.

  “Shall we start with the waltz, as a refresher?”

  “Yes, please. That’s one-two-three, one-two-three, right?” She was so eager to please it made his heart ache.

  “Yes. Come here.” He put one hand on her waist and with the other held her hand. She gripped his fingers tightly, as if afraid he would disappear if she let go. “Now, watch my feet,” he said and he began to sing “one two three” to the tune of a waltz. She followed easily. She may say she was not a good dancer, but he thought it was not ability, but experience she lacked. Hopefully he could make up for that with a few quick lessons. And he certainly didn’t mind the excuse for holding her close.

  “How am I doing?”

  “Wonderfully.” He could feel the heat of her body through her dress. He wanted to never stop touching her. “You dance like a dream.”

  She laughed at that and he had to admit that perhaps it was a bit of an overstatement.

  “Do you want to try a polka now?”


  “I’d love to,” she answered. So he guided her through the steps of the polka, and it was so beautiful dancing with only the music of the waterfall and the birds that he didn’t think any orchestra could make it better. When they stopped for breath she asked, “How about that other one? The Zinga one? Your favorite. Teach it to me. I want to dance it with you at our wedding. It will be my wedding gift to you.”

  He grinned. “The Zingerella. Yes. I’ll teach you. But first, a break. I brought wine.”

  “I certainly won’t turn that down.”

  He spread a blanket on the ground by the creek and opened the wine while Emily situated herself on the blanket. She was getting better at the wide skirts and hoops, but he could tell wearing them did not come naturally to her. He handed her a glass of wine and poured one for himself.

  “Tell me about your time.”

  She took a sip and looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Life is more fast-paced. Everyone is always in a hurry, but yet we can do things so much faster. We can text people, instead of sending letters.”

  “Text?” He pictured the type used in a printing press and tried to imagine how that could be a quick way to communicate. “Is it like telegraph?”

  “I suppose it started with that.” She frowned in concentration, trying to figure out how to explain to him. “We have phones. Devices we hold in our hands, that we use to send messages to people, and they get them instantly.” She held out her hand as if holding something, but he couldn’t imagine how something small that would fit in the palm of your hand would allow someone to communicate instantly.

  “Fascinating.” He would like to see this world of hers but couldn’t really picture it.

  “And with our phones we can also get information on almost anything in the world.”

  “Like a library at your fingertips.” He stared off at the waterfall. He couldn’t conceive of the things she was telling him. A telegraph you held in your hand was the closest he could get, but that didn’t seem to take in the immensity of what was possible.

  “Very much like that.” She took another sip of her wine and chewed on her lower lip, contemplating. “And there are fifty states. And of course no slavery. We drive cars, which are like horseless buggies and have electric lights, so you don’t need to light candles but can flick a switch and the room lights up.”

  “It’s rather hard to believe.” He wasn’t sure how much he did believe. It could be real, or it could be wild imaginings. He didn’t really care which, he loved how animated she became when she spoke of her time. A time she belonged in.

  “When I go off to war.” His voice broke on the word war and he cleared his throat. “I want you to use the pond to go home.”

  To his surprise, she shook her head. “No. I won’t. I will be here waiting for you when you get back.”

  He blinked, stunned, a couple of times before responding. “But you said I won’t come back.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. Perhaps the woman at the inn was wrong. And besides, the war is long. Four years. Even if you don’t survive the whole thing, you may live for many years yet, and get leave to come home and if you do, I’ll be here.”

  His heart ached he wanted that so much, but it was wrong of him to ask it of her.

  “No. You don’t belong here. You need to go to your own time.”

  “I belong where you are.” She reached out and touched his hand sending shivers up his arm. “And until there is no hope, I will be here, waiting for you. You can be sure of it.”

  He took her wine glass from her and wrapped her in his arms. How could he have gotten so lucky to have her fall into his life the way she had? Soon they were lying on the blanket, kissing and his hand strayed to her breast, enjoying the soft contours of it. She gasped softly in response, but held him tighter. He wanted her with a longing that went deep into his bones.

  “You have to teach me the dance,” she whispered in his ear.

  He did. He had promised he would do that. Reluctantly he removed his hands and helped her up. She picked up her glass of wine and finished it in a couple of big swallows. So, maybe he wasn’t the only one who wished things could have gone further right now. When she put the glass down, he took her hands in his. The Zingirella was started side by side, left hand holding left hand, right hand holding right. He walked her through the steps, and they practiced until she was able to manage enough that she would be able to keep up with him on the dance floor.

  “You’ll do splendidly.” He held her hands in his and gazed into her eyes as the waterfall splashed merrily beside them.

  “I hope so” she said earnestly. “I know it’s your favorite, and I want to do it justice. Maybe you should dance it with someone else, someone who won’t get all tripped up.”

  “No.” He brought his face close to hers. “I will dance it with you. I will dance all the dances with you.”

  “Is that allowed?” she responded breathlessly. “From what Elizabeth has been telling me it seems as if everyone is supposed to have a dance card and lots of partners.”

  “You will be my wife. It will be our wedding dance. Only I will dance with you, and only you will dance with me, and I dare anyone to complain about it.” He kissed her then, dance lessons be damned.

  ****

  Stolen minutes were few and too short, but Sam knew once the wedding came he would at least have the nights with her, there was that to look forward to. She got her first day dress from Mrs. Barnes and happily modeled it for him. She looked even more beautiful now that she wore a dress made especially for her, as opposed to one of Elizabeth’s cast offs. The wedding ball gown would be ready soon, but she insisted that he could not see it until the wedding day.

  The day before the wedding his father called him into the study and handed him a glass of whiskey.

  “Tomorrow is the big day.”

  “It is.” He settled into one of the red leather chairs. He had thought the day would never arrive, but it was less than twenty-four hours away now.

  “I must say, I think you’ve made a good choice.” His father sat in the chair next to him, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “The girl is a little unusual, but she’s delightful. She will make you a good wife.”

  “I know she will.” He took a sip of his whiskey. Why couldn’t he be looking forward to a peaceful lifetime ahead of him with Emily by his side. “You’ll take good care of her while I’m away?”

  “Of course.” His father put a reassuring hand on Sam’s knee. “You need not worry.”

  Sam knew Emily said she’d stay, but what if she got lonely and the draw of her own time was too much, should he warn his father that she might leave? But she said she wouldn’t. And if she wasn’t here there wasn’t much his father could do about it anyway. No, he’d leave things as they were.

  “The wedding night.” His father cleared his throat and continued, awkwardly. “You’ll be gentle with her?”

  “As much as possible,” Sam answered honestly and drank the rest of his whiskey.

  He didn’t know how much it would be possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emily

  Today was the day. Her wedding day. Emily stretched and opened her eyes, taking in the canopy and ewer and other old-fashioned touches in the room. Funny how the dance would be in the same place as Dayna’s wedding. Nothing about this day was what she had envisioned her own wedding to be like. She would not wear white. That wasn’t the norm now apparently. But she did have a gorgeous rose silk ballgown that would put any modern wedding gown to shame. Her parents wouldn’t be here. Her heart hurt a bit at that. She knew her mother would want to see her married, and her father wanted to walk her down the aisle and dance the father-daughter dance with her. He’d had a song picked out since she was five.

  She wasn’t going to Hawaii on her honeymoon. She wasn’t even having a honeymoon, not really. One week spent with her new husband in his parents’ house before he went off to war. The Civil
War. And wouldn’t return. What was she doing? Why was she setting herself up to be a young widow?

  Because she loved him.

  She barely knew him, it was true, but yet, she felt like she knew him better than anyone in the world.

  The door creaked open, and Beck entered with her morning tea tray.

  “It’s the big day.” Beck put the tray down and opened the drapes letting in the morning sunshine. “Are you ready?”

  “Is anyone ever ready?” She pushed back the coverlet and sat up.

  “Probably not.” Beck poured the tea into one of the porcelain cups.

  “I’m nervous.” She adjusted herself against the headboard. “I know I want to be with Sam, but he’s leaving for war and what if I’m making a mistake?”

  “You asking my opinion?” Beck stared at her, eyes wide.

  “Yeah.” Was that so strange? Maybe for Beck it was. “I mean, you kind of remind me of my best friend. Who I think is your great-something granddaughter. You don’t mind if I ask, do you?”

  Beck handed her the cup of hot tea.

  “Honestly, I do think it’s all kind of fast, but yet under the circumstances you can’t go slow. Does it feel right deep down in your gut?” Beck put a fist under her breasts to demonstrate what she meant. “That’s what my grandmother used to always say. If it felt right it was right. Your body knows.”

  “It feels right.” She took a sip of her tea, reassured. It definitely felt right.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.” She pulled the blue day dress out of the wardrobe and got the hoops and corset ready while Emily ate her bun.

  “You know what my friend Dayna’s wedding day was like?” She knew of course that Beck couldn’t possibly.

  “How was it?”

  Emily licked sugar off her fingers. “We all went to the beauty parlor to get our hair done starting way early in the morning, like eight.”

  “That’s not so early.” She held out the corset and Emily stood so the dressing could begin.

  “It was early to be getting my hair done.” She held out her arms as Beck settled the corset into place.