by Tara Johnson
Her breath rapid, she whispered, “Tie the nag to this tree for a minute. We can get her unhitched and settled in the barn in a bit.”
Before she could jump from the wagon, he gripped her elbow, making sure to keep his voice low. “What if your grandmother has visitors?”
“I’m in uniform, remember? And I don’t see any other wagons. She’s likely alone.”
He nodded and longed to squeeze her hand again as a flicker of trepidation skittered across her delicate features.
They walked side by side across the yard. The ground was spongy, evidence of a recent rain. The porch groaned beneath his weight as they approached the front door. With her eyes fixed ahead, Cassie wiped her hands down her trousers, inhaled a deep breath, and knocked. Silence. No footfalls. She grasped the handle and pushed the door open.
They stepped inside and he blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Most of the windows had been shuttered, but one glass window let in soothing, pale light. A hissing fire popped in the stone fireplace. A small woman with a head full of gray curls dozed in a rocker next to the fireplace, her lap covered with a rag quilt.
Cassie said nothing, but the trembling of her chin spoke volumes. She knelt down in front of the aged lady and placed a gentle hand on her covered knee. “Granny? Granny, it’s me.”
The old woman stirred and shifted, blinking slowly. Her gaze suddenly sharpened as she realized two strangers were in her home. “What are you—?” She trembled. “How did—?”
Cassie pulled the kepi from her head, and Gabe watched as silky strands of mahogany slipped down to her shoulders. Cupping the woman’s cheek, she leaned in and forced her grandmother to look her in the eyes. “It’s me, Granny. It’s Cassie.”
Recognition dawned just before the old woman’s face crumpled. She choked on a sob and wrapped Cassie in a white-knuckled hug. “Oh, my child! My beautiful Cassie! I was so afraid . . .”
Gabe watched in wonder as the sharpshooter of the Second Michigan Infantry, the courageous hero of war, laid her head on her grandmother’s shoulder and wept.
She was home.
With a smile she couldn’t stifle, Cassie carried the steaming bowl of creamed potatoes and platter of fried chicken to the table, adding more to the small feast she and Granny had prepared.
Chicken, potatoes, thick squares of corn bread with sweet, creamy butter, fried apples, and tea . . . all of them luxuries.
Gabe inhaled with appreciation. “A sight better than hardtack, beans, and coffee, I’d say.”
Cassie grabbed three cups from the shelf as he rose to assist Granny into her kitchen chair.
Granny smiled at him and pinched his cheek. “Can’t say I mind a looker helping me to my chair for a change.”
“Granny!” Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t repress the giggle that burst forth at the woman’s forward behavior. She’d never seen her so smitten with a man before.
Gabe winked, easily guiding her so she could settle into her seat with grace. “It’s my pleasure when the company is so lovely.”
Pink tinged Granny’s cheeks. Cassie shook her head and eased into her own chair. Granny Ardie. Blushing. Playing the coquette. And Gabe certainly didn’t seem to mind the adoration.
Granny extended her blue-veined hands, indicating she expected each of them to grasp on. “Shall we say grace?”
She slipped her hand into her grandmother’s but could not squelch the odd flip in her stomach when Gabe’s warm fingers wrapped around her own. Her hand suddenly seemed strangely small.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head as Granny’s gravelly voice lifted a soft, sweet petition.
“I thank thee, dear Lord, for this food, the abundance of provision, and especially for—” her voice caught before she cleared her throat—“bringing my precious Cassie back home, even if only for a short time. And I thank thee for her handsome friend gracing this humble table. May we always be thankful to thee. Amen.”
Cassie added her own amen that blended with Gabe’s as Granny released her. Gabe, however, hung on for a moment or two longer than necessary. Warmth crept up her neck.
She had just dipped her spoon into the potatoes when she felt Granny’s gaze on her. She looked up and drank in the utter love and wonder in her pale eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re here. How I’ve missed you. And a Union soldier? I—” Emotion overcame her, cutting off the soft words.
Cassie took her knobby hands and squeezed. “Not exactly what you pictured in my future, eh?”
She shook her graying head and patted Cassie’s hand before taking up her tine. “Not in the slightest. Though I worry for your safety, it’s a sight better than Erastus Leeds, is it not?”
Cassie chuckled and speared a chunk of fried chicken, popping it in her mouth with a sigh of pleasure. Delectable.
“Who is Erastus Leeds?” Gabe was studying her in confusion.
“The man Father was insistent I marry.” She turned to Granny. “Did he marry another? Please say it’s so.”
“No, child. He’s still alone on his farm. Well, nearly.” Granny suddenly clamped her mouth shut, her wise eyes flickering with something tumultuous.
“What is it?”
Brow furrowed, she shook her head. “It’s not for me to say.”
Cassie pushed her plate back and fixed Granny with a look she prayed would make her cave. “You’ve already aroused my suspicion. What do you mean he is ‘nearly’ alone?”
Granny took a deep breath.
“Constance Slattery visits him at least twice a week and always stays through the night.”
Heat crept up Cassie’s neck at the indelicate topic. She couldn’t repress the sarcasm from slipping through. “I take it he’s not missing me overly much, then.”
Granny sent her a reproving look. “We ought not take pleasure in his vice.”
“Sounds like you’re well rid of the man.”
Gabe’s soft observation caused her to glance over. His eyes were alight with a fierceness she had rarely witnessed in his jovial countenance.
“Indeed.” She poked at the fried apples and finally braved the question that she’d dreaded. “Was Father upset?”
“Upset is an understatement. He bellowed and stomped about like a penned bull for three weeks. I’ve never heard such yelling and cursing in all my days.”
Cassie cringed, her stomach in knots. Dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter, she sat back in her chair and toyed with the napkin on her lap. “Does he suspect where I went?”
“Not a clue. After he and Erastus came to blows over your absence—” Granny’s lips twisted in amusement—“he lit out to find you and drag you back home. He was gone a week but eventually gave up. Your sisters thought you had a beau and ran off to elope.”
“Sisters?” Gabe shot her a smile. “I’d forgotten you mentioned having sisters. How many?”
Granny answered. “Four.” She gazed for a long moment at Cassie. “One of them pops in to check on me each week. Imagine them catching you here. And dressed as a Union soldier.” The lines deepened around her eyes. “Are you planning to wear your uniform the entire time?”
Cassie sighed and worried the edge of her fraying blue cuff between her fingers. “I was hoping to be rid of this while we were here. It’s filthy and needs a good scrubbing.” She managed to stem the tears pricking her eyes. “And for a week, I’d like to be Cassie Kendrick . . . not Thomas Turner.”
Granny reached over and cupped her cheek. “Of course, love. You can bathe and wear one of your old dresses you kept here for overnight visits. We’ll wash this dandy uniform tomorrow and put it out of sight for a week.”
“What if one of my sisters calls?”
Granny cackled. “Then I suppose you and Gabe will have to hide in the cellar.”
Gabe put down his cup and winked in a manner that caused Cassie’s toes to curl in her tattered boots. “And if we see her sisters or Mr. Kendrick, we’ve already concocted a plan.” He swun
g his gaze to Cassie, his expression communicating more than the words he uttered. Or was it only Cassie’s imagination? “If her father appears, I will claim the role of new husband to your granddaughter.”
Granny giggled like a little girl and resumed eating. “I doubt you’ll have to worry about John stopping in anytime soon. He hasn’t come since—” All at once, Granny paled and grew silent.
Dread pooled in Cassie’s middle. “Since what?”
Granny dropped her fork and wove her fingers together, her face drawn. “Not since your mother passed away.”
Something cold and dark squeezed around Cassie’s heart. She couldn’t breathe. “How?” Had she done this to her? Had the shock of her departure sparked a fire of problems that consumed her poor, weary mother? Or perhaps Father, in his rage—
“She died of pneumonia, child.” Granny wiped away a stray tear. “It happened suddenly. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”
Her throat burned. She stood on shaking legs and mumbled an apology. “Pardon me for a moment.”
Tears blurred her vision as she fled, bursting through the back door and into the bleak cold of night.
Chapter 19
GABE SLIPPED OUTSIDE AND DONNED HIS COAT, searching for signs of Cassie. As he turned the corner of the cabin, he heard soft sniffling in the darkness.
“Cassie?”
The sniffling ceased, and he could picture her hastily wiping away the tears. Always so desperate to keep herself and her thoughts hidden.
He walked toward the edge of the dying garden. Honeyed light spilled from the cabin windows and illuminated a square of churned earth. Cassie stood just beyond the patch of light, leaning against a gnarled tree. He came close but did not touch her. She merely needed to know he was there. That he cared.
Long moments ticked by.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
Silence. Then another strangled sob. He stepped forward and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She burrowed against his chest and clung to him as she wept.
“Shh.” He laid his head on hers and rubbed her back as she cried. Had he ever seen her this vulnerable? This undone? Not even her confession at the creek had unleashed this kind of unchecked emotion in her. She kept everything inside . . . until now.
Somehow, just holding her while she cried made him feel as if she trusted him more than anyone else in the world.
“I know. It hurts.”
She shuddered against his chest, her voice muffled. “What if my absence contributed to her death? Father is always gone, leaving us the brunt of the farmwork. Until I ran, I was the one who shouldered the majority of it. What if she couldn’t bear up under the load? What if it weakened her?”
He sighed and kept stroking her slim back. “You’re borrowing trouble, Cass. You don’t know anything like that happened. She contracted pneumonia. It wasn’t your fault.”
Her sobs trailed off into silence, broken only by the slightest hitch of breath and the occasional shudder racking her body. She pulled away, wiped her eyes, and stepped from his embrace. He felt the loss of her warmth as cold air rushed in to replace her.
“Forgive me for bawling all over you so.”
Why did she continually act like she didn’t feel? Like she had no emotions? Perhaps she had been hurt so many times, it was easier to bury them than express them.
“No need to apologize.”
With a deep breath, she lifted her face to the sky to take in the countless stars strewn across the darkness. She looked as if she wanted to say something more but dropped her head and walked away, murmuring over her shoulder. “I should get back to help Granny clean up.”
She had nearly rounded the corner before he called out, unable to squelch the thought that formed. “It’s not weakness to cry, you know.”
She stopped and turned, lifting her gaze to meet his with painful slowness. Her chest heaved ever so slightly. “It is in my father’s eyes.”
And then she was gone.
Light invaded her senses, jabbing mercilessly at her eyes. She blinked and nearly jolted at the sight of the chinked log wall. She eased up on one elbow, squinting against the bright sunlight that streamed through the glass window. With a sigh of pleasure, she snuggled deeper underneath the patchwork quilt and wiggled against the straw-tick mattress. Surely heaven couldn’t be any better.
She stretched, relishing the delicious warmth and softness that molded to her curves. A floral fragrance drifted through the air, a reminder that she had enjoyed a hot, steaming bath in the big copper tub the night before. Her hair still carried the scent of the lavender soap Granny had shaved into the water. The cotton nightdress was blessedly light as it curled around her legs. The thought of donning trousers again nearly made her weep.
She ran her fingers through her hair, enjoying the feel of it hanging loose against her shoulders. Sighing, she sat up and gazed out the window at the sunlit autumn morning. She would cut it before they left, but there was no harm in enjoying it a bit longer for the next few days, was there?
The small joy evaporated as last night’s revelation drifted in like a cloud and snuffed out her cheerful mood.
Mother was dead, and Cassie was to blame.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she nearly yelped when her bare feet slapped the cold wooden floor. The shock almost made her crawl back under the covers. She pushed away the heaviness shrouding her heart and forced herself to rise. She didn’t want to miss a moment with Granny. The time would pass too quickly as it was. Moving to the old wardrobe against the wall, she opened the door with a soft squeak, eyeing the simple frocks hanging inside.
At least she could be Cassie Kendrick for today.
Gabe shoved the last chunk of wood into the kitchen stove, his skin tingling with the warmth shimmering from the oven.
“What smells so wonderful?”
Granny Ardie wiped her gnarled hands against her apron. “Cinnamon twists.”
He placed his hand over his heart with a melodramatic flourish. “I do believe you’ve won my heart, dear lady.”
Granny swatted the air between them with a cheesecloth. “Behave yourself, Mr. Avery. You can’t go on teasing an old lady like that.”
Laughing, he walked to the washbasin and splashed water over his dirty hands. Granny Ardie was a gem. No wonder Cassie adored her so.
Granny peered into the oven and shook her head. “Not done yet.” She closed the oven door, wincing as she straightened. “My back doesn’t cooperate like it once did.” She shuffled to the table and sat down with a groan, gesturing to the coffee in waiting cups. “Please, visit with an old woman while we wait for Cassie and our breakfast.”
“Happy to oblige.” He eased into his chair and inhaled the aroma of the black brew curling in wisps from the cup. Taking a sip, he sighed in pleasure. Coffee. Real coffee. No chicory to be found.
A sweet smile wreathed her face as she looked at him over the rim of her cup. Her eyes were so blue . . . so much like Cassie’s. Ardie must have been a beauty when she was younger. Even now with her aged lines, she exuded a sweet spirit. A gentle grace that was subtle yet striking all the same. Like a daisy in a field of prairie grass.
“I am so delighted you’ve accompanied my Cassie, but I’m afraid we never got to visit properly last evening. Are you a soldier as well?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not as brave as your granddaughter. I’m a photographer.”
“Fancy that! I’ve read daguerreotype is complicated.”
“It can be. The new photographic processes are even more so, especially when cannonballs are flying overhead.”
Cringing, she sipped. “No doubt.” A small smile played around her lips. “Which would make you just as brave as our soldiers, to my way of thinking.”
He shook his head, uneasy with the comparison. “My own feeble attempts at courage have more to do with trying to please my employer than any noble cause, I’m afraid. The soldiers are heroes of the highest degre
e.”
“And who is your employer?”
“Mathew Brady.”
Her white brows rose. “I’ve heard of him. Impressive.”
“I still can’t believe he was willing to give me a chance. My own images could never compare with his.”
“He must have seen something in you. Some untapped potential.” She leaned forward. “As do I.”
Before he could question her further, the sound of rustling skirts caught his attention. He whirled around to greet Cassie as she entered the kitchen, but his words caught in his throat.
She stood on the threshold of the kitchen, wearing a pale-lavender gown patterned with tiny sprigs of flowers. Though the style was simple, the bodice conformed perfectly to her small waist and feminine curves.
Her dark hair had been washed clean, hanging in glossy waves to her slender shoulders. She had found two simple hairpins and tucked the sides away from her face, leaving the rest of her thick locks hanging free. A soft blush tinged the apples of her cheeks, even as those brilliant-blue eyes shimmered with an unspoken melancholy.
She was breathtaking.
His pulse galloped wildly, though he didn’t know why. This was Cassie. Thomas Turner. His friend. But somehow . . . not.
She stooped to plant a kiss on Granny’s upturned cheek. “Good morning!”
Her voice was soothing, like the gentle cadence of a creek, but he could do little more than mumble in response. He felt odd. Strangely aware of her presence. What was wrong with him?
Granny stroked her cheek. “Good morning, Cassie, love. Did you rest well?”
“Even with the news of Mother—” she hesitated a moment, face flickering with a shard of pain before she locked it away—“I slept better than I have in ages. Truth be told, I wish I were still tucked into my bed.”
An image of her lying across a bed, her dark hair curling against the pillow, slammed into Gabe so hard, he choked on his coffee. Coughing, he winced when she pounded him on the back like he was little Jonah when he crammed too much jerky in his mouth.