Above and Beyond

by Jessica James

  Although she had been told it was he who ensured her every need was met, his manner conveyed only courtesy, never the tenderness that others expressed. He did not seem to try to avoid her, yet neither did he go out of his way to seek her out.

  In fact, he generally presented an impenetrable cold shoulder whenever they chanced to meet. If he happened to come upon her in the house, he passed her only with that token of recognition that is required, never the type of friendliness that is voluntarily bestowed. His distant manner only made Sarah’s curiosity about him grow over the weeks until he had become a wonderful, irresistible mystery. Even though he treated her distantly and visited her not at all, she had begun to imagine that there was more to the man than his withdrawn attitude revealed.

  Sarah thought back to the event of a week ago when a number of soldiers and women from the community had been gathered on the yard frolicking. It had been an unusually warm day for the season, and one of the women had suggested it would be nice to have a swing.

  Within minutes, one of the men had produced a piece of wood, and another, a length of rope. Along with the others, she had watched as the rope was thrown high over an upper limb. From the corner of her eye, she remembered seeing Colonel Benton hand his glass to someone and stride hurriedly toward her. She continued to stare at the tree limb, mesmerized and rapt, when she felt his hand on her elbow.

  “Come away, Sarah,” he had said in a gentle, low tone. “Follow me.”

  Sarah tried to turn, to follow his calming voice, but suddenly her vision began to distort. A loud roaring had commenced to take the place of the laughter in her ears, and her body had felt strangely out of control.

  Slowly, as if in slow motion, she had started to fall, only to be swept up effortlessly in solid, powerful arms. His strength had been immense yet comforting, and she felt herself being carried away with a sense of ease and security.

  She had wanted to say, “Thank you, Colonel Benton,” but somehow it had come out as “Doug,” and just as the roiling fog that had been floating above her descended fully, she heard a woman yell, “Give me a rope if that is what it takes to gain the colonel’s attention. I shall hang myself to the highest tree!” And then she had heard no more.

  * * *

  The next thing Sarah remembered was awakening slowly, listening to the sound of the house before actually opening her eyes. She heard Mrs. Ramsey and the doctor conferring together in low voices, and the sound of something else. A constant, vexing clink, clink, clink.

  Opening her eyes, she saw the two speakers come slowly into focus, then, more slowly, the source of the other noise. Colonel Benton could be seen through the window pacing restlessly on the porch in his noisy cavalry boots and spurs. Yet as soon as he had been assured she was awake and resting, he had departed without a word to her, leaving her feeling more unsure and confused than before.

  Besides that almost-dreamlike recollection, Sarah had other visions that came frequently and without mercy, independent of any real memory she could recall. When she was awake, she could not escape thoughts of him. When she slept, he intruded upon her dreams. In her mind, he had taken on the image of a chivalrous knight, whose devotion to her she felt rather than remembered, and wished for rather than experienced.

  As the weeks progressed, Sarah grew stronger, and began challenging herself to talk to the men of the camp even if she did not remember their names or faces. Major Connelly soon became one of her strongest allies. With his warm, easy smile and patient tutoring, he repeated names and told stories about the command and its members that helped her associate faces with names.

  “The men seem to admire their commander very much,” Sarah commented one day, as they walked the grounds.

  “There is no more noble man on or off the battlefield,” Connelly replied, following her gaze toward Benton as he walked along the riverbank in deep conversation with another officer.

  “Is he shy around women?”

  Major Connelly laughed aloud until he saw the look in her innocent, upturned face and stopped himself abruptly by pretending to cough. “No, not particularly.”

  “Then I wonder if I have offended him.” Sarah did not mean to say the words out loud, but when she did she quickly looked up at Connelly. “I mean, he seems to wish to keep his distance.”

  “He is a busy man, Sarah.” He gazed at her with what appeared to be a look of concern and sympathy. “With many duties and responsibilities.”

  She forced a smile. “Of course. It’s silly of me to seek his attention. It’s just that…”

  Connelly looked at her closely. “Do you remember something?”

  She gazed at him and then over his shoulder. “Sometimes I see images. But they fly by so swiftly and seem so vague, they scarcely seem real.”

  “You remember nothing about Colonel Benton?”

  “No.” She shook her head, dismayed at herself that she did not. “But I feel it.” She put her hand on her heart and looked at him with woeful eyes. “Deep.”

  Connelly took her arm and led her away from some other soldiers standing nearby. “You must not try so hard to remember,” he said, seeming to fear what it would do to her fragile mind if she did. “It’s important for you to look forward, not back.”

  Sarah blinked back tears that rose unbidden to her eyes. “But why? Did I do something to him?” She searched his eyes as if they held all the answers.

  “Sarah,” he started, then stopped and cleared his throat and stared at his boots a moment. “This is much more complicated than I can possibly…I mean…” Again he stopped. “I wish you would discuss this with the colonel.”

  Sarah sighed deeply, almost as if she were in physical pain, and then nodded. “Yes, of course, Major. It was very inconsiderate to have asked you.” She picked up her skirts and turned away, but not before he had a chance to see the tears she had been unsuccessful in restraining.

  “Sarah”—he caught her by the arm—“Sarah, you must understand that Doug…I mean, Colonel Benton…he feels somewhat responsible for your…It’s just that he blames himself for the…He does not wish to—”

  Sarah put her hand on his arm and forced a smile as she managed to rally her emotions. “I understand, Major…it is complicated.” She gave him a nod and a teary smile and turned toward the house.

  “He regards you highly,” Connelly said, in desperation to her back, but she did not stop walking. “Above all others, I believe,” he added. But she had already disappeared through the door.

  * * *

  Major Connelly searched for Benton, and finally found him talking to one of the scouts that had just come in. From a distance it appeared that Benton was back to his old self—yet Connelly knew he was not the same man at all.

  One had only to spend a few moments in his company to see that all traces of arrogance and vainness had disappeared from his character. He was amiable still, could briefly flash his charming smile, but he was different. And though he made an obvious attempt to avoid Sarah, the strong attraction he felt for her was always apparent in his lingering gaze.

  Recalling his conversation with Sarah, Connelly could feel his anger building as he strode toward Benton, and it was evident in his tone of voice when he reached the colonel. With little sign of official military order, Connelly grabbed Benton by the arm and pulled him aside. “Sir, I need to have a word.” He did not give the colonel time to speak. “You’ve got to tell her how you feel.”

  Although he mentioned no name, the topic was apparently not far astray from Benton’s own mind. He pressed his lips more tightly as if enduring some secret torture. “You presume to know how I feel?”

  “I know how she feels and that you are the only one that can help her.”

  “I am not worthy of her.”

  “No one is worthy of her.” Connelly took a deep breath to regain his composure and led Benton into the seclusion of some trees. “There is not a person in this region more honored than she. You could show her some consideration.” He pause
d and stared intently into Benton’s eyes. “She has a reliance on you, an attachment to you. She feels it, though she doesn’t understand it.”

  “I want her to forget me—”

  “Forget you? She believes you despise her. Why must you treat her like this?

  “I need to suffer as she suffered. I need to sacrifice as she sacrificed.”

  “But she is still suffering.” Connelly threw his hands in the air. “You have been given the luxury few men get—a second chance. And you have somehow managed to mangle it worse than the first.”

  “Again you make presumptions,” Benton said quietly. “You presume I did not already know that.”

  “Why can’t you just tell her how you feel?”

  Benton shrugged and stared into nothing. “I want to do this the right way.”

  “There’s no right way to do the wrong thing.” Connelly realized how loud his voice had become and spoke the next sentence in a mere whisper. “She does not want your pity. It’s your affection she seeks.”

  Benton appeared detached and unmoved as he looked straight into his friend’s eyes. “I killed the first Sarah Duvall,” he said in a low, steady tone. “I intend to stay away from this one and do her no harm.”

  When Benton started to walk away, Connelly noticed he no longer moved like a warrior, but a man carrying a great weight upon his shoulders. Connelly grabbed his arm to stop him. “They are one and the same. Sarah Duvall did not die.”

  Benton stared at him with a look that was intense and grave. “She is different now. No one can deny it.” He lifted his gaze and stared into the distance. “I may as well have put that rope around her neck myself.”

  Connelly took a step closer and gritted his teeth as he spoke. “Do you believe God gave her back to us so you could torture her with your indifference?”

  “God gave her to the world—certainly not to me.”

  “But she does not blame you. No one blames you.”

  Benton looked at him hard and forced a laugh. “You are quite wrong on that account, Major.” He turned and spoke over his shoulder as he continued to walk away. “I blame me.”

  Chapter 26

  In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.

  —Proverbs 3:6

  Dark clouds amassed overhead as the light of late afternoon began to cast long shadows on the yard. Sarah saw the dim light of a lantern burning in the outbuilding Colonel Benton used as an office, and decided to take Major Connelly’s advice to talk to him herself.

  A well-known scent greeted her as she stood in the threshold of the door, but it took a moment to recognize that it was the faint aroma of cigar smoke. Gazing contemplatively at the lone occupant in the room, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before entering.

  Colonel Benton looked completely unpretentious with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up over his massive forearms, wearing a look of intense concentration upon his face as he leaned over paperwork. The sight of his manly form drove the blood from her heart.

  “Colonel Benton?”

  Benton came slowly to his feet as his eyes took her in, but he made no real gesture of greeting. He seemed grim and detached, and for an instant Sarah wondered if he even saw or, if seeing, recognized her. His manner appeared so imposingly serious and daunting that his very presence made her cheeks warm and caused her heart to race.

  “Colonel, might I have a moment of your time?”

  He motioned her in—again with no words—and then turned around to move his coat from the chair on which it lay. “Very nice to see you.” He said words with his back to her, and they came out in a cold, raspy tone.

  “Colonel Benton, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Sarah held her hands at her side, clasping a handful of skirt with each to keep them from shaking. “But there are some things I don’t understand. You will pardon me if I ask a personal question?”

  Benton faced her, but his gaze was fixed on something over her shoulder, and his jaw appeared set and tense. Sarah waited for him to say something, but he did not move or even look at her. He appeared stiff and uncomfortable, and his cold, distant expression told her nothing of what she wanted to know.

  She looked down nervously at her hands, almost losing her nerve. “May I speak freely?” She uttered the words in a low, barely controlled voice, no longer sure if she should have come.

  Benton glanced down at her and then shifted his gaze to the last rays of daylight thrusting themselves through the windows. “I am not afraid of frankness.”

  “No, I did not think you would be.” Sarah suddenly felt suffocated. He seemed to fill the room to capacity with his mere presence, and his remote behavior almost drove her to speechlessness. Thinking about how foolish she would look simply running from the room, she swallowed hard and began. “One of the men insinuated that you once admired me greatly. Yet…” She took a deep breath in order to get through the sentence. “I see no evidence of that sentiment now.”

  A look that appeared to be pain crossed Benton’s face. He motioned for her to take a seat, never relaxing his distant manner. “My feelings are unchanged on the subject, if that is what you are asking.”

  His tone was impassive as he reached for a cigar, but she thought she saw his solemn eyes flicker with emotion as he spoke. Sarah sat down in front of his desk and stared thoughtfully into the flame of a lantern as Benton lowered himself into his chair across from her. “It makes me wonder if I returned the sentiment.”

  The colonel seemed to contemplate the answer as he lit a match and waved it front of the cigar. “You rarely gave me an indication of what you were thinking.” He stared thoughtfully at the glowing end a moment. “But if I were to guess, I would say you thought me arrogant and frivolous and overbearing.”

  She let her gaze drift up to meet his. “And was the opinion justified?”

  He shifted his focus to the wall. “Most would say so.”

  “Yet, again, I see no evidence of those traits now,” she said musingly, staring over his shoulder.

  “I am a changed man.”

  The serious tone of his voice drove her gaze back to him. “How so?”

  Benton stood and strode to the fireplace, putting his hand on the mantle as he stared at the flame thoughtfully. “I have learned what is important and what is not.”

  He seemed uncomfortable, yet it appeared that he answered the question sincerely. Sarah nodded as if she understood. “Likewise, I am a changed woman,” she said sadly, “perhaps far astray from the one you once admired.”

  “No, not far at all.” Benton turned around, yet still regarded her with detached and indifferent eyes. “And growing more similar every day.”

  Now it was Sarah’s turn to stare blankly at the wall. “Yes, every day I grow stronger.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yet this impenetrable wall remains ever around me. I have no past. No future. Only the present.”

  Perhaps Benton saw her eyes glistening unnaturally in the glow of firelight, because his voice suddenly softened. “Pray do not take my indifference toward you as unconcern,” he said. “I just wish to spare you from—“

  “From what?” She stared with sad eyes at his face wrought with emotion. He looked so weary and worn, yet, as always, he conveyed the calm dignity of a soldier.

  Instead of answering right away, he walked to the window, drawing aside the curtain for a moment to gaze at the darkness that now pressed its face against the glass. “Whatever else my faults may be, I do not wish to misinterpret or misrepresent that which has occurred in the past.”

  Sarah was silent as she absorbed his last comment. “You wish me to remember on my own, with no influence from you?” She said the words thoughtfully. “At the risk of thinking ill of you?”

  “What you will think of me when your memory returns is not for me to say.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her, his dark eyes penetrating but sad. “I regret to say that whatever it is, it will no doubt be justified. I apologize in advance. My f
aults were unknown to me then.”

  Sarah put her hand to her temple as if by doing so she could straighten out her thoughts. “You said before I thought you arrogant and overbearing, yet you did not answer my question. Did I return any sentiment you had for me?”

  Benton’s answer came in an instant. “You risked your life on behalf of me and my men.” He kept his back to her as he brought the cigar to his lips, apparently so she would not see his shaking hand. “Yet you never offered me any convincing proof to support my hopes.”

  “I see.” Sarah bit her lip as she contemplated whether or not she should ask the one question that she most wished to know. She looked up at him and took a deep breath. “It’s just that I wondered whether you ever thought of me—or wished to be with me—in whatever capacity we shared.”

  Benton’s jaw noticeably tightened, but he stood stalwart and stoical, like a captain on a roiling sea. “The desire was there,” he said in a cracking voice. “The opportunity was not.” A long silence commenced until he turned his head slightly toward her in an effort, it appeared, to try to change the subject. “Are they taking good care of you?”

  Sarah thought she saw a hint of warmth in his eyes for the first time, and it almost robbed her of breath. “A queen would envy my situation. Thank you, Colonel.”

  He merely nodded politely over his shoulder as he continued his watch out the window. “I am happy to be entrusted with the charge.” Then his tone changed as he abruptly ended the conversation. “I hope my answers have been helpful.”

  Sarah gazed at his broad back, wishing she knew how to cut through the barrier he held between them. “Yes, sir. Most helpful.”

  She started for the door, but paused for a moment when she passed by him and touched his arm lightly. “I believe you are an honorable man, Colonel,” she said. “And you have made at least one thing perfectly clear.”