Deep in the woods, the lane was little more than a trace, but then the trees opened up and revealed what lay beyond. The scene appeared just as she had imagined—just as she had tried to prepare herself for.
Drawing rein, she stopped and stared for a time at the desolation of the old ground that had been debated and fought over by both armies during the conflict. Only the two stone chimneys remained of the once-glorious home built by her ancestors more than a century before. The tangle of vines and weeds that had pushed their way into every inch of the yard told the story of war and neglect and desertion.
Sarah continued to survey the old homestead, trying to assess the damage that had been done and what would be required to repair it. The picket fence around the yard was gone—used as firewood by invading soldiers most likely—but the iron gate still stood, rusty and stubborn, like a silent reminder of days gone by.
A ray of sunlight suddenly stabbed through and mingled with the mist, creating a picturesque vista despite the devastation. Sarah closed her eyes as the wafting fragrance of wild rose brought back a rush of sweet memories. She imagined the scene as it had once been, unchanged, as if time had hung motionless since the terrible conflict had begun.
But when she opened her eyes again she saw that time and war had not passed Waverly by at all. Raspberry bushes ran rampant as far as the eye could see and broken glass lay strewn like tiny prisms in the area where her flowers had once grown in rich profusion. Here and there a few blooms still flaunted their brilliant hues through the bramble, making a show of defiant splendor amid the destruction.
Sarah sat perfectly still, mesmerized. Spring had adorned the limbs of the surrounding trees in splendid robes of green, and the cheerful chirping of birds from their branches made it seem as if nothing in life had changed. Yet all had changed.
The peaceful, happy days she had spent at Waverly with the sound of laughter emanating from its rooms were gone forever. That life, one of family and home, warmth and comfort, was one apparently not destined for her.
Sarah had no other choice now but to make do with what she had and to trust in God to help her through the trying times ahead. She shrugged her shoulders and took a deep breath. The war and its turmoil had dominated her life for so long that they no longer had the power to bother her—or perhaps the taunting pain and deprivation were so common that she now accepted them as normal.
Sarah watched wisps of mist move and rise as the sun’s rays in the east became more pronounced. The eeriness of the scene brought to her mind other recollections of times past, and she had to suppress a shiver.
She could almost feel his presence here, could recall with startling clarity every detail of the first time she had gazed upon the stalwart figure in gray, the first riveting moment when their eyes had met. Her lips quivered as she thought of how he had ridden so brazenly into her yard…into her life.
The thoughts made her realize how perfectly natural it was for her to be here. The heart, after all, naturally clings to the spot where it awoke into being and yearns to return to where it spent the first days of a new and different life.
She shifted her gaze to the tree under which her brother now slept and to the bench where she had been sitting that delightful spring day. And then her eyes misted over at the thought of all that had transpired since. The tears and losses, the shattered homes and vanished dreams. In the last three years, she had lived a lifetime.
Sarah took a deep breath and dismounted. She honored him above all men for the resolution and strength of moral principle that sent her away, yet it made her own fate still harder to bear. Leading Chance around the metal gate, she paused when something caught her eye.
A figure, ghostlike as it moved through the mist, walked slowly toward the tree that had graced the once-velvet lawn. Sarah blinked, thinking she must be dreaming—or perhaps imagining something she wished to see. But the figure did not disappear as she expected it would. It knelt down near where her brother was buried and remained quietly still, apparently communing with the tree or the earth.
After a seemingly endless eternity, her heart began beating again.
Sarah walked slowly toward the image, expecting it to disappear into the mist. “General Benton?” She wasn’t sure she had said the name aloud, but the figure stood slowly and turned.
Sarah watched his chest rise and fall as his breathing became labored at the sight of her—but still he said not a word. Standing there with that pained look on his face, she read each line of doubt and regret, and then of courteous indifference. Yet, he stared and blinked as if expecting her image to shimmer and melt away, as she had thought his would. They gazed at each other without speaking until a flock of birds from above rushed in to fill the silence, breaking the spell.
“We meet again.” Sarah could barely draw breath, but managed to speak the words in a tone barely above a whisper. Her heart, which had earlier stopped beating altogether, now fluttered against her ribcage faster than possible to count the throbs.
“Yes, a coincidence that our paths should cross…here.” Benton lifted his gaze and, looking overcome and dazed, stared blankly over her shoulder. The expression he wore was grave, and his face appeared worn with fatigue.
Sarah had heard passing accounts of his hard fighting the last months of the war. The suffering he had endured and the great hardships he had confronted told plainly upon his furrowed brow and the deep crevices around his eyes.
Besieged by years of service, his brown and rugged face was now lined with the weight of responsibility and obligation. His ragged uniform, dirty as the ground and nearly the same color, hung much more loosely than it once had. Yet he still possessed an image of strength that compelled admiration.
This was a man whose boldness and fearlessness had won more battles than any weapon. Even to the end he had been restless and treacherous, always warring or preparing for war. Sarah could only wonder at his strength after all he’d been through.
“Perhaps not coincidence. Fate.” She looked him steadily in the eye. “The hand of God.”
A look of pain—not physical—crossed his face, but he mastered it quickly. “A strange God indeed that would torture me thus.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips more tightly as if he were enduring a sudden, unexpected hurt.
“Then why did you come?” Sarah’s voice sounded cold and angry even to her own ears. She had hoped he had been seeking her, but now she knew he had only come to say good-bye to the memories that remained at Waverly. How strangely fate had thrown them together again, and yet he remained determined to keep his distance.
Benton sighed heavily, and his brow creased with seriousness as he seemed to ponder her question. “I don’t know.” His gaze moved to the landscape behind her as if following a vapor trail of memories. He shrugged and shook his head again. “I don’t know.”
It appeared to Sarah he was trying to keep his expression impassive, but the throbbing nerve near his temple and the desire in his eyes, revealed more than his words implied.
After a moment’s pause, Benton finally returned her silent stare with a look that was steady and direct. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, Sarah. But never say I didn’t try to do the right thing for once.” His words were not spoken loudly, but still his voice cracked. “And never doubt it was killing me with every breath I drew.”
He turned away and his chest heaved as if his large heart was beating itself to pieces for the mistakes he’d made. How solemn and grand he appeared to her; how calm and holy. “And so you intend to leave.” She said the words unemotionally, as all hopes for a brighter future dried up and died in her embattled heart.
“I could not do otherwise and be truthful.” Although it was obvious he was hurting, he still exuded that cool, confident soldierly demeanor that she knew so well. He looked calmly over his shoulder at her. “I believe you know my reasons.”
Sarah knew what dictated his words, and it broke her heart. He believed if he failed in his promise to God, he would s
tain the honor he prized above all earthly treasures. That knowledge and her familiarity with his good character caused a surge of emotions to swell within her. Whether from exhaustion after the long, hard ride or the sight of her war-torn home, the feelings swept upon her like a violent wave and dropped her to her knees. She put her face in her hands and sobbed, unable to explain the pain that seemed determined to split her in two.
General Benton knelt down and took her in his arms, his somber eyes upon her. “Don’t do that, Sarah. Please. Don’t cry.”
For his sake, she quieted her choking sobs and allowed him to lift her back to her feet. “Don’t ever cry like that again,” he said, holding her against him. “Ever. For anything.”
Sarah felt a tremor run through him as he held her, and she almost cried anew at the thought of his tortured heart. When he grew silent, she lifted her head and saw that his gaze was curious and questioning as he observed her intently. Seeming to yield to impulse, he raised his hand to her cheek and touched away a tear. Again his hand trembled at the contact as if a great battle were taking place within him.
Studying the dampness on his finger for a moment, he raised his gaze once again to hers. “You are real then?” He stared at her still seeming to doubt his own eyes. “Not a ghost to haunt me? Not a dream?”
“I am flesh and blood,” she whispered, afraid of breaking the spell.
“Sometimes I thought I had really dreamed it all,” he said as if speaking to himself. His face was expressionless, but his voice trembled. “That you had never really come back from the dead.”
“Don’t you see?” Sarah looked up at him with imploring eyes. “God brought me back for a greater purpose. To be with you.”
He heaved a deep sigh and turned away again. ‘That is impossible, I’m afraid.” He shook his head and clenched his fists. “All I can ask for is a merciful judgment, because you will remember that my promise was made from no want of affection for you—but rather because there was no one whom I loved better.”
Sarah put her hand on his arm and spoke calmly and quietly. “General Benton, I know you promised God you would give up that which you loved more than anything at the time, and you did. But that thing was not me.”
He lifted his head and slowly turned around with an inquisitive look in his eyes.
“That which you loved above all else was yourself,” she said quietly. “You stand beside me now a humble man and a believer. You fulfilled your promise.”
Benton’s brown eyes remained locked hers, but still he did not speak. She could see he was thinking back to the days when he was flamboyant, self-righteous, and proud. It was hard to imagine those traits now in the vulnerable, virtuous man who stood before her.
“Noble you were, General Benton. And nobler you have become.” Sarah felt the breeze and the warm light, but otherwise, time stood still. “The ties that brought you back to Waverly are stronger than those of reasoning or logic. The same God to whom you offered your promise has heard my prayers to return you to me.”
Benton frowned, and his tired eyes looked like they had not seen laughter in years. “If only your words were a magic dust that could mend the broken pieces of time. If only it were that easy to undo that which was done in the past.” His cheeks seemed to have grown even paler, though his voice was still soft and betrayed no emotion.
“Everyone makes mistakes, General Benton,” Sarah said softly, but firmly. “Providence does not ask that you pay for them for the rest of your life.”
To that he was silent for a moment, but she thought she saw silent acceptance begin to gleam in his eyes.
“You remember then? All?”
“Perhaps not all, but enough.”
He swallowed hard, and appeared to be having trouble speaking. “And you believe you love me?”
Sarah grabbed his coat with both of her hands. “More than life, Doug. Do you not know? More than life.”
He heaved a sort of shuddering sigh and took her in his arms, tightening into a possessive hold that caused her to gasp. She felt the labor of his heart against hers, strong and rapid, a sign of the emotions that consumed him. Slowly he relaxed his embrace.
“You came into my life here.” He paused and looked up at the house and the grounds, and then lowered his gaze to hers. “And you never went away.” He put his hand on his heart. “Not from here anyway.” The depth of feelings seemed to give added eloquence to his words.
The soft light of morning spread, flowing over them and covering them both in its magnificent splendor. For a moment they parted, and simultaneously turned toward the spot where the house had once stood. To a passerby, the grounds appeared to be in shambles, but to them, there was still the grace and charm of the meadows surrounding it—and the memories that embodied it.
Sarah felt the rough texture of Benton’s hand as he clasped hers and held it by his side, just as the bright eye of the sun bore through the mists of the morning, revealing a strange and peaceful solitude that isolated them from the rest of the world. For a long moment he did not speak, as if savoring the sensation of her hand in his and the feelings it wrought.
“You asked me before why I came,” he said, still staring at the pile of debris that was Waverly. “I will tell you. I left my heart here…and I came to get it back.” He spoke with his usual well-mastered self-control, but she felt him trembling.
“Then you will have to stay.” Sarah spoke slowly and deliberately. “Because I intend to keep it.”
If Benton was surprised by the comment, he did not show it. He drew a deep breath, as if unsure of himself and his feelings. “There is no sacrifice I would not make for you, Sarah,” he said sorrowfully as the slightest trace of a tear ran down his manly cheek. “But I stand here a beggar, save for the sword I wore in defense of my country.”
“Riches matter little.” Sarah turned to the man whose noble, fearless, magnetic, character had captured her heart. “There are other things more treasured.”
For the first time, Benton’s lips curved into the semblance of a smile, as he seemed to sigh with a deep relief. “You told me once to measure time, if I must, in lessons learned—not in minutes or hours or years. Do you remember?”
Sarah nodded and lifted her gaze, soaking in the scene bathed now in dazzling light. She could envision the distant sun rising on her dew-sprinkled flowers in the garden and hear the birds in the sweet-scented morning air. She knew in her heart the walls of Waverly would indeed resound with laughter once again. General Benton must have been thinking about family and laughter as well.
“I’m sure you are anxious for news. I’ve received a message from Lucy.”
Sarah looked up at him with inquisitive—yet fearful—eyes.
“She is well and Jake is thriving.”
Sarah took a deep sigh of relief at the news. “And your men?” She looked straight up into his dark, magnetic eyes. “How did they fare?”
“Most have returned home to their loved ones.”
Sarah quaked at the word most. “Major Connelly?”
He smiled. “He is well. Reunited with his wife and making a new way—he paused for a moment—“as we all must do.”
Benton grew suddenly serous and gazed into her eyes with a new thoughtfulness and softness about his face. “I love you as never man loved a woman before.” He paused in an effort to control his trembling voice. “But I wonder if I can ever be worthy of you, Sarah Duvall.”
Sarah wrapped her arms around him and laid her head upon his heart, at home in the great strength that encircled her. She marveled at this man who had possessed such intrepid resolution and endurance during the war, and who stood before her now with such a tender and gentle soul.
“It is I who must wonder if I’m worthy of this great privilege.” She leaned back, holding his face in her hands as she gazed at him with an expression of pure devotion.
“And what privilege is that?” His brown eyes searched hers, full of adoration and affection.
“Falling in lov
e with the greatest man I have ever known.”
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Other books by Jessica James
HISTORICAL FICTION:
LION OF THE SOUTH
Noble Cause (Book 1 Heroes Through History)
(An alternative ending to Shades of Gray)
ABOVE AND BEYOND (Book 2 Heroes Through History)
LIBERTY AND DESTINY (Book 3 Heroes Through History)
SHADES OF GRAY
SUSPENSE:
DEADLINE (Book 1 Phantom Force Tactical)
FINE LINE (Book 2 Phantom Force Tactical)
FRONT LINE (Book 3 Phantom Force Tactical)
MEANT TO BE: A Novel of Honor and Duty
Above and Beyond Page 22