Something flickered in the woman’s eyes and suspended them in time as they assessed each other. Too late, Theo realized that his deep drawl had lent itself to that knowing spark in Rose’s eyes.
“Well, my name is Rose Selingrove, and you’re welcome to have some supper with Ellie and me. You have a place around here?”
A direct question. He cast about for a way to answer that would not raise more questions. “Yes, in Ellie’s cellar,” was out of the question. Yet he could not truthfully say he had a place in town, which also troubled him because to say less than that would surely raise more questions and perhaps get her suspicions aroused. He shrugged. “I manage fine.”
“Which probably means you don’t eat very well. Men don’t often eat well unless they have a woman to cook for them.” She pressed a hand against her rounded belly.
“No ma’am, I guess we don’t.” There he went again, answering with the drawl that would peg him as Southern. He swallowed, hoping the woman might not have noticed.
Rose’s smile was soft, and she took a step closer to him and stared him straight in the eyes. “With that heavy Southern accent, you’re better off staying quiet. If people hear you talking like that, you just might find yourself facing a firing squad.” Without missing a beat, she pointed at a row of the garden. “This row needs a smattering of hay to insulate it against the cold.”
And with not another word, she spun on her heel and marched back to the house. A collision of dread roiled his stomach, mixed with a healthy dose of respect for the woman’s verve. That she hadn’t reacted with horror and hysterics over the realization that he was a Southerner gave him courage. Perhaps she would be a woman he could trust. If she ran slaves, as Ellie did, wouldn’t that mean she would be sympathetic by nature? And might not some of that sympathy be reserved for men like him? Even if the enemy?
She was his enemy as well, he sought to remind himself. Harboring slaves, the rightful property of their owners. He could not believe his cousin’s wife would be engaged in such a practice, but what did he really expect? The North was staunch in its support of freedom for slaves, despite the expense the Southern plantation holders paid to purchase the blacks as workers.
Theo picked up a handful of straw and let it fall through his fingers. It twisted and spun its way to the ground, insulating the row as Rose had requested. He just hoped it was enough, though he was certain she would let him know if it wasn’t. In the South, no one had to insulate anything against the cold. Though he’d become used to the cooler temperatures in the four months since his desertion, the winds stung him the deepest. Harsh and icy cold, they had left him a shivering mass on many nights during his journey north. But it had been a small price to pay to be free of the war. Or as free as he could be as a deserter.
He frowned down at the row of straw he had placed. Deserter seemed such an unkind word, the punishment for deserting so harsh in light of the horrors each man was made to suffer and endure. His familiar nightmares tried to niggle at him. If only he could sleep through one night without tasting the terror anew, or hearing the screams. . . .
Theo pivoted, his heel grinding into the soft dirt. He stooped to collect the tools, determined not to let the horrors of it all destroy what he had at this moment. A trembling began along his arms and into his hands. He leaned the tools against the wall of the barn and stared at his shaking, sweaty palms.
He tried to think of the list Ellie had given him, anything to block the tormenting images. Lord, please help me. He took a deep breath, then another, forcing his mind to the horses and the pleasure of riding one over the fields and down the roads. . . .
His hands stilled, and when he shut the door to the shed, he realized the sun skimmed the horizon in the west. He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. It smelled of rain and something frying, and he guessed supper must not be far off. He wasn’t sure if he should return to the cellar or knock on Rose’s door. Rose.
He needed to talk to Ellie. Tell of his meeting with Rose. If Ellie deemed her friend trustworthy, he would be safe. If not. . .
He didn’t want to consider it.
eight
Ellie thought fear must smell much like the long, narrow room on the other side of the stone wall in the cellar. As those people given into her care left the small enclosure, it seemed the odor clung to them as it had all the room’s previous occupants. She hated that they had to live like this. To hide and endure the stress of being found out or of putting those who cared for them into danger.
Ellie figured it must be early evening. Her stomach twisted with hunger and she realized, too late, that her ham and cheese sandwich had gone untouched. At least by her. If Rose asked her about lunch she would have to change the subject quickly to avoid telling a lie.
She put a hand to her back and bent backward to ease the ache lodged tight against her spine. In short order, she had gathered all the things she’d brought down to the cellar and emptied the buckets of the dirty water.
She needed to settle Theo into a comfortable corner of the barn. Tonight would be as good a time as any to move him there. He could not hunker in her cellar. Should Rose get brave enough to negotiate the steps, she would wonder why the stranger stayed hunkered in a dark, damp cellar. She would then be forced to tell her friend all about Theo’s background, a risk she really didn’t want to take.
She worried over the idea as she gathered her skirts and peeked out through the hole and toward the cellar doors. No one was there. She sat and slid her left foot out first, searching with her toes for the floor of the landing before she shifted her weight, ducked her head, and pulled out of the hole. Before her toes could find the solid promise of the dirt floor, she felt a hand on her arm and gasped.
“You really should come out headfirst. It’s dangerous to do it this way. Anyone could sneak up on you.”
Ellie pulled her leg back up, embarrassed at exposing the naked length. She pulled herself upright and into the secret room. Theo’s head popped through the opening, his grin bringing a rush of heat to her face. “Wh–where did you come from?”
“Right there.” He pointed to the inner room of the cellar.
“A gentleman would never have spied on me.”
His grin only widened. “Wasn’t spying. I thought it best to show you the danger.” His head disappeared. “I’ll turn my back.”
She heard the amusement in his voice and it nettled her. She had known her exit was not the best way, but it was the only way she could think of, and now she had this smirking Rebel exposing her fear and ogling what she never intended to be ogled.
She knelt and stared out the hole. True to his word, he stood with his back to her. As quick as she could, she went through the hole.
“You finished? I’m getting hungry, and the smell coming from Rose’s house is tantalizing.”
He faced Ellie as the words spilled over her, stilling the beat of her heart. He must have read the startled question in her eyes.
“She came out and introduced herself. I’m invited to eat with the family.”
“Rose?”
“Her, too.”
“No. I mean Rose invited you. . . .” She was babbling and she knew it. She drew air into her lungs and tried to settle herself. “She came out and saw you?”
“Recognized my accent, too.”
Ellie berated herself for that. Why hadn’t she considered that his accent would be a sure giveaway? She pursed her lips and met his gaze. Why, for that matter, hadn’t he realized the danger of talking in front of enemies? It was his hide after all.
But she must remember how much Theo meant to Martin. The two had grown up together, until his uncle had bought a small farm in the South and moved his family. She still remembered Martin’s immense satisfaction when Theo had written to say he would be traveling north to attend their wedding. While she had her head wrapped around last-minute details, Theo had spirited away Martin.
“Don’t you realize how dangerous it is for people to know you’re
from the South?”
He shrugged.
She folded her arms. “You want me to risk my life hiding you, yet you’re not caring one wit to help conceal the fact that you’re a deserter from the South?”
He frowned. “I do care. I just don’t know how to talk any other way.”
True enough. What could she expect? His years in the South had erased whatever Northern accent he’d had as a youth. “Can’t you try?”
“I could try.”
There now. His words held as much Northern-ness as hers. She relaxed, the tension in her shoulders melting away. “Say something else.”
“You’re looking quite lovely this evening, ma’am.”
His thick Southern accent caressed every syllable, and the twinkle in his eyes baited her to protest. “You’re insufferable.”
“No, Martin was insufferable. I’m charming.”
Hearing Martin’s name crushed the lighthearted moment. She ran her finger over her face to find a stray hair that tickled at her cheek, groping for something to say. “I’m moving you into the toolshed.”
“The barn?”
She glared up at him. Why was he being so difficult? “Barn, toolshed, whatever you want to call it.”
“The garden work will be done tomorrow. I hope you have a list of other things that need tending, else it’s going to look mighty suspicious my being out there with a hoe when there’s snow on the ground.”
“I gave you a list earlier.”
He shrugged. “Can’t remember half of what you said.”
She huffed. “I’ll write it down tonight.”
His eyes twinkled. “Good. Now let’s go eat. It smells like fried chicken.”
❧
If he’d hoped to bring some humor back to the conversation, he failed abysmally. It had been the mention of Martin that had sparked the remoteness in her. He must remember that she was a grieving widow, touched by the war in a way that could never be recompensed.
Though she had mentioned the need to finish up, she remained stock still, her eyes on some distant point that would remain forever a blur to him unless he asked.
He wondered what she would do if he went to his satchel and removed all the things Martin had given to him. How his death must be shattering her. Every day a new crack and another chunk of her spirit broke off, never to be restored. She would hold the things he gave her as precious and dear. . .as she should.
His mind calculated the number of steps it would take for him to reach his pack and retrieve his secrets to share with her. He swallowed. Perhaps it was time. “Ellie.”
Her gaze flickered to him, waiting, expectant.
The longing to take the shadows from those eyes pinched at him. He pressed his lips together and held up a finger to indicate that she should give him a minute. But as Theo crossed to his small bag and knelt before it, he realized the danger this revelation would bring to him. Should she demand answers from the Union army, they would in turn want to know where and by whom she had acquired the information.
From a deserter.
A Southern deserter.
His hand closed over the packet of letters.
Behind him, he heard Ellie gasp. He turned as he rose to his feet, surprised to see her disappearing around the corner. “I’m here, Rose.”
Theo half turned and toed his sack behind a barrel of potatoes. He reviewed what he could say to account for his presence in the cellar with a grieving widow woman.
Ellie darted back into the room, cheeks flushed. “I think Rose’s labor has begun. I’m going to check. You stay here and finish the cleaning.”
nine
Ellie found Rose in the middle of the porch, face ashen, her hand pressed against her protruding stomach.
“It woke me up.”
Ellie nodded. “How long have you had pain?”
“I was frying chicken and thought it was because I’d been on my feet for too long. I lay down and must have fallen asleep.”
She wheeled her friend around as gently as possible and guided her into the house. “Let’s get you settled, and I’ll go fetch the doctor.”
“Send your man,” Rose squeezed out before she stopped on their way up the step and sank against the wall.
“I’ve got to go ask him,” Ellie responded when she felt the tension leaving Rose’s body.
The pain passed and Rose straightened. “I want to lie down.”
Ellie did her best to get as much ready for the impending birth as she could. She set a kettle of water to boil and tried to get Rose to sip tea, but her friend refused it, and when she stiffened up to ride the crest of another pain, Ellie held her hand and prayed for strength. Whether for herself or for Rose, she couldn’t be certain.
When Rose relaxed again, Ellie rose. “Let me go ask Theo to fetch Martha.” She could sure use her help right now. She hurried down the stairs, out the door, and across the side yard to the cellar door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the cellar. “Theo?”
He sat cross-legged, with his back to her, his head raising at her voice. “How is Rose?”
“Holding her own.” She studied him. A small book lay open on his lap, the lantern turned up beside him. “Could you fetch someone from the doctor’s office on the corner? Tell them I sent you.”
Theo nodded and followed her up the steps. She turned to him as he lowered the cellar doors. In the waning light of day, his eyes were a pale silver. “Please don’t forget your accent. And your limp.”
❧
Theo stared into Ellie’s face and wondered if he would have to scrub himself clean of everything remotely Southern in order to survive up here. But it was unfair of him to feel so aggrieved at the thought. It had not been Ellie’s idea that he should come north, nor Martin’s. He had done so because of his mounting anger over the conditions war imposed, then the desire that the truth be known—an irony now that he realized how much he risked by being in enemy territory.
As Ellie went around the house to go inside, he went through the front gate to the street and toward the corner building that, upon nearing, clearly showed the sign for a Dr. Selingrove. No doubt the man would be elderly, what with most of the younger men fighting the war.
Theo opened the door, a slow heat taking the chill from his skin. The office seemed still, as if frozen in time. Dust tickled his nose. Instruments gleamed behind the glass of a locked cabinet with a gleaming glass front. A small desk in the corner of the room seemed too neat for that of a busy doctor’s office.
A light shuffle alerted him, and Theo turned, rehearsing Ellie’s list—limp and talk like a Yankee. Footsteps indicated someone’s approach. Something strange accompanied the sounds of the steps, a rustling, but before his mind could process the sound, the person appeared.
Bright, dark eyes stared at him with a cool reserve and a proud tilt to the head. An unmistakable, though silent, challenge.
Whatever Theo expected, it had not been this. He felt raked by the piercing dark eyes of the black woman. “I’m looking for Dr. Selingrove.”
“He’s not here. It’s just me.”
Theo’s mind stumbled over that. Hadn’t Ellie said to come here, to the doctor’s office on the corner? “You mean, he’s out on a call?”
The woman’s direct gaze didn’t waver. “No.”
He chafed at the delay. “I was told to fetch the doctor.”
The woman’s chin inclined another inch. “You sent by Miss Ellie?” But the question apparently didn’t require an answer because she was already moving, picking up a black bag that rested in the vacant chair behind the desk.
He flinched as the realization pricked that the woman was intent upon leaving with him to help Rose. “I was told to fetch the doctor,” he parroted his earlier statement, unable to process this black woman’s role in a doctor’s office. Or at least, what she supposed her role to be.
As the woman bore down on him, he held up his hand, palm out.
She stopped, her eyes no more d
owncast than a white man’s.
Not something Theo was used to seeing, though he knew the Northern blacks had far superior opinions of themselves. “We’ll wait for Dr. Selingrove.”
He thought he detected a sparkle in her eyes, but her words were without humor. “You awful young to be waiting on the doctor.”
The words didn’t make sense to him. Was it her attempt at humor? “How long before he’ll be back?”
“Mighty long time.”
Theo didn’t know what to do. Ellie wanted the doctor, yet this woman seemed determined not to produce more than the merest of replies, and she certainly didn’t seem inclined to fetch the man he sought. “Could you send him when he returns?”
Her nod was stiff, almost imperceptible, but he took it as her promise to fulfill his request. He had little choice but to return to Ellie with the disappointing news and the nervous unease that in the absence of a doctor he might somehow be called upon to help.
His return trip to Ellie’s home seemed interminable. When he knocked on the front door, he immediately realized the futility of the effort. Ellie would be with Rose upstairs. He let himself into the house, expecting to hear an earth-rending scream from upstairs.
The kitchen seemed serene. Towels folded into a neat stack upon the smooth wood of the kitchen table. Water simmered in a pot on the back of the stove, and a low fire worked its magic to take the chill off the room.
Silence stretched long and worked to soothe Theo’s frayed nerves as he sat at the table, unable to conceive what he could do to help, let alone whether he should leave or stay put. His debate over ferreting out Ellie’s advice on another doctor or letting her approach him when Dr. Selingrove did not appear upstairs left him befuddled. He did nothing.
When an hour rolled by, he began to pace, saved from wearing a path in the wood floor only by the hollow taps on the stairs that indicated Ellie’s patience with the doctor’s absence must be thin.
Promise of Time Page 4