Promise of Time

by Moore, S. Dionne

  She went straight over to Rose’s house and scrambled an egg for her friend, poached one for herself, and took the toast from the top of the cookstove.

  Rose blinked her eyes open, and Ellie saw right away the signs that her friend got little sleep. In the swirl of last-minute plans, she’d forgotten her promise to stay with Rose.

  “I must look a sight. I couldn’t relax then thought I would roll on him.” She gave a sigh. “It was a terrible night.”

  “I should have stayed. I’m sorry.” Ellie waited for Rose to maneuver herself up in bed before she placed the tray in front of her friend and slid the plate onto the surface. “I’ll hold pumpkin.”

  Rose laughed. “I didn’t think I would be hungry, but I am.” She winced. “Sore, too.”

  Ellie bent to pull the bundled babe close to her. “Baby Colin,” she breathed the name in awe. “He’s so perfect.”

  “A miracle.”

  A quiver in Rose’s voice made Ellie raise her head. Her friend’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her face flushed from the effort to hold her tears at bay. She scooted onto the bed beside the woman and put her free arm around her shoulders. Rose immediately broke down, her sobs tearing from her chest, wringing tears from Ellie as well.

  Through the entire ordeal Rose had been brave and hopeful that her husband would return. In Ellie’s darkest hour, her friend had been there for her, offering a shoulder to cry on and doing kind deeds. Together they had fought their own war, and Rose’s war still raged.

  Ellie wiped her tears and pulled the baby closer as he began to squirm, no doubt troubled by all the noise. His face reddened.

  When his mewing began in earnest, Rose sniffed one last time and reached for him.

  Ellie stroked her hair back as her friend nuzzled the baby’s cheek and encouraged him to nurse. “You really must eat something,” she encouraged.

  “I will. I promise.” Rose raised her swollen eyes to Ellie. “You’ve been such a comfort to me, Ellie.”

  “We have been to each other.”

  “Yes, God does know what we need in the midst of sorrow.”

  “You have hope that as a doctor Robert will be safe. And now you have baby Colin to bring you comfort.” Her throat closed. The unspoken lay between. Ellie’s lip quivered, and she bit it and pushed to her feet. “I’ve got other things to tend to. Uncle Ross isn’t home until late tonight and there’s laundry to be done and an afternoon meal to be cooked.”

  “And God to run away from.”

  She spun toward Rose. “That’s not fair!”

  Her friend’s gaze held a distinct challenge. “Isn’t it?”

  “You haven’t lost your husband. How could you understand?”

  “Why does a departure from God need to be understood? It is what it is, Ellie. Nothing should separate you from God. He’s the comfort you lack now. Isn’t that what you were just saying? I have hope Robert will return and now I have little Colin, and you have nothing?”

  Ellie pressed her knees against the edge of the mattress and bowed her head. She should have known Rose would see through her.

  “You think I don’t see your frustration over what you perceive to be God taking Martin from you?”

  “I don’t feel that way.” Yet she could not deny the evidence. She’d laid down excuse after excuse for avoiding any form of church function, and her Bible, once sampled from daily with great delight, lay on a shelf in her room, coated with dust. She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s so hard.”

  The bed creaked and sheets rustled. She felt Rose’s arms stretch around her waist and her head nestle against her back. “Would Martin want this for you?”

  “How do I know what he would want? He’s not here.”

  “You would know in your heart.”

  Her heart. It had become a cold, hard thing. Frozen by the absence of love promised to her in vows breathed by a smiling Martin on their wedding day. It all seemed such a long-ago dream.

  Though she had managed to get through the hot summer days by concentrating on the garden and helping Rose put up vegetables, the hollow nights of winter nipped at her heels. Work would be centered around tasks that could be done inside where the walls echoed the roar of silence. She knew it waited for her, just as it did in the long, restless nights before sleep gave her relief.

  “Ellie, why don’t you talk to someone? The pastor’s wife?”

  “Because all it does is stir the thoughts of forever with-out him.”

  Rose squeezed her hand. “I know there’s no words that will take away your pain. But there is a promise in the Bible. . .”

  Fragments of scripture after scripture flitted through Ellie’s mind. She could think of many that offered hope and encouragement, but nothing seemed able to penetrate the deep, dark spot where death had suffocated her joy.

  “God promises that time will heal our hurts, Ellie.” Rose tugged on her hand until Ellie met her gaze. “Do you believe that? Can you believe that?”

  She didn’t have an answer. Oh, she wanted to believe, to feel the security she once felt and believe that even this, the death of her husband, could be for her good. But even the thought of it seemed incongruous.

  Still, Rose wanted an answer. Expected it. “I’ll try. That’s all—” Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her lips.

  She rushed from the room, stopping on the landing and pushing her fists into her eyes to staunch tears. I don’t know how to heal. How to believe through this that You still love me. . .

  fifteen

  In the swelling light of the rising sun, a haze of rainbow hue colored the underbelly of the low clouds. Theo shivered in the cold and huddled deeper into the flannel shirt. With the wagon safely out of sight and the horse contentedly munching oats, he surveyed the expanse of farmland stretching before him. He had passed the farmhouse a quarter mile down the road, well hidden from the barn tucked behind a tall privet hedge, assuring him privacy, and the slaves as well when they made their journey to the springhouse later that night.

  It had been a walk down memory lane for him. He clearly remembered the wedding in the backyard of the farmhouse, then the laughter and quiet stealth required of him and his other cousins hiking the bridal bed to the ceiling. Such good memories gave him confidence, even if the damage done by the Battle of Gettysburg to the structures dimmed the reality somewhat. The work would be good for him.

  He began by inspecting the wagon then the boards stuffed into a corner of the barn. Building the false bottom would not take as long as he had first thought. Since the wagon bed was solid, he need only place a strip of wood around the perimeter of the sides then secure boards together and lay them on top. As Ellie suggested, the barn held all types of tools to get the job done.

  He stroked his chin, clean shaven now, the razor waiting for him just inside the barn door when he woke. She’d left it for him without a sound. Perhaps he slept and she didn’t wish to wake him.

  He raised his face to the meager warmth the morning sun provided, its feeble heat welcome on the smooth skin of his jaw. He recalled a similar morning, surrounded by his comrades, hot sun beating down on them. Those happy times that knit together a group of men who otherwise would have never known each other. Chad’s smiling face and bright red hair. Tom’s limp, a result of a still-healing ankle. Bud’s solemn eyes and tense smile, his expression the embodiment of everyone’s fears for the next day, the next battle.

  The vision shifted and Theo tried to shut out what he knew would be a darker memory. He pushed up the sleeves on his shirt and began sorting through the pile of boards. In his mind, he heard Bud’s voice. His proclamation the night before they would engage in battle at Chancellorsville.

  “It’s gonna happen.”

  Theo’s hands began to shake. He pushed at the thought and lifted another board, anything to block the stream of memories he had unleashed.

  War. Fighting. Blood.

  He gulped air, and the board he held fell to the ground.

  Bud.<
br />
  He saw the boy’s face in his mind, a tanned face. A Georgia boy who had signed up because he believed war was an adventure. The many skirmishes soon taught Bud otherwise, as it had taught them all. That night Bud had slept fitfully.

  Theo’s skin crawled, and he sank to the ground, cradling his head, recalling the muffled sound of Bud’s tears.

  “What’s the matter, Bud?” But Theo had already known the boy’s fear. He placed his hand on the slim shoulders of the boy-man and shook him gently.

  Bud’s crying ceased, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  Theo retreated to his own blanket, pulling it up high to ward off the chill of that May evening as much as to quell nerves stretched taut by Bud’s strange dreams and bold proclamations that always seemed to come true.

  He had learned to console Bud with his voice. Would often break out into hymns when Bud seemed bothered or anxious, inevitably the night before they took on the enemy.

  Hymns.

  In the barn, Theo forced himself to stand and raised his voice to full volume to push against the memories. The hymn he remembered best. “Rock of Ages.” And as he sang, he picked up the board he had abandoned earlier. He forced out the next verse of the song, feeling the steadiness of his mind returning.

  By noon he had installed the lip on which the false bottom would rest and still he sang. Song after song. His voice growing weaker from the strain. When he could sing no longer, he led Libby out to the small pasture and let her loose then returned to the barn where he continued to measure boards and cut them to size.

  He stretched his arms above his head and worked his head from side to side. Some sound brought his mind to full alert, and he turned toward the doorway of the barn where he’d left the doors open just wide enough to allow natural light to permeate his work area. A horse buzzed its lips, and Theo’s mind tripped over one excuse after another to make plausible to a visitor his presence in a barn that he didn’t own.

  A hand appeared along the edge of the barn door. “Theo?”

  Tension ebbed from him as he recognized Ellie’s voice. And not her voice.

  “Yeah.”

  When she pulled the door open a little more and appeared in that opening, sunlight washed her in its bright rays. “I wondered if there was anything you needed.” She wore a fresh gown of lemon yellow.

  As she neared him, he cleared his throat and added another reason to the list of why he needed to leave. Ellie Lester did not need a man haunted by visions of his past. She needed someone who could shrug off the war instead of allowing it to become a ball and chain to his emotions.

  But even as she closed the distance between them, he knew the truth. He had not escaped soon enough. His heart galloped at the sight of her, and his head filled with the sight of a stray strand of her hair dangling against her neck and of her clear skin. And when she got close enough, he smelled a hint of jasmine.

  She stopped in front of him, a question in her blue eyes. He felt her gaze skim along his clean-shaven jaw and saw the small smile of approval that belied the telltale signs of redness rimming her eyes.

  “You’ve been crying.” It accounted for the strangeness of her voice and the slight puffiness around her eyes.

  “You weren’t supposed to notice.”

  He gave her a small smile and lowered his voice. “A gentleman should always take notice of a woman in distress.”

  Something akin to panic flashed in the blue depths before she lowered her eyes to the dirt floor.

  He cleared his throat again, his voice gravelly from his singing. He was scaring her. Even if he was ready to admit what he could no longer deny, she wouldn’t understand. He forced his voice to come out strong. “Nothing has gone wrong, has it?” Yet even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. If she had somehow been discovered or a problem had come up, she would have been more anxious, even fearful.

  “Everything is fine.”

  He could deny those words and pry for the truth, but he had no right to do such a thing, unless. . . “You won’t even tell your cousin what’s bothering you?”

  Her lips settled into a grim line. “Just missing Martin, I suppose. Maybe feeling sorry for myself.”

  The willingness with which she shared startled him. No coquettish holding out or games meant to wrap a man in knots as big as the hooped skirts the young Southern belles wore. Still, her grief built a wall of restraint in him. She needed time, not a declaration of love. “He was a good man.”

  Her stiff nod told him she kept her emotions in check. “Why don’t I just look over what you’ve done and get out of your way?” She did not wait for an answer but stepped around him and to the wagon.

  He watched as she inspected his work. If he were to make his escape, he needed to seize the moment and tell her everything. Now was the time. Knowing about Martin’s death would bring her a measure of comfort. He could reduce her grief by giving his account. But the truth smacked the face of her trust in him. He was a Confederate. And a deserter. And his accusation would be against a captain in the Union she held so dear, and who perhaps was her uncle.

  Theodore licked his lips and shifted his weight, his eyes on her as she ran a hand along the rough wood of the wagon. As she stretched an arm to reach inside and touch the lip of wood he had just installed, he swallowed over the dryness in his throat. As her hair fell about her shoulders in riotous curls and her profile revealed not only the puffiness of her eyes but the grace with which she held herself, Theo closed his eyes tight. Here was a woman whose determination to help others without thought of her own safety and reputation was something he could not only admire but a quality in direct contrast to his own inability to perform. The strength with which she endured losing someone she loved, her desire to help him, and her devotion to Rose showed a noble spirit he could not hope to match.

  He had waited too long to show her the truth. She would suspect his motive now, and rightly so. But not telling her made him more of a coward than he already was, and he risked losing everything. He would be forced to leave and head west.

  Ellie returned to him, her soft smile and a light of appreciation in her eyes squeezing his heart. “You’re doing a wonderful job. I can see exactly what you’re planning and think the stack of lumber in here would make a good cover for. . .” A line appeared between her brows. “Theo?”

  She touched his arm, and the heat of her fingers added to the torture of his guilty secret. Time seemed to slow in that moment when he stared down at her small hand on his forearm. Her eyes grew wide, and he brought his other hand to cover hers. She tried to draw away, and he could see that she didn’t understand. But how could she? He steeled himself against weakness and held her gaze.

  “There is something I need to tell you, Ellie. Something I should have said the day you found me.”

  ❧

  As Theo walked away from her, toward the stall that held Libby, Ellie stilled herself. She could see by the slump of his shoulders and his hesitant steps that he was bothered. What would he have to tell her? Her mind considered and rejected a thousand things, but nothing made sense.

  He knelt at the front edge of the stable and dug into the small knapsack she had seen in the cellar. His hand withdrew a packet of white papers then dug down again to withdraw three loose sheets of paper. He folded them with the other stack and rose, his back to her, head down, the tail of his flannel shirt hanging loose from his trousers. “I met Martin.”

  She heard his words but didn’t understand what he meant. Of course he had met Martin before. Many times because Martin. . .

  “Before Chancellorsville. I knew his regiment. We saw each other across the field as they were retreating from us.” He turned toward her, and her eyes went to his face, stiff and paler than normal. “We managed to work out a time to meet in an old, abandoned house that was already torn apart from a battle a week before.”

  “But. . .how? You’re a. . .”

  “There was a widow woman who helped tend the sick on the battle
field. I got a message to her and told her who to deliver it to. She said she would try. I didn’t hear anything for a few days until. . .”

  She waited, not knowing what to say.

  She startled when Theo sank to the dirt floor, as if his knees could no longer hold his weight. He draped his arms over his bent knees and let his head sink down, shielding his face. The packet lay on his lap.

  She knelt beside him, afraid to touch him. “Theo? I don’t understand. How?” She shook her head, wondering if she was hearing correctly, concerned by Theo’s demeanor and what it might mean. “You’re scaring me.”

  When he lifted his head, his expression was wistful. “Don’t mean to. It’s just. . .” A shudder swept through him. “There was a young boy. His name was Bud. He was always saying something was going to happen to this one or that one. And it always did.” He paused and rubbed his cheek. “I could usually calm him down if I sang to him, but the night before nothing seemed to work. He was convinced his time had come and that something would happen to him that day in battle. And it did.” His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on a distant spot. “I found him facedown. I carried him back. ’Twas the widow woman who found me on the edge of the field. Guess I lost my head a little bit. I don’t remember much, except her taking me aside later on and pressing something into my hand.”

  “Martin?”

  “Yes. He wanted to meet on the edge of their camp. Said his captain had a fitful temper for anyone caught sneaking around.” He paused and straightened one leg.

  “What about Bud?”

  Theo chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “I sat next to him through the night. He was dead before daylight.”

  “So you didn’t meet Martin?”

  “We fought all that day. At least I think I did. I remembered shooting and moving and hunkering down in a trench. I wondered what it all meant, and then I didn’t care anymore.”

  His voice caught, and she saw the struggle it took for him to retain his composure. Part of her wanted to reach out to him and tell him it was fine to cry. During his one furlough, Martin had spoken of the horrors he’d seen, but she had also sensed a pocket of emotion that remained untapped.