One day at a time.
He worked on the springhouse until he deemed himself far enough along in the repairs that he deserved a break. The air had picked up a deep chill, and Theo wished for a coat of some sort. He ran his fingers through his hair and took one more look around the springhouse, satisfied at what he had accomplished.
He swung the springhouse door shut behind him and it groaned a protest. The latch didn’t set right. Theo gave the door a good wiggle to set the latch in place then froze. He thought he’d heard a branch snap and turned to stare behind him. Nothing moved. Probably a deer or some other animal wandering the woods.
Another snapping sound and he jerked his head to follow the direction from which it came. He could see nothing, but waited, still, his heartbeat racing. When his stomach clenched in panic and his mind flashed a panicked message to run, Theo steeled himself to calm. He clenched his jaw hard. When the silence stretched long, he relaxed his muscles and breathed deeply, praying for strength and peace. He had no need to be so tense over an animal.
As he started out on the path that led back to the barn, he paused when he thought he heard a horse blow air through its lips, but the sound didn’t come again.
Dismissing what he heard as the wind in the trees, he set out down the path again.
twenty-eight
When Theo broke into the clearing before reaching the barn, he spotted the dappled gray nose-to-nose with Libby, the paddock fence separating them. He couldn’t help but grin, and when he ducked into the barn and saw Ellie sitting on a hay bale, the sight of her stumbled the beat of his heart. “You missed me.” He went to where she sat and drew her to her feet, gratified to see the sparkle of humor in her gaze.
“I came to check on my handyman and make sure he was earning his keep.”
He cupped her elbows with his hands. “Sure am, boss.” He wanted so much to draw her close but knew he needed to bide his time and give her a chance to let go of Martin in order to embrace whatever might develop between them. “I worked on patching that roof on the springhouse. Just need to square the door.” He took a deliberate step back.
Was that disappointment in her expression? “Oh.”
“Should have it done by tonight.”
“Oh.” She bent to pluck out a strand of hay and began to weave it through her fingers.
“Is everything a go for tonight?”
Her eyes flicked to his. “Yes. Yes, it is. I’d forgotten about that.”
He motioned for her to follow him outside. “You look like you have other things on your mind.” There. He’d opened the door for her to share what she was thinking. He congratulated himself for his genius.
“Rose got notice that her husband is dead.”
His mind rebelled at the news. “He was a doctor.”
“Yes.”
He laid hold on a bag of sand and shouldered it, feeling sorrow for yet another war widow. “I’m sorry for her and for her son.” His eyes traveled over her face. “And you. It must bring it all back.”
She lowered her hands, eyes wide. “That’s the amazing part. Rose is doing so much better than I did.”
He lowered the sand to the ground and went back for another, brushing his hands together. “Everyone handles things differently.”
She began weaving the straw again. “But I. . .Rose is at peace with Robert’s death.”
“I’m sure she will still have her moments.”
“She said she’s had all this time to deal with it.”
“You seem to be doing fine.”
❧
Ellie pursed her lips, frustrated at her inability to express herself. “I thought I was until—” She shot a glance at him, biting down on the rest of her sentence.
He lifted another bag of sand, and she admired the stretch of Martin’s shirt across his back.
A blush heated her cheeks, and she looked toward the road, the fields, anywhere but at him.
She heard his grunt as he lowered the bag. “You were saying?”
There was no reason not to let him know. Not if she hoped to move on. She raised her chin and looked him straight in the face where he leaned against the back of the wagon, poised to lift another bag. “Until you came along.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows lifted, and his smile showed exactly how pleased he was at her words.
“No need to be so cocky about it.”
His laugh flowed as rich and deep as garden soil.
She crossed her arms and frowned.
He laughed harder.
“Honestly, Theo. It’s not like I’ve asked you to court me.” She felt the heat of her blush. Why did she have to say it like that? And why was he still laughing? She glared.
He caught her expression and cleared his throat. “No, ma’am, you didn’t.” He allowed his Southern drawl to draw out the words, and the warmth in the accent brought about a shiver of delight. “I would never expect a lady to do a man’s job.”
He advanced a step, his gaze locking on her, suddenly intense. When he came to stand in front of her, he blocked the low-slung sun.
She shivered again.
“Are you cold?”
She wanted to look away but couldn’t. She opened her mouth to say no, but nothing came out. Those gray eyes held her captive. He touched her elbows, with a touch as gentle as butterfly wings. “Would you consider courting, Ellie?”
She was on the precipice. A tug for the old life made her afraid. Yet wasn’t it that very fear that kept dragging her away from the promise of a new life? With Theo? She knew that being physically drawn to him wasn’t enough, and the old question of his desertion nagged at her. But weighed against what she’d seen of him, his desertion seemed warranted.
Even while dealing with the sick soldiers, she’d come across those who wanted a reason to go home, going so far as to beg the doctor not to send them back. Could she fault Theo for deserting a cause he didn’t believe in? After all he had suffered? The mental stress of watching those around him die. She bit her lip. “I need some time.”
His gaze didn’t waver, though his hands slid to her upper arms then fell away. “Don’t wait too long, Ellie. The boss only gave me two weeks.”
She thought he might laugh, but his eyes remained sober, and when he turned away, she could only watch as he shouldered the last bag of sand from the wagon. Regret washed over her.
twenty-nine
As he piled the last bag of sand upon the others, he realized Ellie had moved toward the paddock where the dappled gray stood, still saddled.
He bit down on his disappointment and frustration and went to her. As she turned the gray, she gasped when she almost plowed into his chest. Her eyes told the tale of unshed tears, and he felt a fist squeeze in his chest. As hard as her answer was for him to hear, he had to remember this was even harder for her. Her grief a territory she had never navigated before, and he could not push her. He touched her cheek. “Don’t cry, Ellie.”
“It’s just—”
“It’s all right.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest.
He reached down the length of her arm to where the gray’s reins were fisted in her hand. She surrendered them to his grasp.
“Why don’t we talk about it later.”
“But I want this. I want to—to. . .”
He pulled back slightly and dipped his head to catch her gaze. “Listen to me. You’ve been through a lot. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.” But the words that came from his mouth weren’t the ones that burned in his head.
“I didn’t mean it about those two weeks, Theo.” She tilted her head back. “I didn’t. If you’ll take your vow here, everything will work out. People would understand better why you. . .left.”
Theo closed his eyes, fully understanding her hesitation now. It made sense. He was a deserter. Martin was killed in the line of duty. Or so she had thought. Even though Martin’s letters had hinted at his desire to leave his regiment, he hadn’t. All that mattered to her was that
he look respectable to those not fighting and wondering why he had abandoned that for which he fought. And if he took his vow for the North, honor would force him to return to fight for his new allegiance.
Slow dread ate at his insides. Lord, I thought I had settled this.
The horrors of war. Bud. Images spiraled against his senses and flashed through his mind. They tumbled one after another. The man he had shot. Staring. The flash of gunfire. Smoke. So much smoke. It filled his lungs. . . .
Theo released his hold on Ellie and lowered his head, taking deep gulps of air, yet feeling as if all the air was being squeezed from him.
❧
Ellie saw his reaction unfold in front of her. He went pale and squeezed his eyes shut, and she feared he might fall. She pulled the reins from his hand and loosely turned the horse and tied him. When she returned to Theo, his lips moved. “Theo?”
He opened his eyes. His gray eyes were dull, filled with shadows she did not understand. “Why don’t you sit down?”
He shook his head.
Ellie pressed her hand against his chest and tried to back him up. “On the wagon.”
He pressed his hand over hers. “Give me a minute.”
She licked her lips, afraid of what she was seeing and realizing now that she had seen him like this before. “I should get Martha to look at you.”
“No.” The syllable was emphatic. He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes again. His chest heaved as he took deep breaths.
She waited, helpless, for him to release her or for him to explain. He swayed, and she caught his arm with her other hand to steady him. “Theo, Please!” She began pressing at him frantically. “Please sit down.”
As if pulled from a daze, he finally turned.
She followed close on his heels to make certain he reached the wagon without falling.
He patted the place next to him, not looking at her, seemingly caught on a plane of thought she couldn’t comprehend.
She waited in silence, feeling every breath he took and watching as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was like he was caught in a nightmare even though he was awake and able to walk. She recalled something else, too, the soldiers in the hospitals.
She’d been assigned to twelve soldiers inside a room at the Foster home, which had been turned into a hospital. Between the festering wounds and the groans of the three men who were closer to death than the others, she had witnessed a young soldier crying, lost in a world of horrors that caused him to break out in a sweat. The doctor called it nervousness. Effects of the war on those with no constitution. Ellie hadn’t thought much of it at the time, though she remembered feeling empathy for the young man.
But now, seeing Theo, she knew he suffered, too. She put her hand over his and watched his profile for signs of the distress.
“I thought I was better after last night.”
“Last night?” She traced his long fingers with her own.
“I dreamed,” he said simply.
“Of what?”
He sucked air into his lungs, chest heaving with the effort. “Memories.”
She waited. If he wanted to share, she would listen. If not, she would be patient.
“I killed someone.”
The irony of his statement puzzled her. He’d been a soldier. Of course he had killed.
He glanced at her, studying her face, then looked away. “It was my first time. He was young. Like me.” He breathed a shuddering breath that showed his struggle for composure.
She picked his hand up and nested it between both of hers. His fingers were chilled to match the cold air, but she had a feeling this coldness emanated from deep within his soul.
“I watched him. . .die.”
It came to her lips to tell him she had watched wounded soldiers die and could understand, but she hadn’t been the one to shoot any of them. That would be the difference.
His head dipped, and he tugged his hand from hers and put both to his face. “I asked God to forgive me.”
If his reaction to shooting one man was so severe, knowing he killed so many must eat at him like a canker. “God is good and forgiving, Theo. It’s yourself you need to forgive.”
His hunched shoulders curled more. “If I take a vow, they’ll want me to go back.” She placed her hand along his back, feeling the vibration of his emotion, and the weight of what she had suggested as a solution crashed on her like the trunk of a felled tree. Taking his vow for the North and going back into the war might not kill him physically but it would mentally. Her heart broke for him, for his struggle to do what was expected of him beyond the limits of his endurance.
As his shoulders continued to shudder, she bowed her head and breathed a prayer for a healing that had nothing to do with the body or soul.
thirty
Ellie stayed with him, talking quietly, until the haunting images blurred. On occasion she swiped the hair back from his brow or her expression showed empathy as he talked. She talked, too, about a man she had seen while tending the wounded. And how that man’s struggles seemed to fall along the same lines as Theo’s.
He didn’t feel as alone as before.
He gathered the nails, and she walked with him to the springhouse. She seemed pleased with what he had done and listened as he pointed out how he would square the door.
It was on the walk back that he realized he felt much more settled. He lost himself for a moment in the breath of chill air on his face and the new strength he felt. He raised his hands and stretched the fingers then clenched them. They were steady.
At the paddock, he cupped his hands to receive her foot as she mounted the gray. He felt her gaze heavy on him and assured her he was better. And when she turned the horse, she raised her hand in a simple gesture of good-bye.
The work on the springhouse soothed him, yet the panic that had gripped him in Ellie’s presence lessened the peace he had wrapped himself in the night before. Maybe Ellie was right. Maybe God was using her to show him his need to forgive himself. He had done what was expected of him. He’d hated it, but the deed was done.
He finished squaring the door in fifteen minutes then he hitched the horse to the wagon and replaced the false bottom, piling the lumber on top. He would unload some of the wood into Ellie’s barn since the porch needed repairs. The rest would do its job concealing its secret.
Theo inhaled the bracing cold air, snuggling deeper into the heavy flannel shirt Ellie had given him. The fields on either side remained stark and brown, a tribute to those who had died. A good place for horses. He could train horses again. Find a place like this and settle down to work with the majestic animals as he had in the South, before the war.
Snow would soon cover the scars of these war-torn fields. One house to his left and in the distance had been burned nearly to the ground. Another farmhouse showed severe damage to the roof. With the reminder of war came the images, but this time he forced himself to pray, and his thoughts turned to Ellie and the danger that lay ahead in transferring the eight runaways out to the farm. Maybe helping to save their lives and get them to freedom would heal him.
❧
As Ellie came from the barn, Uncle Ross was guiding his horse down the road toward her house. Her heart began to pound as she took in his dress uniform and austere demeanor. She wondered how her news would settle with him. Not well, that was sure, but then why did she care? If he had shot Martin, she certainly owed him nothing. He halted his horse and dismounted with regal grace.
Anger-pumped blood pounded into her ears. She forced herself to be calm as he approached, a wide smile curving his lips.
“My dear niece. Let’s go inside before the chill turns into a biting cold.” He raised his hands to his mouth and cradled one as he blew on a clenched fist, giving imagery to his words.Ellie didn’t budge. “My answer is no, Uncle Ross.”
His dark eyes snapped, and his lips withered to a cruel line. “That’s not the kindhearted niece I recall.”
She knew the folly of showing her
hand, but the words were out before her mind could snap down on them. “You shot Martin.”
Ross’s expression revealed nothing. No surprise. No shock. Not even anger. Seconds passed before he raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite an accusation, my dear. You know Martin died at the hands of the enemy.” But his explanation was too calm.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Before she could refuse, he grasped her upper arm and propelled her toward the house. “I’ll go over everything I know about Martin’s death, but I can’t abide this cold another minute. It’s the least you can do for your uncle.”
She tried to pull out of his grasp, to lock her knees and free herself, but he was moving too fast and his greater weight left her no chance to assert herself. At the step leading to the back porch, she hooked her arm around a log supporting the overhang. Her arm ripped free of his grasp in a painful jarring that forced a groan from her lips. “Get off my property.”
Uncle Ross faced her, his face a mask of granite coldness. “I think we should talk, Ellie, or I might just be tempted to let the authorities know about your harboring runaways.”
She gasped, too late realizing that her reaction made denying his words futile.
But her uncle wasn’t finished. A wan smile brushed his lips. “Perhaps you should ask your hired help about that night. I saw him with Martin.”
Ellie processed the implication of what he was revealing.
“They talked for a long time and there was a lot of shouting going on. It was when Martin was leaving that your hired man shot him in the back. His own cousin.”
Whatever air she had left in her lungs squeezed out and left her unable to draw another breath.
“I’m surprised you would believe a Rebel over your own flesh and blood. Your mother would be very disappointed in you.”
Ellie fisted the material of her dress, glad for the support of the porch post and railing. She felt confused by the twist with which her uncle delivered the sequence of events. Theo pulled the trigger? Then it was all a lie. His journey here to tell her the truth wasn’t because he felt such an obligation to her for Martin’s sake.
Promise of Time Page 13