Had Texanna taken a bath tonight? He bet so, and his body tightened at the thought of her sweet smell. Anxious to get to bed, he scrubbed the soap in his hair into lather and washed his body. With the extra bucket of water, he rinsed his hair, and with his hands wiped out the excess water. He dried off and tied the towel around his waist.
Royce emptied the tub and stood it up to dry on the back porch. The oil lamp from the kitchen cast just enough light for him to see the clothesline stretched from one porch post to another. A couple of items hung there and swayed in the light breeze. He couldn’t figure out what they were. Curious, he took the objects down and into the kitchen to inspect them in the light. Both were pink, soft, and silky, and when he held them before the lamp he could see right through them. He rubbed the material between his fingers to feel their softness. One item looked like it might be a hair net of some kind, but it had three openings, one bigger than the other two. He dropped it and picked up the other article. Solid lace, it had boning in it to form a fullness shaped to fit… He shook his head. Nah, it couldn’t be. Turning it this way and that, he finally figured out how to connect the small hooks and eyes.
This time when he held it up there was no mistaking what it was shaped to fit. Breasts…it was the perfect size for Texanna’s small and shapely breasts. It looked like a corset that had been cut up. His heart thundered with trepidation as he turned his attention to the other garment. When he held it up by the larger opening, his mouth went dry. Oh my God, no. If this was what he suspected, a pair of pantaloons, they were even more indecent than the upper thing. They would barely cover her private parts. Texanna wore French underwear. Only whores wore the scandalous stuff. Hell, he wasn’t an expert, but he didn’t think even they wore anything this skimpy.
Had she been forced to work in a brothel? Forced? He knew some women chose the life, women like Josephine who owned a well-run business. But, he couldn’t see Pearl or Texanna making such a choice willingly. Was it shame that made her flee two weeks ago?
Garments crushed tightly in his fist, he took the oil lamp and walked upstairs. His chest drawer rasped as he pulled it open. He stuffed Texanna’s things back behind his long johns. Tossing the damp towel in the corner, he blew out the lamp and climbed into bed. What if someone had ridden around back in the morning before Texanna had brought her French underwear inside? He couldn’t imagine explaining its presence to anyone.
He beat his pillow into a comfortable lump, turned on his side, and tried to relax. God, he was bone tired, but he couldn’t get that underwear out of his head. To his consternation and growing discomfort, he imagined Texanna wearing them. Dammit, the woman would be the death of him.
The thought of her or Pearl working in a brothel weighed heavy on his mind. As farfetched as the whole idea sounded, he’d much rather believe in time-travel than learn either woman had been abused.
The softness of the bed felt like heaven, yet he couldn’t close his eyes. Moonlight cast shadows on the ceiling. Their movement from the breeze kept rhythm with the thoughts beating around in his head. The silhouettes appeared as mysterious as this entire situation. Lightening flashed across the sky, illuminating the room for a second. In its wake, the rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Hopefully, they’d get a little rain before morning. His eyes grew heavy and he drifted into sleep.
The sound of cannon fire woke him. He was suffocating. Gun smoke mingled with the stench of death. Fear filled him, choking him. Bodies, mostly in gray, littered the ground. The realization that he’d contributed to the horrific scene filled him with loathing and self-hatred. That it was his job as a union spy didn’t ease his abhorrence. Nothing could. They were his Southern brothers. He’d intercepted the Reb’s battle route and led the Union Army to cut them off. His soul would suffer until death.
****
Texanna heard Royce thrashing about next door. He groaned and coughed. She started to get up to see if he needed help, but heard him laugh. Must be a nice dream she thought. She lay back down. He was talking to someone, though she couldn’t hear their words. She’d almost dozed off when the bellow of “Nooooo,” echoed through the house.
Before she could move, she heard the patter of bare feet on the wood floors and Garrett’s voice soothing his father. “Pa, Pa, wake up, Pa. You was dreamin’ again.”
Through the walls she heard Royce groan. “Sorry, Son. I’ll be okay now. Get on back to bed.”
“Can I sleep with you awhile? Promise I won’t squirm around.”
Royce chuckled. “Sure thing. Close the door and crawl in.” For just a minute she heard the murmur of Royce’s deep voice and Garrett’s giggle. Then they were quiet.
****
It seemed like just minutes later when Texanna heard Royce moving around the room next door. Darn, it was barely light out, but she got up and pulled on the lightweight robe she’d found yesterday. Barefoot, she went down stairs to get her underwear. It was gone from the line on the porch. There was only one person who’d know where they were.
Royce, buttoning his shirt, walked into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot. “Come here. I want to show you how to make coffee.”
“I know how to make coffee. With a Mr. Coffee.” She almost laughed at the look on his face.
“Well, I’m your Mr. Coffee so come here and pay attention.”
“I want to know where—”
“Come here and watch.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to the sink.
“Okay, okay.” She’d watch, but then he’d better have some answers.
“Fill the pot with water up to here.” He showed her a line formed from mineral deposits. “Then add a huge scoop of coffee and some egg shells.” He reached into a bowl in the cabinet of the Hoosier and gathered a small handful. “Every time you use an egg, wash the shell and put it in that bowl.” He crushed them, and then dropped them into the pot. He stoked the fire, added wood, and closed the door. “Now, when the coffee starts boiling, let it boil a couple of minutes, and then move it from the flat iron. That way the coffee won’t taste burned.”
Texanna nodded. She could do that. “Okay, I think I can do that.” Stepping back from the stove, she crossed her arms under her breasts and asked, “Now, where’s my underwear?”
The face that had been smiling sobered. “What are you talking about? Do you mean those unmentionables you left hanging on the porch for anyone to come along and see?”
“Those would be the ones.”
“I burned them. They’re indecent.”
She wanted to screech like a banshee but kept her voice down. “You’re lying. Where are they? They’re all I’ve got to put on.”
“You have a drawer full of bloomers and chemises upstairs in the wardrobe.”
“I want my underwear, not those tacky things in the drawer upstairs.”
“They’re not decent. You’re not going to wear them again.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to wear those ugly things upstairs. I’ll go bare-assed first!”
“Now see here, woman. That’s no way for a lady to talk.”
“Who said I was a lady?”
Royce’s face turned red. He was ready to blow. To avoid his anger, she turned and ran upstairs to get dressed.
****
Texanna stood at the stove scrambling eggs—one thing she was able to cook. Frying ham hadn’t been a problem but no way would she try to make biscuits. Royce had them ready to put in the oven by the time she was dressed and downstairs. The look he’d given her when she returned was one of fury. His face wasn’t red any longer, but the few words he’d muttered had been through clenched teeth.
Garrett came in with a bucket of milk, face freshly scrubbed and smiling. “Morning, Texanna.”
“Good morning to you. You’ve already milked the cow? Wow, you must be a lot of help around here.”
Garrett’s chest puffed out, and he stood a little taller. “Yes, ma’am, my pa started teaching me when I was young. Wants me to b
e responsible.”
“Sounds like your pa is a smart man and a good father.”
Royce flashed a glare that asked, what’re you trying to pull? He took the pail and strained the milk into a crockery pitcher. She dished up the eggs and ham and placed them on the table.
Royce’s biscuits weren’t as good as Matthew’s but a heck of a lot better than what Texanna could have put together. “The biscuits are good.”
“Thank you. So are the eggs.”
She grimaced at the first swallow of coffee. No wonder Pearl had put cream and sugar in it. That was probably the only way she could drink the stuff. When she started making it, she’d make it less strong. Both Royce and Garrett drank milk with their meal, but after breakfast, Royce remained at the table drinking coffee. Garrett took the scraps out to the chickens while Texanna washed dishes. Royce stood, grabbed a dishtowel, and started drying plates.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When everything was put away, Royce and Garrett walked over to Mrs. Farley’s. The roof of her house sat a good distance away but was visible through the trees.
Texanna sat in a rocker on the front porch with her coffee. It was early enough to still be cool—maybe seventy-five degrees but the temperature would rise quickly. She closed her eyes to the sun and thought of Pearl sitting here in this very rocker, just as she was today. What did she think about back then? Probably about her child, what to fix her husband for dinner, or she may have even liked poetry back then. One of the quotes from Pearl’s book came to mind.
Accept the things to which fate binds you…
The fact she was here in 1880 still amazed Texanna. She was on land that in 2008 was probably a commercial building, a parking lot, or possibly houses built in the thirties and forties. Nothing seemed real—it felt like a dream. One in which she’d wake at any moment and find herself back in her apartment in San Antonio—her air-conditioned apartment. The thought of being stuck in this time period made her panic. Her heart raced, and she closed her eyes to will the worry away. What would she do if she had to remain in this century forever? Would she make the most of what life had given her? Marry and have a family like Pearl had done?
She heard the back screen door creak as Royce entered the house. A minute later his footsteps echoed through the hall as he approached the front porch. It was a reassuring sound and eased her panic somewhat. He came outside with his coffee and sat in the rocker beside her. As he’d done the past two days, he wore a starched white shirt. It enhanced his dark good looks. Her stomach flipped and felt fluttery. The whiff of bay rum that drifted her way on the light breeze just fed the fire.
“Where’s Garrett?”
“He’s with Aggie for the day. He’s used to staying with her and you need time to settle in.”
She nodded and they sat quietly, enjoying the peaceful morning. The grass was tall in the area around the yard. His horses and cow had plenty to munch on since Royce didn’t farm his land. It was late June and the grass was dry and brittle.
“Did you talk with Garrett this morning?”
He nodded.
Her heart skipped a beat. “What did you tell him?”
“That you might be his mother, but you’re so different I’m not sure. I told him you’d lost your memory. He cried, but I think he understands.”
Oh, the poor kid. And it wasn’t the truth. She should’ve talked to Royce sooner, before he’d talked to Garrett. Anger and hurt brought tears to her eyes.
Her voice was thick. “That’s not the truth and when he learns that, it’ll just be harder on him. You should’ve let me talk to you first.”
He didn’t answer for a minute, just drank his coffee and looked out across the fields. Finally he said, “Then what is the truth?”
Okay, this is it. This is what she’d come here to do. She breathed deeply to control her fragile emotions. Talk to Royce and tell him everything. She cast sideways glances at him, anxious as to how he would react. Would he believe her?
“Texanna, you better get started. I have to leave here after the noon meal.”
“Okay, just a minute more.” The early morning light painted the white house and porch with a rosy glow. Royce looked relaxed but sober, waiting to hear what she had to say.
“Please understand. This is hard for me. Especially since I never believed I’d be sitting here today. I know you don’t believe in time-travel. You think I’m crazy and have concocted some elaborate scheme. To do what, I don’t have a clue.” He tensed and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “I understand your distrust, your disbelief.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. If circumstance were reversed, I’d feel the same way. When Pearl mentioned time-travel to me, I thought she’d lost her mind. I got on that train over two weeks ago just to pacify her.” Now that the time had come for their talk, she’d give anything if someone stopped by to postpone it—one of his brothers, a stray cow, a rabid dog—anything or anybody.
She sighed. “My neighbor and dear friend, Pearlina Baines, was born in 1854. In 1872, at the age of eighteen, she married Royce Dyson. Their son Garrett was born in 1873. When the child was born, you presented her with this locket. Garrett’s picture was added when he was two years old.”
Royce’s eyes watched her closely. At the mention of the locket, his eyes focused where it lay against her breasts. Feeling his gaze, flustered, Texanna covered it with her hand. “I don’t know what she was like as a young woman, but the woman I knew was a tough old broad.”
Just thinking about Pearl made Texanna grin. Royce’s mouth twitched but didn’t lift in a smile. “From her letters, you know how she lived out her life. I know it’s hard to believe she traveled forward in time. I don’t know if my father or mother knew. The only people I think she trusted with her past were her husband, John Thompson, and her friend and housekeeper, Pauline.” She had his full attention, he watched her intently.
“In 1940, when she accepted the fact she was stuck in the twentieth century, she married but never had any children. By the time I was born, she was a widow living alone in a big house with Pauline and her paints.”
She couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d found her way into Pearl’s studio. “Pearl visited us from time to time, but other than her church activities, she mostly stayed to herself.” The wide expanse of glass windows fascinated Texanna. “One day, I knocked on the back door and said I wanted to see the glass room.” She smiled at the memory. They’d had teacakes and lemonade. “That day I began art lessons. Pearl was my teacher.”
By now Royce was leaning against a porch pillar, his back to her. “I am your Pearl’s next door neighbor. I’m the child she didn’t have, someone for her to love and dote on.”
She watched Royce’s rigid back. He didn’t move a muscle. “Pearl sent me so you’d know she didn’t abandon you and Garrett and wasn’t killed in some horrible way. She wanted to set you free to go on with your life.”
He whirled around to face her. “You expect me to believe you traveled back in time to give me this message?”
“Yes, but I also—”
Curses spewed from his mouth. “Give me some proof. I want proof.”
“What about my shoes and clothes?” She stood up and with her finger punched him in the chest. “And my underwear? I still want it back.”
“It’s indecent. No woman but a whore would wear such.” He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look up at him. “Have you been working in a brothel? Did someone kidnap you and force you into that type of slavery?”
Texanna was shocked speechless. Furious, she tried to knee him in the groin. When he jumped back she smacked him across the face before he had a chance to deflect her blow. “You think I’d work in a brothel? Why would you think such a stupid thing?”
He swore and muttered. “That damn French underwear. What do you expect? No decent woman would wear such skimpy unmentionables.”
“In 2008, all women we
ar underwear like mine. And they swim and sunbathe in public places in bathing suits that look much like my underwear.”
If the situation weren’t so serious, she would have laughed at the look on his face. His mouth opened and closed trying to say something. He was so red in the face she thought he might explode at any minute.
Finally, he bit out, “I don’t believe you. No lady would go out in something so shocking.”
“Well, I’m not a lady, at least that’s what I thought we’d agreed upon in the kitchen.”
His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at her breasts. Why, the man was straining to see if she wore a chemise. She backed away from him. His eyes flashed up to hers. She turned and dashed into the house. He was on her before she made it through the door. Turning her in his arms, he locked hers down by her sides. Pressed against his chest, his forehead touched hers.
“Don’t do it, Royce. I’m warning you.” His hand grasped a handful of her skirt and gathered until she felt air on her bottom. Tears pricked her eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”
His big, warm hand cupped her bare buttock—her flesh quivered, his touch evoking feelings foreign to her. At her body’s response, his hand stilled, and then he groaned low in his throat and covered her mouth with his. Unable to resist, she returned the kiss, clutched his waist, and pressed her body into his.
Texanna was melting, her body screamed for more of this man’s touch. And she wanted to touch him in return—reach inside his shirt and run her fingers through the hair on his chest, feel the muscles of his back and his taut butt.
So, this is what it’s all about—the fire that ignites between two people. She shoved at his chest. “Stop. We can’t do this.”
He froze and moved his hand to her head and held it to his chest. Voice hoarse, he rasped. “Why, Texanna? Tell me why.” He forced her to look at him. “You want me too, I know you do.” He planted soft kisses on her cheeks, her lips, and under her jaw. “Say it.”
My Heart Will Find Yours Page 8