"You're fadin', Major." Billy smiled faintly. "Promise me..."
Jack swallowed hard, trying to keep the frustration from his expression. He didn't want to be responsible for Billy's things, but there was no choice. His duty was always foremost in his mind. "I promise."
"See ya... Down the road..."
Jack had watched as the smile left the boy's face and the life went out of him, his head turning to one side, the blue eyes closing forever.
Chapter Five
Who had held Sarah as she passed into the next world?
There were gunshots in the distance, cries of the wounded and dying. Jack's chest hurt, felt crushed with the weight of what he must do. He gathered Billy's possessions and stuffed them into the pack that lay beside the youngster. It was then he realized the boy had been trying to extricate his Bible. He tried to wipe the worst of the blood off the black leather binding with his jacket sleeve, but finally gave up and shoved it back into the folded blanket. He secured the blanket tightly and stood up.
There was no question in his mind as to where he was headed. A promise, of any kind, was not to be taken lightly—especially to a dying man, Union or Rebel. He gave no thought to the battle that had moved further into the woods as he started down the road. Suddenly, nothing was as important as finding the place Billy had described, and giving the few paltry possessions back to his parents.
The river was to his right, as Billy had instructed. He couldn't see it, but the rush of water was there, as pure sounding and beautiful as anything he'd ever heard. He looked around at the foliage, still thicker and greener than he was used to for December. But this was Georgia, after all—not Pennsylvania. There would be snow on the ground back home. Strangely, he didn't miss that. He smiled at his thoughts.
Maybe—Maybe he was becoming a Southerner at heart. But weren't all men the same? Weren't they? Solemnly, he remembered the way Billy's young face lit up as he spoke of his home on Christmas Eve and how the light had guttered and faded as he died only minutes ago in Jack's arms. He'd loved his home. Didn't all men?
Jack sighed. He'd had dreams of a home of his own—he hadn't thought of that for two years; not since he'd gotten word that Sarah had died. There had been no life in him, either, after that letter had come.
As he crested the hill, a rooftop came into view, then the rest of the house and the other structures. It was everything Billy had said—the most beautiful place on Earth. His heart leapt at the sight of the farmhouse and outbuildings below, the tree line of the woods in the distance, the tilled fields to the east side of the barn. The sun was sinking, and the sky was filled with intense hues of purple and orange. Beautiful. It was—
Slowly, he realized this farmhouse, this land, this dream was what he had been looking for—wishing for—his entire life. A place to settle down and raise a family. A place that he could call home. A place he could look at and say, "I built this—from a dream."
This was such a place. He felt like he was coming home.
He began to walk slowly at first, watching the place, almost afraid it would fade away before his eyes. Faster and faster he hurried, until he was running toward the house itself; as if he wanted to embrace its white frame, the gently sloping roof, the wide veranda that wrapped around the house like a permanent, comforting hug.
He almost cried out in his joy. He had never felt happier, or more alive. The Anderson boy's blanket-pack slipped, just at that moment, falling beside the path, reminding Jack of the reason he was here. He drew up short, breathing hard, the pain in his chest becoming so intense he could hear each beat of his heart like the roar of a freight train.
He retraced his last few steps and bent down to retrieve the pack, making sure nothing had jarred loose or fallen out when it hit the ground. He picked it up and turned back toward the farmhouse again. He had taken no more than a few steps forward, when he saw a woman come out of the front door. She looked young—too young to be Billy's mother. She wore a blue calico dress, and she shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun with her hand, glancing up toward the road. Her hair was a glorious golden color, the shade of ripened wheat. There was something familiar about the set of her shoulders, the way she stood...
"Sarah?"
His breath caught at his unbelievable thought. Surely, his mind was playing tricks on him. But, still, he couldn't help taking the faltering steps toward her, down from the roadside and into the tall, green grass.
"Sarah..." he breathed, her name as soft and sweet on his lips as a prayer.
Chapter Six
How could this be? How could she be here?
But she was. His own dear Sarah, who had promised him forever from the time they were children themselves. There was no mistaking that it was her. No other woman had ever looked at him with the love in her eyes that Sarah had for him. His mind stumbled, even as his feet carried him forward toward her welcoming arms. He wondered, but he did not hesitate, as he took the porch steps in twos, coming into her embrace, their arms closing tightly about one another.
He screwed his eyes shut, blocking out everything but the feel of her arms around him, her soft body pressed close to the hard contours of his own, the familiar perfume of lilies in her hair intoxicating him with every shuddering breath he drew.
"Sarah," he muttered. The pack—his duty—lay at his feet, forgotten for the moment. He could think of nothing other than this instant in time, holding the woman he loved, finally—impossibly—once more.
She turned her face up to him, and he did what he'd thought of every day since he left Pennsylvania. His lips came across hers, and she opened her mouth under his. He kissed her the way he'd kissed her every day for the two weeks before he left her, as if they were already married. His tongue played across her teeth and twined with hers, warm and moist. And he felt very much alive again. He pressed against her, holding her to him, and she moved even closer. She wouldn't be afraid when he bedded her tonight. She would welcome him.
It had to be a dream. The loveliest dream he ever had. Christmas was a time for miracles, it was said, though he'd never experienced a miracle. Not until this very minute.
Slowly, he pulled back from her, drinking in every detail of her loveliness.
She smiled up at him, breathless and radiant. "Oh, Jack. I've been waiting for you, darling." Her eyes skimmed across his face, and down his blood stained jacket, glancing quickly over his chest. She bit her lip and looked away. "I'm sorry it happened so soon. I know…you weren't expecting it."
Jack traced the side of her jaw and she looked up at him again. It was just as he remembered, the love shining in her jade green eyes.
"God, I have missed you so much."
"I know," she murmured, reaching to touch his arm, pat his shoulder. "But I'm here now. And so are you."
"Hello, Major."
Jack whirled at the voice behind him. Billy Anderson. He led Charlie—both of them miraculously whole, and unscathed. Jack's mind bent and shifted, and still he couldn't understand what he was seeing, any more than he had been able to understand that Sarah had been returned to him.
"I see you found the place." Billy grinned at Jack's puzzlement. "Oh, I'll take that pack off your hands, sir." He stepped forward and bent to pick it up.
Charlie? Billy? "I don't understand," Jack murmured woodenly.
"I think you do." Billy glanced at Sarah quickly.
"Jack, I'll leave you two to talk a minute while I go check on the apple pie." Sarah reached to touch his cheek, as if she could hardly believe he was here with her. "Don't be long, darling. I've missed you so much." She turned to open the screen door, disappearing back inside the darkening house.
Jack looked to the young soldier who stood, silently watching him. "This is a dream, isn't it, Billy?"
Billy's expression held a trace of sorrow that was genuine. He didn't answer right away, but only shook his head and looked down. "In a way, Jack."
Jack lowered his gaze to the ground, frowning. "I can't seem to wake m
yself up."
"No. That ain't gonna happen." Billy's voice was a gentle, slow drawl.
Jack jerked his head toward the front door. "What's Sarah doing here?"
"She's part of the dream, ain't she, Jack? Part of your dream—your...heaven. Unending love—it never dies or fades. It's always there—just maybe in a different way."
Jack's gaze arrowed to Billy's, their eyes locked on one another unwaveringly. There was something so bright and honest in Billy's look for a moment that Jack almost couldn't bear it, but in an instant, it gentled with understanding. He nodded as he accepted what Billy was trying to tell him.
Heaven. He had crossed over, and he hadn't even known the moment it happened. He still had things to do. Still had dreams of the earthly kind to finish before he took on heaven's promises. Jack swallowed hard, not able to challenge what he knew inside, what he felt.
"When did it... When did I—" He broke off, unable to complete his question.
But Billy seemed to understand. "Let's take ol' Charlie down to the barn; get him some oats—"
"I doubt there's any left, Billy, with both armies occupying so close to here for so long." He shook his head slowly. "I'm surprised the house is still standing—" He stopped himself, realizing what he was saying.
Billy started for the barn, leading Charlie, and Jack fell into step beside him. "There's always gonna be plenty of oats for Charlie." Billy turned and patted the roan's nose. "See, Jack, where we are, there ain't no occupation, no North and South, no war time. Only peace. Only the sound of the mockingbird and the river off in the distance, and your woman, telling you she loves you."
"Explain it to me," Jack said hoarsely. "When did I—die?"
"When Charlie fell on you."
A sharp pain rippled through Jack's chest, reminding him of that very instant. He looked at Billy as the youngster threw him a sidelong glance.
"But I—I crawled out from under him! You were hurt and I—" Jack trailed off, and he stopped walking, his eyes unseeing as he recounted what had happened in his mind.
Billy stopped beside him. "No, Jack," he said kindly. "I was already—gone. Just waitin' around on you. Y'see, if I hadn't of give you a purpose, a reason to come down this road to this place, why you'd-a never found it."
"Well, I guess I would've!" Jack blustered, incensed that this young man, this Georgia boy, might look at him and find him lacking—even as much older and more experienced as he was.
Billy just shook his head, a half-grin on his lips. "It's bigger'n North and South, Jack. It's about somethin' a lot bigger. Not sayin' you couldn't've found it; I'm sayin' you wouldn't've found it. See, bringin' that package of my stuff back gave you a reason to look for...this place. You haven't had that in a long time. In fact, you'd just about given up on it. You'd lost your faith when you lost your love. Sarah."
Jack's anger faded quickly at Billy's calm words. Acceptance was slower in coming. "What about Sarah?"
"What about her?"
"I mean, what the devil is she doing here?'
Billy turned mildly disapproving eyes on Jack. "The devil doesn't have a thing to do with her. Or you. Not anymore." Billy put a hand out and touched Jack's arm. "This place—isn't it what you dreamed of? And Sarah—I know you've missed her, thought of her—well, she's here now. You're finally together, Jack. With this home, the land—everything."
"But it's not real!"
Billy eyed him steadily. "What is it, then, if it ain't 'real'?"
"A dream."
Billy shook his head. "No, Jack. Not a dream. It's heaven." He nodded back the way they'd come, toward the house. "I'll see to Charlie. Think Sarah's looking for you to come on back. She's anxious." He hesitated a moment. "I been here a lot longer'n just today. I was there at Johnson's Creek for one thing, Jack. You. I came for you."
Chapter Seven
Jack couldn't say anything. He'd had it wrong—all wrong. He thought he'd been helping Billy; doing something for him. But it hadn't been that way at all. It had been Billy who'd helped him get his faith back at that final moment, and Billy who guided him here, to be with Sarah, his forever love.
Jack looked at the veranda where Sarah stood, waiting in the darkening shadows. Two years she'd stood, watching for him, waiting like this. And now, he was finally home. There was nothing he could do but accept what had happened; to lay the burden down.
"You won't mind living as neighbors to a Rebel, will you, Jack? My place is on down the road a piece."
Jack gave him a puzzled glance. "Christmas Eve, you said you didn't have anything to trade."
"Neither did you. Not then. You found it today."
Billy's eyes followed where Jack stared at the beautiful woman, the lovely, welcoming home behind them. The smell of the new-turned dirt was in the air from just beyond the barn. Everything he'd ever wanted. Every dream he'd ever hoped for.
"I don't—" Jack turned to him quickly. He had to know. "I don't understand." He put a hand out, beseeching. "Help me to understand."
Billy sighed. "I knew you'd be a tough one. You're one of them that thinks they got too many more important things to do before they die." He held a hand up, seeing Jack's expression change. "Now, Jack, don't go gettin' your tail in a wringer. Look at it this way. You felt responsible for your men, didn't you?"
"I still do! They're back there fighting and I'm here—"
"Here with Sarah. With the life you planned and dreamed about." Billy's voice was low. "Don't you feel any responsibility toward her?"
"Christ! Of course I do! I love her! I never stopped loving her." He broke off, appalled at the unfamiliar sting of tears behind his eyelids. "I—I've always loved her, more than anything."
"Then love yourself, Jack. Just a little. Allow yourself some happiness. It's yours for the taking. It's well-deserved." Billy grasped Jack's forearm, and Jack's tears began to flow.
"What did I trade, Billy?" Jack finally looked up into Billy's timeless face. "What?" He wiped his eyes, and Billy smiled at him.
"In that last moment, before you died, your chest was crushed by the saddle horn. You never realized it, did you?"
Jack looked down at his bloody uniform, understanding, now, the persistent pain he'd felt. The blood hadn't been Charlie's, after all.
"No, it was yours," Billy answered, as if he'd spoken aloud. "But you saw that I was worried and tried to comfort me. You did it again when I asked you to see that my things got home to my parents. You promised, and you kept that promise—as best you could. When you were deciding what to do about my Bible, you wondered about how my parents might feel, seeing my blood on the Good Book every time they looked at it. Then, you figgered they'd rather have the Book back, blood and all."
Jack didn't speak. Billy was right, of course, about everything. He talked on as if the answer to Jack's question about what he had traded was obvious.
"You wouldn't have done Sarah a bit of good like you were—before. Bitter, angry—" Billy laughed. "Hell, you didn't care about anything—or anyone. What you traded was that one moment of humanity as I lay dying in your arms. You talked about Charlie, here, dying, and I asked could I ride him."
"I remember."
Billy nodded, looking down for a moment. "What else do you remember, Jack?"
Jack closed his eyes, thinking back. "I believed." His voice trembled, then steadied. "I believed you would be with him, taking care of him...riding him—"
Billy nodded, reaching to pat Charlie again. "And I would have, if you hadn't been coming right along. Look, Jack." He turned toward the house. Sarah had lit the candles, placing them in every window.
In the growing darkness of twilight, the flames beckoned in welcome. Like the stars in the night sky. Come inside. Come home.
He grinned at Jack and bunched Charlie's reins in his fingers as if he meant to turn away for the barn. "It follows that Sarah would be here, and that someday, so would you. But it wouldn't be Heaven, separating a man from his horse, now would it? I reckon that's on
e thing any man understands—North or South. In the end, we're all just men, and we do what we must—for the good of others."
Jack's head came up, then, and he looked Billy full in the face with a measure of wonder and realization. Faith becomes the measuring stick of understanding, he'd heard, and helps us see things clearly in our minds and hearts. He hadn't had it until Billy gave it back to him, in that final moment.
"Who shot Charlie, Billy?"
Billy smiled, and Jack thought his eyes were the purest blue he had ever seen, full of light, the color of rediscovered faith and love; of Heaven itself.
"I did."
The End
Meant to Be
Robin Mallory is facing another Christmas all alone when she decides to surprise her aunt and uncle several hours away. A flat tire leaves her stranded near a desolate section of interstate. With a snowstorm on the way, Robin has no choice but to walk, hoping to find shelter before the storm hits full force. But the road she chooses leads her back in time, to a battleground she's only read about in history books.
Confederate Jake Devlin, an officer in Stand Watie's Cherokee forces, is shocked when the spy he jumps turns out to be a girl. She's dressed oddly, but her speech and the ideas she has are even stranger than her clothing. Where did she come from, and what is he going to do with her? Will he be able to hold on to his heart? Is it possible for a love this strong to span centuries? It is, if it was MEANT TO BE…
Chapter One
The tire blew with a loud pop just as Robin crossed the bridge. She instinctively tightened her grip on the worn steering wheel, and tried to keep the ancient Ford F-150 from careening into the left lane.
After the first moments of panic, she fought to right the blue pickup and keep it on the road as cars sped past her. The ruined tire thumped rhythmically as she steered the vehicle the last few feet across the interstate bridge and pulled over onto the shoulder.
Hero for Christmas Page 5