Secret Lady

by Beth Trissel

  “No. He will only come after dark and leave before dawn.” A shiver of anticipation ran through her. “Maybe tonight…”

  “Maybe…” Wistfulness hinted in Hettie’s reply.

  Guilt pricked Evie. The girl could not be blamed for having a crush on this handsome, deeply torn, young man. Even though the soft-spoken Mennonite and the adventurer never really had a future together. Hettie couldn’t know Jack’s heart belonged to Evie even before they met. No one had.

  Her conscience chided her for keeping the bedroom to herself on the chance he might visit. Was it right to hog that space, while the sisters crammed together?

  The Wengers had insisted the newlyweds have privacy on the rare occasions when he returned. The rest of the time, he camped with Sam and the men in his band. What was Evie to do, confess all? That would be too much for the family to bear. Besides, she would marry him the instant they had the chance. As far as everyone else was concerned, she already had.

  If for some reason she never made it back to the future, then he was her husband, and that was that. In return for the hospitality shown them, she tried to be of use to the family. She aided them in hiding food and helped with the chores, more difficult since Paul was away. He’d shouldered a pack of supplies in a bedroll and herded the cows and sheep to the mountains. The farm dog, Bob, a collie mix, had reappeared and gone with him. The families’ joy at Bob’s coming convinced her he must herd like a pro.

  “Gott segen eich. God bless you. I pray you and Jack will soon be reunited,” Hettie graciously offered. “Lord willing, we shall gather our animals and return them home before long.”

  “Amen.” Evie continually petitioned God. “But I fear the worst is yet to come.” In fact, she knew it.

  Hettie winced, and bent toward her. They were about the same height and their bonnets touched. “I do not know what we shall do if the house is burned.”

  Neither did Evie, and with greater cause for fear, as it was her portal to the future. “I will not let the soldiers burn it.”

  Even in the limited light, she was aware of Hettie gaping at her. “How will you stop them? They are deaf to pleas.”

  “I do not have a plan, but I will try. I was not raised Mennonite. It may get violent.”

  “You will fight them?” Amazement resounded in the girl’s query.

  “Maybe. And yell at them to go away.”

  “You are stout-hearted, Evie. But I fear for you.”

  “I fear more what Jack may do if he is here when they come. He was once a soldier and would defend you.”

  Her confidante inhaled sharply. “He cannot be here then. He must hide.”

  “I agree. But Jack has a destiny in this house,” Evie disclosed.

  “Does he?”

  “As do I.” Though she did not fully grasp her role in altering his fate, only that a way would reveal itself.

  “How wondrous.” Her listener was slack-jawed.

  “I’m sorry. I guess that doesn’t make much sense.” She had revealed too much.

  Hettie touched her shoulder. “I see you feel a part of our home. This is good. But our path is not the way of bloodshed. The church forbids violence, as that could result in the loss of life. Jack understands this.”

  “Yes, he does. But knowing a thing and acting on it are very different matters.”

  “Then we must pray he does not forget.”

  “This quandary also causes turmoil in my heart.” And Evie might be worse than Jack when the burners came.

  “If you think to battle the soldiers, then yes.” Hettie sounded bemused.

  There was more. Much more. But how could Evie explain something this fantastical?

  She also needed Jack to remember his promise to go with her when she asked. Everything was at stake. His life, their future together… It was difficult to say what anyone might do. Hettie had no idea how entangled the past, present, and future were for them. Should she tell her? Did she dare?

  Rain whispered around them. They were alone. No one else could overhear.

  “There is something you should know about me…” Evie began, trailing off. The light revealed only a glimpse of Hettie’s face beneath the bonnet. She could not be certain of the expression in her blue gaze.

  Rather than confide her true origins, Evie swerved in another direction. “My family are from Augusta County. The McIntyre’s.” She doubted a Mennonite would be acquainted with Scot’s-Irish Presbyterians in a neighboring county, and the Wengers had not pressed for details about her background. They probably suspected something was off there.

  Hettie seemed puzzled by this seemingly random revelation. “You do not often see them?”

  “No.” How could she explain that this generation of McIntyre’s had never seen her in their lives?

  “You prefer to remain here with us?”

  “Very much, but…” Again, she faltered.

  “What of your grandmother? Do you see her?”

  “Usually. She is…” Evie could hardly say ‘here’ only in the future.

  “Nearer?” Hettie supplied.

  “Yes. But I cannot stay with her now.”

  “Ah. The war,” her companion concluded.

  “Yes.” A good excuse, and possibly the truth. The war did lie behind her travel to the past. She had been brought back for this time and place.

  She badly wanted Hettie to understand but would likely only persuade the poor girl that she belonged in a mental institution. This would leave Hettie with the choice of protecting Evie from herself or confessing her mental ills to Paul and Mary. An impossible situation to place this gentle soul in. Some things were better left unsaid.

  They continued in the pattering silence, enveloped in misty dark rain. If only she could put an invisibility spell around the farm and hide it from the coming soldiers.

  ****

  Shivering in her chemise, the lacy pink wrap thrown over her shoulders, Evie knelt near the opening in her floor. A candle on the bedside stand illuminated her room on this rainy night. Her actions might seem peculiar, but the only way she could think to keep her grandmother apprised of her situation was to make entries in the small brown diary the wise woman had stuck in the carpet bag.

  The slim volume smelled of leather, and Grandma G. had included an ink pen. Perhaps, she had meant for Evie to communicate this way. After all, they shared the same home, only in alternative time periods.

  Each evening, Evie noted the date and jotted a brief entry. After recording her account, she hid the journal under the section of loose boards in the floor. The brown and tan striped rug concealed this hiding place now, but if Grandma G. searched beneath the Oriental carpet in the modern-day version of this room, she might find the diary. The space in the floor had existed for as long as Evie could remember.

  Today’s entry read: October Third, Eighteen Sixty-Four. No sign of the burners yet, but smoke drifts in the air like a distant forest fire. I fear they will come soon. We are as prepared as possible. Jack is away with the guerillas. He is in my thoughts every moment. Hettie is my friend, but I cannot tell her about myself as I would like. I wish I could do more for her, for them all. I love you, Grandma G. Give everyone a hug for me. ~Evie

  She fastened the narrow strap around the journal, slid the pen in place, and put the leather volume back beneath the boards. Rather like leaving a message in a bottle. Maybe Grandma G. would discover her attempt at communication. She was clever enough to look.

  Getting word to or from Jack was impossible. Evie didn’t know where in the valley he was. She pictured him shadowing Yankees, riding through the trees, and hunched around a woodsy campfire with Sam and the others. Bluecoats would never find them there, not with their fear of ambush.

  She straightened, snugged her shawl more tightly around her, and tiptoed in her stocking feet to the window. Her white cotton chemise hung below her knees. Lace edged the capped sleeves and drawstring neckline. Lacking anything else, she slept in this. Tonight, she’d need the lacy w
rap under the blankets, too. The chilly room had no heat.

  Members of the household were still, tossing anxiously in their beds, maybe, but quiet. The younger girls slept with their mother while Paul was away. The remaining sisters had each other. Evie, the supposed married lady, was alone and restless.

  Peering through the glass, she strained for sight of Jack in the yard. There was no reason to expect him, apart from hope. She couldn’t see him in the foggy blackness, anyway. Still, she looked. This waiting would drive her crazy.

  She took the brush from the stand and ran the bristles through her hair. Keeping the long lengths and the rest of her remotely near her usual hygienic standards was a major challenge. Sponge baths were routine. Sinking her entire self into the tub took too many heated buckets of water and trips up the stairs. She’d washed her hair in tepid water, thankful for the lavender shampoo and soap in her bag. She shared her extra bar with the others. They were awed.

  Each evening, she sponged the worst of the grime from her dress and hung it over the stair railing to dry. She had never gone this long without a decent change of clothes. At least, she had extra bloomers and washed them thoroughly. The riding habit or the full gown from her first night weren’t suited to work, but she would have to wear one of them while she gave her day dress a good scrubbing.

  This was her life now, while she waited for… “Jack?”

  Her heart leapt in her chest as, holding a finger to his lips, he crept in her door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Seeing Evie poised by the window held Jack transfixed. She wore only the simple white chemise and lacy wrap, her glorious hair tumbled about her feminine curves. The tantalizing whiff of lavender hung in her chamber. She seemed a dream. He could pinch himself.

  No need. He was awake. Of that, he was sure. Many times, he’d flown back to her in his sleep. This was real.

  Outside, foggy rain enclosed the silent household and the farm. Southeast of Harrisonburg, cinders engulfed his singed valley. Her beauty made vibrant contrast to the ugliness he’d witnessed. Worse than anything he’d seen yet.

  Sunk in the winter of his soul, he’d been mired down by death and destruction. She transcended the anger and pain churning inside him, drawing him to something infinitely better. She wasn’t only a bonnie woman, she was Evie, his brightest star, glowing before him in purity and light. At this moment, he declared her an angel.

  “I almost didn’t believe it possible,” he said, his voice raw with emotion and the lingering effects of smoke.

  Her forehead creased. “What?”

  “You, dearest lady. A vision for sore eyes, standing before me like a fresh spring morn.”

  The flickering candle revealed her tremulous smile and the glad hope in her face. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Her shining gaze riveted on him, as if he were the answer to her prayers. And the certainty came to him. He was.

  “I’m here, where you left me. I feared you wouldn’t return,” she whispered.

  He surveyed her in wonder. “How did I ever leave you in the first place? How can I go again?”

  She shook her head at him. “Don’t.”

  “With all my heart, I wish I could stay. But I must be away before dawn. Or hide Buck in the woods and myself in the attic.”

  She firmed the quiver in her chin. “That’s not safe with the soldiers closing in.”

  “Not especially. Nowhere is. I am ever on the move in the day.” He tossed his hat on the chair. “I bedded Buck in the barn for the night. Stowed my bedroll and carbine out of sight, then I came in search of you.”

  “What is happening out there? We can smell the hint of smoke but have seen nothing.”

  His jaw clenched. He hung the black haversack from the back of the chair. “The burners are busy. I fear I have no good tidings to deliver,” he said, apologetically, unbuckling his leather belt and laying it and his holstered revolver on the seat. “Sam and I did little to lessen the hellish fate descending on the people. We cannot halt the rolling blue tide but brought small mercies to a few farms.”

  “You did what you could. I hold nothing against you for trying, Jack.”

  He smiled through the sting of regret and frustration hounding him. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “I could say much more. You are enough for me. You are everything.”

  “As you are to me. I truly mean it. To my core.” He strode noiselessly over the boards, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat.

  Clasping her hands in his, he held them to his lips, kissing each dear knuckle. Her fingers were reddened since he last saw her. “You have worked hard in my absence.”

  She nodded. “Grandma G. would be proud.”

  “As am I.” He pressed a kiss to her callused palms. “If I hadn’t already proposed to you, I would ask you to wed me.”

  Her answering smile promised the reply he craved. “And I would say yes again. But if the opportunity to marry never comes, then I am your wife, now and forever.”

  He could weep with joy and battled not to be overcome by the bittersweet sensation flooding him. The bitter edge was because of the limit to their time together, the bounding sweetness because they had this precious moment.

  “You make me supremely happy,” he managed past the lump in his throat.

  Her expressive eyes brimmed with a wealth of feeling. “As you do, me. Happiness is not easily come by amid The Burning.”

  “No.” He cupped his roughened hands to her smooth cheeks. “We are the more miraculous for it.”

  She covered his fingers with hers. “We are.”

  Arching on her stocking feet, she brought his lips to hers in a kiss swollen with tenderness. He returned the rapturous press on his mouth in unspeakable gratitude that she was here. So many had fallen of illness, injury, and want. Countless others would succumb before this brutal war ended.

  Were he and Evie assured of anything beyond this hour, when even that was incredible? She spoke of a future together in some distant realm, but he only grasped now.

  Kissing her harder, he caught her in his arms and held her close to him, slowly circling with her in the room. They might be dancing, the weathered scout, beaten down by strife, and the lovely lady, lost in a waltz, swirling to the ancient melody of couples in love. No music was needed, only their panted breaths against the falling rain.

  How long they remained like this with her clasped in his embrace, their heated lips pressed together, he couldn’t say.

  Pausing by the bed, he gently laid her on the mattress. Should he step away and stretch himself on the cot? He searched her eyes. “Shall I stay with you tonight?”

  “Need you ask?” she chided, in mock scolding.

  He bent near, smoothing a caramel streaked tendril at her cheek. “Yes. I am a gentleman.”

  “For all intents and purposes, you are my husband. Your place is at my side.”

  “The most profound utterance,” he assured her, basking in the wonder of her declaration. “I suppose God knows.”

  “No suppose about it. Of course, God does. Who do you think brought us together?”

  He almost said, ‘Your grandmother.’ Instead, he answered, “I’m not one to argue with the Almighty. Especially not when God and I are in accord.”

  She smiled. “Well then?”

  “I would scramble to you in an instant, but I am fully dressed.” Only his coat was open down the front.

  Dropping his hand from her face, he straightened and peeled the outer garment from his shoulders. The nearest he’d come to a bath was a dunk in an icy stream.

  He folded his coat over the chair. “Sorry, sweetheart. I reek of smoke, and days in the saddle.”

  She propped her head on an elbow. “I don’t mind that you do, though I resent the cause of your trials.”

  “Sheridan?” he clarified.

  “Who else?” she sighed.

  He unbuttoned his vest, adding it to the growing pile, and turned toward her. “General Grant, maybe. Likely his
orders lie behind Sheridan’s fiery visitation.”

  She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

  “What?” At times, she made no sense.

  “Something Grandma G. says. Both men are responsible.”

  “Ah. No doubt.” Stark images haunted Jack.

  He swiped the back of his sleeve over his eyes as if to banish them. “The things I’ve seen, Evie. Some I cannot forget. I have blood on my hands, too, but not like this. One officer ordered a foal shot. It was too young to follow its mother. Like Polly’s colt.”

  She gasped, raking at her hair. “Could he not leave the poor baby be?”

  “With rare exceptions, the bluecoats leave nothing. The animals go with them or are slaughtered.”

  “Who does such a thing?” she asked, in sorrowing disbelief.

  “Men who have lost all humanity.” He eyed her through his hurt, like a wounded animal. A tear slid down his cheek, and he blinked at more. “What have the people done to deserve such punishment?”

  “Nothing, Jack. They are in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is all. Someday, the valley will be beautiful again. I promise.”

  “I pray so.”

  “Trust me,” she soothed, reaching out to him. “Come here. Let us make it as right between us as we can. And know I will love you forever.”

  He slid into her arms. “I believe you will. And my heart is yours.”

  ****

  A rap on the downstairs door roused Jack from a dreamless slumber. More content than he had been in years, or ever, he lay with Evie entwined in his arms. He cracked an eye at the window. The palest light of earliest dawn silvered the sky in the thick haze lingering from last night’s rain.

  Realization came. He could kick himself. He’d overslept and meant to be away by this hour, but the thick fog would conceal his movements for a while yet.

  Again, the insistent knock.

  Evie stirred drowsily against him. “Who’s that?”

  “Not soldiers,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her creamy shoulder. “They don’t knock. I will go and see.”

  She turned her head toward the window and tensed. Her shadowed gaze returned to him. “We weren’t expecting anyone to call at this hour.”