Fragile Dreams

by Karen Cogan

  After he was out of hearing range, Gran clucked her tongue. “He really likes you. How do you feel about him?”

  Caroline sighed. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be wrong to let myself fall for a Yankee?”

  “You know, dear, Yankees are human beings just like the rest of us.”

  Caroline bit her lip.

  “You just leave it to the Lord. Have faith.”

  Caroline picked up the lantern and headed for the stairs. “I’m a little weak there. You’ll have to have faith for both of us, Gran.”

  ****

  Caroline felt as though she had just fallen asleep when the sound of a horse’s whinny in the chilly dawn awoke her. She sat up, wondering if she had imagined the sound. It came again, clear and distinct from below her open window. She sprang to her feet and dashed to peek past the rosy velvet curtains. The horse stood, vacant of rider, waiting patiently near the porch rail.

  Her heart leaped with joy. James must have returned. Her mind adjusted to the thought as her pulse raced with anticipation. He’d come back, and he wasn’t wounded, at least not too badly to walk into the house. She pulled her chenille wrapper close about her lacy gown and ran barefooted into the hall. Her hair tumbled down her back in wild curls. She hiked the flounces of her robe and gown to her knees to allow her to hurry unencumbered down the stairs.

  She paused at the bottom, perplexed. The front door stood open, yet there was no one in view. She would have believed James would enter quietly so as not to startle them from sleep. But where was he? Footsteps creaked on the parlor floor. She turned toward the sound.

  “James?” She walked to the doorway, ready to embrace her brother in joyful greeting. Already her mind raced ahead to his comfort. He would surely be hungry. They had salt pork and she could mix up more sourdough biscuits. A last jar of elderberry jam sat on the pantry shelf. She stepped into the doorway and stared at the face that stared back.

  Her hand flew to her throat, freezing her greeting. The stranger’s greasy blond hair spilled over the edge of his collar. Pale eyes the color of seaweed raked over her as a smile tugged at his thin lips. The dingy blue uniform proclaimed him a Yankee deserter. He held her mother’s silver candelabra in one dirt encrusted hand. In the other he held a cocked pistol. Caroline felt bile rise in her throat along with her anger.

  Her mouth felt dry. “Put that down and get out of my house.”

  He took a step toward her, brandishing his weapon.

  “Feisty little thing, aren’t you? You here alone?”

  She retreated until her back pressed against the banister. He leveled the gun, holding her prisoner. She longed to scream, to call out for Nate. Yet terror for his safety filled her heart. This vile creature would surely shoot anyone who came to her rescue.

  The terrible vision left her cold with fear. His stale breath carried the odor of tobacco. He crushed her against him, pressing the pistol tightly to her temple. “Let’s head upstairs and make sure we’re alone before we have us a party. And don’t think of calling out a warning, ‘cause I’ll shoot them first and then you.”

  Caroline felt her knees would buckle as he forced her up the stairs. His cold eyes left no doubt he would murder Gran, Andrew, and Nate.

  “Please, Nate,” she begged silently. “Find a way to stop him from killing us all.”

  Fragile Dreams

  Fragile Dreams

  CHAPTER SIX

  The soldier pressed Caroline’s body hard against Andrew’s closed door. “Anybody in here?”

  “Only my brother. He’s just a little boy.”

  “Too bad he won’t get to grow up.” Caroline held her breath as he reached for the door knob. She had to save Andrew, even if she died trying. She struggled to slide past him as he twisted the knob.

  He held the gun tighter against her head and growled. “Don’t make me put a bullet in your pretty head.”

  Suddenly, she heard Nate’s voice and realized he had come cat-like up the stairs.

  “You’re trespassing, private. I found this pretty lady first.”

  Startled, the gunman twisted Caroline in front of him to face Nate, positioned on the landing. Hope of rescue battled with fear for his safety as she saw him, dressed in blue army pants and his stained and wrinkled coat. A gun glinted in his right hand, pointed at her captor.

  She longed to call out to him, but the cold calculation in his eyes froze her voice. She felt dizzy. The arm across her chest held her pinned so tightly she found it difficult to breathe.

  The man spoke to Nate. “What’s a lieutenant doing in a Confederate house?”

  “Same thing as you.”

  Doubt tinged the private’s voice. “An officer looking for spoils?”

  “Yep. I can make better pay looting plantations than fighting a war. Then, I can take my profit out West. But I work alone, and I don’t share.”

  Their attention shifted as Andrew opened his door. His expression changed from sleepy-eyed curiosity to wide-eyed surprise. He stared at the gun pointed at Caroline’s head and held his breath.

  The man jerked Caroline backwards. He tried to sound confident, yet she felt his damp shirt and the pounding of his heart through her thin nightclothes as he said, “Seems to me I got the advantage, Lieutenant. I bet you’d hate to see me shoot this pretty lady.”

  Nate kept an icy stare leveled at the man’s face. His hand held steady on his weapon. “I don’t care who you shoot. She means nothing to me. But you’ll die if you kill her and give me a clear shot at you. Your only chance is to walk down these stairs and get out of here.”

  Gran stepped into the hall, uttering a spontaneous prayer as she took in the scene.

  The man hesitated. He plainly resented being ordered away from a lucrative pillage. Yet, if he shot Caroline, he was sure to be shot by Nate.

  He nudged Caroline forward. Her head ached from the pressure of the gun. “Okay, but back away. She’s coming with me down the stairs. Then I’ll ride off and leave you to enjoy yourself.”

  Bitterness filled his voice. Nate backed down the stairs, keeping his sights on the intruder. With Caroline in tow, the man edged down the stairs, halting at the open front door. In a quick motion, he released her and dashed for his horse.

  Caroline sagged to the floor, weak from relief and sudden release. Nate squatted beside her.

  “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head as hot tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I thought he was James. I hurried down and then...” Her breath caught in a gasp at the nightmare of expecting a familiar face and finding a fiend.

  “I know. But it’s okay now.” Nate gently stroked her hair.

  Gran put her arms around Caroline and rocked her to and fro. Caroline wiped away the tears and peered up at Nate.

  “How did you know he wouldn’t shoot me? You told him you didn’t care.”

  He smiled shakily. “It was the best acting job of my life. If he had thought I cared, he would have hurt you enough to make me put down my gun.”

  She sighed. “Accosted by one Yankee and saved by another. I hope the dregs of your army don’t beat a path to my door.”

  Nate lifted her gently to her feet. “There’s all kinds of Yankees just like there’s all kinds of Confederates. Just to be safe, I’ll leave you my pistol while I’m out in the field with Andrew. You know how to use one, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I know how to use one.” She pressed her lips into a grim line.

  ****

  After breakfast, Nate showed Andrew how to harness the horses properly and to fasten their traces. As they walked to the field, the memory of Caroline’s frightened face lingered, causing him to glance back at the house. Any doubt about the depth of his feeling for her had vanished as soon as he’d seen her in danger.

  How could he leave her here unprotected while he rejoined his forces? He could only pray that the war would end quickly and that God would keep her safe.

  The fields had been negl
ected in the fall. Nate saw no sign they’d been plowed or spread with manure. A big job lay ahead of them, and the first step was to finish the rough plowing, then harrow the fields smooth. He hoped Andrew would prove big enough for the job.

  “Set the teeth so they overlap the strip you’ve already done,” he instructed Andrew when he’d begun to harrow. His crooked efforts improved under Nate’s tutelage.

  By lunch time, the first field was ready for planting. They arrived back at the house tired and hungry. Andrew’s feet and the bottom of his pants were crusted with dirt.

  After lunch, they turned up the small vegetable garden near the house. That completed, Caroline accompanied them to the field to plant the first field of cotton. With the three of them working, it went quickly, and they finished in time for Caroline to help Gran fix supper.

  Andrew’s small face was pale with fatigue. Nate supposed his young arms ached from the unaccustomed exercise. Relief etched his features when Nate glanced at the sun, and said, “It’s too late to start plowing the next field. We’ll start early in the morning.”

  Andrew turned in right after supper, leaving the adults alone in the kitchen.

  Gran settled herself at the table with her handwork. “Would you read some more from the Bible, Mr. Sikes? It’s such a comfort to hear the sound of a man’s voice.”

  Nate ignored Caroline’s grimace. He opened to Job and continued an account of the trials. A chapter later, he closed the Bible.

  “That’s enough for tonight. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

  Caroline frowned while Gran and Nate exchanged good-nights. “I’d like to know why you told me I reminded you of Job. The more you read, the less I like the comparison.

  Nate laughed. “Trust me; it’s not a physical comparison. It’s how Job thought about God. He didn’t have a personal relationship. And neither do you. He trusted that doing the right things earned God’s blessings. But God wanted more.”

  He looked at her closely. “Job put great stock in his position, in what others thought of him. He suffered terribly when he lost all he had. But it was the only way for God to get his attention, to form a relationship that did not involve rituals or social position.”

  “Perhaps I am vain about social position. And I enjoy comforts. But making life hard doesn’t seem like a good way to win my faith,” Caroline snapped.

  “Just wait. We haven’t got to the end of the story.” Nate smiled. “God rewards Job’s trust by revealing Himself and blessing Job more than he ever imagined.”

  Tears started in Caroline’s eyes. “I know you’re trying to encourage me. And I have tried to pray. But it frightens me to realize how little control I have over what may happen. Who knows how long we’ll live in want and poverty, maybe even losing the roof over our heads.”

  Nate brushed a stray tendril off her temple while Gran cleared her throat to remind them of her presence. “You won’t lose your place if there’s any way I can prevent it. I’ll make sure the cotton is planted before I leave. The sale of the crop should give you enough to pay taxes.”

  She smiled at him with such tenderness he felt as if his heart would melt. Her slender fingers curled across his hand.

  “Perhaps you are an answer to prayer. Before you came, I felt I was stumbling in the darkness. I’d lost hope for the future. You’ve lit a candle in my heart.”

  He swallowed hard over the lump of happiness in his throat. “Sleep well, Caroline.”

  ****

  The next morning, Nate woke at dawn. After a quick breakfast, he accompanied Andrew to the fields to tackle the plowing and harrowing.

  Nate found that his injury had healed enough to let him help Andrew with the harrow, making the work go quicker. By lunch, another field was ready for planting.

  The rest of the week passed in a seemingly endless round of harrowing and planting. Up by dawn and ending at dark. Caroline helped with the planting and, at last, the cotton lay planted safely in the ground.

  Nate stood with them, looking over the tidy fields as the sun glowed orange on the horizon. If they had more hands they could have planted more crops. But this was enough to get them by. Pride overcame the lines of fatigue on Andrew’s and Caroline’s faces. These two, who had never done a hard day’s work in a field, had planted cotton. He was sure their backs ached and their hands were raw from work, but he had never been more proud of anyone.

  They ate a cold supper, and then settled around the table. Andrew whittled on the block of wood he was making into an eagle while Caroline worked on turning the frayed cuffs of what had once been an attractive frock.

  Gran’s graying head bent over the shirt she mended for Andrew. “Thanks to Mr. Sikes we’ll have cotton to cord and make new clothes this summer.” Caroline smiled. Her dark eyes caressed his face. “Gran’s right. I don’t know how we would have managed without you.”

  Nate swallowed hard, not looking forward to the announcement he had to make. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to stay here and watch that cotton pop up. But, truth is, I’m well enough to travel, and I’d just be putting off my duty. I’m leaving in the morning to find my detachment.”

  He saw Caroline bite her lip. The simple gesture tugged at his heart. He longed to pull her close and plant kisses on her rosebud lips and that hair which smelled like lilacs. He wanted to make her forget there had ever been, or could ever be, any other man in her life. He longed to promise that he would come back for her, and that, despite their differing dreams, they would find a way to be together. Instead, he sat with his hands clasped and wondered if she cared for him half as much as he cared for her.

  Someone knocked at the door. Caroline rose swiftly, her eyes wide with alarm.

  Nate laid his hand atop hers. “The Yankees won’t bother you if they know I’m here. If it’s Confederates, I’ll stay out of sight.”

  Trembling, Caroline forced herself to go to the door. She envisioned the man who had invaded her house and threatened her welfare. All that bolstered her courage was the memory that he hadn’t bothered to knock.

  Her heart pounded as she opened the door a crack and peered into the darkness. Even if she had wanted to keep the ornate outdoor lanterns alight, the scarcity of oil did not allow it. Besides, the light might cast an invitation to an unwelcome stranger. By the dim hall lamp, she recognized Jed, standing with his hat in hand.

  “Good evening Caroline. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She struggled to regain her composure as she asked him inside.

  “No. Come in. We just finished supper. May I get you anything? Perhaps some coffee?” He shook his head. She smelled a faint scent of whiskey on his breath.

  “This is only partially a social visit.” His tone made her uneasy.

  “Then perhaps you better sit down and tell me the reason you’ve come.”

  He nodded and followed her into the parlor.

  “I’ve got some bad news.”

  She frowned. “How bad?”

  “The Yankees have put the county under martial law. That puts me out of work.” Bitterness filled his voice.

  She placed a hand over his. “Oh, Jed, I’m sorry.”

  He rubbed a hand across his wiry ginger-brown beard. “That’s not all. I saw the new list of our soldiers who’ve been killed in battle.”

  An icy chill fill her veins. Her heart beat wildly with fear.

  “Not James.” The words were not a question, but a demand that it not be so

  “I’m sorry, Caroline.” He moved closer until his knee nestled against hers. “I thought it best that I bring you the news.”

  The agony of what she had feared all these months filled her heart with unbearable pain. She buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as though she could squeeze out the unwelcome words. Yet, her mind screamed out that the war that had already robbed her of so much had now robbed her of her brother. It was an insatiable monster who ate away at their lives until there was nothing left. She heard sobs and only vague
ly recognized them as her own.

  Jed’s voice penetrated the fog of pain. “This is a hard time for you to make a decision, but I think it would be best if we got married straight away. I know there’s usually a proper time set aside for bereavement, but these aren’t usual times. Tell me you’ll marry me. We’ll go to town this weekend.”

  Caroline’s numb mind refused to register his request. She heard footsteps, and then Gran’s voice.

  “What is it? Not James?”

  Jed shifted closer.

  “Tell her Gran. Tell her she should marry me. She has no choice now with James gone.”