Mary was still shaking her head. “Tain’t likely anything can help him now. It’s almost over. Go sit with him. Hold his hand and say a prayer for him. I’ll be here close. Call me when…”
Cluney was furious. She whirled from Mary and raced back into Hunter’s room. How dare the woman be such a doomsayer? Cluney had it all worked out in her mind. Wooter would come. She’d give Hunter the drugs he needed. In a day or two, there would be a miraculous change for the better, then a full recovery. In a few weeks, he would be strong enough to go home to Bluefield, where the two of them would live happily ever after.
“End of story!” Cluney said. “But not until we’ve raised a passel of kids and turned happily old and white-headed and senile together.”
Just then a fierce gust of wind blew through the room. Cluney, who was sprawled on the bed clinging to Hunter, hardly noticed when the door blew open.
“Oh, Lordie!” came Wooter’s voice. “Are we too late? I seen bad omens in the night. He ain’t passed over, has he?”
“Wooter!” Cluney uttered a cry of soul-deep relief, her heart pounding with pure joy.
She turned toward him. The old mountaineer looked like he’d been to hell and back. His face was scratched all over. Twigs and leaves snarled his long beard. His clothes were torn and hung on him like rags on a scarecrow. But he was the most welcome sight Cluney could have imagined.
“You brought the medicine?”
“Yes, we brought it.” B.J. Jackson stepped from behind Wooter and held out a paper sack.
Cluney uttered another cry. She wanted to run to her friend, but the sight of B.J. left her too stunned to move.
“B.J., can it really be you? What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
“There’ll be time for a question-and-answer period later,” B.J. replied, pushing the sack of pills into Cluney’s trembling hand. “Right now, I think you’d better see to your patient, if you want this stuff to do any good.”
For the next few minutes, all attention focused on Hunter Breckinridge. He was beyond swallowing the capsules, so Cluney opened each one and mixed the powdery contents with water. Then—patiently, laboriously—she dripped the antibiotics into Hunter’s dry mouth. He never knew what was going on around him or that they were racing time to try to save his life. He knew nothing. At the moment, Hunter existed in his own world—a place of dark, swirling clouds, beyond pain or love.
“There, darling. You’ll be better in no time,” Cluney whispered.
Wooter and B.J. exchanged silent glances, but it seemed that Cluney had forgotten that they were even in the room. Sitting next to Hunter, holding his hand, she stared attentively at his still face, hoping to see the first sign of some change for the better.
“I’ll leave you two now,” Wooter whispered to B.J. “She’ll be wantin’ to talk to you in private in a bit.”
B.J. nodded and closed the door after the old man left. She took a seat and sat quietly, watching Cluney watch Hunter. Her friend’s pain was a tangible force in the room. B.J. had stayed with Cluney through those awful days and nights after Jeff Layton’s death. But somehow this was even more heart-wrenching. She recalled Cluney telling her about how she felt each time Jeff went away—that the last few moments were the most painful, even though they were still together. And so it was now. Hunter Breckinridge was obviously breathing his last, measured breaths. Yet Cluney clung to him, refusing to accept the inevitable.
The scene before her was so terribly sad that B.J. had to get her mind on something else. She didn’t like thinking about her trip back into the past any more than she enjoyed dwelling on the scene before her. But it was difficult not to think about all that she and Wooter had been through. They had been whisked from the bright light of the moonbow over Cumberland Falls into some stormy netherworld, filled with moaning winds, flashing lightning, and formless, menacing foes. B.J. would believe forever that during their flight through time, she had come face-to-face with death in its most ghastly and horrible form. Now, here she was with her feet firmly planted on earth once more and that same ominous visage was still glaring nearby. Glaring, not at her, but at the handsome Civil War officer who had won her best friend’s heart.
“It’s not fair,” B.J. muttered, unaware that she had spoken aloud.
“What?” Cluney turned at the sound of her friend’s voice. She had forgotten that she and Hunter were no longer alone. “Oh, B.J.! I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here. Thank you for coming.”
B.J. offered her a quick, unenthusiastic smile. “Yeah, I know, girlfriend. Thanks accepted, but not necessary. So now what?”
Cluney frowned. “What do you mean?”
B.J. glanced toward Hunter. “Come on, girl, you know what I’m talking about. Are you staying here or going back where you belong?” She glanced about the room, which made her little apartment seem like a suite at the Plaza. “I mean, this is an okay place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to stay here. I figured when I headed back, you’d come along to keep me company. I’m not nervous flying normally, but this trip was like from outer space. I could use your hand to hold. I’d say the sooner you and I get out of here, the better.”
Cluney looked at B.J. as if she’d lost her mind. “Leave? Why, B.J., I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You expect me to desert Hunter? He’s my husband!”
B.J. let the last statement pass without comment. She was sorely tempted to point out the obvious to Cluney—that if he was indeed her husband—she was soon going to be a widow. Instead, she bit her lower lip and tried to think of some way to reason with Larissa Breckinridge. It was obvious that Cluney Summerland had been submerged in the other woman’s personality, at least for the present.
“Has the medicine helped?” B.J. asked.
“Oh, yes!” Cluney forced a bright smile as she smoothed his covers and brushed a lock of damp hair off Hunter’s hot forehead. “I expect he’ll wake up any moment now. If the weather stays nice, he may even feel up to going outside to sit in the sunshine by then.”
“Looks like rain or maybe even snow,” B.J. muttered under her breath. This situation was obviously hopeless. Hunter wasn’t better and wouldn’t be, but Cluney refused to accept the truth.
Suddenly, B.J. had a brainstorm. Yes, it might work! She allowed herself a small smile.
“Too bad there are no modern hospitals around here,” she said as if thinking aloud. “I’ll bet a crack nineteen-nineties internist could fix him up in no time.”
Cluney whirled toward B.J. “What did you say?”
She shrugged. “I was just wishing he could see a real doctor in a real hospital. But I guess he’s too sick to travel.”
“Travel?” Cluney’s eyes were glittering with hope suddenly. “You mean take Hunter over the moonbow?”
“Well, Wooter did say that we could go back tonight, if I want to. And I’m pretty sure I do.” B.J. cupped her right ear and turned toward the window. “You hear that? Gunfire! There’s a battle going on not far from here. Mrs. Renfro said we might have to evacuate if they move this way. I’m not keen on getting caught between the lines of blue and gray, and I don’t think there are too many librarians’ jobs around here for recently freed slaves.” She nodded vigorously. “I’m going back tonight, Cluney, and I’d like for you to go with me. Hunter, too, if he can travel.”
Cluney was across the room in an instant, hugging her friend with all her might.
“Oh, B.J., you’re a wonder! Why didn’t I think of this? Of course, we’ll take Hunter back and get him right to a hospital. We can get the college ambulance to drive him to the medical center in Knoxville.”
Just then, Hunter moaned—the first sound he’d made in hours. Both women turned to stare at him. His eyes were open, but glazed-looking. He moved his dry lips, but no words came.
Cluney went to him. She gripped his hand and kissed it.
“It’s going to be all right, darling. We’re taking you where you c
an get help. Hang on, please!”
A single syllable passed his lips. Had Cluney not been close, she couldn’t have heard him say, “No.” As it was, she pretended not to hear.
Hunter Breckinridge was more aware suddenly than he had been in some time. He knew, for instance, that Larissa and one of the servants were in his room. The young maid must be a recently purchased slave since he had never seen her before. But, no, that couldn’t be. His slaves were all free. And even now he was dying from wounds he’d received while fighting to put an end to all slavery for all time.
His mind cleared a bit more, and he knew who she was—who she had to be. Private Lincoln’s woman. Of course! Just as Hunter himself had found Larissa, Free had now found his Belle.
“Happy day,” he murmured, but neither of the women heard him. They were talking about going somewhere, taking him with them.
“No,” he moaned.
When Larissa leaned over him, he tried to form words to tell her that he couldn’t go. He was too tired and the pain was too intense. He wanted to tell her to go without him. He knew he wouldn’t be here much longer anyway. Exhausted with the effort of trying to speak, he let his eyes close again.
He needed to think pleasant thoughts so that he could forget his pain. Larissa! He would think of her. He would think about holding her in his arms, making love to her. She was sitting beside him even now. With great effort, he lifted his hand to her breast. Her nipple hardened under his fingers. He felt her cool hand cover his.
“Oh, my darling,” she murmured, “I want you, too.”
What happened next could only be a dream, but, oh, how it eased his pain!
B.J.’s eyes went wide as she watched Hunter reach up and caress Cluney’s breast.
“Hey, I’m outta here. You guys need some privacy.”
Before Cluney could answer, she found herself alone with Hunter. He might be weak, but he was awake and very much aware.
“I gave you medicine,” she whispered. “It’s helping, isn’t it, darling?”
A weak smile played at the corners of Hunter’s mouth. He dared not try to speak. He needed to concentrate all his effort on caressing Larissa’s breast. He tugged gently at her gown, begging silently for her to remove it.
“We can’t,” she whispered. “As much as I want you, we just can’t, my love.”
When he continued the insistent gesture, Cluney rose and pulled the gown off over her head. Then she crawled into bed next to him. It felt so good just to lie close to him. She let her hands trail over his shoulder and chest. He sighed with pleasure. Encouraged, Cluney allowed her hand bolder moves. By turns, she stroked him with her fingertips and let her nails drag lightly over his flesh. And all the while, she talked softly.
“Everything is going to be all right, darling. I’m going to take you away from here. I know a place where you can get help. In a few days, you’ll be yourself again. Then we’ll go back to Bluefield. We’ll start over again. While we’ve been together here, we’ve wiped the slate clean. All the old, bad things are gone from our lives. The war will soon be over, too. Then we’ll have nothing to stand in the way of our happiness.”
He caught her hand in his, the pressure of his fingers surprisingly strong. Cluney searched his eyes. What she saw there tugged at her heart. Such a depth of love, but an equal amount of sadness.
“Please don’t look at me that way, darling,” she begged. “You’re wrong. Our life together isn’t over. It’s only beginning.” She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “How can I make you believe me?”
Hunter wanted to believe. He wanted with all his heart to believe. But something told him Larissa’s promises would never come to pass. Fate would intervene as it had in the past. But none of that mattered any longer. Larissa was right; they had thrust the bad times away. He knew now that she loved him. That knowledge would last him through his lifetime and beyond. She was his; the stars had proclaimed it so before the beginning of time.
Smiling, still feeling Larissa’s soft hands on his flesh, Hunter drifted off to sleep.
“Belle!”
B.J. whirled around when someone called her by her given name. Nobody except her family even knew that her parents had christened her “Belle Joy Jackson” after a great-great-great-grandmother, who had come to America over a century ago against her will on a reeking slave ship. B.J. had shed the name the minute she left home. She used B.J. as her legal name now.
“Who are you?” she demanded of the big, dark and handsome stranger grinning down at her.
“Aw, Belle, it’s me. You ain’t forgot your man, Jimbo?”
Belle stared into his wide, black eyes and recognized some spark there. Did she know this guy? She couldn’t be sure. But she got some distinct feelings of warmth and safety from just being near him. She felt as long as she was in his presence that she would be protected from every bad thing in the world.
“Jimbo?” she ventured, thinking it an odd name at best.
“But I changed that once freedom come. They calls me Free now, ’cause my new name’s George Washington Abraham Lincoln Freeman.” He put the emphasis on the first half of his new last name. “Won’t that be fine to hand down to our children?”
B.J. stared, aghast, at the beaming stranger. “I think Wooter’s been feeding you moonshine, mister. I’ve got no children. I’m not even married.”
“Are too!” he countered. “Just ’cause all we done was jump the broomstick don’t mean it ain’t the real thing.”
B.J. narrowed her eyes at him. She remembered her parents telling tales from their grandparents about slaves jumping the broomstick when their masters refused to allow them legal marriage ceremonies. This man wasn’t part of her time. He belonged here, in the days of slaves and plantations and the Civil War.
Suddenly, he held out a worn snapshot. “Miz Larissa give me this likeness of you.” He held it up beside B.J.’s face, then nodded. “That’s you all right, Belle.”
She took the tattered photo from his hand. “Of course that’s me—B.J. Jackson.”
“My Belle,” he repeated stubbornly. “I’d know you anywheres.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t remember you. When and where do you think you knew me?”
He gave her a heartbreaking smile. “I don’t just think, honey, I know it for sure and certain. Before you got sold off to that place in Kentucky, we grew up slaves together in Tennessee. When we was young’uns, we played around the dooryard of the cabins together. Then you was sent up to the big house and me to the fields. We axed the master could we marry. He said slaves don’t marry no more than mules do. So by the light of the moon, and with all the people gathered round, you and me, we jumped the broomstick holding hands. We’re married, Belle, whether you remember or not. You’re my wife!”
B.J. had a creepy feeling along her spine suddenly. His words brought visions to her mind. She saw herself in a patched, white gown, cast off by the master’s young wife. She felt the dirt warm on her bare feet and the light from bonfires searing her cheeks. And next to her, holding her hand, she felt the man she loved more than life itself.
Struggling to get the question out, she asked, “If we were married, what happened? Why have you had to search for me?”
Free’s face went hard and his eyes flared with anger. “The young mistress, she say the massa foolin’ ’round with you. She say she won’t have you in her house or on her place. She make the massa sell you off to a man in Kentucky. He took you off to a place called Brodaker.”
B.J. gasped softly. “Broad Acres!” Suddenly, she remembered the name of the run-down plantation long ago in Kentucky. She remembered, too, an unhappy young slave girl who was called Arabella.
“I tried runnin’ twice,” Free continued, “but they sicked the dogs on me, then whupped me good once they had me back. I was near ’bout well enough to run again when we was freed. Then I headed straight for Kentucky to find my Belle.” He flashed a bli
nding grin. “And here you be!”
When Free mentioned the master in Tennessee and his attentions toward a young slave woman, the hair rose on her arms. Thinking of being sold off to Kentucky made her feel dizzy and ill. There had been a “massa” there, too, young and virile and cruelly demanding.
“Massa Jordan,” she murmured, not even aware she had spoken aloud.
“Belle? What you say?” Free leaned down closer.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. “I need to sit down.”
Concerned, Free took her hand and led her into the living room, to a chair. “What’s done happened to you, Belle? What did they do to you to make you forget me?”
She stared into Free’s eyes, her own shimmering with tears. She knew suddenly what had happened. Somehow, during that terrible, awesome flight over the moonbow, she had come back in time to take her own ancestor’s place. She was Belle Joy now—former bedwarmer to two cruel masters. Wife of this slave, self-named Freeman.
“I haven’t forgotten you,” she said softly. “I’ve been searching for you, too. I just didn’t realize it.”
Just then, Cluney came into the living room. The scene she witnessed there came as a shock. Her friend, B.J., sat in a chair, tears streaming down her face. Free was bending over her, his huge frame dwarfing the woman he embraced so lovingly. He, too, had damp trails down his dark cheeks.
Hearing someone enter the room, Free turned. His face Split into an enormous grin. “It’s my Belle, Miz Larissa. She come back to me.”
Cluney could only stare in amazement.
“He’s right,” B.J. said. “I can’t explain any of this, but I know I belong to Free.” Then she added with wonder in her voice, “I love him, Cluney.”
Cluney embraced each of them and offered her congratulations. The turn of events stunned her, and later she would demand to know all the particulars of this bizarre reunion. But right now she had more pressing matters on her mind.
“Have you seen Wooter?” she asked the blissful pair. “I have to talk to him right away.”
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