Ian came up behind her and rested his forearm on the frame of the door. “We’ll wait out the lightning and leave when it’s passed.”
She had no right to expect he promised anything more than protection. Offering her refuge at Brechenridge was a gracious proposal, but had nothing to do with love or forever.
Abby craved more from Ian than he was prepared to give. He carried a heavy burden inside that prevented him from loving anyone, least of all himself. A wall of indifference. He guarded his heart as fiercely as he guarded his country.
Until he was free from whatever it was that kept him bound, he was unable to share the kind of love she longed for. The kind her father had for her mother. The kind she’d felt for the briefest moment in the heat of his kiss.
For that reason, Abby had pulled away.
Attraction without commitment was like floating adrift in an unreliable sea of emotion. Without love as an anchor, the draw of deeper waters chanced drowning should the winds change.
Ultimately, they would both be hurt.
“If we leave before dawn, we’ll make the noon train for Savannah.” Ian spoke softly over her shoulder.
Her troubled thoughts brought a familiar rise of panic that screamed to get away before she got hurt.
Tossing a quick glance up, she saw him studying the sky before looking down at her.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to figure out how to run away as soon as I’m not looking?” The quirk in his brow all but dared her to try.
An instant denial sprang to her tongue, but the truth in his question pressed her into silence.
“You run away when you expect rejection. It’s how you ended up here, hundreds of miles from home.” Ian turned and leaned against the doorframe to face her. “I’m not a threat. I won’t abandon you or reject you like the church or foster homes or Malcolm’s family did. As soon as this war’s over, I’ll come back for you. I’ll always see that you and Hickory are taken care of.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.” Abby crossed her arms, leaving a respectable space between them, swallowing the clump in her throat. “I need to be loved.”
Ian wrenched back as if she’d slapped him.
As long as he felt at liberty to point out her shortcomings, she decided this was as good a time as any to help him see a few of his own.
“And so do you, Ian Saberton.” She frowned when he smiled. “Your typical avoidance of committing to anything other than duty is exasperating.”
“Is it now?” Ian strolled over to sit on a bale of hay.
Abby couldn’t see his expression in the dim light to know if her direct observation had hurt his feelings.
She suddenly felt contrite.
Her aim had been to help him, but as usual her temper got in the way.
“I didn’t mean to accuse you.” With a tired sigh, she joined him on the hay, leaning a shoulder against his arm. “I honestly don’t understand you.” Surely, he wouldn’t be offended by the truth.
Now that the rain had stopped, the only sound filling the dank space was the purr of the sneaky cat from a dark corner.
“What would you like to know, Angel?” Ian stretched out his long legs.
Deepening shadows accentuated the masculine angles of his face. For one so perfect on the outside, it pained her to know he was so damaged on the inside. Abby wanted healing and wholeness for him. A reprieve for his hurting soul.
“I know you went to seminary. You mentioned one time that you’d planned to enter the clergy before Georgia’s secession.”
Abby watched the casual grin fade from his lips. Apparently, she’d struck a nerve.
“What happened, Ian?”
He laid his head back against the rough-hewed wall of the barn and stared up into the rafters. Abby could barely see the muscle working his jaw.
Torment, like she’d seen in the face of hundreds of suffering soldiers, worried his brow.
Instinctively, she reached for his hand.
“I killed a man.” His admission was low, without emotion.
After three years of serving in the war, she was pretty sure he’d killed plenty of men.
“In the line of duty?”
Ian shook his head and continued searching the dark rafters. As if sense of it all could be found up there. “No, I never saw him coming. I was the company chaplain straight out of seminary. Was only sworn in for two weeks before they sent me to the battle lines in Tennessee.”
Abby could see the memory was painful.
“It happened at Shiloh. Our men were ordered to conduct a surprise attack outside the church there.” Though he made an attempt to grin, his expression was humorless. “I came around the corner and Fitz shouted for me to turn around.”
He grew quiet again.
Abby laced her fingers around his, wanting to absorb some of the grief she felt in the tightening of his hand.
Such a heavy burden of guilt he’d carried.
“When I turned, I saw a Yankee captain coming at me with his revolver drawn. He shot, but his aim was pathetically off. With no thought other than to stay alive, I swung around and unsheathed my sword, planting it deep in his chest.”
Abby closed her eyes.
“I staggered, watched life leave his body, before he slumped over my arm.”
Ian had been a man dedicated to saving men. He couldn’t justify taking an innocent life. “You were only defending yourself.” She rubbed his arm with her other hand. “If you hadn’t killed him, he would have killed you.”
Ian turned his head toward her. She could barely see his face. “His name was John Maddox. Six months earlier, we shared courses at Yale.” Clenched teeth muffled his argument. “I knew his family, he knew mine. We were like brothers.”
Abby took a deep breath, praying for Divine assistance.
“Did you set out to murder John?” She held his gaze. “Was hate the motivation in your heart that day?”
“Of course not.” Ian sat forward, to rest a forearm across his knee. “But I killed him just the same.”
“It’s not the same.” Abby slid to her knees on the floor in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “You killed a man protecting yourself. You had no choice because he would have killed you first had you not. Murder is a conscious choice. When deliberate hate in your heart drives you to take another life. You only reacted.”
“John didn’t know it was me.” Ian stood. “If he had, I’m certain he never would’ve pulled that trigger.”
“He was following orders.” Far too many men were maimed or dead for carrying out orders. “Same as you were.”
Abby stayed on her knees, looking down at the folded hands in her lap. The wound in her abdomen had begun to throb. “Neither of you set out to murder that day. Murder is an act of hatred. You did not hate John.”
Ian walked to the low stall and braced both hands on the top of the wall. “I was an avowed man of God. I had no right taking the life of a good man.”
“Neither did King David. He committed a highly thought-out murder. But, God named him a man after His own heart.”
Ian said nothing. The shadows were too deep to tell if he’d even heard her.
“Do you know why?” Abby carefully stood to go to him. “David knew he was far from perfect. If he had been, he’d have no need for redemption. No need to trust in the mercy of a good God.” She came up against Ian’s side and laid her hand on his arm. “King David had a deep desire to follow God with reckless abandon. The same boy who showed unfathomable courage in the face of a giant, became the man who showed even greater valor by learning to admit his own weakness. He knew he wasn’t perfect. And knew how desperately he must rely on the God who is.”
Ian remained silent and so did Abby. She’d spoken from the depths of her heart. He needed to find forgiveness. And strength to forgive himself.
Lifting her hand, she felt a fresh blood stain spread from the waistband of her skirt.
“Let men tremble to win the
hand of woman, unless they win along with it
the utmost passion of her heart.”
~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
Twenty-Two
Before daybreak, Ian watched Abby from the doorway of the old barn. Though the birds chirped high in the trees signaling the start of a new day, she slept undisturbed.
He looked out over the countryside, watching the first glow of sunrise spread across the field. Rain left a tranquil haze over the sated grasslands.
Inside, the lantern hung dark and cold, the candle flame long extinguished. Their meager shelter was dipped in inky outlines.
He couldn’t say exactly when she’d nodded off, but she’d slept hard for the past four hours.
Ian had not slept at all.
Abby’s innocent questions brought up bitter memories that had poisoned his soul. After all this time, he could still see John’s face as death overtook him. Eyes rolled back, a snarl of pain forever caught in his throat. Ian had shouted his name before the body of his friend fell against him. Pale and lifeless.
That same night, Ian had gone to General Johnston and traded in his Bible for a rifle. No man called by God would strike like a viper without regard to the everlasting consequences of his actions. When Ian resigned as company chaplain, Johnston offered a commission of Major for the Georgia Dragoons.
Last night, Abby’s innocent thoughts left his argument in tatters.
He’d spent most of the night grappling with his jaded conscience. Nothing he could do would bring John back from his grave. But by turning his back on his calling and throwing away the fervor he once held for God’s work, he’d only hurt himself.
Ian had been mired in self-pity and bitterness long enough.
Only a coward demanded justification for forgiveness. God’s forgiveness required no justification. In the wee hours of the morning, the slate had been cleared.
At his commissioning, he’d sworn to support and defend his home, but in a dark corner of this barn, he’d recommitted to uphold a higher calling.
One day, he’d speak to hundreds about the man John was. Not the terrified young soldier that lost his life fighting a battle he was never meant to take on, but the man who had lived well.
Sunlight glittered across the dewy pasture and Abby began to stir. Pushing herself upright, she brought a hand to her abdomen. He needed to get her to Gordon.
“Good morning.” Ian unfolded his arms and slipped one over her shoulder as she came to stand next to him.
Even in her morning stupor, she was adorable. The sun caught wild strands of copper amid her honey-colored hair, tousled with hay. Sleepy green eyes stared out at nothing in particular.
“Sorry, I have no coffee to offer. You look like you could use some.”
In a drowsy daze, Abby turned and melted into his arms for a hug.
Ian buried his hand in the rain-soft curls at the back of her neck. Knowing today was the last they’d see of each other for a while, he didn’t want to let her go.
“Hickory will be waiting.” Her dark lashes fluttered as she looked up at him.
“We’ll get there in plenty of time.” Ian absently stroked her hair before letting his arm slip from her shoulder.
“I’m going to go down to the creek and wash my face before we leave.” She smiled and stepped out into the bright sunlight.
It wasn’t hard to imagine waking up to find Abby by his side every morning. For the first time in a good long while, Ian was ready to consider a future beyond the confines of war. To believe all God required of him was a willing heart. That he could still be used to champion good in the world.
“Don’t wander far. I’ll bridle the horse and meet you outside.” Fifteen minutes later, Ian leaned against the broad back of his horse, tempted to go in after her.
When Abby finally emerged, her face was rosy from the rain cooled water. Her hair fell over one shoulder, damp and knotted into a thick braid. Morning rays glinted through the trees illuminating her approach. She looked every bit like the angel he’d taken to calling her.
She was much too lovely and delicate to be traveling alone.
As it had most of the night, her hand rested carefully over the wound in her belly.
When they arrived at the station, he’d speak to the porter about putting Hickory and her into a private car. He’d get the man’s word to keep an eye on her.
“I have no idea where we are.” Abby scanned the trees on the far side of the field as she walked back to where he waited. Rolling her white sleeves down, she buttoned them at the cuff.
“There’s a lake about a mile or two west.” Ian and his men convinced the owners of this small farm to move to the city to take refuge in Macon a month ago. “Gordon’s on the other side.”
“Are you able to ride?” Concern for her brought him to her side.
Before she could answer, the faint bay of hunting dogs sounded from a copse of trees behind her.
“We need to get going.” Ian lifted her into the saddle and swung up behind her.
Without a moment’s delay, he nudged the stallion forward, racing across the field toward the lake.
Abby held her breath as the room began to spin. Mercifully, her feet were not touching the ground. She was certain her legs would no longer hold her up.
Abby bit her lip against the pain.
From the time his horse had skidded to a halt at the train depot, Ian held her close to his chest, taking the stairs two at a time to a room on the second floor of the adjoining hotel.
The swift ride to Gordon was a blur. Certain the jarring stride of the horse had reopened the stab wound, she was almost afraid to look down to see how much blood she had lost.
Over the past couple of years, she’d help treat dozens of soldiers with puncture wounds. This was not at all how she’d imagined they must feel. Renewed empathy for them filled her.
Abby could hear Ian’s heart pounding against her ear.
“Hold on, Angel.” Ian kissed her forehead. His voice sounded tense.
“Go on and lay her down on the bed.” Abby recognized Mama Ivy’s directive. She’d heard her issue the same many times before. “Let’s have a look.”
Ian gently placed her on a feather bed. “Knife wound thanks to Farris.”
Mama Ivy touched Abby’s torn skirt, now wet with fresh blood. Lines between her ebony brow deepened with concern. “Hickory done told tol’ me all about it.”
“Farris put a bounty out on her.” Ian drove an agitated hand through the thick hair at his temple. “Every backroads renegade from here to Charlotte is out to collect. Including Mo and his bunch.”
Mama Ivy gathered her instruments from her bag.
Caressing her cheek, Ian smoothed a wayward curl from Abby’s face.
A searing pain coursed through her abdomen and she bit her lip again to keep from crying out.
Ian gave her hand a hard squeeze.
“Hickory’s waitin’ out there in the sittin’ room with Mr. Fitz, and he’s mighty worried. Would you go an’ keep him company for a little while, Colonel?” Mama Ivy took up a needle and syringe. “You leave Abby to me. She’ll be jes fine.”
Abby turned her head to watch Ian leave. She stared at the door while Mama Ivy prepared to close the wound.
“It ain’t too very deep, honey. But its startin’ to look a little angry. I’ll rub in some herbs and mustard to scare off infection. We’ll get you sewed up, an’ you’ll be good as new.” She lifted the syringe. “This here’ll help with the pain.”
Abby reached out for the older woman’s hand. “Did the knife damage the womb?” The question had burned in the corner of her mind the instant she’d felt the knife puncture her lower belly. “Will I be able to bear children?”
“He was part of my dream, of course … but then I was part of his dream, too.”
~ Lewis Carroll
Twenty-Three
He’d done all he could for Abby. She was in God’s hands now and Ian asked Him to guide Mama Ivy’s hands als
o.
As soon as he joined Hickory and Fitz in the larger room just outside the door, the boy ran over to meet him. “Is my Abby gonna be all right?”
Fitz came up behind him. “The kid’s fit to be tied with worry.”
“Hickory, I’m counting on you to help. We need to get Abby to Savannah.” Ian kept his tone light for the benefit of the child. “She isn’t safe in Macon as long as Farris is there.”
Wide-eyed, the boy slowly nodded.
“That windbag ain’t gonna be there for long.” Fitz added with a smirk. “Not with all he’s tried to pull.”
“I need you to do a man’s job.” Ian bent down to the boy’s level. “Go with Abby to Savannah. Mrs. Tori will meet you at the station and see that you two get to Brechenridge. You’ll need to introduce the two of them. Can you take care of that for me?”
“Yes, Sir. But is she gonna be all right?” Without moving his head, Hickory’s eyes flew to the door where Abby and Mama Ivy were. “Is she gonna die?”
“Why, o’ course not!” Fitz pulled off his hat and swiped his forehead with a sleeve before slapping it back in place. “A little ol’ scratch like that won’t keep a gal like Abby down.”
Ian had to get the boy’s mind off that room. “Did you ask Mrs. Lambert to send along some of Abby’s things?”
“Mama Ivy brought Abby’s bag. It’s downstairs with mine.” Hickory walked to the door and placed his ear against it. Obviously, he was going to need more of a distraction than small talk.
“Fitz, I need you and Hickory to find the telegraph office and send a wire.” Ian removed a coin from his pocket. “You can get yourself some penny candy.”
When Hickory refused to move, it was apparent he wasn’t keen on leaving Abby.
“She won’t be long, so you’d best hurry. I promise I won’t let her run off without you. We’ll wait for you right here.” Ian grinned when Hickory finally accepted the coin. “Pick a couple out for Abby, too.”
Field of Redemption Page 18