There. It was done. He could be free of her now….
Charles ran his hand down her arm, and her heart skipped at his touch, bringing the downward spiral of her thoughts to a halt. His voice was gentle yet confident. “I love you just as you are. Whatever you’ve done or whatever happened to you does not change my feelings. It does not change you in my sight.”
Could she dare hope? What love could be that strong? Lydia picked at her long fingernails until she trusted her voice enough to speak. Surely he did not understand. “I am not the pure bride you thought you married. I never had that innocence. It was stolen from me long ago.” The words came as if from someone else, hollow and detached.
Lydia turned away, unable to face him now that he knew. Unable to look at the repulsion that would replace the love in his eyes. She rose from her seat to flee.
He caught her arm. “Stop, Lydia. Stop.” The pain in his voice reflected that which spilled from her eyes as traitorous tears. He gripped her tight. “Please, do not leave me.”
She stopped but still could not look into his eyes. She could not trust his words. But she allowed him to pull her back to the bench. She stared at the grass under the folds of her skirts.
They were silent for several moments, and Lydia could only guess the thoughts he did not share. What had she done? It was foolish and selfish of her. She should have let him keep his happiness. Their times were dark, cloaked in the threat of war and hovering destruction. Why could she not allow him the image of the pure bride he so desired? One who belonged only to him?
She began to think of where she would go when he put her away from him. Would Mother be too ashamed to take her home? Would her father allow it? He would be broken when he heard. Oh, she should have thought of Daddy! She could not withstand him knowing. Why could she never maintain control over her mouth?
The silence around them was tempered only by the soft music from above, accompanied by one lone cricket chirping out of rhythm. Lydia dared a glance at Charles’s profile. The muscles in his jaw worked, and he stared ahead.
She should not have opened a door she could never again close. Why had she allowed herself to begin to love? Over and over she reminded her heart of the pain that would come from it. And still she gave in to the foolish notions of children. He would not want to be married to her any longer now that he knew the truth. The empty feeling in her stomach knotted into terror.
Charles took a deep breath. “When?”
She did not wish to speak of it. But he would have to know it all, now that she’d been fool enough to open her mouth. “When I was young. He was a guest at my parents’ house.”
“I would see him hanged.” Charles’s voice was thick and barely controlled.
Lydia slowly shook her head. “He’s gone now. Dead and buried three years. It no longer matters, and the truth would only destroy my father. Please, I do not wish him to know.”
They sat for many more minutes before Charles finally said, “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I promise I will protect you, and no harm will come to you again.”
Her breath caught. Hope that refused to die lodged in her chest. He would not tell. He would not send her away. He may no longer love her, but he did not seem to hate her. She could find a way to live with that.
He suddenly drew her into an embrace she had thought she would never feel again. It’s only for comfort, she reminded herself. Nothing more. But as he held her close, her fears of losing him melted with each gentle stroke of his hand. “It is not your fault,” he whispered over and over in her ear.
“I am soiled,” she said between tears. “I am not pure.”
He sighed. “We all are soiled in some way, my dear. The Bible says that only God can wash away all that stains us. Only He can make us pure. Have you asked Him to do that for you?”
“No!” She pushed away from him. “How can I? He did not protect me. He did not save me then, so why should I want Him to save me now?” Anger she had thought she could control broke free, refusing to stay contained.
“Because it is the only thing that will make you whole again. Not even my love, as much as it may be, can heal you. As much as I want to be everything you’ll ever need, this I cannot do for you. Only He can bring beauty from ashes.”
“He let this happen to me,” she whispered.
Charles stroked her back. “Do not let it rule you. God did not cause the hurt, but He can use it for good. You may not see it now, but someday good can come from this. What men intend for evil He can use for good. Look for the good, my love, and you will find it.”
With the stars overhead and her greatest blessing at her side, Lydia opened her heart to the God she had long ago abandoned and prayed for the healing of beauty from the ashes of her heart. When her prayers came to an end, they forgot about their guests and sat together under the stars for a long time in the new peace that surrounded them.
“Come, love,” Charles finally said. “I believe we should get you some rest.”
“What of the guests?” Lydia shook her head. “Mother will not be pleased.”
“Do not worry over your mother. I will make your excuses.”
Relief and gratitude washed over her, and she allowed Charles to guide her to her room.
He helped her get ready for bed, promising to tell the guests she was not feeling well. Exhausted and yet at peace, Lydia drifted into a deep sleep and found herself again walking in the garden.
She walked past the roses, their sweet smells filling the night air. She paused. Near her bench stood the strange woman dressed as a man she’d seen once before. The woman looked around as if she were as confused at finding herself in Lydia’s garden as Lydia was to find her there. A strange feeling of familiarity washed over her. She knew this woman from somewhere. She stepped forward.
“Hello.”
The woman drew a sharp breath and turned on her heel, nearly tripping over her own feet. Lydia hesitantly stepped closer, unable to understand what drew her to this woman yet filled with a sense of purpose.
They stared at each other.
They were about the same height, and the shape of the woman’s face reminded Lydia of her own. She might almost be convinced she’d stumbled across a missing relative. Perhaps even a sister, though such a thing was absurd.
The woman rubbed her palms down her coarse pantaloons. Suddenly her eyebrows shot upward. “Lydia?”
Lydia should have been surprised. Instead, a feeling of great pleasure filled her. “You know me.”
“Where are we?” the woman asked.
A smile tugged at the corner of Lydia’s lip. “Ironwood. Where else? It is what binds us together, is it not?” A bizarre answer and yet the only one that she could give. The strange sense of knowing, of understanding something incredible was happening, thickened the air around them. There was great purpose in this meeting.
She did not know where the thought came from, but for some reason she knew there was an important message she must deliver. “There is something you must consider,” she said to the dream woman, reaching out and clasping her hand. “You must let go and forgive. You must be whole again.”
“What?” The woman withdrew her hand from Lydia’s. “I can’t.”
A deep and powerful sadness filled her, and Lydia remembered Charles’s words. “You must look for the good that comes from the pain. It is not always easy to find. Especially when we don’t want to see it. But it is there.”
Lydia pulled the lost woman into an embrace, suddenly feeling sleepy. “You must look for it,” she whispered, her voice near and at the same time sounding far away, as if someone else had her voice.
“I don’t know how….” The woman’s voice trailed off.
Lydia felt herself being pulled. She struggled against it. There was one more thing she must say. She stepped back, grasping the woman’s hands in hers. “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” A
Bible verse she didn’t remember memorizing.
The pulling came again, and her hands slipped free. She gave in to the feeling.
“No, wait,” the woman’s voice called to her from somewhere far away.
As if she were floating, Lydia drifted until she settled into the deep folds of the familiar warmth of her blankets, tucked lovingly around her by a husband she didn’t deserve. She drifted just to the surface of consciousness, somewhere in the realm between dreams and reality, and wondered about the strange woman in her garden before falling into the recesses of a deep exhaustion.
Ruth tucked the quilt around the bottom of her straw and raw-cotton stuffed mattress, once again amazed that she had gained such a soft and private place to lay her head each night. The words flowing around her room called for her attention. Dreams of fire and smoke had robbed her of sleep once again. After nights like these, she found that letting the words escape from her hand quenched the burn and brought peace. At least for a few more nights.
She didn’t have time for that luxury today. Several days had passed since Mr. Harper’s ball. The visiting family had finally returned to their home, and now the house girls faced the task of catching up on all the cleaning they had missed while tending guests.
Ruth surveyed her space. Satisfied, she descended the outer steps as the first rays of light spread across the dew-covered grass.
“Ruth.”
Her whispered name scurried across the quiet morning air. Despite her determination to remain unaffected, her pulse jumped at the sound of the familiar voice. She turned and just managed to contain her smile when her gaze landed on Noah.
He motioned to her. She frowned. He was acting weird. Curious, she lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped across the wet ground. Noah gently took her hand and led her to the potato house.
He left the door cracked just enough to allow the dusty light to touch the rows of Betsy’s canned vegetables lining the walls. Ruth put her hand under her nose. This place always made her sneeze.
“What’s goin’ on?” she whispered, tilting her head back to look into his face.
“The war’s getting closer. They says there’s been fighting just north of us.”
Ruth pressed her lips together. “How you know that?”
“We listen, Ruth. Word travels. Won’t be long before they come this way.” He shifted his weight back and forth.
“And?”
He sighed. “When they come, if we get the chance, there’s some of us that are thinking of slippin’ behind their lines.”
Ruth gasped. “You can’t be serious.”
“We want freedom. Don’t you?” He grasped her hands in both of his, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb across the backs of her fingers.
She did want freedom, didn’t she? But he didn’t know what he was saying. They might still be slaves, but she knew what could happen to them outside of Ironwood. She’d seen things he hadn’t.
Ruth shook her head. “It ain’t that simple.”
He gripped her tighter. “It is, Ruth. They’ll let us pass. They’ll let us go north. I could find work there and take care of you.”
She peered up at him. “What is you saying?”
He drew her closer until their bodies touched. Ruth’s heart fluttered in her chest. “I’m saying come with us. Run with me.”
Ruth pulled away from him. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She turned away from the hurt in his eyes. “I just can’t go out there again.”
She ran from the potato room and into the back door of the main house. She stood quietly by the door, her hand pressed to her heart. The memories of fire and her sister’s screams forced her to close her eyes.
Please, God, make it stop.
Noah didn’t know. How could he know what it would be like out there? She was safe here. Could start a new life. But oh, she had hoped he would be a part of it. She’d been stupid to let herself begin to have feelings toward a man.
“Ruth!”
Her eyes flew open. Lucy stood with her arms crossed over her chest. “What you doin’?”
Ruth drew a calming breath. “Nothing.”
“Humph. You ain’t special, you know. You still have to work just like the rest of us.”
Ruth clenched her teeth. She stomped past Lucy before the woman could say anything more. She heard Lucy snort. Ruth didn’t care. She had other things to worry with than Lucy’s bad attitude.
Upstairs, she tapped lightly on Miss Lydia’s door and turned the knob with one hand, the other balancing a stack of the lady’s clean laundry. She stepped inside, turning to pull the door closed behind her.
“Good mornin’. You up yet? Goodness knows that Lucy….”
She stopped short, her heart dropping to her stomach. Mr. Harper sat up in the bed, the sheets falling to his waist and exposing his bare chest. She gulped and dropped her eyes, hastily stepping backward. Her foot caught on the rug, and she lost her balance, tumbling to the floor.
“Oh!” Lydia cried from across the room.
Ruth scrambled to right herself, the heat burning in her ears. She grabbed the door, leaving the laundry scattered on the floor. What had she done? If she escaped fast enough would he let her get away?
A deep chuckle froze her.
“Calm down, Ruth.”
Good heavens. What should she do now? If she darted away, would he be furious she’d left while he spoke to her? Should she answer? How was she supposed to talk to the master when he lay abed undressed? Her pulse thudded in her ears.
A hand landed on her elbow, and she jumped.
“Ruth, are you all right?” Lydia asked softly.
She bobbed her head, not trusting her voice. Behind her, she could hear Mr. Harper getting out of the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she could get out the door.
Lydia rubbed her shoulder and spoke a little louder. “I think I left my new hair ribbons in the front parlor. Would you mind fetching them for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She darted from the room and down the hall. At its end, she stopped to calm herself. From now on, she would not enter a closed door unless beckoned. She smoothed her skirt and took her time going to the parlor.
When she entered, Lucy straightened from her stooped position beside a shelf, dust rag in hand.
Ruth cleared the tension from her throat. “Have you seen Miss Lydia’s hair ribbons?”
Lucy’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Ruth with wide eyes. Ruth’s brow creased. Why on earth was Lucy staring at her like she’d suddenly turned green? All she’d done this time was ask if Lucy had seen… oh.
“I, um.” She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Harper sent me to fetch her hair ribbons. She thinks she might have left them in here.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “You’s lyin’.”
“What?”
“You know you took them ribbons to her room and put them in her drawer yesterday. You did it while I was changing the sheets.”
Oh. That’s right. Understanding settled on her. Of course. Miss Lydia already knew that. She had worn one of those ribbons yesterday. She’d only sent Ruth on the errand to give her an escape. Gratitude pulled at the corners of her lips.
“Well? You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“I done told you the truth. Mrs. Harper sent me to find her ribbons. I guess she forgot where they were.”
Lucy frowned.
Ruth left the room before Lucy could pepper her with any more questions. She eyed the staircase. She couldn’t go back up there until Mr. Harper left. She’d just decided to go to the kitchen instead, when he appeared at the top of the steps. She ducked her head and tried to slip away before he saw her.
“Ah, Ruth. There you are.”
Too late. She began to mentally prepare herself for the beating she would get. She remained still and waited for him to come to a stop in front of her. His polished boots didn’t have the first scuff.
“Ruth?”
She slowly lifted her gaze from his boots, up to his whi
te shirt and wide-collared jacket, across his jaw that bristled with day old stubble, and finally into his eyes. She swallowed an unwelcome lump in her throat.
“I haven’t yet thanked you.”
What?
Humor lit his face. “What? You were expecting something else?”
She just stared at him. He became serious again. “My wife told me about the man who came after her in the woods. From her story, I understand you have given her the utmost attention and care. For that, I wish to thank you. There is nothing in Ironwood I treasure more than her.”
Ruth blinked.
“Also, you took it upon yourself to see that I was contacted when you perceived her ill. I am grateful for that as well.”
She shifted her stance. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
Mr. Harper’s gaze rested on her too long. “My wife is very fond of you. And you seem to take good care of her. Despite its strangeness, for that you will always have a favored place here.” He gave a curt nod and walked away.
Ruth stood dumbfounded. She blinked away the implications of the conversation and grasped the stairway’s handrail. She caught movement out of the side of her vision and turned to see Lucy staring at her, displeasure written all over her broad face.
Ruth lifted her chin and climbed the stairs. Outside Miss Lydia’s room she knocked loudly and waited in the hall.
“You can come in, Ruth.”
She opened the door to find all the clothes picked up off the floor and the bed made. Miss Lydia closed her little leather book she was always working in and put it and her writing utensils in a drawer.
“I am sorry he frightened you. I do not think he meant to.”
Ruth sighed. “I shoulda never come in like that. I guess I just wasn’t expecting, well, uh to….”
Lydia giggled. Ruth raised her eyebrows. Color flooded her mistress’s cheeks.
“Well, he is my husband.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, not back to that.” Lydia put a hand on her hips. Ruth wondered if she’d been taking scolding lessons from Betsy.
The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1) Page 15