Spirit of the Ruins

by Jenny Lykins

  Callen smiled. When she wasn’t so exhausted, so heartsick, she would ask him what most of that meant.

  “Speaking of Connor,” he said, “I’d better get back to the car. I don’t want to take a chance of him waking up alone.”

  “Daniel,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Thank you. For everything. The food, taking care of Connor, the clothes.” He’d brought her back a pair of denim trousers and a shirt similar to what Ty had bought her. “Ty will be so proud of you when he gets back.”

  Daniel ducked his head for a minute, then stood.

  “You need anything, yell.”

  *******

  Ty stared at the night sky until the stars all blurred together and his head fell back against the trunk. He couldn’t bear the thought of going and sleeping in the same bed where he had spent his wedding night with Callen. He’d rather sleep out there, under the same moon that would shine down on her.

  He only dozed, though. Pieces of timber and other remnants of the fire shifted or fell throughout the night. Even when he slept, he dreamed of her, or of the horror of walking through that column and finding the burning house on the other side. By the time dawn lightened the sky and an obnoxious rooster crowed, Ty’s mood matched the ache in his muscles and the throb in his head.

  He rose in stiff stages, his muscles screaming from leaning against the tree all night.

  Damn, what he wouldn’t give for a hot shower and a toothbrush.

  And Callen. Daniel. Connor.

  The smell of coffee drew him to a cabin that had once housed slaves. Magnolia moved about inside, and when she saw Ty she waved him in, then handed him a metal cup and poured it full of coffee.

  “I don’t needs to ask if you slept well,” she said, putting the coffee pot back on the fire.

  “That bad, huh?” He twisted his head back and forth to the sound of popping in his neck.

  “The bed would have been better,” she said.

  “The bed would have been infinity worse.”

  She accepted that comment.

  “I be fixin’ some buckwheat flapjacks. You just give me a few minutes.”

  Ty popped his neck again.

  “Sounds good. I think I’ll go see what kind of shape the…house…is in.”

  When he stepped out of the cabin, he turned down the well worn path toward the back of the mansion. Stephen already stood there, staring. Just staring. Ty was in no mood for his beloved brother-in-law at the moment. He would have disappeared into the trees, but Stephen had heard him on the path. He turned and waited for Ty’s approach. When Ty stopped in front of him, Stephen narrowed his eyes and looked him up and down.

  “I’ve been thinking—”

  “Trying out new experiences, are you?” Ty gave Stephen a level stare, then brought the coffee cup to his lips.

  “You blackguard!” The cup went flying, replaced with Stephen’s fist. Ty’s head whiplashed from the unexpectedly quick blow.

  “That tears it!” He plowed his shoulder into Stephen’s gut, landing on top of him and preparing to pound the man senseless. All the rage he’d bottled up, the frustration, the worry, what this man had done to Callen and Connor, all came to a head, begging for release in that time-honored fashion.

  A pair of hands yanked him off Stephen after Ty had landed only one blow.

  “You boys is worse’n a couple cats with their tails tied together.” Jacob pulled him to his feet, then put himself between Ty and Stephen. “I thought you was goin’ to bury the hatchet and apologize, Mistah Stephen. That’s what you said not ten minutes ago.”

  Ty felt a thick, warm trickle rolling from the corner of his mouth.

  “Bury it where? Between my teeth?”

  Stephen worked his way onto his elbows, wiping the blood from his nose on his shirtsleeve.

  “That was my intention, Jacob, before this cretin chose to insult me.”

  A little niggle of guilt squirmed in Ty’s conscience. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty with his wisecrack. But how was he to know, damn it, considering the man’s past animosity?

  He took a deep breath, mumbled, “Sorry man,” and offered Stephen a hand to help him up; the second time they’d found themselves in that position. This time, however, Stephen accepted Ty’s help, but only after a grudging hesitation.

  “As I was saying,” Stephen said, dusting off the well-worn trousers that must have been a neighbor’s, “I have given this whole business quite a deal of thought. The boy was obviously a relative of yours—”

  “My brother.”

  Stephen arched a brow, but went on.

  “I doubt even—I doubt you would kill a relative, and I can see no benefit to yourself if you had planned to let them all die, considering you then turned around and saved the heir to the property.”

  “And considering I didn’t set the fire to begin with.”

  Stephen nodded. “Point taken. So I must take it on faith that they are safe…somewhere, and at some point you will see fit to allow me to bid my sister and nephew farewell before you take them out of my life for good.”

  Ty had a devil of a time not laughing in this man’s face. He clamped his teeth until the urge passed. He tried to keep his next words neutral, nonconfrontational.

  “I have to say, Windsor, it surprises me that you even care if you see them again, considering how you treated them. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have second thoughts about ever letting you anywhere near them again, without a really good explanation. Why you took a little boy away from his mother. Why you tried to force Callen to marry someone against her will. Why, besides the fact that you perceive us to be of different social standings, you hated my guts, both times I married your sister.”

  Stephen didn’t seem to hear that last sentence. His head had slumped forward, and now he sank to one of the several wooden benches and stared at the heat-scorched grass at his feet.

  An ear-piercing shriek rent the air just as Hobson the peacock strutted from behind a hedge and stopped in front of Ty, eyeing him with jerky movements, then shrieking at him again when Ty failed to toss him breadcrumbs. The blasted bird must have the nine lives of a cat.

  “Git on outta here.” Jacob chased the bird, leaving Ty and Stephen alone. “Go on! Git! Afore I plucks you and has you for supper!”

  The outraged bird squawked and stalked away, with Jacob close on his tail feathers.

  Windsor looked as if he hadn’t even noticed.

  “Very well.” Stephen sat up, taking in a deep breath. “I see now the damage I have done, though everything I did was with the best of intentions.”

  Ty somehow managed not to snort.

  Stephen looked up at him. “If you want answers, I will start at the beginning.”

  Ty inclined his head, biting back any comments that might put the man off. This was an explanation he wanted to hear. Instead, he settled himself on a bench facing his brother-in-law.

  “It’s true, I wasn’t happy when Tylar married my sister. The war had started, Garrett had gone north, and Father and I both felt Callen, and Mother, needed someone of means, and an older man, to look after the place while we were gone. Besides, we’d all grown up together. Tylar was like our brother. I couldn’t understand why he’d married her, unless he had an ulterior motive.”

  “Love?” Ty couldn’t help suggesting.

  Stephen sighed and slumped further. “Still, he was—”

  “An overseer’s son?”

  “Yes.” Stephen glared. “But we made our peace, later, after we’d left for the war. He loved Callen, and I know now that she loved him. I accepted the marriage.”

  The jury was still out on that one, Ty thought, but he kept his peace.

  “I’d heard that Callen had given birth to their son, and that he had a deformity. When I returned home after the war, I realized something had to be done.”

  Ty saw red.

  “Why? Did an imperfect child not fit in with your plans of marrying her off? Was he not worthy to be a member
of the family because he has a few muscles drawing up his feet?”

  “Because my sister was making a cripple out of him!” Stephen yelled. “She carried the boy everywhere. Held him constantly. When he would try to take a clumsy step, then fall, she would scoop him up and carry him for the rest of the day. He had no chance to learn to walk, and he got so he stopped trying.” He raked a hand through his hair. “She did it with the best intentions.” He shook his head. “She is a wonderful mother, but on this point she had a blind spot.” Stephen raised his head and gave Ty a steady gaze. “I sent him to the Colemans for his own good, with orders that he get exercise and not be carried about like an invalid. And I visited him twice a week, or more, to insure he received the care he needed. He’d shown so much improvement, I had planned to bring him home within the month. A surprise for her. And then you showed up. I left Connor where he was for his own protection.” He glanced away. “But, yes, I also planned to insist Callen marry.”

  The outrage that had started to die in Ty’s chest flared back to life.

  “Why?” he ground through his teeth.

  Stephen rubbed his palms together, flexed them, as if they hurt, then turned them up so Ty could see the same scaly rash he’d noticed there before.

  “Because I am going to die. It will be a singularly nasty death, and I quite possibly will go insane before it’s over.” He looked up at Ty, who sat there, speechless. “I wanted her to have a solid husband to care for her and Connor before my illness develops to the point where I could no longer hide it.”

  Ty felt about three inches tall. He hadn’t dreamed…

  “As for you,” Stephen continued, “what was I supposed to think? A man shows up one morning in my sister’s bed, looking enough like her dead husband to be his twin. She is euphoric, and he has compromised her. And I know her husband is dead.” He cocked his head at Ty. “What would you have thought? That this was Tylar, reincarnated and traveling through time to find his wife? Or that this was an unscrupulous man with his sights set on bettering his station through marrying my sister, no matter how much he might hurt her?”

  Ty nodded, staring at the grass, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I see your point,” he finally said.

  “I still don’t know who you are, but I believe now that you really do love my sister.”

  “I do.”

  “That’s good. Because if you hurt her, or Connor, I will track you down with my last breath and kill you.”

  Ty believed him, and Stephen’s threat only elevated him in Ty’s opinion.

  “Can I ask you something?” Ty said, taking advantage of the fragile truce drawn between them.

  “What am I dying of?” Stephen guessed.

  Ty nodded.

  After a deep breath and a long stare at the rash on his hands, Stephen lifted his gaze.

  “When the war started, I was young and cocky.” He shrugged. “We had days and weeks of nothing to do. Chomping at the bit for a battle, building up restless energy.” He scraped at the scales on his hands. “The camp followers…the women…helped to ease that restlessness.” He looked up at Ty. “They weren’t so bad at first. And, being cocky, I was also rather choosy. I managed to make it through the entire four years without getting infected. Then, just before the surrender…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Syphilis. I have syphilis.” He raised his head and looked at Ty. “No one else knows. No one.”

  Ty had expected just about any answer…cancer, a heart condition…anything but that.

  “I had hoped Garrett would return, take over Windsor, care for Callen and Connor. When I came home to learn he was missing and presumed dead, I…I lost control. Ordered all his things burned.” Stephen stared at Ty. “I know Callen has them hidden somewhere. And I know everyone thought I ordered their destruction because he fought for the North, but Father and I respected his decision, even if we didn’t agree with it. I wanted Garrett’s effects destroyed because I couldn’t bear to look at them. I was so angry at him for dying. He was my brother! He wasn’t supposed to die!”

  Ty understood exactly what Stephen had felt. When his mother had died, Ty had only been eighteen. Eighteen and alone with a young brother to raise. When the numbness wore off and the grieving began, Ty had gone into a rage toward his mother, blaming her for smoking, for getting cancer, for dying and leaving him behind, as if she’d done it all on purpose. As if she could have stopped it. He’d known he was being unreasonable, but he’d had to deal with that anger. Anger, and then guilt for being angry. Celia, bless her, had told him to get good and mad, get it out of his system, and then get on with life, because she had done the same thing when her Carl had died.

  “So now you’d damned well better be good to my sister and my nephew,” Stephen continued, “because I won’t stay around here and make them watch me die. Not this kind of death.”

  Ty could only shake his head.

  “But syphilis isn’t a terminal illness.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” Stephen said with a sad laugh. “None of the treatments work. And I’ve tried them all. Each of them as unpleasant as the disease itself. An…injection,” – his tone left no doubt as to where – “every twelve hours with a solution of chlorate of potash, for three consecutive days. Saline cathartics. Cooling lotions. Injections of chloride of zinc. Every tonic with a claim of curative. Cauterization of the chancres—”

  “Okay, okay!” Ty choked. That was more description than any man would ever want to hear. “But those were Civil War treatments. They haven’t cured it in my time, but they can treat it so that it’s kept under control. You can even…well, you won’t be contagious. I don’t know all the details, but you can live a normal life. Get married.”

  Stephen rolled his eyes.

  “Ah, yes. The same wizards who will fix Connor’s deformity.”

  “Yes.” Ty refused to try and convince Stephen further of the truth. He had to admit, though, that he couldn’t blame his brother-in-law for his disbelief.

  “Isn’t it unfortunate, then, that we have lost that gateway to such a wondrous time?”

  Ty looked at him, thought of Callen and Daniel and Connor, there in the future, thinking God knows what, while Ty agonized in the past, with no possible way, other than Fate, to get home.

  “Unfortunate,” he repeated Stephen’s word, staring at the charred base of the column. “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Callen woke to the sound of Connor’s giggles. Her gaze flew to her son, where he and Daniel sat, tossing pebbles at that flimsy cup, then she turned to the column, knowing before she looked inside that Ty had not passed through it.

  Her breath shook as she exhaled, but she would not give in to the hysteria rising in her chest. Instead, she brushed dirt off her trousers, then wandered over to the boys.

  “Good morning,” Daniel said as he tossed another pebble.

  “Mama!” Connor scrambled to his feet, wrapping his arms around Callen’s legs. She stooped and gave him a hug, then wrinkled her nose. Was there another smell in the world quite like dirty little boys?

  “Goodness! You are in dire need of soap and water, young man!”

  Daniel took a deep, dramatic breath.

  “After the fire, and then camping out here all night, I think it’s safe to say that none of us smell too flowery.”

  She had to agree with him. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so grimy and nasty.

  “Callen, I’ve been thinking,” Daniel said, tossing away his handful of pebbles and rising. “We can’t stay out here all night again. For one thing, I don’t know if we’re allowed to spend the night on the grounds, and for another, it’s just not safe. We got lucky last night, but there’re too many signs around that…well, that people come here after dark.”

  Callen started to ask what he meant, but when his cheeks colored to bright pink beneath a sparse scattering of whiskers, she decided to simply take his word for it.

  “Anyway, I figure
we can get a room somewhere nearby, use my debit card to guarantee payment, and we’ll spend the day here and the night there. Unless,” he added hopefully, “Ty gets back today.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. She really didn’t want to leave, not even for a moment, but Daniel obviously was right. She couldn’t put their lives in danger. And if Ty came back at night, surely he would know they wouldn’t be far. Surely he wouldn’t expect them to go back to Memphis under these circumstances.

  She finally nodded.

  “Great,” he said, opening the car door and pulling out a box with Pastry Shop printed on its side. “They’re a little stale from last night, but anybody want breakfast?”

  *******

  The first day passed, and Ty cleared the rubble from around the column. Once he could negotiate safely, he thought positive thoughts, visualized stepping out of the chamber to the sight of Callen and Dan and Connor. With one deep, uplifting breath, he pushed the cellar side open, stepped into the shadowy interior, then closed the panel. With one more prayer, he opened the other side.

  To the sight of Windsor’s front lawn and Hobson strutting across the breadth of it.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he told himself, staggering back against the panel, tamping down a despair that could easily consume him. “I’ll give it some time. I just need a little more time.” He refused to ask himself what he needed the time for. He had no answer. He knew it. Therefore, he would not ask the question.

  He spent the second day walking through the column. And the third. He tried it at every hour, half hour, quarter hour. He tried the middle of the night. He tried it during the last fading rays of the sun.

  The despair, the overwhelming, gut-wrenching, heart-ripping despair finally gripped him with a vengeance. Sleep eluded him completely. He roamed the grounds day and night, sat for hours and stared at the pillar.