Touching the Sky

by Tracie Peterson

  “I think the atmosphere will be much improved by all of us delighting in the holiday season. I’ve already arranged to have Carlita and Esther retrieve the Christmas decorations from the attic. I thought this year we might even have a Christmas tree like the von Blüchers’ always have. What do you think?”

  “Do you suppose Carissa will be there?”

  “Be where?”

  “At the Christmas ball,” Laura said, forgetting about her mother’s idea of a German tree. “You were talking about having Father buy her a new gown. I just wondered if you really thought she would attend.”

  “And why not? She won’t yet be in her confinement. I doubt she’d even be showing, so I think it would be perfectly fine for her to be in attendance. Besides, if she has a new gown, Malcolm will no doubt want to show her off.” Mother got up from her chair. “I believe I’ll go speak to your father right now.” Her mother darted from the room without another word. It was as if the only thing of import in Mother’s world was having new dresses made.

  Sighing in exasperation, Laura picked up a book she’d been trying to read and opened it to where she’d left off. For nearly half an hour she immersed herself in the challenges of poor Jane Eyre. Mr. Rochester had lied to Jane about his marital state, and the poor girl very nearly wed a married man.

  Laura frowned at the tragic deception. Jane had fallen in love with a man who had not only lied to her, but had continued the falsehood very nearly at the cost of her innocence. Men could be so barbaric in their thinking. How could one ever consider such actions acceptable? But then again, how could Malcolm Lowe believe hitting his wife to be a reasonable response?

  Laura thought instead of Brandon, of his gentle spirit and kindness toward her. He had been faithful to call on her and send little notes of encouragement since her teary carriage ride. She had to admit that Brandon was all that she could hope for in a husband. His sacrifices prior to and during the war had made him a hero in her eyes. But the stories he told her were never given to praise himself. Brandon shared the past in a way that either brought God glory or spoke in admiration of someone else.

  He’s such an honorable man, she thought. So unlike Malcolm. Malcolm didn’t care about putting his wife in danger. He only thought of himself.

  She got up and walked to the piano, thinking she might like to practice a bit on some new Christmas pieces when something Brandon had said to her came to mind.

  “Do not put yourself in harm’s way for the hope of revenge. I love you, and I cannot lose you.”

  She clutched at her throat. “He said that he loved me.” Had she remembered correctly?

  Laura struggled to remember the conversation word for word. She closed her eyes and pictured them sitting in the buggy.

  His words were impassioned, and she recalled that he said he no longer wanted her help in the investigation. Again his declaration brought a lump to her throat. “Do not put yourself in harm’s way for the hope of revenge. I love you, and I cannot lose you.”

  “He loves me,” she murmured. How in the world had she missed that?

  Laura sat down to consider what she should do. Perhaps Brandon was waiting for her to say something about the declaration. Perhaps upon reflection, he regretted his announcement. How could she bring up the subject without appearing brash?

  But then another part of the conversation echoed in her head. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I delayed my retirement to help in bringing Lowe to justice. . . .”

  Something about that statement seemed oddly out of place. Brandon hadn’t delayed his retirement to bring Lowe to justice. He hadn’t even known there was a problem with Malcolm until Laura had shared the information she’d overheard the night of the wedding. Or had he?

  She bit at her lower lip and tried to recall her first encounter with Brandon. In the alley, he had thought her to be a troublesome Southern belle who was abusing his men. Later at the party her parents held, Brandon mysteriously arrived as a guest. He was surprised to find her there, as well—surprised even more to learn of her family’s Union support.

  “Miss Laura,” Esther said as she entered the room, “yar father wants to see ya in his study. He say for ya to come right away.”

  Troubled for reasons she couldn’t yet put a finger on, Laura got to her feet. “Thank you, Esther.” She hoped the churning of her stomach wouldn’t be made worse by whatever her father wanted to discuss. It had been three days since Carissa’s party, and he’d said nothing to her about her announcement to teach reading and writing to the Negroes.

  Making her way to the study, Laura spied the open door and stepped into the room. “You wanted to see me?”

  Her father nodded soberly and pointed to a chair. “Please sit with me. I have something I want to discuss.”

  Laura did as he told her, sitting prim and proper on the edge of a large leather wingback. “I suppose this is about my announcement at Carissa’s birthday party,” she said, hoping to just get the topic on the table.

  “Indeed it is,” Father replied.

  “First, please let me say that I did not take on this endeavor to disrespect you, Father. I simply saw a need—one that I felt confident I could meet.”

  “I’m not angry, Laura. I wish you would have told me sooner, and that you wouldn’t have put yourself in such grave risk by going into the colored part of town.”

  “But Jesus went where the sick people were,” Laura said with a weak smile.

  Her father nodded. “But Jesus was a man—and the Son of God.” He smiled. “Even so, I want only to keep you safe—not forbid you to continue, as you might imagine.”

  She felt her body relax a bit although she remained on the edge of her seat. Father came from around his desk and took the chair beside her. “I believe in your project, my dear, and I do want to help.”

  “I was worried that you might not, since our previous conversation some time ago was not at all favorable.”

  Father eased back in the chair and crossed his legs. “It’s true that I was less than supportive. I’m afraid it was simply bad timing for me. I’d recently listened to several friends who were speaking of the problems they were enduring because of the slaves being set free. These were good people, Laura. They were good to their slaves.”

  “Can one truly be good to a person they claim to own?” she asked.

  “I suppose not,” he replied. “Even so, the government was making a great deal of trouble for my friends and it tainted my thoughts that day. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course.” Laura leaned forward. “I hope you’ll forgive me, as well. I rarely have gone against you, and I felt quite worried about keeping my actions from you and Mother. As I said, it was never done as an act of defiance, but rather one of love.”

  “All is forgiven,” her father assured. “Now, however, I believe we need to make plans. I delayed in speaking to you until I could figure a couple of things out. First, I have a location in mind where you might continue lessons. There is a small house on the edge of town near the colored section, but not in it. I believe it would be a suitable and safe place to arrange classes. If you agree, we can go take a look at it later today.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  “Second, I have spoken with some of my business associates, and we are arranging for tables and chairs, as well as the supplies you mentioned.”

  “They know, don’t they, that there can be no charge to the students?” Laura asked. “Some of these people are living twenty to a shack and have no money. They are barely existing as it is, and schooling isn’t something they can afford.”

  “They understand, my dear. We all do. I suppose for those of us with a conscience, we accept the responsibility and realize that it is by our hand and permission that the black man and his family were not allowed to receive a proper grounding in education. I can honestly say that I bear deep shame over this thought, but I also realize shame will not change the problem. A man might feel a great many thing
s, but action is still required to prove the heart.”

  Laura thought her father very wise. She also thought of Brandon’s declaration of love. He might feel love for her, but he hadn’t taken any action to truly prove his heart in the matter.

  Her father smiled and continued. “So I propose that we work together. In fact, I would also like to find a young man who might assist you. Do you suppose that Mr. Reid might be interested?”

  “For what purpose?” Laura asked.

  “So that black men might also learn to read. I cannot allow for my daughter to teach men, and that is not negotiable.”

  Laura understood and had already turned away two such requests. “I completely agree.” She thought for a moment. Working with Brandon would be something akin to wonderful; however, she knew he had spoken of starting a ranch. She frowned. Hadn’t he told her that he would have great difficulty ever working in the confines of a school?

  “Since we are only meeting on Saturdays, Brandon might be willing to help—at least so long as he’s here in Corpus Christi. I know he has other . . . irons in the fire, so to speak. But perhaps if you were the one to ask him, he would agree.”

  “Very good. I’ll speak to him as soon as an opportunity presents itself. I would feel quite safe knowing you were in his care.”

  She thought of Brandon’s words of love once again and smiled. “I would, too.”

  Malcolm felt as if people were watching him all day long. It seemed wherever he went, someone was off to the side, reading a newspaper or just whittling on a stick. They always seemed to refuse to look directly at him, and that made Malcolm even more suspicious.

  He walked into the house at half past eight and smelled the faint aroma of food. At least Carissa had thought to fix him something to eat. Malcolm made his way into the kitchen and checked the warming receptacle. A covered plate awaited him. He took it and the coffeepot and went to the table.

  “I’ll get you a cup and some silver,” Carissa said, startling him with her silent approach.

  He spun around in his nervous state and all but lunged for her. Stopping himself, Malcolm drew in a deep breath and gave a curt nod. He sat down at the table and tried to steady his nerves. Nothing was going right. First they’d had unexpected delays in getting enough black powder, and now there were other problems with ammunitions and blasting caps. His intent to kill off a good number of the colored troops had been thwarted when they’d mustered out of the city in November. Now Malcolm wasn’t even sure they could carry through with their plans to create havoc on Christmas Eve. Nothing was working in his favor, and now . . . now he was certain someone was following him.

  “I hope you had a good day,” Carissa said, putting the cup and silverware in front of him.

  Malcolm took up the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “It was fine.”

  “I had another cooking lesson,” Carissa said, pointing to the plate. “Esther came over and helped me learn how to cook pork chops and gravy. I hope you like them.”

  “Is there any bread?” he asked.

  She nodded and returned to the kitchen. Malcolm hated her hovering over him. He hated most everything about her these days. She was trying overly hard to be sweet and it irritated him to no end.

  Carissa brought a loaf of bread and a knife and put them both beside her husband. She took a seat across from Malcolm and started to reach for the knife. “Would you like me to slice it? You seem very tired.”

  He grabbed a hunk of bread and tore it off rather than cut it. “And you’re very annoying.”

  She frowned and straightened in her chair. “I was just trying to show some concern, Malcolm. I know you’re working hard . . . at whatever it is you do. I just want you to know I appreciate your efforts.”

  He sopped his bread in the gravy for a moment, and then looked at his wife. “Is that your way of tryin’ to get me to talk about my job again?” He purposefully lowered his voice to sound menacing. “Because if I thought you were startin’ that again, I’d have to deal with it here and now.”

  “You know better than that,” Carissa said, seeming to lose some of her patience. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Be nice somewhere else.”

  “You don’t want me to keep you company while you eat?”

  He pounded his fist on the table and almost laughed at the way she jumped up from the chair. “No. I don’t need company, and I don’t need your questions. Get on out of here. Go to bed. That’s where you can do me the most good.”

  Carissa looked at him for a moment. “I know I’ve said it before, but you’ve changed. I thought you loved me . . . loved being with me. We used to have fun together.”

  “And now we got a baby on the way and a town full of Yankees who don’t seem to know when it’s time to go home,” he said, picking up the knife to cut into the pork. He took a bite and found the flavor to be exceptional. Another time he might have given her a compliment, but not now. Not with her asking stupid questions and pestering the life out of him.

  “Are you sorry that we’re having a baby?” she asked.

  He could hear the sadness in her voice and instead of softening him, it only served to make him angry. In one move, Malcolm was on his feet. He raised his hand, almost forgetting the knife he held. Carissa’s eyes widened, and she backed up several steps.

  Malcolm lowered his arm. “Now, get out of here like I told you. I’m hungry, and I don’t intend to listen to you nag me.”

  A sob broke from somewhere deep in her and Carissa turned and ran. Malcolm wanted to be sorry that he’d made her cry, but he wasn’t. At least if she was scared and crying, she wasn’t here talking and whining.

  He sat back down and finished the meal. The person he was really angry at wasn’t even Carissa. It was her sister. Laura had caused him no end of trouble. Every time she stuck her nose in their business, Carissa got mouthy and pushy. No doubt she’d been visiting her sister today.

  There was also the problem of Laura’s beau. Reid was an absolute mystery to Malcolm. He’d tried on several occasions to get information on the man, but it was as if the lines had been cut. No one seemed to even know where he was living at this point. What kind of man was so paranoid he kept his bed and board a secret?

  All of this, combined with Malcolm’s plans against the Yankee oppressors, made him more than a little paranoid himself. He knew he’d been followed that evening. He could feel eyes watching him, and it only served to stir his rage. Malcolm didn’t like folks in his business—especially now that the stakes were so high.

  He pushed back the empty plate and got to his feet, then blew out the lamp and waited twenty minutes in the dark. He hoped that if anyone were watching the house, they’d figure he went to bed.

  At the end of his wait, Malcolm pulled on his hat and slipped out the back door. He needed to see Jed Lanz and make sure that he’d rounded up enough men to help with tomorrow’s workload. He saddled his horse and rode toward town, making sure to stop before getting too close to the city. He tied off the animal and decided to walk the rest of the way. If he were being followed, it would be harder to track him afoot. Not only that, but if he remained mounted, there was always a chance the animal might be recognized. His dapple gray was a very dark color with a shocking white mane. Folks were bound to know to whom the horse belonged.

  Heading down an alley, Malcolm kept to the shadows. He’d gone no more than a block or two, however, when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. He stopped. The footsteps continued but grew more distant. Malcolm picked up his pace. He’d be glad when they got this job done. Once they managed to blow up the Union headquarters and kill off half the command, the war would be back in full swing. At least in Corpus Christi.

  He heard it again—footsteps. Malcolm gritted his teeth and shoved his hand deep into his coat pocket. Closing his fingers around the wooden grip of his pistol, he breathed a sense of relief. The piece was like an extension of his hand, and Malcolm always felt better when he had a gun at
the ready.

  Stepping cautiously to the main road, Malcolm hurried across the street before weaving through a series of alleys. Lanz lived near the poorer white section of town by the water, but Malcolm wasn’t very familiar with the neighborhood shortcuts.

  Coming at a dead run from the alley onto a main thoroughfare, Malcolm turned left and slowed his pace. If someone had been following him, he was sure to have lost them by now. He breathed deeply and felt his heart slow. He smiled to himself.

  You’re getting mighty nervous for someone who knows what he’s doin’, he told himself. He very nearly laughed at his foolishness when someone popped out from the corner of a brick building just ahead. Malcolm came up short at the sight of the tall man. The dim street lighting gave a face to his fears.

  “You.” Malcolm scowled. “Are you followin’ me, Reid?”

  Brandon Reid cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Why? You need following?”

  22

  I’m so glad Mother thought to have this gown made over and let out,” Carissa said, giving the skirt a quick twirl. “Goodness, but I feel like the belle of the ball. This plaid has always been a favorite of mine.”

  Laura was glad to see Carissa so happy with the dress. It was probably the only thing she’d been happy about since the night of her birthday party. She said very little about her life with Malcolm, but to Laura’s relief she’d not seen any more bruises on her sister’s frame. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t bruises where no one could see.

  “You look beautiful,” Laura told her sister. “And I’m so glad you decided to come with Brandon and me tonight. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

  Carissa sobered a bit and shrugged. “I was desperate to be out of the house and doing something other than staring at the walls. I am so often alone that I have even taken to reading.” She laughed. “Which you know has never been a pleasurable pastime for me. Although I must admit it keeps me from being too lonely now.”