He tilted his head to the side and watched me closely. “Is the man still alive?”
I tried to look away from him, but he cupped my chin in his hand. “Did you kill him, Lydia?”
The truth tumbled out before I could consider its implications. “I wanted to! I wanted him to die!”
“But did you kill him?”
“I feared that I had, but he was seen the next morning.”
Charles dropped his hand and clenched his fist to his side. He turned to look out over the dark lawn. “Where is he now?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I don’t know. Tommy saw him on the road to town. Everyone was talking about it. He ducked into the woods before Tommy could speak to him. No one has seen him since. I do not know if he lives still, and, if so, where he is.”
“It doesn’t matter. You were strong. And brave. You did only what you needed to do to protect yourself and your maid. No court in Mississippi would find you guilty.” The warmth in his voice washed over me, stirring the longings in my heart. Still, there was more I needed to know.
“Charles, were you aware of men doing such things in the quarters?”
He stiffened, his voice growing hard. “No, I did not. But you can be sure that each man on this farm will once again have a very clear understanding of proper conduct on my property come morning. I promise you, Lydia. It will not happen again, God help me.”
“Thank you, Charles,” I whispered. A stray tear slid down my cheek, quickly whisked away by Charles’s loving fingers.
He lay with me that night with his arms around me, somehow knowing I needed to be held and nothing more, sensing the turmoil in my heart and staying close to comfort it. How is it possible to have a man who gives so much, when I’ve seen so many who only take? He should have a woman who can give herself to him body and soul as it is meant to be. But I cannot give him what’s broken.
July 7, 1862
Charles surprised me with a ball. Imagine such a thing – a man planning a ball. Yet, it is exactly what he did! I know he did it for me, to try to bring me out of the mood that has been slowly devouring me. So dashing he was! I felt my heart flutter. I longed to be with him, yet feared the growing depths of my love.
I dressed in a pearl colored gown, bits of pink lace touching my neckline and wrists. The color of the dress went well with my light skin and mahogany hair, and I relished the look of appreciation on Charles’s face.
I do not care much for crowds, but Charles kept the guest list to my family, a few friends and people from our church. I was so pleased to see Daddy again, and even Mother seemed to offer her approval for my efforts around Ironwood.
So among their company, I tried to ignore the knots in my stomach and enjoy the evening Charles had gone through so much trouble to create.
Soft music filled the upper room, a trio of violins creating a melody to the rhythm of swishing dresses. The women have resigned to often dance alone, as the number of men continues to dwindle. Everyone faded from the room as Charles and I danced, and nothing mattered to me but the feel of his hand on the small of my back and the firm but gentle way he led me around the dance floor.
When the music finished, he went to greet guests and talk about the war with the men. I found myself very alone in the company of women. Their idle chatter of trivial things annoyed me more than usual. Are they even aware of anything outside of dresses and balls? Is there any meaning at all to their shallow lives? For that matter, is there any meaning to mine? I excused myself and disappeared from the pressing confines of the upper room. I passed people on the stairs with a smile, always putting on the proper face, yet growing ever wearier of it.
Ruth saw me slipping onto the back porch, but I put my finger to my lips and she gave a slight nod. She would keep yet another secret for me. I sat on the bench in the rose garden, enjoying the fragrant smells of the blooms and the muffled sounds of music and laughter now further removed from me. I looked up at the lights glowing on the third floor. Would I ever be a part of that life again? But then, maybe I’d never really been like them at all.
I felt so different…and so alone. The weight of it came crashing with a suddenness I was not prepared for. It threatened to crush me, and I could no longer breathe.
Charles suddenly appeared beside me, placing his arm around my shoulders and gently brushing the loose pieces of hair from my face. The pain in his eyes cut at my heart.
“Oh, Lydia. Don’t you know that I love you?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Do you love me as well?”
I searched his face, seeing there all I longed for. “Yes, Charles. I do. With all that I have to offer.”
“Then, please, you have to talk to me. Do you think I cannot see it in your eyes?” He spoke of his concern for me and my heart swelled within my chest.
He took a long draw of air, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the intensity I saw made my stomach drop. “Lydia, did that man hurt you?”
Tears spilled from my eyes. I could hold it in no longer. Whatever consequences came, I had to tell him the truth. “Not him, but another. I am not what you think I am! I am not what you deserve.” I turned away, unable to face him now that he knew. Unable to look at the repulsion that would replace the love in his eyes.
Charles ran his hand down my arm and my heart skipped at his touch, bringing the downward spiral of my 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 I dare to hope? I picked at my fingernails until I trusted my voice enough to speak. The hollow words flowed from me as if from someone else as I told him about my past. They destroyed his image of a pure, untainted bride and laid bare the soiled creature in her place. Then I rose from my seat to flee.
He caught my arm and turned me to him. “Please, do not leave me.”
I stopped, but I still could not look into his eyes. I sat once again and stared at the grass under the folds of my skirts.
I could only guess the thoughts he did not share. I began to think of where I would turn when he put me away from him. Would Mother be too ashamed to take me home? Would Daddy allow it? If anyone else were to find out….
I tried to push the clamoring thoughts away and focus on the silence tempered only by the soft music from above, accompanied by one loan cricket chirping out of rhythm. I dared a glance at Charles’s profile. The muscles in his jaw worked and he stared ahead. I should not have begun to hope. I’d just begun to let myself love, and soon it would be over. He would not want to be married to me any longer now that he knew the truth. The empty feeling in my stomach knotted into terror.
Charles took a deep breath. “When?”
I told him the things I’d only ever shared with Ruth, twice now having to slash open old wounds and leave them to bleed out all over what could have been a good life. Though I did try to remain calm, giving him only the facts in the least detailed way I could.
“I would see him hanged,” Charles said. Never have I heard his voice so strained. A shiver ran through me. There was something dangerous there, a glimpse of a man who would stop at nothing to protect his own.
I shook my head, hoping to calm the storm that gathered in his features. “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.”
We sat for many more minutes before he 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.”
He held me close and my fears of losing him melted with each gentle stroke of his hand as he assured me it was not my fault. Yet, I could not release the feeling of being ruined, unworthy of all the good things that had come to me and ashamed of how I had deceived him.
Once again Charles surprised me. “We are all soiled,” he said. “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! I had not. How could I? I pushed away from Charles. “He did not protect me. He did not save me then, why should I want him to save me now?”
“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,” I whispered.
Charles stroked my head. “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.”
Charles was the only good I knew. But it was enough. I could believe him. I had to forgive and ask for forgiveness or the bitterness would consume me. I held the key to my own prison, I’d just been too afraid to use it. Living with the pain of the known came easier than trusting the unknown.
Charles held me until it was over, until I cried out to the God I’d long ago abandoned, though he’d never truly left me. I clung to both of them, to God and the man he’d blessed me with. My purity now belonged to my husband. He and I were one, as God intended. I resolved to let him know all the secret places of my heart, however long a road that proved to be. Somehow I knew Charles would walk it with me, ever in his patient way, never asking more than I was ready to give.
Three days have passed since that evening and I feel freer than I thought possible. Charles and I came together tonight in a way that I’ve never experienced. I feel a joy I cannot describe. He sleeps soundly now, spent by our passion…passion I did not know I possessed, but gave freely to the man who will forever have my heart.
Freedom is a funny thing. It is freely given, though it has to be taken. It cannot be earned, and it has to be trusted. I have been given new life.
I will look for the good.
Beauty from ashes.
Beauty from ashes…
The words dance around in my mind’s eye, twirling and dissolving like mist, only to force themselves into the forefront of my consciousness again. I had no idea what they meant.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.
I found myself sitting outside in the rose garden. Though I didn’t remember moving from my place in the parlor, I didn’t question my presence under the stars. Where Lydia left off, I began. Strange, but natural enough. I didn’t take the time to question my logic, either. I just went with it as I had done with so many other things lately.
Faint music tickled my ears, and I looked up to see soft candlelight drifting down from the third floor window. Frowning, I rose and studied the scene. A light wind ruffled my hair, first from one direction and then another as if it were the White Rabbit, late for the Mad Hatter’s party but not knowing which way it needed to go. The delicate scent of dozens of roses ebbed and flowed with the fickle intensity of the breeze. Above, the music stopped, and I was left with only the intermittent sounds of a lonely cricket searching for another of his kind under the vast blanket of stars untainted by floods of city lights.
“Hello.”
I drew a sharp breath and turned on my heel, nearly tripping over my own feet. The strange yet vaguely familiar voice came from a smiling woman about my height wearing a delicate white dress that draped her shoulders. Hints of lace swept gracefully along the modest neckline. Her full skirts swished as she tentatively stepped toward me.
We stared at each other.
My voice caught in my throat, and the very breath needed to fuel it refused to exit from my lungs. Small curls of dark hair the same shade as my own escaped from the mass piled high on her head and caressed the sides of her face. She looked much like Daddy. She had his defined cheekbones. The same ones I had always secretly admired on myself.
We studied each other. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans and finally drew in a lung full of air. Looking into her eyes was like looking into Daddy’s pupils set in another face. I still remember after all these years because eyes like that are unforgettable. The irises swam with blue and green, the color of clear waters alive with vibrant sea life, illuminated by iridescent flecks of gold. She blinked, momentarily hiding the pools behind thick lashes that would be the envy of any cover model.
A knowing settled over me. I was as sure of it as any scientist is that gravity exists. I tested my theory. “Lydia?”
Recognition lit her features. “You know me.”
Yes. But I couldn’t even begin to understand how. Was she a figment of my imagination? Maybe the house was haunted. When she said nothing further, I sought an answer that might explain my current quandary. “Where are we?”
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Ironwood. Where else? It is what binds us, is it not?”
I could not argue her logic. Maybe I should have asked when we were instead. Should I tell her I’ve been reading her diary? Surely that was an invasion of privacy that would light indignation even in a ghost.
“There is something you must consider,” she said, interrupting my bizarre train of thought.
She reached out and grabbed my hand. It felt so real, warm and alive. Nothing like what the hand of a ghost was supposed to be like. Unless she was the real one and I was the ghost, I wasn’t quite certain.
“You must let go and forgive. You must be whole again.”
“What?” I withdrew my hand. “I can’t.”
I wanted to say she didn’t understand and she didn’t know what she was asking, but the hollow excuse died on my lips.
Sadness filled her eyes. “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.”
She pulled me into a hug, her soft lavender scent making me sleepy. “You must look for it,” she whispered, her voice near yet at the same time sounding far away.
“I don’t know how…” My voice trailed off, my eyes growing heavy. I fought against the weariness that pulled me.
She stepped back, grasping my 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.” Her voice grew softer, her hands slipping from mine.
“No, wait.” I shook the heaviness from my eyes, and blinked away the fog. But she was gone. I stood alone in the garden.
A tapping sound echoed somewhere in the distance. Insistent. I ignored it. The candlelight still danced off the glass in the upper window. I walked inside, hoping to find Lydia at the ball going on upstairs, but the sounds of people were gone. The tapping grew louder as I walked through the house. Like a woodpecker demanding his meal from the dying tree, the sound pecked away at my soul. Who knew what worms he would find there? I shook my head to force the bird away, and stepped into the parlor.
Brilliant green curtains and a dogwood rug covered the floor. I was still in the time where I belonged, with the family I’d been robbed of knowing.
I wanted to turn and go up the stairs, to find Lydia, but I couldn’t fight the undeniable urge to sit on the small couch in the corner. My feet carried me there against my will, and my tired body slumped into the cushion.
The tapping sound grew louder, coming from the hallway. I let the weariness overtake me. Fine, woodpecker. Have your fill of the filth that crawls within me. Take all you can get.
My eyes drifted closed. I heard someone calling my name before I surrendered to the darkness.
“Emily? Emily, are you there?”
The tapping became pounding. Woodpecker turned frenzied lumberjack. I groaned. Forcing myself to open my eyes, I found I was still sitting on the same couch. Its polished arms were worn; its cushions dull with age. I sighed. Just as I suspected, the rest of Ironwood had shifted and aged again beneath me.
Adjusting to reality once again, I realized the tapping sound came from someone banging
on the door. I looked around in confusion, wondering which part of my experience was a dream. I stretched my arms over my head and tried to work the stiffness from my body. The joints in my neck popped in protest as my feet trudged to the entry.
I opened the door and squinted against the morning sun. Luke stood in the doorway, concern written all over his face. “Emily? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I guess I fell asleep on the couch last night. Sorry.”
“Well, you sure are a heavy sleeper. I’ve been pounding on that door for a good five minutes.”
I gave him the most apologetic look I could muster, knowing that despite my efforts it would still be tinged with annoyance.
Luke held up a paper bag and two travel mugs of coffee. “I brought breakfast.”
I grinned. “You’ve redeemed yourself. Come on in.” I swung the door open to allow him passage. When his back faced me, I scrubbed my front teeth with the neck of my tee-shirt and tried to gauge how bad my breath stank.
I plopped onto one of the dining room chairs, running my fingers through my tangled mess of hair. I must have looked a fright, but Luke didn’t say anything. I couldn’t decide if that made me feel better or worse.
Luke slid a box of doughnuts across the table, his perfect aim allowing them to come to rest right in front of me. I picked a simple glazed one and pulled off a bite, wondering how he would react if I started eating before he had a chance to pray. I popped the piece into my mouth.
A look of amusement was the only reward I got for my defiance. Luke plucked the gaudiest doughnut from the box, one covered in chocolate and sprinkles and filled with who-knows-what, and took a huge bite.
“Are you allowed to eat food that hasn’t been blessed?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I inwardly cringed. I didn’t mean to sound quite so snarky.
“Only on the second Tuesday of the third month after the celebration of the Passover.”
I stared at him.
He burst out laughing. “Goodness, Emily. I’m only kidding!”
My ears burned. “Oh.”
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 14