Way Back

by Williams, Abbie;

  “We shall spend one night at the homestead of Charles and Fannie Rawley, no more,” Patricia whispered. “We can’t endanger them that way.”

  I wanted badly to accompany them, to meet Miles’s parents and his remaining brothers, but I knew there was no way; there wasn’t time.

  “Do you think Dredd knows we’re not at the convent anymore?” I kept my voice low. Neither of us wanted to mention the man we feared most, as if to give voice to Fallon Yancy’s name was to conjure him. The minute he resurfaced in Chicago Fallon would discover our last known whereabouts; and try as he might both Patricia and I knew Dredd wouldn’t refuse his brother information.

  “We must assume they both do.” Her soft voice was heavy with the burden of this knowledge. “And they shall come looking. Last night I told Cole of Fallon’s bizarre disappearance, and what you and I believe about him, that he is perhaps able to jump through time. I’m sure you are aware that Marshall has shared the truth with Cole and Axton…” Her voice broke over his name and she cleared her throat, glancing toward the wagon seat where Cole sat. But Cole was listening to Malcolm, not paying attention to my conversation with Patricia. She continued, “They know when he and you are from. Cole confessed that at first he was uncertain what to believe as truth, but he has come to trust your Marshall quite implicitly.”

  “Marsh told me the same thing. I’m so glad they trust each other.” I paused for a beat. “You have to go to the last place Fallon would ever look.”

  “Does such a place exist?” she whispered.

  Malcolm halted Aces, indicating the horizon ahead. “Cedar River, due west.”

  My heart sank; Patricia curled her fingers through mine. We had but minutes now.

  “Ruthie…” she whispered, rife with quiet desperation.

  I squeezed her hand. “I’ll watch out for him, I promise you.”

  She clenched her jaws, restraining tears with herculean effort; she could not stop her gaze from seeking Axton one last time. He’d drawn Ranger to a halt, flanking the wagon on the left and subsequently out of Cole’s sight, and allowed himself this last moment to look Patricia’s way. Axton’s face was cast in auburn light and divulged no errant emotion – but his eyes betrayed him, burning with everything he realized he could not say, with what he was giving up, however unwillingly. Their gazes locked for an eternal instant before Axton broke it, looking westward instead. I felt the trembling in Patricia’s body.

  She brought her knuckles to her mouth as she whispered, “Good-bye.”

  We parted ways on the banks of the Cedar River. The decision had been made for Cole and Malcolm to take Patricia and the baby north into Minnesota, while Marshall, Axton, and I would push west, toward Howardsville. Despite having discussed nearly everything else during the night hours, Marsh and I had not spoken of one crucial topic – the probability of our successful return to the future. The six of us stood now in a tight cluster near a rushing river brimming with springtime thaw. We were all overtired, and wired as a result; it would not sink in until much later this day that we were actually parting ways, possibly forever.

  “You’ll be in Landon,” I marveled, hugging Patricia with all of my strength, for about the tenth time. I gushed, “You’ll see Flickertail Lake and White Oaks Lodge! Of course Shore Leave hasn’t been built yet, but I can almost believe Mom and Camille and everyone will be waiting there for you.” I was babbling at this point, tears in my grainy eyes.

  Malcolm stood near my right elbow as I spoke, which he touched, requesting with quiet intensity, “My Cora. Tell me of her. Marshall has spoken of her…”

  Given the nature of our abrupt introductions, I’d not yet been allowed a chance to really speak with Malcolm, though Marshall explained last night that Malcolm wanted badly to ask me about Camille – that is, Cora, as he had known her. I studied Malcolm Carter in the morning light; he was lean and wiry, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, his eyes the deep, rich brown of pecans. His mouth was full and soft, his nose with a sprinkling of freckles which lent a boyish sweetness to his handsome face. His eyes stung me, though – the sadness in their depths was devastating and irreparable. Even though he did not exactly resemble Mathias, I sensed my brother-in-law within him just as strongly as ever.

  “I believe her soul is in my sister, Camille,” I said softly. I wanted to tell Malcolm everything I could, to ease even a fraction of the ache in his eyes, but circumstance and the press of time were forcing us apart. I bit down my regret and hurried to say, “She is married to Mathias Carter and she knew you in Mathias, from the first.” Malcolm drew a slow breath. “She is happy, then?”

  “So happy,” I said, and Malcolm engulfed me in a hug. I felt the wetness of tears on his face as his cheek briefly rested against my temple. I held him tightly. “Camille knows of you. She has your picture and she loved you from the moment she first saw it. She keeps it near her at all times.”

  Malcolm nodded, unable to reply. His chest heaved, only once, but roughly.

  “She never stopped loving you. And she forgave you a long time ago, you must know that. If she knew I was speaking to you, she would be overjoyed.”

  “She is a mother?” He drew back to search my eyes.

  “Many times over,” I said, joy in revealing these truths to him intermixed with his pain.

  “It’s what we always wanted,” Malcolm whispered. “Will you…speak to her, of me?”

  “Nothing would make her happier. I will tell her all about you.”

  Next I hugged Cole. “Take care of them. Swear to me.”

  “I will, Ruthie. Thank you for caring for her these many months.” Cole drew back and regarded Axton, with grudging respect. “And you, Axton Douglas. I owe you more than I could ever repay.”

  Axton nodded, his lips compressed in a grim line. He was pale beneath his tanned skin, doing his best to keep his haunted eyes from Patricia.

  Axton, Patricia tried to say, her lips forming the single word though no sound emerged, and Ax relented and hugged her, though quickly, almost stiffly, a far cry from the way he’d held and kissed her yesterday in the chapel – but that would remain our secret. It was the least I could do for him. I saw what it cost him to draw away and know that Patricia was exiting his life, perhaps for the final time.

  But he kept his expression in check.

  Marshall passed the baby back to Patricia’s arms. He said emotionally, “Thank you for being there for my Ruthie.”

  Patricia stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Promise to bring her back to me, soon.”

  The air between us was fragile, tense with all the things we wished to express in this limited moment, and sharp with those we couldn’t bear to acknowledge. Dangers lurked everywhere, around every bend. Thousands of dangers and the maddening pulse of the unknown. And beneath this was the fact that if it was possible, Marshall and I planned to return to the future we’d once known, far removed from this place and time, to reclaim the life we’d once lived.

  “I love you,” I whispered, holding Patricia one last time.

  “I know it. I could not love you more,” Patricia whispered. “Dear Ruthann. Be safe. Please, be safe.”

  “We’ll send word,” Cole said. “As soon as we’ve arrived in Landon.”

  “Look for word by July,” Malcolm said. “If all goes well, we’ll reunite by next summer.”

  Marshall nodded and panicky breaths pushed at my chest. But I said steadily, “Yes.”

  I looked back until they were out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  WE RODE HARD, NOT STOPPING UNTIL ADVANCING EVENING forced us to slow. The wagon had been left behind, as of course Patricia could not sit horseback to travel, and even with Marsh and I riding double on Blade we covered dozens of miles, stopping for the night somewhere in north-central Iowa. Marshall and Axton, who were well supplied from the days of planning their “assault” on the convent, determined we would have food enough to get at least to the edge of South Dakota. Or what would become Sout
h Dakota in the future; right now it remained a territory.

  “If the weather keeps fair we can get back to Howardsville in about two weeks,” Marshall had explained, though he was quick to clarify, “As long as it isn’t too rough on you, angel.”

  I assured him it was not. Marshall’s presence, the gift of being restored to each other, overshadowed all else. As long as he was beside me, I felt we could face anything.

  He was in the process of building a fire near a small copse of cottonwoods, a lively stream burbling in the background. Ax was down by the creek watering Ranger while I cared for Blade, who had been recovered in Howardsville back in October. I situated Blade’s heavy saddle on a low-hanging branch and rubbed his silvery hide with the bristle brush, murmuring soft endearments, occasionally resting my forehead on his flank; I could not help but think of Miles. Miles, whose soul was right here within Marshall and fulfilling his promise to me, I had no doubt. I looked over my shoulder at my man, crouched beside a bundle of kindling and about to strike a second match, and my heart felt incapable of holding so much emotion, of containing so much love – the strength of it would tear me at the seams.

  Marshall felt the heat of my gaze and looked up from where he knelt by the fire, its growing flames flickering in his gray eyes, and then he was advancing without a word, without a sound, drawn to me as an arrow released upon a target. I dropped the brush and he seized me in his arms, claiming my mouth with no restraint, an untamed force that would no longer be denied. His lips opened over mine, tongue stroking and plunging, tasting me from the inside out; I moaned and clutched his shoulders, grinding my hips against him in a fever of need. I was still wearing the long black dress from the convent, stained and dirty and probably beyond repair – but beneath it, I was completely and blessedly naked.

  We struggled in a wild whirlwind of motion, bunching the heavy layers of skirt up past my thighs, my fingers flying over the fastenings on Marshall’s pants – the incredible hardness of him in my grasp as I stroked his familiar length, up and down. I dropped to my knees and brought him into my mouth, swirling my tongue, taking him deep, tasting how he had already come a little, as he gasped, low and harsh, and clutched the back of my head. We forgot our proximity to Axton, forgot the fading sun continuing to lend its light to the evening, disregarded Blade and the humming mosquitoes and the chill air. I stood, breathless and aching for him, and Marshall groaned as he cupped my bare flesh at long last, kissing me so forcefully my head bowed backward. He clamped a firm hold on my hips, my legs threading his waist as he backed me roughly against the trunk of a nearby cottonwood and slid fully home.

  “Ruthann,” he gasped, as I quivered violently and came all over him with his first thrust. I muffled my moaning cries against the hard curve of his shoulder, clamping my teeth, holding fast with arms and legs as he pounded into me, just exactly as I needed.

  “Yes,” I begged, rocking against him. The outside world ceased to exist. There was only Marshall, the onrushing force of him overtaking my senses as he plundered my body and sated our souls. “Oh God, Marshall, yes…”

  “Oh holy Jesus,” he groaned, shuddering as he came in a hot rush, suckling my lower lip and gripping my hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. I kept my legs clenched about his hips, possessive, ravenous for more, breathing as though I’d just sprinted two miles; I peppered his neck and chin with wet little kisses, holding his jaws with both hands. I knew – I really did – that we had to restrain this need; Axton would return with Ranger in tow at any second, but I could not make myself stop.

  “You feel so goddamn good,” Marsh whispered hoarsely, as our bodies stayed joined and he stayed hard. His eyes blazed gray fire.

  Reality inserted itself in the steady sound of approaching footsteps and I became slowly aware of our surroundings, smelling campfire smoke and the tang of green leaves; the whisper of flowing water reached my ears. I blinked and threw my arms around Marshall’s neck, hugging him with all my strength; he exhaled against my temple, kissing my ear and whispering, “Thank you, angel. I needed that so much. Oh God, my knees are shaky now.”

  “Same here. In case you couldn’t tell.”

  As we whispered, Marsh lowered me back to the earth, simultaneously helping to resituate my tumbled skirts and hauling his pants into place. Once we were safely clothed he grinned, so handsome, his eyes full of love as he smoothed tangled curls from my hot, perspiring face. He kissed me flush on the lips just as Axton appeared from down by the creek, leading Ranger. Ax was pale and drawn, his eyes grim even as he attempted a smile for us; probably it was obvious what we’d just been doing – the air surrounding us was almost visibly steaming – but Ax made no comment and simply tethered Ranger near Blade.

  Marshall caught my hand and led me to the fire; beneath the heavy skirt my bare thighs were slippery with the aftermath of lovemaking but my concern was at once directed at Axton, who was hurting way down deep in his bones. He’d risked himself to save Patricia and me in an act of utter selflessness; he loved me and was in love with Patricia, and yet neither of us could give him the love he desired in return. He’d saved us because he was a good and decent man, because it was the right thing to do, only to turn us over to other men. Axton sat to my left, wordless, bracing his forearms over his bent knees.

  And then he closed his eyes and, without drama, lowered his head.

  “Ax,” I whispered, kneeling beside him, wrapping an arm across his wide shoulders. “Oh, Axton…”

  “Don’t. Please don’t tell me it’s all right. I can’t…bear it.” He spoke as though a fist gripped his Adam’s apple. His shoulders heaved and I looked up at Marsh, telling him with my eyes I needed his help; Marshall’s shirt was askew, his dark hair disheveled from my questing fingers, and a large, cherry-red hickey adorned the side of his neck to match the raspy stubble-burns his scruff had left on mine. His brows crooked in concern as he looked from me to Axton and I sensed his desire to say something, anything at all, to help ease Axton’s despair. But Marsh knew as well as me there was nothing to say. Instead of speaking, he crouched on Axton’s other side and added the comfort of his touch along with mine. He gripped the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed.

  Axton covered his face with both hands.

  “I am so sorry,” I whispered, rubbing a gentle circle on his spine, mid-back. I knew it would do less than no good to say stupid things like, You’ll get over this. You’ll find a woman you love just as much.

  His words emerged low-pitched with grief, punctuated by harsh breaths. “My heart is torn up, Ruthie, oh Jesus, it hurts so much, and now she’s gone again and I don’t know if she’s safe…”

  Over Axton’s bent head, Marshall’s pained gaze held mine.

  Why does love have to be so punishing? I wondered, understanding that Marshall could very well be in Axton’s place; if life had conspired to keep us separated, the gouging anguish would be exactly the same, for both of us.

  “Cole will keep her safe,” I whispered against my better judgment, not sure if it was the right time to remind him. But I had to say something.

  Axton lifted his face and his expression cut at me. He gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring. “I know. And I know she…has to be with him. And I know I am a goddamn fool but I can’t stop loving her. How can I live the rest of my life without her? How, Ruthie? It isn’t possible.” His beautiful green eyes were steeped in dark certainty. “Since I met her in Howardsville that morning I knew I was hers, and that she was for me. It’s the strongest thing I’ve ever felt. How can it be wrong?”

  “Loving someone is never wrong,” Marsh said, and his tone was gentle.

  “Isn’t it? What if you’d found Ruthie only to discover she’d already married Miles Rawley?” Axton suddenly demanded, catching me off guard as swiftly as a white-knuckled fist to the gut. Ashes seemed to coat my tongue as I observed this question strike similarly at Marshall’s composure.

  Marshall said with quiet certainty, “Then my heart would have turned
to dust, Axton.” Though he directed his words at Ax, I knew he was really speaking to me. “Even knowing what I do about Miles, even understanding how he felt about Ruthann, I would have been finished, for good. There wouldn’t be a place I could ride, no place on this earth far enough to outrun that kind of heartbreak.”

  Axton whispered, “Then you understand.” There was a beat of complete silence before he stood. “I’ll be back before morning.”

  “Where are you going?” I cried, stricken by his unexpected mention of Miles but unwilling to let him do something desperate.

  “I aim to ride a spell, that’s all,” Ax said, his tone softening. “Don’t worry, Ruthie. I don’t want you to worry, not over me.”

  I stood and hugged him. “I love you, you know I do. And you saved us. I will never forget that. There is someone out there for you, I swear to you, Ax.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered, even though I knew he was unwilling to accept that last bit. He gently set me aside, unwinding the lead line and gracefully climbing atop Ranger, who he had not yet unsaddled. He angled his horse northward and heeled Ranger into a trot.

  I turned to Marshall to find his speculative gaze following after Axton, man and horse rapidly erased by the dusk. Marsh said, “I swear he reminds me so much of –”

  “Case,” I said at once, and Marshall nodded affirmation.

  “But if Cole is Case, then who…” Marsh cocked his head, still in a crouch beside the fire, forearms braced on his thighs.

  “I would have come to you,” I said then, the fire dancing over my face as I spoke. Axton was out of sight. I began unbuttoning the front of my dress, with controlled urgency, holding Marshall’s somber gaze. “I would have come to you, no matter what. You know this.”

  Marshall slowly stood to his full height. I slipped my arms from the long sleeves, one at a time, heart throbbing. His strong hands encircled my waist, bringing me against his body.