For a long moment her eyes, unreadable in the dim light of the study, caressed his face before she turned away from the door.
A balled fist slammed the desktop with such force that the picture of his brothers fell forward. She was going to leave. She didn’t believe him and he was losing her. Reaching out he lifted the photograph and held it for another long moment. God, but he’d already lost at least one brother, could he bear to lose his wife for a deed he’d not committed? Gazing at the youthful, happy faces of his brothers he felt heartsick and swallowed around a thick lump in his throat. Just as he was ready to break down and lose all semblance of composure the sound of music drifted from the parlor.
His breath caught. Marissa hadn’t left.
Rising, he followed the haunting notes. It was now or never and if he didn’t do something fast it was going to be over. Over. Recognizing that no words would ever prove his innocence or deny his actions, he decided to show her how he felt, how he needed her, and that he would never survive without her.
Standing mesmerized in the doorway, he watched her fingers dance over the piano keys. Long strands of hair hung loose from her upsweep, curling on her nape. She swayed gently in time to the music and he heard her softly singing the words of the tune. Craig didn’t recognize the song but he liked it and he would never be sure how long he stood suspended in time just watching her.
* * *
A gentle hand squeezed Marissa’s shoulder and she stopped playing long enough to glance over her shoulder. Craig stood watching her, his with eyes filled with warmth, and love, and something else… torment? Sorrow?
“Craig,” she began hesitantly. “I’m sorry for what I said. Sorry for blaming you for that Kirsten came here.”
He held out a hand. “Dance with me?”
“But there’s no music.” Even so, she placed her fingers in his palm.
He pulled her to up. “We’ll make our own.”
She shivered.
One arm encircled her slender waist and the other warmly curled her hand within his. “What were you playing?”
“It’s called Fly Me to the Moon,” she whispered.
“I like it,” he murmured into her hair, tightening his arm until they pressed intimately together, gliding in slow circles about the room. Beginning to hum the tune he’d listened to her play, he leaned his head down to press his lips lightly to her hair.
Closing her eyes Marissa, scarcely dared to breath. The sway of their bodies left her weak, and they were pressed so closely she the steady thud of his heart resonated beneath her hand. The warmth of his arms, of his body, left her flushed and tingling to the tips of her toes. Frank Sinatra had nothing on Craig Langston, not even blue eyes. No voice could ever hold a candle to the soothing sound of her husband humming the tune, even without words, and the moment was pure magic.
Could he feel it too? The magic?
Suddenly she needed for him to feel what she did. If he didn’t feel it as deeply as she did, then it would somehow be far less special, less meaningful for her, less healing to her battered heart. Opening her eyes she turned up to him, “Craig,” she whispered and he bent to brush her lips with his. The touch left her insides fluttering and she knew in that moment, he felt the magic, too, the magic of them.
“Marissa,” he murmured leaning down to claim her lips in a far more turbulent kiss. Lost in him, dizziness overcame her and it was as though she truly were flying with him to the moon. Surely her feet were no longer on the ground. She clung to him, her only anchor. And then she was on the settee and he was on top of her, whispering words and promises of love against her lips.
“Stay with me. Don’t leave tonight.”
Edge of Time 230
Seventeen
Stretching aching muscles after yet another long, frustrating morning of surgery, with grievously wounded men dying even as he worked over them, Craig’s mood was at its lowest ebb, or so he thought, until he found Major Bernstein waiting for him by the entrance of the operating room. “Could I have a word with you, Captain?”
Grudgingly, Craig followed his superior into his office where another man, a colonel, sat waiting. “This is Colonel Omar Briggs,” Bernstein said. “He has new orders for you.”
Craig waited, his heart beating slow and heavy. The Colonel stood and said, “In light of the speculation of your wife’s involvement with the Union Army, we have decided it best to formally restrict you from duty until this matter has been settled.”
“What!” Craig was incredulous. “This isn’t true, sir, none of it!” He stalked angrily to the older man, fury roughening his voice. “Am I being charged with anything?”
“Not at this time, Captain. You have your orders.” The colonel remained rigid and with apparent reluctance, returned the two crisp salutes before he did a perfect right about face and marched out the door.
Major Bernstein put a compassionate hand Craig’s shoulder. “Craig, I don’t like this either. I don’t believe you or Mrs. Langston to be Union sympathizers, but until this matter is sorted out you’re being restricted from duty. I have managed to keep you from being arrested for the time being, but lay low and be wary, son. I don’t know where this is headed.”
In lower tones he added. “Take advantage of this time to get your life back on track. I realize your foremost concerns are the allegations made against your wife, but you also have the mess with that Jamison girl to clean up.”
Craig slammed an outraged palm upon the table. “You’re making a huge mistake,” he declared, storming from the building. Blowing through the blustery autumn streets he took careful note of the stares from those around him. He cringed when Kirsten Jamison stepped from a store to confront him.
“Hello, Craig. I still want an opportunity to speak with you.”
“You have a lot of nerve,” he growled at her.
Expertly, her pale eyes watered and she sniffed indignantly. “Craig, how can you say that? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I will be cast from society and my child shall have no name.”
Stepping back Craig threw his arms out and said loudly, “That is no fault of mine, Miss Jamison, and I have no doubt the blame for the mess that is my life falls entirely on your shoulders.” The temptation to make a deal with her flickered in the back of his mind. He wanted the whole of his problems to just go away. Stepping forward he ground out, “What is it you want?”
A small smile stretched across her lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, Kirsten, it is not obvious. I have absolutely no idea what would possess a woman to falsely accuse a married man of fathering her child.” He wanted to shove her away from him, step over her and continue, but this had to be brought to an end. “What do you want?” he repeated.
“I have told you what I want, sir. Give it to me and all of your problems will go away. All of them. You can send word when you’re ready to hammer out the specifics.”
Suddenly Kirsten burst into tears and Craig turning to see several people had gathered behind him. Kirsten wept loudly. “I only want what every mother wants, a stable home and a good name for her child. How could you do this to me, Craig? How?”
“Jesus Christ. You were meant for the stage.” Craig backed away. Watching her wail on the street corner it was no wonder the whole of Charleston, including his wife, didn’t believe him. He found it difficult to dismiss the accusations and he was her accused! Uneasily, he broke into a run for home. That feeling was back. The sensation of hairs prickling on the back of his neck. The sensation of being watched.
He’d just started to turn when a blow to the back of his head sent him staggering to his knees. Rough hands shoved and dragged him into an alleyway. The world exploded in white light and his head swirled sickeningly. Craig was barely conscious enough to know there were three—maybe four—men surrounding him. He heard the ominous click of a pistol being cocked thr
ough the black tunnel surrounding him. “What do you know boys, seems we’ve caught ourselves a Yankee right here in Charleston.”
“I’m not...” Craig tried say, lurching unsteadily to his feet. The world reeled so wildly he wasn’t sure how he managed to remain upright.
“We’ve caught a Yankee who likes to bed our daughters and deny it even when he’s caught with his pants around his ankles.” The butt of a pistol cracked across his jaw while a rifle jabbed him brutally between the shoulder blades. He reeled and slumped against a rough brick wall.
“No...” The word was little more than a weak groan. Again Craig tried to stand erect, holding his head and straining to see through a thick fog to identify his attackers. One face came into focus and he lunged, but iron fists seized him at the same moment a gun exploded.
The bullet caught him low in the abdomen.
“You shot him, Christenson!” a panicked voiced shrieked. “You shot Doc Langston!”
“Christ almighty, we’ve got to get out of here!” a second, urgent voice said. “Do you think he saw us?”
“It doesn’t matter,” claimed a much more controlled voice as Craig fought to remain conscious. “He’ll be dead before anyone finds him.”
“But you shot him!” the first voice squealed again.
Fire and ice swept up his left side. Craig tried to move. Tried to open his eyes. Willed them to open. To see those who would leave him to bleed to death in an alleyway. Christenson? Would he try to hurt Marissa next? Marissa…
Blackness overwhelmed him and he was aware of nothing but drifting, totally weightless, away.
* * *
Marissa paced the house for the better part of the morning, fighting off the terrible sensation that something was... wrong. She tried to eat the lunch Mrs. Potts prepared for her and served in the big, lonely dining room, but could scarcely swallow a bite. She had just shoved her plate away when a tremendous clattering at the front of her house caused her to leap up.
“You need to come, ma’am,” a man’s voice called. “The doc’s been shot!”
The doc’s been what? Shot?
“Oh, my God!” Marissa flew into the hall. “What happened?” A cluster of three men half carried, half dragged her limp husband into the hall. Very little of him was visible behind the brute of a man hauling him by the shoulders but a dark liquid splattered onto the polished wood flooring. Blood. “No!” she clasped a hand to her breast. “Craig!” The left side of his gray coat was thick with a darkening pool of blood.
“Take him upstairs,” she instructed, close on the men’s heels. Hodges and Mrs. Potts both assisted. When Craig had been settled upon the bed she turned to one of the men. “You, go to the hospital and fetch Dr. Rowe.” The man lingered, staring uneasily at the blood soaking the bed. “Now!” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the man finally left she immediately set to work removing Craig’s clothes with a large pair of sewing scissors. “What happened?” she inquired of the remaining two. Craig was gravely still and her hands shook as she cut the uniform from his upper body.
“Don’t know, missus, we found him in an alley not for from your house.” One man shifted uncomfortably. “I figure all the talk about him bein’ a Yankee finally caught up with him.”
Sheer cold settled over her at the thought of his being shot because of her. Focusing all of her energies on Craig, she examined the wound. The shot had obviously been fired at close range, though it was remarkably low and to the outside of his abdomen. As far as she could tell, the bullet had passed through but… she forced herself to be calm and focus.
“Mrs. Potts,” Marissa said to the hovering cook, who stood by the door, wringing her hands. “Bring clean towels. Lots of them.”
“Right away, Mrs. Langston.”
Marissa applied direct pressure to both the entry and exit wound, watching Craig’s color fade away. Oh, God! Where was James? How long would it take? The doctors at the hospital had little time to spare as it was. Craig’s breathing grew painfully shallow and his color even more ashen. He’d not moved or made a sound since arrival home and…
“Marissa!”
She choked on a sob as a harried James Rowe crashed through the bedroom door.
“What the hell happened?”
She held her hands out to him but pulled back realizing they were covered in blood. Craig’s blood. She grabbed the towels again and continued to put pressure on the wounds. “I don’t know. These men carried him home about twenty minutes ago.” It had felt like twenty hours. “I did what I could without help or instruments, but—”
The door opened again and an equally agitated Major Bernstein huffed into the room followed by a man, a colonel, Marissa had never met.
“Dr. Bernstein,” James said officiously. “I’m going to need your assistance.” The young physician was already pulling supplies from his bag.
“Of course,” the older man replied. “Colonel Briggs would you please see to Mrs. Langston.”
The Colonel stepped forward to take her arm.
“No,” she pulled away. “I won’t leave him.”
“Marissa, I know you’ve seen a lot, but I’m not sure you should see this.”
“Damn it, James, I’m not leaving him.” Her jaw set stubbornly and her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.
“Leave her be,” Bernstein said.
“Very well.” James pulled her away and removed the towels. “Colonel Briggs, keep an eye on her, please, and keep her out of our way.”
“Of course, Doctor.” Colonel Briggs turned to Marissa with a comforting smile that reminded her suddenly of her own father. “Mrs. Langston, it may be best if we give these men a little room.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“No,” he acquiesced, “but perhaps we could wait just over here.”
With a stilted nod she let the man lead her to a settee a few feet away. She heard Hodges tell Mrs. Potts to bring tea, hot and sweet.
Marissa sat on the edge of her chair, staring at the wall James and Major Bernstein made. It was impossible to see the surgeons work, though she had to admit James may have been right. Maybe she shouldn’t see this. Time was lost to her as she sat nervously pleating the thick blue skirt of her dress. Occasionally she could discern a word spoken by the two physicians, but for the most part their murmuring was undistinguishable and she was entirely in the dark. Part of her wanted to cry but the tears were stuck. She was beyond tears. This hurt too much to cry.
After an eternity the doctors stepped back, looking exhausted. Marissa flew to her husband’s side. He was breathing. Turning to James and Major Bernstein her eyes spoke her questions for her.
It was James who spoke. “The bullet passed through and as far as we can tell it missed any major organs. His guts are intact, but he’s lost a lot of blood. God knows how long he lay before someone found him.” He paused. “I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, but he’s young, he has a good heart, and if infection doesn’t set in I think he’ll make it.”
Tears of relief rushed to her eyes and she threw her arms around James. “Thank you.”
James returned her embrace and then turned to Major Bernstein. “I know we’re short-handed at the hospital, sir, but with your leave, I’ll stay a while to make sure everything is going well.”
“If we need you, I’ll send word.” Bernstein glanced at Marissa who had dragged a chair close to sit beside her husband. “But I think he’s in the best hands possible right now.”
* * *
Craig’s lids felt leaden. He couldn’t force his eyes open. Voices surrounded him and words occasionally penetrated the haze of his mind. It was difficult to tell if any of it was real or just a dream. He remembered hearing shouts, the sound of a gunshot, and oh God, how his head hurt! He tried to move, and a worse pain stole his breath. His side was on f
ire, his back as well… What the hell had happened?
He moaned, prying one lid up a sliver. Soft fingers curled around his and he tried to speak but only succeeded in moaning again.
“Craig,” a distant voice murmured, the sound so distant it felt an impossibility to reach out and grab hold of it.
“James,” Marissa said, her voice coming through more sharply.
“Yeah?”
“I think he’s waking up.”
“Good.”
The voices grew stronge. The words seemed closer, clearer, and he finally managed to open both eyes. A light pierced the cloud wrapped around his brain and his head began to throb even worse. Am I hung over again? He didn’t remember drinking. The desire to sink back into oblivion was strong but… “Marissa,” he croaked, dragging his tongue over parched lips.
“Craig,” she clasped his hand. “I’m here. We’re looking after you.” He squeezed her hand back. She moistened his lips with a damp cloth.
“What happened?” His eyes were open now and the sight of his wife and friend hovering as though on death vigil left him further bewildered.
“You were shot,” James said and Marissa squeezed his hand until it hurt.
“No wonder I feel like death warmed over.”
“Do you know who did this?”
Craig closed his eyes and a furrow of concentration formed between his brows, “I don’t remember anything. I was almost home and then—” He stopped, there was something on the tip of his consciousness, a memory obscured by a hazy shroud, an almost familiar worry. “I just don’t remember.”
“Marissa,” James said, “would you get some water and that rich broth Mrs. Potts left?”
“You go,” she said, her eyes never leaving Craig’s.
“I’d rather you did. I’m not familiar with your kitchen.”
When she’d left the room James folded his arms across his chest. “You really don’t remember what happened?”
Craig shifted, wanting to sit up, but unable. “Someone shot me? Why? Because they think I’m a Yankee spy?” A vague memory of those very words swam into his mind. He blinked, and slowly, his head began to clear.
Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Page 21