by Ginny Dye
Carrie abruptly pulled to a halt and turned to him. “What are you doing here, Matthew?”
Matthew took a deep breath, hardly able to believe she was handing him an opening. He could read the simmering anger in her eyes as she challenged him forcing his presence into her morning ride. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. He had read it so many times he could recite it by heart, but still he opened the lined pages. “Robert asked me to come.”
Carrie stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Matthew could hardly stand the pain in her eyes. He should have come earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude on her grief. “Robert sent a letter to me a few weeks before his death,” he said quietly, his heart heavy with regret. He held it up and began to read…
Dear Matthew,
I realize you will probably find this letter maudlin and melodramatic, but I feel the need to send it nonetheless. I never would have guessed my work on the plantation could put me and my family in danger, but your latest news on the vigilantes reveals I have done just that. I would like to believe nothing could happen, but the last years in our country have proven that anything is possible. My change of heart in regard to blacks has made me, and everyone else on the plantation, a target.
My reason for this letter is simple. If something happens to me, I ask that you take care of Carrie. I know she will have her family, but you have been my best friend since college. I know you love her. Oh, don’t worry, I know that you love Janie desperately, but I also know how much Carrie means to you. I need to know you will be there for her. If something happens to me, I know she will take it hard.
I want her to live her life, Matthew, even if I am gone. Please help her do that.
Your friend,
Robert
Matthew carefully folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket, almost afraid to look at Carrie. When he finally did, the shattered look on her face made his heart skip a beat. The wild look in her eyes made him long to formulate words that would ease her heart, but he had no idea how to do that. He hated how helpless he felt and quickly realized that was the reason he had waited so long. He could not fathom how he might help her live her life. She had quite obviously decided to not do that. He could imagine his grief if something was to happen to Janie, but he couldn’t possibly know what it truly was like.
“How do I live my life?”
The soft words from Carrie’s lips were more a puzzled statement than a question, but Matthew grasped for it like a drowning man would reach for a buoy. “Robert loved you so much, Carrie. Seeing you like this would break his heart.”
Carrie looked down at her thin body with a frown, and then looked up with a pleading expression in her eyes. “Would it? Why?” Her voice sharpened. “He left me here.”
Matthew could tell by the shocked expression on her face that she was surprised by her own words, but she didn’t take them back. “He didn’t want to,” he said gently, certain of that with all his heart.
“He told me to come back, you know,” Carrie said as hot tears filled her eyes. “After Bridget died. I saw him.” Her voice faltered. “Before I regained consciousness…he told me to come back.”
Matthew’s heart pounded as he looked into eyes filled with hopeless agony. “He wanted you to live, Carrie.”
“Why?” This time Carrie’s voice was simply puzzled. “Why would I want to live without Robert and Bridget?”
Matthew groped for an answer because he was quite sure he would feel just as Carrie was feeling if something were to happen to Janie. He opted for honesty. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know that is what he wanted.”
Carrie’s eyes met his squarely for the first time. “Thank you for not trying to make up something that would make me feel better.”
Matthew gazed at her. “We’ve always been honest with each other. I’m not going to change that now.”
Carrie’s eyes filled with something like sympathy. “So Robert asked you to do something that is basically impossible.”
Matthew didn’t care to acknowledge how close he felt that was to the truth. He wished he knew more about grief, a little stunned to realize how much this was being played out all over the country, as war widows dealt with the deaths of their husbands. Since Carrie seemed to appreciate his honesty, he decided to opt for more of it. “Do you hate that I asked to join you? Does it make it harder?”
Carrie considered his question. “I don’t know that it makes me feel much of anything.” She hesitated. “Nothing really does.” She took a deep breath as she turned to stare out over the fields. “But it is also rather nice to have someone with me that is not pressing me to know how I feel.”
“I do want to know, though,” Matthew said honestly. He watched as a glimmer of something resembling amusement sparked her eyes, even though her face remained expressionless.
“Yes, I suppose I would feel the way you do,” she admitted, cocking her head. “Are you here only because of Robert?”
“No,” Matthew replied. “I would have come regardless. I knew you didn’t want to see anyone after the funerals, but Janie and I think about you and talk about you every single day. We want to help.”
“How?” Her expression was once again one of honest puzzlement. “How could you possibly help?”
Once again, Matthew didn’t have an answer, but at least she seemed to be engaged. “Robert and I used to talk about you all the time,” he said quietly.
Carrie studied him. “What did you talk about?”
“Robert was so proud of you,” Matthew replied. “He loved everything about you, but he so loved your passion to make a difference in the world.” He suspected he had said the wrong thing when her eyes shuttered closed again.
“I see,” she said vaguely.
Matthew decided to press the issue. She might shut him out entirely, but at least he was trying. Since he had no understanding of how to deal with grief like this, he was simply going to follow his instincts. “What are you planning to do, Carrie?”
She stared at him. “Do?”
“Yes. Do.” Matthew took a deep breath. It was clear the thought was foreign to her. “Dr. Strikener told Janie you have not responded to any of his letters. Abby told me Dr. Hobson has said the same thing.” When Carrie’s lips tightened with anger, he expected her to turn away from him, but he was surprised when her angry eyes met his levelly.
“There is no need.” Her words were clipped.
“No need?” Matthew asked. “I don’t understand.” He could almost see a decision forming in Carrie’s eyes. Her next words almost stole his breath.
“I am not going to be a doctor,” Carrie stated quietly. Her eyes, no longer angry, had taken on a blank expression.
Matthew stared at her. It was all she had wanted from the day they had met the year before the war. “Why not?”
Carrie looked at him almost as if she pitied his stupidity. “What kind of doctor could I possibly be, Matthew? I let both my husband and daughter die.”
Matthew felt as if she had punched him in the stomach. He opened his mouth to protest, but something inside him screamed to remain silent. She was not ready to accept anything different than what she had decided was the truth. “I see,” he murmured, managing somehow to keep his voice level and noncommittal. “So do you plan to do anything other than sleep and ride Granite?” He wasn’t sure he was taking the right approach, but everyone seemed to be walking around in complete terror of how she might respond. Maybe she needed something different.
Carrie’s eyes widened slightly before they narrowed into angry slits.
Matthew watched her. There had been times when he was in Rat Dungeon that he had wanted to give up and let the cold and starvation finish him. One of the other men always had something to say to keep a spark of hope alive in him, and he had done the same for them. He realized Carrie was on the edge of giving up. He prayed he could find a way to reach her, hoping it was not too late.
“How dare
you?” Carrie hissed.
Matthew continued to gaze at her. Anger was better than no emotion at all, though he suspected she was very uncomfortable with the rage.
“What do you know about how I am feeling?” Carrie’s voice was slightly desperate.
Matthew continued to hold her eyes. “I don’t know what it is like to lose a spouse,” he admitted, “but I do know what it’s like to feel no hope. I know what it’s like to wish I could die to escape the pain. I know what it’s like to want to give up.” He realized with glaring clarity that he did understand how she felt. The knowledge gave him confidence.
Carrie swayed slightly in her saddle as her hands trembled on the reins. Granite snorted and swung his head back to stare at her.
“Do you really believe Robert would want you to feel this way?” Matthew pressed. “Do you think he would want you to throw your life away?” He saw Carrie open her mouth in protest, but she didn’t respond. He pulled the letter from his pocket again. “I want her to live her life, Matthew, even if I am gone. Please help her do that.”
Carrie gave a low whimper. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.
Matthew’s heart almost broke when she looked at him, her green eyes full of hot tears, her face a mask of raw pain. “You have people who love you so much, Carrie. They want to help you.”
“I don’t know how to let them,” Carrie whispered.
“Spending every night alone by the river probably won’t help,” Matthew said gently.
Carrie gasped. “How did you know?”
“Moses wrote Thomas a letter telling him Rose went into your room one night to ask you something and saw the tunnel door open. She’s been checking it every night for the last month, and it is always open. She can hear from her room when it closes every morning right before dawn.”
Carrie held her head defiantly. “What I do is no one else’s business.”
Matthew understood the need to hide her pain behind anger. “You’re right,” he agreed, “but when people love you with all their hearts, do you really think they’re not going to care?” He paused. “What would you do if the positions were reversed?”
Carrie stared at him, shaking her head slightly. “I have no idea.”
Matthew prayed for wisdom. He knew better than to say anything about her going back to school to become a doctor. It was far too soon for her to move beyond her grief and guilt. He didn’t question his certainty—he just accepted it. “I went up the Mississippi on a steamboat last month when I was in Memphis covering a story and interviewing someone for my book.”
Carrie watched him carefully, obviously wondering what he was talking about now.
“I thought I could never get on a steamboat again because it would always remind me of Joseph dying in my arms.” Matthew struggled to keep his voice steady because the memory still evoked so many powerful visions of the Sultana explosion. “I didn’t think I could stand passing the spot where the explosion had occurred,” he admitted, “but I discovered something that day.”
Carrie didn’t respond, but her expression invited him to continue.
Matthew struggled for words to explain. “When I was on the boat I decided it was like salt. If one was forbidden all salt, you wouldn’t notice its absence much more in any one food than in another. Every meal you ate would just be different—every day, and every meal. Living through that explosion changed everything in my life. It is like the sky, spread over everything I do.” He took a breath, hoping he was making sense. “I think Robert’s death must be like that for you. It has changed every single thing about your life. It doesn’t really matter where you are or what you are doing. I also believe there is not one thing that will make it worse or better. I thought riding the steamboat past the point of the explosion, and also past the point where Joseph most likely died, would send me reeling. I didn’t feel anything more than I have felt almost every day since it happened.” He stumbled to a stop, not sure his words were communicating his thoughts.
Carrie was watching him carefully. A long silence followed before she spoke. “You think I should go into the barn.”
Matthew had honestly not had that in mind when he started talking, but obviously that was where his story had taken her. He knew she had refused to step foot into the stables. He also knew she was terrified to walk over the spot where Robert’s body had lain after he was shot. “I believe the act of walking into the barn will be no worse than the thought of doing it,” he replied. “I also believe you go riding every day because it makes you feel closer to Robert.” He could tell by the flicker in her eyes that he was right. “I can’t imagine a way to feel closer to him than being with the horses he so loved.” If she refused to be a doctor, perhaps she could at least open her heart to the horses. There had to be something to give her an outlet for her grief.
Carrie seemed to consider his statement. Granite shifted restlessly before settling down. A flock of blue jays exploded from a nearby maple tree, their raucous calls filling the air. A sudden burst of wind was accompanied by the rolling rumble of thunder. She looked up absently and turned her horse. “We should go back.”
Matthew followed her as they cantered toward the house. He had done all he could do, said all he knew to say. He had no idea if it would have any impact at all, but he had tried to do what Robert had asked him to do, and he would continue to try. Robert had been his best friend. Matthew could swallow his own grief to try to help the wife Robert had loved more than his own life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Matthew settled on the porch, watching as the storm blew through. He loved everything about thunderstorms. He loved the rolling thunder, the jagged lightning bolts, and the ear-splitting booms that followed. He loved the patter of the rain on the roof, and the way the trees swayed in the wind. He mostly loved the way the temperature dropped on the heels of a storm at the end of a blistering, humid day. He rocked quietly, relishing the cold lemonade Annie had brought him.
“We needed this.”
Matthew looked up as Moses moved outside and claimed the rocking chair beside him. “The tobacco crop looks good.”
Moses nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “It’s going to be a good year,” he agreed.
“No more signs of trouble?” Matthew asked.
“No. We have patrols out every night, though. I don’t believe we’ll ever let our guard down again,” he said grimly. He glanced up at the window above him that had been closed in advance of the rain. “Were you able to get through to Carrie today?”
Matthew shrugged, wondering if she was in her room or down by the river. “I don’t know,” he admitted, hating the helpless feeling that engulfed him. He had done the best he could, but he wasn’t certain it had achieved anything at all.
“My mama says she just has to have time,” Moses said.
“How much time?” Matthew demanded. “If she loses much more weight she is going to blow away.” He reached down deep to find hope. “I believe she heard me,” he said. “I don’t know if it will do any good, but someday our love will break through.”
“That’s what my mama says,” Moses agreed. “She said to just keep loving her. One day her heart will open enough to accept it, and she will begin to heal.”
Matthew stared out at the barn, noticing a small figure standing in the door. “How is Amber?”
Moses frowned. “Heartbroken.” He followed Matthew’s gaze. “Carrie won’t go near the barn. No one can keep Amber out of it. She sleeps there at night unless Gabe or Polly comes to get her.”
“She won’t leave All My Heart?” Matthew guessed.
Moses shook his head. “I wish it was that, but it’s not. Amber still feels Robert wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t been in the barn. Somehow she has turned that into feeling responsible for the safety of everything in that building. Even though Miles is in the room above it, she insists she has to keep an eye on things.”
Matthew watched the young girl gaze up at the sky, her little body stiff and d
efiant. “Grief does strange things,” he observed. “Is she still working with the foals?”
Moses nodded. “She pours her whole heart into it. She refuses to go to school. Polly and Gabe tried to force her, but they finally gave up, realizing she needs time to work through her heartbreak. She and Robert were as close as any father and daughter could be. The only time she seems to have any peace is when she is with the horses.”
“I know,” Matthew agreed. “Robert used to write me about Amber all the time. He was so proud of her.” He decided to change the subject. Continuing to talk about the grief he could do nothing about was wearing him down. The topic he was bringing up was not any better, but he thought Moses should know about it. “A new organization has formed.”
Moses eyed him. “I can tell by the tone in your voice that it’s not one I’m going to be excited about.”
Matthew nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’s a group down in Louisiana called the Knights of the White Camellia.”
“What a pleasant name,” Moses said sarcastically. “My guess is they have the same agenda as most of the groups springing up around the South—to stamp out the blacks and punish the whites who try to help them,” he added heavily.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said.
Moses shrugged. “In case you haven’t figured it out, you are in as much danger as we are. Maybe even more,” he added. “Robert’s death should have shown you that.”