by Julianne Lee
He stepped toward the sitting room and held out his hand to her. “The fire is nice and warm in the sitting room.”
Shelby smiled. Surely it was equally warm in the dining room, but the other spot had no nosy, noisy, men sitting around and blowing cigar smoke every which way. In short, here was a chance for them to be alone. She followed Lucas into the room lit by the nice, warm fire and only one oil lamp, and he guided her to the sofa. “How have you been?”
So sweet and formal, his only acknowledgment of the nature of their relationship a peck on the cheek. In her own century she would have moved into his house by now and the wedding would be more legality than anything else. Here, Lucas was still treating her as if they were strangers. Which, she realized, in a way they were, and would be until they were married. There was a wisdom in approaching each other slowly, respecting each other’s boundaries while they were still living apart. Her heart thudded in her chest, and it surprised her to realize she was nervous today. She replied, “I’ve been well. Looking forward to the big day.”
A smile lit his face as he settled into the sofa next to her and laid an arm across the back of it behind her. Happiness seemed to come from him in waves, his body nearly vibrating with it, and she couldn’t help but feel his joy.
They chatted idly, talking of the farm, some of the more notable horses coming up to race this year, of troubles with Clyde who had taken to wandering up the tracks every so often to see what he could see. Shelby did less talking than he did, for any recollections of her own past would be unsuitable conversation here. She couldn’t even talk about the coming war, for she knew entirely too much about it. So she listened to her future husband and let herself be entertained by him.
Inevitably, there was a lull in their conversation. Lucas looked out the window for a moment, considering the ugly weather, then glanced at the closed connecting door to the dining room where they could still hear the murmur of Amos and Father, and perhaps Gar. Then he returned his attention to Shelby and kissed her lightly on the mouth. A quiver shook her clear to her toes.
When he sat up again, she glanced at the closed door, too, then reached up to draw his mouth back down to hers. He kissed her eagerly this time, more freely than he ever had before. His lips caressed. His breath was warm against her cheek. There was a willingness to sense rather than manipulate, feeling rather than copping a feel. It took little encouragement to get him to open his mouth, and his tongue touched hers. Lightly at first, then playfully. His lips drew back in a brief smile, then covered hers again as he drank her in. A hand lay aside her face, and Shelby felt her mind drifting away to a place where Lucas was the only existence. Where his body was the world, and pleasure in him all she would ever need.
It seemed like hours of endless kissing. Delicious torture. Shelby laid her fingers against his throat, then they slipped down to his collar. His pulse was pounding like a race horse on the track. He leaned toward her, and she allowed the crowding, perfectly willing to lie back and let him unbutton his pants if he would try it. The need for him made her gasp.
Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!
Pounding on the connecting door made them both jump. “Hey, you two!” It was Amos. “Get talking! It’s too quiet in there!”
Lucas sat up, gasping, and brushed back with his hand a fallen lock of hair. He looked around as if not sure where he was, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you in here. Not with your father here.” The tent in his trousers was one to have impressed P.T. Barnum, and he reached for a pillow to cover it. Quickly, he rose and went to the fireplace to face it, standing as if warming himself in case someone walked in.
Shelby sat up and straightened her hair and clothing, knowing the tenderness of her mouth would be as much a giveaway as Lucas’s erection. She guessed Amos had purposely warned them in enough time to recover before Father would come to take her home, and so smiled at Lucas as she calmed herself and waved a hand before her face like a fan.
Lucas leaned on the fireplace mantel and drew a deep breath before turning to stare at the connecting door.
She rose and went to him, and spoke in a whisper. “It’s all right. I don’t much care what your brother thinks.” She took the pillow from him and tossed it back on the sofa. “I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but that’s as far as it goes.”
He gave her a sharp look that puzzled her. She asked, “Why does that surprise you?”
One shoulder hunched in a shrug. “It’s nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.” Still he hesitated, so she added, “We’re to be married soon. We shouldn’t have any secrets.”
He grunted and shook his head. “I’m ashamed to say it.”
“Go ahead. I’m not that easily shocked.”
His weight shifted from one foot to another as he considered his reply, then he lifted his head to look her in the face and said slowly and quietly, “There was a time, my dear Mary Beth, when I thought it possible I had a rival for your affections in my brother.”
Time to act shocked. “Oh, dear.”
Lucas sighed. “There were times when it seemed your friendship with him was more than it should be.”
“Amos is a married man. You can’t possibly imagine—”
“No. Nothing like that. I don’t think he even noticed, and if he had I would never have courted you. I couldn’t have. But I sometimes wondered if maybe you liked him better than you did me, and me little enough.”
“And what do you think now?”
A smile curled one corner of his mouth and he reached out to touch his thumb to her chin. “Well, I have come to learn you like me a sight better than I’d thought.”
“And Amos a sight less.”
“I suppose.” He was gazing at her with those eyes, filled with endless longing. Her heart, too full of him, swelled and she murmured, “I love you. Trust in it.”
For the moment, that seemed to satisfy. He leaned down to kiss her, regardless of who might walk in.
The weeks crawled past as Mother busied herself with preparations for the wedding. Shelby stayed out of her way as much as possible, for she was certain the woman would put on a celebration to match any of the wildest dreams of her own childhood. Any help or advice from her would have been superfluous, and the only request she had was that it be held at the Brosnahan house.
“Don’t be silly, dear. We’ll have it here where there will be plenty of room and plenty of servants.” Mother was sitting at the table in the kitchen with an ink well, pen and paper, adjusting the guest list.
“I want it there. We can have it outside, and take our servants with us. I’m adamant about this, and it’s all I’ll ask.” Shelby, standing to the side, shifted position to let the cook pass.
“Nonsense.”
“Mother, I insist.” She pushed her tone right to the edge of what she’d learned would be tolerated around here from her, and nudged it a shade further.
That made Mother look up. “Whatever for, dear?” There was an edge of “This better be good” in her voice.
How could Shelby tell her that she wanted to be married in the only house that felt like home to her? More than just bricks and mortar, plaster and wood, the house gave her a sense of peace. As if she belonged there and would never belong anywhere else. Not like this huge, empty house, maintained by people in involuntary servitude, and controlled by people without the moral center to understand what a terrible thing that was. No, she couldn’t tell this woman that.
So she said, “Wouldn’t you rather the reception were a quieter, more exclusive affair? Instead of inviting the entire Tennessee Valley, how about limiting the guest list to a more select crowd?”
But Mother only waved a hand in dismissal. “Limiting the guest list will be impossible. You know that as well as I do. Too many folks are related to too many folks, and snubbing anyone would cause ripples all across the county.”
Damn. Okay, another approach.
“Well, Mother,” Shelby sat in the chair next to her and lowered her voice to confide, “you see, I want Lucas to feel comfortable.”
Mother’s eyebrows went up, but Shelby could tell she’d struck a chord and continued, “You know how men are so skittish about marriage. They think they’re being sold into bondage. I think most men would rather just elope and not make a fuss about a wedding.”
A smile rose to Mother’s lips, and she nodded and allowed as to the truth of it. “Yes. I remember your father had a terribly unsettled dinner the day we were married.”
“Right.” Shelby perched on the edge of her chair, excited to be getting somewhere with this. “I don’t want to put Lucas through that. I want to get married where he’ll be most comfortable: in his home. That way the day will be completely joyful, and nobody will have upset stomachs or sweaty palms—”
“Or cold feet.”
Shelby smiled. “Right. No cold feet.”
A rare warm smile came over Mother. “I see my daughter isn’t so different from her mother after all.”
Not the trashy one today, eh?
Mother continued, “You’re exactly right, and it’s a wise choice you have made. I’ll go to Ruth and make the arrangements with her. I’m certain she’ll do her best to accommodate us, so long as we provide the food and the staff.”
“Thank you.” Shelby was happy enough about this to be moved to give Mary Beth’s mother a peck on the cheek as she rose from the table, then left the kitchen. Her anticipation sharpened.
It sharpened too much; the night before the wedding sleep was impossible. The excitement of joining her life with Lucas’s, coupled with admitting to herself she’d given up hope of ever returning to her own time, buzzed through her brain until her body was sore from the tension and the tossing in bed.
Finally she decided she wasn’t going to get to sleep without help. Since there was little help to be had in the way of sleep aids, her only real option was a cup of milk. She slipped from her bed and donned robe and slippers for a walk to the spring house.
Shelby didn’t trust the unpasteurized milk, and avoided it, but tonight she was too wound up to sleep at all without it. Perhaps she could bring it to her room in a tin cup and heat it on her fire, for the kitchen would surely be shut down and cold by this hour. She pulled the silk dressing gown around her and padded downstairs in utter silence, picked up a cup from the kitchen, then went out the back door and down the path toward the spring house.
Spring had sprung, and there were rich scents of earth and leaves among the trees, but the night was still March-cold and the air held a sharp promise of frost by morning. The sky was clear, and Shelby hoped for sunshine the next day to burn off the chill.
Inside a copse of trees and standing over a hole in the ground from which cold water burbled then ran off down a rivulet toward the nearest creek, the little storage shed had just enough flooring to give access to the shelves and hooks bearing foods that were best kept cold. This early in spring, the flowing water wasn’t really necessary to keep the right temperature. In fact, there was still a chance of a sudden freeze. But come summer it would be barely functional for chilling, and utterly necessary to keep things from spoiling within hours. She reached for a stone jug and poured herself a cup of milk.
Exiting the spring house, movement caught the corner of her eye and she paused to look. There was someone on the moon-washed track down by the slave quarters. She waited in the shadows to have a glance at who it might be, for Father hadn’t been entirely wrong about men wandering around looking for trouble. Every century had people out and about, looking for things to steal or destroy or for victims to otherwise mess with.
But what she saw wasn’t a robber. It was one of the servants, hurrying away from the quarters. A woman by the dress, Annie by the head covering. Fleeing in the direction of the river. Shelby set her milk down by the spring house door and took a path through the trees to intercept the runaway.
Annie was joining that track just as Shelby emerged from the copse.
“Wait.”
The black girl whirled and backed up into a bush. Shelby saw she carried a tiny bundle, tied up in a piece of linen. Her terrified eyes shone brightly in her dark face and she glanced this way and that, in search of an escape route. But she stayed instead, hoping for mercy. “Please, Miss Mary Beth. I’ll go quietly back. Please don’t be saying nothing to your father.”
Shelby didn’t know what to do or say. This was so bad. Annie’s chances of success in her flight were so slim, yet her need and her moral right to leave so obvious. There was no reason at all for Annie to trust Shelby, no matter what either of them might say just then.
“Come,” Shelby said. She would never be able to convince Annie she would keep her mouth shut, even if she were to just tell the girl to go on. So she held out her hand. “Come here for a minute. Just for a minute.”
The slave obeyed, for there was no other choice. She took the proffered hand and followed her up the trail to the spring house. Shelby took her inside. In the moonlight pouring through the door, she looked around at the food there. Not much variety, it being so early in the spring. But there was a fair abundance of cheese and the smoked remains of a hog that had been butchered not long ago. She took a broken piece of cheese and a nice-sized piece of ham. “Open your bundle, there.”
Annie was dumbfounded for a moment, and only stared.
“Hurry.”
The black girl bent to untie the kerchief bundle, and Shelby put the food with the scant belongings inside. As Annie tied it back up, Shelby asked, “Do you have someone waiting to guide you?”
The question was met only with wary silence, so Shelby drew a deep breath and rephrased. “I hope you have someone waiting to guide you, Annie. I hope you will make it to wherever you’re going. Be careful. Don’t believe everything the Yankees tell you, and do stick up for yourself. Always stick up for yourself, because nobody else will. You’re the one in charge now.”
Annie bit her lip, started to speak, hesitated, then finally said, “The magic, it didn’t work, Miss Mary Beth. You’re marrying Mr. Brosnahan tomorrow; the magic didn’t work. It may not work for me, neither.”
It was Shelby’s turn to be dumbfounded. Annie did know what Mary Beth had done. And why. But she recovered and said, “Annie, it worked far better than you think it did. I’m marrying a man I love, and you’re going to find a better life. Trust it.”
The black girl frowned, and peered at her.
Shelby said, “I’m not Mary Beth.”
Bald surprise melted the frown, and Annie’s face went slack. “Then who—”
“That’s not important. Just do what I told you. Go fast, be safe, and trust you’ll make it but take care.”
The black girl nodded. “Aye, Miss Mary Beth.”
“Now, go. Hurry. And get as far away from this place as you can.”
Annie hurried a few steps, looked back, then took off at a brisk walk down the trail through the trees. She was swallowed by the shadows in an instant, but Shelby continued watching for nearly a minute. Then she picked up the cup of milk from the stone threshold and took it back to the house and up to her room. There she drank it cold, staring into the embers of the fire, and thought long and hard about the coming four years.
Shelby and Lucas’s wedding day dawned bright and cold, but the chill fled before a radiant sun. Shelby and the Campbells arrived at the Brosnahan house at mid-morning, and the place was already swarming with people. Campbell servants, having started out before dawn, were now setting up tables and decorations, hurrying in and out of the house as willy-nilly as Keystone Cops. Though the news about Annie’s departure was certainly the raging topic among the servants and had surely been passed along to the Brosnahan women, the subject had been quashed among the white folks and was not broached in the Campbells’ presence. To Father, his loss was strictly a property issue and nobody’s problem but his own until he sho
uld choose to talk of it. And today was not the day to focus on a runaway slave in any case. Shelby saw Mother’s hand in the silence, and knew there would be no ugly arguments over abolition at this wedding.
She stepped down from the carriage, more gracefully than she had stepped up the day she’d first arrived in this time, and looked up at the brown bricks already sagging with the settling of the house. She was home once more, never to leave again, and the knowledge suffused her with joy. The air was mostly still, with only the gentlest occasional breeze stirring rich scents of earth and new growth. Daffodils had sprung up in a line along the drive, just now beginning to pop out in yellow and white, and dogwood trees among the winter-bare branches across the tracks had blossomed thickly to resemble resting flocks of white butterflies. It was as if the very earth were celebrating this joyous day.
And there, standing on the porch to welcome her in his dark woolen suit, all scrubbed up and pressed, was Lucas. The light in his eyes shone so she could see it even from there. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, his gaze locked on her as if she were the only thing in the universe worth seeing. For a long moment she stood, taking him in and memorizing this moment, and the rest of the world seemed to slip away. Sounds diminished. Vision narrowed. Lucas was all there was, and all there would be. Then a big grin lit up his face with white teeth, and he came to greet her.
Amos and Gar hurried to take her trunk, greeting and nodding to the Campbells with hearty cheer, and the parents followed them into the house, leaving bride and groom to each other. Lucas gestured toward the luggage as it disappeared inside. “Gar and Martha have moved into the other bedroom with Amos and Ruth, so as to give us some privacy for a few weeks.”
Shelby nodded, not pleased to learn they would eventually have to share the room with another couple, but also knowing there was no other space in the house. Lucky for them all, the paterfamilias had his bed by the fire in the dining room, making it less crowded upstairs.