by Sarita Leone
The man answered without turning his head, keeping his attention focused on the scene in the street. “Ma'am, that's exactly what he imagines."
* * * *
Darkness was falling when the Captain returned. By then the clamor on the street had died down. It had become so calm and quiet that had the evidence of destruction not been everywhere it would have been no hard task to convince themselves the day, and its horrors, had been a delusion. So, too, had their galloping hearts and fractured sensibilities returned to some semblance of normal.
When the door opened they all turned to the sound. Temporarily repaired, it swung easily, albeit noisily, on its hinges. The elderly man entered the room with a triumphant expression on his face. Having him return at all was reward enough for Kay. Having him return with the purloined hat in hand and followed closely by a man wearing a blue uniform was almost more than she could bear.
Kay flew across the floor and threw herself into Marsh's embrace. Inhaling the musky scent of him, cleaving to the solid muscular form, she thought she must surely be dreaming.
His lips found hers immediately and they were not bashful with each other. Their kiss was long and deep and had there not been so many other emotions to deal with there would have surely been passion present in their clinch.
"What are you doing here?” she asked, putting an arm's length between them. She grasped his shoulders firmly, not willing to release him. “What's going on, Marsh? How did you get past the Confederate soldiers?"
A chuckle came from near her shoulder and she turned. Captain Conrad held out the hat to her and inclined his head. She saw the beautiful craftsmanship of the ancient circle pinned to the brim of the hat. Wasting no time, she removed it from its position with one hand while she held her husband tightly with the other.
"Your husband, Madam, was kind enough to help me divest the would-be thief of his booty. We met up a few miles from here on a farm where the ... uh, gentleman who took your brooch was getting set to find some slumber,” Captain Conrad said. The grin he wore made it easy to view a hint of the young man he'd been. His eyes gleamed and his color was up, and indication that he'd enjoyed his mission.
"The Captain had the drunkard cornered, the tip of his sword pressed against the man's belly,” Marsh allowed. A huge grin crossed his weary face as he went on. “I almost think that I saved the Rebel."
"Saved him?” Arden's voice was breathless.
"That's right, saved the fellow,” Marsh said, nodding. “I fear the Captain was ready to run him through. Although the man shook so fearfully it's a wonder he didn't shake the brooch from the brim of that hat."
Kay's gaze dropped to the precious piece clutched in her trembling hand. It had come to her through the generations, passed from hand to hand and worn above heartbeat after heartbeat, a sign of the strength and unity of the women who walked in this world before her. It was, too, a symbol of her connection to those women, and to the ones she'd hoped would follow. She loved the brooch, the lore and laughter that came with it and the strength and conviction she'd always felt when holding it. The piece was dear to her, certainly. But there were things in this world far more valuable than any possession, no matter how cherished.
The decision was instant. It came from her heart and was emblazoned on her soul. It was perhaps the most difficult decision she'd ever made, and also the easiest.
Holding the brooch in the palm of her outstretched hand, she looked deeply into Marsh's eyes. “Take it."
Silence wrapped around them for several heartbeats. No one dared move, no word was uttered.
"Excuse me?” Marsh's eyes narrowed, but his gaze held hers. There was no mistaking her intention yet he couldn't move. “What did you say?"
"Take it,” she repeated, pressing the brooch into his hand. Marsh had removed his riding gloves when he'd entered and now she felt his warm flesh against hers as they cradled the piece, the instant before she let it go and the second before he took it the one time when they'd hold it together. It was as if the brooch bound them, if only for a heartbeat. Then she pulled her hand away, leaving it in Marsh's wide palm. “Take it. I know you've met people who can turn the brooch into cash, or supplies, or something else that will help secure freedom for those that deserve it. Use it to further the Union effort, to make the passengers on the Railroad more comfortable. Hell, use it to put an end to the need for the Railroad. Just use it, my love, to bring freedom and peace to this land of ours."
Marsh's fingers remained open. The brooch reflected the wavering flame from the oil lamp, looking luminous in the soft glow. He held it up to her and inclined his head.
"Are you certain, Kay? This brooch has been in your family for centuries. Are you sure you want to part with it?” His voice was low and even but in the stillness of the store it sounded loud.
Kay nodded. A lock of hair fell forward over her shoulder, covering the torn, bloody spot where the brooch had been pinned.
"I'm positive,” she said. Her voice was strong and steady as she closed his fingers over the precious item. “I'm surer of this than I have been of many other things I've done. Truly, Marsh, this is the right thing to do—for all of us."
Placing the brooch in his chest pocket, he nodded. “As you wish. Time grows short and I must be getting back to the regiment. I had a missive to deliver, which I have done, and a desire to see you, my wife, if only for a moment. That, too, I have done, so I must go now.” Marsh looked up and smiled at every person assembled there. “To you, my dear family and friends, I give my best wishes. There is a battle about to begin, very near here, so I bid you all take care. Take care of yourselves and take care of each other."
Marsh pulled Kay close and kissed her tenderly, his lips touching hers for far too short a time. Whispering in her ear, he said, “I love you, darling. Remember that, always."
"And I you."
When he was gone, swallowed by the night, Kay felt his loss as fully as if a piece of her heart had been carried off with him.
Epilogue
July 1881
With summer upon them, the days were long and sultry, the air moist and sticky and the grass was alive with all sorts of humming and buzzing insects.
The ground beneath the sweeping willow tree was almost cool. Marsh pulled crabgrass from the graves of his father and grandfather, pausing for a moment to let his eyes linger on the names chiseled into the tombstones. Marsh Nolan. Frank Howe. They were good names, strong names. Names that he and his cousin carried still.
Beside him Frank wore work clothes nearly identical to his own. Comfortable in this place, they'd tossed their hats at the base of the tree when they'd arrived. Frank's thick black curls and rugged features matched his own so well they could have easily been mistaken for brothers. It was a bond where feelings echoed appearances.
Marsh reached behind his father's stone and tugged two fat dandelions from the soil before he focused on a thriving patch of weeds.
"Get out of here, you nasty thing.” Frank chuckled as he swatted at a bee that'd lighted on his arm. They watched the striped insect fly off toward the enormous rose bush that sat behind the matching stones. “Last thing I need is to be stung. This day's too fine to be a pincushion for a bee."
He looked up, a clump of weeds in his hand. “You must be sweeter than honey, Frank, for the bees to be after you like that. It's just your luck, to be chased about by bees and women, eh?” Tossing the weeds to the side, he brushed soil off his hands and smiled.
"Listen, I don't see you attracting any bees but you sure do have Lily Swanson interested, don't you? I don't think she danced with anyone else last night,” Frank teased back. “Hell, I think you just about wore her shoes out dancing, cousin."
Marsh grinned. “I did at that, didn't I?"
They finished tending the graves in silence. When their work was complete they stood, put their hats back on and looked down at what they'd done. Tidying the area had been a chore they'd shared for so long that neither of them could recall
a time when they hadn't done so. Many confidences had been shared in this quiet spot, many hopes, dreams and fears first spoken aloud. Marsh leaned down and snipped two red-and-white striped blooms from the bush's heavy branches. A spicy, sweet scent filled the air. He laid a rose at the base of each headstone.
Frank was, as usual, the first to speak. He'd been the leader of the pair naturally, having been born first, on that fateful night when Marsh's father headed off to his final battle.
"I can never help but wonder if that rose bush smelled that pretty when it grew in Ireland. Sometimes it's still hard for me to believe a tiny stick of it was carried here hundreds of years ago. But that, we know, is the truth.” His dark brown eyes were deep as he looked at the pair of granite stones.
"It must have been. I think an offspring must be so close to the original that it can't help but be nearly the same,” Marsh said. Running a fingertip across the words on the older stone, he said, “How I wish I had gotten to know my father. So many times, so damn many times, I wanted to know him for myself, rather than just hear about him from others."
Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If I were in your place I'd feel the same way.” It was never easy to know how to respond to Marsh's greatest yearning since his own father was at the store even now, with his mother and three younger sisters. So how to commiserate with his best friend, his only cousin, about a loss he'd never suffered? It was nearly impossible but he'd decided long ago that whenever Marsh needed to discuss the war or his father's death, he'd listen. It was a vow he'd never broken, one that he intended never to break. “Your father was a great man. Everyone says how wonderful he was and your mother—if he hadn't been so good she wouldn't have loved him so much."
"You're right, I know. Mother's told me many times that he was special, and that after loving him and being loved by him, there was no way she could ever find happiness with another. No, he must have been amazing. I just wish I had gotten to meet him, Frank. I wish ... oh, damn Gettysburg!” Marsh plowed his fingers through his curls. If only he'd known how closely his words, actions and thoughts mirrored those whose grave he stood beside. If only...
"At least she saw him that night,” Frank offered. He bent and plucked a long blade of grass. Holding it between his thumbs, he said. “I know it was the last time they were together but at least they had that much. I've always thought it better that she saw him before Father and Grandfather brought him home in the back of a wagon. Now that must have been horrible.” Blowing gently against the grass, he made a mournful sound.
"You're right, it must have been awful. Mother said that if you hadn't just been born, right after my father walked out the door of the store and off to the fighting, she would have lost her mind. But Aunt Arden needed help with you. She's always said that's what kept her going. So I guess I owe you from way back, don't I? You kept them going and I'm thankful. And who could have known that I was already on the way?"
Tossing the grass aside, Frank grinned. “I guess it's a good thing I was ornery and you were coming. Life is strange sometimes, isn't it?"
"That it is,” Marsh said, picking up the hand shovel and scissors they'd brought with them. “And then there's that whole business with the brooch to be considered, too. Mother gave it to him before he went and Grandfather said—even up to the day he died, remember?—that Father gave it to someone who was to use it to further the cause of the Union."
"I wish we knew who he gave it to,” Frank said. He carefully lifted the large bouquets of roses they'd cut to take home to their mothers. Holding them away from him so as not to be pricked, he shook his head and smiled. “It's one of those secrets no one will ever unravel, I suppose."
"I guess you're right,” allowed Marsh. They walked toward the edge of the graveyard, their long legs making small work of the distance. “But I wish I knew what ever happened to that brooch—it was in my mother's family for a couple hundred years, you know."
"I know. But, as I said, there are some things we're not meant to know. And where that brooch is ... well, that's one of the mysteries of life."
* * *
Visit www.thewildrosepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.