Rob’s brows drew together. “Still can’t figure out how you managed to escape that mess with merely a dislocated shoulder and a couple of scratches.”
Travis shrugged, wincing only slightly. “I can’t explain it either, except what I told you back then. One minute I’m lying on the ground bleeding like a stuck pig and unable to move, the next thing I know the leg’s stopped bleeding, the pain’s manageable, and I’ve enough strength to get the hell out of there.”
“And you swear there was someone there?”
“Someone did quite a bit of Healing on me. Trust me, after all I went through before, I know Healing when I feel it,” Travis retorted. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Have over, Rob. Some things exist outside of logic and reason.”
“Shouldn’t,” Rob muttered, moustache twitching.
Travis just shook his head. “You really don’t like things you can’t explain, do you, big brother?”
“No.” Rob changed the subject, skimming the letter’s contents as he did. “Does she mention why she left so abruptly?”
“Yes. We were right. She heard about General Stuart and headed out after him.” He stretched tiredly. “Poor Star. She doesn’t say as much, but it must have torn her apart to see him—”
Rob interrupted him, peering closer at the letter in the half light of dusk. “Did you see there’s a postscript?”
Shaking his head, Travis took the letter back and scanned the unfamiliar hand. Oh God, no. No! It must be a mistake, or a trick. The child…? He stumbled back, dropping the paper as if burnt.
“Trav? What’s wrong?”
His mouth worked, but nothing came out. Mind a black whirl, he spun on his heel, grabbed Ginny’s reins, and was gone in a rush of muddy water.
Rob snatched the letter from where it had fallen.
Sir, I regret to inform you that my cousin Estella is dead. The child came far too early and we could do nothing to save either of them. We buried them both in the family plot last week. Danica would have written you, but she is far from well. Should the opportunity present itself, please feel free to visit your sister and the gravesite here at Stonewood.
Your Servant,
Leah Bancroft
Oh damn. Not that, Rob thought, staring off the way his brother had ridden like a madman.
Travis sat in the dark, head buried in his hands. There was a cleared swath about him, as if a tornado had swept through. Which wasn’t far from the truth, considering the amount of Air he’d flung about in his grief.
Footsteps behind him. His brother’s quiet voice. “Is there anything I can—?”
“Just leave me alone.”
Rob was silent, then gave his shoulder a squeeze and dropped the pale scrap of paper in his lap. Travis picked it up, folded it carefully, and placed it in his pocket without looking at it again. He didn’t need to—the words were burned in his memory.
He didn’t sleep that first night, had spent it staring out into the darkness, his memories wreaking havoc with his heart. The next day was one long battle, skirmish after skirmish from morning until nightfall, which thankfully kept his mind and body too busy to think. That night, exhausted, Travis collapsed onto his bedroll, and immediately began to dream.
He stood at the edge of an empty clearing, pushing sweaty hair from his eyes and wondering why this place looked so familiar. Suddenly she was there, face stark white, slender body swollen with child. Just like Aunt Jo. She was stretching out her arms towards him.
“Travis! Help me, please,” she sobbed. Her fingertips brushed his chest.
He heard himself promise again, as he had long ago promised her, “Don’t worry, a mhuirnín. You’re safe now. I’m here, and I’ll watch out for you.” He tried to touch her, to hold her close, but found he couldn’t move, or even speak now. It was if he had been turned to stone.
Jake Bancroft was there beside them, that rabid spark in his amber eyes. “If I can’t have you, cousin dear, no one will.” A gesture: she gasped and sank to the ground clutching herself in pain.
He smiled at Travis. “You killed her, you know. If it hadn’t been for the child—your child—she’d still be alive.”
Then the fiend was dragging her away, down the path in a tangle of skirts and hair, blood a dark streak against the clay.
“Travis!”
A loud slap, then silence.
He awoke with a sob, reached out instinctively for the warm body that should be curled up beside him, and found only the cold canvas wall of his tent. Reality crashed in painfully. It was dark outside and the moon still rode high above; he hadn’t slept more than an hour or so. A few feet away Rob lay wrapped in his blanket, sleeping deeply.
Ah, the sleep of the passionless, Travis thought cynically. He pulled on his boots and went out to find something to do. Anything, so long as it kept him from remembering.
The next day passed by far too slowly. Word of his loss had drifted through the company, but few were brave enough offer their condolences—his grim expression kept most away. He was grateful for the activity of camp, for the numerous duties small and large that kept his mind occupied. But that third night was the worst so far. Not one dream, but several, one right after the other, all in the same vein—she needed him, and he could do nothing for her.
Morning found him wandering from picket to picket, trying desperately to stay awake. Despite being physically drained, he couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to sleep, too afraid of the pain the dreams brought.
Four days. I’ve made it four days. Can I make it another? As darkness crept over the countryside, Travis quailed at the thought of yet another night like the last three. His body needed rest, and to get it he was willing to find oblivion in any way he could. With that the only coherent thought in his mind, he walked stiffly towards a cheerily crackling fire. Stopping just outside the ring of light, he reached out and tapped a soldier on the shoulder.
“George, I need a favor.”
Hours later, the harvest moon hung low in the trees. Travis stared at it with bleary eyes, then back down at the empty bottle between his feet. Damn, I feel awful. He knew he held his drink remarkably well, but he had figured an entire bottle of Pennsylvania whiskey should have some effect. It hadn’t, at least not enough to sufficiently drown his sorrows. He picked up the bottle, flung it into the shadows, struck out at it with what strength he still had. The explosion brought no satisfaction.
‘The child came far too early and we could do nothing to save either of them.’
I swore I would protect you. Our marriage was supposed to protect you, keep you safe. I never once considered that my love could kill you.
The fog gathered like ghosts in the bloody moonlight. I’ve failed again, Aunt Jo. I could not protect you, and I could not protect her, and now you’re both gone.
A movement to one side caught his eye, the glitter of tiny eyes in a long nosed, dirty face. He recognized the creature almost immediately. Redcaps, according to Mum. Herne had called them stonecoats—different breed, same danger. Travis growled, caught the Fae aloft in cords of Air and held it there as it shrieked curses at him.
“Don’t even think about it,” Travis said in a low voice. “I may be alone, but I am by no means helpless.” Then, louder, “And that goes for the rest of you damn critters. Just give me an excuse to tear your nasty little bodies limb from limb. At this point I would very much enjoy doing so.”
There was a scurrying in the bushes behind him. Dropping the still screaming Fae in the nearest tree, Travis struggled upright, waited for his head to stop spinning, and then tottered towards his tent. To sleep. Perchance to dream, he thought. But she’ll be there, haunting my dreams.
A soft glow from a lamp, someone sitting on a stool outside the tent. Oh damn. Rob’s still awake.
His brother lay down his book as Travis tried to duck inside without speaking to him. “Are you all right? Searched all over camp for—” His voice broke off as
he looked Travis over carefully. “Travis Samuel Black, are you drunk?”
Travis stood up again, swaying slightly. “If I’m not, it’s not for lack of trying.” A harsh laugh. “There, you can add another failure to my long, long list of failures—I can’t even get drunk properly.”
“Of all the asinine things to do—”
Travis’ temper snapped, the anger he’d felt burning through his grief finally finding an outlet. “Look you here, Robert Gareth Black. Keep your damnably proper advice to yourself. I’m not on duty at this moment; I’ll be all too sober come morning.”
Rob stood up, the lamplight glinting off hard dark eyes. “If you weren’t my brother, and if I didn’t understand what you were going through, you would be in so much trouble right now.”
“Since when has me being your brother made a lick of difference in how you made a decision?” Travis threw back. “And don’t say you understand what I’m going through. You’re not capable of understanding what I’m going through, seeing how you’ve got ice water running through your veins instead of blood like the rest of us poor mortals.” He took an unsteady step forward. “Oh yes, Rob Black, the smart one, the logical one, the successful one. The one who never lets his feelings get the better of him. You know, it’s damn hard being your brother.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m a big enough failure on my own without always being compared with you, and without you always reminding me when I fall short of your perfection. Always the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect officer. Have you ever made a decision that you didn’t filter through that machinery in your head first?”
His hands clenched in fists, Rob said slowly, “I’m not going to be provoked, Travis. You know I won’t, not when you’re like this. So why are you trying to pick a fight?”
“I'm not picking a fight. I'm telling it like it is. In vino veritas, you know. I … oh hell.” His voice broke suddenly, raw like an open wound. “For God’s sake, Rob, help me! The liquor didn’t do a damned thing, and I can’t bear the thought of dreaming again tonight, of seeing her in my mind over and over. You’re good with your fists—put me out of my misery!”
Rob’s face cleared, even as an expression of deep sadness filled it. “I am so sorry, Trav.”
Without further warning his fist made contact with the side of his brother’s head, and Travis crumpled neatly to the ground.
“Look Dani, even the moon is bleeding.” Star waved a limp hand towards the window where the harvest moon shone red. She continued in a singsong voice, “Blood, so much blood. Too much blood. They were laid out in rows at Fredericksburg, all the blue uniforms and white bodies and so much red, red blood. So patriotic, Dani, just like their flag.”
Danica placed a thin hand on her sister’s brow. Hot, far too hot.
“Aunt Eliza,” she called, hoping her aunt had not yet gone to bed. “We need some more willow tea in here.” Starla had seemed better earlier, and Dani had dared to breathe easier. But Star’s fever tended to rise with the moon, and she had begun speaking nonsense again as the evening wore on.
For months now they had battled to keep her alive. The collapse, the bleeding, then weeks and weeks of fever and delirium. The lack of medicine and decent food hasn’t helped, Danica added bitterly. Star was a mere shadow of her former self. In fact, the only member of the household who didn’t look half starved was Jake. Danica figured he was hunting on the side and not bothering to bring anything home to share with his family. His behavior didn’t surprise her at this point.
Leah appeared in the doorway with the cup of tea, handed it to Danica, but didn’t linger.
“Here, drink this down,” Danica coaxed, holding the cup to her sister’s lips. She drank it obediently, then drooped back down against the linens. Dani ran a gentle hand through Star’s shorn curls—her waist length hair had been the first casualty of the fever—then dragged herself over to her own bed to watch until morning.
It seemed she had closed her eyes only for a moment, but the morning sun was fighting its way in through the curtains and a voice was calling her name softly.
“Dani?”
“I’m here, Star. I’m right here,” she answered, forcing her twisted legs to carry her back to her sister’s side.
“I’m so sorry, cariad.” Danica looked at her in surprise. Her face was flushed still, but her eyes were lucid once more. “You really shouldn’t be here. You’ll wear yourself out too. If you should get sick again….”
Danica shook her red head, adjusted the covers to hide her sudden burst of hope. “I’m fine, Star. Don’t worry yourself. I’ve not had a hint of fever since June, and I’m feeling much stronger now. Whatever you had wasn’t contagious.”
A harsh laugh. “Of course it wasn’t contagious. It wasn’t an illness. I drained myself. Put too much of myself into Healing.” Remembering, she whispered, “Too much of myself, and all of the child.” She looked up at Dani soberly. “I lost the baby, didn’t I?”
Her sister said nothing, merely bowed her head.
I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have…! I’m so sorry, little one.
Then, “How long has it been?”
“Tomorrow is All Hallows.”
Mercy, Starla thought as she shifted her sore body on the bed. It was the end of July last I remember clearly.
“Estella?”
Leah stood in the doorway, carrying Danica’s breakfast tray. Star winced at the name, but lifted a hand the color of old paper to wave her cousin in.
She blinked when she saw the contents of the plate. “Come now, Leah. Surely you’re feeding her better than that. Dani, you’ve got to eat more if you’re to keep your strength up.” The tray held a single piece of cornbread, a dollop of applesauce, and steaming cup of something that smelled vaguely like coffee but just barely.
“That’s all any of us have to eat, Estella,” Leah informed her tartly. “Food is tight around here, thanks to your beloved Yankees.”
Dani broke in, protective. “Now Leah, you know that’s not true. Our commissary agents take far more than the Yankees do.”
“Yes, including that pretty red horse you rode here,” her cousin muttered.
Oh no, Star thought. Foxfire had been one of Sam’s favorite horses. Well, they’d discussed that back when plans were being made, and Foxfire had been willing to take that risk. Though deep inside she sent up a silent “thank You” that Iris was safe in Pennsylvania.
“I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t mean to be rude. Would it be possible for me to have a little something to eat? Just not that brown stuff.” Her stomach wobbled at the thought of drinking the thick brown liquid.
Leah nodded, seemingly mollified by Star’s apology. “I’ll see what I can find. Mother went to the mill yesterday, to get the last of the wheat ground. She might have something laid by for you. And no chicory coffee. Will blackberry tea do?”
“That would be lovely, thank you. Also, there’s some slippery elm in my bag—it’s labeled. Add about three spoonfuls to the tea, if you would.”
With a bob of her head and flutter of skirts Leah left the room. Star’s suddenly aware mind noticed the patched fabric of her vain cousin’s dress.
“Are things really that bad, Dani?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yes.”
Her cheeks are even hollower than usual, Star thought. Danica had always been a skinny child, but now she was starting to look positively skeletal. If only I could get you North, my dear. Ellen’s cooking would soon banish that bony face. But how? As weak as I am, and without Foxfire?
“Did Eliza ever send my letter?”
Danica was startled by the sudden change of topic. “She said she did. Gave it to Constance Jones. Since the Joneses are Friends, Aunt Eliza figured they wouldn’t consider it disloyal to help keep a husband and wife in touch with each other.”
Star’s hope kindled at that news. The Joneses had Northern relatives; her letter just might hav
e a chance of making it to Travis after all. And perhaps she might even receive a letter in return, though she would not hold her breath on that.
How are you, my love? she wondered. Tears threatened again. She gave herself a mental shake. I am strong. I will make it through this, alone if I must. Oh, but I do wish you were here to hold me….
She offered a quick prayer for him, wherever he might be.
Travis barely felt his wounded arm through the cold of the December evening.
His squad had been skirmishing along Gravelly Run yet again, and again he’d failed to discover where Stonewood Farm was, though he was sure it was somewhere nearby. All he’d managed to do was get himself winged while chasing down a tattered Reb on a scrawny nag.
It’s almost not worth dealing with, he thought, tying a dirty kerchief about his arm more from habit than from any desire to take care of himself.
They soon rejoined the rest of the regiment, who were settling into winter quarters. Rob took one look at his brother, at the blood seeping down his arm, and practically dragged him off the horse and into their wooden-walled tent to wash and bind it properly.
“Look, Rob, I’ve been thinking. If anything should happen to me, I want you to find Danica,” Travis said, voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. His flat eyes pointedly avoided looking down at his scarred arm. “Bring her home. The folks’ll take her in, I’m sure. Once she’s safely away from Jacob Bancroft, give Woodhaven back to her.”
“Is that all?” his brother asked in a dangerously quiet voice.
Travis nodded soberly and swung his bandaged arm, testing it. The unexpected blow from Rob’s open hand sent him reeling backwards onto the dirt floor.
“What the hell was that for?” Travis demanded, fingering his now bloody mouth.
Rob’s lips were a thin line. “Trying to knock some sense into that fool head of yours. I’ve watched you act like a reckless lunatic for weeks and said nothing, hoping you’d snap out of it on your own. But now I’m saying something. Namely, what the hell are you thinking?”
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