The Will of Time Page 12

  "Yes, I'm ready to call it a night."

  Hettie eased Leia from the constraints of her black wedding gown, and into the coarse cotton of an off-white night dress. The maid lit three candles and an oil-lamp, brushed the bride's hair until it fell smooth on her shoulders, and then left.

  Knowing she had only a few moments alone, Leia took the time to offer up a prayer. She didn't know if God, or anyone, would hear her, but it seemed like the thing to do. Running her hand through the freshly combed hair, Leia wished for a modern conditioner to ease the straw-like texture she'd developed in this time. Glimpsing her left hand, Leia saw her mother's wedding ring. Would that upset Brant, thinking she still wore another man's ring? Perhaps he didn't believe she was a widow anymore, so the ring wouldn't matter. He had not had time or chance to even think about a ring for her, if they were even available during this time of war. With a sigh of uneasiness, she left the ring on her finger.

  A knock at the door was followed by Brant's grand entrance. Leia assumed he had borrowed a dressing gown from Patrick, and noted that even an old man's robe could not detract from her new husband's masculine appearance.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Douglas," he said, entering the room with two glasses and a short bottle. He stood behind her at the dressing table, setting the glassware in front of her.

  She nodded and their gazes met in the wavy mirror. "Brant, I know you didn't want this marriage to take place any more than I did," she began, but then had no idea of how to follow-up.

  "Don't," he said, placing warm hands on her shoulders. "I'm not upset, Leah. I'll call you Leah for now. But I must confess, I have a very bad feeling about the upcoming battles."

  "What do you mean, a bad feeling?"

  "I can't explain. Just don't burn your black dresses, Leah." He moved to pour a liqueur from the decanter into their glasses.

  Leia shook her head, speechless. Even as a time-traveler, she had no clue as to Brant's future. She was just as helpless as he, as any wife waiting for a husband to come home from war. Her insides twisting uneasily, she took the glass he handed her.

  "Let's just think about tonight," he said, and pulled her to her feet. The warm glow of the bedroom seemed romantic to Leia, the cordial was warming to her insides, and she was ready for Brant to kiss her. She took both of their glasses and set them on the dressing table. Surprising Brant as well as herself, she reached up and threw her arms around the tall man's neck.

  That was the only signal he needed. His lips came down on hers with an intensity she'd only thought existed in movies. Leia tasted the drink on his lips. She smelled his clean, masculine scent that seemed to intensify with their kiss. She felt her lips, almost bruised, opening at his tongue's request. Passion swept through her body, her stomach contracted, excited her, made her tremble and contract in other places. It was then that she realized she wasn't sure who she really was, and it didn't matter. She only wanted to be in this man's arms.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her to a standing position in front of him. He undid a few tiny buttons, then pulled the gown over her head and tossed it aside. Leia was naked beneath the gown. She shivered, suddenly completely exposed and feeling vulnerable. Brant began with his large hands on her shoulders, touching her arms, her neck and face. The anticipation was racking her nerves when he at long last touched her breasts, filling his hands with their softness. He moved to cover and feel every inch of the small, firm cones, and finally moved his lips to their ice-cream hard tips. He kissed every bit of her creamy vanilla colored skin, and Leia felt her insides begin to melt.

  "You are lovely," he said at last, " Your figure is better formed than your finest bottle. And I can not believe I am allowed to touch you like this."

  "Not just allowed," she said, allowing her own hands to tease his flat nipples. "Expected."

  He groaned, pulling Leia onto the bed next to him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I will make you forget him," he told her. He kissed her belly button, the tip of his nose snuggling into the indentation.

  Leia started to ask who he meant, but caught herself. The moment of truth, as it was said, would be on her soon enough. She stopped him from talking by kissing his lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Their chests pressed together as they lay on their sides, in the same position they had been caught in earlier that night. She felt his hand dip down between her legs, gently touching her feminine folds. This time, she couldn't hold back a groan.

  "You are ready," he said, a hint of amazement in his lusty voice. He took a finger, probed inside her, then touched it to her nipple. It shivered and grew even harder under the moisture. She reached down and stroked him, unconcerned if the move was too bold in 1863.

  "So are you," she said, using two hands to further entice him. "I think it's going to explode." Brant needed no further encouragement. He was on top of her in an instant. She loved the feeling of this strong man's body on hers, and arched her hips toward him. He guided himself to her opening, paused for only a second and then entered with a confident thrust. She felt the problem before he did.

  "My God, Leah," he mumbled, having pushed through the thin barrier, then slowing at her gasp. "I didn't know...you and your husband, did not?"

  "I never have," she said, "but please don't stop now. It will get better from this point." She pulled his shoulders, starting a rocking motion.

  He stopped asking questions and continued on. Leia began to enjoy the feeling just as Brant finished, the tiny remnants of pain vanishing. She knew she'd have to wait until the next round to feel any release, something she'd known just from being an observant citizen of the twentieth century. Making love was exactly as she'd always known it would be, except for one thing. As a young girl, dreamy and romantic, she'd always imagined her first time to be accompanied by oaths of eternal love.

  Still in Brant's arms, Leia watched him stare at the ceiling. He had not spoken after his intimate questioning, and Leia was worried about what he was thinking. She watched his tanned chest, covered with soft brown hair, rise and fall with his breathing. Being held securely against his muscular body made Leia feel safe, ready to answer any questions he might come up with.

  "Brant," she said, wanting to break the silence between them. "I think we should talk."

  He rolled over to face her, propping his head on his hand.

  "I think that's a very good idea. Would you like to start by telling me who you are?"

  Leia took a deep breathe. "You were right before. My name is Leia McGarland, and I am most definitely related to the family that lives here. Just not in the way you think."

  "Are you a spy for the Confederacy?" he asked, voice soft.

  Leia sat straight up in the bed, taking the sheet with her. "Of course not! How could you even think that?"

  "What am I supposed to think? You hid your true identity. You hid a document covered with some clear substance I've never seen before. Very suspicious. You claim to be the widowed cousin of this very nice family, and yet you've never been with a man before tonight. If I took you to Baltimore right now, would the Graham family even recognize you?"

  She shook her head, hanging it so the loose wisps covered her face. Everything he said was true. This was the time she'd been dreading since her arrival...admitting where she was from and risking being thought insane. Well, better crazy, she thought, than a war criminal...She thought.

  "Okay, here goes. I ask only that you keep an open mind. I am not crazy or disturbed. But Brant, I was born in the twentieth century. I'm from the future. I'm not sure how I was transported back here to your time. I went through a door in my cellar and came out in the same house, but it wasn't my house, it was my house as it must have been in 1863." She paused to take a breath, not looking at her listener.

  "That is some story," he said. "Tell me, are fashions still the same in your time?"

  "No, of course not. I was dressed in a costume for a historical revue."

  "Ah. Convenient. And you brought the card with your pictur
e with you, then, from the future?"

  She nodded. "It was tucked into my dress, hidden in the sleeve. Brant, I am sorry I couldn't tell you all of this before, but I thought you'd consider me insane and lock me up. So when Martha assumed I was Leah, I played along. But you are right, I have never been married. I've only dated a few men, actually, and was waiting until my wedding night to make love. You see, in the 1990's, there's an incurable disease passed by making love with an infected person, and it's killing people all the time. So people are starting to wait until they get married, like they did in this time."

  "Do you mean there was a time they didn't wait?" He sounded amazed.

  "Oh, yes. The 1960's, '70's, even the '80's, people slept with whomever they wanted to. Young girls got pregnant and had the babies without husbands. I was actually considered unusual for stopping short of that, uh, final step. You know, even with all of the improvements, the future has a lot of dark spots, Brant."

  "So, do you improved people own slaves?"

  Leia shook her head with vehemence. "No, slavery was abolished right after the war. We pay anyone who works for us: servants, gardeners, laborers, everyone. In the United States, at least, everyone has basic human rights."

  "Suppose I believed you. Then you would know all about the war, wouldn't you?" Again, Leia was bothered to hear a bit of suspicion creep into his voice.

  "Well, I know who won, and where the major battles were. Having grown up so close to Gettysburg, I heard Civil War talk all the time. And we studied it in school, of course. Did you know I went to college and graduated? Women have careers in my time, Brant." She had begun talking quickly, trying to fit in everything she wanted to tell him. At least he was listening.

  "And so who won?" He had sat up in bed, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his head.

  "Why, you did. We did. The Union, that is. It's common knowledge that the North won the war. Every year in Gettysburg, people interested in what happened dress up and re-enact the battle." She was facing him now, telling a story as if to a child.

  "What? That is absurd. No one would want to relive this hell." He shook his head to affirm his opinion.

  "Some do. We don't have the sense of honor in our time that you have, Brant." She reached over to caress his face.

  "What do you know about honor? Are you telling me the truth yet?"

  She pulled her hand back, as if he had slapped her. She stared at him, fighting to control her emotions which were tightening her stomach. Neither spoke for a moment.

  "Will you return to your time? Is anyone waiting for you there?"

  "I don't know. I'm not completely sure how I got here. It's possible I could return through a door in the cellar, but I haven't found it yet." She looked at Brant, but his eyes were cast down.

  "Brant?"

  "Yes?" He answered, but still did not look up.

  "Well, I need to get back. And soon." She explained the situation with the will, and the thirty day deadline. "To be honest, though, there's no one back in the nineties who'll really miss me, except maybe my friend Sara."

  "What were you doing before you found yourself here?" He looked up at last, his voice cold.

  "Well, my grandfather has, had, just passed away. That's why I really was in mourning. He really did raise me after my parents were killed. I told you the truth about that. And now, I'm not sure I'll ever see my friends again, or my home the way it was, or be able to do my job again." Her voice wavered as a few teardrops of self-pity rolled down her cheek. She turned her head away from Brant's gaze, embarrassed on top of everything else she felt.

  "Come here," he said, and reached for her. After a brief hesitation, she allowed herself to be smothered in his arms. He rocked her for a few minutes, waiting for the tears to subside, and stroked her hair, "I knew your grief was real, if nothing else."

  She could only nod her appreciation of that fact. At least he hadn't thought she lied about her parents' death.

  He wiped her face with the corner of a soft blanket. "Can we start again?"

  She nodded again, tightening her grip around his waist. She had just told a Union soldier that she had lied to him consistently, was really somebody else, and yet, he still wanted to know her.

  "I'm Brant Douglas, ma'am."

  "My name is Leia McGarland, and I'm from the twentieth century."

  She saw him nod, and watched his face. She knew he didn't believe her, at least not completely, but he accepted her. He cared about her. And she was falling in love with him.

  Before light had started to spread, Brant slipped from his bed, dressed and went downstairs. He did not wake Leia, who was sleeping like an angel, a swollen-faced, pink-cheeked angel, but still an angel. He wasn't sure he'd gotten any of the truth from her last night, but it was what she believed to be the truth. The woman was an enigma, but not one he had time to solve today. As much as he had enjoyed making love to her last night, today he started back to the front, probably for the last time. He wanted to remember Leia just the way she had looked this morning, natural and content. He smiled at the thought that she had been a virgin. Well, at least we were legally married, he thought. That should have met her criteria. He hoped she would have some fond memories of their wedding night, for he realized he truly cared what she thought of him.

  "Brant?" Patrick was beckoning to him from the library.

  "Patrick, you are up early this morning." Brant sat with him at the round table.

  "Since you are now married to my niece, and I am responsible for that, I have made a small revision to my will. I want you to read it, and witness it."

  "Patrick, you did not have to do that. I could not take anything from the family," Brant protested, shaking his head at the older man's generosity.

  "You can't refuse," Patrick said, holding his palm up. "It's done. It is only a small gesture, the house and land are passed down according to tradition." He pushed the document to his nephew-in-law. "As before, please witness and secure it. I'll be on the front porch when you are ready to leave."

  Brant watched him go, wishing he had something to give back to the man. He turned his attention to the will, scanning the pages for his name. He found it near the end, and was pleased to see that Patrick had left him a small amount of gold he had hidden away, along with a few rifles and a horse. It was something, Brant thought, to help him when, and if, he returned from war. Patrick knew that Brant's oldest brother Cameron had inherited his parents' farm upon their death. He also knew that Cameron had married Margaret, having taken her away from Brant, and that Brant would be neither overly welcome nor comfortable at BlueBell Ridge after the war.

  He noted that if he himself died, Leah was to inherit these things, and that the couple was welcome to live at the McGarland home as long as they liked. He signed the spot indicated for a witness to the codicil, and flipped back through the stack of pages. An underlined clause caught his eye. It stated that according to family tradition, any McGarland family member that was to inherit the home, male or female, must be married by age twenty-five to inherit. He wondered how old MaryKatherine was, but then stacked the papers and wrapped them with ribbon. It was time to join his military family, and two of his 'brothers' were waiting for him on the front porch.

  Chapter Eight

  Leia rose early, but not nearly early enough to say goodbye to Brant. Her soldier-husband was up and gone before dawn, with the chickens, as Hettie announced. After a large breakfast with the family, Leia realized with some unease that she had an entire day still stretching before her. The heat and humidity had already risen beyond comfortable levels. Not for the first time since her arrival in this century Leia wished she had tucked her deodorant into her costume pocket.

  No one mentioned the hasty wedding that had taken place the night before, or the fact that the groom had now gone off to fight. Leia wondered if they were trying to spare her feelings or their own with their silence. Hettie and MaryKatherine insisted she not work with them in the house today, that she res
t, so with nothing but time on her hands, she considered searching the cellar again. If she had come through a doorway portal in time, how could that doorway have disappeared? It should still be there, unless it had changed into some other kind of portal. Maybe another dimension was involved.. maybe some unknown force controlled when and where it existed. Maybe...she thought with a jerk that straightened her spine...the door was always there, in the cellar of her house, but not always visible to the naked eye.

  If such a portal existed in other houses, would she have recognized them? She'd seen hundreds of basements. At least half of the houses she'd appraised had them. That would take time to consider. She wandered upstairs, through the hall and past her own room to Martha's. Her aunt had told her to look sometime at her whatnot, a shelf arrangement in the corner of her room. Below it sat another of the Heppelwhite chairs with delicate legs, clearly positioned there only for display. Martha's was the only room in the entire house to be wall papered, a panoramic landscape scene lush with forest and blue sky.

  Martha's whatnot housed small glass bottles, similar to Leia's own, a figurine of a young girl on a horse, several painted thimbles, scattered dried flowers and seashells. When had Martha ever been to the ocean? More than likely someone had brought the shells to her. Just like one would suddenly become aware that one's mother had once been young, Leia smiled as she pictured Martha younger and in love.

  Leia touched an amber colored shell flecked with white, its glossy surface cool on her skin. She replaced it, turning to go, when a crack in the wallpaper caught her eye. What was that? Leia touched the rough paper, feeling the fissure that had previously been hidden by the image of a brown tree trunk. The weather must have made the wall swell or something, she thought, trying to smooth the paper back in place.