The Will of Time Read online

  Sara sat still, watching his serious expression. "Can I give you a little advice?"

  "Of course you can," he said, looking at his diet soda can. "What is it about?"

  "Oh, I think you know. Leia's coming back, sooner or later, and she'll own this house. She'll work it out so it's legal. If you want to develop some poor, innocent tract of land, you'd better start making some charitable contributions, if you get my drift. This house is off limits. Do I have to talk to Mr. Sanders, or are we clear?"

  "I get it."

  She could tell he didn't like it. "Good, now if you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed. I don't think I mentioned it, but I've invited another friend to this shindig."

  "Who?" His eyes narrowed.

  "Just an old friend from school. We'll help you suck up to the charity people." She left him, climbing the large staircase. Peggy would keep her mind off of Jason, and Leia, and all her problems. Peggy would be a buddy, understanding she was there for Sara to maintain distance from Jason, her lover who was now demoted to friend status. ..And that was the truth, all of the men she dated turned out to just be friends. She'd have to warn Peggy that her female friends seemed to turn out to be possible prey for Jason. This would be their last social event as a couple.

  Brant had been shot on June thirtieth, and by the time he could remain awake for large chunks of time, the battle of Gettysburg had been decided. He slept right through the fourth of July, but Leia saw no fireworks, no celebrations concerning the country's birth. She watched Brant for signs of infection, the only way she knew how, by watching for vomiting or fever. He slept so much, she was sure Patrick had slipped him something strong like morphine or even worse, opium. She'd read in time-travel books that people from the future sometimes used moldy bread on wounds, to prevent infection, but the idea seemed a bit far-fetched for her. She certainly didn't want to make things worse.

  Something they had done must have been right, because on the fifth of July Brant was awake. He was wan, and weak, and could barely lift his aching muscles, but he was lucid, and he was starting to heal.

  Leia had spent a lot of her time contemplating the calendar. Her own time clock was ticking by fast. She knew she wouldn't make it back to the future in the thirty day period...Unless, if she made it back someday, she'd enter the twentieth century at the same point she'd left. That would sure be a life span-extender. Otherwise, what would happen to her house after the month was up? How ironic that she had gotten married in time, just as the will said, but no one would know!

  "Torin," Brant said, his voice a dry whisper.

  Leia was pretending to read in his room, and she snapped to attention at the sound. "Brant! How are you?" She went to his bed and felt his forehead. Damp, but cool, she sighed in relief.

  "Torin?"

  "Your brother brought you here, and left that same night. He was fine at the time. We haven't heard anything since then, but I'm sure he's okay." She lifted a cup to his cracked lips.

  He made a feeble grab for her wrist. "My leg?"

  Leia assumed he was afraid to check under the blankets himself, in case he was now an amputee. "We think it will be fine. But you won't be dancing for awhile." She watched his face, keeping her own expressionless. She hated this feeling of anxiety, of not knowing what to expect from him. She'd always detested the need to walk on eggs around anyone.

  "You?" The word asked for more information than Leia was ready to give.

  "I'm fine. I'll tell the others you're awake," she replied, picking up the empty cup and leaving the room. She figured that response had been more than he deserved to know.

  Brant now found sleep hard to achieve. His wounds were sore, his leg a throbbing drumstick and his shoulder an itching, healing irritant. His head was foggy, as if he were trying to surface from a sea of drugs. Every muscle weighed several pounds, and his leg felt as heavy as a cannon ball.

  Brant thought someone must have scooped soggy oatmeal onto his eyelids. That's how heavy they were. When he could force them open, however, he saw Leah sitting in the chair, a book open but falling to her side. It was the first time he'd noticed she no longer wore black, and he grimly recalled his comment that she'd better keep those black gowns handy. He knew how close he had come to making that half-jesting statement a reality.

  With the arrival and departure of his wife several times to his room, Brant decided he'd have to make the first move. She was acting aloof, asking only how he felt physically. It would be nice if he could have her to talk to during the long, quiet hours of his recovery. It was obvious no one else in the house was going to keep him company. Perhaps they all were waiting for Brant and Leah to come to some sort of understanding. After all, they had both hurt the other, made each other feel alone. It wasn't one-sided. He'd ask her to talk this afternoon, he decided. With any luck he'd be able to sit up by then.

  "Okay, Brant, I'm listening," Leia said, arranging her skirts to fit the chair. She had tried to keep the aloof quality in her voice, but her control was wavering. She really wanted to hear what he had to say, though she knew she should reject whatever it was.

  "I want to apologize, Leah, for sending you off alone at night. It was very irresponsible of me. You may not believe this now, but I do care what happens to you. I care very much. Will you forgive me?" His voice was low, raspy.

  She didn't answer his question. "Brant, you think I plotted to get you to marry me. You accused me of a really low tactic, just to inherit property. Your brother told me you had said you'd never marry. Do you mistrust all women?"

  "Torin said that? Well, I probably did say that to him. He did a lot of listening. After Margaret, I needed my brother's ear."

  "And who is Margaret?"

  "Margaret was my first love," Brant said, sighing. "We were to be married, our plans were made while we were both young. I thought she was beautiful, and, well, I was young. But my older brother had his own plans for Margaret. When the war started, and land became the only security anyone had, he proposed to my Margaret, promising her he'd inherit my family's land. And sure enough, my parents are gone now. Margaret and Cameron run the farm. I suppose war changes people, and it sure changed her values. I was bitterly disappointed, and then when I thought you were maneuvering for land, I just lost my temper. I knew I should trust you, but I couldn't."

  "Brant," Leia said, and went to sit on the side of his bed. She touched his cheek. "I'm very sorry. I'm sure that really hurt, to be so betrayed." She leaned over to kiss his cheek, and he pulled her closer. Still in a supine position, he could only see her well if he pulled her lower. He moved his good arm to stroke her hair, then he stopped and pushed her chin upward.

  "God, Leah, what happened to your neck?" He lightly touched the bruises, which she knew had faded from violent purple to a yellowing blue.

  She returned to her sitting position, remembering the fear of that night, and told him how she'd been followed and accosted. She watched his face grow red, the familiar temper rising. Well, good, she thought, he should be upset over what happened.

  "And you are certain you are fine? They didn't harm you otherwise?"

  "Everything they hurt, you can see. Except you can't see that I was afraid." She folded her hands in her lap, not meeting his eyes. Still perched on the side of the bed, she felt him stroke her leg.

  "I had no idea. What a fool I've been," he said, his voice hoarse. "I let my temper get the best of me once again, and it almost took your life. I promise you, Leah, I will have better control from this point on. I won't let anything hurt you again." He wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her gently closer to him on the bed.

  "You know, I've only helped a small number of slaves escape. I'm surprised those men figured it out."

  At last, a confession.

  "Was one of those men Hettie's brother?" Did he trust her now?

  "Yes. I know it's wrong, it's illegal. But I just have to help them, Leah. I'm just so sorry my actions put you in danger."

  Leia leaned over, res
ting her head on the top of his. "Please, when we're alone, call me Leia."

  Chapter 11

  "What happened to your third brother, Brant? Was he the one who died? I've met Torin. I know about Cameron, but that leaves someone missing from the story," Leia said, feeding him sweet green grapes, one by one.

  "That would be Cory. We lost him to the coal mines a few years ago. He was so determined to earn a fortune, to make our parents proud. I miss him, especially when we have family gatherings. He and I would try to rouse the others for a game of ball. The best game we had was organized by General Diamond. Remember meeting him? Of course, he wasn't a General then, just a nice man who was good with a bat and ball. But now, well I guess there won't be any more of those gatherings." Brant closed his eyes.

  "I am so sorry. I hadn't thought about the holidays yet myself." Leia felt her stomach grip, and she blinked, tilting her head up to hold back tears. What was Christmas, her favorite holiday, going to be like if she was all alone?

  Brant took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "We'll be together," he said.

  "If I'm still here," she said, "in this time."

  He squeezed harder. "Either time, we'll be together, if we choose. We just need to settle some things between us."

  "Do you believe that I'm from the future?"

  "I believe that you believe it. And I believe you're not from Baltimore, but somewhere much further away, either in time or space."

  "I guess that's a good answer. But Brant... you think I trapped you into this marriage, because of the will." She was still disturbed by his mistrust at the camp.

  "Well, Lea...Leia, I've thought about this quite a bit while I've been bedridden. I think Patrick trapped us in this marriage, don't you?"

  "We trapped each other, I guess, right out there on the front lawn." She smiled at the memory, lightly blushing at the memorable scene.

  "And you trapped your attackers in the cellar, by yourself," he said, struggling to sit up higher. He wrapped his arms around her. "Although I find it hard to believe that two Southern Rebs are now running loose in the twentieth century."

  She checked to make sure he was smiling, and felt herself giggle. "It's the right time of year for it. They'll probably be mistaken for re-enactors. I hope they make it into Pennsylvania."

  "Well, wherever they are, I'm just grateful that they didn't hurt you...more than they did. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if anything had happened. When I realized they had come after you because of me, my heart almost flew through my chest. I do have to say I am impressed by your skills in dealing with those ruffians."

  Leia saw admiration in his eyes and it was directed at her. It warmed her, physically. She felt like she was sunbathing. "While we're casting about praise, can I mention how wonderful I think you are to have helped Hettie's brother escape?"

  He looked at her, waiting. "Yes?"

  "Absolutely. It's given her a small peace of mind."

  "Like you give me. After all, this is the second time you've tended my wounds. Leia, I'd like you to bring my pack over, please," he said. "I have something for you, if it made the trip without damage."

  She pulled the sack onto the bed, eyeing the tattered bag warily. It was hard for her to believe anything could have made a safe trip in that thing.

  Brent unfastened the crude clasp and reached into the brown leather bag. A smile erupted on his face as his hand appeared with first one champagne glass, then one short blue bottle.

  "Ohh," Leia said, reaching for the bottle. "How did they make it back here intact?"

  "I wrapped them in all my socks," Brant admitted, grinning at her from under long, dark eyelashes. "All five of them."

  Leia reached for him, grasped his shoulders and planted a kiss on his receptive lips. "Where did you find them?" She held the bottle up so light could dance through the blue glass.

  "I met a man in Taneytown. He was packing his belongings, preparing to move his family farther east. Well, his wife was complaining very loudly that her china and bric-a-brac wouldn't make the trip safely, and that it was all too heavy for her, and he got so irritated that he took these two pieces and held them high over his head as if he was going to smash them. So I stopped him just in time and he let me keep these pieces for you. I told him that I had a lovely new bride waiting for me, and that I had already risked losing her by being stubborn. Then I helped him move some large crates in payment."

  "I'm impressed, Mr. Douglas."

  "You should be. You see, if we were moving our household I would not have asked you to help carry heavy crates." He stroked her hair, brushing her face with his fingers.

  "Well, you know, dear husband, if we were living together as a family, I'd still want to be independent enough to carry some of my own crates. I'm not one of those, frail, useless princesses," she said, hoping her tone was playful, but still conveyed her meaning. "You know, a woman of the nineties."

  "No, I don't know," he replied, sighing as he pulled her closer. "But I guess I'll learn?"

  "Yes sir, Lieutenant." She gave a mock salute. "You know, Belle would have made a good woman of the nineties." She explained how Belle had ridden with her the night she had followed him to camp.

  "And although she asks a lot of questions, she's really very nice...Very independent. You'd really like her." Memories of Belle with Brant, in the dark alcove, still stuck in her mind. Leia couldn't help but try and gauge his interest.

  "Good, I think. Now that's settled, and you have a new collection started," Brant said, ignoring the remarks about Belle. "One which I intend to add to regularly." He rubbed the spaces between her fingers. "Have you ever considered learning how to make these things yourself?"

  "Well, not really, but I could perhaps take a lesson someday. Oh, Brant, I had the best idea the other day. I want to give Hettie reading lessons." Pleased with herself, Belle forgotten for the moment, Leia smiled at Brant and waited for his pleased reaction. It didn't come.

  "I'm not sure she'd like that, Leia. Have you asked her?" His eyebrows knit together in concern.

  "Not exactly. I just realized that she couldn't read recently, when I asked for pen and paper to write a message." Leia bit her lip, wishing she could take back the words.

  "What kind of message?"

  She waited, not wanting to admit her intentions. "Well, I thought, maybe I should try to hide a message, maybe in a bottle, so that my friends in the future will know what happened to me."

  Brant's face reflected her own conflicting emotions. She didn't want him to be mad at her, just to accept her decisions. She watched him struggle for a response, picked his hand up in her own.

  "So you want to go home so very much?"

  She swallowed. "I'm not sure anymore."

  "Maybe you should," he said, his tone turning from soft to brusk. "There's nothing for you here. If I survive the war, I'll either remain a soldier or take a menial job. You wouldn't want to live as my wife under those conditions, I'd wager. So yes, Leia, by all means go write your message." He closed his eyes, like putting a period on the end of his sentence, and crossed his arms over his chest for the exclamation point.

  Startled by his change in attitude, Leia left the room. She was worried by his reaction, glad she hadn't told him she'd already hidden the message. She couldn't help but smile realizing how Brant would have loved to stalk from the room himself, had he been able. He probably would have smashed into her new glassware before he made it to the hall.

  Closing the door behind her, Leia tried to push all of her emotions and thoughts to the back of her mind. Brant was not himself. She knew that. He was feeling disabled, useless and pessimistic about his own future. All she could do was be there, be supportive and disregard any sarcasm while he mended. ...And that included questions about Belle Boyd.

  A thud on the front porch caught her attention, and she hurried downstairs, through the hall to poke her head out the heavy front door.

  Patrick was crumpled in a heap on the porch. A Reb had M
aryKatherine by the hair, pulling on it to keep her by his side. She was clearly trying to reach the older man, but the Southerner was stronger.

  "Let her go," Leia demanded, pushing through the doors. She went to kneel beside Patrick's motionless form before the Reb could do or say anything. She felt for his pulse, and thanked God silently when she found the weak signal.

  "He hit him over the head," MaryKatherine said, her voice raspy.

  The Reb shook her into silence, then reached into his dirty gray coat. He withdrew a small, black pistol and pointed it at MaryKatherine's head. "Get up," he said, to Leia.

  She rose slowly, having no clue as to what to do next. A pistol was one weapon she hadn't expected to see in this era, not even sure if they had been invented in time for the Civil War.

  MaryKatherine was openly crying. The Reb had let go of her long hair, obviously considering the gun to be a sufficient restraint.

  "Enough. I want to know where my Monya is, and I want to know now."

  "Monya? Who is Monya?" Leia asked. She stood directly in front of the man, and despite her shortness of height, she was on eye level with him. Her stomach was contracting in fear, but she pulled her spine as straight as possible. So far, she was pleased with the steady voice she had maintained.

  "My slave girl, Missie. My property. Word has it that this is the place to look. You're hiding her here and I want her back now."

  "Why do you think we're hiding her here?" MaryKatherine sobbed out the question, sounding innocent and unfairly accused.

  Perfect, Leia thought. She either doesn't know about Brant or she's a fine actress.