The Will of Time Read online

  The dog barked his agreement, turning soulful eyes to Brant.

  "Well, you've made a place for yourself here. Now, if your husband just had a place in the world," he said and turned away. Leaning more heavily on his cane than usual, he moved toward the stable.

  Leia took her few free moments to crack the wine bottle she had found in the cellar, and delicately remove its paper contents. Her fingers tingled with anticipation. Could this be a message from Martin or Sara? Had someone found her note, or had she just discovered someone else's old and faded note? The paper was yellow and dry in her fingers.

  She uncurled and separated three cracking pieces, scanning to the bottom of the top paper for a signature. The script was tiny, flowery. It was from Sara!

  Dear Leia,

  I found your message, brief as it was, and showed it to Martin. We are so relieved you are safe. Martin was calm the whole time, and he said he could get messages back to you, if I trusted that you are actually in the past. He seems to know what's going on, so I'm believing, but shocked. Imagine time-travel!

  Did something happen to your bottles in the past? I mean, did you change something? They disappeared from the house. I'm sorry I got mad at you about Jason's proposal. I've been avoiding him lately...he's more concerned with his new mall project than me. But I guess you knew that before I did. Unfortunately, he's camped out at your house most of the time now.

  I searched the cellar for a clue to what happened to you, and did find your driver's license. Why on earth was it buried there? Of course, I assumed you were in serious trouble, abducted or something. I wanted to go to Mr. Sanders and the police right away, but Jason convinced me to wait, that it would be dangerous for you. I didn't know what to do and you weren't around to ask! I miss you so much, I love you, and again I'm sorry for not believing you about Jason.

  I'm almost finished with school...I had to go to Harper's Ferry to find another dress like the one you disappeared in. Please come home soon.

  Love,

  Sara

  P.S.- Martin can't stand Jason hanging around, and it's really funny to watch them together. Martin misses you, too.

  Sara unrolled the second page, a photo copy of a letter.

  Dear Mrs. Callaway,

  Since Leia has not returned, I have not retrieved the 1863 dress. We've notified the police, but even if we locate her soon, there's no telling what condition the dress will be in. I've found a substitute and am driving out tomorrow to obtain it.

  As I mentioned when you called, Leia may or may not be able to actually model in the show. As the McGarland family is sponsoring the event, their name will remain on the program. I will take Leia's place so there are no holes in the line-up. I realize my entire semester grade is riding on the show, and can guarantee an interesting revue. Thank you for your support.

  Sincerely,

  Sara Smith

  With a sigh of regret for the trouble she was causing her friend, she read the last note.

  Dear Leia,

  The police think I'm crazy and suggested I see a psychic. Ha! I did that a long time ago, with girls from school. I've never held much stock in their abilities, but then again, I've never experienced time-travel, either. It's all confusing. A bit of bad news: I overheard my now former fiancee making plans for your house. He's determined to marry you or outbid everyone at Sander's auction on the first. He's got actors dressed as Civil War soldiers walking around to promote his theme mall. I don't know how to handle him. Your lawyers are now convinced you're going to marry him by the deadline. If you can, send a note telling me what to do.

  Sara

  That's just great, Leia thought, Sara wants me to tell her what to do. Like I know. She couldn't get home, was not even sure she really wanted to. The events going on in the twentieth century didn't seem that important anymore, but she did want to know if Jason and Torin had turned up there. The notes weren't dated. Martin had probably advised Sara not to risk dating anything going back in time. Leia ripped the notes into tiny shreds.

  "Your pie is always excellent, Sarny," Leia told her. Standing side by side in the kitchen, the women made a good clean-up team. Brant was pleased that Martha had given Hettie the night to herself, because the woman had looked overly tired and tense, and Sarny's meals were almost as good as Hettie's.

  Brant's mood had improved since earlier in the afternoon. A bit of self-pity had crept over him, and he didn't like Leia to see that. Not that she hadn't felt her own share of self-pity over the past few weeks. It was just not the most attractive quality in either of them, and it didn't solve any problems.

  "Mista Brant, can I ask you a question?" Sarny was suddenly speaking to him. A damp towel over one shoulder, and flour sprinkled liberally on her dress, Sarny was a picture of domestic help.

  "Of course. What is it?" His curiosity was peaked, because Sarny rarely spoke to the men in the house.

  "What happened to John and Elijah?"

  "Who?"

  "The other slaves that came in with Mista Torin the other evenin'. They didn't ask for food, or say goodbye, or anythin'. They wasn't caught, or anything bad?" Her little face was grim, and Brant imagined the girl feared the worst for her friends.

  Brant glanced at Leia, who looked back with a blank expression on her lovely face. How should he answer? She gave no clue.

  "They said to tell you goodbye, Sarny, and to Hettie as well. They were in a great hurry, and no, they didn't get caught." It was the best he could tell her, and he hoped that it would satisfy her.

  It did. She nodded and turned back to the counter.

  "Brant," Leia said, finally finding her voice. "Let's take a walk."

  He wondered if she just wanted to talk to him alone, or if she really wanted to walk. Walking, he had observed, must be very popular in the future. Brant followed Leia through the front hall, and out the door. The evening air hit him in the face, so heavy with humidity it was almost visible.

  Leia took his hand, pulling him off the porch and into the yard. He realized she was leading him to the garden, and his heart began to beat faster. The wet grass lapped at his ankles, and Brant remembered a night when the wet grass had lapped at their entwined bodies. A smile crept over his lips.

  When they reached the cherub fountain, Leia whirled to face him. She threw her arms around his neck, urging him to bow his head to hers. Brant lowered his lips to hers, eager for the intense touch. His body began its familiar contractions, the ache for her built quickly.

  Tossing the cane to the ground, Brant pressed his hardness against Leia's thigh. She kissed him harder, slipping her tongue further into his mouth, amazing him with its dexterity.

  "Thank you," she mumbled, pulling back just enough to speak.

  "Don't thank me yet, wife," he replied, filling his hands with her bottom. She felt so good in his hands, firm but still pliable, as if he could mold her into anything.

  "I mean for John and Elijah," she said, moving her arms lower to wrap around his waist. "I think," she went on, burying her face in the wool covering his chest, "that you are the bravest man I've ever met. And you know what else?"

  Brant only mumbled an incoherent response, so involved was he with her hips. The slender thighs had grown just a little since her arrival, and he was pleased. In fact, her slim figure had swollen just a little, all over. She had needed a little more substance to her figure.

  "It's been so long," he said at last, "tell me what else, Leia." He tried to make himself concentrate.

  "I think," she said slowly, pulling her head back so she could make eye contact, "that you helped Hettie's brother escape."

  "And?"

  "Any my grandfather's accounting partner in the future, Martin, is Hettie's brother." She smiled, obviously pleased with both herself and him.

  "Come closer," he demanded, neither confirming nor denying the statement. He pressed her small body against his own, wincing only slightly as she pushed on his thigh.

  "Brant, your leg!" she protested, having se
en his face.

  He said nothing, burying his face in the top of her head. Her hair smelled like roses and rainwater, the perfume stirring his senses further. One hand reached for the small of her back, the other to cup her breast. It had been so long, he wanted her more than he even remembered, the scent of her hair was a powerful intoxicant. Stoically, Brant ignored the protests from his healing wound. So many men had been less fortunate than he, and would never again make love to their wives. A sore, yet healing, leg was nothing.

  She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but reflecting deep, smoldering emotions. Her lips were puffed from kissing. She looked beautiful to him. He knew his wife was beautiful...and she had chosen to stay, when possibly she could have made it through the door to the future, her home. Even more amazing, she had stayed despite his lack of land holdings or wealth. He pulled her body tightly against his.

  "Brant, I can't breathe," she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

  He released her immediately. "I'm sorry." His smile rose again. "Let's go inside. I think this soldier has healed long enough, and I don't want Patrick to catch us creating a public display."

  Leia giggled, bending down to retrieve his cane. "You're right...and you sounded just like him." She straightened her clothing and then stopped short when she looked at him.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching to touch his cheek with a gentle caress.

  He hadn't realized he was staring so directly at her, almost unblinking. His heart was beating fast, pounding actually. Could she really care about him? Reaching to take her hand, Brant said, "Yes, I may finally be, OK."

  "Leia," Brant began, carrying a basket of wet clothes from the tub. "Before we were married, you asked me about BlueBell Ridge. Do you remember?" Balancing the basket against one hip, he managed it easily, supported by the cane. Leia and Hettie followed, though Leia hoped the other woman wasn't watching his backside as closely as she was.

  "I remember. I'm an appraiser, and I like to know what houses look like. It's what I do for a living," she said when Hettie had moved away.

  "What for? I mean, what did you look for?"

  "Houses are extremely expensive in the future. People have to get loans.. mortgages, in order to buy them."

  "That happens now," he said, handing her a damp, silky blouse for hanging.

  "True. But a lot more of the population can afford homes. Blacks, whites, Indians, whoever. It really depends on how much income they earn and if they pay their bills on time. My job is to make sure the property is worth what the bank thinks it is."

  "Why is that important?" He handed her another item, still dripping.

  "In case someone stops making their mortgage payments. The bank might have to try and sell the house again."

  "I see. Does this happen often?"

  She could tell by his expression that he pictured the entire business as some unethical practice, with a cartoon villain harassing the family for the bag of mortgage money.

  "No," she said, "I help the home buyers, too, you know. They want to be sure they're getting a fair price."

  He nodded. "Have you seen people lose their homes, Leia?" His eyes met hers over a pair of wet trousers.

  "No, never."

  "Well I have."

  She waited for more, but no further explanations came. He simply turned, picked up the empty basket, and headed back to the house.

  He'd seen others lose more than their homes., their dignity, their freedom, their very lives. He couldn't expect Leia to understand all of that...she had not experienced it first hand. At least she had a good heart, and could help him with his mission. In fact, he respected her all the more for helping him when she had not lived with the terrors of slavery. What would it be like to live in a slave-free world? That's why he and his family were fighting, why they'd sacrificed so much. He could almost resent Leia and her world, being safe and comfortable in a country he had helped build, but he couldn't hold it against her personally. She was too sweet and eager to do what was right...like helping Hettie with the laundry.

  Brant watched her from the porch, where he paused by the back door. A wall of pines framed the picture of her hanging soggy garments on a rope stretched between trees. She had asked Patrick to craft tiny wooden pieces to keep the clothes on the rough rope. She'd even sketched how they should look.

  Her gown was thoroughly soaked with the sweat of her efforts. The bodice clung as if she'd skipped the corset again. He knew if he peered under her skirts the pantalets would be missing as well. Not that he blamed her, after she had explained how little clothing she wore in her time. A smile stole onto his face as he pictured her shapely legs covered only by tiny, short pants. Next he imagined the bikinis she had described, and his smile became a grin he could feel stretching his skin.

  As if she felt his gaze, Leia turned suddenly and smiled at him, squinting. He nodded and then went into the house, amazed at the effect she had on him, even from a distance. Brant held the basket in front of his mid-section until he got he got to his room.

  Leia smiled at Hettie, thanking her quietly for delivering another of Sara's messages. Hettie smiled back, without asking questions, and left Leia to the privacy of her room.

  Dear Leia,

  I did it! I went to see a psychic reader. Sister Maura, remember, from downtown Baltimore? . There were candles and incense in the dark room, just as you'd expect. Right off Maura began, telling me I was worried about a close friend. She held my hands, made me close my eyes and imagine your face. She knew you were pretty, and blonde. She told me you felt trapped, and that you'd seen a psychic too. She knew what you were wearing the night you disappeared. Don't worry, Sister Maura said you were not in much danger, as long as you were careful, but that someone you cared for was. The weirdest part was...she told me to look for messages from the past, perhaps from the railroad. Isn't that wild? That was about it. Can you believe it?

  Sara

  Leia,

  As you can imagine, Jason harassed me about Sister Maura. So, of course, I responded maturely that he was mad that you wouldn't marry him. And the conversation got nasty after that. Can you believe he offered to rent me store space in his new mall, since I'm now a design-school graduate? (Well, after next week's show) Anything for a buck, that Jason.

  On the plus side, he has started talking with a local school that's selling some property. An alternate site, he says. They want the land used for anything historically devoted to the Civil War, even a mall. Don't worry too much, Martin and I are keeping our ears and eyes open. I have a few plans for dealing with Jason, in case you can't get back in time.

  Miss you.

  Sara

  "Who is Spot?" Hettie asked, "And why does he run so much?"

  Leia sighed, looking down at her handwritten primer. She had used the simple sentences she remembered from childhood to create practice for her friend. Run Spot, run. See Spot run. Jane runs with Spot.

  "Spot's the dog. He looks just like Scruffy."

  Hettie snorted. "Well, let's keep Spot and Scruffy out of my clean kitchen."

  Perhaps I should have studied teaching in college, instead of business. She had to admit she had no clue as to proper teaching methods for reading. Simply having good reading skills herself did not help. At least she'd been successful with the alphabet and a few simple words. An idea grabbed her right before she would have given up.

  "Hettie! Let's do something totally different. Instead of you trying to read about make-believe people, let's work on things you're familiar with." She tore pieces of rough paper into small tags. On each, she wrote a word representing a household item.

  "We'll do it this way; lamp, table, kitchen, chair, clock, candle." She looked at Hettie, who finally wore an expression reflecting interest and intelligence. Leia placed tags in front of or on the appropriate items.

  "And flowers," Hettie added, pointing to a vase of gold-petaled, daisy-like blooms. Their black centers told Leia exactly what variety they were.

  "Why,
they're black-eyed Susans," she exclaimed, moving closer. "Our state flower."

  "What do you mean? We have many types of flowers," Hettie said, shaking her head as if Leia was daft.

  Leia had never seen a vase full of the black-eyed beauties, however, since it was illegal to pick them growing wild as they did in Maryland. Once, she had trampled a small patch of them by accident, backing up, trying to find the best angle to photograph a multi-level contemporary house. She hadn't noticed the flowers until they were flat and broken.

  Leia spelled out f-l-o-w-e-r on a scrap of paper, adding it to the word collection. MaryKatherine entered the kitchen then, her face expressing her usual cheerful demeanor.

  "We have a visitor," she announced. "An important one. General Diamond."

  Leia looked up. "Brant's commander?" Her skin prickled at the thought of Diamond coming to collect her husband.

  "Yes, isn't it exciting? Especially after hearing Torin's description of the Gettysburg battles. The General was so courageous. Brilliant, really. Oh, I wish Torin was still here." MaryKatherine was pacing the kitchen as she spoke, touching the small off-white tags.

  "Me too," Leia agreed, "Then he could be coerced into telling the battle tales yet again." She smiled.

  "What a wonderful idea, Leah! You should be teaching children." MaryKatherine liked the tags.

  "Where is the General?"

  "Out front, speaking with Patrick."

  "Is he alone, MaryKatherine?"

  "I believe so. Martha said to set one extra place for dinner. And I'm on my way to make ready the spare room for him, as he's requested a place for a few nights."

  "Requested?"

  "Well, demanded, but in a pleasant sort of way. Where is Brant? I'm sure he'll want to know the General's here."