The Will of Time Page 7

  "How are things going, really?" Brant asked his friend as they watched Leah retreat to the house.

  "Not well, Brant. Lee's coming this way. There may be fighting right here in Maryland. If this place wasn't so well hidden, I'd be concerned for your womenfolk." Daniel followed Brant, leading his horse to the stable, located behind the main house.

  "So tell me about your friend Leah," Daniel began as he rubbed down his horse.

  "Leah? She's just lost her husband. Nice young lady. She arrived unexpectedly a few nights ago."

  "Nice? Is that all you think of her? She looked at you with more than nice in her eyes."

  Brant grinned. "She is in mourning, Beck. Though I must admit she's a beauty."

  "Well, just be careful. You'll be traveling north soon, for God knows how long." Daniel turned his attention from the horse to his friend.

  His thoughts centered on the fact that they might never return from this one, Brant didn't answer. Could Leah possibly wait for his return? Someday she would come out of mourning...No. He would not trust a woman again.

  "It seems like this war will go on forever," Daniel said, looking sideways at Brant.

  "I know what you're trying to say, Beck," he replied, meeting his friend's concerned look.

  "Have you heard anything of Margaret lately?"

  The question bounced off of Brant's shoulders, leaving them slumped. He turned to yank open the barn's small door, pulling the wooden slat handle off.

  Brant mumbled, not really wanting his friend to hear his words, and tossed the handle onto the straw-covered floor. It rolled a few feet before disappearing. He felt like disappearing, too, to escape his friend's scrutiny. Under straw he wouldn't have to think. A slight catching feeling made it hard for Brant to breath. It was as if Margaret's betrayal had just happened. Luckily his thoughts were forced back to the present when Daniel slapped him on the back.

  "Sorry, Brant. I just don't want you to let yourself become...distracted, again. We're going to need your full attention on our strategy." Daniel followed Brant from the barn. "I saw Torin last week."

  "And how is my brother?"

  "He is well. But he's not his usual self. Already made the trip back to Pennsylvania. Can't believe any fighting will happen on Carroll County soil. It must have been very hard for you to lose both of your parents at one time. Especially to a drunken Reb," Daniel said, shaking his head and lengthening his stride to keep up with his friend. Brant was covering a great distance with each step, the soft, high grass simply bowing down under his strong feet.

  Martha was standing on the back porch, apparently waiting for them. Her long, graying hair was neatly bound as usual, and her face relaxed into a smile as the men approached.

  "Captain Beck," she said, "we are so glad to see you again."

  "And me to see you, Miss Martha. How have you been?" Daniel glanced at Brant, who's face showed amazement at Martha's soft side revealed to the young man.

  "As well as can be expected, Captain. Hettie's putting supper on the table, so please come inside." Martha led the men into the house where they pumped water to wash their hands before dining.

  Seated around the food laden table, the group began a happy chatter as dishes were passed. Brant was pleased to have his friend seated to his left and Leah to his right. He passed her a plate of ham, which he noticed wasn't stacked quite as high as usual for the McGarland table. Yet, there was plenty for everyone, with biscuits, potatoes and his favorite, succotash.

  Brant recalled for a moment the night Leah had arrived,,,,Belle had been seated where Leah was now. Belle's gossipy, man-like war talk had rattled his nerves, a constant reminder of the ongoing battles. Mealtimes, he believed, should be more relaxing, an escape of sorts. He knew Belle thought of herself as flirtatious, and she probably considered it part of her charm to talk about the war. Although her figure was lovely, however, the woman's face was angular and unattractive. He considered the possibility that Belle's incessant talk of male topics was merely a ploy for attention...Male attention.

  Around the table, pleasant banter continued, but Brant's mind was now going over the events of the past week. He would be leaving to join his brother and General Diamond soon, but the appearance of Leah had given him a new interest. He wanted to learn more about the golden-haired woman next to him. He knew he should be thinking about the soldiers, the military strategy, union soldiers dying every few moments in pain...Nothing glorified about it, just men killing men they used to consider fellow countrymen. He knew he should be worrying about Torin, but he was more concerned over whether Leah would be safe while he was gone. Not that he was considering any commitments, or promises. Nor did he want to. He knew better than to let his heart, or his life, revolve around a woman again. No, he just liked her enough to want her to survive the oncoming Rebel wave.

  "Well, Daniel, would you like to join Brant and me in the parlor for a cigar?" Patrick spoke up after wiping his mouth on a flax-woven napkin.

  "I surely would, sir, if that offer includes one of your special brandies," the guest replied, rising to follow the men.

  Before they left the room, Martha spoke. "Brant, would you wait a moment please?" She looked grim, but that was not unusual for the matronly woman.

  Brant nodded and sat back down at the table. MaryKatherine and Leah joined Hettie in the kitchen, stealing curious glances back at the dining room.

  "What is it, Miss Martha? You seem so serious," Brant asked, shifting his weight on the chair.

  "Brant, I know you have only a short time left with us, but I really need to express my concern about something. You know I think of you as family," she said, and leaned toward him. She laid his hand over his tensed fingers.

  "It's about Leah. You know she is in mourning for her husband, and will be for some time yet."

  "I understand." Brant's voice was low, and he tried to hide his irritation for such a discussion a second time in one day. He pulled his hand back and watched as she wrung hers.

  "Can we just agree that she needs time to grieve, without influence from a devilishly handsome soldier?" Martha squeezed his hand.

  "Of course, Miss Martha. Leah and I have just become friends." Brant felt surprise that she looked so sincere in her concern, and at her charitable description of him.

  "Brant, I'm aware that matters have gone just a little beyond mere friendship. Indelicate as it may sound, we're all aware of your attraction to Leah. You are leaving soon. There will be more heavy fighting... and we are all fearful for you. Please, do not give Leah more to worry about than she can handle. She is fragile, as is her reputation."

  Brant looked at Martha, his eyes narrowed in self-defense, but he relaxed at her benign expression. "Yes, Miss Martha." He rose to leave, but turned back. "I understand, but I do believe that this war has changed things. Forgive my candor, but conventions and standards just don't seem as important. Some rules feel awful trivial when a man could be dead tomorrow." He strode toward the kitchen door, glancing back to see Martha still at the table, her eyes wide and staring.

  Brant paused in the doorway, looking into the kitchen that still smelled heavily of smoked ham. He watched quietly as Hettie washed dishes and pumped water. MaryKatherine took the clean dishes to dry on a piece of cotton. Leah and the day maid, Sarny, had their backs to him, and he was able to watch contentedly while Leah sorted the china into piles.

  "I always helped my mother and our maid, when I was a girl. It was our time to talk," MaryKatherine was saying, presumably to Leah. "Especially since the men were then at the opposite end of the house."

  "That must have been very nice," Leah said, not raising her head from her work.

  "What about you, Leah? When did you get to share a moment with your mother?"

  Leah turned away from the other women and caught sight of Brant. He noticed her eyes were moist, cloudy, almost as if she were recalling a fond memory, but that couldn't be it, because he saw she was fighting back tears.

  "Brant, why aren'
t you enjoying your brandy with the men?" MaryKatherine asked, turning and startled at his appearance in a female domain.

  "I merely wanted to thank all of you for another fine meal," he told her, cocking his head to one side and smiling.

  MaryKatherine nodded in return and went back to her work, obviously satisfied, but Leah stared at Brant and tried to smile.

  "Are you feeling well, Miss Leah?" he asked, as she brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. Looks like the cloudy eyes have started to rain, he thought to himself.

  "I am fine, thank you. I'd be even better if you'd take me for a moonlight stroll. And then I could show you the bottles I've cleaned up for display." She blinked, but didn't flutter, her lashes.

  Brant was tempted. He would like nothing better. Her company would be far more enjoyable than that of the men. He remembered Martha's warning, however...and Daniel's. With a sigh he chose to heed his hostess.

  "I am sorry, but I really must join the others in the parlor. War talk, you know," he said, not meeting her eyes. Knowing he had caused her the embarrassment of appearing too forward, he slipped from the kitchen, without knowing if she was as disappointed as he.

  Leia paused outside of the parlor door, hearing the low rumbling of men's relaxed chatter. She was glad they were occupied and entertaining themselves, because her recent offers of housework help had left her exhausted. Of course, MaryKatherine's idle chatter had dredged up memories of her parents that had left Leia equally drained.

  Hettie and MaryKatherine had been nothing but kind to her, and she wished for all the world she could introduce them to a dishwasher. The ever abundant food supply in the McGarland house was, of course, served on an ever abundant supply of dishes. All of which needed careful hand washing, drying and stacking. As much as Leia enjoyed the cleaning and organizing of old glassware and bottles, however, gravy encrusted china just didn't hold the same appeal.

  Leia had adopted the practice of taking time after meals to explore the cellar. Each trip into the dank chamber set her heart palpitating with anxiety. She couldn't name any particular fear...not rats or snakes, though she disliked both intensely, or even absolute darkness were panic-attack makers for Leia. It was more the basic idea of a cellar that sent chills up and down her spine and made her ears twitch. Appraising houses had forced her to inspect dozens of basements, and though she could do a cursory inspection, that part of the house definitely received the shortest report. Thank goodness the majority didn't have value that required her to do a detailed floor plan of that lowest level.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she entered the parlor when the buzz of conversation lagged.

  "I came to say goodnight, gentlemen," she began, nodding at Patrick, her host. His graying beard was drooping, a sure sign the older man was feeling the strain of war, or just daily life.

  "Leah, please stay just a moment," Brant said, holding a Queen Anne chair for her. Seated in front of an open window, Leia felt the June breeze tickle the moisture on her neck. The sensation was delicious. She lifted her hair and piled it on top of her head, holding it there with one hand.

  "Yes, you must try this gold brandy," Daniel said to her, handing her a tiny crystal snifter. "It's Patrick's secret stash, you know," he continued with a wink.

  She took a sip and felt the burning amber liquid roll around her tongue and down her throat. The burning continued on, down into her chest, reminding Leia of the prescription cough syrup she had been given as a child. Ugh.

  "I think she likes it," Brant said, smiling at her suppressed coughing noise.

  "Are you two through with your fun at this young lady's expense?" Patrick scoffed at the two younger men, but Leia could see the twinkle in his gray eyes...just like Grandfather's eyes.

  "We're sorry. No harm intended," Daniel said. "Would you like some smooth wine, Miss Leah?"

  "No, thank you," she replied, and couldn't hide a smile at their sheepish grins. Men are boys no matter what the century, she thought. Her glance took in several portraits above the fireplace mantle, set into wooden, oval frames. She assumed them to be her ancestors, even further back into the McGarland family line. One, she imagined, was certain to have those eyes that followed you around the room.

  Patrick announced he was retiring for the evening, and Daniel joined him at the doorway.

  "Tomorrow I must take my leave," Daniel said. "We've avoided the subject this evening, but the war's still out there."

  "What are your immediate plans?" Brant studied his friend's face with concern.

  "I take my troops north tomorrow. We got word late yesterday that the new General, Meade that is, has a surprise waiting for some Rebs that are aiming for shoes and such. It was made known that Maryland has no supplies the Rebs would need, no shoe factories. We're to lure them over the border into Adams County, where Meade's stashed a group of, let's call them special forces. The surprise won't be any picnic. That's the only certainty." Daniel continued to speak, emphasizing his speech with statistics.

  Leia grew bored and let her mind wander. The brandy had made her feel warm and content, and she had finished the small amount in the snifter. Brant must have refilled her glass during Daniel's soliloquy, and she was sure that the portrait with the eyes blinked a few times.

  "Did you see that?" she asked, of no one in particular.

  "See what, Leah?" Patrick checked the two windows in the room, peering out into the dark night. Most likely satisfied that Leah was feeling the effects of the drink, he followed Daniel from the parlor.

  "Can I escort you to your room?" Brant asked, taking Leia's glass and setting it on a round cherry table with pie-crust edging.

  "Wow, that's sure strong sh...stuff," she said, still watching the evil portrait.

  "Wow?" Brant echoed, sniffing the glass she had drank from. "Leah, it's time for you to retire." He made an effort to help her from the chair, but she bristled and pulled away.

  "Look, Brant. If I'm not good enough to take an after-dinner walk with, then I'm not gonna let you walk me anywhere else." The minor brandy-buzz was wearing off. Leia's temples were pounding and her sinus passages had expanded to block her airways. She forgot to adjust her speech to the sensitivities of the 1800's man.

  "Were you afraid I was going to attack you or something? Jump your dignified bones?" She cringed herself as she sniped out that last phrase. Her face was growing even warmer, and for a split second she pictured Sara, who would be laughing hysterically at her predicament. She missed her friend, missed being able to say what she wanted, be who she wanted. She didn't fit in here, did not understand these people or these times. Leia made a fresh vow to find a way home. When she finally looked up, Brant had sat in a barrel-shaped chair by the fireplace. His head rested on his fist, and he was watching her.

  "Brant, I'm so sorry. I think maybe I'd better skip the brandy from now on."

  "Leah, you are not like anyone I've ever known. You move differently. You say things that leave me feeling ignorant. I am told constantly to leave you alone in your grief, to let you mourn your husband." He lowered his voice. "But when I kissed you the other evening, you weren't grieving for anyone. You were passionate. You brought out feelings in me that have been hidden for a long time. But you just as easily spit out those strange, harsh words." He shook his head to show his incomprehension, his eyes remaining fixed on hers.

  Leia thought she saw a flash of anger cross the chocolate brown eyes, but it dissipated as quickly as a summer storm. She considered his eyes gorgeous, deep wells of hot cocoa, deep wells into his molten soul. At the moment, those eyes were staring at her, waiting for a reply, but she had none. Everything he said was true. She'd shown him many facets of her personality and her frustration. Everything, that is, except about her mourning a husband. The only thing she was grieving for was her grandfather...and twentieth century comforts.

  "Good night, Brant," she said, rising and walking to the door. She risked one last look at the man with the evil eyes, but the portrait was still. She di
dn't risk another look at the man with the caring eyes.

  Hettie braided Leia's blonde wisps into a neat braid, pulling gently at the sides of her face. The taut feeling was pleasing to Leia. It kept her focused on the painful things she had to think about. A gorgeous man, born one hundred and thirty years before she was, had made her feel like both Melanie Wilkes and Belle Watling at the same time. She still couldn't locate the correct door back to her home in the twentieth century. Not that she hadn't tried...and tried in a dark basement, of all places.

  "Thank you, Hettie," Leia said, as the maid pronounced her 'presentable.'

  "You look divine, miss," Hettie told her. "Mista Brant will be under your spell."

  Leia turned to look at the woman. "Why do you say that, Hettie? I'm not trying to impress Mr. Douglas."

  Hettie smiled knowingly at Leia. "But you have. Oh, I know you's in mourning, ma'am, but as soon as the proper times gone by, Mista Brant will be calling on you. That is, if he's come back from the war."

  Too bad I won't be here, Leia thought. She allowed Hettie to adjust the bustline of her dress as she allowed herself to consider her situation. If she could find her way back, she'd have to find a husband in just a few weeks, or face being out on the street. Of course, she knew Sara's family would take her in. She briefly considered the possibility that she would not find her way back, but dismissed it as ridiculous. This was real life, not a movie-of-the-week.

  "Are you feeling well, Miz Leah?"

  "Oh, yes, thank you," Leia replied, forcing her attention back to the present, or past? She ignored Hettie's tongue-clucking of compassionate pity. A knock at the bedroom door drew their attention. Hettie opened it to reveal the strong outline of Brant in the sunlight.

  "Good morning," he said.

  "Hi Brant. Did you see Daniel off already?" Leia rose and smoothed the skirt of her black dress.

  "Yes, He's gone. I will miss his company, I'm afraid. Are you ready for breakfast?"