The Will of Time Page 9
She figured they had walked only a mile or so before coming into a back yard of a large estate. Leia could see a stone building looming several acres in the distance, probably the family home. Hettie led her into a stone structure the size of a one-car garage which reeked of smoked meats. The air inside was thick with moisture, and Leia imagined she could pluck a sausage right out of the dense air.
"Is this the place?" Leia finally whispered to break the long silence. Hettie was looking around the small building, only nodding at Leia's question. Smiling but feeling tense, Leia sat on a crate. They waited in the hazy silence those long minutes that always feel like hours, until another black woman joined them. Actually, Leia decided she was lighter than Hettie, a caramel colored woman that could have been Caribbean or Spanish.
The woman motioned for Hettie and Leia to sit on either side of her on a crude wooden bench. She pulled a brown barrel, rough with splinters, in front of them to serve as a table. Turning to Leia, she held out a small, rough-skinned hand.
"Give me your hand," she said, in a voice much deeper than Leia had imagined.
Leia complied, placing her right hand into the other woman's with a sense of childish trust. Not having been introduced, Leia did not know how to refer to this woman that acted like a gypsy/fortune-teller. The bandanna around her head added to the image. All she needed was a pair of large gold hoops through her ears.
The gypsy pressed Leia's hand between both of her own and closed her eyes. Leia and Hettie waited, almost without breathing, for some response. Despite the heat and lack of air flow, Leia shivered in the dim light of the smokehouse.
"Hold still, child," the gypsy told Leia. Her tone was stern, but not angry. "Close your eyes." Leia did as she was told, not seeing, but hearing the distant sounds of a farm starting its day. They gypsy caressed her palm, a slow exploration that made Leia think her lifelines were being read. She had no idea if palm-reading was an activity routinely conducted in the nineteenth century.
"Now open them," the gypsy said, staring into Leia's newly wide eyes. " There's passion in your blood. You were born of your parents' first passion, were you not? You are searching for something.. something not of our time."
Leia's eyes opened wider, and she glanced at Hettie, who was nodding as if she knew all.
"The man you love is in great danger. He has a secret...and perhaps he needs your help." The gypsy dropped Leia's hands.
"But I'm not in love with anyone. And my ...husband, he has already died." Leia's protests fell on deaf ears. The woman had hit the nail on the head about searching for something not of this time, but she was way-off base with the 'man you love' part.
Hettie slipped something to the gypsy, still nodding and whispering to her friend.
"Hettie said you could help me, possibly?" she asked, hoping to learn something more about her dilemma from the gypsy.
"Yes. You mustn't travel in the near future...even if it's on the silent railway. It would be too dangerous right now. And try to help him. Learn his secret. When you help him, he can help you." The gypsy patted Leia's hand, hugged Hettie and left the little house.
"Come along, Miz Leah. I have to get back to my work."
Leia nodded and followed Hettie back into the warm sun, mentally reviewing what she had been told, physically preparing for the long walk home.
"There's been talk," Patrick said, staring into the thick greenery while he spoke to Brant.
"I know. I'm trying to be very careful." Brant soothed his horse, speaking softly, not wanting to meet the look of warning in Patrick's eyes.
"That might not be enough now, you see." Patrick shook his head and turned his mare so he could look at Brant. "I've done my mighty best to keep this house quietly out of the way, and any attention right now is just plain dangerous."
"What would you have me do differently? This is your home. What ever you say is law here," Brant said, bracing himself for his host's decision.
"I know this is real important to you, this work, now especially since slave-owners murdered your folks in cold blood."
"I---"
Patrick put up a hand. "I'm not finished. What you're doing is important to me, too, son. I believe there will be a time when a person's skin won't determine his lot in life, you see?"
Brant did see.
"But we have to live in this here time, and our home is our fort."
"I'm sorry, Patrick, that in order to help others we have to involve your property, and your family. But there is no other way that I know of." Brant watched as squirrels scurried across the side yard clearing. The humans and horses had been motionless long enough for the little creatures to feel comfortable in their summer food gathering.
"I know. And I won't stop you, but if the war starts to knock on our door, son..." Patrick left his thought unfinished, but Brant was clear on his meaning. He couldn't argue or fault the man. Patrick was being more than fair.
"You see?" Patrick asked at last, turning his horse as a signal the discussion was over.
"I see."
Leia guessed they were only a quarter mile or so from McGarland property when they heard a noise. Her pulse raced instantly, revving its engine when she heard several sounds, coming from perhaps the other side of the woods...male voices, horses, the scraping sounds of things being moved across the tree tops.
Hettie motioned for Leia to be silent and duck down with her behind a large oak tree.
"Could be soldiers," Hettie whispered, pulling Leia close to her.
"Ours?" Leia felt herself begin to panic when the maid did not answer. Her heartbeat was a thumping drum she was sure anyone nearby could hear. Her perspiration refused to evaporate in the humid air. Heavy footsteps sounded nearer. Hettie and Leia waited. They squeezed closer together. The tree shrunk in width, grew narrower, hid less of their figures.
Hettie left the slim sanctuary of the oak, impulsively making a dash into a patch of tall grass. Leia watched in amazement as the woman threw herself flat into the grass, her dark clothing a semi-camouflage. Leia rested on her knees, hands against the rough bark for support. She gathered the courage to peer around the tree, keeping her eyes focused low. She remembered from some adventure movie that eye-whites were easy to spot.
Two men, in brownish-gray uniforms, were discussing something that Leia could not discern from her spot about two hundred feet away. The pair reminded Leia of Brant and Patrick in private conversation that morning.
If only they were here now.
She was relieved that they did not look in her and Hettie's direction. Slowly, almost agonizingly, they finished whatever they were doing and turned away. When the men had retreated into the forest, still involved in an animated conversation, Leia tried to rise from her crouched position. Her thigh muscles were twitching from the exertion of staying still so long. She heard twigs and grass crackling which she assumed were the noises of Hettie's rising. Leia was halfway erect, her head still bent as her hands gathered the hem of her skirts, when she froze. Two black leather boots had just come to a stop directly in front of her.
A brief thought crossed Leia's mind. The boots were small and narrow. They must belong to a woman or child. She took a breath, then allowed herself to look up into a face she had seen before. It belonged to the McGarland's frequent dinner guest, Belle Boyd.
"Good afternoon," Belle began, and put a wide smile on her face.
"Good afternoon, Miss Boyd," Leia said, pulling herself up to stand straight. "Did you have any trouble with those soldiers?" She pointed toward the area of forest that the men had disappeared into.
"Why, no, I didn't see any soldiers. Are you and Hettie all right? Why, that must have been ever so frightening!" Leia felt Hettie's presence behind her, hovering. She tried to think of an appropriate response, one that would be considered ladylike and explain their presence in the woods.
"It was," she said finally, after mentally dismissing all other possible retorts. "Are you on your way to the McGarland's? Alone?"
The question reminded Leia of Jason's similar question after Grandfather's funeral. Why did people always ask permission to walk with you, and why did that usually mean they wanted something?
The warm welcome extended to Belle left Leia prickling. Maybe the lack of social wartime activity had made the McGarlands indiscriminate in who they welcomed into their home. To be fair, Leia did not have any specific reason to mistrust the woman...except for a memory of her previous flirtation with Brant that was like a grain of sand in Leia's oyster shell. Even Miss Martha seemed to have forgotten her harsh words concerning Miss Boyd just a few days ago.
Dinner was the usual clink of china and clattering of silver amidst soft conversation. Leia chided herself for thinking the word 'usual' in respect to dinner, as if any meal she ate in 1863 could be 'usual.' How could she become so comfortable in just a few days?
Patrick refilled her goblet with a rich claret wine. The intense hue reminded Leia of the bottle she had selected for dinner not that long ago. She wondered if the days were progressing in the twentieth century the same as here, which would mean her thirty-day inheritance clock was counting down. Or could she possibly exit 1863 at just the same moment she had entered it? If that was the case, Martin may not have any idea she hadn't returned from the basement. Glancing at the now empty wine bottle on the sideboard, Leia wondered if she could write a short message to Martin and hide it in an empty bottle in the cellar. Perhaps he could find it. But would he believe what he read? Leia was dismayed to realize she didn't even know Martin well enough to predict his reaction. He had just always been there.
So entranced was Leia in her own philosophical musings, she hadn't noticed when Brant and Belle had left the table. When she finally snapped out of her trance, MaryKatherine was smiling at her.
"Are you with us once again, Leah?"
Leia felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks. The aromas of dinner had subsided into an unappetizing odor, and Leia excused herself without answering her 'cousin.' Stepping into the hallway, she paused to hear some indication of where everyone else had gone. The noise of kitchen clean-up was in progress and from the parlor drifted wisps of cigar smoke. She heard Martha on the front porch, but the noise sounds that caught Leia's attention were coming from the small alcove near the back stairs. She started toward the source, but froze as she neared. A hearty laugh bounced into the hall and smacked Leia in the face.
"Belle, your laugh is as lovely as your name," Brant said, still unseen by Leia. She imagined the pair standing close together, and a stab of jealousy poked her in the stomach. Why? Brant was a Civil War soldier! Why should she care who he caroused with? Even if Belle Boyd was a brash woman with a pointy face, Leia thought, omitting the woman's slim figure from her mental picture, why should she be concerned? She definitely had no claim on this man. She'd made that crystal clear last night. If Brant cared for her at all, however, why would he be playing with Belle's affections so soon? For the obvious reasons! He was heading back to the front soon, and Leia had turned him down cold.
"So what brought you back to us today?" Brant asked.
Leia heard material rustling.
"Well, I was visiting at the Shellman's, and met Hettie and your cousin on my way here. I was so relieved to see them, Brant! I had just been scared nearly out of my wits by a pair of Rebels. I didn't know what they were about, but they let me go when we heard those two rifling about in the woods."
Leia drew in her breathe- probably too loudly for her concealed position. What lies this woman told! Belle hadn't been at all frightened today. She almost gagged as she listened to Brant comforting the woman, subconsciously choosing not to hear the patronizing tone in his voice. When the pair grew silent, Leia's overactive imagination went to work. Feeling tired and dejected, she turned and headed toward the front staircase. This had been the longest day of her life, or so it felt, and Leia was looking forward to resting on the softness of her quilt-covered bed.
Her fifth morning in 1863 started out like the first four had. This morning was going to be different, though, because Leia intended to find the doorway back to the future. While Hettie helped her dress, Leia's mind was reviewing the floor plans of many of the houses she had appraised. Perhaps she could find a clue in this reflection.
Most of the houses had basements which she had briefly inspected. She compared some of the older two-story homes' cellars with that in the McGarland house, present and future. There were many similarities; tiny windows, crawl spaces, closets and steep stairs, the dark, damp feeling that something was down there that could emerge at any time. Many basements had doors leading to furnace or utility rooms. Some had powder rooms. After every inspection she had emerged back into the same time from which she'd come. There had never been any unexplainable doors. Each had a specific use.
The most unusual thing she could say about her cellar door was that it was located in the dining room, a layout she'd not seen in other houses. Even in the oldest homes cellar doors were in the kitchen, hall, mudroom or on the outside of the house. She was certain a dining room cellar-door would be considered functionally obsolescent in today's real estate market.
She decided to skip the breakfast "buffet" this morning, and requested just a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Hettie regarded her with a strange look at this request, but obliged her with a dainty china cup of a black, bitter brew. The drink was so strong the steam alone seemed to contain pulse-quickening caffeine.
After draining the cup, bad to the last drop, Leia thanked Hettie and went to the basement door. She looked at the six-panel wood construction, examining it for anything unusual. Not surprised, she observed a door like any other cellar door, and opened it. The darkness that escaped along with the musty smell intensified in the humidity. Wishing for a Coleman flashlight, she started down the steps with a whale-oil lamp that had a smell all its own. Each step creaked out its disapproval of her venture. She held the rough railing with her free hand and hoped not to pick up any splinters.
At the foot of the stairs, she paused in front of the closet door she had opened on a previous trip. She grasped the handle and once again yanked it open. Just like before, the tiny room was empty, but instead of closing it and moving on, Leia stepped inside. Telling herself she had to try all options, she pulled the door closed behind her and closed her eyes.
She allowed ten or fifteen seconds to elapse, then opened her eyes, hoping to see her own dining room. She saw only the same bare closet, but heard noises outside the closet in the cellar. Perhaps she had returned to her own time, but this closet was still the same! She opened the door just a crack, relieved it hadn't locked on her, and saw what looked like Brant over behind the stairway. He was bent over, doing something. No, he was burying something. Apparently finished with his job, he was spreading loose dirt over a small circular area of the dirt floor. What could he be hiding?
Leia left the closet and waited for Brant on the bottom step. It wasn't long before he was in front of her. Why did he have to be so good looking?
"Leah! You startled me. I didn't hear you come down the steps."
"Obviously. What were you doing, Brant?"
"Doing? I just brought down some things for Miss Martha. To get them out of the way. And you? I know you aren't especially fond of cellars," he said, leaning toward her, an amused look on his handsome face.
"Oh, really? It looked like you were hiding something to me."
Her flippant answer seemed to crush his amusement along with his good mood. "It would, to you," was his reply, and he brushed past her to climb the steps.
Chapter 6
"Thank you for this service," Patrick said, taking a freshly signed page from Brant. "It will save me the trouble of riding to the Bauer place just to see if any of the men are at home, you see."
Brant watched the older man place the sheet at the bottom of a thick stack. "I don't mind witnessing your signature, Patrick. It's only a small gesture toward repaying
your family's hospitality."
"On the subject of my hospitality, I'd also like to thank you for heeding Miss Martha and keeping your distance from young Leah. My niece doesn't know this, but you see a long time ago I made a promise to her daddy. After she ran off with that Jonathan, my brother William made a special note to remind me of that promise in case he wasn't sound and able. He knew any choice she made would bring grief to herself. Now I barely know Leah, but I feel obliged, you see?"
Brant did see, but said nothing. A knock at the door signaled the end of the meeting as Hettie announced to Patrick that Martha needed him in the parlor.
"Brant, will you glance through that stack, check to make certain the pages are in order, then wrap a ribbon around it?" Patrick left the room without waiting for an answer.
The top page indicated that this document was Patrick's will. The pages were numbered in good order. Brant resisted the urge to read the will, wondering if Patrick had intended for him to see it or even check it for errors. Brant was not a real family member, however, and this was not his concern. He aligned the stack and wrapped a narrow blue ribbon around it, package-style. His large fingers couldn't create the exact bow he wanted, but he made it appear acceptable. As he finished Hettie was at the door again.
"Mista Brant, there's a messenger here to see you. He's waiting in the front yard," she said, disappearing back toward the kitchen.
Brant rose to leave the room, looking around at the walls lined with thick, inviting books. He reached to touch one scarlet-covered tome, its leather spine cool and rough under his hands. ...like a saddle, he thought. A sigh of acceptance escaped his lips. He knew without question the purpose of the messenger.
He felt ready to leave, ready to rejoin his regiment and keep fighting for what he believed in. His parents had died for this war, for this cause, like so many of his friends and neighbors. He sighed again, an unusual response for Brant, and closed the library door behind him. It might be a very long time before he saw books again. He made his way straight through the house and out the front door. The Union uniform, the horse, the man; Brant saw them in that order.