Lorraine Heath (17 page)

He hit the stone with enough force to send the sound of a crack ricocheting around the shed. Then he glided his palm over the granite creating a rasping whisper.

The whisper stayed with her long after she left the shed. It haunted her dreams, along with the memory of his hands creating mesmerizing shapes from simple stone.

Sometimes, she felt an apology rise in her throat, and she’d clamp her lips to keep them from filling the shed with remorse and regret. She wasn’t the one who had hurt him. It was his cowardice and his failure to recognize it that caused his pain. He thought she should stand by his side even though he had been unwilling to stand beside Kirk.

She’d laugh at the irony if it didn’t hurt so badly.

She watched a silhouette move through the night.

“What are you doing out here, Meg?” Daniel asked as he stepped onto the porch.

“Just thinking. Where have you been?”

Shrugging, he combed his fingers through his dark hair and dropped to the porch, pressing his back against a beam. “Me and Sam Johnson had some talking to do. Where’s Pa?”

“He fell asleep in the chair.”

“I reckon that’s better than the barn.”

“I suppose.” She sighed. “I guess we all grieve in our own way.”

“I want to do more than grieve, Meg. I want to do something for my brothers. I should have gone with them. I could have been their drummer boy.”

“Drummer boys died, too, Daniel. Then who’d help build the Wrights a barn tomorrow?”

He gave her a wry smile in the darkness. “You think Stick would approve of Caroline marrying John?”

Everyone called Caroline’s first husband Stick because he’d been so tall and thin. They teased him about it, claiming that as long as he marched into battle sideways, the bullets would whiz right past him. But the bullets hadn’t missed him.

John Wright had spent two years in a Union prison. In a tattered gray uniform, he had been heading home to a little fork in the road west of Cedar Grove. Weary from his journey, he stopped beneath the shade of a tree on Caroline’s property. He never reached the fork in the road.

He had married Caroline two weeks ago, and now the community had a reason to celebrate and a barn to raise.

Meg held fond recollections of Stick, memories she’d never shared with Kirk. “Yes, I think he would have approved.”

Shortly after dawn swept the dew from the ground, Meg arrived at the Wright homestead with her father and brother. Helen Barton, who took charge of anything that needed to be taken charge of, assigned Meg the momentous chore of keeping the children away from the desserts.

Having risen long before dawn to make many of the pies and cobblers that now adorned the table, Meg should have welcomed a task that required nothing more of her than to wave tiny, dirty fingers away from cakes and cookies.

Instead, she discovered that the chore left her hands with little to do and her mind with less than that. She tried to enjoy the gentle breeze wafting among the trees surrounding Caroline’s house, but then she would find herself imagining that same breeze blowing through three large windows of a shed. She wondered if it had stirred Clay’s hair before it traveled to work her own strands free from their netting.

She’d captured her hair in a delicate chignon instead of wrapping it into a tight bun. She wasn’t accustomed to the weight of her hair brushing along her neck and shoulders.

The hammers echoed in the distance as the men worked to build the barn, and she compared the staccato beat to the steady rhythm Clay used to hammer the stone. She knew she should enjoy the sound of men working together on a common project, but she longed to hear the solitary strains that one man produced as he worked alone, expecting no praise for his efforts.

She glanced at the long table of desserts. Watching desserts held no appeal. She’d rather watch Clay.

Yesterday, when she told him she planned to spend the day at the Wrights’ farm, he merely nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. They both knew the need for willing hands to build a barn did not include his.

She wondered if he had begun cutting the stone at dawn—or had he waited? Kirk’s shoulders were a visible silhouette in the stone now. She wondered if he’d work down to Kirk’s waist first or carve her shoulders.

The desserts weren’t going anywhere. She could sneak away for a few hours, and no one would notice. She’d just peek inside the shed and see how much progress he’d made—

“Hello, Meg,” a solemn male voice said, vibrating behind her.

Spinning around, she stared at Kirk, her heart thumping so loudly she no longer heard the distant hammers. He had the same blond hair, but deep crevices resembling furrowed fields touched the corners of his blue eyes. He appeared much older and more mature. His beard, darker than his hair, was thick. Not at all the way she’d envisioned it.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” he said. “I’m Kirk’s cousin, Robert.”

She felt her breath rush out and pressed her hand to her throat. “Of course. We met at the wedding.” Against her will, her gaze flitted to his empty sleeve.

“Left my arm at Shiloh,” he said with a sad smile that implored her not to pity him.

With tears in her eyes, she tilted her chin and returned his smile. “But you’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his arm go around her waist. “You reminded me of Kirk,” she whispered in a raw voice.

“I’m sorry he didn’t come home.”

Releasing her hold, she wiped away her tears. “So many didn’t. None of the young men who went with Kirk returned. It’s left so many fathers without sons, wives without husbands, and children without fathers. We’re extremely grateful for those who did come back.”

“Yeah, well, nothin’s the same. That’s for damn sure.” He blushed. “Pardon my language.”

“How’s your farm? It was somewhere north of Austin, wasn’t it?”

“It was, but I didn’t have the money to pay the taxes on it, so I had to give it up. Came here to help my uncle with his farm.”

“Are you living with Kirk’s parents then?”

“With that mean-spirited mother of Kirk’s? No, ma’am. I’d rather be in a Union prison than inside the walls of their house when she gets a bee in her bonnet. I’m living with Mama Warner.”

“I visited her recently. She didn’t tell me you were there.”

“I’ve only been here a few days, and she didn’t know I was coming until I showed up on her doorstep. She told me you frequently stop by. I was looking for you.”

He uttered his words with such sincerity that Meg almost wept.

“I hope my being there won’t stop you from coming by to see Mama Warner,” he said. “She enjoys your company.”

Meg knew Mama Warner enjoyed any company since her legs had grown weak and she was confined to her house. “Of course I’ll continue to visit. I love her dearly. She seems to understand people so well.”

“Reckon that’s because she’s met such an odd assortment during her life. I wasn’t going to come here today. Didn’t figure a man with one arm could do much to help build a barn, but then she did some low talking—”

“Low talking?” she asked.

He spread his lips in a smile so similar to Kirk’s that Meg wanted to touch her fingers to each corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, when she wants to impart some wisdom on you to ponder, she talks low so you have to strain to hear her. Guess she figures that way you’re paying attention.”

“It must work. You’re here.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t figured out what I can do to help.”

“Well, if you’re up to the excitement, you can help me watch the desserts.”

He laughed, and Meg realized she hadn’t heard a man laugh since the day she saw Clay playing with the twins in the river. The pounding of rushing feet gained Meg’s attention.

Breathless, Helen stopped and grabbed Meg’s arm for support. “I can’t believe
he
came.”

Meg didn’t have to ask who he was. The red tinge covering Helen’s face and the fire in her blue eyes spoke of a hatred that stretched as far as her husband had journeyed. Meg followed Helen’s gaze and watched Clay climb down from the wagon as the twins clambered out of the back.

“Lucian didn’t come?” Meg asked.

“He’s been here since dawn. He helped Taffy’s father bring the lumber from the mill.”

Briefly, Meg wondered if Lucian was sweet on Stick’s younger sister. She remembered the summer long ago when Mary Lang had suddenly grown as tall as her brother and taller than any of the boys her age. Teasingly, Lucian said she looked as though she’d been stretched out like taffy. Soon everyone was calling her Taffy.

Helen huffed and stomped the ground as though she could cause the earth to open up and swallow Clay whole. “I just can’t believe
he
had the nerve to come here.”

“Maybe he just wanted to help.”

“We can do without his help, thank you very much.”

Meg watched Clay walk toward the barn. The men had already raised the frame. The hammering stopped, and a heavy silence hovered over the crowd. She wished he hadn’t come, but her reasons were far removed from Helen’s or anyone else’s.

She didn’t want him to get hurt.

Clay discovered that for some ungodly reason it had been easier walking to his own execution than walking toward the men gathered beside the unfinished barn. He could feel the men glaring at him. He wished he had left the twins at home. He didn’t want them to see the beating he figured he was about to receive. He heard someone bellow, “This is neither the time nor the place!” He thought the commanding voice belonged to Kirk’s father. Slowly the men turned their backs on Clay and walked away. Their action should have lessened his anxiety, but it didn’t. By the time he reached the side of the barn, Lucian was the only one who remained. and the hatred that his brother directed his way was palpable.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Lucian asked.

“I heard strong backs were needed. I’ve got a strong back.”

“Strong enough to support a yellow streak, but that’s not exactly what we need here.”

“The Wrights asked the community to help them build a barn, and I’m part of the community.”

“But we don’t want you.”

Clay met his brother’s hard glare. How simple it would be to turn around and go home. “I’m going to help build the barn.”

“And what’s that gonna prove?”

“To you, probably nothing. To me, everything.”

Lucian shook his head. “Stay if you want, but don’t expect me to stand by your side.” Turning on his heel, he walked away.

Clay gazed down on the twins’ anxious faces. He gave them a smile that he figured probably looked as hollow as he felt. “Well, reckon this is our side to finish up.”

“All by ourselves?” Joe asked.

“Reckon so.”

“Lucian ain’t even gonna help us?”

“Reckon not.”

“You ever wonder if maybe Lucian ain’t family?” Josh asked. “I’m thinkin’ maybe somebody left him on the doorstep ‘cuz he was so ornery they didn’t want to put up with him.”

“I thought all babies was left on the doorstep,” Joe said.

“Heck fire, no. There’s some kinda magical bird that drops babies down the chimney. Ain’t that so, Clay?”

Clay had little doubt that Joe believed babies were left on the doorstep, but he was certain that Josh, with his chailenging grin, knew the truth. “I think we’d best see to getting our side of the barn finished.”

As the boys walked toward the pile of lumber, Clay heard Joe ask what the bird looked like. Josh stopped walking and waved his arms, probably describing in great detail every feather of this imaginary bird. Clay sighed. He’d no doubt just lost his helpers.

“Howdy, Miz Warner.”

Meg gazed at the identical faces, knowing Clay could tell them apart, wondering how he did so. “Hello.”

With their hands stuffed behind the bids on their coveralls, the boys rocked back on their heels. “Fine spread you laid out here,” one twin said. “Clay said we could look, but we wasn’t to ask for nothin'. So we’re just lookin'.”

Smiling, Meg teased, “Well, the vegetables are on that table over there.”

“Yes, ma’am, but me and Joe like to look at the cakes and pies. Been a powerful long time since we ate a piece of cake or pie. ‘Course, we ain’t askin'. We’re just lookin'.”

Helen flicked a cloth over the table to chase the flies away. She’d run Robert off just as easily so she and Meg could gossip as they had when they were young girls trying to decide at whom they should direct their warmest smiles. Meg was grateful Helen had avoided talking further about Clay’s arrival. Instead, they’d discussed the apparent blossoming courtship between Dr. Martin and Widow Prudence.

Smiling, Helen leaned across the table. “Would you boys like a piece of cake?”

“Obliged, ma’am,” Joe said as he reached for a piece of cake smothered in chocolate icing.

“Can we take a piece to Clay?” Josh asked.

The smile eased off Helen’s face. “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

Josh nodded with an understanding that belied his years. “Then I reckon we’ll pass on the offer.”

Joe froze, the cake nearly touching his lips. He slid his gaze over to his brother. “Surely does smell good.”

Josh laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You gotta stick with family.”

“Lucian don’t.”

“I done told you somebody left Lucian on the doorstep. He ain’t really family. You eat that cake, and I’ll start thinkin’ somebody left you on the doorstep, too.”

Slowly, Joe set the cake on the table. With woeful eyes, he looked at Meg. “'Preciate the offer but reckon I’d best not.” The boys shuffled away from the table.

“That’s pitiful,” Helen said.

“It wouldn’t have hurt to let them have an extra piece.”

Helen’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “It would have been like giving a peace offering, and I’m not about to forgive that man for what he didn’t do. Not now, not ever.”

“There was a time when you saved your warmest smiles for him.”

Helen’s face burned a deep crimson. “Thank God, he was too shy to notice. I can’t imagine anything more humiliating than having that man for a husband.” She visibly shuddered. “It makes me ill just to think about all the times I smiled at him.”