Time After Time (187 page)

Margaret’s lips quirked, but she managed not to laugh. She hazarded a glance at her companions, but neither Theo nor Sarah was aware of her inappropriate mirth as they all occupied the Ward family pew. Getting out of the house for church had been a comedy of errors. Gloves and bonnets and shoes had gotten to who knew where and would not be found. Finally, they had managed to escape in a little procession and had arrived just in time for service. She snorted, remembering how flustered Sarah had been at the idea of being late.

Glancing again at her husband, she focused on a brass button on his chest bearing an eagle. Theo was dressed in his uniform, as he was often these days. Forcing her eyes forward and blinking several times, she reminded herself she hated weepy women. His arm lingered on her elbow, exerting a reassuring pressure now, as if he knew she needed comfort.

One more day. I have one more day with him.

Last night’s farewell meeting had been physically painful. It had been an exceedingly warm evening, and the assembly room at McDonough House had been filled far past capacity. One hundred men and boys, many of whom Margaret knew at least in passing, sat at the front, beaming in their uniforms while platitudes about victory and honor had been exchanged for nearly two hours.

She wanted to smile and cheer and to let waves of patriotism sweep her away as they evidently did the rest of the crowd. Theo had always wanted to escape from Middletown. He had always wanted to make a difference on the issues that mattered to him. Why could she not rejoice for him? If theirs wasn’t a true marriage, if it was a shadow of the union they should have entered into before, why could she not grip his hand as a friend and send him to war with the words he needed?

Perhaps because she felt like an empty shell. Like a flask, she stood, vacant and hollow, waiting to fulfill her purpose, which was … she knew not.

For years, she had felt like she was accomplishing something at the seminary. It was routine and thankless, yes, but it was her life. Then Theo Ward had stepped back into it and made her discontent with her meager accomplishments. She was nearing the end of her childbearing years. Sarah neither needed nor wanted looking after. One more morrow and he would be gone, so it hadn’t been for want of company.

She sighed and leaned against his hand. It was firm and warm. Steady. Certain. She was being too introspective. Theo had been fair and gentle with her. He had sought to protect her and to care for her. Like her, he seemed to realize what they had lost and wanted to enjoy this marriage, limited as it might be. Thanks to him, she knew a family for the first time in her adult life. Couldn’t she be grateful for that?

Reverend Patterson, who Margaret had never liked and thus had always attended the other Presbyterian Church, was preaching on Psalm Ninety-Two. “It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, O Most High,” he read. “We give thanks this morning for our fine boys in blue.” Margaret felt her chin tremble. “They understand, oh Lord, that it is their duty to serve. They will act as your hand on earth and smite your enemies, the rebels and sinners … ”

Margaret shivered. It was all well and good to rejoice at the destruction of one’s enemies, but the nature of the task set to them would mean that some of their warriors would be slain in kind. Didn’t anyone know this? For days she had listened to old men celebrating the war as if it were not a creature that would consume the pride of Middletown’s youth.

She was old enough to remember the last war, with Mexico, clearly. A face clouded her memory: floppy gold hair, warm brown eyes, and a roguish grin. William Jones, a sweet boy who lived near her aunt, had fallen on the streets of Monterrey never to rise again. What had his death been for? Could Theo face the same fate?

“For, lo, thine enemies, O Lord, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish; all the workers of iniquity shall be scattered,” Revered Patterson continued, pounding the pulpit now with his fists for emphasis.

Margaret remembered how Theo’s face lit when he talked about the reason for the war. He believed, truly believed, that the states in rebellion were his enemies. They had sinned against the union, against their brothers, and most of all against humanity when they had taken and refused to give up slaves. They must be punished. He had been waiting his entire life to stand up. This was a better reason than he had ever had or would again. Why could she not be happy for him?

Worst yet, she agreed with him. All her life she had opposed slavery. Gathering signatures on petitions. Instructing her students. Raising money. These tasks had consumed much of her life. If ever a cause necessitated war, wasn’t this it? Was she too selfish? Did she desire an outcome but was unwilling to pay for it? Could this war not be avoided?

Reverend Patterson had reached the sweet spot now, the pay-off for the dutiful. “The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Our boys in blue will be like the cedars in Lebanon. They will dwell forever in the house of the Lord, rewarded for their service to God’s work.”

Margaret could hear murmurs of agreement, but when she looked around, she saw stony faces on the wives, mothers, and sweethearts. Women may not be able to fight, but they bore the brunt of this war for they had to send their beloveds off.

Beloveds. Was Theo her beloved? She steeled herself and turned to glance at him. He caught her eye and smiled. It was a winsome, boyish grin. He did not look like a man of forty years but rather an overgrown adolescent trying to win the heart of a young girl. She might know now, as that girl did not, that love was a giddy, ephemeral thing, but she still had no defense against that smile. Even if she was a hard and untrusting woman in a marriage she did not understand.

If she could not defend against it, she could at least avoid it, so back to Reverend Patterson, and his jingoistic sermon, she turned.

After the service, Theo embraced old friend after old friend, and their progress out of the church was very slow. At the door, he took Margaret’s arm and said with purpose, “Mother, we’ll be back for luncheon. We’re going for a walk.”

He steered her away from the crowd, down the street, and toward the small park and bandstand near the center of town. As soon as he insisted on walking, she knew where they were headed. Like a compass, their feet led them toward the willow on a bank of a small inlet near the river.

It had been their special place before, but with preparations for Theo’s departure, they had yet to return there since their marriage. She released Theo’s arm and walked a few paces from the willow to look out to the river. The water nipped at the narrow beach, each soft, lapping wave an enticement to the past.

How many times had they sat here? Would they ever do so again? Was it possible to stay forever like this, here and together?

She could hear him removing his coat and unfurling on the ground behind her. “Did you like the service? Mother might be persuaded to switch to the other church … ”

A laugh bubbled up from her stomach. “If you believe
that
, Theo Ward, you know your mother less well than I.”

He laughed too, but then his tone turned serious. “I need to know why you have been so cold.” He didn’t ask — he demanded.

She set her jaw and said through her teeth, “Nothing is wrong.”

He clicked his tongue in frustration. “If a lifetime stretched before us, I wouldn’t push. I would wait for you to tell me. But I leave in the morning, so I insist. Have I done something? Hurt you in some way?”

She turned toward him. He was sprawled out under the willow tree. In shirtsleeves with the breeze making his hair flutter, he looked quite the youth. She couldn’t let him believe he’d done something wrong.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You have been nothing but honest and fair with me.” It was true.

“And yet you are angry.” He wasn’t surprised. There was something rich in his eyes that she didn’t understand. She wanted to fall into them but she knew not what awaited her.

“No, not angry.”

“Not well. Not happy. You were — at least it seemed like you were at first.”

She bit her lip and took a few steps to him. “I have become … confused.”

“About why we married?”

Margaret settled herself next to him on the grass and pulled off her gloves, inspecting the blades she brushed with her hand. Each tickled her fingertips. A dappled ray of sunlight made her wedding band gleam. “Yes. I do not understand why it was necessary for us to marry. Was it only my compromised virtue?”

“Don’t make it less than it is,” he said, taking her hand. “I was selfish, very selfish, that night. But I did it because … ” He trailed off. He unbuttoned her cuff and allowed his fingers to trail up inside her sleeve, tracing patterns on her wrist and forearm. Margaret’s lids drifted closed.

“Look at me,” he whispered. Margaret opened her eyes and locked onto his, afraid of what was coming but desperate to hear it all the same.

“I was selfish that night, and then insisted we marry, because I love you.”

Where before there had been a breeze wafting off the river and the sound of children playing in the distance, now there was only thick stillness. There were only his eyes, as blue as lapis, as intense as whirlpools, as deep as wells. He tempted her soul to irrationality.

Margaret felt breathless and dizzy. “Theo, I — ”

“No, I don’t want you to reply. I understand you’re afraid. I was reckless with your trust and your love once. But I want you to know what is at stake. I married you because I had no other choice. I spent years in a haze when we parted. I awoke at your touch. You are the meaning of my life.”

She looked out over the river. Outwardly, she was calm. Inside, she felt as if pebbles were boiling in her stomach. There were such rumblings and poppings within her that she felt as if she might burst. This was a real marriage for Theo. He loved her. Still. Forever.

“Margaret.” The word was tremulous, fraught, and hopeful.

She turned toward him again and saw the pain and fear that was in her heart writ on his face. And so there, underneath the willow tree, she kissed him with everything in her soul. She kissed him as if it was their last night together, which it very nearly might be. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he sighed into her mouth. She might expire from happiness.

Chapter X

Margaret clung to his arm as they returned to their house for luncheon. If was as if she couldn’t stand to let too many inches crowd in between them. She hadn’t said the word, true, but it was in her eyes and on her lips. Mother would perish of shame if she heard about that kiss. Theo felt as if he were still on fire, half an hour later. He hadn’t known mouths could express so much beyond speech. She was truly his now. He had claimed her, and she had surrendered.

They rounded a corner, Theo hardly paying attention, his mind still occupied with what had occurred underneath the willow, when he bumped quite bodily into Josiah Trinkett.

“Good afternoon!” the old man boomed. “You’ve heard the news then?”

“Oh, no. We’ve been out for a walk.”

He glanced at his wife, whose eyes were flashing at him, and squeezed her arm.

Josiah continued, oblivious, “There’s a fierce battle raging twenty-five miles west of Washington City. The first major engagement of the war, they’re saying. I’m headed over to the telegraph office. They are reading the dispatches out to the crowd. The war may be over by nightfall, Ward.”

Theo was concerned, but he couldn’t abandon Margaret. “We’re expected at home for luncheon, but stop by the house later to share the news.”

He and Margaret completed their walk in silence. Theo could feel the almost imperceptible shift in her since their conversation with Josiah. At the house, he steered her around to the backdoor and pinned her against the wall.

“No, don’t pull away from me again.”

She pitched forward into his arms. At least she was clinging to him now. She had leaned toward him, not away. That was progress.

He whispered warm words against her hair as he rocked her. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, my darling girl.”

Against his shoulder, he could feel her shaking her head. “I’m not. But if you should fall, Theo,” she finally managed to whisper. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he embraced her more tightly. They stood like that for several long minutes before Mother leaned out the door.

“Well, aren’t you coming in?” she demanded.

“In a minute,” he replied, gently. More than one woman in his life was in need of comfort this afternoon, he knew. “Can you stand?”

Margaret nodded. He leaned her back against the wall and put a hand on each shoulder to steady her. She wasn’t crying, true, but her eyes looked as if something had broken within her. She’d closed whatever he’d managed to open. A few more blinks, and she’d have herself entirely composed. He wished she’d teach him that trick.

“This is real, Theo, isn’t it?” she said. Her voice was even and unemotional.

“Yes.”

She swallowed. “Our marriage and the war? Neither is imaginary anymore.”

“No.”

“Let us to luncheon, then.”

She wouldn’t look at him, but her grip on his arm was firm. This was the declaration he had been waiting for. At least, he was almost sure it was. But he could not exult in the knowledge of her feelings because too many of his thoughts were with the boys on the faraway battlefield.

• • •

All afternoon Margaret feigned a confidence she did not feel. Theo loved her. He did, and he always had, she knew. He needed to feel she was confident and supportive, so she would be. She owed him that.

So she smiled and laughed and helped him go through his trunk one more time, adding several extra pairs of socks and gloves she’d managed to knit when he wasn’t looking. Always in the back of her mind was the unknown news at the front. Today it was this battle near Washington City. Unless the war was already over, tomorrow the battle would be somewhere else. And Theo would be there.

With all the uncertainty, what did he expect her to say? Was not their happiness sufficient?