Читать книгу Flesh And Blood - Caroline Burnes - Страница 10

The pressure of the knife or whatever blade he held against my neck made me give up any ideas of resistance. Roughly he pulled me out of the shrub. When his hand grasped my breast, he stopped suddenly.

“You’re a woman!” He spun me around to face him.

The light had completely faded from the day. The gray mist of rain and gathering darkness concealed most of his features, but I could see that he was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate officer. The weapon he’d used to pin me to the ground was his sword. For a second I was so taken aback, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Once I found my tongue, I had no lack of questions. “What are you doing at Ravenwood? Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you dressed in those clothes?”

He didn’t answer, but a slight grin played across his face. “And I could ask you the same,” he said in a drawl.

The hand that had pawed me suddenly lifted me by the elbow with a gentle support. “The lighting was poor. There are stragglers from both armies on these grounds, and I’ve developed a fondness for the residents of Ravenwood. Whenever I have some spare time, I ride through here to patrol.”

I had been frightened before, but it was nothing compared to what I experienced now. “Wha-what armies?” His dress. His speech. It was as if I’d stepped into a nightmare.

“What armies?” He laughed. “The Confederate and the enemy, of course. What did you think, the Trojans and the Greeks?”

“Oh, Lord.” The words escaped me on a sigh. I was too afraid to scream. It occurred to me that the man and horse standing before me were figments of my deteriorating imagination. If I could conjure up Frank, why not a Confederate soldier and horse? I decided to play for time and test him. “What year is this?”

“Eighteen sixty-three. April. Have you lost your senses tumbling around in the bushes?”

His hand was still beneath my elbow, and for good reason. My knees threatened to give. In an instant he had his hands about my waist, offering support. “You’re rather tall for a woman and strangely dressed. I thought you were a boy.”

“I don’t feel very well,” I answered as I stumbled forward. Thank goodness he was on the tall side, for a man, or I might have crushed him on the spot. In a moment I had my spine re-engaged and I stood on my own. I had gone to sleep in 1993 and awakened…in the midst of the Civil War? It was not possible. It was…insane. But the man beside me was flesh and blood. A very solid man with firm muscle. The horse smelled of horse. Even the delicate scent of the paper-whites was all around me. If this was a dream, or a nightmare, it was Technicolor. But after all, hadn’t I come to Ravenwood in search of a ghost?

For the first time I noticed the silence. The night was hushed, as if it waited for a burst of fire or a volley of cannon. “Where is the Union army? Why aren’t they shooting?”

“Several battalions have dug in at the low ground not two miles from here. We’re expecting reinforcements any day.”

He spoke with such matter-of-factness, and absolutely no fear. I didn’t completely accept what might have happened to me, but I felt a sudden rush of pity for this man. He had no concept of the future, of the futility of the battle about to be fought. How could I tell him that those reinforcements would never come? That the siege of Vicksburg was one of the most torturous events of a long and bloody war. That his army, his men, were doomed to starvation and death, along with many of the residents of the town. I was overwhelmed with what I knew and could not tell.

“You’re looking ill. Let me walk you back to Ravenwood. I’m sure that we can find something to bolster your spirits.”

I hesitated. What would I find at the plantation? Would Canna Quinn be mourning the death of his daughter, Mary? What would he make of my sudden and unexpected appearance? What had happened to the mini van I’d rented? How could I wake myself from this nightmare?

“My name is Nathan Cates, lieutenant colonel in the Seventh Confederate Cavalry.”

How should I respond? I decided on a simple name. “Emma Devlin.”

He hesitated, as if he waited for more. “Are you a relative of the Quinns?”

“No. A guest.”

Nathan captured the reins of his horse and we started back to the house. Several minutes passed in silence. I sensed that the man beside me struggled to say something. I was completely disoriented and unable to decide what I believed. Silence was my only choice.

“Miss Devlin, I’ve taken a vow this summer, and I’m about to break it. I think this has gone far enough.”

He’d lost me completely, but it sounded sinister. “What vow? What are you talking about?”

“I took this…job, and it’s a matter of honor with me to fulfill my obligations. But I can see that I’m distressing you, so I think I’d better tell you the truth.”

With his words, it was as if lightning had zapped behind my eyes. The costume! The strange cadence of his speech! The courtliness of his manner! “You’re part of the Civil War reenactment, aren’t you? You’re paid to act out the role of cavalry colonel and it’s against your contract to break character.” I’d read all about it. With the first flush of excitement also came a bitter aftertaste of disappointment. I had wanted to meet a ghost. I’d been more than ready to believe it. As unreasonable as it was, I also felt anger.

“What are you doing on the grounds?” I asked.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

“These are private grounds. I think you should take your horse and leave.”

“Miss Devlin, please allow me to walk you back to the house. The grounds are supposed to be private, but they aren’t secure. I am sorry that I’ve upset you. You see, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, either.”

He sounded genuinely contrite, and a bit of my anger passed. “You frightened me, but only a little. I didn’t know if I’d woken up in the Twilight Zone or if I was in the company of some raving lunatic who was living in the past.” I wasn’t about to confess that I’d hoped he was a ghost.

“By your accent, I’d say you’re from the South. Surely you know about the Vicksburg reenactment. It’s part of the history of the town. It’s one of the biggest tourist attractions. And reenactors are required to stay in character.”

“I had my mind on other things.” The understatement of the year. “That business with the sword at my throat, though, was pretty convincing.”

He laughed out loud, an easy, slow chuckle. “Maybe I should ask for a pay raise if I’m such a great actor. Or maybe, Emma Devlin, you’re ready to believe in something different in your life.”

The humor of the situation struck me hard. I smiled, and that was quickly followed by a chuckle. The man had truly unsettled me. He had every right to believe I was a half-wit. All it had taken was a uniform and a half dozen comments, and I’d been ready to believe I was talking with a Confederate soldier.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I brought Frisco over for a gallop around the grounds. He doesn’t get a lot of exercise during the day I’m afraid, and the gardens around the plantation are incredibly beautiful.”

“They are indeed.” He was waiting for my explanation. “I’m staying in the house while it’s closed. I’m…researching a project.”

“Then you’re a writer?”

His eager questions made me feel guilty of some deception. “In a way. I write for a card company, but I’m at Ravenwood on personal business.” That was as much as I would give him.

“I’ll see you back to the house and then be off.”

He seemed to sense my desire for privacy, and I walked silently beside him. Frisco followed behind like an obedient puppy. I’d learned to ride as a child at my Aunt Charlotte’s, and I liked the looks of the big chestnut gelding. The night sounds of Ravenwood closed gently around us. The chirr of crickets was a comforting noise, reminding me again of happy childhood moments.

But the silence between us had stretched too long. “How long will you be working with the reenactment?”

“On and off through the summer, I suppose. I have a teaching arrangement at Mississippi College. Then…”

I felt him shrug beside me, and without being able to see, I knew that he was smiling. He was confident of his future, whatever it might prove to be.

“You’re from the South, aren’t you?” My curiosity was piqued.

“I’ve never been able to completely curb my accent.”

“And I should hope you wouldn’t try. Why would you want to sound as if you came from Illinois or Idaho?”

“A good question,” he said, “and one for which I don’t have an answer. Are you staying at Ravenwood alone? I ask because I’ll stop and check on you if you’d like.”

There was no pushiness in his question, only concern. Walking through the dark with him and the horse, I felt an unaccustomed peace. “I’d like that. I am alone.”

“Ravenwood is a big house. Don’t let the little idiosyncrasies unsettle you.”

“I’m not easily unsettled.” Through the heavy green of magnolia and oak leaves I could see the night-light that had been put up near the apartment door.

“An independent woman. I like that.”

“And I’d like to point out that you are a gentleman, and I like that.”

We laughed together as we walked to the kitchen door and I drew the key from the pocket of my pants. “Thanks for seeing me home, Nathan Cates.”

“My pleasure, Miss Devlin. And I’ll be by to check on you during the next two weeks. If you hear a horse galloping about the property, you can bet it’s me and Frisco.”

“Did you rent him at a local stables? I thought I might like to ride while I’m here.”

“No, Frisco isn’t a rental, but I think I might be able to scare up a mount for you.”

“No Union horses.” I couldn’t resist a bit of teasing.

“Any horse I bring for you to ride will neigh with a drawl,” he said as he swung up into the saddle.

The light from the window caught him fully, and for the first time I realized what an attractive man he was. His legs were long and well-muscled, defined by the boots he wore. Wide shoulders supported a strong neck. His face was handsome in a rugged way, and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. That disappeared when he smiled down at me.

“Not to alarm you, Miss Devlin, but be on the lookout for ghosts. There’s a rumor that Ravenwood is haunted.”

“What a charming idea, Mr. Cates, a haunted plantation house.”

“Most ghosts are harmless, Emma Devlin. Many of them are simply too sad to rest. But there are some that mean you harm.”

His words struck me like a cold blade along my spine. He was playing with me in a light, bantering way, and he had no idea how close to my heart he’d hit.

“I’ll be careful only to consort with the good-natured ones,” I answered, and unlocked my door. “Good night, Mr. Cates.”

Before I locked the door I watched the night swallow up horse and rider. I’d spent the day dreaming about Mary Quinn and met a strange history teacher who doubled as an actor. For a woman who’d done nothing all day, I was exhausted—and starved. Too hungry to wait for something to cook, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and took it up the stairs to the bedroom. I was suffering from an odd aftershock of meeting Nathan Cates. I was bone weary and yet I felt as if a tiny electrical pulse was running through me.

Thinking back through the meeting, I was surprised to recall that once I spoke with him, I had absolutely no fear of him. I’d never been a person who made instant friends. My mother, who has a list of complaints a mile long about me, said it was because I was sarcastic and smart-mouthed. Before people got a chance to like me, I drove them away, she said.

Frank had defended me by saying that I weeded out the wimps. At the memory of those lively debates, I couldn’t help but smile. The smile faded as I thought about my reasons for being at Ravenwood. I’d spent a dreamless night my first night here. Would I see Frank tonight?

I finished the last bite of my sandwich and took the plate back downstairs. I made sure the doors and windows were locked before I abandoned the kitchen for the bedroom and a hot bath. A tiny rule I’d made for myself was that I would not think of Frank before I went to bed. If it was my subconscious acting up, I didn’t want to invite a visit from the man I loved accusing me of betrayal. I picked up my book, spun the coral mosquito netting about my bed and settled down for the night.

About eleven, my eyes grew heavy and I gave up my book. Outside the open window, the night was alive with small creatures. With a smile I surrendered to childhood images and sleep.

The brush of the mosquito netting across my face woke me. Waking up in an unfamiliar place can be unsettling, and I forced myself to remain calm. A gust of April wind must have blown through the open window with enough force to billow the netting over the bed. It was a strange sensation, like waking up in the folds of an elaborate gown. There was a coral glow around the bed. I was pushing my way clear to the surface of material when I saw Frank.

Standing at the foot of the bed, he watched me closely.

“Frank.” I wanted to reach out to him, to hold his hand, to touch his face. But I could not. The chill of the grave held me back. No matter how much I didn’t want it to be true, Frank Devlin was dead. Though he stood before me, handsome in the pink and coral light of dawn that had begun to chase the darkness from the room, I knew he was no longer of my world.

“The past is never dead, Emma.”

“I know that, Frank. I miss you terribly.”

“I have suffered at the hands of those I loved.”

His words were so sad, so horrible. Tears threatened to choke me, but I fought them back. “Not me, Frank. Never me. I could not have loved you more. You know that. I still love you.”

“I am betrayed, Emma. Betrayed.” His right hand came up and his finger pointed directly at me. “Emma…”

As in the past three times, he faded away. In a few seconds, the room was empty except for me.

“Frank.” I spoke his name, expecting no answer. My tears were bitter, bitter. Frank’s ghost was gone, but the specter of insanity completely filled my mind. Was I mad? Maybe the smartest thing to do would be to commit myself to an institution. Each time Frank visited, the pain was more unbearable. Each time his accusations were the same, and my ability to understand them no better.

Hugging my pillow, I cried until I had no more tears. Then I washed my face and went downstairs. I put on a pot of very strong coffee and thought about my options. I’d promised myself two weeks at Ravenwood. I would give myself that much time and no more. What I needed was a plan to find Mary Quinn. Walking to the oak hadn’t worked. Perhaps by sitting in Mary’s own room I might encourage contact with her. I had the coffee dripping when I ran back upstairs to change into a pair of stirrup pants and a long-sleeve blouse. God bless the creator of heavy knit. It didn’t wrinkle, held its shape and was as comfortable as a second skin. I crowded my mind with these trivialities, grasping desperately at the ordinary. Beneath everything I did, the question remained: was I losing my mind?

My fingers were working the last button when I heard the knock on the door. No one had a key to the gates, and I couldn’t imagine who might be on the premises. I ran down the stairs and peeked through the curtains in the kitchen door.

Nathan Cates was standing on the doorstep with a bulging grocery bag. Frisco stood patiently tied to a tree beside a buckskin mare. My mind blanked at the sight. I didn’t know what to do. Nathan was dressed in his uniform, undoubtedly on the way to work at the reenactment. He’d taken me up on my request for a ride.

He knocked again, and I couldn’t hesitate any longer. I’d thank him and tell him I didn’t feel like riding. I didn’t feel like living, if the truth were known. I opened the door. “Nathan.”

“Good morning, Emma Devlin.” He brushed through the door and took the grocery bag to the kitchen table. “I wasn’t sure if you’d brought provisions, so I picked up a few things for you. Then I thought I couldn’t take you out for a morning ride without breakfast. I hear that Southern girls are given to fits of fainting, and I suspect it might be because they don’t start the day with a healthy meal. So I brought some bacon, eggs, grits and the makings of biscuits.”

“Biscuits?” I was overwhelmed. In the morning light his eyes were sky blue against the gray of his uniform. The mustache I’d seen hints of the night before was full and blond, and there was a curved scar on his right cheek.

“Don’t you like biscuits?” he asked.

“I like biscuits from the breakfast buffet at a number of places. But I don’t make them.” I didn’t feel like company. I couldn’t eat if my life depended on it. Yet there was something about Nathan that soothed me. I needed to be alone, to think. But I didn’t want him to go.

“I make excellent biscuits. My grandmother taught me.” With a quickness and skill I’d never seen in a man before, Nathan made breakfast. As he worked, he talked about Ravenwood and the peculiarities of the house. He knew much more about it than I did. His voice was deep, reliable. It seemed only a few minutes before he put a plate of bacon, eggs, grits and biscuits before me. He took a seat opposite.

Although I thought food would choke me, I ate with surprising appetite. Nathan kept up the conversation with cheerful ease. It wasn’t until he’d cleared the table and poured us both another cup of coffee that he stopped talking for a long moment.

“Would you like to tell me why you’ve been crying this morning?” he asked finally.

I did not want to tell him. I had no intention of doing so, but the words poured out. I told him everything. Every single detail of my madness. And he listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t question me. At some point, he reached across the table and picked up my hand. When I finished, he gave it a long squeeze.

“I know the first thing that’s crossed your mind is that you’re going insane. Well, you aren’t.”

For the first time that morning, I smiled. “How can you be so certain?”

“As a historian, I guess you could say that I believe in ghosts, or at least messages and inspirations from the spirit world. And having known you for all of two hours, at the maximum, I get the impression that you aren’t the least bit unhinged.”

I suppose it was his confidence—in himself and in me—that was so comforting. I needed a vote of confidence, even from a stranger. “Thanks, Nathan. Thanks for listening, and thanks for not treating me like a budding lunatic.”

“Since you came to Ravenwood to see Mary Quinn, have you seen her?”

I shook my head. “I was hoping today might be the day.”

For the first time worry crossed Nathan’s face. “It’s none of my business, you know.” He stood and paced the kitchen. “I probably shouldn’t say this at all.”

“Say what?”

“Emma, is it possible that your husband’s death wasn’t completely accidental?”

The idea shocked any response from me. Frank, deliberately murdered? “Absolutely not. Frank didn’t have any real enemies. He was a man of integrity, of honor. People respected him. They looked up to him.”

Nathan crossed the room and stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders in a gentling motion. “Easy, Emma, easy. I didn’t mean to imply that he was murdered because he was a bad man. Don’t you know that sometimes people are killed because they’re good? Especially men of integrity and honor. They can gum up the works for dishonest people.”

“Who would want Frank dead?”

He squeezed my tense shoulders and then released me. “I’m afraid that’s a question only you can answer. But the way I’m looking at this is that Frank feels wronged. He’s defied the odds and returned to tell you, the woman he trusts, that he’s been betrayed. If he isn’t accusing you…”

“Then he’s looking to me to help him.” A distinct chill touched my back and rolled down my entire body.

“If not to help him, then at least to understand.”

I was captured by the idea. I had not betrayed Frank. Not in any word or gesture during our marriage or since his death. Was it possible that he was seeking my help to find someone who had?

“What should I do?” I looked across the room to the sink where Nathan had begun to wash the dishes. He wiped his hands on a dish towel as he took my measure.

“It depends. Remember, this is just a theory.”

“It makes more sense than anything I’ve thought up. Unless, of course, I want to believe I’m going crazy.”

“Did you examine the police report of Frank’s death?”

I shook my head. “There didn’t seem to be a reason to. I mean, it was a robbery attempt and Frank tried to help a woman they were abusing. The robbers were crazy, and when Frank gave them trouble, they killed him.”

“It sounds logical, but it may not be. If there’s anything to my theory, then the police reports are the place to start. Did they identify the killers?”

“No.” I sighed. “I don’t even know that they tried all that hard. After the first few weeks, I didn’t push it. Frank was dead and there was nothing that would bring him back. Revenge, or justice, if that’s a better word, was my last thought. I guess I just wanted to survive.”

“Enough time has passed now, Emma. Maybe justice is necessary. For Frank.”

I looked up into the blue eyes of a man who was virtually a stranger. “I loved him so much. I still do.”

Nathan smiled. “I know. And I’ll bet Frank knows that, too.” Dropping the dish towel on the table, he took his seat opposite me again. “Promise me that you’ll heed this warning, Emma. If we’re on to something here, if there’s something to be found about Frank’s death, it could be very dangerous. If someone had good enough reason to kill your husband, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”