Holding on to Heaven (15 page)

She crept into his dreams and distracted him from battle, her willowy, supple body rising up to meet him, her gold-flecked eyes beckoning him. Like an opiate he couldn't rid his body of, she lived in every drop of blood in his veins.

Heartsick, disillusioned and terrified for Finn, he rolled over in his cot with a groan and prayed for sleep.

* * * *

Beside herself with worry, Lauren took to bed for three days in July. She couldn't escape the dismal news. Everywhere she went, war dominated the conversation. In May, North Carolina became the last state to join the new Confederacy. State delegates met in Raleigh and voted unanimously for secession.
Her state
. Her grandparents' state. All the deep Southern states had now left the Union, adding to Lauren's abysmal distress.

Posted in the local paper, lists of casualties arrived weekly. She searched frantically through columns of names and breathed a grateful sigh of relief when the name Gatlin failed to appear.

She comforted neighbors and friends who had lost sons, grieved for those missing in action, and cried through too many funerals. Detailed accounts of battles¾Manassas and Blackburn's Ford—flooded the newspapers and the war raged on.

She attributed her malady to stress, worry, and plaguing thoughts of Creed. Consumed with guilt and a profound longing to see his face again, she struggled to make it through every day. Her nights were worse, filled with erotic fantasies of his naked skin against hers and his powerful hands gripping her hips as he drove into her.

She thought about their last conversation. He'd made no commitment to her, had said only she'd bedeviled him. She lived and breathed those words now, prayed he'd return one day. Yes, she’d wait for Creed Gatlin, a lifetime if need be.

On the third day of her convalescence, she forced herself to rise from her sickbed. She’d go mad if she didn't. She wandered mindlessly to her dresser and looked into the mirror. Her pale, gaunt face with sunken cheekbones and dark circles around her eyes reminded her of a specter's.

The sickening aroma of fried sausage drifted up the stairwell and her stomach retched. When a wave of dizziness washed over her, she reached for the porcelain basin and emptied the contents of her stomach.

Truth slapped her in the face. She carried Creed's child. The repercussions from her wanton actions filled her throat with bile again. Her good name would soon be falling from everyone's lips with a snicker. The debacle would bring shame to Aunt Estelle and Uncle Mason, and she’d have to tell them, of course, or toss herself out the three-story window. Right now, the second option seemed the lesser of the two evils.

Her aunt's voice echoed up the stairwell. "Lauren, dear, breakfast is on the table."

"Be right down." She sponged her face with a cool cloth and drew several deep breaths.

She'd have to buck up through breakfast somehow. Her aunt had been worried about her in the last several days, to say nothing of Nelly's curious stares while she lay abed. Damn Nelly, anyway, and her prophetic tendencies. Uncannily intuitive when it came to her, she’d be better off to hand her diary over to the nosy servant.

Lauren didn't know how she managed to stumble through the meal without upchucking in front of God and everyone. She ignored the platter of sausage to her left and cringed when Nelly passed her the plate of fried eggs. Somehow, she managed to down a glass of fresh milk and nibble on a biscuit.

She excused herself with a shiny red apple in hand, intent on making it to the barn before she tossed the biscuit. "Surely Adobe must believe I've abandoned him after three days."

"I brought him an apple every day while you were sick, dear."

"Thank you, Aunt Estelle."

"Lauren, are you still not feeling well? You're pallor concerns me and we must do something about those dark circles."

"I know I look a fright. I've not been sleeping well."

"Perhaps a shot of brandy before bed would help," Estelle said.

The thought caused her stomach to churn. "Yes, perhaps." She scooted out the door of the kitchen and made it into the barn before the taste of sour milk rose in her throat. Forced to empty her stomach, she selected the nearest pile of hay and let it fly.

Brand's husky voice drifted across the barn, startling her. "Why are you out of bed if you're still sick?"

"I thought I felt better and haven't seen Adobe in days," she muttered.

"Yes, I know. Did Estelle tell you I stopped by yesterday?"

"You did? No, she must have forgotten, but I saw her only for a short time this morning at breakfast."

His eyes caressed her, betraying the feelings he tried to hide. She sensed he loved her, and she couldn't deny she'd become fond of him. Fond wasn’t the same as love. How could she think about loving another when her heart belonged to his brother?

"How long
have
you been sick, Lauren?"

"How long have you been standing there?"

"No way," he said with a shake of his head. "I asked first."

She blinked to hold back the tears. "Longer than three days."

Silence filled the empty space between them. "You're with child, aren't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Pain crossed his eyes. "Whose child?"

Unbidden tears streamed down her face. She gave a subtle shake of her head and walked toward Adobe.

He followed her. "Do your aunt and uncle know?"

She cleared her throat and wished the earth would swallow her up right now. "I don't think they suspect, but Nelly is another matter."

He shuffled his feet for a moment before blurting the words out. "Marry me."

She fell against the stall, her eyes wide.

"Let me start over. Will you marry me, Lauren?"

She plopped down onto a bale of hay and buried her head in her hands. "I can't possibly burden you with my problem." She lifted her head to the warmest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. "I've gotten myself into this mess, and I’ll-I’ll deal with it."

He sat down beside her. "I can't allow that to happen. The babe needs a father."

Breathing in shallow gulps, she didn't know how to feel right now. She expected Brand's anger, hurt, recriminations, but not a proposal of marriage. Like a rabbit caught in a snare, she couldn't think, couldn't speak.

He spoke in a gentle murmur. "Lauren, we like each other. I know you're not in love with me, but you do care for me, I think."

She agreed with a slight shake of her head. What a tangled web—she in love with Creed, Brand in love with her, and who in hell knew what Creed held in his heart. Kind, caring Brand with his bright blue eyes and a heart bigger than Texas, and then there was his brother, Creed, wilder than a stallion and more elusive than the wind. What choice did she have?

"This is not your responsibility to shoulder."

He shifted on the bale and placed his hands at the sides of her head. "I'm asking for the honor of shouldering it. I'm under no illusions and know you're not in love with me."

She closed her eyes and battened down her emotions. "What about-about..."

"A marriage in name only." He paused and searched her eyes. "Unless of course you fulfill my wildest expectations and fall in love with me. I'd prefer to kiss you senseless and well, you know, but I'll not force you into anything."

"What angel brought you into my life, Brand? Will you tell me her name so I can thank her.?"

"What makes you think it's a she?"

A laugh found her for the first time in weeks.

"You can end all this angst today. Say yes, and I'll march into that house and speak to Estelle and Mason right now. You don't have to say a word. Let me handle it."

"Oh, Lord, Aunt Estelle and Uncle Mason. What will you tell them about the child? Surely they won't believe—"

"They'll believe what I tell them. When Mason finds out about the child, he'll jump at the chance to marry us. They want what's best for you and this solves everyone's problems."

"Except yours," she said gloomily.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather marry."

Her eyes caught and held his. "Do you mean that? I'd hate to think you're offering marriage because of this strong sense of honor you harbor. If I thought you cared for me at least in some small—"

"I care for you, Lauren, more than you can imagine."

Flooded with gratitude, she threw her arms about his neck and clung to him. Moments later, she pulled back and nodded. "Yes, I’ll marry you."

They found Aunt Estelle, Uncle Mason, Biddle and Nelly still seated at the table. Lauren wrapped her hands around the back of a chair and waited for Brand to speak.

Her aunt took a sip of her coffee and smiled. "Good morning, Brand."

He nodded to Estelle and glanced at Mason. Reading the paper, the man scarcely looked up when Brand settled into a chair beside him. Nelly rose from the table and brought Brand a cup of coffee.

Brand cleared his throat. "I stopped by this morning to speak with you."

Estelle set her cup down with a rattle, her eyes wide. "Oh, no, you haven't received bad news about Finn or Creed?"

Lauren's heart fell from the sound of his name.

"No," Brand said, "nothing like that."

Mason put the paper down. "What is it, son?"

Lauren gripped the back of her chair until her white knuckles ached. Nelly glared at her from across the table, the servant's lips drawn into a thin line. Oh, how she longed to stick out her tongue at the superior little know-it-all. She clamped her mouth shut and opted for a return glare that should've put the fear of God in most darkies.

The minutes passed in agony as Brand laid out a whopping fabrication about secret rendezvous and a dying love for her. Aunt Estelle's face turned whiter than snow and Uncle Mason sputtered and spit through his coffee.

Insufferable moments later, Mason found his tongue. "What exactly do you plan to do about placing our niece in this compromising position, son?"

"We'd like you to marry us, sir." Brand added without a breath, "This Sunday would please us." Finished confessing his grievous offense, Lauren saw every muscle in his body go limp.

Estelle rose and embraced her. "Oh, my poor baby. No wonder you aren't sleeping. I could just cry when I think about what you must have been going through." A gasp left her lips. "Oh, dear, whatever will your father say?"

"There's no need to notify him about the baby right now," Brand interjected. "Babies come early all the time."

"Perhaps you're right." Estelle nodded.

Recovering from his initial anger, Mason looked at his wife. "What say you, Stella?"

"If our girl is agreeable, I say the sooner the better. I'll put the plans in motion this very afternoon, and I must at least write Drew, tell him his daughter is to be married." Estelle turned and made eye contact with Brand. "I insist Lauren remain at Full Circle until after the child is born. I hope you understand the responsibility we took on when she arrived for a visit."

"I believe my dear wife, Stella, forgot to add that you're most welcome to live here too, of course."

Brand rose from the chair and shook hands with Mason. "I'm off to tell my parents then. I'm sure Ma will be delighted to assist you, Estelle, with the preparations."

"Oh, won't it be fun to host a wedding again at Full Circle, particularly in the midst of all this doom and gloom?"

Lauren released her tight grip on the chair. Her dreadful secret was out, and she didn't know whether to laugh with relief or cry with misery. She wouldn't have to hide her sickness. The very thought of owning up to her wanton behavior had nearly driven her to the river with ball and chain in tow.

She caught Nelly's gaze and her stomach lurched. The girl had not bought a single word of Brand's long tale. Well, she didn't have to explain a thing to a servant, not even Nelly. Let her think what she would. Lauren would die before she told the girl whose child she carried in her belly. At least she owed that much to Brand after what he did for her.

Lauren lay in bed that night and listened to the quiet tick of the clock. Nothing stood as it should. Her world had toppled from its axis. Brand offered a way out and she had to take it. He’d be good to her¾the epitome of a kind, caring husband and father. Creed's dark face surfaced. Good God, what would she say to him when he returned? The truth pierced her soul. Creed had left her to fight in this horrific war, against her kin no less. He couldn't know about the baby, and if he did, would he marry her? She had serious doubts about the answer to that question. She stifled an anguished sob.

The die was cast. This Sunday, she'd marry Brand Gatlin.

* * * *

The wedding took place as planned, a private ceremony for family held on the front porch at Full Circle. Uncle Mason officiated and guests stated over and again that she made a lovely bride. With little time to sew a bridal dress, Lauren selected one from Aunt Estelle's wardrobe and asked for only minor alterations. The linsey-woolsey fabric—produced on American farms and plantations—boasted a tight bodice, high neckline and dropped shoulders with flowing sleeves. Blocks of dark blue and gold formed stripes around the five-yard skirt, broken by a band of alternating linen stripes—lavender—chosen in honor of those who'd fallen in battle.

Her long hair hung free, adorned with a wreath of wild heather at the crown of her head, matching a simple nosegay in her trembling hands. She stumbled on her solemn vows once, but, with a reassuring smile from Brand, composed herself enough to finish.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Lauren raised her chin near the end and scanned the crowd. Estelle and Polly held back tears. Possessed of a dreamy look, Belle no doubt thought about her impending wedding in the fall. Faces were missing from the memorable gathering—her father's, Finn's and of course, Creed's. A desolation she didn't think possible threatened to crumble her. Lord help her. What had she done?

Uncle Mason's voice came to her through a tunnel. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

A feather-light kiss brushed her lips. She'd always thought the day she married she'd feel elation, not numb disbelief. When the kiss ended, she found that elation in Brand's eyes. This caring man didn't deserve to be hurt. She vowed to put Creed from her thoughts, be the best wife and mother possible. Rising up on tiptoe, she planted a kiss to Brand's cheek and whispered, "Thank you."