Into the Light (2 page)

Trey did his best, but his appetite had disappeared with the use of his legs. He remained what Jamie derisively called a sack of bones, although ruthless exercise began to rebuild some strength in his right shoulder. Not enough that he could lift himself out of the bath yet, damn it.

“Need some help here,” he yelled to Jamie for the second time.

“I’m coming. You don’t want me burning Mrs. Long’s good soup now, do you?” Jamie hurried into the room, helped Trey to the chair beside the tub, and handed him towels.

“I don’t want you burning anything, but the water’s getting cold and so are my feet.” Trey heard his own words and went still. “It’s a memory,” he whispered. “I know the water’s cooling, and it’s a memory.”

“Let’s make sure,” Jamie said, disappearing through the doorway and reappearing with a fork in his hand.

“If you think stabbing my feet with a fork will prove something, forget it.”

“If I wanted to stab you, I’d have a knife now, wouldn’t I?” Jamie sat on the edge of the tub, pulled one of Trey’s feet to his lap, and ran the tines of the fork over the sole.

Trey stopped breathing. “I felt it. Not a memory, the real thing.”

“Your toes moved.”

“No, they didn’t. I didn’t see it. You’re imagining it.”

Jamie repeated the stroke with the fork. Trey watched his big toe and the one next to it twitch. Slightly, so slightly, but unmistakably.

That night, for the first time since Cuba, Trey buried his face in his pillow and wept.

April 1899

Hubbell, Kansas

“D
ON’T YOU WISH
it were you?”

Deborah Sutton watched her sister twirl around the bedroom in the cloud of her white silk wedding dress and smiled.

No, she didn’t wish to be the one getting married. Miriam knew that as well as everyone else in the family and had as much trouble accepting it as they all did. Just once, though, Deborah would like to feel some small share of the outgoing exuberance that had her two sisters laughing and spinning through life.

No sooner had she thought that, than Miriam sobered and fussed with the dress, staring at herself in the mirror over the bureau and avoiding Deborah’s eyes.

“You can’t really want to be an old maid, staying with Aunt Emma and Uncle Jason till they die and you’re too old and shriveled up to change your mind.”

“I hope by the time we lose either of them we’re both well shriveled,” Deborah said.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. There’s no reason for you to sit here and grow old on the farm. You’ll just be another mouth to feed and someone else to take care of someday.”

“I earn my keep.”

“So do I, but will you and Aunt Em be unable to keep up after I leave? When Judith married and went to live in town, did that leave too much work for the rest of us? We work and we make work by being here. You know Aunt Em would do fine without either of us.”

“She’d be miserable with no one to fuss over.”

“She’d be happier fussing over someone who would at least give her a hug or a kiss now and then!”

Deborah didn’t exactly hate touching or being touched by anyone but her sisters, but she preferred to avoid it, and the family usually had the decency not to mention her little idiosyncrasies.

Stung, Deborah said, “Preparing for your wedding is really bringing out the best in you.”

Miriam whirled and finally looked straight at her. “Once I’m married and living in town we won’t see each other but now and then and never again like this. I want to make you see. I want....”

“You want me to be someone I’m not. I’m not like you and Judith. I don’t want to marry. I don’t want a husband. I want a quiet life here. Work during the day and a good book in the evening. Call me an old maid. Call me a spinster or any other name, but you won’t change my mind. I like my life. I’m content.”

“You don’t like your life. You have no life. So Pa was mean. You know all men aren’t like that. My Joseph....”

“Spare me the virtues of your Joseph,” Deborah said, beginning to lose her temper.

“All right, I will. You see Uncle Jason every day. He’s a good man. You know all men aren’t like our pa.”

“You have no idea what he was like,” Deborah said. “You were less than a month old when he was killed.”

“I know he was strict and harsh. Judith told me what he was like. You just have to be careful and pick someone nice.”

Strict and harsh.
Deborah stifled an ugly laugh, but no matter how heated any argument with either of her sisters grew, she would never tell them the truth, never speak of it to the few in the family who did know.

Go ahead and marry in a cloud of silk and joy. No matter how angry you make me, I will never spoil that for you the way he spoiled it for me when he came in the night, put his hand over my mouth, and whispered of a daughter’s duty. You will never learn from me about that kind of fear and pain and betrayal.

“You were only seven when he died,” Miriam said, twisting to see the back of her dress. “You can’t remember .”

Deborah caught herself tugging at her skirt seam and hid her cold hands behind her back where no one could see them twisting against each other.

“Judith was five, and she’s your authority, but nothing I say matters because I was only seven? I guess you’re right. All that matters is that I want something different. I’m happy for you that you have Joseph, and I’m happy for Judith. Why can’t you let me have what I want and be happy for me?”

“Because what you want isn’t right. It isn’t
natural
.”

“So I need to change because I embarrass you? Did your future mother-in-law say something about your old maid sister?”

“She just wondered why — like everyone, she wonders. You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, and aren’t you just giving yourself a pat on the head.”

Dark hair, dark eyes, skin that kept a pale gold hue no matter how carefully shaded from the sun, Deborah and her sisters looked so much alike if they styled their hair the same way, only close family could tell them apart at any distance.

Accusing Miriam of conceit didn’t distract her. “You’re beautiful, you’re clever, and you’re kind when you’re not behaving as if you’re the only one ever hurt, like now. You’re not too old yet. All you’d have to do is smile at one of the eligible men Aunt Em is always rounding up for you. There’s no reason....”

“Oh, so you and Judith chose husbands carefully and are ensured of everlasting happiness, but I’m supposed to marry one of the lazy old men or boys with spots all over their face that Aunt Em drags over every Sunday and twice on holidays. Why don’t you marry one of them? They’d suit you so much better than Joseph the paragon.” Her voice had risen and gone shrill, and she didn’t care.

“Don’t settle then. Make an effort and you can attract....”

“I’m not making an effort. I’m not going to marry, and you will just have to live with the humiliation of having a shriveled up, old....”

The bedroom door opened, and Deborah stopped the furious flow of words. Aunt Emma walked in, the wide-eyed innocence on her face marking her as a co-conspirator. No one right outside that door could have missed hearing the quarrel inside.

Pretending she had heard nothing meant Aunt Em knew full well Miriam intended to broach forbidden subjects. In fact Aunt Em, who had spent the last eighteen years determined to find a way to “cure” her oldest niece, had probably orchestrated the whole thing. Maybe Miriam had a point about the foolishness of anyone planning to live out her life quietly here on the farm.

Panic welled in Deborah’s breast. Without a word, she darted out the door, down the stairs, and into the barn, where she hid in the hayloft until she mustered the composure to walk back in the house and begin helping with supper preparations as if nothing had happened.

J
OSEPH’S FAMILY HAD
rented the town hall for the wedding celebrations. Deborah helped with the decorations, shed a few tears in the church as she watched her sister become Mrs. Joseph Timmerman, smiled through endless toasts and congratulatory speeches, and made sure everyone saw her dance with each of her uncles when the dancing started that evening.

Duty done, she picked up her wrap from its hiding place under a ribbon-festooned table, and escaped into the darkness outside. Slipping away from gatherings like this was always easy.

So long as she reappeared tonight in time to pretend to try to catch the bridal bouquet, no one would miss her. The little garden behind the hall with its facing benches provided a perfect haven she had used before.

Deborah sat carefully, not wanting to damage the skirt of her best dress on the wood bench, drew in a deep breath of the fresh spring air, and tilted her face up toward the stars.

The door to the hall opened again, and a large shadow lurched out. Another followed, steadier on his feet, but cursing as he stumbled over the slight step down to the walk.

Deborah jumped up, heart pounding. No one had ever come out that door while she had hidden here before.

The two men blocked the easiest way to return inside, but she could sneak around the outside of the hall to the front door.

So much for her plans to sit in the coolness of the night and enjoy a little solitude. The men were strangers to her and drunk. The one slurring as he argued with the other was very drunk.

“All I’m saying is a man ought to be able to get a decent drink when he wants it. What the hell kind of party is it with nothing to drink but that fruity piss. I shouldn’t have to empty my own flask to get a decent drink.”

“Be quiet, will you. If her family hears you going on like that, they’ll pound you into the floor. Hell, if Joe hears, he’ll stomp you himself. Come on, we can get a few drinks at the saloon and head on home.”

“Mm not leaving. Drinking right here if I want to.”

Deborah froze at the sound of a third voice, one near her, not by the door.

“There’s a lady out here, gentlemen. Home or the saloon, you need to move on.”

“Like hell. I’m not going....”

Steps crunched across the gravel, and a thump changed the spew of drunken words to gasps. A punch? The man who had spoken so courteously had punched the drunk?

Deborah sidled along the bench, intent on getting around it and away.

Her defender spoke again. “Here’s his hat. Why don’t you get him home and let him sleep it off?”

More gasping, grunts, subdued cursing. The halfway sober one urged the drunk along, and the sounds faded. Deborah hesitated. Should she thank the man who had intervened on her behalf before leaving?

“If you came out for a little fresh air, please don’t leave because of them — or me.”

His voice was strangely appealing, right in the middle ranges for a man, soft and smooth. Even drunk he’d never sound stupid or crude. And where had that thought come from, some silly female fairy tale?

“Thank you for making them leave,” Deborah said, “but I only meant to sit for a minute and take in the quiet and a little fresh air. I’d best go back inside now.”

“I’m sorry you heard any of that, but you must have meant to stay more than a minute. Please. Come back to your bench, and I’ll go. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“You’re a guest. Of course you should be here.”

“I’m not a guest. I was out walking and heard the music, so I’ve been sitting here listening, stealing a moment.”

His voice swirled around her like a soft, warm blanket in the cool night. She should say a few more polite words and let him go on his way.

As if drawn by an invisible hand, she moved back to the bench and sat, forgetting about the skirt of her best dress. “Please stay and enjoy the music. With you here I won’t need to run into the dark if another drunk staggers through the door.”

His laugh was as alluring as his spoken words. “Did you recognize him? From what they said it must be a wedding party. Were they really invited guests?”

Maybe Joseph the paragon had invited those ruffians. No one in her family had. “Yes, it is a wedding party. I don’t know everyone invited, but they must have been guests.”

She heard steps on the gravel again, saw the darker shadow as he sat across from her. The hedges surrounding this small enclave darkened the moonless night further. She couldn’t discern a single feature, couldn’t tell if he was short or tall, broad or slim.

Her breath caught then steadied. She’d been right to tell him to stay. A man who forced two drunks to leave because he knew a woman was present didn’t pose a danger. If they shared the night in silence, he could enjoy the music that had brought him here, and she could pretend to be alone.

The music sounded distant and tinny. Pretending to be alone didn’t make it so, and his voice.... If he spoke again now that the danger had passed, his voice would prove ordinary.

Fear and nerves could cause goose bumps on her arms and a flutter in her stomach. An unseen stranger’s voice couldn’t do that.

Long minutes passed. Her skirt rustled as she shifted on the bench, and the stones underfoot ground against one another. She fought the urge to cough, cleared her throat instead, and gave in to the urge to make him speak again.

“Do you walk this way every night?”

“No, I’m only visiting a friend here in town. Tonight was the first time I walked this way.”

“Oh, then you don’t live near here.”

“My family lives almost a day’s ride away, and I’m staying with them. I haven’t lived here since I left for school in the East.”

College! Back home from college. He must be young. She tried to think of a family in the area that would have sent a son to college in the last years and came up blank. “I envy you. I wish I could have attended college.”

“Maybe you still can. A lot of women do these days, except.... I’m sorry. It’s not that easy for everyone, is it, and a husband and children make it impossible for women.”

A husband and children aren’t what stop me. If I really wanted it, Uncle Jason and Aunt Emma would find the money somehow, but I don’t have the courage.