Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (27 page)

All of Natchez's elite were in attendance to benefit the city's war veterans. Everyone from old men who'd fought in the War of 1812 to young ones yet to see battle mixed and mingled and filled up ladies' dance cards. Not surprisingly, Elizabeth was a rather hot commodity.

Men, young and old, lingered by the Colonel hoping for an introduction. Married or not, it didn't seem to matter. Any beautiful woman, and especially one new in town, was a much sought-after prize. Elizabeth's dance card had filled within ten minutes of their arrival. Simon had been lucky to get two spots for himself. Although, his damn arm was throbbing badly in time with the beat of the music, dancing was the last thing on his mind.

They reached the far side of the room, safe from Mrs. Goode's incessant gossip. Elizabeth gestured to the refreshment table where a crystal bowl held some undefined punch.

“Would you like some?” Simon asked, indicating the drinks.

Elizabeth nodded and held out one of the cups so he didn't have to use his right arm. He ladled some into her cup.

She took a sip and they both turned back to look through the crowd.

“They'll come,” Elizabeth said, sounding much more sure than she was.

Another half-hour passed without a sign of the Harpers and Simon grew worried, and impatient. He'd already had to explain twice that they were not attacked by Sioux nor set upon by river pirates. The truth, or at least the version they were willing to share, wasn't apparently as exciting as the fictions that spread around the ballroom like wildfire. He was just about to lose his already shortened temper with a man who insisted he'd “seen the whole thing” when he saw the Harpers enter the room.

Simon took Elizabeth's arm. “You'll pardon us,” he said and led Elizabeth a few paces away from the group.

Across the room, Eli grinned like an idiot at Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Goode while James appeared more taciturn than usual, his scowl bending only slightly when Rose touched his arm. After having dutifully bought their share of raffle tickets, they started across the ballroom.

Elizabeth's smile brightened when she saw them. “Hello!”

Rose began to smile in greeting, but James took her elbow and angled her away. He gave Elizabeth a curt nod and glared at Simon as he led his wife in another direction. Rose looked over her shoulder briefly before turning back and disappearing into the crowd with her husband.

“Hello,” Eli said to Elizabeth. He glanced at Simon mistrustfully, but nodded, before following his brother.

Simon sighed. “That does not bode well.”

Elizabeth put her hand on Simon's good arm. “Let me see if I can find a moment alone with Rose. If I can get her without James, I think she wants to talk about what happened.”

It was a sensible approach. Perhaps that's what they should have done in the first place. Nothing to be done for it now. “Good.”

A tall, young man in a smart West Point dress uniform appeared in front of them. “Sir,” he said with a bow before turning to Elizabeth and holding out his hand. “I believe this is my dance, Mrs. Cross.”

“Mister Pierce isn't it?” she said.

His grin broadened with delight. “Yes!”

Elizabeth handed Simon her empty cup and took Mr. Pierce's hand and let him lead her out onto the floor. Under different circumstances, Simon might have been slightly annoyed by it all. Men had hovered around her all night, like bees to a flower, grinning like fools. But, as Elizabeth had reminded him, in ten years time, their smart, clean uniforms and dreams of heroic deeds in battle would be met with the harsh reality of the Civil War. At least one in four would die. For those that lived, their homes and their very way of life would never be the same again. It was a sobering thought. As he looked around the room, he saw men, really boys barely out of short pants, playing soldier and not knowing what was to come.

There was nothing he or Elizabeth could do to change that. They could, however, change one small thing here, and give a child peace.

Just the thought of it made his chest tighten and he instinctively sought out Elizabeth on the dance floor. In her exquisite, yellow silk evening gown, she was not hard to find. She laughed and smiled. Even though it was meant for another man, he felt renewed again.

“Lovely.”

Simon's jaw clenched. He knew the voice before he turned. “Walker.”

Dr. Walker admired Elizabeth for too long a moment before turning and facing Simon. “Beautiful and a good shot. A rare combination.”

Simon glared down at him, but held his tongue.

The doctor arched his eyebrows and smiled before glancing to the dance floor. “I wouldn't worry. I doubt there will be any charges filed.”

“Charges?” Simon said.

Dr. Walker shrugged. “A man did die.”

“Die? What are you talking about?”

The doctor smiled and then forced a false sincerity to it. “The man your wife shot succumbed to his wounds in the night.”

Simon knew that was impossible. He'd seen the man's arm for himself. It wasn't pretty, but it was not a mortal wound. Even if it had become infected, it was highly improbable that the infection could have caused his death so quickly.

“Perhaps I'm losing my touch,” the doctor said with a sigh. “The police usually bring in Dr. Parish for such things, but he was…” the doctor continued with a glance toward Simon's injured arm, “otherwise occupied and so they requested my humble services.”

“And a man in your care died from a flesh wound to the arm,” Simon said, not bothering to hide his disbelief and disgust.

“Pyemia,” the doctor said. “Blood poisoning. I've never seen such a virulent case before.”

Simon knew exactly what had happened. His blood might have been poisoned, but it had nothing to do with his wound. The man was a loose end, one that could have implicated Walker. A loose end that needed to be cut and the doctor had found an opportunity to do just that.

“Went straight to his heart. But then,” Dr. Walker said with another glance to Elizabeth, “that is where a man is most vulnerable, is it not?”

Simon clenched his jaw and his hands tightened into fists at his side. He could feel the muscles in his forearm pull the skin taut straining his stitches. The pain was strangely welcome. It kept him grounded. It kept him from tearing Walker's head off.

“Dr. Walker!” a portly man said as he appeared at their side. “Pardon me,” he added nervously seeing Simon's eyes flash with anger. He quickly added a bow. “My wife has been having some discomfort…”

“Of course,” Dr. Walker said with a smug grin Simon dreamt of wiping off his face. “You'll excuse me, Mr. Cross.” The doctor bowed once more before following the portly man off into the crowd.

Simon looked after them both and then, sour taste in his mouth, turned to find Elizabeth. With any luck she'd managed to duck out on a few of her dances and convince Rose to speak with her.

~~~

Elizabeth needed to catch her breath. The dance lessons Simon had given her before they'd traveled here had paid off. However, dancing in the comfort of their living room and dancing here in a hot, crowded ballroom with a corset squeezing the life out of her, was a different matter. She headed back for the punchbowl, hoping someone had finally spiked it, when she saw Rose talking with several other women. James was nowhere to be seen.

Elizabeth walked up to them and fanned herself with her dance card. “Quite an evening,” she said.

The other women greeted her politely. Rose, however, shot a nervous glance over her shoulder before forcing a small smile.

“I do hope it's nothing serious,” Mrs. Pitchford said to Rose continuing whatever conversation Elizabeth had interrupted.

“No, she's fine,” Rose said.

“Her Louisa's not feeling well,” Mrs. Turnbull added for Elizabeth's benefit.

“She just overdid it a bit at the party yesterday, is all,” Rose said, showing no sign of downplaying her daughter's state. “The doctor is coming by tomorrow to check on her, but I'm sure she's fine really.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Elizabeth said.

Rose looked over her shoulder again. Clearly, she'd been instructed not to talk to Elizabeth but was too polite to ignore her completely.

Mrs. Pitchford started a story about her son's recurring bilious fever and Elizabeth stepped closer to Rose and whispered, “I'd like to speak with you, if I could. About yesterday.”

Rose shook her head and turned to walk away.

Elizabeth reached out and touched her arm. “Please?”

Rose shot another look toward the corner of the room where Elizabeth could now see James. He had his back to them and, after a moment's hesitation, Rose nodded to Elizabeth and then toward a side door.

They escaped the heat of the ballroom only to find the evening air thick and cloying. It was a clear night, but the air was still and humid. They walked out into the side garden. Rose looked back anxiously at the door. The muffled sound of music coming from inside the building could just be heard in the distance.

“James will not be pleased if he finds me speaking with you,” Rose said.

“I know,” Elizabeth admitted. “And, yet you're here anyway.”

Rose shifted uncomfortably.

“You're curious,” Elizabeth guessed.

“No,” Rose lied. She was a terrible liar. “I thought you were going to apologize for your husband's behavior. I thought it polite to give you the opportunity.”

“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said. And she was, but there was something far greater at stake here. “For the pain it's caused you. If we could have done this without that, we would have.”

Rose's eyes flared with irritation. “And just
what
are you doing?”

“Finding the truth.”

Elizabeth could see the anger and injury in her eyes, but there was something else there as well. Doubt. “I cannot imagine why you would want to hurt my family,” Rose said as she started to turn away.

“Don’t you want to know the truth?” Elizabeth asked. A silence hung in the air and Rose took another step away. Elizabeth nearly started after her, but held back. “About the girl in the garden.”

Rose stopped.

“I know you saw her,” Elizabeth said. “I've seen her too. A lost spirit.”

Rose kept her back turned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Aren't there enough lies already?” When Rose still wouldn't turn, Elizabeth took a step closer. “Her name is Mary. And she needs your help.”

Rose turned and Elizabeth could see her eyes glistening in the moonlight. She felt it. She felt something.

“Mary,” Elizabeth said then stopped to swallow down the lump that was forming in her throat. “Mary belongs at River Run.”

Rose shook her head, but it was a weak attempt to deny something she seemed to have sensed herself.

“Elijah told me what your husband said. That was cruel and unjust. James is a good man.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I believe you,” Elizabeth said. “I believe he is. That you are both good people. The kind who would never knowingly hurt a child.”

“Of course not!”

“Or deny aid to one in need. I don't know who fathered Mary,” Elizabeth continued. Rose's eyes flashed with anger and warning, but Elizabeth pushed on. “But I do know that she is lost and afraid, and we're running out of time to help her.”

Rose closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, and shook her head in defeat. “What can we possibly do to help a dead child? She is beyond our comfort now.”

“Do you believe in an afterlife?” Elizabeth asked, already knowing the answer. “Would you deny that to Mary? She's caught in between our world and the next and if she cannot find peace here, she will not find it anywhere. Ever.”

Rose let out a shuddering breath and then squared her shoulders. “My husband did not have an affair.”

“Maybe she's Eli's?”

Rose sighed and shook her head. “Elijah had an accident when he was younger. He cannot father children.”

Elizabeth's heart sank. Elizabeth suddenly realized why Rose's father had insisted she marry James and not Eli — heirs. If Eli couldn't be the father, that left only James. “I'm sorry.”

Rose shook her head again. “No, there is some mistake. I am sorry for the child. Truly I am, but there is nothing I can do.”

Elizabeth felt hope slipping further away. “Rose, please? I know it's hard to accept—”

Rose clasped her hands in front of her. “You are mistaken.” Her newfound resolve shook for a moment before she regained it. “And I would appreciate it if you would leave my family alone.”

Elizabeth was desperate for something, anything to change her mind, but Rose couldn't or wouldn't see the truth. “What if she's your child? Your flesh and blood?”

“I have one child—”

“And what if it's Mary?” Elizabeth said, pressing on, “and not Louisa—”

“You think I don't know my own child?” Rose said, growing angry now.

“Please,” Elizabeth said. “If you'll just hear me out.”

“I think I've heard quite enough. Good night, Mrs. Cross.” And with that Rose walked back to the town hall, leaving Elizabeth alone in the garden.

~~~

Elizabeth stood at the open window of their upstairs bedroom hoping it might offer a cooling breeze. Hours ago, she'd traded her nightgown for the thin cotton of her chemise. If modesty hadn't forced her to wear something, she would have happily stood outside under the moon, naked, arms out, waiting for a wind to come up off the river. As it was, she stood by their window, looking out at the garden below. Through the darkness all she could see were vague shapes, blankets of flowers devoid of color and trees with long thin arms reaching out for things she could not see.

Sleep had been impossible. She'd tried for a few hours, before giving up and coming to stare at the night. In each shadow she tried to see Mary, hoped for one more glimpse. But all she saw was the dark. It might be too late, she thought.
They
might be too late. It was a sickening feeling, to know they might have failed her, that a poor innocent child would be condemned because they hadn't acted soon enough, because they hadn't done…something.

She let out a sigh and looked up at the man in the moon. He was as inscrutable as ever, keeping counsel to himself.