Home by Nightfall (9 page)

She gave him a closer look, then shook her head. “No, you don’t. Not really. But if you ever get the notion, you talk to your wife.”

He winced. “Yeah. Well, I’ll be seeing you.” It was easier talking to Em. He wasn’t in love with her. Susannah, she was a different story.

He edged out the door and lifted a hand in farewell, then took the long way around her cabin so he and Orville wouldn’t cross paths. He’d tied up his horse in tall grass under a stand of birch trees in back. Their graceful green leaves had yielded their summer color to a time-yellowed hue and blended well with the dry grass. He didn’t need anyone to see him here and assume all kinds of wrong things.

Tanner didn’t know what Orville Forster’s troubles were, but Tanner would bet good money that his own were worse.

• • •

From a small chest of drawers Véronique had received from the Society of Friends, she withdrew a plain wooden box with a hinged lid. Inside, there reposed a bottle of ink, a dip pen, and some pale-blue stationery she had obtained from the same source. She had worked with her hands most of her life, on the land, in the garden, at the stove. Although her father had called it a waste of time, her mother had insisted that Véronique learn to read and write. So for five years, she had attended the convent school at St. Jean-Baptiste in the village, until her father deemed that she’d learned as much as she needed to know. A husband, he had said, would not want a wife to know more than he did.

The day’s baking was done and a chicken simmered in a pot on the stove with some wine and vegetables. Supper would be ready when she needed it.

Now she had time to put the stern sisters’ teaching to use. With a sheet of paper before her, vast and blank, she dipped her
pen in the bottle and began to scratch her way across the page with the opening words. She got as far as the date and
Dearest
when she heard Édouard arrive outside with the brown-and-black dog he had found and adopted. The dog liked to bark and play with the chickens, but he did no harm to them. She thought the two were a good match—the dog was a stray, and as far she could tell, so was Édouard. The door was open and he stuck his head in.

Père Michel had taken in Édouard, a young, homeless French soldier, and let him and his dog sleep in the church basement. Knowing that Véronique needed the help after Christophe had gone, he sent the man to her farm three or four days a week. In exchange, she fed him, and when she could spare the food, she fed the dog too. They were all injured somehow by four years of combat, and each person’s experience was unique. The aftermath and recovery were new battles of their own. The horrors of Édouard’s war had seemingly left him mute, but the priest said that he had heard the man speak when he believed he was alone. She sighed.

“We should harvest the squash today, I think. More time on the vine is not going to help,” she said. “Can you begin that while I finish here?”

Tall with medium-brown curly hair and light eyes, he was a nice-looking man. He had probably been quite striking before war and suffering had given him the same careworn, haunted look that so many men wore now.

He nodded and gave the dog a couple of hearty pats on the flank, and off the two of them went.

Dearest Christophe…

How much should she tell him? That as soon as she had seen him leaving in the backseat of the
Croix Rouge
automobile, she regretted sending him off? That a private joy was all that kept her
going? No, that would not be fair. It was too late—she had made the decision for him. Thus, with so much that could not be said, and the little that could, she began her letter.

The task took her the better part of the afternoon, with several false starts crumpled and thrown into the stove. In the interim, Édouard showed her the results of the harvest—squash and potatoes in two bushel baskets.

The sun’s rays were golden and lambent when at last she finished the painfully inscribed and carefully worded letter, then sealed the addressed envelope. It was her favorite time of day, but even this kindly light could not disguise or even improve the appearance of the land that surrounded her. It would take years for the earth to recover from the grotesque assault it had suffered.

She went to the doorway and called Édouard in for an early supper. He was feeding the chickens weeds and other greens he had pulled from the vegetable plot. Tomorrow she would let them forage on the remainder of the squash plants.

“Édouard, supper is on the table. I have a bone for the dog, too.” He looked up and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

She heard him washing outside, and when he came in she handed him a lamb joint left over from supper the night before. He tossed it to the dog, whose name she didn’t know. The mongrel flopped down on the dirt in front of the door and set to work on his prize.

After she had said grace and the food was passed between them, she produced the letter she had put in her apron pocket, along with a coin. “Will you post this for me when you go back to the village?” she asked. He raised his brows as if to ask about it, but his inability or unwillingness to speak saved her from having to explain anything. “Use the money for the stamp and keep the rest for your trouble.”

He put out his hand.

“I can depend on you to do this?”

He gave her a dry look and continued to hold out his hand.

“All right, then.”

• • •

Riley sat in his father’s rocking chair in the parlor, flipping through a three-year-old horse journal, but nothing printed on the pages actually sank into his mind. Even though it was only three o’clock, it seemed so much later because the heavy gray sky gave the room the dim look of dusk.

He felt more useless than he had at Véronique’s farm, a place he’d begun to miss with ever-growing longing. At least in France he was sometimes able to help her with small tasks. Here he just sat, in the house or on the porch, and watched all the goings-on. He felt these people scrutinizing him now, keeping their distance, including his wife. He supposed he couldn’t blame them, but he wasn’t even sure what he had done to push them away. He supposed The Strangeness, his steady companion of over two years, had probably not earned him any champions. Nor had his outbursts of temper, which he felt incapable of controlling. No one said anything, of course, and even that irritated him. They were all so excruciatingly polite and accommodating. But he could feel the simmering tension among them.

And worse yet, now that he slept alone terrifying nightmares plagued him every night. He’d wake several times throughout the dark hours, heart pounding, drenched with sweat, dreaming of something so frightening he rarely slept a whole night through. Yet, he couldn’t remember the dreams. When he’d slept with Véronique, the dreams visited much less often and when they did,
she knew to wake him. Here, the best he could manage was to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. He was exhausted.

“Wake up, there, Riley!”

He jerked upright in the rocker and saw Cole standing in the doorway, his gloved hand braced on the doorjamb.

“How about saddling up Kuitan and riding part of the fence line with me? I want to check on it before winter sets in, and it’s time you got back on a horse. Think your leg can take it?”

“I don’t know—”

Cole came into the room, took off his hat, and slapped it against his thigh a couple of times. Some dust flew, then he settled it back on his head. “Oh, hell, come on, there’s only one way to find out. You can’t sit around here forever—you’ll end up like Pop.”

That was an alarming prospect. Riley grinned and thought it might be his first honest smile since he’d arrived here. “All right. It sounds good.”

“Sure it does.” His brother grinned in return.

Riley nodded and grabbed his cane. He clambered to his feet, a tricky maneuver with the rocker. It caused a moderate jab of pain in his leg, but pain was one of his other constant companions.

They went through the kitchen and out the back door, where Susannah was hanging laundry in the yard. Cole glanced at the sky.

“Those clouds look pretty heavy,” he said to her. “You sure you want to leave those clothes out here?”

“I’m watching,” she replied, glancing toward the southwest and jamming a clothes peg on the hem of one of Riley’s shirts. “They’re blowing past to the north.” She stopped and leaned back with her hands on her waist. “What are you two up to?”

Riley took the steps carefully, using his cane for balance. He watched her long dark curls as the breeze picked them up and blew them away from her shoulders, then eddied around her like a cape. He swore he detected a fragrance as he approached her.

Cherry-almond…cherry-almond…

Why was it so familiar? he wondered. He knew it better than he knew his own name. Better than anything about her or her face. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He took a step closer. It wasn’t an overwhelming scent. In fact he had to stop himself from leaning toward her to breathe it in.

“I need to check the fence line. I thought I’d take Riley with me.”

“You’re ready for this?” she asked Riley. Her dark eyes reminded him of a piece of excellent chocolate Véronique had once secured in the village.

“Cole threatened that I might end up like our father if I stay in the house too long.”

She scowled. “Dear God, go on then,” she said, flapping a hand in the general direction of the open acres. “I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy here.”

Riley couldn’t help but notice the way the wind flattened Susannah’s dress against her slender form, outlining her body beneath her dress and apron. For the first time since he’d arrived, he made the firm decision that it was time to become reacquainted with his wife. He knew nothing about her. If he was going to live here and recapture his old life and his place in the family, he would need to make the effort to fit in. He would begin by courting her again. “Would you like me to bring anything back for you?” he asked her.

She looked up again, clearly intrigued, and dropped her hands from the shirt. “Why—well, no.” Her gaze connected with
his, this time with a different expression, a curious expression. Not watchful or worried. “There’s nothing out there.” She even smiled at him.

He tipped her a shy grin in return. “You never know. Maybe I’ll bring you a surprise.”

He followed Cole to the stable, feeling his wife’s eyes boring into his back. Sometimes at night he lay awake, listening to an owl hoot in the trees that grew across the creek, imagining her on the other side of the wall. He wondered if she slept, wondered if she was thinking of him, lying alone on his side of the wall.

Because Cole’s horse was already saddled, when he and his brother reached the stable they went straight to Kuitan’s stall. Cole put a saddle blanket on the gelding, then hoisted his saddle to his back and adjusted the cinch strap.

“Nice touch with Susannah,” Cole teased lightly. “What
are
you going to find out there?”

Riley felt a flush creep up his neck. “I won’t know till I look.”

Cole led the buckskin out of the stall and handed Riley the reins.

“Do you want help?”

Riley shook his head. With more awkward fumbling, he managed to hoist himself into the saddle. Kuitan stood rock-steady, and once on the horse’s back with the reins in his hands, Riley realized he knew exactly what to do.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you,” Cole said, pushing back his hat. “It’s like you never left.” He put Riley’s cane in the rifle scabbard he’d strapped to the saddle.

Cole was right. “I don’t know why I can do this, but I can.” Just as he’d known how to set the posts for Véronique’s clothesline and groom a horse. A sense of freedom and accomplishment settled on him with this small progress. He brushed his long bangs off his
forehead and nudged the horse forward. With Cole following on his bay, Jack, they headed out.

“Hey, Susannah!”

Susannah looked up at the sound of Cole’s voice just as she was reaching for the last clothes peg in her apron pocket. She stared, open-mouthed, at the brittle man who’d come home as he trotted on Kuitan next to his brother, straight-backed and in that moment looking every bit as he had before he’d left for war. On horseback, his limp didn’t show, nor did his confusion or uncertainty. Through openings in passing clouds, the sun shone briefly on Riley and Cole and gleamed on the smooth coats of their mounts. They both waved and rode off across the pasture.

She was fairly certain that he didn’t really remember anything new about her, but it almost seemed that he was trying to court her. Was the spark between them eternal, in sickness or in health—or in this case, in life or in death? Or was he the only one who felt it?

Susannah pressed her thumb to her wedding ring, the one that Tanner had put on her hand, and swallowed against the lump in her throat.

• • •

Riding along the property line, Riley kept a keen eye out for something to bring back to Susannah. The last of the season’s wildflowers were gone, leaving only indefatigable weeds. Now and then, Cole would climb down to check a fence post and make a note with a paper and pencil he carried. At last, he glanced at the lowering sun.

“We’d better get on back. We’ll be out of daylight pretty soon and I told Jess I’d meet her in town for supper.” Watching his
brother search for a gift, he added, “Not much left in the way of flowers, huh?”

“No. But it’s beautiful here,” Riley replied. He sat up straight and looked out at the gently rolling vista, greening up from recent rains despite it being the middle of fall. Trees surrendered their flame-colored leaves to the light, chilly breeze that swept over them and sent them drifting to the ground. Along the western horizon, billowing clouds limned in silver-gold floated past the gleaming sun behind them. Birds, one or two at a time, zipped across the sky, seeking shelter from the oncoming dusk. “You can’t imagine what you have unless you’ve seen its opposite. The farm I lived on was surrounded by bomb craters and leafless, dead trees. The soil is still poisoned by the chemicals used in bombs and gas. Unexploded munitions are buried in the dirt, leaching out death even now. There’s a burnt smell that hangs over everything. I was so used to it I didn’t even notice it until I was away from there. Almost everywhere you look, you see death. Dead animals, dead trees…dead dreams. But still…”