Lorraine Heath (35 page)

He came to a dead halt in the middle of the road and hung his head.

“I won’t have you running after a coward,” her father growled, tightening his grip on her arm, and giving her a small shake as though he could shake some good sense into her.

The voices and words swarmed around Meg as people surrounded her, blocking her view.

“He wouldn’t fight—”

“Coward’s what he is—”

“Why’s she chasing him?”

“Yellow streak a mile long—”

“Didn’t enlist—”

“Coward—”

Through the ragged gaps left between elbows and shoulders, she saw Clay raise his hand, and although his back was to her, she knew he’d slipped his fingers between the buttons on his shirt and was rubbing the “D” they’d burned into his chest.

“I love you!” she cried over the reminders of his cowardice that people continued to throw at her.

He spun around. His voice, deep with pain, carried his words across the churchyard even though he didn’t yell. “I have nothing to offer you, Meg, but loneliness, and I love you too much to give you that.”

His words effectively parted the crowd, and Meg had a clear view of him standing in the road. She wanted desperately to be at his side. “I’d rather spend my life with one man surrounded by love than the ignorance and hatred surrounding me now.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “You can’t imagine how much it hurts to be ignored by people … you respect. You don’t know how loud the silence is or how deeply it cuts. It’s bad enough watching the hatred touch my brothers. I’d rather die than see it touch you.”

Thunder rolled in the distance. People turned their attention toward the sound. Standing in the wagon, Daniel urged the horses through the water-logged road toward Clay.

“Daniel, no!” Meg screamed as she jerked free of her father’s grasp only to be caught by someone else.

For a brief moment, indecision crossed Clay’s face, and then he began running toward the barreling wagon, toward Helen’s daughter, Melissa, as she played in the muddy road, oblivious to the approaching danger.

Meg heard a scream and didn’t know if it was hers or someone else’s. Clay flung himself over the child as the wagon neared.

She heard other screams and wails as Clay and Melissa disappeared beneath the hooves of the horses and the wheels of the wagon. When the wagon passed, all she could see was Clay lying facedown in the mud.

Fear gave her the strength to break free of the man holding her.

Fear drove her to rush to Clay’s side and drop into the mud beside him.

“Don’t move him!” Dr. Martin cried as he threaded his way through the silent crowd easing to the center of the road.

Helen knelt beside Meg. “Oh, God, my baby.”

Dr. Martin worked his way to the ground. Gingerly, he rolled Clay over to reveal Melissa’s tiny mud-covered body. She started blinking her eyes and turned her mouth down before she released her first wail. Helen lifted her from the mud and pressed her against her breast, rocking and cooing to her daughter.

Using her skirt, Meg gently wiped the mud from Clay’s face. “He’s bleeding,” she whispered as she watched the blood mingle with the mud.

“Looks like the mud shielded him somewhat so nothing’s broken, but he took a blow to the head,” Dr. Martin said, his hands busily looking for signs of injury.

“How bad?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Did I kill him?” Daniel yelled as he ran toward the crowd. “Did I kill the yellow-bellied—”

Meg rose to her feet, spun around, and slapped Daniel across the face with a force strong enough to send him staggering back.

“How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you judge this man and condemn him to death!”

Daniel regained his balance, squared his jaw, and took a step toward her, his blue eyes blazing. “How dare
you
defend him!”

She angled her chin. “Who better than the woman who loves him?”

He jerked back as though she’d hit him again. “You don’t mean that, Meg. You can’t fall in love with a man by watching him sit in the back of the church.”

“No, you can’t,” she admitted softly. Her stomach tightened, and her mouth went dry. How often had Clay felt this slight trembling of nerves and continued on, standing his ground? “I fell in love with him by spending my days in his company. I asked him to carve a monument to honor our heroes. I thought the task would serve as a punishment for him. I thought it would make him face his cowardice. Instead it made me face my own.

“Every day, I went to his farm and watched him work, waiting for that moment when he’d drop to his knees and ask for forgiveness.” Sighing deeply, she glanced at the still figure lying in the mud. “Eventually, I realized there was nothing to forgive.”

“My brothers are turning in their graves,” Daniel said vehemently.

“No, they aren’t, not in the graves Clay dug for them. He got to Gettysburg after the battle. The Yankees were dropping the Southern soldiers into mass graves. Clay buried every man from Cedar Grove in a separate grave away from the battlefield.”

“I swear, Meg, if you’re telling the truth, if he touched my brothers, I’ll shoot him dead before the sun sets.”

“Why?” she asked softly.

“Why?” He took a step toward her. “Why? Because he’s a coward, and I know they’d rather lie in a mass grave than have his hands touch them.”

“I don’t think so, Daniel.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he wrenched free. So much bitterness, so much anger, so much hatred. “Mama Warner left me a letter that Kirk wrote her. He told her that he wrote Jefferson Davis asking that he exempt Clay from serving the Confederacy. He said every man in his company signed the letter. Every man, Daniel. That includes our brothers. They knew Clay wasn’t a coward.”

“That’s a goddamn lie! He didn’t fight!”

“He did fight, but he fought for what he believed in, not what they believed in. And he fought as bravely as they did.”

Meg swept her gaze over the gathered people. “When was the last time any of you talked with Clay? Who among us asked him why he didn’t enlist? I know I didn’t. I assumed he was a coward because he didn’t follow my husband and my brothers. Like your sons, they were soldiers, yet they saw honor where we didn’t. Clay would lay down his life for any one of us. He just won’t kill for us.”

Meg didn’t think it was possible for the crowd to become more somber. People shifted their gazes as though they didn’t know whom or what to look at.

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do,” Dr. Martin said in reverence. He twisted in the mud and planted his arm across his thigh, leveling his gaze on the silent crowd. “Those were the words Clay spoke as he stood awaiting his execution. Funny thing, though. After he said his prayer, they couldn’t find a soldier willing to shoot him.”

Meg knelt in the mud as Clay’s eyes fluttered open. Dr. Martin held up two fingers. “What do you see, Clay?”

Clay shook his head slightly. “Nothing. It’s too dark, but I want to thank you for coming, Doc.”

Dr. Martin’s worried gaze met Meg’s before he turned his attention back to Clay. “It’s always a pleasure treating you, you know that.”

“I don’t want to die,” Clay said quietly.

“I don’t think you’re gonna die.”

“One might miss, maybe two, but not all six. Not six Southern boys with rifles.” He closed his eyes. His face grew ashen, and Meg felt the icy fingers of death wander slowly along her spine.

Pulling himself free of the mud, Dr. Martin stood. “I need someone to carry him to my office.”

“I’ll carry him,” Robert said.

“He’s always been like a son to me. I’ll help you,” Kirk’s father said.

Meg watched Robert slip his arm beneath Clay’s knees as Kirk’s father took Clay’s shoulders. Together, they carefully lifted Clay out of the mud.

She glanced one last time at the somber faces surrounding her, then followed Clay in silence … alone.

Sitting beside the bed in Dr. Martin’s office, Meg made herself loosen her grip on Clay’s hand. He’d lose use of it as well if she continued to hold it so tightly.

“Meg?” a quiet voice asked behind her.

She twisted and looked toward the door. “Hello, Tom.”

Uncertainly, he stepped into the room, holding a bundle. “Sally sent me with some clothes. We thought you might want to get Clay out of those muddy clothes.”

Rising, Meg took the clothes from him. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

Blushing, Tom cleared his throat.

“Since you said you’d been watching Clay work, I was wondering if you knew anything about our little girl’s marker … his pa didn’t make it, did he?”

Meg hesitated, wondering how Clay would feel about their knowing the truth. She hoped if these people came to know him as she did, perhaps the hatred would melt away. “No, his father didn’t make the marker.”

“Didn’t think so. I was walking through the cemetery, lookin’ at the markers his pa made, the ones he made. The ones Clay made look different. I can’t explain it, but it’s as if he put his soul into it.”

“Carving is very special to him.”

Nodding solemnly, he settled his hat on his head. “Tell Clay that when it’s time to harvest, I’ll help him with his fields. It’s the least I can do to pay him back for the marker.”

“Would you do me a favor?” Meg asked.

“Sure.”

“Would you run out to the Holland farm and let Lucian know what happened?”

“I’d be happy to, but John and Caroline Wright already went. Caroline said she’d watch the twins if Lucian wanted to come in.” He smiled and shrugged. “Reckon some of us are startin’ to see things a little different.”

He left, and Meg returned to Clay’s side. She brushed the hair off his brow. The bloody and bruised knot near his temple frightened her. She had a feeling it frightened Dr. Martin as well.

Leaning over, Meg combed her fingers through Clay’s hair again and again. “Please, Clay, I know you’re tired of fighting, but please fight once more for me. Wake up so we can go home.”

The pounding in Clay’s head increased as he opened his eyes. Yesterday was a haze. He remembered Meg kept prodding him to wake up. Every time he did, she kissed him and told him to go back to sleep.

Her actions made no sense.

When Dr. Martin woke him, he’d ask Clay how many fingers he was holding up. Clay figured that as a doctor, the man would be smart enough to know how many fingers he was shoving in Clay’s face.

He preferred for Meg to wake him.

He eased his legs off the bed and pressed his hands to his temples. He didn’t remember coming home, but home he was.

He stood and walked to the chair where someone had left his carefully folded clothes. He worked his way into them, fighting the nagging ache in his head.

He opened the door to his room and gazed into the living area. A small smile crept across his face. Meg was bending before the hearth, humming.

He thought he could enjoy waking to the sight of her every morning for the rest of his life. The pain in his head increased. He needed to talk to her about that. He had reasons why he couldn’t marry her, but he couldn’t remember what they were.

Turning, she saw him. A beautiful smile eased onto her face. None of the reasons he had could have been strong enough to fight the lure of that smile.

She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him tenderly.

“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“My head hurts a little.”

“You should sit down.” Taking his hand, she led him to the table and pulled out a chair.

He eased down. “Something smells good.”

“Mr. Tucker from the general store brought over a box of supplies this morning. He said when you feel up to it, to come see him, and he’ll extend you credit.”

The pain in his head increased as he furrowed his brow. “Why’d he do that?”

She sat in a chair and folded her hands around his. “Maybe because you saved his granddaughter’s life yesterday.”

“His granddaughter?”

“The little girl you threw yourself over yesterday was Helen’s daughter, his granddaughter.”

“I didn’t know Helen had a daughter.”

“I imagine there’s a lot about these people you don’t know, and some of them are anxious to change that.”

Clay rubbed his brow. “What’s that infernal pounding? I thought it was in my head—”

Laughing, Meg rose from the chair and pulled him to his feet. “Come outside and I’ll show you.”

They stepped onto the porch, and Clay stared at a sight he’d never expected to see again. People were milling about on his land.

His old bam had been torn down. A new frame had already been put up. He recognized Sam Johnson, Tom Graham, and John Wright as they pounded boards into place.

He saw Robert Warner. And then he heard Kirk’s father issuing orders, and he felt a lump form in his throat.

Women were setting food on a table beneath the shade of a tree. Children were laughing, playing, and carrying water to the men who were working.

He wondered briefly if they thought he had died and had come to celebrate. “Why are they here?” he asked.

“To welcome you home. Mr. Lang brought some lumber from the mill this morning, and they came to help put up a new bam,” she said.

“I can’t pay for the lumber.”

“Mr. Lang said not to worry about it. Your credit is good with him. Besides, he figures it won’t be much longer until you’re family anyway.”

He snapped his head around and glared at her. His head rebelled at the movement. “What does he mean by that?”

She smiled, and the pain in his head eased. “He gave Lucian his blessing to marry Taffy.”

Clay pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Meg, what happened yesterday? Or have I been sleeping longer than that?”

Her smile increased. “Nope. Just one day.”

Dr. Martin ambled over and held two fingers in front of Clay’s face. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Two. Doc, what’s going on?”

Dr. Martin shoved his hands into his pocket and looked toward the bam. “Amazing, ain’t it? Meg said some things yesterday that got these good people to thinking. You putting that little girl before yourself got them to understanding.” Dr. Martin laid his hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Between you and me, Clay, you weren’t the only one who could have gotten to her in time, but you were the only one who tried.” He dropped his hand. “Reckon I’d best go look for Pru. Seems she found out how the fire in Johnson’s field got started, and that wild boy of hers was behind it. She’s decided she needs me after all. Hope I can adjust to married life.”