Every Perfect Gift (34 page)

Julian waved a hand toward the papers. “When I went home to bury Mama, I saw the article in the Atlanta paper about former Union soldiers who were finally being brought to justice for the atrocities they committed during the war.” He looked up at Sophie, his ice-blue eyes glittering in the lamplight. “It’s one thing to shoot an enemy on the battlefield. It’s another to murder a helpless woman just for sport. I saw that one of the men, a Sergeant Hollis from Indiana, had confessed to burning out a family over in Cobb County about the same time as Father and Miss Rachel were killed. I figured he might have something to do with what happened at Ravenswood too, so I hung around till the trial. When he saw that he might be sent up for life for his crimes, he confessed to being at Ravenswood that day. And he named the murderer.”

Ethan picked up the papers and shuffled them again. “Roscoe Peck?”

Julian nodded. “He died last year, but not before admitting his
guilt. That paper there, the one with the seal on it, is signed by the priest and the judge who witnessed his confession. I’ve been trying to find you ever since.”

Ethan smoothed the paper and shook his head. “All this time, I hated you. I hated myself for not saving them.”

“We were boys, Ethan. They were grown men, soldiers with swords and guns. All the time I was on the run, I thanked God it was me who got home first that day, and not you.”

“How did you track me down?”

“I remembered your mother had family in Baltimore. I took a trip out there and asked around. Someone remembered your aunt, but then I found out she’s long dead as well.”

“Yes, she died when I was sixteen.”

“Last January I bought a bunch of books at an estate sale in Baltimore, and I went back to supervise the shipment. Got a couple of first editions, but I’m not inclined to part with them.” Julian sighed and drew up his covers, and Sophie saw how much this long conversation had cost him.

“Ethan, maybe we could come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Julian said. “I’m tired, but I’ll sleep better when this story is done.” He sent her a wan smile. “After all, I’ve waited most of my life to tell it.”

The lamp was nearly out. Wind whistled around the corner, rattling the iron gate outside. Sophie shifted in her chair and listened as Julian finished his story.

“I saw an article about Blue Smoke in the
Baltimore Sun
, and your name was listed as the manager for the whole thing. I came to the opening in June. You know the rest.”

“I turned you away. I’m sorry. I should have listened.”

“Mama used to say that when the learner is ready, the teacher will appear. Maybe that applies to truth telling too. Maybe it all happened to prepare your ears for this story.” Julian sat up in the
bed and clasped his brother’s hand. “I’m glad your life turned out so well.”

Ethan nodded.

“Listen,” Julian said. “I understand this is a lot to take in all at once. And I don’t expect we’ll go back to being friends overnight. Maybe we never will. Too much to work out in your head. Too much water under the bridge. I’ll be heading home to Philadelphia as soon as I’m fit to travel. But my door is open if you ever want to visit.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Anytime.” Julian gathered up the papers and stuffed them back into the leather pouch. “I reckon I’ll hold on to these. I’ve been a free man for more than twenty years, but still—” He gestured to Sophie. “Ethan, I expect you’d best get this lady home.”

Ethan took Julian’s hand. “I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry it came at such great cost.”

“So am I. Now, get on away from here and let me sleep.”

Ethan blew out the feeble flame in the lamp and they left the infirmary.

Sitting next to him on the short ride to the Verandah, Sophie snuggled into her cloak and thought about the beautiful and terrible ways people had of dealing with the past. Until now, she’d never thought about the layers of secrets, the complexities of human relationships, the subtexts and shadows of half-remembered lies and half-truths that separated people from each other. It was a wonder anyone survived it.

“Here we are.” Ethan halted the rig and helped her out. “I’m glad you were there with me tonight. I hope the story wasn’t too upsetting.”

They walked up the steps to the door. The hotel was dark, save for a single lantern burning in the parlor window. “I’m sure it was much more difficult for you to relive such a terrible day.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m all right, just tired. I need some time to think about things.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done to repair the office. If you hadn’t offered, I’d have had to shutter it for good, I’m afraid.”

“Couldn’t have that.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her with her such longing that she would have sunk to the floor if he hadn’t held her so closely. “I’ll see you Thursday at the Gilmans’.”

“All right.” She clung to him a moment longer, savoring his strength and his warmth. If only such moments might last forever. At last she released him. “Good night, Ethan.”

She went inside and stood at the parlor window watching his retreat. At the bottom of the steps he paused, one hand on the railing. Then he sank onto the steps, his shoulders heaving.

TWENTY-NINE

Thanksgiving morning dawned cold and damp. At first light, Sophie woke to the smells of frying bacon and coffee. Through the rain-smeared window, she watched veils of gray clouds drifting across the valley. Not the best day for a drive to the Gilmans’ farm.

She dressed and went down to the kitchen to find Lucy at the stove in her stocking feet, a white apron protecting her Sunday dress.

“Good morning, Sophie.” Lucy smiled as she poured coffee into a thick white mug. “Bacon and eggs?”

“Please.” Sophie slid into her chair and took a sip of the scalding, bitter brew before adding sugar and a generous splash of cream. She helped herself to a biscuit from the basket on the table and reached for the butter plate.

Lucy slid a couple of eggs onto Sophie’s plate. “There you go.” She served her own plate and sat down. “Is Flora awake?”

Just then Flora Burke hobbled into the kitchen, her round face contorted with pain. She fell heavily into her chair and motioned for coffee.

Lucy poured. “What’s the matter, Flora? Don’t you feel well?”

“Something’s wrong with my knee.” Flora shifted sideways in her chair and lifted her skirts. “Look at it. It’s all swole up, and it feels like there’s a sack of water under my skin. It hurts to walk.”

Lucy frowned. “Have you seen Dr. Spencer?”

“Certainly not.” Flora smoothed her skirts and took a sip of coffee. “I’m not about to show that man my knees.”

“I’m sure he’s seen plenty of ladies’ knees, Flora.”

“Well, he ain’t seein’ mine.” She took a deep breath and frowned. “I don’t see how I can get to the church this morning. I could barely walk down the stairs just now.”

Sophie finished her eggs and stood. “Flora, you can’t suffer in silence. If you won’t see the doctor, I’ll ask Gillie to come here.”

“Would you?” Flora shifted in her chair. “I sure would like something to make the pain go away.”

Sophie gathered her coat, hat, and gloves and headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t forget, church starts at eleven o’clock,” Lucy said. “I’m sure it’ll be packed today, and I want to get there early so I can sit down front and hear the preacher.”

“So you can look at him, you mean,” Flora said. “Can’t blame you, though. Robbie Whiting is cute as a button.”

“And married.” Lucy arched her brows. “I’m surprised at you, Flora.”

Flora shrugged, then winced and grabbed her bad knee.

Sophie took an umbrella from the stand beside the door. Leaving the Verandah, she hurried along the rain-slicked boardwalk toward Gillie’s tidy cottage, which sat behind the doctor’s office.

She knocked and Gillie appeared, barefoot despite the chilly morning and still in her nightdress. The light coming through the window fell onto her flaxen hair, giving her the ethereal look of an angel. Her cheeks were pink, but Sophie noticed faint shadows beneath her eyes.

“Sophie! Come in out of this rain.” Gillie ushered Sophie into a small parlor ajumble with books, papers, and medical journals.
A large bouquet of purple asters sat atop the tiny kitchen table. Gillie pushed her hair off her face. “What brings you out in this weather?”

Sophie folded her umbrella and shook the rain from her hair. “I’ve come about Flora Burke, over at the Verandah. Something’s wrong with her knee and she refuses to see Dr. Spencer.”

“I’ll get dressed and see to her. I won’t be long.” Gillie disappeared into a small bedroom off the parlor, leaving the door open. “Have a seat, if you can find room.”

Sophie perched on the edge of the floral settee and paged through a well-thumbed copy of
Scribner’s Magazine
until Gillie appeared wearing a dark-blue dress with tight leg-o’-mutton sleeves trimmed in white lace.

Sophie looked up from the article she was reading. “Pretty fancy dress for making a house call.”

“I won’t have time to change before going home. Mother expected me last night, but the little Gibbons girl is sick, and I stayed with them until she felt better.”

Gillie stood before her small mirror to pin her hat into place.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Sophie said.

“I don’t think so. Mrs. Gibbons was worried that she might be coming down with croup, but luckily it was nothing more than a bad cold.” Gillie picked up her medical bag. “Peppermint tea and a few drops of honey was all she needed. Now, let’s go see what’s ailing Flora.”

They returned to the hotel. Flora had moved to the settee in the parlor, her swollen knee propped up on pillows. Lucy was in the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes.

“Hello, Flora,” Gillie said. “What’s the problem here?”

“Take a look.” Flora drew up her skirt, her expression glum.

Gillie probed Flora’s knee until Flora sucked in a breath and jerked. “That hurts.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Gillie said. “You’ve got housemaid’s knee. It’s common among ladies who spend a lot of time on their knees scrubbing and such.”

Flora nodded. “Up at Blue Smoke the head housekeeper, Mrs. Ingram, made us scrub the floors every day whether they were dirty or not. Wouldn’t let us use a mop either. She said hands and knees was the only way to be sure we got all the corners clean.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to recover before next season, but you might want to ask Mrs. Ingram for a different assignment next year,” Gillie said. “In the meantime, you should apply warm, moist compresses and stay in bed for the next couple of days.”

“But what about Thanksgiving? I was planning to eat with my cousins up in Muddy Hollow this afternoon.”

Lucy came into the parlor, drying her hands on a red checked towel. “Don’t worry, Flora. You can eat here with me. I have plenty of food. I’ll invite Mrs. Riley and Mrs. Welty from church to share our meal too.”

Flora brightened. “I reckon that’ll be all right. Wouldn’t want to miss my pumpkin pie.” She smiled at Gillie. “Much obliged for coming to see me.”

“No trouble.” Gillie slid her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “Get started with those warm compresses and you’ll feel better in a day or two.”

Sophie walked Gillie to the door, and Gillie peered out. “Looks like the rain has stopped. I hope the road home won’t be too muddy.”

“Are you staying for church?” Sophie asked.

“I wish I could, but I promised Mother I’d help with her preparations and I’m already a day late. I’ll see you this afternoon. You and the charming Mr. Heyward.” She paused. “I’ve been wondering about inviting Caleb. I know he has a mother and two brothers at home, and I don’t know whether he’s coming into town today, but—”

“He said he might stop by the
Gazette
this morning. You could try catching him there.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m being too forward.”

“Oh, I see what you mean,” Sophie teased. “Heaven forbid he should think you like him.”

Gillie blushed. “I think he might know. Did you see the flowers on my kitchen table?”

“Caleb brought them?”

Gillie nodded. “Last night, when I got home from the Gibbons’ place, he was waiting on my front porch. I was going to invite him then, but I lost my nerve.”

“My word, Sabrina Gilman. You have more nerve than any woman I know. You certainly wouldn’t find me lancing boils and sewing up wounds.”

“This is different.”

“It’s easy. Simply open your mouth and say, ‘Mr. Stanhope, would you care to join my family and guests for Thanksgiving dinner?’ Now you try.”

Gillie burst into peals of laughter.

“What’s so funny? They say Queen Victoria proposed marriage to Prince Albert. A dinner invitation pales in—”

“Sophie?” Lucy came into the parlor wearing her fanciest hat. “We should start for the church soon.”

“I’m ready.”

The three women left the Verandah. Sophie and Lucy turned toward the church. Gillie headed to Mr. Tanner’s livery to retrieve her horse and rig.

As Lucy had predicted, the church was packed. Sophie followed her down the crowded aisle and squeezed into a pew next to Robbie’s parents. Mrs. Whiting bobbed her head in greeting before turning around to speak to Carrie Rutledge, who was seated behind them. Carrie leaned forward and patted Sophie’s shoulder.
“Happy Thanksgiving, my dear. I hope you aren’t too homesick for Wyatt and Ada.”