Legacies (33 page)

Lije nodded, then laid down his fork and gathered up the cloth napkin, wiping his mouth with it. "Tell Phoebe supper was good." He pushed out of his chair.

"Where are you going?"

"To check on the horses, make sure Deu has them safely out of sight." He moved toward the door.

"Lije, aren't you going to ask about Diane?" Susannah challenged. "Don't you want to know how she is? Isn't there anything you want me to tell her?"

He began to walk away.

"Lije," she began in protest.

"What can I say?" The question exploded from him, harsh with anger, but Susannah saw that beneath the anger there was pain. "That I still think about her? What good would that do either of us? I have a responsibility that puts me in direct opposition to her wishes. But she doesn't see it that way. She won't understand that I have to do what I believe is right." He stopped, recognition flickering across his expression that he had revealed too much. "It's old ground, Susannah. Leave it alone," he said and walked out.

 

Temple sat in the armchair positioned next to the bed, her eyes closed in exhaustion as she drifted in that state that was neither wakefulness nor sleep. She awakened with a start to the sounds of thick moans and rustling sheets. Her glance flew to the bed where The Blade stirred, his face twisted in a grimace, his fingers digging and clawing at the covers, moans coming from him in deep, grunting breaths.

She moved quickly to his side, running a hand over his brow to check for a fever. "Sssh, my love," she whispered.
 

"Pain . . . my back . . . leg."

She turned to her basket of medical supplies on the bed table and took out the bottle of laudanum. She fumbled briefly with its cork, then carried the bottle to his lips, cradling the back of his head in her hand.

"Take this." She poured a little into his mouth. "It will make the pain better." She spoke to him like a child. "Now, drink a little more. There, that's good."

While she waited for the drug to take effect, Temple moistened a cloth and bathed his face and neck. Several minutes passed before the groans subsided. His eyes opened slowly and tried to focus on her through the glaze of pain and opiate.

"Temple?" he mumbled uncertainly.

"I'm right here," she said, forcing a smile.

"Sorry . . . didn't mean to . . ."

"Sssh, don't talk now. Rest."

Dutifully, he closed his eyes.

"How is he?" Lije stood in the doorway, a dim figure in the guttering candlelight.

"Fine," she whispered, then tucked the covers around him and moved away from the bed toward Lije, her hands clasped in front of her, her fingers twisting in silent worry. "It's the pain. I gave him some laudanum. He should rest comfortably for a while." A rooster crowed. She glanced at the closed drapes, then back at the bed. "What time is it?"

"It's dawn." Lije stayed in the shadows, beyond the reach of the faint light. "You need to get some rest. I'll sit with him."

Temple shook her head. "I couldn't sleep."
 

"You need to try. He'll need your strength."
 

"I know, but—" Again Temple looked back at the bed.
 

"If there's any change at all, I'll wake you immediately."
 

Temple hesitated, then nodded. "Very well, but only for two hours."
 

"I'll wake you."

He waited until she left the room, then crossed to the bed. The faint, soft light of early morning filtered through the drapes. Lije blew out the candles and sat down in the chair next to the bed, taking up his vigil and rolling the bullet around and around between two fingers.

 

 

 

21

 

 

Restless, every muscle coiled with tension, Lije shoved on his campaign hat and headed out the door, no longer able to endure the sight of his father in pain. In the last thirty-six hours there had been almost no change in The Blade's condition. Lije would have been heartened by that, except for the intense pain that set in as soon as the laudanum began to wear off. His father was crazed with it.

Lije paused on the rear porch steps and inhaled a deep breath, trying to cleanse the nameless rage that seethed inside. The sun stood high in the sky. The first brown leaves of autumn tumbled across the grass, chased by a brisk afternoon breeze.

With narrowed eyes, he looked around. Nothing stirred; nothing moved. Once this plantation would have bustled with activity at harvesttime. Now there were no workers in the fields, no livestock in the pastures, no smells of newly mown hay, no rattle of cider presses. Instead, he saw sagging fences, empty Negro quarters, rusting equipment, and one wily old rooster strutting near the edge of the woods.

He pushed off the back porch and struck out toward the Negro quarters where the horses were hidden. He hadn't taken three strides when Sorrel called to him from the back porch, her voice tentative, "Lije?"

He swung back, mentally braced to be summoned back inside. "What is it?"

She stood on the porch, one arm hooked around a pillar. "Are you leaving now?" she asked with rare timidity.

"No," he breathed the word in irritation. "I'm going to check on the horses, make sure they have plenty of water."

"May I come along with you?"

He studied her for a silent moment, his lips coming together in a tight, grim line. Solitude was what he wanted—time alone to curse and rage and sort through the tangle of emotions that had his nerves on edge. But Sorrel was too quiet, nothing like the spoiled, tempestuous little sister he remembered. In fact, since his return, she had hovered in the background like a shadow.

"Come along if you want." His words were clipped, grudging.

Lije pivoted and again struck out for the cabins. He heard the swift, light patter of her footsteps behind him as Sorrel hurried to catch up. As soon as she drew level with him, she slowed and walked silently at his side, eyes down.

The horses were stabled in the burned-out shell of one of the cabins that had been hit by lightning the previous year. Lije waded through the tall, dry weeds to the side of the cabin, lifted aside the dead tree limbs that penned the horses, and stepped through.

A big-boned roan gelding lifted its Roman nose, snorted once at the sight of Lije, and went back to tearing at the sheaf of meadow grass at its feet. The other two flicked an ear at him and continued to eat. A check of the water buckets showed they were half full. Lije moved among the horses.

"Which one is yours?" Sorrel ventured closer, taking care where she stepped.

"I've been riding the roan."

She stepped beside the roan and ran a hand over its neck. "What happened to your horse Jubal?" she asked with quiet curiosity.

"He was shot out from under me last February." Lije examined a saddle sore on the chestnut's back.
 

"What's this one's name?"

"I haven't bothered to give him one." He picked up the chestnut's right front leg and cleaned its hoof with his knife. He didn't bother to tell her that, in war, the horses were dead too soon to name—either from enemy bullets, broken legs, or sickness. Counting Jubal, he'd had three mounts die; two others were back at Boggy Depot recovering from wounds.

"I would call him Red Smoke. That's what he looks like."

Lije grunted a nonanswer and picked up the next foot, the smell of horsehide, ash, and dung rising strong all around him.

"Lije?" Again, there was that tentative note in her voice, turning it all soft and uncertain and troubled.

"Yes." He glanced around to find Sorrel staring at him with dark, haunted eyes.

"Is Father going to die?"

"No." His answer came sharp and quick, and a certainty flowed through him the instant he spoke.

"But he could, couldn't he?" she said, all wrapped in gloom.

"He could," Lije admitted, but he no longer believed it.

Her chin quivered. "It would be my fault if he did."

Straightening, Lije frowned, an eyebrow shooting up in surprise. "Why?"

"Because"—she screwed her face up, fighting to hold back the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes—"I wished he were dead. I said"—she hiccoughed back a sob—"he deserved to die for all the homes he'd burned, the food he took, the people he killed. I said you should die, too, but I didn't mean it. I didn't. I didn't," she wailed.

Lije went to her. "Of course, you didn't." At first, she was stiff when he put his arms around her. He threaded his fingers through her red hair and forced her head against his chest. She sagged against him and wept in earnest. He let her cry. "You aren't to blame, Sorrel." The bullet was in his shirt pocket. He could feel the outline of it against his skin. "You had nothing to do with what happened."

"But I
wished
it," she murmured brokenly.

"How old are you now, Sorrel? Eleven? Twelve?" He tried to remember.

"Almost twelve," she admitted, her tears subsiding, but she continued to hide her face in his shirt front.

"Almost twelve." Drawing his head back, he hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it. Using a thumb, he wiped at the tears on her cheek. "Then you're old enough to know wishing doesn't make it so. You can't make anything happen by simply wishing it. It's only when you
act
on the wish. And you didn't, did you?"

"No."

"It was just something you said when you were upset, wasn't it?"

Sorrel nodded, watching him closely.

"I've been upset a few times—and said things I didn't mean. I was always sorry afterwards . . . just like you," he added with a faint smile.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled back her tears.

"I know." Lije paused, catching the noisy rustling of someone walking through the tall weeds outside.

"Lije?" Susannah called softly. "Are you in there?"

"Yes." He set Sorrel away from him and whispered to her, "Better get those tears wiped up. We don't want to explain to Susannah why you were crying." He left Sorrel rubbing the sleeve of her dress over her face and went to meet Susannah. "Did you need me?"

"Yes," she said with thinly disguised agitation. "Would you help me get the mule hitched? I have to go to the fort."

"Why?" Lije came back quickly. "Is the major worse?"

"It isn't that—we're almost out of laudanum. Temple's had to increase the amount and the frequency of the dosages just to keep the pain at a level The Blade can tolerate. Now it doesn't look like there will be enough to last through the night. I'm going to get more."

"How?" Lije frowned.

"I don't know," Susannah admitted with a vague shake of her head. "I'll make up something to tell the doctor. If I have to, I'll steal it. But I can't let The Blade suffer like that."

"No." In that, Lije was in total agreement.

 

The mule halted in front of the hospital. Susannah wrapped the reins around the wagon brake and bundled her skirts aside to climb down from the seat, then froze, a frisson of alarm shooting through her when she saw Alex walk out of the hospital. In all the many scenarios she had imagined during the ride to the fort, she hadn't considered the possibility she might encounter him. Reverend Cole, yes. Diane, yes. But not Alex.

"Alex, what are you doing here?" She let her surprise show as she swung to the ground and turned to meet him.

"I could ask you the same question." His mouth quirked in one of his familiar smiles, but there was something cold and hard in his gaze that chilled her.

"You aren't hurt, are you?" Susannah rushed to avoid an answer, her mind racing. Lije had told her that Kipp was dead, but instinct warned her not to let Alex know that she knew. She shot a glance at the hospital, the thought suddenly occurring to her that Lije might be wrong. "Is it Kipp? Is he—"

"My father is dead."

After that instant of doubt, his confirmation was like hearing the news all over again. "No," Susannah murmured.

"I brought his body back to the post yesterday. He was buried at sundown." His words were emotionless, as if all feeling had been crushed from them.

"Alex," Susannah said in genuine sympathy and reached out, gripping his arm in a gesture of comfort. "I am so sorry."

His eyes narrowed in their study of her, unnerving in their directness. "Aren't you going to ask how he died?"

"How?" she repeated, startled by the unexpected question and all that it implied. Had Alex been there? Had he seen what happened? Why else would he ask such a thing? "I just assumed—wasn't he shot by rebels?"

He considered her reply for an agonizingly long minute before he nodded, his mouth twisting in a bitter and cynical line. "Yeah, by rebels. The Blade will be pleased when he learns my father is dead, won't he?"

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that, Alex. Your father is dead. Let all that hatred die with him."

"Yeah." For the first time, his gaze shifted away from her. "My company is going out on patrol again tomorrow. Reverend Cole said he would go see Temple, let her know about my father."

"There's no need for him to make the trip all the way out to Grand View. I know how busy he is here. Let him know I'll tell her."

He nodded, then stepped to the wagon box. "What have you got back here?"

"Some old linen we tore up for bandages. Reverend Cole mentioned that, sadly, there is always need for more." The bandages alone were a flimsy reason to come to the fort. Aware of it, Susannah sought to change the subject. "You never said why you were at the hospital."

"I stopped to see a friend of mine," he said, then flexed his shoulders in a sudden restlessness. "Look, I'm supposed to be at the stables. I'd better get back before I'm missed. Give my regards to Granny El and Sorrel."

"I will."

Susannah watched as he moved off in the direction of the stables. The instant he was out of sight, she shuddered with relief and gathered up the bundled bandages, her excuse for coming in the event she ran into Diane.

Armed with the knowledge gained from working as one of Diane's volunteers at the hospital on three previous occasions, Susannah hurried into the building. She bypassed the wards where she might run into Diane and went straight to the supply room and small dispensary.