Chapter Four

B rad snapped the reins against Captain's haunches. "C'mon, boy. We've got to get these people home." Captain seemed to be moving so slow, Brad checked the reins to make sure he wasn't pulling back on them. He could probably walk faster than Captain.

He wiped at the rain running past his eyes and down his mask and blinked. Was there a light up ahead? No one else lived between his place and Caleb's. No one could be out with a lantern trying to find their way. But then these people had been. What they were doing on this road in a storm like this, he couldn't imagine. Of course, he had ridden into the storm, so they probably had, too.

Brad urged Captain toward the light. Like a curtain pulled across a window, the rain stopped. The sun hung low in the sky ready to set behind Appalachian Mountains. A slight breeze whisked branches back and forth. Birds chirped. It was like walking through a dense wall of fog into a pure, crystal setting. No rain dripped from leaves. There were Captain's hoofprints in the dry road going toward his brother's.

"What the blazes?"

The buggy bumped from the muddy, slippery path onto the dry, dirt road, nearly unseating Brad in the process. Another moan came from the back of the buggy, but he didn't want to take the time to stop and investigate. While Captain plodded along, Brad stood and looked behind him. The raging storm was fading away. The storm didn't seem to be moving in any other direction. It was simply disappearing like fog slowly lifting on a spring morning.

Brad took off his mask and shook his head. This had to be one of the strangest storms he had ever seen in his thirty-two years. He urged Captain into a gallop. A row of pine trees loomed ahead on his right. He was close to the road to Whispering Pines. He was almost home.

He snapped the reins. "C'mon, old boy, we're almost there. A warm blanket and food wait around the corner."

Once they reached the narrow road leading to Whispering Pines, Captain needed no more encouragement. He was close to getting rid of the attached buggy and was more than eager to end the ordeal. With no more urging, Captain made the right turn to the farm. Brad feared the buggy would tip over in Captain's exuberance.

Towering pines grew on both sides of the drive, the wide, lower branches left untrimmed, barely leaving room for the buggy to pass. Brad liked the privacy the trees gave his home. Because of the eerie feeling given off by the close-growing trees, few hawkers or drummers came to the house. Brad or one of his employees made the six-mile trek to Romney to purchase goods not grown on his farm. Because the road was not often used by wagons or buggies, it was full of rocks and ruts. Brad flinched at the treatment his passengers were probably experiencing.

His stomach rolled. The last thing he needed was to help a woman give birth again.

As he rounded the last turn to his farm, a burst of pride filled him. Even though it wasn't the place he was raised in, it was his. Caleb, being the older brother, inherited the family farm on the death of their father.

Several years ago, the owner of Whispering Pines, Jack Castlewood, had died and left it to his only child, Belinda. Being more interested in spending her fortune rather than in running the place, Castlewood Manor, as it had then been called, quickly deteriorated. Belinda gradually sold off her slaves and land, which Brad purchased.

He refused to own slaves and hired many of them back as his employees, which didn't endear him to some of his neighbors. The Kembles had never kept slaves. The Castlewood slaves were more than happy to be treated as human beings and earn a decent wage. Everyone had worked hard the past two years to get the house back to its former grandeur and on a profitable track. It had been hard work, but worth it. The long, strenuous days kept the memories at bay, too.

Brad stopped the buggy in front of the large, two-story structure. A covered porch downstairs and a balcony upstairs ran across the front of the house. Eight white pillars supported the porch roof. On the second-floor balcony, sections of railings like white picket fencing were attached to the pillars, a safety feature. Long, green, double-shuttered windows ran across the front, again on both floors. The entrance on the lower level was a large, double door, while directly above it on the second floor stood a single door leading from the master bedroom. At night, when memories of better times kept him from sleeping, he would go onto the front porch and listen to the katydids until he became sleepy enough to doze in his rocking chair.

Three dormers ran across the slopping roof on the third floor. When slaves had taken care of the place, the house slaves had lived in those tiny, hot rooms. Brad had added windows on the opposite sides of the house to allow for a cross breeze. He then converted the rooms into an apartment for Cora, his housekeeper, and her family. Several chimneys were interspersed with the dormers.

The first order of business was to get some of those fires going before it got dark. He jumped from the buggy and checked on Libby and the boy, who were asleep. It would be better if he got the fires going in the extra bedrooms before he brought them in. At least the rooms would be warm. As he ran up the walk he called out to Cora and her husband, Zack. No one answered.

"Damn, I gave them the day off." He ran across the front porch and threw open the door. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior, he took in the scent of beeswax Cora used to keep his home shining. A day didn't go by when she didn't have one of her girls running a cleaning rag across the furniture and floor. Sometimes he was afraid to walk across the floor for fear of adding a speck of dust to it or landing on his backside on the glossy surface. He glanced down at his mud-crusted boots and grimaced. Cora was going to have a fit for sure. There was nothing he could do about it and headed for the curved staircase running along the right wall in the large foyer. A door beneath the curve of the stairway led to the backyard where the summer kitchen was located.

When Brad reached the top of the stairs, he paused. There were six bedrooms. Three on either side of the hallway. His room was in front on the left side. If he went straight down the hallway, he would come to two spare rooms. On the opposite side were three other rooms. Two of the rooms had a connecting door between them. One was to have been a nursery. He would put Libby in one room and the boy in the other so the woman could hear her son if he cried during the night. The last room was another spare room.

Brad threw open the door to the nursery. As he attempted to start a fire, he tried not to remember how Lucinda had decorated this room. As he struck the matches and lit the kindling, his cold fingers gave him trouble. After several fumbling tries, a small piece of wood caught. He gently blew on it until the flame caught the bark and wood around it. If only the fireplace on the other side of the wall were open to this one, it would save time. He rose and pulled open the heavy drapes covering windows on the two outer walls. Even though Cora kept the room neat, Brad hadn't been in the room in over a year. The late evening light sent rays filtering through dust motes from the drapes.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before facing the ghosts this room offered. Letting out a shaky sigh, Brad opened his eyes. In one corner stood the small bed to be used by a nanny. A cradle stood to one side near the bed, an unused patch quilt laying over its side. A wooden rocking horse, from his childhood, sat in the opposite corner to the bed, its reins hanging on either side of the wooden head, the ends touching the floor. A massive dresser had been placed against an outer wall between two windows. Brad didn't have to open the drawers to know they were still filled with baby items lovingly made by his late wife, Lucinda.

Captain's whinny brought him back to the present. He yanked open the connecting door to the next room and started another fire. His hands had warmed, so he was able to accomplish it in no time. Before going down to get his guests, he pulled open the chifforobe and grabbed one of Lucinda's nightgowns and a long robe. This room had been set up for her to stay in if their child became ill. She had worried about waking Brad if she had to attend to the child, so the room was made into a second bedroom for her. It had never been used.

Brad tossed the robe on the bed before running back down the stairs, across the foyer, and out the front door. Libby looked up when he threw open the buggy door.

"Are we at the hospital?" she whispered as she pulled her hair from her eyes.

"Hospital?" In his experiences during the war, the last place he'd take someone was a hospital. "No, we're at my farm, Whispering Pines." He reached for her hand. "We need to get you and your son into the house and warm beds. Can you walk?"

****

W alk? She didn't even think she could straighten her stiff legs, let alone walk. Before moving, she tried to clear her fuzzy brain and focus on the man standing in the doorway of the carriage. He seemed to be standing in shade because Libby couldn't see his face. When Libby didn't answer him, he leaned further into the buggy.

"Ma'am, can you walk, or move?" The man reached out and put a hand on her forearm.

Libby focused on the large hand resting on her arm. Long, tapered fingers with a dusting of dark hair. Dirty ruffles from his sleeve partially covered the back of his hand, also dusted with black hair. There was a reassuring strength in the gentle way he touched her. Libby pulled her glance from his hand and looked at his face. No wonder she couldn't make out his features—he had a hood over his face. Recalling his soothing voice from before, Libby wasn't afraid this time. For some reason, she trusted this man. The man's voice finally penetrated, and Libby focused on his words.

"Ma'am, please. Are you all right? Can you move?"

"I'm awfully stiff. And I'm not sure if I can turn around to get out the door. My stomach is in the way."

****

A t the mention of her pregnancy, Brad glanced at her stomach. Beneath his mask, his face grew warm with embarrassment as she rubbed her hand across her rounded belly. Except for his wife and his brother's wife, Colleen, Brad had never been this close to an expectant woman before. Most woman stayed in the confines of their homes when their time was near. What on earth was he going to do if the baby was born before Cora came back? He'd never be able to handle it.

Rousing himself from his musings, Brad took in Libby's predicament. Her legs were curled underneath her, her knees and stomach facing away from the door. With her back leaning against the seat, she had to turn her head over her shoulder to talk to him. How on Earth would she turn and stand?

"Ma'am, can you push yourself up and onto the seat?"

Libby put the palms of her hands on the floor on either side of her backside and tried to push herself up. "I'm too big and tired." Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Now, Ma'am, crying isn't going to help right now. We need to get you and your son out of this buggy and into warm beds."

Libby hiccupped back a sob and glanced around the cramped space. "Okay. What are we going to do?"

Brad thought for a second. There was no way she would be able to swing her legs around and slide out the door on her backside. Getting onto all fours and backing out on her hands and knees was out of the question, too. She was so big; she would scrape her belly on the floor of the buggy. Another idea came to him. One which would cause embarrassment, but Brad could think of no other way.

"If I crawl in the buggy and lift you, you could get onto the seat and then climb out."

Libby chewed on her bottom lip and looked at the narrow space. "I suppose it's the only thing we can try but be careful not to step on Charlie."

Brad placed both hands on the interior of the buggy door, pulled himself inside, and sighed. At least with his mask on, his worry wouldn't show. "I'm going to try really hard not to hurt you, Ma'am. I'm going to lift you under your arms. You grab my arms and help me pull you up. All right?"

****

L ibby looked at the mud-caked boots straddling her legs then moved further up his body. His white pants were wet and coated with mud. A pant strap hung over the top of the high boots. Stirrups? Was he actually wearing stirrup pants? A man? Three-year-old He was even wearing a cravat. The only reason she knew the name of it was from the books she read. She had never actually seen anyone wear one.

"Ma'am? Are you ready?"

"Quit calling me Ma'am. My name is Libby."

"Fine, Miss Libby, let's get you out of here." His sigh seemed louder, almost eerie through his mask.

Libby raised her arms to help him. His hands brushed against her breasts.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Sorry for what? Let's just get this over with." The pain in her lower back made her irritable. If she didn't get out of this carriage soon, she'd scream.

He put his hands under her arms. "Now grab my arms and pull."

Libby did as he said. He lifted her high enough where the back of her legs hit the seat. Her leg muscles protested when she stretched them out. Great. All she needed now was a cramp. She rubbed her hands down her legs when a wail, like two cats fighting, pierced the carriage.

"Mommy! Let go of my Mommy! You're hurting her!"

Charlie grabbed the man's leg with one arm and tried to grab his hand with the other. Tears were streaming down his face. She'd only seen him this angry once when another young boy called Ben a damn Yankee while at a reenactment. If he gripped Brad's leg any harder, he'd draw blood.

"Let go of her, you're hurting her!" His scream was enough to pierce an eardrum.

"Charlie, stop it right now. He's not hurting me. Let go of his leg!"

"No!" Charlie voice was like a growl as he sunk his teeth into Brad's leg.

"Ouch! Dammit, kid! Stop it! Release me at once." He swung his leg out in an attempt to detach the boy while trying not to drop Libby. The teeth dug in further. "Lady, get your son off me."

Libby let go of Brad's arms, yet he managed to keep her from falling. "Charles Bernhardt Daniels, you let go of him this instant!" She pulled on his arm. "He's not hurting me. Let go of him so he can let go of me. I'm trying to sit down."

While Charlie released his bite on Brad's leg, he kept holding his pants, tipped his head back, and looked up at Libby. She gave him one of her teacher frowns. But Charlie was tenacious in protecting her. If the situation hadn't been so serious she would have laughed.

"I'm sorry. I don't think he's going to let go of your leg."

Even though she couldn't see his face, she imagined the pain on his face by having teeth imbedded in his leg. "Uh, I think I can sit down now." Libby touched the seat behind her. "If you could just move me back, I could sit down, and maybe Charlie will let go of you."

****

"I certainly hope so ." Luckily, he didn't have far to go to set her down, but when the backs of Libby's legs hit the seat, she fell backward. With Charlie holding onto his leg, Brad couldn't keep his balance. He didn't want to land on her stomach, so he rolled to his side and landed on his back. He heard Libby let out a groan when she landed on the seat. Charlie let go of his leg and pummeled his lower back with his small fists.

"You hurt her! You hurt my Mommy! I hate you!"

Libby rolled to her side and sat up. She grabbed Charlie by the back of his pants. "Charlie! Stop hitting him! I'm okay. Charlie! Look at me! I'm okay!" She pulled him off Brad, onto her lap, and rocked him, murmuring into his ear to calm him down.

"See, I'm okay. The baby's okay. This man was only trying to help me up. I'm glad you wanted to protect me like a big boy, but you owe him an apology for biting and hitting him."

Charlie finally calmed down enough to look at him. He waited for the boy to shrink back at Brad's mask. His heart warmed when Charlie looked him in the face and apologized.

"Sorry." He frowned. "Why do you wear that thing on your face?"

"Shush, Charlie. You shouldn't ask such rude questions."

Brad sat up, leaned toward Charlie, and chuckled. "It's all right, boy. No harm done. Every boy should protect his mother like you did. Your mother should be proud of you." Brad winced as he stood up. He could imagine blood mixing with the mud on his leg. "Now, let's get you and your mother out of here and into some dry clothes and warm beds. You're a big boy, I'm sure you can help me."

Libby gave him a little grin. "Okay, Charlie, you can help the man, but you make sure you do what he says."