22. Secrets

1864 JULY 5, TUESDAY

22

Nearly a month had passed, and the men in the Chisholms' care were all on the mend. Brett turned a corner, recovering from the infection. The hospital was less crowded, as men either recovered or succumbed, allowing us all to return to some semblance of normalcy.

I had been alone in the house for the past day, while Mrs. Mathis, Nora, and Renny were over at the Smiths' home. A message arrived early in the morning that a healthy baby boy was born. They gave him the name John Mathis Smith. My heart clenched seeing his name written. I wondered what John would have thought about his nephew being named after him.

Alone, Katie kept me busy, but as soon as she was asleep, the house dark and silent, I could not quiet my brain. My thoughts whirled with worries for John. I tossed and turned in my bed. The room was too hot. I dreaded the return of the nightmare I had the previous night. I could not recall the details, but it hovered over me like a fog, tugging at my mind with a sense of foreboding. It made me question whether I was truly safe here.

I huffed and propped myself up on my elbows. My eyes pinned on my cedar chest. The revolver. I needed to find ammunition. No one else was here to protect me.

I went to the chest and opened it, retrieving the Colt. The metal was cold in my hand, and it glinted in the dim moonlight. Flashes of Ethan's angry, determined face on another moonlit night … I shook my head to dislodge it. Wrapping my robe around me and dropping the gun in the side pocket, I tiptoed from my room. The weight and cold metal seemed to burn through my night clothes as it bumped against my leg on my way down the hall.

I knew where to find bullets. A large, crafted gun closet with glass doors stood in the cellar. The house was silent in the dark, but I still listened for signs of the Mathis women's return. Neck hair prickled when Moses barked outside. Sweat broke out beneath my arms. I padded downstairs until I reached the kitchen. Opening the door, I feared I would come face-to-face with one of the servants, even though they had long departed for the evening.

The room was still warm from the cook stove, although a slight breeze escaped from a small window propped open with a cookery book. Glowing coals emitted heat from the hearth. The scent of fish and grease clung to the stuffy air. The air wafting through the window stirred the dry herbs in the low rafters, casting a scent of spice more pleasant than the fish fry.

At the back corner of the kitchen was the cellar. I picked up the candle and matches from the hearth, lighting it. The cellar door squeaked on the rusty hinges. If that did not give my presence away to someone still in the house, the creaking, wooden steps would. The candlelight guttered when it touched the cool air of the cellar.

The cellar was narrow and rectangular. Cedar floorboards covered the dirt floor, and shelves and cabinets were filled with jarred preserves and dried goods. In the far corner, near the outside storm door, was a rack of assorted, aged wine, champagne, bourbon, scotch, cooking sherries, and other bottled liquors. From the ceiling hung a glass lantern, the metal oil dish and handle crusted over with red-brown rust.

Light reflected off the gun cabinet's paneled, glass doors, the shadows escaping as I ran the candlelight before me, revealing several hunting rifles, a couple Colt revolvers, three old muskets, and a tarnished LeMat revolver. I shone the light upon the LeMat, for I heard it mentioned once that the revolver used to be John's.

The cabinet opened with a soft click. Beneath the mounted weaponry were two ammunition drawers. The top drawer held several tin boxes of gunpowder and ammunition. Picking up the middle box, which belonged to the Colt revolvers, I slid open the lid, but there were only four paper cartridges. Their disappearance would be noticed if I took a couple.

A scurrying creak sounded from the rafters, and I held my breath to listen. The darkness on the other side of the cellar door stood still like a yawning cave. Exhaling, I replaced the lid on the box and took up the box of LeMat ammunition. I lifted the lid and saw that it was packed full of brown, paper cartridges. Taking the revolver from my pocket, I opened the revolving cylinder and began loading it, twisting it to load every circular slot. Once it was loaded, I placed it back in my pocket. I gathered two more cartridges in my other pocket and closed the lid. The click of the cabinet doors as I shut them sounded louder in the deafening silence. I was now a thief.

I hurried back up to the kitchen, finding it empty. I extinguished the candle and placed it back on the mantel. The floorboards seemed to creak louder under my feet than I remember. Through the open window, crickets chirped. Thi-ef. Thi-ef. Thi-ef.

Holding my pockets so the revolver and cartridge did not bounce against my thighs, I scurried out of the kitchen. Rounding the corner in the hall, I startled seeing Seth tiptoeing down the steps.

He stumbled, the candle trembling in his hand as he regained his balance. His white, button-up shirt was tucked into brown trousers, held up with suspenders.

"You scared me half to death, Seth." I clutched one hand to my collar, closing my robe tight.

A lopsided grin traced Seth's lips. "Likewise. What are you doing down here in the dark?" His eyebrows arched.

"I should be asking you the same."

"You first, Ella."

"I couldn't sleep."

"And?" He looked at me expectantly.

I pinched my lips.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Slung across his back was a small haversack.

"Are you sneaking out?"

In the flickering candlelight, I could see his worried eyes and furrowed brow. "Please, don't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone you were down in the cellar either."

"You knew I was there?"

Seth shrugged again. "I went into the kitchen to grab a few provisions and saw light from the cellar."

He hadn't stopped me then.

"I won't say anything if you won't." His brow smoothed, and his cocky grin returned. He looked so much like John in the low light. Seth set down the candle on the sideboard and stuck out his hand.

Sighing, I shook it. "Fair enough."

"Follow me for a moment." Seth tilted his head toward the kitchen.

Once he closed the kitchen door behind us, he held out his hand.

"What?"

"Let me see if you did it right."

"I'm sorry? I'm not sure I know what you mean." I suffered the lie, though he must know what I stole.

"I heard the gun cabinet open. It's obvious by the way you're holding your pockets you have a revolver and cartridge in there."

Seth flourished his hand, impatient, and I relented to hand him the gun.

He inspected the revolver, opening the cylinder.

"Do you want to kill yourself?" Seth chastised, taking the bullets from the revolver.

"No, I was not planning on it."

"Well, you would have if you tried to fire these. These aren't the right bullets." Seth put down the revolver and cartridge on the kitchen table. He rummaged through his sack and took out a Colt revolver and paper cartridge.

"Where did you get that?" I asked him.

"Won it in a bet," Seth confessed. "It's just for protection," he explained. Protection from what?

Seth took the bullets from his own gun, replacing them in mine, and gave me the paper cartridge.

"Here." He handed back the revolver. "I can get more."

"Thank you, Seth."

Seth nodded. "What do you plan to use it for?"

"Same as you. Protection."

"Well, promise me you'll let me teach you before you go firing that thing."

"How do you know I don't know how?" I asked, hoping my feigned confidence would get him to leave my secret alone.

He gave me a pointed look. Loading it with the wrong bullets was a dead giveaway. He flashed a grin and turned toward the back door. What was he protecting himself from? I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling naked now that someone knew one of my secrets.