25. Caught in a Storm

1864 AUGUST 25, THURSDAY

25

The ground was muddy, and water still dripped from the maple leaves and spruce trees as Brett, Clara, Sergeant Downs, and I led our mounts toward the Green Mountains. As soon as the morning dawned bright and clear after last night's rain, Brett was at our doorstep.

Brett never ceased talking, pointing out the different plants and wildlife, naming trails and rock formations. It was called Smuggler's Notch, he told me, because the British smuggled goods from Canada during the War of 1812. Naturally, he teased, it was still used for illicit behavior because of all the caves and siltstone outcroppings. I recalled Seth telling me it was the same place the men who killed Robby were found hiding.

He retold childhood stories, and I was content in listening while navigating the rocky trails. Every once in a while, Clara's high-pitched giggle in response to Sergeant Downs would disrupt, and Brett would roll his eyes, causing me to hide my own laugh.

A pond, smooth and shining in the sun, had been placed by God at the top of the summit. Brett suggested an ancient glacier carved the basin where snow had melted, leaving the pristine small body of water. Fir and deciduous trees stretched out toward the water, shading a shore of shale and boulders. Hills and mountain peaks nestled our riding party.

Brett and I walked along the shoreline while I admired the view. Clara and Downs stayed back to set up the picnic on a flat rock.

"I've never seen anything like it in my whole entire life."

"I'm glad the weather cooperated so I could bring you here," he said.

We walked in silence, until Brett stopped to stare across the water.

"It's hard to believe people are dying when we're up here far away from it all, isn't it?" Brett asked.

I desperately wanted to smooth his brow, to touch his scar that marred his cheek—the wounds war gave him. Before I could stop myself, my gloved hand had reached his cheek, the roughness of stubble prickling through the fabric.

"What's wrong, Ella?" he asked, and I wondered if my own worries left scars on my face.

"It's nothing."

"Are you certain?"

I nodded and took my hand away from his face, but he grasped it in his.

"Now, angels don't lie," he said, inching closer and placing my hand against his chest.

I laughed at the use of the sweet nickname he gave me. "You have a decent heart, Corporal."

"Only decent?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with playfulness.

"Oh, you want me to praise you further, do you?" The momentary seriousness dissipated. "Well, sir, I think you are very egotistical, and you should humble yourself before I retract the compliment altogether."

"You wouldn't do that and wound a poor soldier's self-esteem?" he teased.

"Wouldn't I?" I quipped, turning to walk back to where Clara and Downs were setting up the picnic.

The wind picked up. Escaped hairs whipped across my face as we rode home. Brett advised we take another route that should help us avoid some of the wind. He led the way, telling us about the Williamses who used to live off the trail and how they one day disappeared. No one knew what happened to them, and everything was left behind. Some said they were killed and haunted their cabin to this day. But no bodies were ever found.

Clara told Brett to shut up and he teased, telling her she was a "'fraidy cat." Clara argued with him like a child, saying she was not, and Brett never stepped down, telling her she was indeed.

"Besides," Brett said, "that story is just a ghost story told to children so they don't come up here. There are too many bears to worry about."

"Oh, Brett, you're horrible!" Clara exclaimed.

Brett laughed as we continued down the stone- and root-muddled trail. The woods on either side grew to shield us from the wind. Finches rushed away from the treetops, a chorus of chirps.

"They know a storm's coming," Sergeant Downs observed.

"It will be a couple more hours until it hits." Brett seemed so sure of himself.

"I don't know, Brett." Clara fiddled with the reins. "Those clouds appear to be moving rapidly."

Brett shrugged and we continued forward, everyone but Brett glancing over our shoulders. The clouds were starting to choke out the blue sky, the sun having long since disappeared.

Tree branches swayed and leaves rustled overhead, the horses' hooves squelched as they trudged down the slick Notch Road. The wind carried a slight chill, causing goose bumps to run up my back and prickle the hair at my neck.

Brett galloped ahead, leaving us to continue picking our way down the trail. Clara called after him, but he announced he would meet us down the road. We trudged on, never slowing or stopping, but looking forward to where the trail would soon meet the road, leading us to the security of town. Finding shelter before the storm hit was our priority. We were still an hour away from St. Albans.

A few yards down the road, we met Brett, his horse stomping.

A single drop hit the bridge of my nose. Dark clouds gathered above.

"There." Brett pointed to the right, between the tree layers. If you looked closely, past a narrow clearing, overgrown with grass and ferns, there were wagon ruts. "The road to the Williams' place."

"Brett, not now," Clara whined. "We have no time for this. Oh, I just felt a raindrop! We must hurry back before it pours."

"No, we should go see it." Brett's eyes narrowed at his sister. "We shouldn't return without saying we've seen it for ourselves."

"Please, Brett, some other time when the weather is more reasonable. We'll die out here if we're caught in the storm!"

"You're overly dramatic!"

"I am not!" Clara snapped back. "I saw lightning in the distance."

"Ella will come with me. Won't you?" He turned to me, his eyes soft and pleading.

"I don't know, Brett. This storm is coming rather fast. I really don't think we should."

"Suit yourselves. I'll be just behind you all." Brett turned his mount away from us.

"Chisholm," Downs, ever the sergeant, called after Brett as he turned his horse toward the abandoned road. "We can't let you go alone, but we have young women to think of. We can't endanger them."

"Then you take them back. And hurry before the storm erupts," Brett said, an edge of irritation in his tone.

"I'll go with you," I found myself saying, fueled by a need to take care of him.

A flash of concern crossed Brett's face. "You shouldn't, Ella. Go with Sergeant Downs."

"It's all right. You need someone to stay with you." I urged my horse up beside him. "And we will only be a moment."

"May we go now?" Clara droned. "Ella, you don't always have to appease him. And Brett, don't be so careless."

Just then, the clouds to the east flashed, and we all stopped to listen for the echoing thunder.

"Ten miles," Downs announced.

"Brett, please," Clara begged now. "The lightning is dangerous. I will not lose you again!" The truth of her fear was written all over her face.

"You have yet to lose me, sis." Brett's tone turned soft. "Go with Downs, he'll protect you. After all"—he narrowed his eyes on Downs—"he is your fiancé."

I cringed and watched Downs's face to see if it would reveal anything. I sensed Brett knew his sister was his second choice.

"Just follow the path for another mile, and you should reach the road," Brett explained. "It leads behind our house a few acres away. You should be home in less than an hour … ahead of the storm. Ella will come with me, and we shouldn't be more than ten minutes behind you. Now don't worry, Clara, you'll be safely home in no time."

Clara bowed her head, resigned to her brother's stubbornness. She slumped in her saddle, tired of arguing with him. "Very well. Let's go, Matthew. We shouldn't delay any longer."

"I'll lead the way," Sergeant Downs told her, eyeing Brett and me with concern, a glint of jealousy flashing in his eyes.

"Be safe," Clara cautioned before they both turned away from us.

We didn't watch them ride away but led our horses down the path. I followed Brett where it narrowed and wound around trees. Trees groaned and wrestled with the wind. Thunder sounded again, closer this time. A drop here and there escaped the tree branches. The horses' ears twitched, listening to the approaching storm.

The trees reluctantly parted, revealing the small cabin. Branches brushed the eaves with each wind gust, as if wishing to hide the house from the suspicious world. A half-rotted porch sloped down from the front door. Soot-hazed windows flanked the door. Wild ivy grew along one side of the house, pressing into a single, broken windowpane. On the opposite side of the cabin stood a large lean-to, assumed to hold horses and livestock.

"It's looks less haunted than I thought," Brett observed, then he turned and pointed out through trees at the bluff's edge. "That sight is more haunting."

Earth fell away from the bluff, and hill after hill rolled toward the Green Mountains. Black clouds painted the horizon, flickering with light. We stood, watching the storm and listening. Clouds lit up again with lightning. Silently, we counted until thunder groaned, vibrating through the earth.

"We should head back," I said. "That one was close."

Brett hopped down from his mount. "It won't hit for a while yet. Come on," he urged, coming around to my horse, "let's go see what's inside."

Brett pulled me down from the saddle before I could protest, and I clung to him as he steered me toward the cabin. "Oh, Brett, please let's head back now. I don't feel right about this …"

"Scared you might see a ghost inside?" he teased.

"No, I'm not! Besides, there aren't such things as ghosts."

"There aren't, are there?" His eyebrows raised in question. "Let's just have a peek, then we can head back to the road."

Brett grasped my hand, leading me to the door.

"Come on, it's sturdy enough." Brett stomped his foot on the lopsided porch. Without warning, the board gave a cracking snap, and Brett's foot pierced through.

"Sturdy enough, huh?" I glared at him.

"Well, just not that board. Here." Brett continued to hold my hand, leading me to step over the broken board and to the door. His arm went around my waist as he pushed open the door. It creaked on rusty hinges.

It was one room, shadowed and covered with spider webs and dust. Dried leaves littered the floor and scattered across the few furnishings. Against the far wall was a bed, the quilt wrinkled up as if something had been nesting there. A roughly made cabinet stood against the wall. A small, maple-slab table with four mismatched chairs were set as though prepared for someone to come eat at them. Dusty, gray ash filled a stone hearth.

Shivers went up my spine, and I clutched on to Brett's arm. An abandoned cradle beside the hearth rocked to and fro as if a gentle hand still rocked it.

"It's just the wind," Brett assured me.

I stared at it for a while, as if not trusting an apparition to appear, until I forced my eyes to look elsewhere. A set of stairs jutted out by the bed, escaping up into the ceiling where there was a loft. I stepped in farther, my hand still on Brett's arm, and swiped away a spider web. The discarded items were sad, and I wondered what had become of the family. A chamber pot was left under the bed. A cloth doll hung limply upon a child-size chair in one corner, and the Holy Bible sat, molding and dusty, upon a bookshelf where no books were kept … only discarded cloth, a basket of darning, a pail and dipper, and a hammer and mallet. Everything was left as though the residents would soon arrive home from an afternoon drive. But they never returned.

"This is the saddest, little home I have ever seen," I said, breaking more webs.

"It is a sorry sight, isn't it? Not at all what I expected."

As I examined the house, I brushed cobwebs aside. A broom was hidden in the corner beside the door, and I picked it up to sweep out the leaves through the front door. I didn't know what compelled me to swipe away the dirt; it just made me sad that a family's home would be left to fall apart without them. I swept out the last of the leaves. A sudden chill blew through the open door and broken window. I took up a scrap of fabric, nails, and a hammer and handed it to Brett to cover the broken window.

Then came the rain.

"Shit!" Brett exclaimed.

We looked out the open door. The sky had burst. Rain poured in sheets, obscuring the tree line on the bluff. A horse whinnied. Both of them shifted restlessly and pulled at their reins tied to a nearby tree. A lightning bolt streaked through the sky. Thunder responded, rumbling the earth.

Brett's face went stony and pale. I waited for him to tell me what to do.

He simply said, "I'll have to put the horses up in the lean-to."

"Put the horses up?"

"We'll have to stay here until the storm subsides."

"I knew we shouldn't have come."

"It's too late for that now. I'll see to the horses. Stay in the house and see if there are any spare blankets lying around … and maybe some candles."

He ducked out into the rain, his hat pulled low against the force of the downpour. I closed the door and turned to the room. Water was already dripping from the eaves, leaving wet circles on the dusty floor. I hastened to the cabinet by the table and opened it. Old preserve jars were stacked, and dead bugs lying on their backs littered the shelf. I grunted in disgust and picked up a stack of pie pans to place under the leaks.

Brett was as wet as a fish when he came in. Water dripped from his hat brim, and his shirt was plastered to his chest. Brett had his arms full of firewood he discovered in the lean-to. We silently prayed it wasn't damp, but the discarded matchbook I found was useless. Rain sounded like dirt pellets drumming against the wooden roof. Water continued to gather in random places along the eaves, and I hurried to put down more pie pans. Thunder boomed and the earth shuddered. The storm was right above us now. Lightning lit up the small cabin as bright as day, followed by another rumble.

I looked out the window but distinguished nothing through the dirty glass, water streaming down in rivulets. Lightning and thunder struck again, blasting the cabin with light and shaking the floor beneath us. Brett startled, dropping a log close to his toe. He did not have to explain, for I had heard about the effects of soldiers' nostalgia. The thunder claps must be sending him back to the battlefield.

The storm had darkened the day, and the only telltale sign night was approaching was the protest of our stomachs. There were no picnic leftovers except for an apple, which we both shared. I did not trust the leftover pickled preserves on the shelves. By the time darkness descended, Brett had yet to ignite the firewood. Lightning continued to flash every minute, illuminating the cabin in white light. Brett sparked a flame in the wood, adding more kindling and a couple split logs.

"You better get out of those clothes, or you might as well catch pneumonia," I warned, handing him the quilt I shook out.

He escaped under the loft stairwell.

I made myself comfortable on the rug, before the fire. It was going to be a long night, and I was still hungry.

The last time I was this famished was on my way to Gettysburg. It rained then too. Now, it seemed like a lifetime ago since I'd said goodbye to Robert. I was a different person now, and my memories of him were fading dreams. I could barely remember his face, let alone the sound of his voice and the touch of his kisses.

Instead, there was John. John comforting me. John's strong hands and warm eyes, bright in the gray light of a camp tent. John pressing me against a wall, kissing me, touching me in the dark, while I whispered his name and he said he loved me.

Brett touched my arm. I flinched, taking me out of my reverie.

He held the quilt closed around his shoulders, draping his wet clothes across a chair before the hearth. He leaned over to set his boots in front of the fire, his calves bare. I averted my gaze at the glimpse of his white undergarments.

"I'm sorry. This will not go down as one of my finer ideas." He smirked. "I'm certain Clara won't let me forget it."

"Nor I." I rolled my eyes.

Silence fell over us and we both sat there, staring into the flames and listening to the storm outside.

"What are you thinking about?"

I smiled at him, feeling open and honest. He seemed vulnerable beneath the quilt while the storm threatened to return him to war, and I felt the need to soothe him with my own woes. "My past."

"Ah … I feel like I know you, but in truth, I do not." His eyes pierced mine, like matching blue flames.

"You're right. I know more about you. Your mother and sister love talking about you."

Brett chuckled. "Embarrassingly, that's true. Tell me something. What do I need to know about Ella?"

I considered his question. "Perhaps, if there is anything you should know about me, it is that the last two years have taught me to live in the present. Even if there are regrets."

He reached out to touch my sleeve. "The war will do that to you … faced with your mortality."

Sadness washed over me.

"Why did you come to St. Albans?"

"I had to, for protection. So I didn't have to live in fear."

"Live in fear?" He intertwined his fingers with mine.

"I'm not sure it's safe for you to know. Not everything. Mrs. Mathis is aware, but I don't think she or the others know everything. John knows, though."

"John Mathis?"

I nodded. "It was his idea for me to come here. I was a stranger when I arrived. I still feel like I don't belong." I shrugged.

"You belong here." He squeezed my hand.

I gave a wane smile. "Thank you, but I don't. Not really. I've felt so guilty about burdening the Mathises, putting them in this impossible position. John encouraged me and helped me see that I can make a life here."

One I might have made with him if circumstances were different.

I released a long sigh, collecting myself. Then I told him. I told him about Robert Moore and how we would have never been, but I was determined to have him. I told him about Ethan Harris, and how bitterness and my need to please my parents led me to accept his proposal.

"Ethan Harris is a dangerous man. I would not have survived that marriage. Somehow, he discovered the relationship between Robert and me. I learned later that Ethan had paid Robert as his substitute, threatening me and his family if he did not take the enlistment. He is a jealous man and a prideful man. He does not give up easily."

I went on to tell Brett about John riding all the way from Gettysburg, despite being worn from battle and risking discharge, to find me and deliver Robert's letter. How I put my complete trust in him, and he brought me to Robert's deathbed. I told Brett the promise I made to take care of his sister, Katie, and the promise John made to take care of me.

"My pa has learned other incriminating evidence against Ethan since then. John helped him convince Ethan to leave the state. He has since disappeared over Rebel lines. No one knows where he is now." I did not know how much I should confide in Brett. I trusted him enough to share this much, but I also needed to protect Pa.

"You and Katie should be safe here. We are so far north, the war and Ethan won't touch you here." Brett scowled, his face fierce.

I appreciated his protectiveness. Brett cared about me and was a true friend.

That's why I felt like I could tell him.

Looking down at my hands, I said, "During John's Christmas furlough, he told me he was in love with me."

"He did?" His brows shot up. "Did you tell him you loved him too?"

"I'm still in love with him, but I'm not sure he knows. I wrote a letter, but I don't know if it ever reached him. No one has received a letter from him since."

"Why didn't you tell him when he was here?" Brett asked, his face earnest.

"I was scared. I didn't even realize I truly loved him until that night, and it terrified me. I didn't want to disappoint Mrs. Mathis after she had done so much for Katie and I. But more than anything, I didn't want to be hurt again. I was still healing from the loss of Robert and my home. I was confused. Now, knowing that he is reported missing and possibly even dead, I regret rejecting him that night and wish I could turn back the clock."

"Sadly, it does not work that way. We lose, we grieve, but eventually, we must keep marching."

He was squeezing my heart, telling me to move forward. Brett's eyes were urgent, as if wishing me to forget, flickering in the firelight.

His hand went to my cheek, stroking up, threading his fingers through my tresses and letting pins fall.

"You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen." His face leaned toward me, burying his nose into my hair. "I almost expect it to smell like honey." His breath tickled my ear. "But I'm pleasantly surprised it smells of lavender."

I could hear myself breathing as he moved his face, his cheek pressing against mine, and his arms encircling my back to embrace me. The blanket parted, revealing his broad chest.

"Do you think … do you think you could ever make room in your heart for me?" he asked tentatively.

I didn't reply; he knew. I bared my soul to him already. John had my heart.

But we were both lonely and needing affection.

His hand left my hair, and instead, he cupped my face, searching each other's eyes. Asking permission. Asking to fill a void. I found myself nodding. Brett's lips brushed mine, and I couldn't stop my eyes from closing. It was a sweet kiss. A kiss meant to soothe. I wanted this, and I found myself leaning toward him, urging him on. The softness turned demanding, and I could feel his breath enter my mouth.

I did nothing to stop him, but my eyes inched open, as if waking from sleep, watching him trail kisses along my jaw and down my neck. The scar marred across his chiseled cheekbone was more severe in the firelight. My fingers feathered across the pink, jagged skin. Shadows flickered in the room as lightning illuminated the sky, and the orange flames danced across his features. His hands moved across my back, holding me tighter against him, his flesh burning through my riding habit. Brett's mouth moved down my neck to my collar. He unbuttoned the top button, his lips moving to my collarbone, then he unbuttoned the next button, revealing cleavage. He began to push me back against the floor, his lips coming back upon mine, hungry, and my elbow hit the floorboard.

Reality came crashing down, and I put my hands between us, pushing against Brett's chest. This didn't feel right. The void was still there because John wasn't here.

"I can't do this, Brett." This wasn't fair to Brett. I tried to catch my breath. "I'm sorry, but I just can't." I was worried he would be angry.

Brett guided us back up. He ran his hand through his hair and brought the blanket about his neck, his cheeks crimson.

Gathering his knees beneath the blanket, he said, "No, it's all right." He didn't look at me.

My fingers fumbled with the buttons. "This shouldn't have happened." If we were to arrive home in the morning, after being alone together all night, assumptions would already be made. I wasn't about to let that happen, not when I was still considered a guest of the town. And I had Katie to think of—not to mention bringing humiliation to the Mathis home. I mortified Mrs. Mathis enough after my conduct at Governor Smith's Christmas party.

"We should try to get some rest. Here." Brett handed the blanket to me, wrapping it around my shoulders. He was embarrassed and disappointed, yet he was still willing to bare himself just to provide me comfort. My stomach growled with hunger, leaving me to clutch my middle. Thunder and lightning rolled in the distance as the storm moved away. Rain filled the pie pans.

Brett put an arm around my shoulders, bringing me to him. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to his steady breathing as the fire dimmed to embers. And I felt safe.