CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can. . . .

—J. R. R. TOLKIEN

I stared at myself in the mirror, quite pleased at what I saw. Julia had unearthed a gown that had belonged to Stuart’s mother, Catherine, and, with Sukie’s help, had altered it for me as a surprise. I was touched at their efforts, not to mention the fact that the dress was breathtakingly beautiful. The two women had updated the style to make it fashionable again and made the necessary adjustments so that it would fit. The bloodred velvet accentuated the darkness of my hair, which Sukie had left down with lots of loose curls and tendrils, only anchoring the sides with mother-of-pearl combs. The off-the-shoulder neckline revealed more décolletage than I thought appropriate. I kept trying to hoist the dress up until finally Julia slapped my hand away. I acquiesced to wearing a corset, and Sukie cinched in my waist to a size I was sure it hadn’t been since I was eight. I felt like I was playing dress-up. And I loved every minute of it.

As Sukie was putting the last touches on my hair, a slight tapping sounded on the door. At my request, the door opened and Stuart hung back in the threshold, his expression unreadable.

“Have you come for a Christmas truce? Or are you going to just stand there and gawk?”

Sukie quickly grabbed a shawl and threw it over my shoulders while she whispered in my ear, “You don’ want to spoil the surprise.”

“I suppose you may call this a truce of sorts.” He entered the room and placed a small black box on the dressing table in front of me. “These were my mother’s, and when Julia told me you would be wearing that dress, I knew you had to wear these, too. I remember my mother wearing them together.”

Curious and touched, too, I reached for the box and opened it. The beaded onyx earrings sparkled in their nest of black velvet, every bead glistening and reflecting the candlelight. I picked them up and jiggled them to catch them in full effect. I swallowed deeply and searched his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Stuart, these are wonderful. Thank you.” I slipped the posts into my pierced ears and shook my head at the mirror, hearing the slight clicking as the beads bumped into each other.

“Allow me.” Sukie stepped back as Stuart leaned over and plucked the matching necklace out of the box and placed it on my neck. The cool beads chilled my throat, but his hands were warm where they rested on my skin while he fastened the necklace. I caught his reflection in the mirror, making me think of a parallel universe. Perhaps Stuart, and these people who now filled my life, had always lived behind the glass, their warm flesh blocked by its coldness and only accessed by the most inexplicable of events.

“You look beautiful, Laura.”

“Thank you.” I turned my attention to his clothes, the same ones I had seen him in earlier. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will see to it right away.” Bowing formally, he walked out of the room, almost bumping into Julia on the way in.

“Laura, you look absolutely stunning.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, admiring her powder blue silk with the noticeably higher neckline covered with a lace fichu.

Julia caught sight of my earrings and touched one delicately with her fingers. “These were Catherine’s.”

“Yes, I know. I hope you don’t mind me wearing them.”

“Of course not. They are not mine, anyway. They were given to Stuart by his mother before she died—not to William. His mother intended that they should go to Stuart’s wife.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure of what that meant. I looked at Julia’s expression in the mirror and caught a slight grin.

Sukie excused herself and then reappeared with a tray and two glasses of red wine. “Miz Catherine always say a glass of wine afore a party to soothe the nerves,” she said, handing Julia and me a glass of what I knew to be from one of the quickly diminishing bottles from the wine cellar.

I took a sip and immediately felt the warmth traveling through my veins. “This will help my nervousness.”

Julia sat on the edge of the bed. “You will be the belle of the ball. Do not allow any mean-spirited people to spoil your fun. You have been through a lot, and I daresay you deserve to have a little fun.”

She drained her glass and reached for my empty one. “And it is time for our guests to arrive. Would you be so kind as to receive with me?”

I nodded and stood on shaky legs. I caught Julia eyeing me with a worried expression. “Maybe you should not have any of my punch, either. You will need every ounce of strength to fight off all the men tonight. Well, maybe not all of them,” she added with an uncharacteristic smirk.

I smirked right back at her. “Oh, I think I hear the good doctor downstairs. I will make sure to shove you both under that bough of mistletoe in the dining room.”

Julia looked genuinely shocked. “You would not dare!”

Seeing my smile, she gently took my arm in hers and led me out the door.

There was a murmur of male voices that conspicuously stopped as Julia and I appeared at the top of the stairs. Stuart and Dr. Watkins openly stared. Feeling self-conscious, I glanced behind me to see what they were looking at, only to have Julia elbow me in the ribs.

We descended slowly, my hand gripping the banister to steady my wobbly legs. I made a mental note to avoid any further alcoholic beverages for at least another hour. At the bottom of the steps, Stuart took my hand and bent over it, kissing it gently. I felt a small electric shock, and wondered if anybody else had noticed.

“Are you all right, Laura? Your face is all flushed.” His broad grin belied his concern.

“It’s just the wine. And the realization that what they say is true.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow. “What who says is true?”

“About men in uniform.” I was brazenly appraising him now, my boldness empowered by the wine. I had never seen him in full dress uniform and it was indeed a magnificent sight. His tall, lean form was well suited to the gray knee-length frock coat with black facings and trimming. The gilt buttons gleamed in the bright light of the foyer but did not outshine the resplendence of the braided trim of his rank on the cuffs and collar. Around his slim waist he wore a narrow red silk sash under his waist belt, and his broad shoulders accentuated the masculine line of the coat. My knees felt weak, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the wine.

“It must be the jacket,” he said, straightening both arms in front of me so I could admire the handiwork. “Julia made it.”

I felt a quick pang dimming the excitement of the evening for just a moment. Before I could respond, Sukie opened the front door, allowing in a cold blast of air and the first guests. I recognized Eliza Smith along with her mother and sisters from the endless meetings of the Ladies’ Aid Society. These meetings consisted mostly of interminably rolling bandages and listening to idle gossip about other townspeople. I had found no information there about Annie and would just resign myself to two hours of fending off questions from the well-meaning ladies.

All four women nodded to me, Eliza staring at my neckline, her lips pursed in a show of displeasure. Stuart fussed over her and took her wrap and gallantly kissed her hand. She bristled with the pleasure of it and blushed becomingly.

I recognized most of the guests from the Presbyterian church and from my excursions into town. They were all exceedingly polite to me but slightly aloof, for which I did not blame them. Most of them had lived in Roswell all their lives, as had their parents. I was an outsider, a stranger of unknown origins.

Pamela appeared, her eyes raking over my outfit without comment, before turning on her social face and becoming the gracious hostess with Julia.

The mingled scents of perfume, smoked ham, and fresh pine danced eagerly through the rooms, delighting the senses. All the faces reflected a genuine gaiety, obliterating all thoughts of war and suffering, at least for one evening. Eliza and I took turns at the piano, and I was quite impressed at her repertoire, if not her habit of thumping on the keys. The furniture in the parlor and hall had been pushed against the wall, and several of the guests used the space for dancing.

Stuart claimed me for a waltz and, despite my protests of not knowing how to dance, swept me up in his arms. I managed to stay off his toes and follow his lead, most likely due to the fact that he was an accomplished dancer. His leg had nearly completely healed, his limp almost imperceptible as he effortlessly led me through the steps. He waltzed me down the hall and into the library, where a single candle glowed, its reflection softly illuminated in the glass of the window.

“I believe we just passed under some mistletoe,” he said, his lips close to my ear.

I pulled away slightly. “You wouldn’t want to be accused of consorting with the enemy.”

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “Truce, remember?”

He bent his head nearer mine, then stopped. “May I kiss you?”

I answered by standing on my toes and touching my mouth to his. His lips were warm and full, his tongue pushing my own lips apart. Immediately my arms went around his neck, and his arms around my back, his fingers splayed wide.

His hands caressed my back through the soft fabric of the dress. “I have been waiting all evening to find you under the mistletoe.” His lips traveled to the bare skin of my shoulder, causing gooseflesh to ripple up my skin.

“Me, too,” I murmured as I tilted my head back farther. “But I was afraid you wouldn’t. Now I’m afraid that you’ll stop, like you did the last time. And I’m afraid . . .” I wanted to say “afraid that you’ll mean too much to me,” but I stopped.

His fingers lingered on my neck as his eyes searched mine. “What is this between us, Laura?” He paused for a moment, the music, laughter, and disembodied voices flooding the space between us. “Since the moment I first saw you, it was . . . as if I have always known you. As if there was not a time in my existence in which I did not know you.”

I remembered the feeling of familiarity I had felt when I’d first looked into his eyes on Moon Mountain and knew that no matter how I tried to push him away, there was a connection between us. A connection that had nothing to do with linear time.

I thought I heard someone calling my name from outside the room and Eliza’s voice saying I was in the library, but I quickly dismissed them from my mind to concentrate on the feel of Stuart’s lips on mine and the thickness of his hair under my fingers.

“Miss Laura!” My head snapped up and I quickly disengaged myself.

Sarah stood in the threshold, her eyes wide. “Mama needs you right now. There’s something wrong with Robbie.”

After a reluctant look back at a slightly disheveled Stuart, I followed her out of the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom. Julia sat on the bed, Robbie cradled in her arms. His weak cries sounded like a wounded puppy’s, not like his usual lusty wails. His face was flushed slightly, with pinkened cheeks and glazed eyes.

As I approached the bed, she pulled the baby’s gown up over his abdomen and lifted a pudgy leg. “Would you please take a look at this, Laura?”

I stared at the round mark on the back of Robbie’s thigh. “Did something bite him?”

“I am not sure. I thought you might know.”

I examined the mark more closely and determined that it wasn’t a bite because there seemed to be no holes marring the surface of the skin. “Me? Why would you think that?” I sat down next to her on the bed, my hand stroking Robbie’s warm cheek. His fretting subsided slightly.

Julia looked at me. “You are so smart.” She lifted her hand to halt my objections. “No, you do not know much about sewing and gardening. But you always seem to figure out the right thing to do.”

“Have you called for Charles to come up?”

“Not yet. I called for you first.”

“I really think we need a doctor here.” Turning to Sarah, who had brought me upstairs, I said, “Go get Dr. Watkins, please. And ask him to bring his bag, if he has it with him.”

I placed the back of my hand across Robbie’s forehead and felt the fever burning his skin.

There was a soft tapping on the door and the doctor entered, followed by Sarah. With a brief nod to Julia and me, he took the baby from Julia’s arms and laid him on the bed. Robbie started whimpering again as the doctor lifted his gown and prodded his abdomen. Robbie emitted a hoarse howl as the doctor tried to pry his mouth open to examine his throat and then continued to protest as Dr. Watkins ran his fingers over the glands in Robbie’s neck.

Pamela appeared at the door. “Julia, what is wrong?” She glided into the room, her black silk gown swooshing across the floor and trailing the scent of a musky perfume.

Her gaze not leaving the baby, Julia answered her mother. “Robbie has a fever. I just want Charles to have a look at him.”

Pamela leaned over the doctor while he examined Robbie. “He is flushed. I will go prepare some wintergreen tea to bring down the fever.” She left as suddenly as she had appeared, her heels tapping across the hallway.

Turning the baby over, the doctor paused as he caught sight of the mark on the leg, and he stretched the discolored skin between his thumb and forefinger.

“What is it, Charles?” Julia asked, reaching for Robbie.

The doctor scratched his chin and looked at Julia and then me. “It appears to be diphtheria. Little Rosa Dunwody has also come down with it this week.”

I knew eight-year-old Rosa and her mother from the Ladies’ Aid Society meetings. Rosa and Sarah were great friends. But I was even more familiar with the name diphtheria.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. But with good care, we can make him well.” He pulled Robbie’s gown back in place. He continued. “The best way to treat it is give him plenty of rest, keep him comfortable, and try to get his fever down. I suggest a camphor rub on his chest to help him breathe, and for those tending him to wear a lump of camphor around their necks to ward off the vapors of the disease.” He started to close his bag. Then, nodding in my direction, he added, “Make sure everyone who comes in contact with him washes her hands thoroughly. And that includes all of you here before you return to the party. I have heard talk from battlefield surgeries about these germs. Perhaps there is some truth in your theory.”

Almost shocked at the doctor’s concession to my obsession with clean hands when tending the sick, I let his Dark Ages comment about vapor-killing camphor pass unremarked. But I certainly had no intention of wearing the foul-smelling stuff anywhere on me.

“Most importantly,” I interjected, “we need to keep him separated from the other children.”

Dr. Watkins bristled. “I really do not see the need—”

“Please, Charles,” Julia said softly. “Do as Laura says. Remember how she saved Robbie.” Julia handed the baby to me. “I am going to go help my mother. I will also find Sukie and have her keep an eye on him, because I want you to return to the party and play hostess for me.”

“Actually, I should let everyone know that Robbie has diphtheria so they can be on the alert for symptoms in any of their own family members. I’m afraid with such a contagious sickness in the house, we should ask the guests to leave.”

Julie studied me for a moment, then nodded. “You are right, of course. Would you please take care of that for me?”

“Are you sure I can’t be more help here?” I asked, cradling the baby and feeling his sweat-soaked gown.

She smiled, although I saw the strain around her mouth. “This is not the first child I have ever nursed through a fever. I just need to give him some of the tea Pamela prepared to lower his fever and get him settled. I will be fine.”

I thought I caught a glint of something in her eye, but she gave me a warm, comforting smile. “Really, Laura, Robbie will be fine. All children get sick. Between Charles, my mother, and me, we will have him crawling like a june bug in no time.”

My tongue seemed to thicken in my mouth. In my time, most children were vaccinated against diphtheria. I knew I had been inoculated, as had Annie. But here, in this time, there was no such protection. Children and their parents were subject to the whims of virulent diseases that randomly plucked children from their parents’ arms and laid them in small graves.

Turning, Julia opened the door, and the sounds of garbled voices and laughter could be heard from below, climbing the stairs and pulling me toward them. The doctor followed her out, and the sound of their footsteps descended the stairs. Shortly afterward, Sukie came to take Robbie.

I handed him over just as Sarah, who had remained silent in a corner of the room, approached. “Will he be all right, Miss Laura?”

I laid my hand on her blond head. “Your mama certainly seems to think so. We’ll just have to do everything we know how to get him better, and that would include playing quietly when you’re inside so you don’t wake him up. The doctor says he needs his rest.”

She looked down into the little bundle cradled in Sukie’s arms and then kissed him.

I pulled the baby away. “No, Sarah. Please don’t. You could get his germs and get sick, too.”

Her eyes widened with fear.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I want to keep you healthy.” I gave her a hug and propelled her out of the room. “I think it would be best if you stayed away from other people until we know you’re not infected. Go ahead and get ready for bed and I’ll come up to say good night.” She gave me a somber look and then walked slowly down the hall to her room, her feet dragging in an exaggerated way with each step.

I wanted to give the partygoers a few last minutes of peace and joy, so I slipped out the back door and walked toward the fallow cotton fields, the earth cold and brittle in the December winds. Bright stars and a quarter moon brought relief to the inkiness of the night and I moved my face toward the frigid wind.

“Laura.”

I turned to see Zeke, who had been standing in the shadow of the oak tree as I approached.

“Good evening, Zeke. Why aren’t you with the party?”

“Too many people for me. I have made an appearance for Julia’s sake, and now I think I will go back home. I need to make a root poultice for Robbie’s neck.”

But still he stood, not making as if to leave. He pointed toward the sky. “Can you see the Little Bear?”

I tilted my head back and stared up at the icy black sky. “Do you mean the Little Dipper?” I asked, recognizing one of the few constellations I was familiar with.

“Yes. If you let your eyes follow along the handle, you can see the polestar.”

“It’s the very bright one, isn’t it?”

He nodded slightly, still looking upward. “The polestar has been used throughout the centuries by navigators for charting their routes.” He was now looking directly at me, as if to convey a meaning to his casual conversation.

“Zeke, are you trying to tell me something?”

“Nothing that you do not already know. Just reminding you to use the skies and your heart to guide you home.” Very silently, he said good night and began to walk toward the woods.

“Good night, Zeke,” I called after him. I saw him raise an arm and wave before he was enveloped in darkness. My nose hairs froze as I breathed in the winter air.

My hands felt numb from the cold so I turned to go back in. I heard the faint notes of the piano tinkling “Dixie.” Despite the liveliness of the tune, I felt a deep and abiding sadness. The lives of these people would soon be irrevocably altered. History had already decried that their way of life would be gone forever, as would many of their sons, brothers, and husbands. But what if I could change that, save one life? I shook my head, focusing on my house and Annie. I had to get back soon, before it was too late and I foolishly interfered with fate.

The wind carried scattered voices past my ears, and I listened as if I were hearing them across the passage of time. The back door opened, and I recognized Stuart’s form silhouetted against the light spilling from inside. I could feel his eyes on me, like a beacon on the dark sea, guiding me home. He waited for me as I picked up my skirts and walked toward him.