A Hope Divided by Alyssa Cole (19)

CHAPTER 18

It had been dark in Ewan’s dreams, and he opened his eyes to a different shade of black. For the briefest of moments he was hit with a fierce longing for home. He didn’t think himself the nostalgic type, but the desire for his own bed and the familiar smells of his mother’s cooking welled up in him. It was hard not to miss the comforts of home when one had been sleeping in trenches, prisons, attic ceilings, and cellars for months on end.

His body ached, but he couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t. He tried to move to a more comfortable position, but something weighed him down. He was about to shove the weight away when he caught a hint of wisteria. Marlie’s hair oil. That was when he realized the weight against him was warm, beneath layers of clothing, and breathing. His arm was wrapped around her, pulling her close, and her skirts pushed against his legs where she rested her thigh atop his.

Ewan thought of the disgust on her face when she’d talked about Cahill and his militia. It had been like a slap to the face, waking him from a foolish dream; yet another reminder that what they’d shared when she’d provided him with sanctuary had been nothing more than brief respite from too harsh reality.

Her bandaged hand rested on his chest, and Ewan picked it up gently by the fingertips to move it away, but found he was remiss to let it go. He’d never been so intimate with a woman, never felt the push of soft breasts against his side as he slumbered or awoken holding someone in his arms. Ewan had certainly never been called a romantic, and his relations with women had been perfunctory, though pleasurable. Army life meant he was no stranger to bedmates, but they were usually smelly, hairy, and of the platonic sort, give or take a few overtures for more. And although Marlie was only pressed against him due to her exhaustion and the small space they shared, Ewan found he quite liked it. He wished . . .

Right. There was no room for wishing. They would depart for the Tennessee line, and try to make it there as quickly as possible. Once they arrived, they would part ways. That was the sum and total of what could pass between them.

Something sharp and uncomfortable radiated in his chest at that thought. What would she do? Where would she go? She was leaving everything she knew behind. She had grown accustomed to a life with certain luxuries, but in the North, would anyone care about her skill? Her intelligence and wit? The war was to end slavery, but the sentiments in the North weren’t vastly better when it came to Negroes, free or enslaved. He had no say, no control, over her fate, but his mind held fast to the problem as if it were a riddle that could be solved.

She shifted against him in a way that let him know she had awoken, even if he couldn’t see her. Her fingers flexed in his, reminding him that he was still holding her hand. He froze, caught in the act, waiting for her to pull away. Instead, her fingers began to close slowly around his. He felt the wince go through her and knew she had only stopped because of her injured palm.

“Still paining you?” he murmured.

She nodded against his chest. Ewan marveled at that silent form of communication: her hair shifting against the fabric of his shirt and her chin pressing into his rib cage. They could probably communicate a great many things without speaking, there in the dark. If her thigh moved up a few inches more, she’d receive the rousing message that had been telegraphed to his nether regions as her fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin on the back of his hand.

Heat spread over his skin at the thought. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip, even though the root cellar was cool and dry. He’d broken men’s wrists and fingers and calmly told them what else he’d break if they didn’t talk without perspiring at all, but Marlie settled against him, as if she were his, was all it took to make his palms go clammy.

“It’s the least of my worries right now,” she whispered in a husky morning voice. “Ewan, when you were upset before—”

“I wasn’t upset.”

“When you appeared to be upset, then. I know Cahill was often at Randolph. Did he do something to you? Is that why you escaped? Were you tortured?”

She sounded so concerned for him, and the naiveté of her question made him burn for her and want to push her away at the same time. Ewan held his breath to keep his chest from shaking with the rueful laughter that built up in him. If Marlie knew what had truly passed between him and Cahill . . .

“No,” he answered. “Do you know where to go once we leave here? We should have some kind of plan.”

She sat up, moving away from him. “I have a general idea. I’m sure Hattie will assist us with the specifics. I still can’t believe this is happening.” She sighed. “Even after seeing all those people running over the years, those people who looked like me, it never occurred to me that I could be in their shoes one day.” She sighed deeply.

“Marlie, I don’t think anyone could have envisioned what came to pass with Melody and Cahill.”

In the darkness he heard a trembling sigh. “Maybe not. But that’s just it. I felt that something awful was going to happen, but—” She paused, shifted against him some more. “I thought I saw the runaways I helped as people, but I think I was still seeing them as slaves. I should have known something like this could happen, but I thought my free papers had given me some kind of immunity. I never thought of myself as a slave because I was born free, but now I understand. Those people didn’t think of themselves as slaves, either.”

Ewan tried to wrap his mind around the immensity of her words.

There was a scraping sound, and then the door to the root cellar opened. “Y’all can come out now.”

Ewan helped Marlie move through the door and then climbed out into the room. Two plates sat on the sad excuse for a table, the corn cakes and poke salad showing just how lacking the pantry was.

He and Marlie sat down to eat on chairs so rickety it was probably safer to sit on the floor. Ewan’s eye kept catching on the mess Cahill and his men had made of the place that he hadn’t gotten to the night before: broken cabinet doors, supplies left in disarray. Mess always bothered him, and knowing how it had come to pass made this particular mess even worse.

After the hurried meal, Marlie sat beside Hattie and checked on the progress of her thumbs.

“They look better already. You’ll be back to giving the Home Guard hell in no time,” she said with a smile so bright it coaxed one out of stern Hattie. Ewan didn’t realize he was staring until the girl beside him cleared her throat.

“Do you have a hammer and nails, or any other tools?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from Marlie.

Penny got up obediently and ran behind a curtained-off area of the house, returning a moment later with a small box.

“Papa’s tool kit. The Home Guard took the things we couldn’t hide.”

Ewan nodded and got to work. An hour later, the table and chairs were as level and sturdy as was possible, the cabinet doors were rehung, and the shelves put into some semblance of order. Ewan then headed out behind the house and took up the axe, breaking down the large pieces of trees into firewood.

When he came back in, sweaty but clearheaded, he saw Marlie with her arm wrapped around Hattie’s shoulders. “So it’s the root, ya say?” Hattie asked quietly. Her mouth was tight.

Marlie’s expression was somber as she nodded. “Yes. If your courses don’t come, you take the root of the young cotton plant and boil it up, then drink that tea every day for three days. That’ll . . . take care of things.”

Hattie nodded sharply, then glanced at Ewan. “Time for y’all to get moving.”

When they left, Penny was holding a bundle that she handed off to Marlie. “We ain’t got much. Here are more of the corn cakes.” She glanced at Ewan and her cheeks went rosy.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Marlie said as she tucked the food into her bag. She pulled something out and handed it to Hattie, and Ewan realized it was money. Greenbacks, not the devalued Confederate money floating around.

“It’s dangerous out there, girl. You got a good heart, but I don’t think you know from danger.” Her gaze skated to Ewan. “You though? I think you know a thing or two. You best keep her safe.”

Marlie looked confused, but Ewan nodded. “I’ll do that.”

“Head on back into the woods past the outhouse. Once you get into them woods, you likely to meet some men who can let you know if you’re headed the right way. Penny, get that ribbon.”

Penny came forward with a strip of red ribbon in her hands. She tugged it taut between the index finger and thumb of each hand, and from the way she started blushing again, Ewan knew he should stick his arm out. She tied the string about his wrist.

“That’s one of the signs the resisters use to show they’re on the same side,” Marlie explained. “In the Bible, Rahab hid spies sent by the Israelites within Jericho, and helped them escape by lowering a red rope over the city walls.”

“Yep,” Hattie said. “Those men laid out in the hills for three days to escape capture. It’s been a sight longer than three days for our boys, but they’ll help bring this infernal war to an end.”

There was nothing left to say. Marlie and Ewan headed out into the night, the playful spring breeze at odds with the solemn journey they were setting out on. Ewan looked about as they walked, the still-bright moon illuminating the clearing around the house more than he would like. The woods were full of the usual night sounds—insects, birds, and the scuttling of small animals—but then the sound of footsteps stomping through the pine needles and fallen leaves that blanketed the undergrowth caught Ewan’s attention. A person couldn’t be that loud unless they wanted to signal they were coming, but that by no means meant they were friendly.

“Miss Hattie?” a male voice called out. The tone was neutral—it could have been a Hero of America looking for food as surely as it might have been a Reb unsatisfied by the previous interrogations. They were too far from the forest to make a run for it, and could not make it back to the house and into the root cellar in time.

“Come,” he said, and pulled Marlie into the small wooden receptacle that was their closest source of shelter. It seemed Fortune was laughing at him again: In the course of twenty-four hours he’d gone from an attic, to a cellar, and now an outhouse.

The smell of the enclosed place assaulted his nostrils.

Marlie made a low sound of distress, so he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close. “I’m sure I don’t smell much better, but . . .”

She followed his lead, settling her head into the crook of his neck and inhaling.

He felt her lips curve into a smile against his collarbone and the tickle of her warm breath as she exhaled. “You smell fine,” she whispered, and inhaled again. “Comparatively.”

Her lips brushed against his collarbone as she spoke, and Ewan tried to ignore how the sensation rippled pleasantly through him.

“This rancid air beats the smell of prison. Or sulfur, if it comes down to a fight and I lose. We’ll wait here until whoever it is passes.”

Ewan allowed himself to lower his head so that his chin rested against Marlie’s head and his nose hovered close to her hair. If he had to be inundated with scent, he wanted it to be wisteria and woman. He told himself that it was simply common sense, but despite the fact that they were in great danger and crammed into as disgusting a place as Ewan could think of, his body stirred.

“Sulfur?” she whispered. “Do you assume that you’ll go to hell?”

“Assumptions are for men who lack facts.”

“Ewan,” she whispered. Her head pulled away from him.

He looked down at her. Moonlight crept in through the warped slats, and a band across her face illuminated the censure in her eyes.

“Don’t worry for me,” he said. “I’ve a taste of heaven right now, and a taste is more than one man should ever ask for.”

Ewan didn’t know where the words came from. He didn’t know why his arms tightened around her, or why he wanted nothing more than to kiss her in the reeking enclosure they were stuck in. It was utterly illogical. He did know that her pupils grew wide, overwhelming the brown and green of her eyes so that they looked like a matched pair. He did know that her body pressed against his instead of away.

There was a sound outside the outhouse then, and Ewan dropped his arms from around Marlie and picked up the rifle Tobias had given them. He held it by the muzzle, ready to jab out the butt into nose or throat or some other vulnerable body part of anyone who dared intrude.

There was a creak as the door was tugged and the warped edges resisted. Marlie’s breath was audible now, a side effect of her distress.

He would let no harm come to her.

The door opened completely and a man stood with his hand at the fastening of his trousers, gaze toward the ground. His garb was Confederate gray, or something close enough; it was obvious that the fabric was roughly hewn and hastily assembled, like many of the poorer recruits’ uniforms were.

Ewan wasn’t panicked, though he could feel Marlie’s heart fluttering against his torso like a bird beating against a window. He would have to fight this man, was the simple fact. The man looked up and stumbled back as he caught sight of them. He stared at them for a long moment, and Ewan could see the resemblance to Hattie in his widow’s peak and thin lips.

The man stepped forward and Ewan positioned his hand against Marlie, ready to push her behind him. Then the man reached for the door and slammed it shut.

His voice came through the warped wood, altogether too friendly for a Rebel. “Apologies for the disturbance. Should have knocked.”

His footsteps moved away, and then stomped onto the boards of Hattie’s back steps. The door closed loudly. He was making it clear that he was turning his back, just as he had announced his arrival.

Marlie was shaking against him, “Maybe wishing isn’t for fools after all. Let us go now before he comes back.”

They eased out of the outhouse and dashed into the woods. When no one showed up in pursuit after several miles, they slowed their pace and continued on toward Tennessee.