Isaack had spent years hiding out in barns and outbuildings
with these men, but now everything was different. In the beginning, they were all a group of
fresh-face, eager, idealistic men with some sense of vitality, with the
exception of Isaack, who had only wanted to die. But now, they were older, and
they were excited for something besides the next fight. Isaack could admit he felt something new in
the air, and he only had Emily to blame for it.
No longer were they weary of fighting, and gearing up for
yet another battle. Now they were not
only rested and fed, but the war was over, and home was on the horizon for most
of them. There was a positivity most of
them hadn’t felt before, and it showed in their attitudes.
They’d come to the Evans’ farm a rag-tag bunch of ill
soldiers, and five had died, never to see home and family again. Of the rest, eight had gone home, leaving
seven soldiers behind. As the oldest of
the bunch, Potter wasn’t anxious to make the trek. Isaack sensed he was waiting for Spring, when
the cross-country trip wouldn’t be as arduous, but Spring was months away, and
it wasn’t likely the Evans farm would be as hospitable the longer they were
there. Wiggins waited only for the rains
to stop, so he could leave. Saul didn’t
speak much at all, and Isaack hadn’t pressed the man, so he had no idea of his
plans. Nathan, Abe, and Breck and their
beady gazes only wanted to stay to mooch off the women, and that rankled
Isaack. He would be here as long as they
were, whether he was welcome or not.
He didn’t trust the ranking officer of this group any
farther than he could toss the man.
When Emily came bustling inside the barn, shaking the rain
off her skirts, Isaack’s gaze snapped to her, along with every other man in the
structure, with the exception of Saul, who snored in the corner.
Clenching his fists at his side, Isaack tried to ignore
Breck’s bright smile, shining with transparency. He’d known men like Breck before the war,
boys with more money than they knew what to do with, living off their father’s
name. Isaack had no doubt Breck’s
commission was purchased from the governor of Massachusetts, where his father
had made his fortune off the war. The
only reason they’d fought the last damn battle after the hellacious war was
over was because Breck, the new commander of their regiment, hadn’t seen any
action. If he’d enlisted, like any other
regular man, he’d have seen more than his share. Breck had known the war was over when they’d
fought at Palmito Ranch, but he needed to go home to tell his family about the
great battle he’d fought. And of course,
that was the battle they’d lost.
Here, Breck was constantly shoving his “cultured” ways at
the women whose farm they’d invaded. It
made Isaack’s stomach curdle. Miss Emily,
for her part, was oblivious, thank the Lord, and seemed immune to his charms.
“Ah, Miss Emily!”
Breck’s unhampered enthusiasm was foreign in the smelly, dank, dark
barn. Isaack’s teeth gritted together at
the mere sound of Breck’s voice. “Come
to see if we’ve floated away?”
“And to bring supper,” Emily responded brightly, her eyes
sweeping over the men, landing at last on Isaack. His stomach dropped every time she looked at
him and he didn’t quite understand why.
Her wide brown eyes were the color of the richest mahogany,
and her hair the color of spun gold with highlights of pale silk. She was tiny and trim, but exuded a strength
that belied her stature. Freckles spread
across her face from exposure to the sun like any hard working woman, but her
smile was soft. And when she smiled, her
face lit up like a child of the sun.
Isaack would treasure his first waking memory in her barn, his
fever-addled brain clutching to that smile like a life-line he’d long ago
discarded.
Emily carried a pot of beans to the men, and Potter piped
up, one of the only men there with legitimate manners. “You don’t have to cook for us. We’ve been getting by for a while now, it
won’t hurt us to get by a little longer.”
Isaack kept his eyes down as Potter spoke, afraid if he watched her, he
would say something to draw her attention.
He had no idea what it was about this woman that awoke his senses, but
it frightened him. He’d said goodbye to
life a long time ago, and now was not the time to find a renewed sense of purpose.
“I know that. But it
just doesn’t seem right. You are all
welcome to stay, and as long as you like our cooking and keep up with the
chores, feel free to eat,” she ended with a nervous laugh, and even though her
words sounded false, Isaack knew she still had a warm smile gracing her
features. But he wouldn’t look at her
face, choosing instead to watch her skirts, just shorter than her ankles. Vaguely, he wondered if that was a practical
thing, to keep her skirts from dragging, or if she couldn’t afford new material
for longer dresses? Or was that even the
fashion now? It had been too long since
women’s fashion was even on his mind.
She puttered around the space, straightening and chatting,
all while Isaack watched her from the corner of his eyes. He never looked straight at her, not since the
funeral of her brother. She was too
blinding, and something in her eyes spoke of a vulnerability he yearned to
soothe. Isaack longed to take care of
her, to buy her the food to feed her family, to yank her out of the fields with
all the hard work in the sun, to put fine clothes on her back.
“Isaack? Do you need
anything?” His head snapped up at her
words, and she looked squarely at him, not an ounce of fear in her eyes. She flushed bright red as he shook his head,
unable to look away from the fiery blush on her cheeks. She was close enough to talk without the rest
hearing, and he heard her murmur, “Just let me know, okay?”
Her hair was coming out of her braid in wisps around her
face, and he longed to tuck the stray pieces behind her ear, to smooth it back,
to cup her face in his hands.
The fiery need inside him had to be squelched. There was something secret about her, and he
knew if he could ever let go of his own demons, her secrets might burn him anyway.
Ducking her head, she continued with her straightening of
their space, as if they were her family to take care of. Guilt that she was caring for them instead of
her own fired in his belly, and Isaack resolved to do more to keep her out of
here.
When she’d gone, her absence in the barn a tangible entity,
Abe spit a stream of tobacco into the dirt at his feet. “What I wouldn’t give for an hour with her in
the hay loft.”
Isaack stood, fists clenched, and Abe laughed. Nathan spoke up, changing the subject. Breck watched Isaack under lowered lids,
understanding passing unspoken between them.
Isaack would kill Abe, if Breck didn’t get his subordinate under
control.
“Why do you suppose they haven’t kicked us out yet?” Nathan
was planning on leaving soon, he’d been pretty vocal about it. Isaack had wondered the same, but also knew
Rachel Evans had opened their farm up to the soldiers without Emily’s
approval. The matriarch had something up
her sleeve, was using them for something, but he didn’t know exactly what. It didn’t seem nefarious, so he was willing
to oblige. They’d saved his life, such
as it was, and for some reason he was thankful.
Abe made a rude gesture that Isaack grunted at, but Breck
responded up with, “I suppose they’re waiting until their men come home and
then they will turn us out. There’s
something comforting about having a man around, I’ve heard, and I’m willing to
oblige.”
Isaack had a feeling Breck was waiting for news of a man not
coming home, and he’d whisk Emily away, wooing her with promises of northern
states and money. When Abe started
talking about lewd ways to make them want him to stay, Isaack stood and left.
He needed some air.
Truth was, he wanted to woo Emily to him, with whatever
promises would appeal to her. And he
would keep every damn one of them. That
was the scary part. He would do almost
anything for this woman. And she didn’t
even want him here. He didn’t deserve
her. He’d already had everything, and
lost it. He certainly hadn’t done enough
in his short life to deserve two lifetimes of happiness.
Her murmured words in the barn, meant for his ears only,
made him burn with need. He had to get
her out of his head.
Besides, he knew if something happened to Emily like had
happened to Maria, he would be utterly finished with life. There was absolutely nothing on this earth
that could hold him.
Isaack walked out of the shelter of the barn into the yard,
where the rain still fell. Turning his
face up to it, he let the cleansing drops fall on his skin, cooling the
overheated emotions raging inside.
He hadn’t thought of romantic entanglements since his
beloved Maria had died—hadn’t wanted to.
He’d enlisted as soon as War broke out, selling his interests in the
shipping business he had started with his friend, Albert. Albert had tried to keep him abreast of
things, letting him know he could buy back in whenever he was ready to, but
Isaack had been too intent on killing himself—taking the dangerous scouting
missions, putting himself on the front lines, volunteering for every risky
endeavor put in his path.
Nothing worked. He
was still here. Standing in the
rain. Willing it to cleanse him of his
sins.
Thinking of the woman who wasn’t his wife.
“Isaack?” Mrs.
Evans’s voice broke him out of his haze of self-deprecation and he jerked to
see her sitting on the porch, sheltered from the rain, working on mending. “Whatever are you doing? Standing in the rain?” She patted the rocking chair next to her, the
one sitting in front of the window that showed Emily sitting on the floor with
her sisters and a small slate board, presumably working on letters.
If he sat there, he’d be able to watch Emily smile, and he
wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Grudgingly, he walked up the steps and sat on the porch with
Mrs. Evans. He couldn’t be rude to the
woman who had opened his home to him, fed him, healed him. Not even if it meant he had to watch the
woman who’d become the focus of an infatuation.
Taking off his hat, he clutched it to his chest. “Mrs. Evans.”
He acknowledged, as he sat.
She worked on her mending in a heavy silence for a while,
and Isaack let her, knowing she had something on her mind. She was a woman whose every move served a
purpose, this he knew just from working on her farm. If she invited him up here, she had a reason
for it.
“You’re a quiet sort, aren’t you?” She finally broke the silence.
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t
see much point in speaking unless it’s necessary.”
She looked at him squarely, as if gauging his honesty, and
he looked back, unabashed. He didn’t
have anything to hide from this woman.
She had something about her he liked, trusted. Maybe it was the fact she was from up North
somewhere, and he considered her a kindred spirit. Her roots were northern, but she’d settled
here in the wild Texas Pine forests, finding a home among other kindred
spirits. There was something symbolic
about the razing of the land to cultivate it.
He longed for something like that. To clear out his insides and start fresh.
That thought brought him up short. Did he really? Looking out around him, he saw the corn
fields, the barn, and beyond that, the wooded area that masked the creek and
the town beyond.
Yes. Yes, he did long
for it. A home in the wilderness spoke
the untamed within him.
“I’ve got a favor to ask of you, Isaack,” Rachel began,
giving her chair a push with her feet to send it rocking gently.
“Anything, ma’am.”
After all the food they’d eaten from her children’s mouths, he’d go
inside right now and scrub her floors if that’s what she wanted.
She was quiet another moment before the woman took a deep
breath. “I want you to watch out for my
girls. I don’t trust all the other
men. Some of them, yes. All of them, no. And I trust you the most, for some
reason.” His chest swelled at the
compliment, and his eyes cut to the window, where he could see her girls, still
studying on the floor. Emily leaned over
Irene, helping her with the chalk and slate, while Louise worked on something
on her own. At Emily’s indulgent smile
to her sister, Isaack felt his own face crack into a smile.
“I would be honored, Mrs. Evans. Your trust is a weighty responsibility.”
She leaned her head back, and the lines on her face softened
slightly with the gesture as she continued rocking. “I haven’t told the girls this, but I’m not
sure our men will be back. At this time,
I’m hanging on purely for them. This
farm is theirs, and all the work done on it is for them. I can’t just give it to the bank.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
The rain let up a bit, slowing to a drizzle. Combined with the last four days, it was
probably almost ten inches of rain on the crops. It was out of their hands, and Isaack knew
everyone was worried the corn would get wet and rot on the stalk, ruining the
crops. His gaze travelled over the
neatly sown rows of green stalks with golden hair, looking for all the world
like ladies in waiting, dressed in green.
The fate of these women lay in the hands of those innocent
rows, waving in the storm.
Mrs. Evans shoulders were weighted with the responsibility
of taking care of her family with her husband gone. He longed to know more, how had she managed,
whether there were sons off somewhere, if Emily was, in fact, married, or had
she just said that to add an extra layer of protection to the already
vulnerable females? And they’d already
lost a son, were there others?
The unanswered questions were heavy on his heart, heavier
than the rain coming down heavily again.
Twisting his hat in his hands, he rose to leave.
“I’ll make sure the girls stay safe, Mrs. Evans.”
Taking his leave, he walked down the steps of the porch,
hoping like hell he could keep his heart safe in the process.
Next year I’m going to continue a series I started a while back called “The Urban Legends of Texas.” Dark Road Winding is one of the first books I actually set in Texas. I have a vague memory of driving Sara Jane Road in Port Neches when I was a teenager and looking for the hanging corpse of Sara Jane.
To this day my absolute favorite Trivia from Olivia is from the third book in my Lynlee Lincoln urban fantasy series. In the story Lynlee gets visited by brownies, little magical creatures, who warn her of danger. Just before the turn of the twentieth century a man by the name of Arthur Stilwell was in the process of building a railway to connect Kansas City to the Gulf of Mexico. His original plan was to purchase the Houston East and West Texas Railroad and then to create a port terminal in Galveston, Texas.
