Little Love Affair (Southern Romance Series, #1) (8 page)

He wondered if he could grieve for them. Was it allowed? His comrades would think him a traitor for taking the charity of a Yankee family and leaving them in peace, their home unburned. The north had betrayed them. He heard it often and had spoken it just as frequently. His comrades knew other betrayals, even if they would not admit to it. More men than Jasper had been left to die on the battlefields for lack of care. Others had been pulled from their homes with no one left behind to tend to the fields.

Still they fought one another, citizens just trying to survive. What had this war made of them?

Jasper had lost everything he thought he knew: his loyalty, his family, his homestead. If the only thing he had left was to keep his promise to Clara, then he would keep it. He turned to leave, his tread heavy, and a voice spoke from the darkness.

“Why did you come?”

Clara stepped into the light, and he swallowed. She could not know that the moonlight turned her nightdress sheer, and that he could see the outline of her body beneath the thin fabric. She likely thought herself well covered, a bow modestly tied at her neck and her sleeves long. He swallowed hard.

She had been waiting to see what he would do, he saw. His promise warred with honesty.

“The fever’s not coming down,” Jasper said at last. He did not say that he had decided not to ask her; she had seen it.

“I’ll go into town for your friend tomorrow,” she said simply, and Jasper’s heart turned over in his chest.

“I cannot ask you to do that. I don’t have money to pay for medicine, and you...”

“You have worked in our fields for a pittance,” she observed calmly. “I think perhaps you are owed our help.” Clouds scudded across the moon, throwing flickering shadows on her face, but she was very still.

“That is not why you offered.”

“You know why I offered,” she said simply. She was already walking back to the house, but she paused with her hand on the latch of the door. “Because you are going to keep your promise,” she said quietly, and she slipped inside without a goodbye.

It was only when he reached the cabin once more that it occurred to Jasper to wonder if she had been waiting for him.

C
lara tightened the strap at the wagon hitch, hissing as a blister broke open. Another sleepless night. She was getting clumsy. Her mother would exclaim over her hands later and tell Clara that she should not do this work, but both of them knew there was no alternative. Clara liked to think that Millicent even approved, in her own way. The woman was hardened to farming life, always rising early, capable of handling a shotgun and butchering meat. She might have hoped for a softer life for her children, but she knew that the world was rarely as kind as that.

She climbed into the driver’s seat of the wagon and surveyed the back. A meager portion of vegetables and early grain rested there. Perhaps it would be enough for Clara to get the medicine and little enough that her mother would not notice the lack. Clara grimaced and snapped the reins. She should leave before she thought much more about what she was doing.

The drive into town was a long one, however, and there was little else to think on. She was saving a man’s life, Clara told herself. No one deserved to die of a festering wound. Much to her surprise, her conscience seemed easy with that. Apparently, her conscience was not overly concerned with the Confederacy.

Unfortunately, that left her mind free once more, and much as she tried to stay disciplined, Clara found her thoughts drifting to Jasper. Had he expected her to be outside last night? Surely not. The way his eyes had lingered on her form, she knew that he would not have been able to stare at the house so calmly. The naked desire in his eyes was a mirror of the lust that had driven her outside and a few steps across the field before she had seen him emerge from the forest.

It was well that he had arrived, and that he had carried concerns beyond their tryst in the woods. She had been willing to cast propriety to the wind. Had she met him in the trees, only a nightgown for a covering, and offered herself to him. She was quite sure he would have taken all that she offered, and more. The thought of it made her flush, and Clara tried to hold her head high.

It was intoxicating, the feeling itself just as seductive as the press of Jasper’s lips and the hard planes of his chest. She shifted in her seat, glad that no one had come with her into town. She could not be still since last yesterday—irritable and restless, her entire body seeming to burn.

“What’s gotten into you?” her mother had demanded over dinner. “Do you have a fever?”

A mother’s intuition might have made her suspicious, but even she would not guess the truth. Indeed, Clara reflected bitterly, no one would. She had always been a headstrong child, willful and much despaired over by schoolmistresses and relatives alike, and her insistence on running the farm by herself was hardly unexpected, as unconventional as it might be. But who would guess she would find herself half-naked under a willow tree with a southern soldier?

No one except Clara, who had been lost the moment she saw him.

She should turn her head from this madness, but the sun in the sky and the birds in the trees all seemed to thrill with this new knowledge—a world beyond what she had known, more beautiful than it had been yesterday.

Even the township looked more cheerful. Women moved to and fro in their heavy dresses, and Clara felt the familiar stab of notoriety. Since she began working, she had sewed herself dresses with close sleeves and straight skirts, fashionable dresses being too likely to be caught in machinery. She knew that she looked like a servant, but she had become so accustomed to her attire that she had not even thought to change her gown. Keeping her head down, Clara tied the wagon to a hitch outside the pharmacy and made her way into the cool, dusty shop.

“Miss Dalton!”

“Mister Jeffries.” Clara felt herself smile. The Jeffries family had served Knox Township as pharmacists for years, and as the elder, Mr. Jeffries, grew older, his son was taking over the business. Streaks of grey showed in his hair now, but he moved confidently, with the calm demeanor that comforted his patients.

“Is someone ill? Not your mother, I hope?”

“One of our workers is injured,” Clara explained. “He’s too proud to come in himself, as he hasn’t the money, but I fear the wound is going bad. They tell me he has a fever, and willow bark won’t bring it down.”

“Let me mix something up for you.” The pharmacist smiled at her. “You’re a good woman to look out for your workers, Miss Dalton. Truly your father’s daughter.”

Clara tried to smile as the man began pulling jars down from the wall. She watched as he began to grind and mix materials and tried not to think of how ashamed her father would be by what she was doing. The family had so little money, and this was how she was using it. He would be furious.

Or would he? For the first time, she felt a stab of hope. Her father had never been much of a one for talking. What did she know of what went on behind his solemn demeanor? Perhaps he too would have taken pity on two men who offered no violence and only wanted to work for their keep.

“Miss Dalton?”

“Mmm?” Clara realized that she had been staring off into space. “I apologize.”

“No matter. You look a bit flushed from the sun. Take as long as you wish in the shop.” Mr. Jeffries patted a package at his side. “That’ll be two cents.”

Clara accepted the package with a smile, but she wanted to duck her head in shame. The price was far too low for what was in the package, she was sure of it. Only Mr. Jeffries’s open smile kept her from running out of the shop. Perhaps it was kindness to the farm worker, she thought miserably. Or perhaps, her mind whispered, everyone in town truly did know how poorly the farm was doing. She had come into the shop dressed like a maid.

However, she could not run. She did not have enough wealth for pride any longer. She smiled and thanked him, sliding the money across the counter as though all was well.

Out in the sunshine, she considered the produce in the back of the cart. She had no need of the funds any longer, but she should bring it to the market nonetheless; a few more pence in the jar would not go amiss. She placed the package neatly in the back seat and was just climbing up when a voice stopped her.

“Clara? Clara Dalton?”

Clara turned and gave a delighted laugh.

“Johnny Benson! Oh, it’s good to see you. Oh, you look so solemn. It’s been...” The words died on her lips. Johnny’s face was screwed up with pity, and Clara remembered, suddenly, exactly where she had seen him last: marching out of town at Solomon’s side. Johnny’s coat was faded and patched, and his face was thinner than she remembered, but he was standing here, back again. There was pity in his eyes.

She knew very clearly what that meant.

“Clara?”

The words seemed to be coming from very far away. Clara felt a hand wrapped around her waist, another wrapped around her own fingers, and she was leaning against this man in the middle of the street.

“Is...do you have...” It took every ounce of control she had to stand on her two feet and draw herself up. She met his eyes, wide and horrified. “Do you have his body with you?”

“No.” He was looking at her warily, unnerved by her sudden attempt at composure. “We didn’t want to send a letter until we knew what had happened to him.”

“And?” She could not bear to know, and yet she had to or she would go mad.

“We still don’t. I am so sorry. Miss Dalton...” He took the hat from his head and twisted it in his hands, retreating into formality. “We looked and looked. I knew you would want to know. But we never found him, and when they told us who they had for prisoners... I don’t know if he gave them a false name. They demanded money sometimes, and he would never want you to have to—”

“I see.” Clara turned away, hope and grief tearing at her chest. Solomon could still be alive, and yet, for the very first time, she truly believed that she would never see her brother again. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Miss Dalton, could I perhaps accompany you back to the farm?”

“No!” She had to be alone. “No. Thank you very kindly, but no. Thank you, Mister Benson, for the truth. You have done enough. I will tell my mother.”

“Miss Dalton...”

“Thank you, Mister Benson.” Only the faint threads of etiquette were keeping her from collapsing on the paving stones. If she looked into his eyes, she would be lost. Clara untied the wagon as quickly as she could, lips trembling as her numb fingers fumbled on the reins, and then she accepted his help to step up into the seat and drove away without meeting his gaze again.

It was only on the country roads that she broke down at last, pressing her hand against her mouth and sobbing at last for the brother she had lost. Her brother was gone from her. Gone, and he was never coming back.

J
asper caught the glint of her dress in the trees around noon. He smiled, his heart leaping in the same mix of joy and sadness he had become accustomed to since the last afternoon. He knew he was staring like a fool, an idiotic grin plastered on his face, before he noticed that her head hung, and her shoulders were slumped. He frowned and got to his feet. She was walking, he thought, as if she was lost—as if she saw nothing around her. He saw her stumble over something and look around herself in confusion.

“What’re you looking at?” Horace’s voice came out in a croak.

“Clara’s back.”

“What?” The man pushed himself up on his elbows, brow furrowed. “What did you say?”

“Don’t be angry,” Jasper spared him a worried glance. He wanted to run to Clara, take her in his arms, and yet he knew what his friend would say if he knew. “She’s the farmer’s daughter I mentioned. She went to get you medicine.”

“Clara?” Horace gasped the name and slumped back against the bed. “Jasper, tell me this is a joke.”

In his friend’s accusing eyes, Jasper could see everything his friend must think of him: a turncoat, fraternizing with Yankees, taking aid from them and speaking their names with kindness. Had Horace seen his smile? Jasper knew he could not hide his love, not for a moment. Shame wormed in his gut, and a furious pride as well. How could he be ashamed of loving a woman like Clara?

Yet he would not let Horace’s pride get the man killed.

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” Jasper pleaded. “Horace, couldn’t. When you meet her, you’ll see that she—”

“You cannot let her in here!” The voice came out in a hiss, desperate. Horace tried to push himself up, and staggered.

“Don’t try to move,” Jasper begged. He was at his friend’s side, and he drew in his breath sharply when Jasper hauled him close. The man’s eyes were wide and staring, feverish. Deranged.

“She
cannot
come in here, do you understand me?” His voice was a hiss. “Send her away.”

“She went to get medicine for
you
.” Jasper tried to unclench his friend’s hands from his shirt and could not. “Horace...”

“Send her away
.
” His teeth were bared in a grimace. “Do it, Jasper. You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“I have a very good idea what’s at stake!” Jasper hissed back. “You’re dying, and I won’t let you. I’ve worked down in those fields for a week to keep food in our bellies and your wound clean. I knew the risks I was taking, believe me.”

“Not this one.” Horace released him at last, half throwing him away. “Tell her nothing, do you understand me? If you have any loyalty me at all, Jasper, I beg you. Send her away.”

Jasper’s heart twisted.

“I’ll kill myself, I swear it.” His friend’s blue eyes were steady on his.

“You will do no such thing.” Jasper’s voice was dangerous.

“I will,” Horace said after a pause.

“Fine.” Jasper pushed himself to his feet and strode out of the cabin.

Clara was barely a few steps away, and he suppressed an exclamation at the sight of her. Her eyes were red with tears, and the red gown that had so accentuated her fair skin a day ago now showed only how pale and drawn she had become.