Swan's Way (33 page)

The moon rose. The ghosts appeared. A great bolt of lightning flashed.

“Neal!”
Ginna cried. “Hold me tight!”

He tried to hold onto her. He really did.

With a jolt that almost took away what little breath she had left, Ginna Jones found herself once more inside Virginia Swan. By the brilliant green of the landscape, she knew it was early summer. She was alone—dusty and weary—walking up the path from the woods. She gazed toward the house on the hill, thinking how much she had missed the place and how wonderful it was to be home, after all this time. She paused at the swan pond and smiled. The old cob and his pen had their heads bowed together to form a perfect heart.

Looking back at Swan’s Quarter, she thought she saw people on the veranda, rocking slowly, waving to her and smiling. But a moment later, they vanished.

A happy cry greeted her, as she drew nearer.
“Virginia?”
Her mother came rushing out of the front door, a pretty toddler clinging to her long, black skirt. “Virginia, can that really be you?”

She broke into a trot, eager to feel her mother’s sheltering arms around her again, dying to hold her little daughter, Channelle.

“Oh, my sweet, dear girl!” Melora wept. “I never thought I’d see you again. Where have you been? How have you survived all this time?”

Polly came bustling around the side of the house. “I swannee, if it ain’t Miss Virginia, in the flesh! You had us mighty worried, I can tell you, ma’am.”

Virginia, holding Channelle and kissing her sunlit curls, hugged Polly. “You wouldn’t happen to have some fried chicken on the place, would you? I’m starved!”

While Polly fried the chicken, Virginia bathed and changed clothes up in her bedroom, with Melora and Channelle by her side every moment.

Melora caught her up on all that had happened in their family since she left. Agnes and Roslyn were fine, still with her mother at the sulfur springs. The twins had gone all the way to California, where they were both married and raising families now. They had opened up a mercantile store in San Francisco. Most of the slaves had taken off for the North, but a few, who were “family,” had stayed on to work for wages.

“And Channing’s family?” Virginia asked, pulling on a frock that had been far too small for her before she left, but fit perfectly now.

“They arrived home from Paris a few months after the surrender,” Melora said. “Channing’s father is in the wine business now. He brought cuttings back from France, and they seem to thrive in our rich soil.” Melora beamed at her daughter. “And Letitia is teaching me to paint. I’ve already done a portrait of Channelle, and I believe it’s quiet good.”

Virginia reached for her daughter and drew her onto her lap. “With such a pretty subject, how could it be anything but beautiful?”

The little girl, still shy with her mother, gazed up at her with Channing’s dark eyes.

Melora took the girl from Virginia and said, “Why don’t you go down and ask Polly if that chicken is done yet, dear?”

With a wave and a smile, Channelle skipped out of the room. Melora hadn’t wanted the child to hear her next question.

“What of Channing, Virginia? Did you find him?”

Her daughter’s beaming face answered the question, even before she spoke. “I did. He was wounded at Petersburg, as we heard. I searched and searched, before I found him in a makeshift hospital. Had I not gone to nurse him, he would have died, Mother. The conditions were beyond deplorable. I don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it.”

“But where is he now? Why didn’t he come home with you?”

“He will be here soon. He had to go to Washington to take care of some business first—something about a woman who was thought to have died, but is really alive. He didn’t tell me all the details. It’s army business, I suppose. We came most of the way together, then parted at Winchester. He said the sooner he got to Washington, the sooner he could come to Swan’s Quarter to marry me in proper fashion.”

Melora clapped her hands, then hugged her daughter. “Oh, I can’t tell you how happy this makes me!”

“We both knew that you never considered our broomstick-jumping a proper ceremony. We want to make it perfectly legal.”

“And perfectly lovely! Channing’s mother brought you a beautiful gown from Paris. Polly and I will see to all the other arrangements.”

Virginia soon discovered that there had been more changes at Swan’s Quarter than she had suspected. Her mother had taken in several wounded veterans, and their wives had come to be with them. Some of the people seemed so familiar, yet she knew she had never met them before. There was one couple in particular, his name was Billy and his pretty wife was called Pansy. Many of the guests at Swan’s Quarter joined Virginia, Melora, and Channelle for some of Polly’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes, spring squash, and lemon-cheese cake.

This was a real homecoming. Virginia couldn’t have been happier. The war was over and life, once more, was good at Swan’s Quarter.

It wasn’t Channing who had business in Washington, but Neal. He had a plane to catch; a wrong to right. Elspeth had provided the magic to make this possible. While the old woman went on to Swan’s Quarter to be at the wedding, she sent Neal on another course, one not so far back in time.

“You do this thing, then you come on back and join the rest of us. You got a wedding to be at, remember?”

Before Neal could blink an eye, he found himself once more on the ill-fated flight 1862. Again, the awful fear gripped him, tearing and thrashing in the pit of his stomach.

The child beside him—Christine, she had told him her name was—clung to her mother, crying. Mrs. Henderson had said she was a teacher and a wife, with several other children. Now the woman was sobbing, even as she tried to soothe her terrified child.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Henderson. The emergency door is right here. I’ll have it open, the minute we get down. You and Christine will be out and safe before you know it.”

He tried to sound totally confident. He only hoped it would be that simple.

Their sickening descent seemed to last forever. All the passengers were screaming, moaning, or praying aloud. Neal Frazier was praying, too, but not for his own life. Silently, he said,
Dear God, let me do it right this time. Let me save the daughter and the mother. And then, please, God, send me back to my Virginia
.

The crash and the fire came so quickly that there was little time to think. What Neal did, he did by pure instinct. The door came off, and he turned to Christine and her mother. The woman tried to thrust her child into his arms.

“No!” Neal yelled. “Here, take my hand. I’ll get you both out.”

He was coughing, choking on the toxic fumes, as were the other passengers. Seconds slipped away—precious seconds, life-giving seconds. Somehow, he managed to extract the woman from her jammed seat belt. With a maximum of effort-he was dizzy and disoriented—he shoved the woman and her child from the plane to safety. He didn’t try to follow them. He couldn’t have anyway. The fumes and smoke overcame him, and he fell back into the flames. But he never felt the pain of death. Instead, he experienced a cool, fresh wind, scented with the flowers of spring. He felt weightless, as if he were now flying without a plane. Soaring through the clean air, happy, alive, and free.

The next thing he knew, he was astride a horse, riding up a familiar lane. There were people gathered on the veranda watching for him. He was home—home at last!

“Channing!” He heard her call, before he saw her. She stepped from the crowd on the porch and ran down the stairs, crying his name in joyful greeting. A little girl trailed behind, clutching her skirt.

“My wife,” he breathed, “and my daughter.”

Only when they were both in his arms could he really believe that this dream had come true, at long last.

“Oh, my darling, my darling,” Virginia wept. “I thought you’d never come.” After showering his face with kisses, she said, “Channelle, this is your father. He’s a hero.”

“Daddy!” the little girl said, reaching up to him with soft, dimpled arms.

Channing scooped her up, laughing, and rained kisses all over her pink cheeks.

Late that night, after all the excitement of his homecoming had subsided and they finally got a chance to be alone, Channing held his love in his arms for the first time in many months.

“I never thought I would live to see this day. I wouldn’t have without you, darlin’.”

“Let’s don’t talk of the past.”

“Let’s don’t talk at all. I want to love you now, like you’ve never been loved before. And I want to think of the future—
our
future together, Virginia.”

“It’s going to be a long, lovely life,” she said, with a happy sigh.

Soon, all conversation came to an end. Channing kissed Virginia’s breasts, stroked her thighs, and finally came to her, offering all the love he had to give.

Virginia was right; it was a long, lovely life. The very next day, she donned the beautiful gown from Paris and came down the wide staircase at Swan’s Quarter to join her love in holy wedlock, presided over this time by the Reverend Bulwer and witnessed by all their friends and Channing’s family and the spirits of all those who would come to Swan’s Quarter over a century in the future—those who had traveled through time to be at this wedding.

As Channing and Virginia stood together in the parlor, she forgot about all the others. She was aware only of the nearness of the man she had loved all her life and would continue to love through this life, and many others.

When the ceremony ended, Channing kissed her as though she were made of fragile china. Little Channelle came and hugged them both.

“Now we’re a real family,” Virginia said, through happy tears.

“Hallo! Anybody home?” The call came from the front door. No one had noticed the odd wagon coming up the lane past the swan pond.

“Who on earth could that be?” Melora said.

Beaming at his mother-in-law, Channing answered, “It’s a surprise for my bride. I contacted Mr. Mathew Brady, while I was in Washington. He’s come to make our wedding portrait.”

Juniper showed the photographer in. He looked as Virginia remembered, with his blue-tinted spectacles and silver-headed cane. With him came the scent of Atwood’s colonge.

“I’ve brought you a wedding gift, Mrs. McNeal.” He handed her a photograph taken at Petersburg. “That’s me there,” he pointed to the figure in the canvas coat. “I had Gardner take the shot. And if you’ll look very closely, I believe you’ll see your husband, just there.”

Virginia frowned, trying to remember. The photograph looked so familiar, but she knew she had never seen it before. Brady distracted her attention by insisting that the bride and groom come pose for him by the swan pond.

And to this day, if you happen to visit Swan’s Quarter, you will see the “ghosts” in the greenhouse and the matching wedding portrait of Channing and Virginia McNeal, smiling into each others eyes, with a love and joy that transcends time.

For, indeed, it did, and still does.

Elspeth, Sister, and Marcellus Lynch sat on the veranda, rocking and drinking tea, which they poured from the old silver pot that had been wounded in the war.

It was a Monday, and it seemed odd not to be watching for Ginna, not to see the tulip poplar shimmering in the distance. They missed Pansy, too, but they all knew she was happier back in the past, back with her Billy and with Virginia and Channing.

“Tell us a story, Elspeth,” Marcellus begged, about to sneak the last sugar cookie from the plate, before he decided to leave it for the two ladies to share.

She nodded and set down her blue and white flowered cup. “Well, as you may recall, Colonel Jedediah Swan rode off to the war at the head of his own cavalry unit, and all four of his sons went with him.”

“Not
that
story,” Sister fussed. “Tell us about later, after the war.”

“Yes,” Marcellus agreed, “tell the happy part.”

Elspeth, who had only been teasing them, anyway, was more than happy to tell the rest of the story. She rocked gently for a minute or two, gazing off into the distance before she began.

“There was once a girl named Ginna—a lonely girl, a girl with a sickly heart. She had no mama, no papa, no one but us. We loved her like our own. We made ourselves her family. And the best thing you can do when you love someone the way we loved our Ginna is to give her roots and wings. Her roots here at Swan’s Quarter went down as far as the roots of that old wisteria vine in the greenhouse. And her wings have spread like a swan’s to carry her to her love.”

“Tell about Neal,” Lynch said.

Elspeth took another sip of tea, and her eyes grew moist. “A sweet young man, but sad, so sad. He was a hero, you know. He saved little Christine and her mother in that plane crash. Gave up his own life, he did.”

“But in return, he was rewarded, wasn’t he?” Sister put in.

“That he was! With
love
everlasting. He made our Ginna happy with his love. We’ll never forget him.”

“Never!” Lynch agreed.

“And now our Ginna and her Neal are far, faraway, yet still right here at Swan’s Quarter. Sometimes, in the late afternoon, ’twixt sunset and twilight, seems I see them down by the swan pond, holding hands or sharing a kiss. Yes, they’re still here, all right, but in the fourth dimension. And I see their children—little Channelle and a boy named Jed, for his grandpa and his uncle, both heroes of our Cause. And then they’ll fade, just like that. But they leave an afterglow in our hearts, a feeling that we’ll meet again.”

Sister wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Do you believe that, Els? Really, I mean—that we’ll all meet again.”

Elspeth reached over and gripped Sister’s hand. “Oh, absolutely! As sure as a swan mates for life, we chose our friends for all time. For here and now, and for the hereafter.”

The threesome fell quiet, thinking of all the loved ones who had gone before them, knowing in their hearts that their reunions would not be long in coming.

“Tomorrow’s Tuesday,” Sister said suddenly. “Do you suppose Christine and Mrs. Henderson will come visit?”

“Of course, they will,” said Lynch.

“Have they ever missed a Tuesday?” Elspeth whispered with a smile and a wink.