Faith (33 page)

Her father stroked her back with his strong yet gentle hand. Then he lifted her chin with his index finger. “I never told thee, but I never expected thee to find her. Some tasks are too big for us.”

She stared at him, her tears drying up. Her father’s simple words clarified so much. She nodded yes.

“We couldn’t save Patience from the fever that took her, and only God can bring Shiloh home.”

She began crying again, remembering that night five years ago when kidnappers had drugged and bound her and stolen Shiloh from them.

Her father held her close and continued rubbing her back as if she were a child again. She allowed the healing in his touch to begin its work. Finally she straightened, pulled herself together.
I release Shiloh to thee, Lord. We are in thy loving hands.

Hearing the dinner bell, she signed, “Time for lunch.”

He nodded. “Good. I’m hungry.”

She realized she was too
 
—ravenous, in fact. The two of them walked arm in arm to the house. Her tears had washed away her guilt over failing to find Shiloh. God would have to bring Shiloh home.

Still, Faith could hardly believe she herself had arrived safely at her own home again. How could life
here
go on as always when, south of here, men were shooting at each other, killing each other? One existence must be a dream or nightmare, not real.

But both, she knew, were all too real.

Inside, Faith helped her mother set the table
 
—just three places, for Faith and her parents. None of Faith’s siblings remained at home, though Ella was living here at present. This morning, however, she had gone to help a neighbor with her canning.

The long time away at war had caused Faith to see her parents with fresh eyes. She noted that her father’s hair was salt-and-pepper and Honor’s blonde hair was threaded with abundant silver.

Both her parents were letting the younger generation take over Cathwell Glassworks. Though Samuel and Honoree’s father, Judah, still occasionally crafted some special-order glass, neither worked the long hours they once had. Faith’s adopted cousin, Caleb, supervised the glassworks. Caleb and his wife and children lived in a cabin behind the glassworks. Two young men from Judah’s church had served as apprentices and now manufactured the regular glass orders.

The cook, Annie
 
—one of the glassworkers’ wives
 
—knocked at the door. Honor opened the door and the plump woman hurried inside with a tray.

“I hope it’s not gone cold,” Annie said. “How is the soldier?”

“I’m still here,” Devlin muttered from his makeshift bed by the fire.

“Well,” Annie said, “I hope you’re hungry. I made cream of celery soup and biscuits.”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you,” Dev said.

Annie spoke a few more encouraging words before returning to the detached kitchen near her cabin.

Honor said grace and served the lunch. Faith moved to feed Devlin.

“You eat first,” her husband said. “I don’t have much appetite.”

The lunch conversation was stilted. Faith could see from her parents’ concerned expressions that there was much they wanted to ask about her and Devlin and their sudden marriage. But they did not choose to do so
 
—yet.

After lunch, Honor left, carrying the tray of used tableware to the kitchen for washing, and Samuel headed toward the glassworks. Faith went to her husband, propped him up, and set a tray on his lap. Then she sat down beside him. He’d decreed he’d feed himself or go hungry.

She gazed at him. He had survived this far. God had obviously decided the time had come for both of them to retreat. She sighed suddenly. “Nothing has gone as we wanted, has it?”

Dev glanced at her sharply. “That just occurred to you?”

She ignored the edge to his voice. “It has been hard for me to face that I’ve returned home without Shiloh.”

He patted her hand awkwardly.

“Thee can say it.” She sent him a lopsided smile. “The undertaking was too large for two women in the midst of the war.”

“I believe I did mention that,” he said more gently.

“My father just reminded me that some tasks are too big for us. I must leave Shiloh in God’s hands.”

Dev felt miserable and couldn’t hide it. He picked up his spoon. “Even if it means you’ll never see her again.” His harsh words struck her, and he regretted them.

“I will see her again regardless,” Faith murmured.

He wanted to say he was sorry, but instead he dipped his spoon in the creamy soup. “Please, I want you to write my mother today.”

Faith nodded, conceding. “I will. And I need to write to Honoree and Armstrong and let them know we arrived safely. Does Armstrong have family?”

“Yes. I’m sure my mother will tell his family the news.” Feeding himself took as much effort as he could muster. He tasted the salty, buttery soup and nearly sighed aloud. After months of camp food, this was ambrosia.

“Thee is recovering, but it will take a long time before thee feels like thyself again.” Faith rested her hand on his arm.

He tried not to react to her touch. Impossible. Still feverish and weak, Dev wondered at her false hope. But he said nothing as he sipped the creamy soup. Delicious just like the food at home. He let himself gaze at Faith. She was so beautiful, even with the scar that marred her cheek. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you better.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

He expected her to bow her head and turn away as she had done every time before. Instead she pressed her hand over his, keeping it in place.

“Thee must not blame thyself. How could we know that woman would attack me with a knife?” She glanced
downward and then at him again. “I will grow accustomed, and it won’t bother me. I never thought myself vain, but this has made me more . . . conscious of myself.” She drew in breath and lifted her chin.

Then she did something else he didn’t expect. She turned her face into his palm and kissed it.

The breath caught in his throat and emotion rushed through him, sensations he didn’t want to experience.
I’m dying. I’m going to leave her.
He knew he should say words to put her away from him, but he found he could not speak them. He could only sit, letting himself feel what he truly felt. He had no energy to deceive himself. Or her.

Finally she withdrew her face, breaking their contact. “Now eat thy soup. I will get my portable writing desk.”

He forced himself to eat, spoonful by spoonful, though the effort cost him. He watched her move about this log-cabin room. What a contrast. Her sister lived in a mansion, and her parents lived in a frontier cabin.

For the first time he really looked around the comfortably furnished space, which combined the dining and sitting rooms. He took in the tall bookcase filled with leather volumes of different shades. If only he could walk to the books, pull each one out, and feel and smell the leather and the smooth pages.

Faith sat down beside him again. “Shall we begin?”

Dev nodded, dry-mouthed, and began to dictate the letter. He could not stop gazing at her. He had long ago adjusted to being a bachelor, but now he had a lovely and wonderful woman as his wife. And he was going to die without ever holding her in his arms. The bitter thought soured within.

Faith looked to Devlin, who had finished dictating the letter. His eyelids were drooping. “I will send this off today,” she said. “Our neighbor is going to Cincinnati, and he will leave it at the post office there. That will get it on its way to Baltimore more quickly.”

He barely nodded.

She rose and carried the portable desk to the nearby sofa. Then she lifted the lunch tray from Devlin’s lap and took it to the table. When she returned to him, he’d already fallen asleep.

The door opened and her mother entered, letting in cool wind. Honor immediately looked to Dev. “He’s asleep again?”

“Yes.”

“It must take the body an amazing amount of effort to heal.” Honor walked over to Faith. “Now, how is
thee
healing?”

Faith rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I cannot tell thee how horrible being in a war was. All of it. I feel like I’ve awakened from a bad dream. And I still feel guilty about leaving Honoree behind in the nightmare.”
And Shiloh.

Honor tucked her close and kissed Faith’s scarred cheek as if unaware of its ugliness. “I was never in a war, but the little I saw when we visited thee gave some taste of what thee faced daily. And now thee comes home married, and to a man who has been deeply wounded.” Honor released Faith and went to sit on the sofa, took out her knitting, and began working on something that looked like a baby sweater in white yarn.

“We only married to meet propriety.” Faith looked to Devlin. “We had never talked of love or marriage.”

“But that didn’t mean thee didn’t love him.”

Faith could never hide much from her mother. Her heart sped up. “I do love him.”

“And he loves thee?”

“I know he has feelings for me. But we’re so different, Mother.” She recounted briefly the colonel’s refusal to free Armstrong, breaking his long-standing promise.

“A house divided against itself?” Honor asked wisely, her fingers moving in and out of the yarn with the wooden knitting needles.

“Yes.” Faith was grateful for her mother’s quick comprehension. She inhaled fully. “He can’t make up his mind. He’s at war with himself just like the Union and the Confederacy.”

Honor looked to Dev. “He must come to his own resolution. Though he’s put off coming to a decision, I think it’s because he doesn’t believe he’s going to live.”

“Yes. But I think he is going to. He is a strong man, and Dr. Bryant is a gifted surgeon.”

“And thee is an excellent nurse,” Honor commented. “Then he will be forced to face the truth and work out his salvation.”

Faith knew what her mother meant with those words. Her husband would have to look the truth in the eye and figure out how to accept God’s will.

At that moment, Ella opened the door, returning from helping the neighbor. “How is the colonel?” Ella was already wearing a loose dress to accommodate her pregnancy. She came over to see Honor’s progress in knitting a garment for her coming baby.

Faith smiled, thinking of the little one to come by spring
 
—something good, something hopeful in this war-scarred and weary world.

After Ella and Honor left to visit a neighborhood mother with a newborn, Faith reread the letter her husband had dictated. And then realized that he’d left out so much, no doubt because as far as his injuries were concerned, he was still not out of the woods
 
—particularly in his own estimation. But more needed to be added. She must tell his mother everything, not leave her in ignorance. So she added a postscript of her own.

Thy son married me, Faith Cathwell, the daughter of the house where he is staying.

How could she explain that? Several possibilities came to mind, but she decided none would sound right on paper. She did her best, regardless:

I was a nurse with the Union Army. My mother, Honor Cathwell, invites thee to come and stay with us. If thee comes to Cincinnati, ask to be taken to the Brightman-Ramsay house. My sister Blessing Ramsay lives there with her husband, and she will bring you to us in Sharpesburg. Please come.

She reread the letter, dwelling momentarily on the news that Devlin’s cousin Jack had died. Dev had not given her or
his mother any but the bare facts, though surely he was still affected by the experience.

Faith dusted the sheet of stationery with sand and then folded and addressed it, sealing it with wax. She donned her shawl and hurried down the road to Thad Hastings’s house. He was leaving soon for Cincinnati.

Faith hoped Devlin’s mother would come here to visit. She didn’t believe her husband was going to die, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. The thought sliced her composure and exposed her fear.