“Yes, but I’m very glad he chose the ministry. I feel I can be more useful to him than if he were writing up wills and deeds and such.”
Sophie watched Joel, Caleb, and Jasper head for home. Most of the ladies were packing up too, loading baskets and dishes into wagons and rigs. Ethelinda drew her shawl around her shoulders and picked up the folded tablecloths. “I think that does it. I should be getting home.”
“Thank you for helping with this.”
Ethelinda nodded. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow—and Thanksgiving too?”
Sophie smiled. “I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it.”
Ethelinda hurried away, passing Ethan, who touched the brim of his hat as he headed toward Sophie.
“Ready to go?”
“In a minute.” Sophie stood with her hands in her coat pockets and studied her building. Once the new wood was painted and her new typewriting machine, paper, and ink arrived, she could begin publishing again. It would take the last of her savings to do so, but the fire had taught her just how committed she was to this community and to the paper. She couldn’t quit just because the job had become harder.
“God will provide,” Ada often said. He would provide for her now.
She took Ethan’s arm. He helped her into his rig, and in the growing darkness they drove the short distance to the infirmary. Ethan guided the horse through the wrought-iron gate. Gillie’s rig, and Dr. Spencer’s, stood in the side yard. Lamplight glowed in the first-floor windows.
Dr. Spencer met them in the entry hall. “Evening, Miss Caldwell. Mr. Heyward.”
Ethan shook the doctor’s hand. “How is he?”
“He had a slight fever this morning, but it seems to have abated. I’m still treating his wound with the carbolic acid compresses. They’re painful, I’m afraid, but necessary. Miss Gilman tells me his appetite has returned. A good sign.”
Ethan let out a long sigh. “That’s good news. But isn’t there anything we can do to hasten his recovery?”
Dr. Spencer passed a hand over his tired-looking face. “I’m afraid not, son. Unfortunately, a soft lead bullet like that tends to inflict the most damage to human flesh. Mr. Worth is over the worst of it, but his wound will have to heal on its own. What he needs now is bed rest and good food. Time will take care of—”
A blast of cold air interrupted him as the door flew open to admit an anxious-looking young man.
“May I help you?” the doctor asked.
“Oh. No. I mean yes! That is, my wife had a baby yesterday, and I’m here to take ’em home. If you think it’s all right.”
“It’s fine.” The doctor pointed down the long hallway. “First door on the right. I think my assistant is with them now.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” the new father said. “We lost a baby before we moved to Hickory Ridge. My wife was afraid it would happen again. I’m glad we had the infirmary this time.”
He headed down the hall, and the doctor retrieved his coat, hat, and medical bag. “If you folks will excuse me, I think I’ll go on home. I was up half of last night with the Purdys’ little girl and out at the lumber mill all morning tending to Davy Blevins.” He shook his head. “The boy got careless with the saw and nearly severed a couple fingers.”
The young father and his wife came down the hallway, the baby swaddled and tucked into the crook of his mother’s arm. Gillie, grinning from ear to ear, followed them. Sophie smiled, too, at her friend’s happiness.
The young man paused, turning his battered felt hat around and around in his hands. “Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time, but me and Anna want to name our boy Gilman Spencer, after the two of you. Because Miss
Gilman delivered him, and she says you’re the one who taught her how to bring a baby into the world. We aim to call him Spence if that’s all right with you.”
The doctor smiled. “I’m honored. I hope he grows into a sturdy young man.”
“Well, it’s the first time a baby has been named for me,” Gillie said, “and I think it’s completely wonderful.”
“Come on, honey.” The new father ushered his little family into the darkness. Gillie, her arms folded across her chest, beamed at them.
“I’m going home,” Dr. Spencer said, “before Eugenie forgets what I look like. Send for me if you need me, Gillie.”
“I will.”
“And congratulations on your first delivery. You did a fine job, as I knew you would.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Just don’t go thinking they will all be this easy. They won’t.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, good night, all.” The doctor pointed a finger at Ethan. “Don’t keep Mr. Worth up too late. He needs his rest.”
He left, the door slapping shut behind him.
“Mr. Worth is awake,” Gillie said. “You can go on in. I’ll be here awhile longer. Our salesman is due to arrive on tomorrow’s train, so I need to inventory our supplies and make up a new order.” She squeezed Sophie’s arm. “I’ll see you on Thanksgiving, I hope. You too, Mr. Heyward.”
Ethan nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Gillie disappeared into the office she shared with Doc Spencer. Ethan headed down the hall toward Mr. Worth’s room and Sophie followed, her heart flailing like a bird in a box. Now that the leather pouch had been recovered, perhaps Mr. Worth could prove his innocence once and for all.
Ethan pushed open the door. Gillie had lit the lamp. Inside the clear glass globe, the flame burned blue and white-hot, its light giving Julian the appearance of a finely carved statue. He turned his head on the pillow and motioned them inside.
Without thinking, Sophie grasped Ethan’s hand and felt it tremble. She squeezed, and he squeezed back before approaching the bed and pulling up a chair for her. He drew the curtains and perched on the deep windowsill, still wearing his woolen coat.
The brothers took each other’s measure for a long moment before Ethan said, “How are you, Julian?”
“Tired. But the pain is better today.” He hitched his shoulders. “Is there any word from home?”
Ethan shook his head. “I checked at the telegraph office earlier today. No news is probably good news. But I’ll go by there again before the office closes and see if anything has come in.”
“I appreciate it.” Julian winced. “Today my head hurts worse than the bullet wound.” He touched the thick bandage that covered most of his forehead and smiled at Sophie. “I heard you were wounded. Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“I owe you a great debt for taking care of me on the train.”
“There wasn’t much I could do.”
“If I ruined your cloak, I’ll gladly get you another.”
She shook her head. “No harm done.”
Ethan cleared his throat and produced the small leather pouch. “The sheriff returned this today.”
Julian studied it for a long beat. Finally he said, “Have you opened it?”
“It isn’t mine to open.”
“Open it now,” Julian said. “Over here by the lamp so you can see.”
Ethan opened the pouch, took out a sheaf of papers and news clippings, and bent toward the light. Sophie watched his face as he
read each one, slowly stacking them on the bed as he went. Did these few wrinkled pages hold the key to healing his past?
She thought of the diary Rosaleen had left to her. Of course it hadn’t magically erased every bitter memory, every deep scar on her heart, but knowing the truth had set a part of her free. She now could accept her history with all its burdens and imperfections. If only Julian’s papers would do the same for Ethan.
Ethan finished reading. He looked up and Sophie saw tears standing in his eyes. She glanced at Julian, who waited calmly, hands folded atop his coverlet.
“How long have you known this?” Ethan asked at last.
“I first got word of it a couple of years ago, when I went home for my mother’s funeral.”
“Martha is dead?”
Julian nodded. “It was quick. A shock to me, but a blessing really. Her mind was gone. She kept calling out for your mother. I think she imagined she was at Ravenswood. Back when we were boys together.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. She was a comfort to my mother for many years.”
Julian didn’t answer that. He turned to Sophie. “I heard you had a fire.”
“Yes, but Ethan has seen to repairs. I hope to begin publishing the paper again very soon. Perhaps by Christmas, if my supplies arrive.”
“What happened?”
“The sheriff thinks that the man who shot you is also responsible for the fire.”
Julian shifted his injured leg and sighed. “My, my, I seem to have wreaked all sorts of havoc in pursuit of truth.”
Ethan shrugged out of his coat and draped it across the foot of the bed. “You got the short end of that stick, Julian. I’m sorry
you got mixed up in the dispute between Crocker and me. If I had listened to you when you first showed up back in June, none of this would have happened.”
Julian lifted one shoulder. “I reckon everything happens for a reason, brother.”
“Maybe.” Ethan picked up the sheaf of papers and sorted through them again. “I knew the Yankees were responsible for destroying most of Georgia. But that day when I saw you in Mother’s room holding that knife, after what had happened to our Witherspoon cousins, I assumed that you—”
“I know how it must have looked to you. Everything that day was in chaos.” Julian closed his eyes, as if summoning the scene again. “By the time I beat you back to the house, they had already stolen everything out of the toolshed and the smokehouse. They slaughtered the chickens and turned the cattle out and started taking things out of the house. Paintings, silver, anything of value. Mr. Carpenter had run off. They told the field hands to load up wagons with everything they could carry. Told ’em all they were free to go.”
“Father,” Ethan said. “Where was he while this was happening?”
“I found him in the upstairs hallway, lying atop that pistol he kept in the library. I expect he was trying to fend off the Yankees when they shot him. Then I heard Miss Rachel scream and I ran into her room.” Julian swallowed hard and glanced at Sophie. “This next part isn’t fit for a lady’s ears.”
Sophie sat on the edge of her chair, trembling and near tears. She could well imagine what came next. She stole a glance at Ethan. He sat on the windowsill, his head bowed, his elbows on his knees.
She licked her lips. “Go on, Mr. Worth.”
“I pushed open the door, and I saw one of the soldiers was . . . trying to have his way with her. I tried to scream, but my mouth was dry as cotton. Miss Rachel grabbed his arm, but he was a lot bigger
than her and he . . . he cut her. At first she just looked surprised, and I thought, soon as he leaves, I can help her. But she made an awful choking sound, and then she just lay down on the floor like she was tired and taking a nap.”
“Dear God,” Ethan whispered.
“The soldier ran out of there, and I was thinking I’d go out the window, jump off the roof, and go get her some help, but then I heard footsteps on the stairs. I was scared that man was coming back and would kill me too. I grabbed the knife and hid behind Miss Rachel’s curtains.”
Gillie tapped on the door and stuck her head in. “Everything all right in here?”
Sophie nodded. “We’re fine.”
“I’m headed home. Don’t keep my patient up too late.”
She closed the door.
“That was where I found you,” Ethan said to Julian, “standing behind Mother’s curtains, holding a bloody knife.”
“I could see the pure hate in your eyes,” Julian said. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. And I knew if I stayed there I’d be hanged, no questions asked. So I ran.”
“You’re right. After what happened to our cousins, I wouldn’t have believed you.” Ethan smoothed the front of his dungarees. “Still, I wondered what became of you.” He glanced at his brother. “We had some good times when we were boys. Before the war ruined everything.”
“We sure did. ’Member the time we both got chicken pox and your mama made a fort for us out of her old blanket, and we nearly caught fire to it?”
“I forgot about that.” Ethan sighed. “I tried to forget everything about Ravenswood and what happened there. I haven’t set foot on Heyward land since the day Aunt Eulalie arrived to take me to her place in Baltimore.”
“I heard that’s where you went. Mama and I headed north too—Ohio first, and then Pennsylvania. When the war ended and freedom was official, she went back home to Georgia, but I didn’t want anything to do with that place. I got a job stocking groceries and then went to school. After that I opened myself a bookshop on one of the fanciest streets in town.”
“A bookshop? I never would have guessed.”
“We were both more in love with fishing and climbing trees than books back in those days,” Julian said. “After everything that happened, I suppose I buried myself in other people’s stories so I wouldn’t have to think about my own. Anyway, it suits me now.”
Outside, the horse neighed and rattled his harness. Ethan peered out the window. “We should go soon.”
“I am getting tired,” Julian said, “but I want to tell you the rest of it.”
“Go on.”