Once in Every Life

  Unable to speak, he nodded. He took her hand and

  338

  grabbed the lamp, leading her up the ladder into the hayloft. Together they sat against the back wall. Jack focused for a moment on the feel of her fingers twined through his, and prayed that when it was over, she'd still want to touch

  him.

  "It's all about Johnny." His voice softened as he spoke his brother's name. "He was strong and funny and not afraid of anything." A bittersweet smile came with the memory. "I was .. . small and weak and afraid of everything. Except when I was with Johnny. He always made me forget how scared I was of things.

  "Like the war." He shuddered. "Johnny just had to go in the first wave. Me, I didn't want to go at all. I thought it was wrong, and besides, you were just starting to show with Savannah, but ... I couldn't let him go alone."

  Jack let his gaze wander to the back wall, where the hay lay piled in heaps. The sweet scent of it filled the air, but Jack didn't notice. All he could smell was blood and sweat and fear.

  "So we went." His eyes narrowed, he stared at the planked wall, dancing with dust motes. Bitterness churned through him, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth. "It didn't take long to realize how undersupplied and untrained we were. We marched and marched and marched. After a while our boots gave out, and there were no more, then our food gave out, and there was nothing but rotten apples and stolen corn. We were tired and hungry and sick.

  "Our company fought a few little skirmishes here and there, but nothing much. Nothing really dangerous. Our biggest enemies were disease and boredom.

  "Then ..." His voice cracked, gave out. Memories and images shot through his mind. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut.

  "I'm right here, Jack. You're safe. It's okay."

  She said the words over and over again. Jack concen-

  339

  trated on the gentle drawl of her voice until the rawness of his emotions melted into something more manageable. 'Then came Antietam." He shivered at the name. It had been forever since he'd uttered it out loud, and even now, years later, it made his stomach seize up with fear and shame.

  He tried to detach himself from the horror. He stiffened and stared straight ahead. Images filled his mind in a sickening array of blood and death. The warm, cozy barn blurred, became the mist-shrouded cornfield. "The rain had started again by morning, and ground fog hugged the hollows and trenches. It was nothing but mud?so much mud....

  "All of a sudden all hell broke loose. Guns and cannon fired into the mist from a dozen directions. The call came to charge. I ... I took a step. But it was so muddy, I couldn't move?I didn't move. I was so goddamn scared."

  Shame pulled the strength from his voice. "Then a canister exploded in front of me. An arm flew past my face?

  "I saw Billy Walker standing in front of me, clutching a bloody stump. 'My arm,' he kept saying. 'My arm.' "

  Jack felt battered by the tide of memories he'd kept suppressed for so long. "I couldn't move. I heard Johnny yell at me from somewhere up ahead."

  Come on, Jacko. We need you!

  The memory seized him by the throat. An eerie coldness crept through his body, chilling him to the bone. He shivered, squeezed his burning eyes shut. "I ran as fast as I could, screaming Johnny's name over and over again. I knew he was in trouble, but I didn't know ..." His words trailed off.

  "Jack?"

  He shook his head. Shame wedged so tightly in his throat, he couldn't talk, couldn't breathe. Tears burned his

  340

  eyes and blurred his vision. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying.

  Lissa eased the hand from his mouth and held it tightly. "It's okay, Jack. It's okay."

  A racking sob shook his body, but he held it back, shaking with the effort it took to remain motionless. "The doctors told me to forget about it," he rasped.

  "They were wrong," she said quietly. "You know they were. Have you ever been able to follow their advice?"

  Full of shame, he shook his head. A hot tear slid down his cheek. "No."

  Lissa touched his chin and turned his face. "You have to let it out, Jack. It's eating you up inside. If we have to talk about this every night for ten years, we will."

  He blinked back the scalding tears and stared into her earnest eyes. In their depths he found a place of comfort, of hope and belonging. The safe harbor he'd searched for all his life. All she was asking was that he try. Try.

  "His ... head ... it ... hit me." Tears ripped from him and turned into hot, aching sobs that rocked him to the core of his being. He squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as he pushed the hated words out. "I was running, and there it was. Johnny's head hit me in the gut. I ... I grabbed it."

  "Oh, God, Jack ..."

  "There was blood. So much blood. I felt it seeping through my fingers, and all I kept thinking was, 'It's Johnny's blood. He needs it.' "I couldn't let go of it...." Where were you, Jacko? "I ... killed him."

  Lissa touched his shoulder. "No, you didn't. Someone else killed him."

  He turned to her. It felt as if his soul were being slowly

  341

  twisted inside out. "Don't you see? I waited. I froze. During the battle. I was a coward, and it killed my brother." "How old were you?"

  "Old enough to know better." He looked away, stared hard at the candle's golden flame. "Okay," she said quietly.

  He frowned, turned to look at her. "Okay what?" "Okay, you waited thirty seconds. Maybe you were even a coward. But you didn't kill your brother." "But ... but I didn't save him, either." Lissa clambered around and sat on his lap, bunching her skirts up around her legs. Her fingers curled tightly around his shoulders. "You didn't save him. Can you see how far that is from killing him?" "It's splitting hairs, I?"

  She shook him, stared deeply into his eyes. "It's not splitting hairs."

  He got a glimmer of what she was talking about. It was no more than that, just a shimmering reflection of something, but for a heartbeat, he felt ... maybe.

  She saw the fleeting hope in his eyes and nodded. "That's right. Think about it."

  He let his breath out in a tired sigh. He'd believed the worst of himself for so long, he couldn't imagine seeing things any other way. "I don't know...."

  "Okay," she said softly, "there's lots of time for you to think." She slid off him and plunked onto the floor beside him, curling close. Her cheek was a warm pressure against his arm.

  The truth washed over Jack in a wave. She was still here, smiling at him, touching him, loving him. He'd told her the truth, and she was still here. A joy unlike anything he'd ever experienced rushed through him, filled his soul. He sagged against the wall in relief and closed his eyes. Curling an arm around her, he drew her close?so

  342

  r

  343

  close, he couldn't tell where he ended and she began. Their quiet, soft breathing mingled, gave the musty old barn a stirring of life.

  Jack felt the fear that had cramped his spirit for so long begin to slip away. The first sparkling threads of hope wound through him. She was right. It had helped to talk about it. For the first time since waking in that horrible, dingy hospital room, Jack wondered if maybe he could help himself. Maybe even heal himself.

  He stroked her hair softly. Before he knew it, he was talking again, sharing with her what he'd never shared with another soul. "After that, I ... woke up in some sort of hospital for crazies and cowards. They told me I'd been there for years, just staring at the ceiling and screaming. Then one day I woke up. The doctors told me not to think about what I'd seen at Antietam, and kept plugging laudanum down me until I wasn't even human anymore.

  "When the war ended, they opened the doors and let us go. I wandered for months until I finally found home. My folks ... and you ... thought I was just another coward."

  Lissa turned and took his face in her hands, touching him as if he were made of the finest china. "We were wrong, Jack. And if you believe it, you're wrong, too."
>
  At her words, spoken so softly and thickened with the threat of tears, Jack felt something inside him, something gnarled and ugly and afraid, begin to melt away. And in that moment, in the hay-scented half-light of a musty old barn, Jack knew he'd been given another chance.

  "I love you, Lissa."

  The next morning, Tess and Jack slept in late. They

  were wakened by a knock on the door.

  "Mama?" Savannah said. "Are you awake?"

  Tess smiled lazily and snuggled closer to Jack. "Are

  we?"

  He curled an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer, planting a slow, loving kiss on her lips. "I'm afraid we are."

  "Come on in, girls," she called out.

  The door opened. Savannah and Katie lurched into the room then stopped dead. Two little mouths dropped open. "Daddy!"

  Jack scooted to a sit and grinned at them, shoving a dirty lock of hair out of his face. "Hi, girls."

  Katie ran pell-mell for the bed and threw herself in her daddy's arms.

  Savannah stood hesitantly, her hands twisting together at her midsection. "We missed you yesterday. Are you ... all right?"

  He gave her a smile. "There's only one thing that could make me better."

  "What's that?"

  "A good-morning kiss from my favorite girl."

  Savannah grinned and ran to the bed. Jack swept her lithe body into his arms and plopped her on his lap. The four of them sat there, huddled and happy in the middle of the big bed, laughing, talking, chattering away. Thinking that nothing could ever go wrong again.

  Tess went out to the porch to call everyone in for lunch.

  But what she saw outside made the words catch in her throat. Smiling softly, she leaned against the railing. Beside her, the white post was covered with twining roses, their small, pink buds just beginning to open. Their scent mingled with the aroma of baking bread and sea air and reminded Tess that she was home.

  "Mama's gonna love these roses, ain't she, Daddy?"

  "She sure is, Katydid."

  Tess's gaze slid lovingly along her new family. Love swelled in her heart. Jack was squatted beneath the oak

  344

  tree, digging a flower bed. Beside him, Caleb lay sprawled on a huge blanket, busily batting his fists in the air.

  Savannah and Katie were crouched on either side of the path, planting more roses.

  Tess reached up and rang the supper bell. The clanging, metallic sound vibrated on the air. "Come on, y'all. It's time for supper."

  Jack looked up and gave her a smile. "Thank God." He waved her over. "Come here."

  Katie popped to her feet. "Look at what we did!"

  Tess smiled happily and moved down the steps. "It's perfect. I love it."

  "Come here," Jack said, pushing to his feet. "I have something for you."

  Tess stopped in front of him. "What is it?"

  "Close your eyes."

  "Okay."

  Something airy and nearly weightless settled on the top of her head.

  "Aw, shit," he cursed. "Don't move."

  Tess smothered a laugh.

  "You can open your eyes now."

  Tess blinked up at him. "What is it?"

  "A dandelion crown. I made it myself."

  Tess felt as if she'd been given the crown jewels of England. She smiled up at him.

  Jack leaned down to give her a kiss.

  "Look, Daddy!" Katie yelled. "Miz Hannah's runnin' over here."

  Jack pulled back. Turning, he saw Minerva run through the fields toward them. As he watched her, a chilling sense of apprehension skittered up his spine. He tensed, breathing heavily, his hands coiled into fists at his side. Something was wrong.

  By the time Minerva Hannah reached them, she was

  345

  pale and out of breath. "Thank ... God ... you're ... here," she panted, clutching her side.

  "What is it?" Jack asked.

  "Henry and Selina Dwyer have been murdered. The Terrells found their bodies this morning, but it looks like they've been dead since yesterday."

  Yesterday. The word hit Jack like a punch to the lungs. Horror crept through his body in an ice-cold river.

  Yesterday. Exactly when he'd been wandering the island in a blackout.

  The sickness in his stomach intensified, turned his in-sides into a burning, twisting coil of terror. Where had he been? Where the hell had he been? And what in God's name had he done?

  "I must go now," Minerva said shakily. "There's a meeting down at the schoolhouse to discuss it. I figured you'd want to go."

  Lissa gave her a quick hug. "I understand. We'll see you there."

  Tears glistened in Minerva's eyes as she nodded. "Thanks." Then she turned and hurried back toward her farm.

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then Lissa said his name. He heard the quiet fear in her voice and felt a stab of regret so strong and sharp, he almost cried out in pain. The hope he'd felt only moments ago shattered like glass, sending thousands of clear, invisible shards scattering around his feet.

  With a certainty that sickened and shamed him, he knew he'd killed those people. He knew without a doubt that he hadn't meant to hurt them, but somehow he had. And to them, dead now and in the ground, his intentions and his sickness didn't mean shit.

  The memory of that night washed over him in a cold wave. The excessive amount of blood on his long Johns?

  346

  r

  347

  had he really been naive enough to believe it was from his scraped hand? The marks he'd left on his wife's pale, fragile wrists that night came back to him suddenly, burning through his brain. He remembered the Winchester shotgun, propped in the corner of the barn. So out of place, so forgotten. The nightmare had gripped so hard that night, and so fast, with icy-cold fingers that seemed to suffocate him. He hadn't been thinking right?only feeling, acting on impulse. During a blackout his mind turned into a morass of fear and darkness and desperation. Maybe he'd taken the gun, thinking he was shooting Johnny's killer. Who the hell knew what had gone on in his mind?

  Who the hell knew? He knew only that he'd been right to believe the worst of himself all those years.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, battling a near-crippling flood of remorse and grief for the Dwyer family and what he'd done to them. God, forgive me. I never meant to hurt anyone.

  Lissa came up beside him, touched his arm. "Jack, are you all right?"

  He didn't dare look at her. He was afraid it would all be revealed in his eyes?the fear, the dread, the ache. Even some tiny, regret-filled remnant of hope. The only voice he could find was flat and lifeless, like the scratchy rustling of long-dead leaves. "No."

  He pulled his arm free of her hold and turned to go.

  "Wait, Jack?"

  He didn't slow down. "I'll get the wagon hitched. We'll leave in fifteen minutes."

  Jack strode into the barn, every step reverberating up his spine like a hammerblow. His breathing was fast and shallow, the ragged cant of a man on the verge of exploding.

  He moved into the cool darkness of the barn with a re-

  lieved sigh and slammed the door shut behind him. Alone, he sank to his knees on the hard-packed dirt floor.

  "Oh, God." The words slipped past his mouth in a desperate sigh.

  He closed his eyes to pray, but couldn't find the strength. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a wadded pile of red in the corner by his workbench. Fear brought him to a stumbling stand. His long Johns. Trembling, he made his way to the rag box and pulled out the torn, dirty garment.

  The wrinkled cotton fabric dipped and swayed in his shaking grip. The dried black splotch seeped for one dizzying moment into the sea of red. He blinked hard, clutched his long Johns more tightly. Gradually his vision slipped back into focus, and the black blotch became once again a crust of dried blood easily distinguished from the rest of the red.

  Whose blood is it?

  The terrifying question catapulted into his thoughts a
gain, bringing with it a wave of helplessness and fear so strong, his knees buckled. His hands shook harder. An icy chill crept down his spine and spilled through his blood. Whose?

  When he'd first come out of the blackout, he'd assumed it was his blood. He glanced down at the scraped, bruised back of his hand. Scabs streaked from his knuckles to his wrist in intermittent dots and dashes. It had bled. It had. And he'd pinned it protectively to his chest. Exactly where the blood was on the underwear.

  But he didn't believe it. Deep down he knew what he'd always known about himself. He was capable of violence, even murder. The coincidence was too strong to deny: He'd been blacked out the day of the murder, and he'd come home with blood on his clothing. Everything Lissa had told him meant nothing, less than nothing. It had

  348

  J

  given him a night, a glorious, laughter-tinged night he'd remember all his life, but no more.

  A crazy killer like himself didn't deserve even that. All that mattered now was protecting his family, keeping his wife and children safe from the terrifyingly dark side of himself. He thought again about the bruises on Lissa's wrists?pale, bluish-yellow marks on the softness of her flesh. More pressure, just a bit more, and he might have broken her bone. Or worse.

  He swallowed thickly. Nausea tasted sharp and bitter on his tongue. He could have hurt her; he could have hurt them all. Could hurt them still. The blackouts would return, creeping in when he didn't expect and ripping him from the caring circle of his family without a backward glance.

  He had to leave them; if he didn't, he ran the risk of hurting the people he loved more than life itself. Maybe next time he wouldn't be so lucky as to grab Lissa's wrist in his sleep; maybe next time it would be her throat.

  A shudder wrenched through him at the thought. If only he could believe?even for a moment?that he was innocent. But he couldn't. The evidence pointed to him, but that wasn't what convinced him. The evidence was simply that: evidence. Jack had something stronger to go on. He knew himself, knew the dark, twisted torment that was his mind, knew the violence he was capable of inflicting without even a hint of memory to mark its passing.