"I can sleep easy now."
Rafe's lips twitched at the dry tone. "I'm sorry about your house, Jared, if you are."
"I'm not sorry about it, really. It just brought a lot of things back. I screwed up as much as Barbara did, Rafe. It would have been easier if we'd yelled at each other, threw things." He took a last swig and set the empty bottle on the floor. "There's nothing more demoralizing than a civilized divorce between two people who couldn't care less about each other."
"It's got to be better than getting your heart broken."
"I don't know. I kind of wish I'd had the chance."
They were both silent as the sound of weeping drifted down the stairs.
"Ask her," Rafe suggested. "I'd bet she'd tell you you're better off."
"Maybe you should start thinking exorcism," Jake said, smiling at the idea as his eyes drooped and he settled himself for sleep.
"No. I like having them around. I've had plenty of time to be alone."
Chapter 9
It was rare for Rafe to dream. He preferred his fantasies during waking hours, so that his consciousness could appreciate them.
But he dreamed that night, as the fire burned low and the moon rose over drifts of snow, if you could call it a dream...
He was running, terror and smoke at his heels. His eyes were burning from fatigue, and from the horror he'd already seen.
Men blown apart before they could scream from the shock and agony. The ground exploding, hacked by mortar fire, drenched with blood. The smell of death was in his nostrils, and he knew he'd never be free of it.
Oh, and he longed for the scent of magnolias and roses, for the lush green hills and rich brown fields of his home. If he had had tears left, he would have wept them for the quiet gurgling of the river that wound through his family's plantation, the bright laughter of his sisters, the crooning songs of the field hands.
He was afraid, mortally afraid, that everything he'd known and treasured was already gone. His most desperate wish was to get back, to see it again.
He wanted to see his father again, to tell him his son had tried to be a man.
The battle raged everywhere. In the fields, through the corn, in his heart. So many of his comrades lay dead on these godforsaken rocky hills of Maryland.
He'd lost his way. He hadn't been able to see through the choking smoke, or hear through the thunder of guns and the horrible shrieks of men. Suddenly he was running, running as a coward runs for any hole to crawl in.
Mixed with the horror now was a shame just as terrible. He'd forgotten his duty, and lost his honor. Now, somehow, he must find them both again.
The woods were thick, carpeted with the dying leaves that fell, brilliant in golds and russets, from the trees. He had never been so far north, seen such color, or smelled the poignant decay of autumn.
He was only seventeen.
A movement ahead had him fumbling his rifle onto his shoulder. The blue uniform was all he could see, and he fired too quickly, and poorly. The answering shot had fire singeing his arm. Driven by pain and terror, he gave a wild Rebel yell and charged.
He wished he hadn't seen the eyes, the eyes of the enemy, as wide and terror-glazed and young as his own. Their bayonets crashed, point to point. He smelled the blood, and the stinking scent of fear.
He felt the steel of his blade slice into flesh, and his stomach roiled. He felt the rip of his own, and cried out in agony. He fought, blindly, bitterly, recklessly, until there was nothing inside him but the battle. And when they both lay in their own blood, he wondered why.
He was crawling, delirious with pain. He needed to get home for supper, he thought. Had to get home. There was the house, he could see it now. He dragged himself over rocks and dying summer flowers, leaving his blood staining the grass.
Hands were lifting him. Soft voices. He saw her standing over him, an angel. Her hair like a halo, her eyes warm, her voice filled with the music of the South he yearned for.
Her face was so beautiful, so gentle, so sad.
She stroked his head, held his hand, walking beside him as others carried him up curving steps.
I'm going home, he told her. I have to go home.