Chase looked at Hezikiah and blinked. If only he could understand what kind of person he had been, what drove him and why he had left Linese to go fight. It might help him uncover the truth.
* * *
Linese stood on the steps of Cordellane and watched Chase unload string-tied bundles of newspapers from the buggy. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but his dark brows were furrowed into the distinctive slash above his eyes. If he was even aware of her there, he hid it well. Each trip he made from the buggy to the library was done in total silence. He walked past her like a man in a dream. Finally, when the last haphazard stack was removed, he walked into the library and closed the door behind him. The cold sting of once again being shut out of his life bit deeply into the raw wound of her pride. Linese sighed and stared at the library door. She had to find some way of finding her husband beneath the cold exterior of the man who had returned.
But how?
Chase stared up at the portrait on the library wall and felt a hard knot form in his belly. Vague, disjointed images floated through his mind. His pulse quickened its tempo at the notion that he might remember something.
The face he stared at in the painting was his father’s, yet it was a face so like the unfamiliar one he found staring back each morning when he shaved, it sent a shiver through him. The same dark hair and serious gray eyes stared down dispassionately from the old canvas.
Chase turned around and looked at the other paintings lining the walls between the shelves of books. A pale woman with soft brown eyes smiled at him.
It was his mother. He knew it, even though he couldn’t dredge up a single recollection of her. He. also knew, from some deep spring of hidden information, that she had died in childbirth when he was very small.
The irony of feeling some happiness, or relief, at such a melancholy memory did not escape Chase. He sighed and concentrated on each portrait.
Above the fireplace was the likeness of a young girl with raven locks and porcelain skin. Her eyes were similar to those of his father, with a youthful promise of great beauty in the childish face. Her name suddenly popped into Chase’s head as if conjured up by a magician in a snake-oil act.
Marjorie, his aunt, the apple of his grandfather’s eye. Chase had an obscure remembrance of her funeral and the madness that took his grandfather’s mind away following the somber occasion.
“Am I the next Cordell to lose his mind?” he muttered while he stared at the young girl’s gray eyes. A conflict of emotion ripped through him and a strange high-pitched ringing filled his ears. Was his grandfather’s affliction somehow responsible, or was it something else that took his memory?
He tore his gaze from the painting and slouched into a tall-backed chair in front of the cold fireplace. The sound in his ears had taken on a lower tone, but it was still evident. With a slight unsteadiness of his hand, he poured himself a large brandy from the glass decanter on the side table. The liquor blazed a hot trail down his throat toward his empty belly.
Maybe the alcohol would silence the buzz in his ears or numb the ache in his hip. He prayed it would at least dull the raw need he perceived each time he thought about Linese and how much she had lost during the past two years.
Chase returned the glass to the table and picked up the first issue of the Gazette from the mound at his feet. With a little luck, perhaps he could find a part of his missing self in the words. If nothing else, maybe he would stumble upon some clue that would unearth the mystery of what he had done before he went to war. Then, even if he was doomed to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps, he would have some tiny bit of himself, a shadow of the man he used to be. Maybe it would be enough.
Linese sat in the rocker beside Captain Cordell and watched the moon rise above the treetops just as she had done for the past two years. Funny, Chase’s return had made little difference in the day-to-day existence at Cordel-lane. Her reality was nothing like the dreams she had spun in Chase’s absence. She was still sleeping alone, still sitting with Captain Cordell in the evenings, watching the moon and the stars, while she longed for the company of her husband.
“I’ll be taking some food over to Doralee’s sporting house,” Captain Cordell said suddenly. He never looked at Linese. He just continued to stare up at the twinkling array of stars overhead.
She turned to him in amazement. It had never occurred to her that the Captain went to the local bordello. She knew that almost every other able-bodied man left in Mainfield did, but she had never even thought of the Captain that way. In truth she had never given much thought to the fact he was still a healthy man who probably had physical desires. She caught herself blushing with the thought.
When she first arrived at Cordellane, in the first lonely weeks, she had wondered if he was as out of touch as people believed. Slowly she had come to realize his condition was changeable. His mind seemed to ebb and flow like the tides. There were times, like now, when he blurted out the most outlandish statements, for instance, about going to Doralee’s house of ill repute.
“Now why would you do a thing like that, Captain?” If it had been anyone else but the dotty old Captain she was speaking to, she couldn’t have continued this conversation. The very notion was so improper her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But he was not right in the head and had no way of knowing it, poor dear, so she smiled pleasantly and waited for his answer as if they were talking about the crops or the weather.
“Melissa, one of the girls, is going to have a baby in a few weeks.” The old man squirmed a bit but he continued speaking without hesitation. “She can’t work. I never could abide seeing someone go hungry if I could prevent it.”
Linese blinked back her amazement. Only someone like Captain Cordell, who was so far removed from the re-straints of proper behavior, could get away with such an opinion. For a moment she almost envied him the freedom his mental infirmity allowed him. He could say things, do things other people would never be allowed to do.
“You’re a kind and generous man, Captain. We have a bit to spare. Is there anything else she might need?” Linese knew there were many worse off than she and the old Captain—and Chase, she reminded herself.
Captain Cordell’s face pinched into a series of wrinkles. It seemed he was putting a considerable effort into his answer. “There is some old furniture stored in the attic. might take some of it over.”
Linese’s breath froze in her chest. She stared out into the dappled shadows of the thicket and tried to blink back the hot sting behind her eyes. Chase’s cradle and his old baby clothes were in that attic. She had hoped her own children would use the treasured Cordell heirlooms.
She sat in stunned silence and argued with herself. It was selfish to deny anyone the use of anything when so many had so little. It was small and petty of her to repudiate any kindness the Captain wanted to give the unfortunate woman.
Linese swallowed hard. It hurt, but she made herself face the real reason for her distress. Linese finally formed the idea that had been taking shape in her mind for days. It was likely she was in a loveless marriage, one that would never provide her with the children she wanted so much. She feared she would never have need of the baby furniture.
She told herself it was as much her fault as it was Chase’s. She should find a way to bridge the rift between them, but when she thought about it, she felt ill-equipped to win her husband’s affection. She had been a green girl when he had married her, and even though she had grown and matured in every other aspect, when it came to matters of the heart she was still hopelessly out of her depth.
The Captain cleared his throat beside her and Linese was wrenched from her thoughts. Part of her rankled at the self-pity she was wallowing in. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the side of the Captain’s face. His long silver mustache, his only vanity, tickled her chin.
“My mama once told me a pretty girl could