Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Read online

  Why couldn’t he remember it?

  Craig had never been one to over indulge or have trouble holding his liquor, but Christ, he couldn’t even remember coming home last night, or even leaving the saloon.

  Snuggling closer to the warm figure encircled in his arms he wondered fleetingly why he was with Marissa since they wouldn’t be married publicly until that afternoon. Oh well, it felt good to be with her, and—

  Click-click.

  The unmistakable and ominous sound of a shotgun racking shells was enough to sober even the worst of hangovers. Craig leaped out of the bed staring in no small measure of disbelief at Kirsten Jamison reclining on silken sheets of.... her bed?

  How could it be?

  He snapped his gaze from Kirsten to her father, Mike Jamison, aiming a double-barreled shotgun right at his naked belly.

  “What the hell!” Stumbling backward, Craig snatched his trousers off the floor and turned a harried eye to the door where Mike Jamison kept his shotgun at the ready. “What is going on here? Where am I?”

  “On your way to the altar it would seem.”

  “No. Hold for just a moment.” Craig held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I swear to God I didn’t touch your daughter.” He gulped back a pit of unease. Or did I? No. He banished the thought as quickly as it came. He couldn’t have, there is no way he’d been able to stand last night much less do that… with her.

  Mike Jamison spluttered, entirely beyond words and held the gun steady as Craig hastily hauled up his trousers and yanked on his boots.

  Contemplating the best course of action, Craig scooped up his shirt and vest, and cast a harried glance about the room. Jamison stole a murderous glare at his daughter and Craig made a break for the door.

  Jamison jabbed the shotgun into his chest. “No you don’t, you son of a bitch! I find you in my daughter’s bed, her bed, and you dare to deny that you touched her?”

  Craig held his hands out again, silently willing the man not to shoot. Kirsten’s mother stood behind the door looking like a cat with cream. “You!” he accused, glaring from mother to daughter. Kirsten sat weeping loudly on her bed, a sheet pulled up to her quivering chin. “You two! You set me up.”

  “Set you up?” Mike raged. “You set yourself up and now you’re going to pay the price. Charles!” He bellowed for their servant. “Fetch the reverend. He has a wedding to perform.”

  “No!” Craig shouted.

  “What do you mean, no? You debauched my daughter and now you’re going to make it right.”

  “First of all I did not ‘debauch’ your daughter and second of all, I’m already married.”

  “Pah! You’re not getting married until this afternoon!”

  Craig gulped as the older man’s stubby finger caressed a trigger. “I was married a week ago by the justice of the peace.”

  A moment of stunned silence settled over the room. No one moved or even dared to breathe. Even Kirsten’s pathetic wails choked off in an outraged gasp. “No!” she cried. “You can’t have been!”

  Craig took full advantage of the moment and flung himself toward the door. He nearly collided with half a dozen Jamison servants rushing around the upper level of the house, but he didn’t care. This was a matter of survival. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Jamison in hot pursuit.

  The first barrel of shot went wide, and white plaster flew through the air as Craig turned to leap down the stairs, two or three at a time.

  “Daddy, no!” A voice screamed from the top of the stairs. “Don’t kill him.”

  The door was one mere stride away when the gun exploded for a second time. The buckshot splattered against the door. Instinctively he ducked, at the same time jerking the massive portal open. Dashing into the morning sun, he broke into a full out sprint. The blood rushed and pounded in his ears, making Mike Jamison’s outraged shouts blessedly unintelligible as he put distance between them.

  More than a few heads turned as a disheveled Dr. Langston raced shirtless run. Rumors of impropriety soared.

  Craig’s lungs were on fire. He couldn’t maintain this pace for another second. Casting a fleeting glimpse over his shoulder he assured himself that Mike Jamison was no longer behind him. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, ducking into a deserted alley and resting his hands on his knees. Leaning against the brick wall of a building he wiped the sweat from his face with the palm of his hand. What had happened the night before?

  He was certain he hadn’t done anything with Kirsten. It reeked of entrapment. That was the only explanation. He just didn’t know how those two conniving women had done it. “Marissa,” he murmured, panic settling in a pit in his stomach. How would he ever make her understand?

  Stepping from the alley Craig made his way toward Carolyn Reed’s house, keeping a watchful eye toward his back.

  He passed through the front door without knocking and was instantly met with a half dozen women scolding him about bad luck to see the bride on their wedding day before she came to him at the church. Holding his hands up to thwart their efforts to shove him back out the door, he couldn’t help but feel exceedingly guilty when he caught sight of Marissa’s huge, happy eyes. “Ladies, ladies!” The room finally quieted. “I need a moment alone with my wife.”

  “Wife,” one of them teased, “she isn’t your wife yet.” The rest of the group cackled, caught up in the fun of the day.

  “As a matter of fact she is and it is imperative that I speak with her immediately.” His eyes swept their faces. “Alone.”

  Good humor sucked out of the room with vacuum force, but before the women could file away another small but raucous crowd burst unannounced through Carolyn’s front door.

  “That son of a bitch is marrying my daughter right now!” Mike Jamison’s bellow echoed off the walls. “I’ve brought the reverend, so get out of our way.”

  An obviously uncomfortable Reverend Hollister shuffled his feet while Kirsten and Molly Jamison wisely stood just outside the front door.

  “Marissa,” Craig stepped forward with his arms pleadingly outstretched. Damn but he’d wanted to tell her himself. No. That wasn’t true. He hadn’t wanted to tell her this at all, but the events of the morning needed to come from him, not a riotous mob.

  “What is going on?” The words were a question but her eyes said that she already knew.

  Standing stock still he could do nothing but stare at her, guiltily.

  “Are you going to tell her?” Mike spat. “Or should I?”

  “I...” he began miserably, pleading with his eyes. “I...” his shoulders slumped. “I love you,” he said finally. Taking another step forward he placed both hands on her waist. “Please believe me when I tell you how much you mean to me and that I would never intentionally hurt you.”

  All color drained from her face.

  “Aren’t you going to tell her why you can’t marry her?”

  “Damn it, Mike,” Craig shot him a dangerous glare. “I told you that Marissa and I are already married. I’ll show you the marriage documents if you don’t believe me.”

  A ferociously heated argument about the events of the morning poured forth in immediate, graphic detail. Craig could have throttled the Jamison family, staring so smug and superior at his wife. The worst of it was that, after the ugly truth was revealed, Marissa didn’t fly into a rage, she didn’t shout, she didn’t even cry. No it was far worse than that. She just stood in the center of the room, expression numb with shock.

  “Marissa, I swear to you I didn’t do anything with her.” He clasped her hands, which remained limp even when he squeezed. “I would never—” He swallowed. He had no idea what to say. There were no words to convince her of his innocence, not when he’d been found in Kirsten’s bed the morning of his wedding day—naked.

  “So.” She withdrew her hands and buried them in the pleats of her skirt. �
��Last night you went to the party and got so plastered that you blacked out and don’t remember leaving the bar, much less anything that may or may not have happened thereafter.”

  “Er, yes.” he shifted uncomfortably “Plastered would be a good word for it.”

  “If you don’t remember anything, how can you be so sure that you didn’t do anything with Kirsten? After all you did wake up in her bed this morning with her, if I’m to believe her father.”

  Damn it all, what was he supposed to say to that?

  “They set me up!” He turned a jaundiced eye to the Jamison clan. “Don’t you think this whole scene is just a little too convenient? I had two drinks last night. Two!” He held up two fingers for emphasis. “There is no way that two drinks would have made me drunk enough to sleep with her.”

  Kirsten blanched, then whimpered.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was so thoroughly sodden that I couldn’t stand, and if I couldn’t stand there is no way I could have done that.”

  “If I may interject—” Every eye turned toward the staid voice of the reverend. “Perhaps we should verify that Dr. Langston and Miss McClafferty—”

  “Mrs. Langston,” Craig corrected tersely.

  “Mrs. Langston,” the reverend acquiesced, “are indeed married.”

  The white knuckled grip Mike had on the shotgun eased slightly as he cast a stiff nod toward the pastor.

  Kirsten and Molly exchanged a quick, nervous look.

  Marissa’s eyes narrowed at the pair. Craig could only hope she’d caught the exchange.

  * * *

  The day proved to be a horror-show for Marissa. She listened to arguments, more nasty rumors, half-truths and denials. And when it was all over she found herself standing alone in the front hall of the townhouse watching Craig stalk furiously about the room’s perimeter. At last he turned to her but she held up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak.

  “I’ve heard the story. I’ve heard all of the excuses and I really don’t want them repeated.” Pursing her lips she flicked her eyes upward and whispered, “Just convince me.”

  Eyes soft he stepped forward and clasped both of her hands, dropping to one knee. “I vowed before man and God to love you and honor you and cherish you all the days of my life,” he spoke solemnly, the words reverent. “I now swear that I have not broken my vow, and as long as I live I never will.” He pulled both of her hands to his lips. “Stay with me? Forever?”

  Convincing? That was incredible. Marissa nodded as tears welled in her eyes. It was time to take a leap of faith, something she’d never been good at, and put her trust in him, her husband.

  Edge of Time 230

  Twelve

  The next weeks were sheer bliss. Heaven. And Craig found himself happily falling into the routine of married life. As before, the sheriff’s deputies had turned up nothing new in the Harris woods and he was beginning to relax into the idea that the man had in fact moved on. Craig strode through the streets of Charleston, sweltering in the August heat. Soon, though, the fall crispness would come, and then be exchanged for the cold air of winter. Craig felt like a little boy when he thought of it. He loved the snow, loved winter—though it tended to be the bane of his medical career, what with slips and slides and broken bones—but every year he couldn’t wait to throw his first snowball. Marissa preferred autumn, she’d told him that just last night. Marissa…

  Longingly he glanced toward the road that would take him home to his wife and wished he had more time to spend with her. His army commitment didn’t allow time to maintain much of a personal practice, but Craig still did his best to honor those who’d been his patients before the onset of hostilities.

  And right now instead of heading home he was on his way to a house call.

  Marissa usually accompanied him but she’d stayed home that afternoon. He missed her. He felt like a lovesick fool, but that’s what he was. It was wonderful to share his work with her, though he could never shake the sensation that she was biting her tongue, and he was certain that she knew more about medicine than she let on. He could never manage to coax the whole story out of her.

  Climbing the steps of his patient’s modest farmhouse Craig pounded on the door several times before a man of middling years yanked it open. From a curtained doorway inside the house he heard a woman weeping. Craig smiled in greeting at Steven Miller who had been discharged from the Confederate Army a week or two ago after a severe injury to his left arm in Chattanooga.

  “You are not welcome here,” Steven said flatly, his steely gray gaze angrily assessing the younger man.

  Craig drew back in confusion. “What are you talking about, Steve? I came to see Annie. She sent for me.”

  “Without my permission. No son of a bitch traitor is going to lay hands on my wife!”

  Disbelief washed over Craig like an icy ocean wave. “Traitor?”

  “Your wife is a Yankee spy!” Steven spat the words in Craig’s face. “Everyone knows it.”

  What the hell? Incensed Craig, the much larger of the two men, took a menacing step forward. “How dare you speak such slander against my wife? Marissa is not a Yankee or a spy! I can personally attest to that.”

  Steven closed the distance between them and glowered up at Craig. “Oh, I’m sure you can.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Of course, who would believe you? You’re probably in cahoots with them blue-bellied bastards too!”

  Shocked, Craig was speechless for a moment. “Why you son of a bitch!” He snarled, doubling his fists. “My own brother died in service of the Confederacy. For you to suggest I would so sully his memory is an outrage!’

  “You’re the outrage!” Steven launched himself forcefully at Craig and the men tumbled to the ground in front of the door, locked in vicious battle for a few tense moments. The lame arm proved too much for Miller and Craig quickly overpowered him. Deftly Craig subdued his attacker and glared at the man who dared accuse him or his beloved of treason. “Do you honestly believe me a traitor to the cause?” Craig barked, fist balled in Miller’s shirt-front.

  Steven stopped struggling and let out a ragged breath. “No, Doc, I don’t think you are. But as far as that uppity little bitch you took to your b—” Craig’s steely grip twisted on Steven’s collar, choking back the words, but he shoved Craig’s hand away and forged ahead. “How much do you really know about her? She sure don’t talk like she’s from around here or from Atlanta for that matter, and I’ve heard more than a few stories about her since I got back.”

  “I’ve heard those stories, too, Steve, and did it ever occur to you that the stories are just that? Stories? Vicious rumors? Lies?” Lifting the other man off the ground by the front of his shirt Craig shook him. “My wife is not a traitor, and if I catch you or anyone else spreading slander against her I swear on my mother’s grave you will rue the day.”

  Steven’s eyes widened with fear, but as Craig let him go again and stalked away, Miller refused to let the threat lie. “I didn’t get shot up and damn near lose my arm to have someone little Yankee bitch sell us up river.”

  Craig shot a withering glare at the other man which promptly sent Steven scampering inside the door.

  “You think about it, Doc!”

  Craig was pensive as he made his way through the outskirts of town. Those filthy rumors refused to die. The gossips had been circulating tales about Marissa almost since she came to town, but never like this. Should he have seen it coming? “This is totally absurd,” he muttered angrily under his breath. He’d never seen or heard anything even remotely suspicious but...

  There are things you don’t know about me! Marissa’s voice rang in his memory. “Bloody Hell,” he said aloud, pounding one fist into the other hand. What had she meant by that? Craig had always assumed it had to do with her personal life, with her engagement to Brian, but could it have been more? Why had she gone alon
e to the woods that day he’d followed her and they’d been shot at? The thought sneaked up on him, catching him unawares. No! No she was not a Union spy. It was quite simply impossible. But those foul accusations were escalating and the severity went beyond a tarnished reputation. It could put Marissa in grave danger.

  Deeply troubled, Craig quickly made his way home. Should he even tell her? He knew how hurt and angry she’d been when the initial tales had reached her ears. Perhaps it would be best to keep this quiet for the moment, see if it went any further.

  When he stepped through the front door of the house Marissa’s laugh floated cheerfully from the direction of the kitchen. “Come on, Genie you can do better than that. All right, I bet you’ll get this one.” Marissa proceeded to hum a tune Craig didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, that’s too easy, Marissa,” Genie replied teasingly. “Stairway to Heaven. Led Zeppelin!”

  Craig was thoroughly perplexed. He paused in the doorway to observe them separating bread dough in the kitchen. “What, may I ask, are the two of you talking about?”

  Marissa and Genie jumped, appearing momentarily flustered, which Craig found odd, before Marissa turned to bestow a wifely kiss upon his lips and pop a bite of dough into his mouth. “Oh, nothing, we’re just bored and, um, making up silly songs to amuse ourselves.”

  Genie formed a loaf and shoved it into a bread pan.

  Craig chewed the bite and gave his head a rueful shake. What was a lead zeppelin?

  * * *

  “Well, I must be off,” Genie said. “But do consider coming over to Carolyn’s house when your bread is out of the oven.”

  “All right. We’ll talk about it and maybe see you later on this evening, after dinner,” Marissa said, walking her friend to the door. There, Genie fixed her with a pointed look.

  Marissa nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. Really, Genie could have given her a bit more warning. She’d claimed to have forgotten until just that morning and only scatterbrained Genie would forget a situation as imminently dire as a bombing! Apparently in the wee hours of the morning August 22, 1863 the Yankee cannon, horribly named the Swamp Angel, would bombard Charleston with artillery and Greek fire. This was a situation in which fore-knowledge was a valuable asset and Genie had insisted she and Craig get away from their house well before the bombing. The problem was it was now the evening of August 21st, which meant she had a matter of hours to convince her husband of the need to spend the night at either the hospital or her “cousin’s” house, without sounding a bumbling, idiotic fool.