Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Read online

  Her eyes searched his, probing, seeking truth. She wanted to believe him, to accept that he hadn’t betrayed her—that he was a better man than that, but… she shook her head… In the end she couldn’t.

  “All right, Marissa. Believe what you will. I’m going to the hospital.”

  The door slammed, jarring Marissa from her daze. “No!” she cried, clutching her arms to her middle as though to keep herself together. Collapsing against the stairs, she did not have the capacity to move or think, and certainly not to run after her husband.

  Craig stormed through the streets of Charleston as visions of Marissa assailed him. Marissa laughing, Marissa crying, Marissa lying wanton in his arms… He could smell her, for Christ’s sake! Feel the rosy heat emanating from her skin. “Jesus,” he blasphemed for the umpteenth time that day. Even in the face of possible madness or more certain treachery, he was still crazy in love with her.

  Was she a spy? A harlot? Insane, or none of those, or all?

  Craig shook his head as the questions spun round and round in his mind. Whatever the result of the rising dilemmas he was near convinced that none of it boded well for him or Marissa.

  Would it be best to cut his losses now? More to the point, if his suspicions proved true, he’d be obliged to report her to the authorities. And if she wasn’t in charge of her faculties, there was always the Pembroke Asylum… No! His gut clenched. The thought was entirely too much to bear.

  “Dr. Bernstein.” Craig entered the hospital and hailed his support. “I’ll take Dr. Rowe’s duty shift tonight, sir.”

  “Very well.” The commander nodded quirking a brow in question.

  “And I don’t expect my wife to be returning to work in the near future.” The words were terse.

  Major Bernstein nodded. “I can understand why.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Craig snapped.

  “The rumors are getting worse, Captain. I just think it best she stay away for a while.”

  “As I’ve already instructed her to do, Major.” Does everyone think I’ve been blindsided by a common whore and a Union spy?

  “Very well, Captain. I’ll see you again after your evening rounds.”

  Craig worked through the night and the following day and to say the situation was stressful would have been an understatement. The rumor that his wife was a Yankee informant had spiraled out of control and the angry glares, malicious comments, and flat out refusals to see him as a physician were almost more than he could bear. Combined with Kirsten’s most recent ploy, Craig knew the intense desire to crawl into a dark hole and never resurface.

  To make matters worse—if truly matters could get any worse—Kirsten appeared in the flesh at the hospital adding insult to injury, mincing and flirting, acting as if she owned him. It was as if a twisted version of his life had been placed on public display for scientific dissection by the city’s gossip mongers.

  Whispers of speculation rang clear through every corner of the hospital and the city.

  “To have married a woman with Marissa McClafferty’s reputation, Captain Langston must have been coerced. It’s no wonder he went looking for another woman.”

  “Now wouldn’t you know, he’s got two girls in trouble? I never would have thought it from a man like Dr. Langston,” one of the most loyal lady volunteers whispered to a companion from around a corner.

  Slamming a palm against the table, Craig left the hospital.

  He needed a drink.

  * * *

  Bad things always came in threes, Craig thought, sitting at the end of the long bar in Schooner’s Saloon and that was precisely why he was gulping his third double shot of whiskey. Medicine had taught him to be superstitious, and one of his first lessons had been that things always came in threes, three deaths, three broken bones, three appendicitis; sometimes things even came in double threes. Craig hailed the bartender. May as well have four drinks just for good measure. It might break the cycle of three.

  This particular crossroad in his life was no exception to the rule of threes and he sat dourly contemplating the three disasters which befallen him within the last day. Marissa was a suspected traitor to the south; Kirsten Jamison was claiming he’d fathered her bastard child, which was totally absurd, but hardly refutable at this point; and then of course there was the fact that his wife was very likely insane. Though if she was not insane all of the vicious rumors about her were probably true!

  Was that three or four disasters or only two? Craig was too drunk to count, but as far as he was concerned this was the perfect example of the rule of threes.

  * * *

  Marissa paced restlessly about the house half the night and all day. Cleaning, straightening, scrubbing, folding laundry, rearranging furniture, anything to prevent two consecutive thoughts from running together.

  Craig hadn’t come home that morning, and escape from this hell was impossible because he’d actually posted guards—guards—around their house. She’d thought to seek Genie’s advice and, after managing to have a note sent—through much coercion and much duress of her uniformed guards—her friend had not been at Carolyn’s home.

  That’s when the cleaning had begun. She was so frantically beyond rational thought or emotion she couldn’t stop moving. She smashed the fourth finger of her right hand four times in three hours and it was throbbing. But if she stilled her hands for more than a moment or two her mind took over, spinning and swirling until she actually had motion sickness, felt physically nauseated.

  The servants had wisely indulged her every whim, but now that every article of furniture had been arranged until the interior was unrecognizable and every surface of the house clean enough to eat from, there was nothing more to plug the dam of her emotions and keep the chilling pain at bay. Marissa knew she was compartmentalizing. Knew that eventually Craig would come home and she’d have to deal with the bitter truth of the situation.

  Couples in her time got divorced for less than this.

  Divorce.

  Did she want a divorce? Did she want to leave Craig? If he’d fathered another woman’s child she most certainly did, or at least should. And why had she thought telling him the truth of her existence would help anything? Lost, Marissa wandered across the wide hall into Craig’s study, collapsing into the large leather armchair behind his desk, succumbing to anguished tears.

  * * *

  Marissa could see Craig was in a foul mood when he finally arrived home that evening and her disposition was no better. She’d drifted to sleep in the overstuffed chair and been assailed by dreams of her husband in the arms of the winsome Kirsten Jamison, and the beautiful raven haired children they would no doubt have together. Roused by the heavy slam of the front door, she slipped quietly from the room and eyed him warily, terrified to speak for fear the bitter tears would burst forth should she even consider opening her mouth.

  “Why are you still up?” Craig asked, gripping the back of a chair as he slung his gray jacket over the back and stumbled toward the stairs. He reeked of booze and the mantel clock read the hour well past midnight.

  “You’re drunk,” Marissa accused.

  “You are very astute, my dear.” He leered at her from half way up the stairs and, leaning heavily on the banister, stomped the rest of the way to their bedchamber. “I’m exhausted, I haven’t slept in two days, and I’m going to bed.”

  Uncertain, Marissa waited a few minutes before following him. Silently she entered the bedroom to find her husband sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the far wall. She lingered tentatively by the doorway. “Are you still angry about yesterday?”

  Craig turned his drunken gaze upon her. “Of course I’m angry about yesterday! Are you not angry? I for one am very angry. I am furious and I don’t know what to believe about any of this affair. At work today, if I wasn’t contending with rumors that my wife is a Yankee spy
, then it was rumors of what a scoundrel the good Dr. Langston is.” He stood, voice dripping with sarcasm, and began to undress. “So forgive me if I am in a foul temper this evening, madam.”

  Marissa started at the forceful tone of his voice, tears welling in her eyes for what seemed the hundredth time that day, “I--I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are sorry.” He staggered a few steps toward her, his face contorted as though he wanted to say more. At the last minute he swerved toward the door. “I am going to sleep in my study.” He slammed the bedroom with such force a painting on the wall shuddered.

  Halfway down the stairs, he heard her crying.

  And now he felt like a total ass, knew he was behaving like a total ass. The agonizing sobs followed him down the stairs and it wasn’t until he slammed the door to his study and collapsed onto his chair that he could no longer hear.

  But then he could smell her.

  The scent of her rosewater seemed to have embedded itself in every fiber of his chair and the aroma wafted through the air, flooding his senses. He loved her and she infected every fiber and pore of his being. Without her life would be empty. Had she used him? Craig could not believe it, could not bear it. But then was she mad? He could not bring himself to believe such a fate as insanity either.

  All that was left was the truth.

  Could she possibly be telling the truth? Hell, no!

  Pulling a crystal decanter from his desk drawer Craig didn’t bother pouring the dark liquid into a tumbler. Gulping the fiery liquor, he relished the burn as it traced a flaming trail down his gullet. He staggered up and fell full length onto an uncomfortable leather couch. Tomorrow he would deal with his problems; right now he just wanted to sleep. And forget.

  * * *

  “Go away,” Craig grumbled, swatting at whoever sought to disturb his sleep.

  “Dr. Langston,” the unrelenting voice continued, “I fear you will be late for your duties, sir.”

  With gargantuan effort Craig drew himself up, squinting against the painfully bright rays of the sun. What had happened last night? It felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer to his head. Looking up, forcing his eyes open, he saw his butler standing before him. “What are you doing here so early, Hodges?”

  “It is nine o’clock in the morning, sir,” Hodges said in his ever efficient voice.

  “Damn.” He should have been at the hospital by seven. Dragging himself to a standing position, Craig realized he was still mostly dressed right down to his boots. He staggered miserably from his study. Passing out on that couch had not been conducive to rest and every muscle screamed in protest as he started to move. Pressing one hand to his head, which he was fairly certain was about to explode he turned to the butler. “Is my wife up yet?”

  “I do not believe so, Dr. Langston.”

  “Good,” Craig muttered grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and staggering through the door. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation with Marissa.

  * * *

  As Craig dragged himself through the front door of the hospital at quarter after nine that morning, he caught an expression of surprise on James Rowe’s face. “Christ, Langston, this is the first time I’ve ever known you to be late.” James stepped closer. “Are you drunk?”

  “Of course not. I’m fine,” Craig barked in return. Instantly, a white hot needle of pain pierced his skull and he regretted raising his voice.

  James looked at him long and hard then pressed a little further.” Do you want to maybe lie down for a while?” He cleared his throat. “I’ll cover rounds for you.”

  Craig started to shake his head but the movement brought a new wave of pain shooting through his head and nausea gripping his stomach. “Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea.”

  “How much did you have to drink last night?” James inquired falling into stride beside him.

  “I lost track after about six doubles.”

  “Double shots of what? Scotch whiskey?”

  “And bourbon.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  The men had reached a back room on the second floor, where the physicians on night duty could rest. Craig collapsed face down on the cot. “If you haven’t already heard, Kirsten Jamison is pregnant and telling the world it’s mine.” As soon as the words were spoken, Craig succumbed to the black oblivion of sleep.

  A little after noon Craig woke feeling sufficiently revived. Shucking the rumpled gray jacket and undershirt from the day before, he pulled a fresh shirt over his head and stuffed it into his pants. Spying a mirror he cringed at his own reflection. He did look like hell. After rinsing his face in a wash basin and running wet fingers through his hair, he brushed a hand over his prickly jaw. A shave could wait.

  Stepping from the sleep room he immediately sought out his friend James Rowe. “Thanks for covering for me this morning.”

  “That’s no problem.” James’s eyes sort of drifted away. We... we all have rough days and I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.” For a moment, Craig thought James might say something more, but they were interrupted by an approaching orderly.

  “Captain Langston.” The boy swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. “You have a visitor, sir.”

  With a groan Craig rolled his head back on his shoulders. “And who would this visitor be?”

  The orderly swallowed again, his sharp Adam’s apple bouncing. “A Miss Jamison, sir.”

  “Then I’m not available to receive visitors,” Craig said dismissively. He would not give the gossips more fat to chew by entertaining her visits at work. That woman had caused him enough trouble.

  “Sir,” the boy toyed nervously with his hat. “She said it was urgent and that she had to see you.”

  “No,” Craig bit out. “Go dismiss her. And that is an order.”

  “But she was cryin’, Captain,” the boy blurted. “She looked mighty upset. I can’t just leave her out there cryin’!”

  “Crying,” the word fell flat from Craig’s tongue. “Look, son, I hate to see a woman cry as much as any man, but if she isn’t bleeding then I couldn’t care less what she is doing out there. Even if she were bleeding I would send you for one of the other doctors first!”

  The boy’s eyes widened in shock as he scampered away, and James Rowe hesitated for a moment. “I’ll see to her, Craig.”

  “Thank you, James.”

  Nevertheless, work, proved to be an extremely trying ordeal. Several more wounded men were transported in that day, three died shortly after arrival…

  Craig made his way home that evening with a heavy, defeated, heart. Climbing up the stone steps, he hesitated fighting the urge to run from the house. The moment he passed through the door he knew an inevitable battle with Marissa would ensue. On the other hand… drowning his problems in booze didn’t sound quite so appealing tonight. A quick glance at his silver pocket watch showed the time. Six-thirty. The servants would not leave until about seven. Sucking in a long breath he strode determinably up the steps and inside.

  The house was peaceful, quiet, and a small degree of tension eased from his shoulders. Marissa hadn’t been waiting to stare accusingly from the hall this evening and the only sound readily meeting his ears was that of the mantle clock tick, tick, tick. Striding through the lower level of the house he didn’t see her anywhere. Could she have left him? The thought left him reeling… Reeling and hurt and angry. Which really wasn’t fair because he’d considered handing her over to the authorities.

  Following the scent of fresh bread into the kitchen he found Mrs. Potts, the cook he employed, and stole a hunk of the loaf she was slicing.

  “Good evening, Dr. Langston.” Mrs. Potts bestowed him with her ever warm smile.

  “Have you seen my wife recently?” Craig asked the question so heavy on his mind.

  “Mrs. Langston wasn’t feeling well to
day. I brought her some soup at noon, but she didn’t eat it. She’s been abed for most of the day.”

  Not feeling well? Marissa was ill? A sickening dread filled him at the thought that something could be terribly wrong. Quickly mounting the stairs to their bedchamber, he opened the door without knocking. The room was dark save for the evening light seeping in through the drapes pulled over the windows and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust enough for him to spot the slender form of his wife curled beneath the bedclothes. Silently, he crossed the room and stared down at her. His breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful in sleep. So peaceful and innocent. How could he believe the vicious tales circulating about her? The thick expanse of her golden hair shone like silk around her head and ever so gently he reached out to tuck a thick piece behind her ear.

  What would he do without her?

  Never taking his eyes from her face he sank quietly onto the bed, bracing one arm on the mattress behind her. Slowly she stirred and raised her sleep- weighted lids. A smile curved her lips. “I love you,” she murmured sleepily, letting her lids flutter closed again.

  Guilt struck him full in the chest. Craig forced himself to steady his voice. “How are you?” he whispered softly. “Mrs. Potts said you weren’t feeling well.” He bent to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Is everything all right?”

  More awake now, she wiggled onto her back and cocked her head to the side, “I’m fine,” she answered with a yawn. “I just feel really tired today. I think it’s all the stress.”

  Craig gazed into the dark chocolate eyes that perfectly contrasted her buttery hair and found himself drifting in… falling under her spell. Afraid to shatter the peace of the moment, he said nothing, just lifted her hand to press a soft kiss on the palm.

  “Your whiskers tickle,” she giggled. “I like it.”

  He smiled, leaning in to scrape a bristled cheek against hers and for a moment all doubts faded.

  “Do you really think I’m crazy?”