"You must miss him."

"Yes, I do," she said. "I pray this war will be over soon." She turned from him and began to gather up books. Thomas remained near her desk, watching her. She wondered if he was waiting for her to dismiss him. She said, "Thomas, you run along now. I'll see you in cla.s.s on Monday."

He moved toward the door and then paused. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Garrison?"

She looked up from her task and said, "No, Thomas, but thanks for asking." She noticed a blush on his face as he again started for the door.

As he reached for the door he asked, "Are you sure?"

She laughed lightly. "Yes, I'm sure. Please close the door on your way out."

He hesitated and then said, "Yes, ma'am, but I could help you clean up."

"Run along."

As she turned again to her task, she heard the door shut behind her. She was aware he had an infatuation with her, one of the hazards of the job, she supposed. Male students often "fell in love" with their teachers and she knew being only a few years older than some of her students made the situation even more delicate. Of all her students, he was probably her greatest challenge. A bright young man, but she couldn't help but believe he was a troubled young man. He was usually polite to her and when she had the need to correct him he usually did not challenge her authority but on one occasion he did, and on that day she sent him home and followed up with a meeting with his parents. She had warned them if there was another incident Thomas would be removed permanently from the school. Mr. Karns had not responded well to that news. For several days following, Thomas was quieter than usual in cla.s.s.

She was looking forward to the weekend. Tomorrow she would spend the day with James's brother Robert and his wife, Mary and their children. Tonight she would bake a fruit pie to take over for supper tomorrow and she would make some toys of yarn and wooden beads for the children.

When she left the schoolhouse she did not see Thomas standing at the edge of the woods watching her.

It was near sunset and Benjamin Storm watched the fading sun sink low on the horizon and disappear from sight. He turned from the third story hotel window in Iowa City and crossed the room to the bed. He tossed his brother's letter onto the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured the liquid into a gla.s.s. In two gulps, he downed the liquor, set the gla.s.s on the side table and reclined on the bed.

As the sky outside darkened he listened to the chirping of the crickets, the only sound except for the occasional shuffling of someone in the next room.

He was nearly twenty-seven now, and he had to admit, lonely. It was a loneliness he had created for himself. If the Storm family had a "Black Sheep" most would consider he to be it. His younger brother, Silas, had the respect of all who knew him, a fact that Benjamin was envious of.

He reached for Silas's letter and read through it again. Even in war time it was obvious to Benjamin his brother excelled. He always did. He even sounded as if he liked being a soldier as crazy as that sounded. Ah, maybe he's just underplaying how horrific the war is, hoping to alleviate any worry at home, Benjamin decided. But he'd heard enough war stories to know it was an atrocious war, so who was Silas trying to kid? He was just playing his usual game, trying to sound better than everyone else. Or at least better than me, he thought.

Benjamin could not deny, even to himself, that it was his own actions that had lessened any respect he might have from others. He also knew he was a disappointment to his father, Michael. He would often see the distressed look on his father's face when his father would try to divert Benjamin's anger into more acceptable behavior. The two of them worked side by side at his father's shingle mill and Michael's greatest concern was Benjamin's curtness or rudeness displayed toward customers. Over the years, Michael had more than once hauled Benjamin into the office and lectured him. Benjamin would grit his teeth and take his father's fury, only because he knew it was warranted. He supposed his father kept him at the shingle mill because he was an excellent wood craftsman. If he had not been, he knew his father would not have welcomed him back into the family fold and business after his five-year disappearance.

He had been back in Story County for nearly two years. When he had returned, his father asked little, but Benjamin knew his reason for leaving hurt his father deeply.

His father, Michael told him, "You've denied me my granddaughter and I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that."

The words stung. They had an argument. Michael made further accusations. Benjamin grew furious and ended the argument by walking out of the mill office.

But despite his anger at his father, Benjamin was not sure if he could ever forgive himself for that, either. Since his return from Illinois, he had seen his little girl holding her mother Bessie's hand as they walked in town. At those times, Bessie would give him a cold, hard stare and he would turn away. He had been young and obstinate seven years ago, but he knew then, as he knew now, the little girl was his, even though he had gone to great lengths to deny it. But he also knew then he could not have married Bessie. The only thing good between them was s.e.x. The thought of marrying her and being stuck in that situation gave him a sick feeling in his stomach-and it still did even now when he thought about it. He had learned to numb his feelings of guilt with alcohol and most of the time it worked for him.

As Benjamin lay staring at the ceiling in the dim light of the hotel room his thoughts went back to his teenage years-and Bessie Winter. She was two years older than he. A rather homely girl, she had a well-established reputation of being wild and carefree when out of view of her strict father, the Reverend Jacob Winter, pastor of the Collins Baptist Church. Reverend Winter often preached pa.s.sionately of sin and wickedness and Benjamin knew the Reverend had no idea his own daughter was a glowing example of those iniquities. Benjamin chuckled as he thought if Reverend Winter had known how sinful his teenage daughter had been, the reverend might have committed a cardinal sin such as murder.

Bessie had bedded just about every young man in town. But Benjamin had not been one of them. That was, not until one summer night when he was nineteen.

Bessie had her eye on Benjamin for several years and he would often find her trailing after him. Benjamin would politely but firmly reject her but she was persistent and would continue to approach him after numerous rejections.

Persistence often pays off.

One hot, humid July evening Benjamin had been drinking with friends in town. He left uptown and was walking toward home when Bessie caught up with him. She began teasing him about his limp, the result of an injury to his left leg in an accident at the shingle mill. It had not healed properly and left him with a slight limp to his gait. He became angry with her and she then apologized for the teasing. But her teasing continued in another vain, one of s.e.xual innuendo. He soon allowed it to become a game between them as he teased her in return. His response intensified her s.e.xual flirting. She giggled and danced around him as he walked, his limp more p.r.o.nounced by the alcohol. As they left town behind, she became bolder in her sensuous actions. His intoxication, along with his own s.e.xual verve, dissolved all resistance as she stood close to him with firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s exposed. It had taken his breath away. On that hot summer night Benjamin lost his virginity in a freshly plowed Iowa field under the July full moon. Any homeliness he had previously seen in Bessie was blurred and replaced by her naked beauty as he experienced s.e.x in all its glory. That night was only the first of a long series of forbidden s.e.xual encounters with Bessie that was to last into the fall months.

But that summer had also been the beginning of his heavy alcohol consumption. He not only drank whiskey in the evenings after he completed work at the shingle mill, but before long had carried a flask with him during the day and it would often be empty by the time the sun was setting.

Their s.e.xual encounters became almost an obsession for him as did the drinking. On an autumn afternoon Bessie told him she was pregnant. The news shocked and frightened him.

"You can't be," he told her. Somehow he had never thought that might happen.

"I am, Benjie." Her face was tense and her dark eyes did not leave his as she awaited his reply.

Benjamin, leaning against the trunk of a big hardwood tree, moved away from the tree and from Bessie and began to pace in his nervousness. He kicked at a clump of dirt with the toe of his boot. He did not look at her as he said, "Well, it ain't mine!"

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not! And don't you say it is!"

She pleaded, "Benjamin, you have to marry me."

"I ain't marrying you. No way."

Tears ran down her cheeks as she begged, "Please, Benjamin, you must. When my daddy finds out, he'll kill me." She grabbed his arm. "Please!"

He jerked away from her grasp. "You've been f.u.c.k'n every guy in town and I'm not about to marry some wh.o.r.e!"

"No, you're wrong. It's your baby!"

"No! You just leave me alone." He walked briskly away from her. She was sobbing as she chased after him. "Benjamin, please," she begged. She grabbed onto him and fell to her knees.

He continued to move away, dragging her along. She was near hysterical. "Benjamin!" He pulled away from her and she lay in the dirt, choking back sobs.

He stood over her, sweat dripping from his brow, and said with disgust, "You get out of my life, Bessie. You find some other guy to take you to the altar. Not me!"

He would never forget the stricken look in her dark eyes at that moment, and the smeared dirt mixed with tears on her face. He turned and walked away. He did not look back.

He could not look back.

That evening he went on a drinking binge like never before. He was drunk for three days. When he came out of the drunken stupor, still somewhat in a haze, he was also frightened, a feeling he really did not want to face. He did not hear from Bessie for about a month and as the days went by his fear was slowly fading. But one day it returned in full force when he was confronted at the shingle mill by Reverend Winter.

The good reverend had his Bible in one hand and a rifle in the other and his teary-eyed daughter close behind him. A scuffle broke out between the two men while the terrified Bessie looked on. Michael heard the commotion out front and came running out of the mill at the moment his son struck the Reverend, knocking him to the ground where a pile of logs were stacked. Reverend Winter struck his head on a log and the impact cut his scalp. Benjamin went into a panic when he saw the blood. Fearing the Constable would arrest him, Benjamin took advantage of the confusion of the moment to run. And he had kept running. He did not return to Story County for five years and during that time did not let even his family know his whereabouts.

By the time he had returned Bessie was married and had a second child. The rumor that went around town was that Reverend Winter had paid off Howard Little to marry his daughter, saving his family from much embarra.s.sment. Benjamin was sure the rumor had solid basis as Howard came from a poor family and when he married Bessie he bought a hotel/restaurant in town, something he could never have done on his own.

Benjamin knew if his father realized just how serious his drinking problem was he might not have so readily welcomed him back into the family fold. He had become skilled at hiding his heavy drinking from others. He spent most of his time alone, which made it much easier to drink all he wanted. Still single, he had little interest in marrying. If asked why he had not married he would say the right woman hadn't come along. He also spent his time on his art. He did wood carvings of birds and animals, a craft he developed as a teenager as a result of his grandfather Alexander''s influence. His art renderings had brought him some recognition and good prices for his art in the city, especially when he had been in Chicago.

A lot had happened while he had been in Chicago those five years. He had fallen in love.

Now, it seemed so long ago. She was beautiful with long golden hair the color of warm sunlight on corn silk in the fields. He sighed deeply as he thought about her. She was the reason that he was not interested in pursuing any relationship with any of the available women in town. He had not met anyone who came even remotely close to what he had found in her. There had been a couple of women who had looked his way in recent time but he kept his distance, not wanting anyone to get close.

He had met her at a dance. He could still smell the perfume she wore that night-a light scent of fresh flowers that had a.s.saulted his senses. When he had asked her if she would like to dance she replied with a smile, "Of course."

They danced together until the music ended that evening. When they parted they had made a promise to see each other again.

Although they did not see each other for two weeks, she had not left his mind in those fourteen days. The next five months had been a blur of fun and joy, of lovemaking and sharing. They were in love and their talk turned to a future together and if she had said yes he would have married her that first month.

During their time together he struggled to control his drinking, aware she was disturbed by it, but he often failed.

The rain had been falling heavily one Sunday afternoon when he had taken her to the train station. The wind was blowing the rain into their faces and her hair was drenched as he kissed her goodbye. She had promised to write him from Philadelphia. At first her letters came weekly but before long they became scarce. Every bone in his body had told him to go to Philadelphia as he felt their connection dissolving but he did not go. Something he regretted to this day.

He would never forget the last letter he received from her. Her words cut deep into his heart. She had fallen in love with another man and was going to marry him.

Devastated and angered by the news, Benjamin buried his sorrow in whiskey. For many months, everywhere he looked, he saw her image and that caused him to drink all the more. After time her image began to fade and only fragments of memory would invade his consciousness. But even with the fading memories, his dependence on alcohol did not fade. His whiskey had become his lover and overshadowed her ghost. But at times, she would still find a way into the crevices of his mind and cause him pain. He often had walked the same walks they had taken as a couple. He would go to their favorite restaurant and there, would sulk for hours.

But now, he knew he was over her. He sat up on the side of the bed and poured another drink of whiskey. The burning of the whiskey flowing down his throat removed all traces of her and for that he was thankful.

Benjamin left memories and empty whiskey bottles behind in the hotel room in Iowa City. He had gone on a binge for several days but now, three days later, he was clear-headed and sober.

As he rode his horse toward Marshalltown, he was enjoying the early morning sunshine. The Iowa sky above was blue and spotted with fair weather c.u.mulus clouds.

It was close to noon when Benjamin arrived at the Garrison farm. As he rode in he saw Robert in the corral tending the horses.

When Robert saw him approaching, he yelled out, "Hey guy, how the h.e.l.l you doing?" The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice.

"Pretty good, how about you?" Benjamin replied. He slid off his horse and tied the reins to the corral fence adjoining the water trough.

Robert greeted him at the corral gate. He offered one hand for a firm handshake and patted Benjamin on the shoulder with the other hand. "Good," he said. "The farm keeps me jumping but I've got it under control. Just planted the spring crop and if we don't get a late frost it'll be good. So what brings you to our neck of the woods?"

Benjamin replied, "Sales. Had to go to Iowa City to take some orders and then stopped by the Evert's place in Davenport, and ordered up some logs at the river. Heading out to Ames next."

"How's old man Evert doing? Haven't seen him for awhile."

"Ornery as ever."

Robert chuckled. "Didn't really expect him to be any different. How's things in Collins? Everybody okay?"

"Yeah. All seem to be doing fine. Saw your mama Catherine last week and she was as s.p.u.n.ky as ever."

Robert smiled, "That's good to know. You hear from your brother, Silas?"

Benjamin stiffened at the question. "Ah, yeah. He's a fight'n them d.a.m.n Rebels."

"So's James." Robert sighed. "Hope them boys make it back okay. Mary's cooking up ham and sweet potatoes for supper. You'll stay, won't you?"

Benjamin's face brightened at the suggestion. "Sure, that'd be great."

"Mary'll be glad to see you. It's been awhile. Come on. Let's tell Mary you're here."

They started walking toward the house.

Benjamin asked, "How are the kids?"

"Growing too d.a.m.n fast. The two boys are in school and little Marie is already insisting that she will go to school soon."

They walked up onto the porch. Robert opened the door and called out, "Mary, look who I found wandering around the yard."

Mary was chopping vegetables in the kitchen and turned to see who was with her husband. Her light brown hair was pinned up, a few loose tendrils hanging down. She wore a full bibbed ap.r.o.n over a colorful print dress. She smiled broadly, "Benjamin! What a surprise." She quickly moved from the kitchen and greeted him with a warm embrace and a kiss on his cheek.

In his peripheral vision, Benjamin saw a woman standing across the room and it flashed through his mind that there was something familiar but his attention stayed on Mary. "How have you been? You're looking healthy. The last time I saw you, you weren't feeling too well."

"Oh, that pa.s.sed. I'm fine," she said. "How about you?"

"Good." His eyes wandered to the woman and what he saw made his heart plunge to his stomach.

Mary said, "Come, you have to meet my sister-in-law, Lucinda, James's wife."

There stood the only woman Benjamin had ever loved.

He froze and neither of them moved as they faced each other.

He felt as if he was off balance, about to fall over. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath trying to recover his composure.

Mary, unaware of what was happening, grabbed his arm and led him toward Lucinda. And in those moments, all the memories of their time together flashed before him in vivid color. She was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was pulled back on each side with a ribbon. She wore a white blouse belted into a long denim skirt that hugged her slim waist and hips. Her blue eyes were on his and he could see in them the same shock he was feeling. She held out her hand and said quietly, "h.e.l.lo, Benjamin."

At a loss for words, he managed somehow to say, "h.e.l.lo, Lucinda." He took her outstretched hand but quickly dropped it.

And in that moment, he realized he had not ever gotten over Lucinda Brown.

Lucinda's heart was beating overtime and she felt a little light headed as she stood in the living room of Robert and Mary Garrison staring with disbelief at Benjamin.

Robert offered, "This is Silas's brother. We haven't seen him for awhile and it's good to have him here."

Lucinda nodded. Unsure of what to say, she quickly replied, "I would never have guessed you're brothers."

He gave her a smile as he dropped her hand, and said, "I often hear that." He turned to greet the children.

Lucinda watched Benjamin interacting with the children and his playfulness took her back nearly six years to their time together, a time often filled with lighthearted fun and laughter.

But it now seemed like a lifetime ago. He had been her first love. She recalled a conversation she had with her Aunt Maggie after the breakup of her marriage and before she had met James. At that time she had wondered about Benjamin and wondered if she had made a mistake in leaving him in Chicago. She remembered the heavy rain that had mixed with her tears as she said goodbye to him and boarded the train for Philadelphia. How difficult it had been for her several months later when she wrote him that she was about to marry another man. But now, seeing him again, she wondered how difficult that news had been for him. She recalled her secret wish that he would come to Philadelphia and declare his love for her. How different it would have been if he had. She shuddered when she thought about those two nightmarish years she had spent in that awful marriage. She had retreated from Benjamin because of his drinking and then married a man with even worse problems.

A number of times in her quiet introspective moments she had told herself that it might have worked with her and Benjamin. Her Aunt Maggie had given her a "cheer up" talk one day when she was feeling low. She told Lucinda first young loves are often pa.s.sionate, but more often, do not have lasting qualities. She supposed at that time she gained a little comfort from the wisdom her elderly aunt bestowed on her but she could not let go of the idea that somehow she might have been able to brush aside the drinking and that he could have overcome it. But in her heart she knew better. Her heart had told her he could not. So at a time when her heart was speaking loudest to her she decided to go to Philadelphia for schooling and move on with her life without Benjamin in it.

But of course, if things had been different then she would not have met James.

She had to admit she had always felt a little guilty about the way she had ended things with Benjamin and seeing him reminded her.

As she watched him she could see the changes she had not noticed when he first walked into the house. He was a mature man now. His hair was receding slightly, his face no longer held the softness of youth and faint lines around his dark blue eyes and on his forehead had deepened. Heavier now, he had a commanding manner and a well-muscled body.

She wondered why he had lied to her. He had told her his name was Sturme. She was curious as to why he had used another name. In these years since she had met James and his extended family it had never occurred to her that Benjamin was part of the Iowa Storm family. There was no reason to have thought so. She had heard of Benjamin, Silas's brother, but never dreamed that he was ... she was confused by all this ... and uncomfortable. She wanted to walk out the door and go home and pretend Benjamin had not walked through that door a few minutes ago.

Knowing she could not do that, she would just make the best of the afternoon. She hoped Benjamin would not reveal to Robert and Mary the fact that they had been lovers. She was in no mood to discuss any of it with her husband's family.

Yet, even with a strong desire to keep the secret guarded, she longed for a few moments alone with Benjamin, even though the thought of private conversation in close proximity to this now mature man made her very nervous. Memories of the good times with him were stirring-up her emotions.