Mankillers

“The trains will probably be operating again by then,” she informed him. “The trip will be a lot faster and safer.”

He stood up and came around to her side of the table. “I can’t let you go.”

“To Columbia?”

“From my life.” He turned and paced before continuing. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me, Sarah. I’m searching, but I’m not sure for what. Until I do I can’t make any commitments. Or ask anyone else to. But what I feel for you . . . I’ve never felt for any other woman.”

She studied him with steady eyes and waited.

He started to take her hand, then turned away. As soon as he did, she bolted to her feet and whirled around to confront him. “I’m not asking for any commitments, Buck. Would it surprise you to learn I’m as confused as you are? I’ve never been in love before, but I think I am with you.”

“You love me?”

She smiled. “I think so.”

He circled her with his arms and gazed into her eyes. “Frightening, isn’t it?”

She found her attention focused on his mouth. “Terrifying, yet I—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before his lips smothered her words.

It would have been impossible for her to recount the series of steps that followed, except that they led to the bed in the other room. What happened there, well . . .

#

In the days and weeks that followed, Buck received only two wrinkled letters in response to his inquires about medical practices. One expressed no interest in his application. The second appreciated his interest but had already filled all their vacancies.

Now that Sarah had told him she was returning to Columbia, he wrote another letter to Dr. Meyer, expressing his interest in diseases of the mind and spirit. To his utter amazement he received a reply in less than a week. Dr. Meyer was enchanted with the possibility of having a partner who would see patients with mental problems so he could concentrate exclusively on his interest in neurological diseases. He ended his letter with “I eagerly await your arrival.”

Still clutching the correspondence in his hand Buck rode Gypsy immediately to Sarah’s house, spun her around in his arms and a

Simon Weinberg had already sold the brokerage and found a promising prospective buyer for the house. Finally, on a su

Simon Weinberg had used his influence to get them the last seats in the one passenger rail car of a troop train going to Florence. From there they would have to take another train west to Columbia. The route was indirect but far safer than traveling by road.

Lulled by the clickety-clack of the iron wheels on the newly-replaced tracks, Buck’s thoughts wandered. Time was indeed a remedy. A few plantations were already being reestablished, though not with the intensity of labor they’d once demanded. The steady exodus of former slaves continued. If questioned about their destinations, they invariably answered: “Goin’ north.” Buck wondered if, like the Great Diaspora, they were doomed to wander endlessly, seeking permanent homes.

He gazed at the woman sitting in the seat facing him. No longer dressed in black, Sarah was wearing a jade-green silk dress, trimmed in ecru lace. Its tailored cut emphasized her slim waist and full bosom. Her summery straw hat had a wide brim and was decorated with peacock and quail feathers.

“It’ll be good to see Job again,” she commented. “Mother’s last letter was bubbling with praise for him. Not yet four years old and already he’s reading.”

The chug of the steam locomotive echoed off the dense growth of forest lining the raised rail bed.

“I’ll be glad when we get through this accursed swamp.” Sarah wiped her face with a white-linen handkerchief as she stared out the open window. “At least we don’t have to put up with the swarms of insects we encountered last time.”

Or redheaded assassins, Buck thought.

He wished he could erase all recollection of Cedar Creek. The best he could offer was pleasant future memories. Reaching across for her hand, he said softly, “We’ll be in Columbia before dark, sweetheart.”

She curled her fingers into his and gri

To their delight Sarah’s mother, Miriam and Gus Grayson were at the station to welcome them. Tears of joy filled the women’s eyes as they laughed and embraced. Buck and Gus clasped each other’s hands and shoulders and exchanged greetings.

Standing back Buck enjoyed the scene before him. The lines in Ruth Greenwald’s face had deepened during their separation, but her bearing and demeanor hadn’t changed. She hugged her daughter and visibly trembled with emotion, clearly reluctant to release her.

“Oh, Momma,” Sarah murmured between sobs. “I missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart. Everything at home is . . . all right? The brokerage—”

Sarah nodded. “Sold, and the house will soon be as well. The Lord be praised, keeping busy kept me sane.”

“Your father would be so proud of how you’ve handled everything.” Ruth sniffled. “So proud.”

“Now, there’ll be none of that,” Miriam decreed. “This is a happy day. A joyous day.” She turned to Sarah. “My dear, you look absolutely stu

“Come on, ladies, let’s be on our way,” Gus prompted as he motioned everyone into the waiting carriage. “It’ll be dark soon. Di

“Men!” Miriam exclaimed. “Always thinking about their stomachs.”

The chatter among them didn’t stop or even pause for breath on the short ride to the Grayson residence.

“Momma, where is your house?”

“Around the corner and about a quarter mile from the Graysons. Smaller, of course. But I fell in love with it the moment Miriam told me it was for sale. And at a bargain price.” Behind her hand she whispered, “It was owned by a lady novelist who smoked cigars and drank straight Bourbon by the glassful. She’s dead now, of course. Eighty years of intemperate living will do that. ”

Sarah laughed. “I guess I have some catching up to do.”

Minutes after pulling up in front of the house on Senate Street, they were drinking mint juleps in the drawing room served by a young black man who was an inch or two taller than Buck and rail-thin. Overly deferential, he was trying almost too hard to please. Buck wondered what his background might be. He seemed self-conscious in his livery.

After the servant had returned to his station by the sideboard, Buck asked quietly, “A new addition to your household?”

Miriam nodded. “His name’s Gibbeon. I found him sleeping in an alley off Pendleton Street. I had him tagged as a runaway.”

“She’s got a heart of gold,” Gus reminded Buck.

“I have a heart,” she protested. “He was hungry and homeless. What was I supposed to do, leave him on the street to starve to death?”

Gus put his arm around her and squeezed gently. “I’m glad you only take in people and not stray cats. Come to think of it though, I’d love you for that too.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.