Linda Castle Read online

  Chase swallowed hard and tried to control the anxiety rising inside him. He didn’t quite know why, but some deep instinct had compelled him to keep his missing memory secret from everybody, including the doctors who had patched him up and cared for his damaged body. And he had kept his secret.

  Through the weeks in the hospital and all through the long train ride home, he remained silent about his amnesia.

  He sighed and lifted his hat brim. He prayed that when he opened his eyes, it would all be there—his past, his memory, himself.

  But it was not.

  Weeks of agonizing and analyzing kept bringing him back to one inescapable thought. The injury sustained in battle did not appear to be the reason for his missing memory. His thoughts kept returning to a question he did not want to ask, but knew he would have to face.

  Was the Cordell bloodline responsible?

  Had the affliction that manifested itself in his grandfather now touched Major Chase Cordell in the form of his missing memory?

  The shrill train whistle jarred Chase from his tortured thoughts. He sat bolt upright in the seat and stared out the window. Green fields and wildflowers dotted the landscape. Mountain laurels shaded lush meadows with their gnarled branches. It was beautiful, this town that had no connection to him, this place that was nothing more than another stop on a long, lonely journey into his unknown past.

  The passenger car lurched to a grinding halt while the metal brake screeched against the tracks. A cloud of steam rose up to obscure Chase’s view of the station and the town. He tried to massage some of the stiffness from his leg so he could rise from the hard seat.

  Jeffrey appeared in the aisle and smiled. “Here, Major Cordell, let me take your valise to the platform.”

  Chase accepted the young man’s offer to help. He adjusted the wide-brimmed Union officer’s hat and waited until several other passengers had cleared the aisle before he attempted to reach the door. He was slow and his limp was worse today—the result of the cramped seat, the only partially healed wound, and his long legs being pinched into confinement, he guessed. He rubbed his gloved palm across his thigh and concentrated on getting the blood back into his foot while he limped toward the exit. He did not look up until he reached the outer door of the car.

  The metallic rhythm of a brass band starting up froze him in place. A large, cheering crowd of strangers was standing outside the train car waving hats and hankies. They were calling a name—his name.

  He felt all the color drain from his face and his knees went liquid. A rotund man with a tall black hat pushed his way forward. Sunlight winked off a huge red stone set in a gold stickpin while he vigorously pumped Chase’s gloved hand.

  Chase didn’t have the slightest idea who the man was. He willed himself to smile and tried to ease the nervous tension he felt bracketing his mouth. The heat intensified beneath his heavy dark blue uniform and moisture beaded his forehead under the sweatband of his hat.

  What were all these people doing here? a voice inside his head screamed.

  “Major Cordell, it is an honor to receive you home, sir. The whole town has turned out and it is my very great pleasure, as mayor, to be the first one to welcome you back to Mainfield.”

  Mayor. The moon-faced man was mayor of Mainfield. Chase tried to conjure up a bit of recollection to go along with that information, but none would be dredged up from the pit of darkness in his head.

  Chase stared glumly out across the sea of faces. It was going to be harder than he dreamed, to pretend he was whole and that nothing was wrong with him.

  For a moment he regretted not telling the army surgeons the truth—that he had no recollection of his life, or of the many small incidents they spoke of. Perhaps they could have done something, had some remedy, some treatment. At least he would have been spared this farce; he could have remained in the hospital, instead of trying to return to a place where he was a virtual stranger inside his own skin.

  “Well, Major, it’s been a pleasure traveling with you, sir.” Jeffrey’s voice wrenched Chase from his misery. Chase turned back to see Jeffrey standing stiff and straight.

  “Have a good journey.” Chase managed to give the young soldier a smart salute that denied the watery feel of his own legs. A loud cheer rose up from the crowd when Jeffrey returned the gesture.

  A bright flash of painful recollection ripped through Chase’s thoughts at the sound of the mob. In his mind’s eye he saw a group of small boys taunting an old man with silver hair and a long, flowing mustache. The children were chanting a litany.

  “Crazy Captain Cordell.”

  Chase gulped down his emotion and felt the cold, steely resolve sweep over him. No matter what it took, no matter how he might flounder in this strange and unknown place, Chase was not going to let anyone find out the truth about him. He no longer wished he had told the surgeons, he no longer pined for the safety of a hospital bed. Chase would sooner be struck dead than be an object of ridicule like his grandfather.

  There was no indecision in him now. His course of action was clear and straight. He would bluff and wheedle and lie to keep his secret. He would inch his way through this nightmare until—by the grace of God—he might regain a tiny scrap of memory, but until that time he would keep his silence.

  Chase looked down and saw the mayor’s pudgy hands holding a bright scrap of ribbon. The politician babbled without end while he pinned it to the blue uniform. He marveled that the mayor could find an empty spot on his chest among the decorations the Northern army had already bestowed upon him. The small strips of ribbon felt heavy as stone on his Union coat because he didn’t remember what they represented.

  Suddenly it all became a blur. The crowd, the banners, all whirled in front of Chase without substance. He felt detached, alone, apart from everyone standing in the sweltering April heat.

  He stared over the short mayor’s shoulder and searched every face in the crowd, hoping against bitter hope that perhaps there would be one face amidst the throng that would spark some remembrance.

  A heavy, cold weight grew in Chase’s belly when no one was even vaguely familiar.

  Except for one.

  His tormented gaze kept returning to a tiny blond woman, nearly hidden beneath a straw bonnet and lace-covered parasol. She was biting her bottom lip. As unhappy as Chase was to be a war hero with no past and little hope for the future, she appeared to be even more miserable.

  She met his eyes and a tiny quiver of her chin sent his belly plunging to the vicinity of his boot tops. He looked away, but something about the woman reached out to him.

  He felt an odd affinity for her. She seemed to be a kindred spirit adrift in a sea of strangers. While all those around him smiled brightly and wished him well, her face held a measure of sadness. He would like to have spoken to the woman, to give her reassurance, but for the life of him he didn’t know why he should feel that way.

  “Now, Major, I’m sure you are glad to be home.”

  “Yes—yes, Mayor—I am.” Chase found it difficult to pull his gaze away from the clear blue of the woman’s compelling eyes. There seemed to be a silent question deep inside them.

  For a moment Chase thought he knew what the question was, but it may have been fancy, because it had simply flitted away like a butterfly over a field of sweet, ripe clover like the rest of his past. Every feeling, every thought was no more substantial than a wisp of smoke he could not grasp.

  “Come, Major Cordell, don’t be shy. It’s been a long time. There’s not a man jack among us who would blame you for giving your little wife a kiss right here, in public.”

  Chase watched while the mayor took hold of the pretty blond woman’s gloved hand and drew her forward. She stiffened beneath the politician’s hold and Chase saw the color in her cheeks intensify when his body and hers abruptly made contact from breastbone to waist. The end of his sword scabbard swung around and hit him in the shin with a plink of sound. Several of Chase’s medals poked him through the fabric of his uni
form while the mayor shoved the woman with the intense blue eyes tighter against his chest.

  Chase stared dumbly down at her upturned face. Heat arced between their bodies while they stood frozen on the platform. All the curious people who were strangers to Chase seemed to be waiting for him to do something, say something, to the woman.

  “Go on, Linese, give your husband a proper reception,” The mayor urged.

  “Welcome home, Chase.” She raised on tiptoe and touched her soft lips to the side of his face in a self-conscious greeting.

  His heart slammed against his rib cage. Linese. This was Linese. This was his wife.

  God, she was beautiful, and younger than his own twenty-one years, if he had his guess. She was the very image of what every soldier wished he had waiting for him at home. So why did Chase feel the cold wave of melancholy engulf him?

  Chase swallowed hard and beseeched God to let him remember her, but nothing happened. He remembered nothing about her, felt nothing for her, except perhaps pity.

  He was doomed to play out this charade in a life he could not recollect. And this poor woman, who had done nothing to deserve this kind of punishment, was condemned to play it out with him.

  Chapter Two

  The disparity in their height made it easy for Linese to look up at Chase and study his face beneath the wide, flop-brimmed hat.

  He was older. His jaw was leaner, perhaps sterner than she remembered. There was a determined strength to his chin that had not been there before. Two years had brought him from brash youth to somber maturity. His boyish handsomeness had hardened into the rugged face of a man.

  The familiar strand of raven hair was the same, though. It was peeking out from the band of his hat, near his abundant dark brows. There was an unfamiliar look in his gray eyes that made Linese shiver unconsciously while they slid over her face like inquisitive fingers. She could almost feel his probing scrutiny.

  She drew back from his broad chest and twisted her hands together until the seams inside the gloves cut into her fingers and made her aware of what she was doing. The crowd around them seemed to be holding its breath, expecting him to say something.

  “Linese,” Chase acknowledged stiffly.

  All of Mainfield seemed to release a collective sigh, as if some action of import had just taken place.

  Chase didn’t know what else to say to the woman. Any man, particularly one who had spent the past few weeks staring at survivors of war, would consider her a belle. He knew be was lucky to have a woman like this, knew he should feel pride to be her husband, but he did not. He searched his blighted soul and tried to find some memory of her.

  There was none.

  He found nothing but the same odd, haunted feeling of kinship with her, here among all the strangers who talked too loud and smiled too much. In the end, all Chase could do was stand woodenly on the platform, feeling like a green recruit, while he nervously flexed his fingers inside his soft leather gloves. He sensed Linese was no happier than he was, but she managed to give him a trembling smile before her dark brown lashes fluttered down to conceal her eyes from him.

  A tendril of dread entwined itself around Chase’s mind. Could she already see the difference in his actions? Had he made a blunder that she would reveal to the crowd of onlookers? Was there some special word of greeting between them that he had failed to provide? A thousand fears rose up inside him.

  He had been a fool to think he could deceive her. A woman would know any subtle change in the man with which she had shared bed and hearth. Chase silently cursed himself as more than a fool to have thought he could pull off his subterfuge. His pitiful deception had not lasted one hour since his return.

  He maintained his rigid stance, ignoring the pain in his hip, for what seemed an eternity. Chase knew he was found out, while he waited for her to utter the words that would ring his death knell in front of the assembly. He mechanically worked the muscle in his jaw while the seconds ticked silently by, and yet she said nothing. Finally he could stand the suspense no more. Chase forced himself to speak to her, wishing to put an end to his misery.

  “Let’s go home, Linese.” His voice was hard and flinty.

  She looked up and blinked at him in obvious surprise. At the same moment, the mayor stepped in front of Chase as if to prevent him from leaving.

  “We planned a little celebration for you, Chase. You can’t leave so soon.” The mayor’s voice held a measure of irritation and authority.

  Chase looked down at the man and felt the heat intensify beneath the sweatband of his hat. The last thing he felt like doing was struggling through some celebration where people would be telling him stories about things he didn’t remember, and he didn’t much care for the mayor’s tone. If Linese was on the verge of exposing him, the fewer people around the better he would like it. If by some miracle she had not seen the lie in his eyes, then the sooner he could find a room and shut himself into it, the happier he would be, the easier it would be. Either way, he wanted out of Mainfield as soon as possible.

  “I’m going home,” he said flatly. Chase saw the mayor raise a brow in surprise, but the crowd obligingly parted in response to his request. He felt a hand on his arm and looked down at Linese, who stood at his side. Her small cloth-encased fingers gently plucked at the blue uniform, until he obliged her by lifting his arm away from his body enough for her to slip her fingers inside the crook of his elbow.

  He tried not to limp too much when he fell into step beside her. It was an odd sensation, to be walking beside a woman whom he didn’t know, but who knew him, or at least the man he had been two years ago. He allowed her to lead the way and attuned himself to her. Chase saw her staring straight ahead at a small surrey parked beside the train depot, which he suddenly realized was her destination.

  Pure panic engulfed him in a cold wave. He would, of course, be expected to handle the horse, as would any self-respecting man. Fool that he was, he had not thought about that inevitability when he rudely refused the mayor’s offer of a celebration. Chase didn’t have any idea in which direction he should point the beast. He had no knowledge of where he lived, whether it be a house on the next street or a dwelling many miles away. Fear crept upon him like an assassin.

  The petite woman, his wife, lurched to a stop beside him when his boots suddenly became anchored to the street. She looked up at him quizzically from under her wide parasol, but he was incapable of willing himself to move.

  “Chase? Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He looked down and forced himself to meet her eyes. A pang of guilt surged through him. This gentlewoman, Lin-ese, did not deserve to be treated like a stranger.

  “No—no. I, uh, it’s just that I…” he stammered and shot a look back over his shoulder toward the main section of town. Maybe it was not too late to accept the mayor’s offer. Maybe he could postpone the disaster awaiting him at the innocent-looking surrey.

  His last chance was lost. The crowd had begun to disperse, few people remained. He was going to have to flounder through his confusion and pray he would survive this test. He shut his eyes for one moment and silently beseeched God for a memory, but no one answered his silent entreaty.

  He opened his eyes and found her looking up at him. While she patiently watched him, he was struck again by her delicate features. She reminded him of a fragile bit of fine china. Her skin was the color of cream. She was too exquisite for a tall, rangy man like himself.

  More questions swirled through his throbbing head. Had he been the kind of man who could sweet-talk a lady like Linese? Were they acquainted since childhood? Did some old friend introduce them? How had he won her affections? How well did she know him? A million unanswered thoughts popped into his mind while they stood staring at each other in the heat.

  “Did you wish to go to the office?” Her brows rose into arches over cornflower blue eyes. “Hezikiah will be gone already, if you had hoped to see him, but if you would prefer to go to the office first, we could—”

>   “Yes, I would like to visit the office.” He cut her off abruptly, thanking God for whatever it was she was talking about.

  “All right. Shall we walk?”

  “Yes.” Chase dared not allow himself to be forced into the surrey—not yet. His hip was a steady, agonizing throb, but he summoned his strength and prepared to walk.

  Linese paused beside him, and he realized she was waiting for his arm again. It was an odd thing, this possessive feeling inside him that answered her actions. When she looped her gloved hand through his elbow he felt the nearly unbearable heat between their bodies increase, but it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. Chase tried to ignore her nearness while his mind raced ahead, trying to make sense of the disjointed riddle of his life, and the strange, haunted connection he felt for Linese.

  “I think you’ll find the office is little changed,” she said softly.

  What office could she be referring to? Linese had made reference to a newspaper in her letters. Was that what she meant? He plucked up his courage and steeled himself to meet the second challenge of his return.

  Linese kept her eyes straight ahead, but her thoughts were only on Chase. The hours she had spent weaving fantasies about his homecoming swam in her memory. She had hoped he would sweep her into his arms and murmur words of affection. How foolish she had been to expect such a display from Chase Cordell. He had not seen fit to put his feelings into words before he left, had not done it by letter, and he seemed to have little inclination to do so now.

  Linese frowned at her silly thoughts and lifted her parasol higher. Chase leaned almost imperceptibly into the welcome circle of shade, but she saw he kept his body just short of actually touching her. Her hand rested within his arm, but other than that small point, Chase held himself stiff to avoid touching her.

  She tried to remember every letter she had sent him. Had she made some horrible blunder? Did she let something slip about her activities at the Gazette, something that caused him to treat her with such cold reserve? Should she ask?