AN AUTUMN BOUQUET 		
BY LINDA MADL			
Chapter One
Apple Grove House, Apple Fest Season 
Kansas City, Kansas—1999
"For gosh sakes, Brad, the wedding guests are here." Jennifer Hollis clutched her apple blossom and white rose bouquet so tightly her fingers crushed the fresh, ribbon-wrapped stems. Panic welled inside, but she fought it back, hardly noting the damage she did to the flowers as she spoke into the parlor phone. "Brad, you can't be serious. Reverend Gleeson has arrived. The agency video cams are ready to roll. The caterer has set up the food table. Please tell me you're joking about not being ready to get married."
Brad replied, but Jen barely comprehended his words through the static of disbelief. Her head spun and her emotions retreated into numbness. She had heard all she needed to know: Her groom had decided he couldn't go through with the wedding. He was sorry he was leaving her with a mess to deal with. But he'd realized as he sat drinking with his buddies at his bachelor party that he and she did not want the same things out of life. Their marriage would be a terrible mistake.
"You waited until now to tell me this?" Jen asked, still breathless with incredulity.
"Bad timing, I know, but this break is for the best, Jen," Brad replied with only a hint of regret in his voice. "You'll understand that someday. I'm leaving for California as soon as I hang up. So neither of us will have to be embarrassed by running into each other around Kansas City."
There was no avoiding the disaster, Jen realized. The finality of his tone came through loud and clear. Without waiting to hear more, she slammed the phone down. What was there to say to the man who deserted you on your wedding day—a man who'd told her he loved her only a week ago? A week ago! Had it been that long?
The bang of the receiver hitting its cradle echoed through the authentically restored 1850s parlor of Apple Grove House. The noise bounced off the carved walnut fireplace, the brass wall sconces, the wavy lights of the tall windows, and the glass doors of the oak secretary.
Dazed, Jen sank down onto the black horsehair settee, unconcerned about wrinkling her antique wedding gown. Creased satin and rumpled Brussels lace hardly mattered now. But she shifted to accommodate the pressure of the horsehair bustle against her back side. The unfamiliar fashion garment felt strange over her Victoria's Secret underwear. Why on earth had she thought it so wonderful to wear an 1870s gown with a bustle?
Was it all going to be for nothing? All her hard work. Her wedding was about to begin—and a promotional television spot was about to be videoed—and she had no bridegroom.
She glanced around the room, distractedly listening to the murmur of the guests seated outside in the sunny apple orchard. She'd always loved this place. In fact, she'd always loved anything old. Yellowed or faded, cracked or chipped, frayed or sagging. She even preferred vintage clothes to styles from the fashionable Johnson County shops. Old things warmed her heart and filled her with nostalgia for times passed—times she'd never known.
And Apple Grove House was her favorite old spot in the world. She'd only been ten years old during that first apple fest her family had joined in years ago. Though she'd been too young to understand the term deja vu, she'd instantly recognized a place that somehow was a part of her. After that first visit, she'd returned to Apple Grove House as often as she could. Then she'd grown up and the luckiest thing of all had happened: Apple Grove House had become one of her accounts at the public relations agency where she worked.
Over the years she'd discovered much about the house's history, about how it was built in 1844 by Moses Grove for his half-Indian wife, Anna. About how Moses had operated the Kansas River ferry for the blue-coated dragoons and cavalry that traversed the military road between Fort Leavenworth and Fort Scott. About how he had operated a post office and traded with the peaceful Delaware Indians. The house was still full of things left behind by the Grove family—Moses, Anna, and their ten children.
Jen, sentimental fool that she was, had used the keepsakes to inspire her wedding at every turn. Even her apple blossom and white rose bouquet was a replica of the one in the bell jar on the mantel. Jen raised the posy to her nose and sniffed the heady aroma of fruit and flowers.  Nobody knew whose bouquet the dried one had been, but Jen had insisted that hers be just like it. The florist had eyed her dubiously, but done his best to comply.
Now she didn't even know if there was going to be a wedding.
"Well, there's the lovely bride."
Jen cringed at the sound of the familiar but unwelcome voice. When she turned toward the door, she saw tall, handsome Ted Neisen stride into the room with that take-charge air that invariably annoyed her. Warily she rose from the settee. "Hello, Ted."
Looking disgustingly dapper in his tuxedo, the fair athletic, fiftyish amusement park developer came to a halt in the middle of the parlor and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. For the first time in her battle with Ted, Jen felt like the fly in the spiderweb.
"I just wanted to extend my best wishes to you and your groom before the ceremony. Where is the lucky man?"
Jen groaned inwardly. She loathed Ted and he was the last person on earth to whom she would admit that Brad had just told her he was walking out on her. The only reason she'd invited the high and mighty developer to the wedding was to show him how she intended to rescue Apple Grove House from his crass profiteering. The man had never seen an orchard or a meadow he didn't want to pave. Jen refused to allow him to violate the beauty and serenity of Apple Grove House with a gift shop and a bevy of high-tech thrill rides.
"My groom will be here any moment now," Jen lied through her forced smile. When she'd invited Ted to the wedding six weeks ago, she'd been certain of her victory. It had all been arranged: the video cam crew to tape the old-fashioned wedding in the apple orchard, period reenactors, authentic country musicians, fine imported apple wine, and—best of all—the TV spot scheduled to raise community support.
Jen's boss at the public relations agency had gone for the plan. He'd loved her strategy for saving the old house and the cider mill from becoming an amusement park. But now Brad had gone AWOL.
"Too bad," Ted said, looking around the elegant parlor as if he'd never seen the room before. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm impressed with what you're trying to do here. Not many people have the courage to go up against me."
Then he shook his head. "But your efforts are misguided. Impressive, but misguided. This may be an interesting old place. But you need more than a romantic publicity stunt to keep the county from handing Apple Grove House over to me."
Jen dropped her hands to her side, the petals of her bouquet brushing against her skirt. Her chin took on a defiant angle. "The wedding is just part of my plan."
"And you are such a lovely bride, with your blond curls and those big brown eyes," Ted said, his calculating gaze coming to rest on Jen again. He'd never hit on her, but she'd frequently had the feeling that he had considered the idea—regardless of his wife and college-age daughters. "Great figure too, even with that damned bustle. Anyway, I still don't understand why you are doing all of this to keep me from developing this area. It's not like I intend to tear down the house or anything sacrilegious like that. And the amusement park will generate jobs."
"Apple Grove House is too important historically to be smothered under the shroud of commercialism," Jen said, her emotions raw at the moment. "I don't want to see the apple orchard standing in the shadow of a roller coaster. I don't want to see the old cider mill turned into a greasy snack bar and the house renovated for a gift shop. People need to remember and celebrate the simple pleasures of picking apples, making cider, and enjoying the fruits of their labor."
"Oh, Jennifer," Ted said with that tsk-tsk tone in his voice that always made her grind her teeth. "You sound old and preachy before your time. I should be the old man here and you should be the forward-looking new generation."
"I am looking forward," Jen insisted, her fist crushing her bouquet again. "I'm looking forward to passing our heritage on to my generation and the next one."
Ted smiled patronizingly and shook his head.
To Jen's relief, her auburn-haired sister, Jessica, rushed into the room in a swish of autumn gold taffeta. Her son, Joey, Jen's favorite and only nephew, strutted into the room behind her.
"Jen, the guests are beginning to wonder what is going on," Jessica blurted. "What did Brad have to say on the phone?"
Jessica and Joey halted when they saw Ted Neisen. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Jessica said, her eyes growing wide and questioning.
"You're not interrupting." Ted eyed Jen with a look that told her she had a long way to go before she won this contest between the old and the new. "Just wanted to wish the bride good luck. May the best—No, wait. I'd better be politically correct here, right?" He gave a condescending chuckle. "May the best person win."
As soon as he was gone, Jen's bravado hissed from her in a long, slow breath.
"What did Mr. Ferris Wheel want?" Jessica asked. "Your face is whiter than your gown. Where's Brad? What did he say on the phone?"
"Ted wanted to gloat, I think," Jen said, struggling against the sense of defeat and despair that was beginning to settle over her.
"Little early for that, isn't it?" Jessica said with a pleased smile. She was in Jen's corner all the way about Apple Grove House. "He'll change his tune soon enough. Good news. Kelly says the cameras are working at last. What did Brad say? Why is he so late?"
Jen took a deep breath and turned to face her sister.
"He has a flat tire, right?" Joey volunteered with precocious gravity. "I bet that's it."
Despite her heartache, Jen couldn't resist smiling at her adorable nephew, who wore a child-size tuxedo coat, unbuttoned and pulled open so he could shove his hands deep into his trouser pockets. Like his mom, he had auburn hair, and pale freckles dusted his nose and cheeks. In his miniature formal clothes—which he'd agreed to wear only after they'd tried to get him into a Lord Fauntleroy suit— he looked eight years old going on thirty-five.
Jen's heart always warmed at the sight of Joey because she knew instinctively that he had a crush on her. So she'd made a special effort to include him in the wedding. He was her little ring bearer. "I wish it was that simple, Joey."
"If that's all, I'll send Mark to pick him up," Jessica offered, clearly unconcerned about offering her husband's services without his knowledge. She and Mark seemed to have the perfect marriage, Jen thought with a frown for the umpteenth time. And she couldn't even get her groom to the altar.
"We'll have Brad here in no time and the guests will hardly notice the delay," Jessica added. "And if we don't have any more problems with the video cams, we'll have this wedding under way. Your friend, Kelly, was about to tear her hair out over the camera problems."
"I know," Jen said, momentarily distracted by the mention of camera difficulties. She'd been concerned about the strange problem when she was setting up the wedding arrangements. "Apparently Kelly didn't believe me when I tried to tell her that cameras sometimes leak light or take double exposures around here. Sometimes video cameras just refuse to operate like they did this morning. One day you'll have trouble. The next day will be okay. Last summer I had to have a whole shoot retaken for promotional materials about the house because of something strange happening with the cameras."
"The cameras are working now, so let's get this wedding on the road," Jessica said, turning toward her son. "Go get your dad, Joey."
"No, wait,'' Jen said, realizing she couldn' t put off telling her sister the truth any longer. Her mind reeled anew with the thought of Brad's defection—and Ted's taunt. "I'm afraid it's not as simple as picking Brad up."
"What then?" Jessica asked, glancing at her watch. "We've got to get things moving. Where is he?"
Jen took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. "Brad isn't coming, Jessica. My groom is leaving me standing at the altar."
"Standing at the . .. ?" Jessica's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding?"
Jen shook her head. "I wish I were. For the life of me, I can' t imagine where this all went wrong. Maybe this whole wedding and promotion idea was a mistake. Maybe that is what turned Brad off."
"Are you kidding?" Jessica exclaimed. "Publicity turn Brad off? Think about it, Jen. Just when was the last time that handsome ham of yours resisted a camera?"
Jen nodded. It was true. Brad, tan and fit, loved the cameras. She'd seen him grin shamelessly into the lens on the golf course as he praised a charity tournament or he beamed in front of a fashionable new Plaza restaurant as he declared an endorsement. Or happier yet, he smiled at news crews in the lobby of his father's Johnson County-based international firm as he announced a corporate expansion.
No, publicity wasn't a problem for Brad. He loved the limelight and he treasured the trendy. What was the problem then? The answer shined in her brain like a neon sign: Apple Grove House was not trendy enough. It was not trendy at all. Shoot, Jen grumbled to herself. Why hadn't she seen this difficulty sooner?
"Don't let it get you down, sis," Jessica said, touching Jen's arm sympathetically. "You're hardly the first bride to be stood up at the altar."
"But how many of them have a video crew, three hundred wedding guests, an old-fashioned country band, and a clergyman waiting to see them walk down the aisle?" Jen rubbed her temple, hoping to discourage the headache that threatened.
"A good point," Jessica said, her dark eyes growing wide. It was a strange expression to see on her sister's face. Jessica was usually the practical one—the one who'd been like a mother to Jen since they'd lost their parents in a car wreck five years ago. "What do we say to all those people out there?"
"I don't have a clue, but I keep dunking there has to be a way to pull this off," Jen said, continuing to shake her head as the sickening feeling of helplessness grew in her stomach. She didn't have a single inspired—or uninspired—idea of what to do. Not one. But she wasn't about to let Brad—or Ted be victorious.
After a long silence, Jessica's face brightened. She grinned as if the answer had been in front of them the entire time. "Maybe we could find a stand-in."
"A what?" Jen asked, thinking she had heard her sister incorrectly.
"Not a real groom," Jessica explained with a frown. "You know, some gallant soul who would look good—and save the day for us. You could call it a romantic publicity stunt later. All the gifts would have to be returned, of course. But at least the cameras, the food, the flowers, and the reverend wouldn't be wasted."
"But who would be a stand-in on such late notice?" Jen puzzled, though she was warming to the idea. "Who would look good in front of the camera and go along with the promo idea?"
"I don't know." Jessica shook her head. "Not on such short notice. All the modeling agencies are closed on Saturday."
"Any good-looking reenactors in uniform out there?" Jen suggested. She'd been sequestered in the parlor and hadn't seen them yet.
Jessica grimaced and shook her head. "Cute, but all short and bearded."
"Any more ideas, sis?" Jen said, realizing this seemingly simple solution wasn't as uncomplicated as it sounded. Bewildered, she and Jessica stared at each other.
At last Jessica shrugged.
"Have we lost to the enemy?" Jen sighed. Stymied once more, she sank down on the settee again. "Where is the cavalry to ride in and save the day when you need them?"
******************
At the sight of the tall man called Ted, whom his mother and Aunt Jen didn't like, Joey had backed into the shadowy corner by the huge old secretary. His hand in his pocket, Joey toyed with the small camera he'd sneaked off a guest table earlier. He'd stolen it after he'd asked his mom what the cameras were for. She'd explained that Aunt Jen wanted guests to take "candy" photos of each other.
"Candy pictures?" Joey had repeated, uncertain what that odd term meant, but liking the sound of it
"Not candy, candid pictures," Mom had explained as she'd adjusted the tight cuffs of her dress. It was gold colored and trimmed with dark gold velvet; it stuck out funny in the back with something she called a bustle. "Unposed photos that people are not expecting someone to take. Surprise pictures."
"Surprise pictures?" Joey repeated. "You mean the kind where their mouths are hanging open or they look like they're sleeping when they're supposed to be paying attention."
"Something like that, Joey." Mom's mouth had twisted as if she was trying to keep from smiling. "Or some nice pose that the professional photographer doesn't catch."
Cool, Joey had drought and pocketed a camera when Mom wasn't looking. He'd always thought it would be neat to be a cameraman like the men Aunt Jen worked with sometimes. He could get some good surprise pictures— ones that would make Aunt Jen laugh.
Mom and Aunt Jen had pretty much forgotten that Joey was still in the room. The man called Ted had distracted them. When grown-ups overlooked Joey, things usually got really interesting. Ted didn't really say much or so it seemed to Joey. Soon the man left. Suddenly Joey's mom and Aunt Jen were staring at each other as if something really terrible had happened.
Aunt Jen looked really pretty in her gown of lace, shiny beads, and white satin and with her golden hair piled on top of her head and covered with white filmy stuff and silk apple blossoms, Joey thought She looked kind of like an old-fashioned princess.
"What are we going to do?" Mom asked. "The ceremony should have started ten minutes ago."
Aunt Jen shook her head. "Give me a minute alone to think, will you? Let me figure about how to pull this off. Maybe we can get some footage for the promotion. I can't do anything about Brad, but I'm not ready to let Ted win this round over the cider mill and Apple Grove House."
"Okay. I'll give you a few minutes," Mom said. "I'll encourage the musicians to keep playing and I'll try to appease the reverend—and Kelly and her cameramen. Don't be long. Maybe we'll just have to pop open the bubbly apple wine and declare a party without a groom. No reason to be embarrassed. This kind of thing has happened before."
"That doesn't really make me feel any better," Aunt Jen said without looking at Joey's mom. She sounded as if she felt really bad. Joey longed to do something to cheer her up.
Mom passed him, walking out the door, her footsteps barely audible over the rustle of taffeta. She did not see him.
The room fell silent except for the ticking of the old clock. When Joey moved out of the corner to get a better look at Aunt Jen, he saw her staring at the brown flowers in the glass-dome tiling on the fireplace. After a moment of stillness, she began to touch her hair as if to put it back into place—as if it had ever escaped. Her pearl earrings glistened in the light and some color had come back into her cheeks. She looked really pretty even if she was sad.
This would make a good candid photo, Joey thought, pulling the camera from his pocket. Not a fun one, but one the photographer would never catch—just like Mom said.
His movement caught Aunt Jen's attention and she turned toward him, a frown forming on her lips.
“Joey, I forgot you were here," she said, straightening up when she saw the camera in his hands. "What are you doing, Joey?"
Joey sighted her through the view finder. "This will be great, Aunt Jen. You look good."
"No, this really isn't a good time for a picture," Aunt Jen said, a hint of pleading in her voice. She stepped toward him, holding out her hands to stop him, the fragile white flower petals of her wedding bouquet trembling with her movement. "Joey, don't please."
Determined, Joey pressed the button before she could reach him.
The room exploded in a painful burst of radiance. Light too brilliant to have come from a camera blazed. The flash was so powerful, it sent Joey staggering backward. He covered his eyes with his arm and turned away. Then instantly the light vanished. Ceased.
Blinking, Joey lifted his head to look back at Aunt Jen. Was she going to be mad? he wondered.
He gazed in her direction, squinting, anxious for his eyes to readjust to the cool shadows of the room.
"Aunt Jen?" Joey called softly, but she wasn't at the mantel. "Wow, that was bright, huh, Aunt Jen?"
No answer. Balls of light bobbed across Joey's vision, still blinding him. He blinked again, waiting for his aunt in her white wedding gown to appear. But the room remained silent, empty.
"Aunt Jen?" Joey cried, louder this time. Was this some kind of trick, some mysterious custom having to do with weddings that he didn't know about?
He stumbled into the middle of the parlor and slowly turned around once more, looking for Aunt Jen. Maybe she was behind the settee or in the other corner, behind the bookcase. He scuttled around the room, searching everywhere.
There was no one in the parlor—except for him.
Joey stared down at the camera in his hand. It looked just as it had when he'd slipped it off the table. Just the way all those little cameras looked—normal. But Aunt Jen was gone. His stomach did a flip-flop. He knew the sick feeling had nothing to do with the yucky salmon he'd mistakenly snatched from the food table.
Impossible as it seemed, Aunt Jen was gone. What should he tell Mom?
Joey threw the weird yellow-and-black box with a glass lens down into the corner—where he'd been hiding earlier.
Nothing—he would tell Mom nothing, he decided with a shake of his head. She would kill him for making Aunt Jen disappear. Joey started toward the door. Nope, he wasn't telling her anything. She would start hollering for Aunt Jen. She would start asking him questions and want to see the camera.
Joey darted out of the parlor, escaping from his guilt—and his mom's questions. He just wouldn't think about it, he told himself as he dashed out of Apple Grove House and into the sunlight.
Chapter Two
Kansas—1863 
Apple Grove House
It was a perfect day for a wedding, Captain Bennett Vance thought grudgingly as he glanced out the window at the blue sky overhead. Sunlight glinted off the Kansas River, which flowed at the bottom of the hill. The bright hope that dawned with a new day freshened the fall air. Only the black smoke pouring from the stacks of the steamboat already churning its way back toward Westport Landing marred the horizon.
Yes, a perfect day for beginning a new life with your beloved, Bennett mused, glad he wasn't a sentimental man. Thankful he wasn't one of the grooms standing with him in the hallway of Apple Grove House.
Besides the four brides and grooms gathered in the hallway for the wedding, the little congregation included Bennett's commanding officer, Colonel Bailey; Judge Tyler who would preside over the ceremony; and photographer Zach Schuster and his apprentice—plus Anna Grove's ten children. Sergeant Dunham, Bennett's subordinate, stood to the side, waiting to do whatever needed to be done. Excitement and expectation filled the air.
"I'm almost ready to take the photograph, Captain," Zach Schuster said, ducking back under the camera's black cape to make some invisible adjustment, "unless you want to wait for the missing couple."
The written list Colonel Bailey had handed Bennett earlier specified four pairs of names and a pair of initials. Present were Private Dick Roberts and his bride, Mary; Corporal Clifford Thornton and Rebecca; Private Bill Moss and Sara; Private Virgil Boland and Amy. The fifth couple was designated by initials only—J and B.
"I'm not inclined to wait for them," Bennett said, impatient with this whole assignment of nursemaiding brides and grooms. Fine duty for a West Point graduate, he thought. Fine duty for an army captain, a decorated hero of the Mexican War about to be mustered out of the army.
He'd been assigned to take the men to meet their brides, who arrived on the stern wheeler at the ferry landing below. The reunion of sweethearts had been happy and chaotic. Afterward the grooms had escorted the ladies to the house, where they now fidgeted, arranging themselves and their billowing, crinoline-lined skirts so that no lady's ankles would be revealed in the picture. The men in their dress uniforms smoothed their waxed mustaches and grinned at each other like tomcats about to savor something sweeter than cream.
"Let's not waste any more time, Mr. Schuster," Bennett snapped, suddenly annoyed by more than the indignity of this trivial wartime assignment. The timing was lousy. Only a month ago Quantrill had burned Lawrence. Despite the reopening and rearming of Fort Scott, the Confederate irregulars had proven they could attack anywhere, anytime in free state territory. And a Kansas River ferry landing on a military road was a perfect target. The fact that there was a houseful of civilians here—Anna Grove and her ten children plus these new brides—would hardly matter to the likes of Quantrill and his ally, Cutthroat Clive Morrison. This was no time for cavalry officers to be playing Cupid. "Get on with it, Mr. Schuster. Commence photographing at will," Bennett ordered.
"Wait. Is there a problem, Captain Vance?" called the colonel, his words slighdy slurred. He sat on a step midway up the graceful stairway winding toward the second floor. Next to him lounged his old friend, Judge Tyler. They both held blue enameled cups filled with Apple Grove House's finest cider.
Below them on the steps perched the gaggle of Grove children, silent and wide-eyed in the presence of uniformed men and full-skirted ladies.
"The colonel and the judge have been at the cider jug since breakfast," Sergeant Jack Dunham murmured in Bennett's ear.
"That's evident" Bennett drew in a long-suffering bream. He and the colonel had already had one tense exchange over this mission. Bailey was one of the most mulish, pigheaded commanding officers he'd had to deal with during his whole military career—with the possible exception of Major Miller. And then there was . . .
Bennett shook his head. So he wasn't good at getting along with commanding officers. But that didn't make this assignment any more sensible. He took a deep breath and forced himself to reply in an even voice. "One of the couples on your list is missing, sir."
"Well, who is it, Captain?" the colonel demanded. "Let's not keep these lovely brides waiting."
"No name is given, sir." Bennett turned to the four enlisted men and their ladies. "Any of you know who this fifth soldier on the list is with the initial J or B?" He was careful to keep his impatience from his face.
The four soldiers turned eager faces to Bennett. Each had shaved with care that morning, trimmed his hair, brushed his hat, polished his boots, and donned his dress uniform for the occasion. They were ready to get married.
"We're the only four we know about, sir, Captain Vance," the shortest one, Dick Roberts, volunteered with uncertainty. "Mary here says there wasn't any other bride on the riverboat from Westport Landing, sir. But with all due respect, sir, your Christian name begins with B."
Bennett scowled at Roberts. "Thank you for the observation, soldier. But I don't believe there's any connection."
Bennett examined the list again. It was carefully penned in Mrs. Bailey's hand. The dainty, resolute colonel's wife considered herself a matchmaker extraordinaire and frequently dabbled in the love lives of her husband's men.
Bennett had been spared only because he'd warned her off early. At his first officer's reception at Fort Leavenworth, he'd made it clear to the colonel's wife over the punch bowl that he was a bachelor, a divorced man, with no desire for a wife. For a moment, he'd glimpsed the gleam of challenge in the lady's eyes, but then she'd retreated, horrified. A divorced man did not rank among the most eligible of bachelors. Who knew what his transgressions might have been as a husband. His tarnished reputation had saved him, he figured. But it was unlike the colonel's lady to be vague, listing only initials where a bride's and groom's name should be.
"The end of the list just states,  ‘And a fifth bride and groom, J and B,' Colonel, sir," Bennett called up to his commanding officer.
With a puzzled expression, the colonel set the jug in his lap and looked down at Bennett; then he turned to the judge. "Fifth couple? I can't imagine who that might have been."
The judge shrugged and reached for the cider jug.
"There was some fellow, I think," the colonel said, his brow puckered in inebriated thought. "Eager to do the deed, as I recall. Mrs. Bailey said something about him, but his name escapes me now. He should have ridden from the post with us and be right here. And the lady should have been on the riverboat."
"Not to contradict the colonel, sir," Dunham said softly, in that self-effacing, weaselly way that annoyed Bennett, "but those four men are the only bridegrooms we know about."
The rotund photographer popped out from beneath the black cape of his camera. "I'm ready, Captain. Just give the go-ahead when you and the happy couples are ready."
Bennett turned toward the colonel. "Do we wait, sir?"
"I wish Mrs. Bailey was here." The colonel raised his cider cup to his mouth and took a sip. "She would clear this up. But she just couldn't leave Mrs. Wentworth with her baby about to be delivered and all. Well then, let's get on with it"
"Take the picture, Mr. Schuster," Bennett ordered, secretly relieved that Mrs. Bailey wasn't there to fuss over the missing lovebirds. The sooner this ridiculous affair was over, the better.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, after I remove the lens cap, don't move for the next twenty seconds," Schuster warned, then ducked under the black cloth again. The apprentice, Bob, held the magnesium wire wheel over a flash pan high above the camera. At a hand signal from Schuster, the boy struck a match and lit the wire. Schuster reached for the lens cap.
Collectively, the couples sucked in a breath and froze.
A weak light from the burning wire flashed, sizzled, hissed, then died.
"Sorry, this type of lighting is experimental." Schuster groped his way out from under the camera cloth. "A colleague from back east sent it to me to try. Bob, what did you do?"
Bewildered, the boy stared at the pan. "I put a fresh magnesium wire in it, Mr. Schuster. I swear I did, and I used the stuff from the new box."
"Don't swear, Bob," Schuster scolded with a weary sigh. "Just get that other box, and let's try it. Sorry, folks. We'll try again, Captain."
"Of course. Proceed, Mr. Schuster." Bennett stood quietly, never betraying his irritation.
Soon the flash mechanism was ready once more. Schuster was back under the black cloth and sighting the soon-to-be-wed couples. All assumed their best dignified poses once more and sucked in deep breaths.
Bob struck the match. This time the flash pan worked.
A mute explosion of light bleached all images into painful oblivion.
The women cried out in surprise and hid their faces against the men's shoulders. The grooms ducked and covered their ladies' heads. The children whimpered.
Bennett jerked his hat brim down to protect his eyes from the searing brightness. Dazzling lightning swallowed the world: a white void, no noise, no odor. Just giant bright nothingness.
Then it was gone, as quick and silent as a falling star.
Bennett squinted in the direction of the four couples against the wall. They huddled, stunned and blinded. On the stairs, the littlest Grove girl began to cry. One of the older girls picked her up and cuddled her.
Schuster jumped out from beneath the cloth. Bob had collapsed onto the ground, his hands thrown over his head. "I didn't do it," he sobbed noisily. "I didn't do it."
"What the hell was that?" shouted Judge Tyler, leaping to his feet as if he was about to seize the culprit. His cider cup clattered down the stairs.
"I don't know," cried Schuster. "It wasn't my flash pan. It was something more than that."
"Must have been heat lightning," the colonel said, slowly straightening from the crouched position he'd ducked into when the light had struck.
"Yep, that was it," agreed Corporal Dunham, his pale blue eyes wide in surprise. "Heat lightning."
Bennett glanced at the clear sky outside. He'd seen a lot of strange things since he'd headed west from Pennsylvania years ago, but utterly silent heat lightning bright enough to sear away a man's sight? On a September day? From a cloudless sky? Not likely.
"Is everyone all right?"
"I'm not all right," announced an unfamiliar female voice edged with exasperation.
Bennett stared at the parlor doorway behind the brides and grooms. The loveliest bride he'd ever seen stumbled into the hallway. She wore an unstylish white gown with a narrow lace underskirt and a satin overskirt pulled up into an awkward fullness trailing behind her. A sheer veil covered her rich blond hair and floated out over her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a bouquet of white flowers. Out of fashion as she seemed, Bennett noted immediately that she was older and much more sophisticated than the other four brides. But her age did not detract from her comeliness.
Where on earth had she come from? He charged across the hall to peer into the parlor. He could have sworn everybody in the house except Anna Grove was in the hallway.
"Joey, that silly flash camera has nearly blinded me," the newcomer complained, her hand over her eyes as she lurched into the hall. "Joey? Jessica? Where are you? I can't see a thing."
Bennett brushed past her and glanced into the parlor. She might be on Mrs. Bailey's list, but to his way of thinking, she was unidentified and therefore a stranger who had made a suspicious appearance. He didn't like the unexpected taking place on his watch.
But the parlor was empty just as he'd thought. No sign of a groom. No explanation of the lady's sudden appearance.
The brides backed away from the stranger, their faces pale. But Corporal Clifford Thornton reached out to steady the newcomer.
"Thank you," she said. Balanced at last, the lovely apparition blinked at all of them as if they were strangers. They stared back as astonished as she appeared to be. Bennett couldn't recall seeing such an exquisite woman in his lifetime. He stood behind her, as speechless as everyone else.
Finally the lady pulled away from Corporal Thornton's grasp.
"Wow, you guys are in the spirit of things. What a great uniform," she said, her voice warm and full of wonder. "You reenactors are always so authentic. You're not like Jessica described you at all."
"Begging your pardon, miss, but we're not actors. We're the eighth cavalry," Corporal Thornton said with pride in his voice. "Formerly the third Dragoons out of Fort Leavenworth."
"Former dragoons. What a great back story. I don't believe we've met I'm Jennifer Hollis." Then after a pause, she added unnecessarily, "I'm the bride."
******************
"There you are, Captain Vance." Colonel Bailey lifted his cup to the sky as if making a toast to deliverance. "Mystery solved. Miss Hollis is our fifth bride."
"So it would seem, Colonel," Bennett said, feeling unreasonably annoyed that some no-name soldier had won himself such an exceptional female to be his wife.
"And would you happen to know where your groom is, Miss Hollis?" Bennett asked, striding back across the hallway so he could turn and get a better look at her.
"Brad?" The pleasant expression on her face vanished. "Uh, I don't think he's going to be along anytime soon." Then a polite smile of interest lighted her face as she regarded Bennett, appraising him from head to toe as if inspecting the troops. "I don't believe I've met you before either, Captain."
Suddenly overcome with a need to be formal, Bennett swept off his hat, clicked his heels, and bowed slightly. "Captain Bennett Vance, eighth cavalry."
"Out of Fort Leavenworth, of course," she repeated, that delightful tone of wonder returning to her voice. "The plume in your hat is a dashing touch, Bennett."
Her informality surprised but pleased him.
"Regulation, ma'am." Bennett briefly accepted her slender, warm hand, then released it. She was just as lovely up close. She wasn't a dainty, fashionable bow-mouth beauty; rather she possessed a classic broad brow, a delicate straight nose, lively dark brown eyes, and a natural rosy blush on her lips and apple cheeks. He added, "All the officers of the regiment wear plumes. Miss, what we need to know is, where is your groom?"
"He is not going to be here." Miss Hollis frowned, deeply this time. "I'm afraid Brad is on his way to California."
"Nonsense," cried the colonel, who was leaning over the banister above. "None of my men are on their way to California. He's just lost his way temporarily. We'll take care of the situation. Never fear." The colonel paused long enough to hiccup. "What are we going to do, Judge?"
"I have it." The judge swayed on the steps. "It's simple. We'll perform a proxy wedding—you know, like the royals do. All we need is a stand-in groom."
"Of course, a stand-in groom?" the colonel repeated. "Captain Vance, volunteer to be Miss Hollis's stand-in groom."
"Sir." Astonished, Bennett bit back an unwise, hasty reply. The colonel was in no condition to be reasoned with and Bennett was determined to get this wedding business over as quickly as possible.
"Excellent," the colonel exclaimed. "Now we can get on with the ceremony."
"By the time the ceremony is over, I should have the camera problem fixed, sir," Schuster called up to the colonel.
"Superb, Mr. Schuster." The colonel followed thejudge, who was threading his way downward between the children on the stairs.
"Stand-in? Proxy?" Miss Hollis muttered. "Okay, but let's be sure the camera gets it all. We won't have a second chance to do this. Where are Kelly and the cam crew?"
"Mr. Schuster here is our photographer, Miss Hollis," Bennett said, ignoring her questions about Kelly. There was no Kelly under his command.
"A proxy wedding—what a perfect solution," the colonel was saying.
"When Miss Hollis's groom finally makes his appearance, he will thank you for getting the ceremony out of the way and making him a husband." The judge halted unsteadily two steps above the hallway floor, where everyone could still see him. "Gather round ladies and gentlemen. Let's get started."
"Wait, wait, something isn't right here . . . ." Miss Hollis protested, her smile gone and her brown eyes liquid dark with bewilderment.
"What isn't right?" Anna Grove hurried into the front hallway from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "Where are the children? I just saw the brightest flash of lightning, but with no thunder. Is everyone okay?"
At the sight of the widowed owner of Apple Grove House, Jennifer Hollis gasped and the color drained from her face.
"Why, there you are, Mrs. Grove," the colonel called from the stairs. He held up his cider cup. "And may I say your cider is nearly as good as it always was before that thoughtless husband of yours died and took his cider-making secret with him."
"Thank you, Colonel," Anna Grove said, a smile of tolerance on her lips as she looked up at the drunken colonel. Then she took in the condition of her children sitting on the stairway.
"We're fine, Mama," the oldest girl said. "The flash scared Annie."
"The light was from the photographer's flash pan," Bennett explained, falling back on the simplest explanation for the odd event. "The children are fine. And our missing bride has arrived."
Anna Grove stepped up to Jennifer Hollis, who was staring at the woman as if she was seeing a ghost. "I'm Anna Grove. Welcome to Apple Grove House, my dear."
"You look just like the picture in the parlor," Miss Hollis stammered, leaning close to peer down into Anna Grove's kind face. "The resemblance is uncanny. Did Jessica arrange this? Brad would never mink of such a thing."
"Jessica who, my dear?" Mrs. Grove asked, patting Miss Hollis's hand. "Mrs. Bailey made the arrangements and I'm just happy to help the colonel and his wife bring all you sweethearts together. Nothing like a wedding to warm an old matron's heart."
"All of us?" Miss Hollis said, her brow furrowing as she glanced at Bennett. She appeared more confused than ever. "I don't understand. I didn't plan a group wedding. Where are Kelly and the video crew? The old camera is a quaint prop but—"
"It's a group wedding, Miss Hollis," Bennett tried to explain. The last thing he needed was for a bride to start an argument with the colonel. "Colonel Bailey and his wife planned it for the benefit of the men going to Texas."
"And I'm a witness." Mrs. Grove took off her apron and tossed it onto the hall bench.
Miss Hollis stared at them, her lips parted and her complexion growing paler by the minute. Bennett began to fear she was going to faint
"You don't have to play your parts so well," she pleaded, her gazing darting from Anna to Bennett and to the other brides and their grooms.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, come closer," the judge called, ignoring the newcomer's reluctance and opening up a book he'd taken from his frock coat pocket. "Let's get on with it. Mrs. Tyler hates it when I bring a guest home for supper and we're late. Miss Hollis, trust me. Your groom will thank us all later."
Bennett reached for Miss Hollis's arm. She pulled away and stared back at him, her eyes wide and dark with confusion. She shook her head. "No, something is not right here."
Her hesitance wounded him, though he didn't know why.
"Is the prospect of me being your stand-in groom as horrible as that?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "If it helps, I'm not any crazier about this idea than you are. But the judge is right. This way you and what's-his-name will be man and wife when he finally arrives."
"You don't understand." She shook her head again and frowned. "He's not going to arrive."
Bennett studied her, the dismay in her soft brown eyes almost convincing him that she was telling the truth. But he found it impossible to believe that even a fool would stand this woman up at the altar.
"Now don't fret, Miss Hollis, and don't argue with those who know what's good for you," shouted the colonel from above. "Everything is going to turn out just fine. Be quiet and respond when the judge tells you.''
Miss Hollis opened her mouth to protest. Bennett put his finger to his lips to shush her. "Just go along with it. The judge and the colonel are drunker than skunks swimming in a cider barrel. Let them believe what they want to believe. And let the brides have their wedding ceremony in peace."
Miss Hollis opened her mouth as if she was about to protest. But after a glance in the direction of the eager brides—their arms linked with their grooms, their eyes fixed on the judge—she seemed to change her mind. "Okay."
"Join hands," the judge intoned.
Bennett reached for her again, noting the perfect freshness of the white roses and apple blossoms of her wedding posy. This time she allowed him to take her hand. Her fingers were icy cold and her lips pale and stiff.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join these couples in matrimony." The judge rattled on, his voice rising in a fine tenor tone as he waxed drunkenly romantic. "This commitment is not to be entered lightly, but with certainty, mutual respect, a sense of reverence and commitment to everlasting eternity."
When Bennett glanced at Miss Hollis, she'd turned whiter—if that was possible—as snowy pale as the first flakes of winter. He wondered if she'd faint before the end.
When their turn came to affirm their vows, she softly mumbled, "I do," along with Bennett to his relief. And when he went through the motions of slipping a ring on her finger, she submitted to the charade.
Above them, the colonel beamed approval. Before the judge could utter the final words, the colonel flung his arms into the air and shouted as if he was starting a horse race, "Kiss your brides!"

Chapter Three
Jen had never felt so discombobulated in all her life.
Moments ago Brad had informed her he was a no-show at their wedding and here she was exchanging vows—and a kiss—with a tall man wearing a cavalry uniform whom she'd never seen before. The wedding kiss had been a light one, chaste, obligatory. Nevertheless, her lips burned where the captain's mouth had brushed against hers, and her body tingled. Waves of warmth coursed over her as if she was a schoolgirl who'd just received her first genuine lip lock—and it'd been a tongue-parrying doozie.
Weak and disoriented, Jen leaned against her groom, clutching the arm he'd offered her and trying to get a grip on herself. It wasn't a real kiss they'd exchanged or real vows they'd repeated to each other, she reminded herself. They'd done it to satisfy the drunken, white-haired colonel on the stairs. The captain knew that. But she couldn't resist stealing a glance up at him. He was smiling benignly at his men, obviously pleased with their happiness. The expression softened his strong masculine features.
Involuntarily, Jen licked her lips, searching for the taste of the captain on her mouth. She found nothing. He'd left none of his essence on her lips, yet the warm butterflies he'd stirred in her belly persisted. She clung to him momentarily disappointed and bewildered. Who was this man? Who were these people and what were they doing here?
She was still in Apple Grove House, but she felt as though she'd been transported by the flash from Joey's camera to another place. Everything about the house seemed familiar. Yet she knew it wasn't the same place she had stood in only moments ago. And where were all her other guests? What about Joey? Jessica? Kelly and her camera crew, who were nowhere to be seen?
"Now for your wedding feast," Anna Grove said, gesturing toward the dining room. "Eat, drink, and be merry."
Along with the others, Jen followed the woman playing Anna into the dining room, where the table was laid with cake and fresh berries, apple sauce, fried apples, ham and warm corn bread, melons, green peas, and apple pie.
Over the table hung a coal-oil lamp.
Jen halted. Her heart stopped beating. She knew from her thorough research on Apple Grove House that it had not been wired for electricity until the mid-1950s. All she was seeing was impossible. Impossible!
She hurried to the dining room window and looked out across the orchard. There stood the trees, branches bowed under the weight of rosy red apples. But no wedding reception guest tables sat beneath the limbs, no caterer's truck nor guests were to be seen, and no music from a band was to be heard.
"Don't worry about your bridegroom," Captain Vance said, startling her out of her thoughts. He took her arm and led her to the table. "Enjoy yourself."
"I don't think I can," Jen said, an absurd suspicion beginning to take serious shape in her head. The idea was frightening and wondrous. Her head was spinning with the thought of it. There was one way to test the crazy theory. She pulled free of the captain and started back out of the dining room, where everyone was sitting. "Excuse me."
"Where are you going?" Captain Vance demanded, following her out of the room.
"I'm going upstairs," Jen said. "I need a breath of fresh air on the walk above the porch."
Heedless of her train and veil, she dashed up the steps and across the hall to the walk above the porch.
The door stood open, allowing the fall breeze to sweep into the upstairs and throughout the rooms of the house. Jen dashed out the door and across the walk. She leaned out over the balustrade, straining to see the Kansas City skyline towering over on the southeastern horizon. She knew exactly where it would be, jagged and shiny against the sky. She squinted at the skyline.
Nothing.
Involuntarily Jen sucked in a sharp breath. That couldn't be. It had to be there. She just wasn't looking at it right. She peered at the vista once more, leaning out farther over the balustrade and narrowing her eyes to better their focus.
Still, nothing. Not a single skyscraper, no telephone poles, no drone of airplanes circling the downtown airport. Only a seamless line of green trees and hillsides burnished with a hint of September gold stretched out before her.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. She clutched at the railing and searched for other familiar sights. Below, along the river, no railroad. She whirled around and peered up the river toward the Highway 7 bridge. The river meandered peacefully westward without interruption. No bridge. No power lines. No sand dredger. It was impossible, her head told her. Yet all the sights and sounds she knew of the modern world had vanished.
Jen felt as if her stomach had just plunged through the floor.
"Who are you looking for?" asked the captain from the doorway behind her.
When she turned to look at him, she saw a frown of suspicion cross his face. "Not who—it's what am I looking for."
Jen returned her gaze to the spot on the horizon where the skyscrapers and communications towers of Kansas City should stand. Where Brad had gone was suddenly the least of her worries. She studied the skyline and saw nothing but an uninterrupted horizon. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
How could that be? She turned to stare at the man who stepped out on the balcony with her. What if he wasn't a good reenactor? What if. . . She saw her proxy groom with new eyes this time.
Earlier he had removed his hat and handed it to Anna Grove when the wedding ceremony had begun. Jen noticed for the first time the telltale tan line across his forehead where his hat protected him from the sun's rays. At the corners of his eyes, she spied white creases she'd not seen before, pale skin untanned from hours of squinting at the road ahead. Fear and disbelief churned in her stomach. Nobody got that kind of tan from a tanning bed.
His brown hair lay neatly combed, furrowed by comb teeth and water, not mousse, and the length of it rested a bit ragged around his ears and along his neck—a barber's cut, not a stylist's careful trimming.
Her gaze went to his shoulders, wide and square. No pads filled his uniform where gold badges declared his captain's rank. Shiny brass buttons marched down the front of his coat emphasizing a broad chest, flat belly and his hips ... his torso and his thighs.
Jen swallowed the tightness in her throat. From a snug black belt at his lean waist hung a shiny dress saber. The dark blue frock coat covered his narrow hips, but failed to disguise his long legs in sky blue trousers and black boots. As she stared at his legs, she knew he hadn't developed those steely looking thighs and calves from working out on a stair machine at a fitness club. The captain was a horseman.
Realizing that her eyes had strayed rudely, Jen glanced up at the captain's face. He stared back at her, curiosity softening his features.
"Is it possible?" she whispered in awe. "You're the real thing."
A rueful smile tugged at his lips. "I'm a real what?"
"You're really a cavalry captain," Jen said, unable to believe the very words she spoke.
"What reason have you to doubt that?"
"None," Jen admitted. Her mouth had gone dry. From shock, fear, or attraction, she wasn't quite certain. He was an incredibly attractive man—in a classic James Dean way—a glint of rebellion in his dark hazel eyes and a twist of sullenness in the curve of his lips. The insolent type had never appealed to her, but this man ... he was different. "Lord," she whispered. "I was just kidding when I asked for the cavalry to ride in."
"What?" he asked, leaning closer as if he had not heard her.
"Nothing." Jen drew in a sharp breath. What on earth had happened to her? She turned her back to him, her mind racing to review events. She had been standing in the parlor. Joey had pulled out a camera and aimed it at her. There had been all that light. A blinding flash. Then she'd found herself stumbling out the parlor door and into a crowd of men and women in costume. Or from another time?
She whirled toward the captain once more. "What is the date?"
"September 20, 1863," he said, without hesitation.
"1863," she repeated slowly. "Lincoln is president. The Civil War is being fought and the dome of the Capitol is only half complete."
"You must read a newspaper now and again," the captain said.
Jen ignored the sarcasm in his voice. "And Moses Grove is dead already."
The captain shot her a look of surprise. "Did you know old Moses?"
Overcome by the impact of reality, Jen sagged against the balcony railing. She'd been teasingly told that she knew more about Apple Grove House than the site's professional historian. Moses's photo, a reproduction of the only one known to exist, hung in the parlor beside that of Anna Grove for as long as she could remember. She was almost as familiar with Moses's and Anna's faces as those of her own grandparents.
But there had been no photos of the Grove couple in the parlor she'd stumbled out of today. Anna and Moses wouldn't hang there for the benefit of tourists until much later than 1863. "I guess you could say I know him by reputation."
"I see," the captain said, the tone of his voice assuring her he was satisfied with her answer this time. "He'd been here for a lot of years—first as a ferryman, then as postmaster and Indian agent. Probably the most notable aspect of his reputation was as the best cider maker this side of the Mississippi River."
"Yes, I know. And his secret died with him." Jen studied the captain. Her breathing had become normal at last, but a flutter of excitement beat inside her. In all her reading about Apple Grove House, she never remembered reading about Captain Bennett Vance. Who was this man? Why was he here? Why was she here? And how was she going to get back?
"The camera," she blurted, her mind once more racing over the events that led up to her arrival in 1863. "It all started with that damned camera."
Her profanity made him blink.
"Sorry. Bear with me," Jen said, a glimmer of sympathy for him stirring. After all he'd never met a woman from another time either. She touched his hand and started back into the house. She didn't see any point in trying to explain to him what she didn't understand herself. Excited that she'd discovered a possible escape route from this nightmare she called over her shoulder, "Let's go get our picture taken again. The photographer must have gotten his camera fixed by now."
Downstairs in the hallway, they found that Zach Schuster and his apprentice had finished their cake and cider and were once again working on the camera.
"Sure we will try again," the photographer said when Jen insisted on posing for a photo. "I know everybody is disappointed. Brides always like to have a remembrance of their wedding day."
"I mean, I want a photo of me in this special dress," Jen explained. "That's all."
"Perfectly understandable," Mr. Schuster said, shoving a fresh plate into the wooden box and ducking under the black camera cloth again. "I'm just sorry that this new lighting source is so unreliable. Now stand right there. That's it"
Jen stood against the hallway wall, her bouquet clutched in her hand feeling as if she was standing before a firing squad rather than posing for a camera. The other brides gathered around to watch. By the stairs, the captain stood clearly unmoved by her determination to be photographed. Who knew what would happen this time? Who knew if this would work, but she had to try to get back to her century.
"Ready, Bob?" Schuster asked from beneath the black cloth.
"Yes, Mr. Schuster," the apprentice replied.
"Now," Schuster ordered.
The apprentice struck the match and put it to the wire lying in the flash pan. A small white flame flashed, then fizzled. The disappointed brides and grooms groaned. The captain remained stoic.
Jen tried to swallow the lump of apprehension in her throat and silently prayed for the camera to work next time. What if it doesn't? Jen whispered in the back of her mind. What then? She cleared her mind of the thought and forced a smile to her lips. She didn't even want to go where that doubt resided.
Again the apprentice struck another match and put it to a second piece of wire that he had ready, but as before nothing happened.
Jen's shoulders sagged. "Once more, please," she pleaded.
"Sure," Schuster said. Twice more he and his apprentice cut a fresh piece of wire, and they all went through the same motions: Schuster's head under the cloth; Bob striking the match.
Each time Jen prayed that the blinding flash would whisk her out of this surreal nightmare and back to her real wedding. Each time the wire fizzled or refused to light at all.
At last, Schuster fumbled his way out from beneath the camera's black cloth shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vance."
The realization that the photographer was addressing her by her new name took a moment to register with Jen. Then she jumped and glanced in the captain's direction. He shrugged as if it was of no concern of his.
"I'm sorry, ladies and gendemen," the photographer continued. "This method has worked for me before, but today—well, the material must have drawn some moisture. So sorry."
Jen released a long sigh of disappointment.
The colonel emerged from the dining room. "What are all the long faces about? ladies, your husbands leave for Texas tomorrow morning. Are you sure you want to waste your time in front of a camera that won't work? I believe Mrs. Grove has arranged for dancing outside. Let's get this party rolling."
The new brides and their grooms all started talking at once, their dismay vanishing with the prospect of more fun to be had. Laughing in agreement with the colonel, they followed him hand in hand out of the back door of the house toward the orchard. The sound of lively fiddle music drifted into the house.
Jen sank down on a step and leaned her head against the banister in despair. The flash of the camera was the only way she could think of back to her real wedding. If she couldn't get back to the present through the camera, then what?
She vaguely heard the clank of a saber and the soft creak of leather as the captain crouched down on the floor beside her.
"Well, Miss Hollis," he began, "or do I call you Mrs. Vance?"
"Don't call me that," Jen snapped. "Just call me Jen. Everybody does."
"Jen? For Jennifer?" He shook his head. "No, I like Jennifer fine. So, Jennifer, the day has hardly turned out like I expected it. And I know you're disappointed about your groom not being here and about not getting your picture taken, but that is no reason to waste the festivities the day has to offer. There's still cake on the table and there's dancing music outside. Why not enjoy what is at hand?"
Jen looked down at him. His invitation wasn't an especially seductive one, but it had a certain practical merit. He offered her a placating smile, certainly more than he owed her. His effort lightened her mood. What red-blooded woman could resist a reasonable offer and a pleasant smile from a cavalry officer as dashing as this one?
"What happens after the dance?" Jen asked, smiling back at him despite her gloom and confusion. "Are you going to Texas, too?"
"No. I'm staying here to guard the ferry crossing and to chaperon you new brides until you leave on the paddle wheeler when it comes again Friday for your return trip home."
Jen wondered if there was a way home for her.
He held out a hand to her. "And I'll probably give Anna a hand with the cider making. Until then, we might as well enjoy ourselves."
Laughter reached her from the celebration going on outside. Light and musical, the sound was a balm to the dark confusion that swirled inside and left her feeling so totally at a loss. The delight of the revelers was impossible to ignore.
"Come on," he tempted, stretching a strong callused hand toward her.
"Sure, why not?" Jen said with a shrug. There seemed little that she could do about getting home to save Apple Grove House at the moment. Accepting his hand, she rose from her place on the steps, followed him out of the house, and surrendered herself to dancing among the newlyweds in the shade of the apple orchard.
Chapter Four
That evening the newlyweds' tents glowed briefly with the light of the coal-oil lamps, then went dark. Muffled laughter and low murmurs barely audible over the crickets' song drifted to Bennett's ears. He briefly considered sleeping in the unused tent set up for the fifdi couple, then decided against it. He was unlikely to get much sleep lying near all that marital bliss while thoughts of his mysterious bride, Jennifer Hollis, ran through his mind.
A bedroll spread out on Anna Grove's porch would do him fine. The weather hadn't turned too cold for sleeping outside yet. And there was no point in getting too comfortable. He had more work to do tonight.
The afternoon spent in Jennifer's company had left him more attracted to and mystified by her than he'd been the moment she'd stumbled out of the parlor. At first she'd danced with him as if she'd never done a reel before in her life. But she soon seemed to get the hang of it.
And when Corporal Thornton's bride had asked her about her gown. She'd explained that it was the latest fashion from Paris—a Worth gown, whatever that was. She'd gone on to say, to all the ladies' amazement, that crinolines would soon go out of fashion and narrow skirts with a bustle to fill out the back of the dress such as she was wearing would become the rage.
When asked where she'd learned all this, she'd stammered that she'd read it in the newspaper.
Bennett had allowed her to go on until she began to speak about women wearing breeches or something called pantaloons. Apparently intrigued, the young ladies moved closer around Jennifer to hear more, but their bridegrooms began to frown. Bennett quickly dragged her off for another dance.
Then there had been the episode about the outhouse. She had returned from the privy looking flustered and quite pale.
He was about to ask if she'd seen a snake when she said, "It's ridiculous to have to go to a place like that with all this clothing to manage. How do women put up with this? And what do you people do for TP?"
She paused to wave her hands in the air.  “Never mind. I don't think I want to know. And as if that isn't enough— nobody told me there would be spiders. There was a big ugly one in a web up in the corner." With a shiver, she went silent.
Bennett decided to refrain from mentioning the occasional snake along the path. Where had this woman lived all her life? he wondered.
Satisfied that the night watch was in its place and the brides and grooms were settled for the evening, Bennett strode back to Apple Grove House through the darkness. The moon would not rise for a few hours yet. He found Anna Grove and Jennifer sitting on the back porch in the dark. As he neared, he heard Anna talking about the house.
"There's a little room upstairs at the back where you can sleep," she was saying. "I know it must be a letdown that your groom was delayed. Tomorrow he'll probably come riding up with an adventure to tell that will explain everything."
"I don't think so." Jennifer sat on a stool with her elbows resting on her knees. She cradled her chin in the palm of one hand and sipped from a cider cup in her other. Before her on the floor lay her discarded white satin shoes toppled on their sides. Her feet were tucked out of sight underneath the stool. At her side on the floorboards lay her wedding bouquet.
She'd been sipping cider all afternoon. That sad little-lost-girl look had come to her face as soon as the music had ceased and the party broken up, Bennett noted.
"No, my groom is not coming, but thank you for your kind thoughts, Mrs. Grove," she added.
"Call me Anna," the daughter of a Delaware Indian princess and a white missionary said. Even in the darkness, Bennett could see the Bible lying open on the widow's lap. "Everyone knows me as Anna, don't they, Captain?"
"That's right," Bennett said, stepping up on the porch and offering the woman a smile. He'd met Anna years ago, not long after he'd first arrived at Fort Leavenworth, and he'd taken a liking to her immediately. They had cider making in common.
"Everything settled for the night?" she asked as she gestured toward an empty chair for him.
"Yes, appears to be quiet," Bennett said, dropping into the chair.
"I honestly don't think all these military precautions are necessary," Anna said.
"After that bloody raid on Lawrence in August, I don't think we can be too careful," Bennett said. He'd known two of the recruits who had died when the Confederate guerillas rode into the free-state town at dawn, murdering city leaders and Union recruits as they charged up one street and down another. "This river crossing and the military road are a vital link right now. Quantrill and his rabble would love to break through the flow of communications and supplies."
"Surely he won't try anything like that now," Anna said, folding her hands over her Bible. "He knows everyone is prepared for an attack."
"We thought we were prepared before the Lawrence attack," Bennett reminded her, the shame of the Union camp being caught unprepared still stinging his pride even though he hadn't been in charge. Rumors of the raiders' intentions had been circulating all summer, yet the town had been caught off guard. Bennett wasn't going to allow Apple Grove House to be so vulnerable.
"Quantrill's raid on Lawrence?" Jennifer's head came up and she turned toward them as if she'd heard their conversation for the first time. "You're talking about Quantrill's raid on Lawrence," she repeated, awe in her voice. In the darkness, Bennett could see the whites of her eyes had grown wide with the mention of the raider's name. "It happened just a month ago?"
"You've heard about it, haven't you?" asked Bennett, astonished by her reaction. The bold raid had been in newspaper headlines across the nation. Where had she been?
She nodded. "Yes, of course, I heard about the raid. It's quite a historic event."
Bennett sensed that she wanted to say more, but decided to hold back. He doubted he would learn much from her with direct questions. Earlier, as they danced, he'd asked where she'd come from, but she'd refused to meet his gaze and replied Johnson County. That wasn't very far away, considering the other brides had traveled from as far as St. Louis.
When he asked her where she'd met her fiancé, she'd thought for a moment before she replied in Westport. At the beginning of the war, the Missouri River town had been a rowdy jumping off point for wagon trains. He had difficulty imagining her with her fine clothes seeking and finding a husband in such a roughneck place.
As she danced in his arms, she was soft and pliant to his touch. Her lively dark eyes and broad smile made him want to stare at her and drink in her vitality. Her answers to his questions had been less than satisfactory. Yet, he told himself, if she were an informant or a spy, surely she would have concocted a more logical cover story.
"The raid was well organized and well executed," Bennett continued. "A feat some of our commanding officers didn't believe the guerrillas were capable of."
"Overconfidence is a terrible mistake," Jennifer agreed as if she had personal knowledge of such a fatal blunder. "Life is full of so many surprises."
Bennett and Anna exchanged glances. Anna seemed to be as mystified by the girl as he was.
Anna shrugged and changed the topic of conversation. "And such a shame about the photographs today. Mr. Schuster has had problems here before and there was another photographer who came once to make a photograph of a Delaware powwow and of our church congregation.
"The young people all lined up to get their picture taken out on the front porch. It was quite an event. The young men wore ties, and they borrowed coats from anyone they knew who had one. The girls put on their crinolines and piled their braids on the top of their heads. The camera never captured an image of any of them."
"It wasn't a problem with the light?" Bennett asked.
"No. He took the photograph right out on the steps in the sunlight," Anna said. "But when he developed the plates, there was no image. The photographer swore he'd done everything right and that he'd mixed his chemicals properly."
"Odd," Bennett said.
"Did anyone disappear?" Jennifer asked.
"No, nothing like that." Anna shook her head. "But you know what the old ones say about having a photograph made."
"What do the old ones say?" Jennifer demanded. Bennett realized they finally had won her full attention.
"That to have your picture made allows the camera to steal your soul," Anna said.
Bennett listened in silence. He'd heard of the old Indian superstition before.
"Steal your soul?" Jennifer suddenly sat up straight as if that piece of information answered something for her. "So the ancient ones knew that cameras are more than just boxes with lenses. Do you think they knew that cameras can do even more man monkey with your soul?" She stopped as if she thought she'd said too much.
"Do what with your soul?" Bennett asked, startled by the harsh slang out of the mourn of such a ladylike girl.
"You know, what if a camera could tamper with ..." Jennifer stammered, a hopeful expression coming to her face as if she was about to discover something important. "Tamper with time."
"How?" Bennett asked. This conversation was giving him the willies.
She paused. "What if a camera could drag a person from one time to another?" she finally said as if she'd just put the entire thought together for herself. "What if that is what the old Indians were afraid of?"
"Sometimes the old ones are right about things," Anna agreed more readily than Bennett liked to hear. "They share old, ancient memories. Perhaps they did understand something about cameras that the rest of us have overlooked."
"You bet they did." Jennifer drained her cider cup and set it down on the porch. Then she picked up her bouquet. "I'm beat. And these flowers are almost as wilted as I feel."
"Such a lovely bouquet." Anna reached over to take it from Jennifer. "Let me dry it for you so you may have it as a keepsake."
"Would you?" Jennifer asked. "That would be nice. The florist and I went to a lot of trouble to get this made."
"I know just what it needs." Anna took the bouquet. "Now you go on up to bed. You know where the room is. Get a good night's rest. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Yes, you're right," Jennifer said, getting up from her stool. "I hope everything looks different in the morning." She disappeared into the house, the soft rustle of her satin and lace gown whispering with her every move.
When Jennifer was gone, Anna stared down at the bouquet.
"What was she trying to tell us?" Bennett asked, unable to shake a chilly uneasiness settling over him. "Tampering with time? It's like she is trying to say that she's not just from another place, but from another time, too."
"I don't know about that." Anna shook her head. "But look at this bouquet. It is full of white roses. Do you think there's a greenhouse somewhere in Westport Landing that grows white roses? Or maybe they were shipped by train from St. Louis. That's possible, especially these days. But look at this." Anna pointed at the smaller more delicate flowers in the posy.
Bennett leaned closer to get a good look. Even in the growing darkness he recognized the flowers with a start. Was it possible? He'd seen those blooms on the trees every spring since he could remember. "Apple blossoms."
"In September?" Anna asked. "Now where does anybody west of the Mississippi get apple blossoms in September?"
******************
The next morning Colonel Bailey returned from his overnight stay at the judge's home up the river. His face was haggard and his eyes bloodshot, but promptly an hour after dawn, he rode out at the head of the southbound column of cavalry. The four bridegrooms rode with him leaving tearful brides behind—and a detachment of envious soldiers who wanted to be riding to the Texas front, too.
Bennett wasn't exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed himself. After the light had gone out in Anna Grove's room the night before, he'd lain in the dark on the porch until a saucer-size yellow moon had risen and he heard the grandfather clock in the hallway chime midnight.
Then he'd roused Sergeant Dunham and two men and gone to work. Digging by moonlight, they had buried the stash of rifles and ammunition that had arrived on the ferry that day. The munitions soon were hidden in a deep hole behind the cider mill. Only the four of them knew where the guns were. Bennett would have liked to limit the knowledge more than that, but they needed the manpower to get the job done before dawn. If Quantrill came looking for the guns, he'd have a difficult time finding them buried deep underground—and under the apple harvest
So that morning, as the last of the colonel's contingent disappeared beyond the river, Bennett set about double-checking his orders and plans for the safeguarding of the ferry crossing and Apple Grove House.
By midmorning, when he started back to the house, he saw that Anna had set the brides and her children to picking apples. He stopped to watch them. The girls were subdued, no doubt because they'd just said farewell to their husbands. Two of them yawned frequently as dley worked.
But when he spied Jennifer, she was standing on a ladder high up in a tree as she picked apples. She and little Annie, her helper, were laughing. The laughter lit Jennifer's face; the gloom of the night had vanished. She was wearing a baggy blue calico gown at least four inches too short for her—probably borrowed from Anna Grove. Her blond hair was pulled back and tied at her nape with a blue ribbon.
Each time she stretched up to capture another piece of fruit, calico hugged her small firm breasts and clung to her tiny waist. Her skirt hiked up enough to reveal trim ankles in white stockings and dainty feet in white satin bridal pumps. No high-top boots for Miss Jennifer Hollis. She worked, plucking apple after apple from the heavy boughs as if she'd harvested before. Bennett wondered at the contradictions of the girl.
Inside the cider mill, he found Anna herself setting things to order.
"Are you ready to start the cider making, Captain?" Anna asked, putting the last of the press screens into a stack ready to be spread with apple mash when the time came.
"My sentries report the apple wagons are on their way," Bennett said, hanging his hat on a peg and rolling up the sleeves of his blue uniform shirt.
"Yes, several farmers told me they would be bringing in harvest today," Anna said. She worked on in silence for several more minutes. "We'll be getting some pumpkins, too."
Then she added, "Are we going to make cider as good as Moses's this year? We sure could stand to get ten dollars a barrel for it like we did when Moses was making it."
"We'll keep working toward that," Bennett said, reluctant to make promises. Cider making had been one of his favorite activities when he was a boy, and he'd helped his family in Pennsylvania with the fall production every year until he'd gone off to West Point. Then he'd discovered the older widow and her children laboring in their cider mill shortly after he'd arrived at Fort Leavenworth. Moses was long in his grave by then. Bennett had offered his help and Anna had gladly accepted it. Over several years they'd improved the cider recipe, until it was once again in demand in the towns along the Missouri River.
"We're already getting a premium price again, thanks to you, Bennett," Anna said. "But it's not quite like Moses's cider."
"I know," Bennett said with an amused shake of his head. "Who knows what secret that Vermont husband of yours had discovered?"
That Moses had kept his recipe for the best cider west of the Mississippi secret from his wife did not surprise Bennett. He'd known Yankee cider makers who guarded their cider recipes with their lives, not even parting with their secret on their deathbeds. "Did you get the barrels from the Weston bourbon distillery like I suggested?" he asked as an after thought.
"Sure did," Anna said. "Stacked in the corner over there. Cleaned with soda ash and lye and ready to fill with good apple cider. We're going to make the best cider ever this year."
"That's my plan," Bennett said, his concentration already shifting from the war raging beyond Apple Grove House to the cider making chores at hand.
Now that the guns and ammunition were safely buried, his only serious concern was Jennifer Hollis. Who was she? And why was she at Apple Grove House? A mere distraction? A time traveler? A spy?
Bennett frowned to himself. He had no answers to those questions, but he wasn't about to let her keep him from his purpose. He reached for the grease can to take care of the squeaky screw on the cider press. "Yep, Anna. We're going to make the best cider ever."

Chapter Five
"Aren't we about to start grinding the apples in the mill?" Jennifer asked, setting down the basketful of fruit she'd just carried inside the door of the mill. Her eyes were hardly accustomed to the cool darkness, but she thought she could see the forms of the captain and Anna standing near a wooden piece of equipment that looked like a huge old-fashioned cider press.
Jen shook apple leaves from her long, voluminous skirts, which she hated. She missed the denim jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers that she usually wore for outdoor work. But she'd arrived in her wedding gown and she had no choice but to wear borrowed skirts.
She'd decided that morning that Anna had been right. Things looked better in the sunshine. She'd just told herself as she'd dressed in Anna's borrowed clothes that she should consider her stay at Apple Grove House as an adventure, for now. She'd get home somehow. But for the time being, she'd learn what she could.
"Are those apples washed?" Anna asked.
"Yes, the girls are washing everything we picked," Jen said.
"Then put those apples over there," Anna directed, pointing toward another part of the mill where baskets of apples were stacked. "Those are pippins and we want to keep all the same kinds of apples together."
"Of course," Jennifer said, slightly embarrassed by her ignorance. Her knowledge of cider making consisted only of what she'd learned from twentieth-century apple fests each fall. She set the apples where Anna had told her.
Then she looked up at the interior of the mill again. The structure was larger and loftier than the modern reconstructed mill she knew at Apple Grove House. A lot larger.
Autumn sunlight streamed between the rough board walls and striped the wooden floor with shadow and light. The scent of fresh-picked apples filled the air. A pyramid of wooden barrels towered in one corner and a maze of wooden flumes crisscrossed where Jen was accustomed to seeing stainless-steel pipes in the modern-day mill.
The captain was working on the press. He nodded a curt greeting toward Jen and returned to his work. Today, he looked different. Without his dress uniform and his saber, he looked less formal, less glamorous, but more practical. He'd taken off his hat and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as if he was prepared to work and work hard. The muscles and veins in his forearms stood out as he labored over the press. There was no mistaking the solidness of his muscular shoulders and the fine length of his legs. And his face? He was completely absorbed in what he was doing. He was devoted to the task at hand and he would obviously expect anyone around him to be just as devoted and focused.
"Will we be starting to mill soon?" Jen ventured.
"Oh, no, not yet," Anna said. "We haven't selected the apples for one thing, and we never start the milling until after dark."
"After dark?" Jennifer repeated, startled by such strange scheduling. "Why after dark?"
"It will be cooler," the captain said, looking up from the press. "Fewer problems with bees. They love this stuff. And when you let the mash stand overnight, it gets a better color, deeper, more amberlike."
"Cooler and color, right," Jen said, realizing that they hardly had the benefit of refrigeration yet—a fact she'd faced over breakfast, too. The milk she'd drunk—with her fresh-baked bread smeared with spicy apple butter—had been full of fat, fresh and warm, straight from the cow. A first for her. She'd had to wipe away a real creamy mustache like those people in the magazine ads. She wasn't certain that she liked milk that way.
"Moses always said the mash is best if the wind blows from the north," Anna said. "But it's hard to predict that."
"Wind from the north?" Jennifer laughed. "I never heard of such a thing. Why would a north wind be good?"
"Temperature, I suppose," the captain said. "Cider makers all have their own strategies and secrets. We always preferred a west wind and a waning moon when I was a boy in Pennsylvania."
This time Anna laughed. "I think ripe apples, clean barrels, good timing, and careful blending are the most important ingredients."
"Sounds good to me," Jen said, wondering how else old-fashioned cider making might differ from modern methods. "How does the mill work?"
"The apples will be shoveled from the wagons into the mill from up there," the captain explained as he worked. He gestured toward the platform almost a complete story above them. A door on the other side of the building opened out onto a hillside wagon ramp where the apples from neighboring orchards would be unloaded. "They drop down into the mill hopper and then are crushed."
"After the mash stands overnight, what happens?" Jen asked.
"Then we start putting the mash onto the press," Anna said, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked from Jen to the captain. "I've got to get back to the house to check on the kids. Why don't you two sit down here and taste the apples? I trust you and Jennifer to make the selection, Captain."
Before Jen could think of an excuse not to help the captain, the widow bustled out of the mill with the conspiratorial air of one leaving newlyweds alone together.
"Have you tasted apples for cider making?" the captain asked, sealing up the grease can he'd been working with.
"No," Jen said, unable to imagine why he would care to have her help. "I've helped pick apples and watched the mash being pressed in the cider press, but that's all."
"Well, then you can learn about it from the apple selection on." He set the grease can back on a shelf and wiped his hands on a rag. "Apples are best if they are ripe, firm, and picked up from the ground after no more than a day."
"Really?"
"Nothing overripe or green," the captain continued, his voice ringing even and calm with the authority of one who knew exactly what he is doing—and loved it
"The Jonathans are here," he began, pointing to different stacks of laden apple baskets. "Rome beauties are here. They give sweetness. The Jonathan, Winesap and Northern Spy add a tart flavor. Golden and Red Delicious give the cider a nice aroma. Pippins add to the color. And for tannin, a few crab apples."
"Crab apples?" Jen repeated, her mouth twisting with the memory of sourness. "I tried those as a kid and they were awful."
"But blended with the others the tannin in the crab apples helps make the cider keep longer and better," the captain explained. "We won't use many and you don't have to taste them."
"Thanks for that," Jen said with a laugh. "How do we begin?"
"Sit here." The captain gestured toward a bench next to the door.
Jen sat. He soon had several baskets of apples setting at her feet. "This seems like strange duty for a cavalry captain," she said.
"Cider making?" He sat beside her, pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt, and began to cut up a Red Delicious. "Helping out Anna is the one thing that makes this assignment worthwhile. That and keeping her and her family safe from the raiders. Here, I think these look pretty good. There's a wagonload of them arriving today. And try this." He deftly sliced a generous piece and offered it to her on the blade of his knife.
Jen noticed a powerful flex in the muscle of his upper arm as he held out the slice of apple to her. She snatched the slice from the blade, careful not to touch his fingers. She knew the contact with him would burn. Her reaction was silly; she knew that, too. A regular schoolgirl response. But her face grew warm anyway. She prayed that he could not see the irrational blush that flooded into her cheeks. She ducked her head and popped the bite of apple into her mouth.
"Something wrong?" he asked. "You're blushing."
"I feel, ah, I feel like Adam and Eve," Jen blurted.
"Eve gave the apple to Adam, remember?" he said with a chuckle and put a slice into his mouth. Jen wondered what it would be like to have those lips kiss her again. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, incredibly aware of sitting next to a real man—not a sports-car-driving golf-course denizen, but a man who knew who he was inside and accepted his responsibilities. A good-looking hunk of a male. A man who was her proxy husband.
"True," Jen admitted, her voice an octave higher than normal as she gulped down the sweet fruit The raw apple slice went down in a painful lump. She didn't know if she was going to be able to sit next to him and do this or not. She had to make herself think of something different. "You know, the apple shows up in a lot of other old stories too."
"Sure, the old Atalanta versus Hippomenes race story," the captain said, picking up an apple from another basket. "Of course there is the story of Paris giving an apple to Aphrodite and her rewarding him with another man's wife, Helen."
"And so began the Trojan War," Jen finished, amazed at trading Greek stories with this man. And her college advisor had thought the mythology course she'd insisted on taking was a waste of time.
"Then there is old William Tell shooting the apple off his son's head," the captain continued. He offered her another slice of apple. "That story ended with a war, too, a revolution of the Swiss against the Austrians. We could go on and on."
Jen laughed and accepted the slice with her fingers. "You sound like you know all the stories about apples."
"I educated myself on the subject when I was a kid," the captain admitted. "I thought it didn't hurt to learn everything including history. These Red Delicious are going to do very nicely, I think. What do you think?"
Jen nodded, her mouth full of fresh crisp apple again.
"Captain?" Sergeant Dunham appeared in the doorway, dust swirling in his wake.
"What is it, Sergeant?" The captain never looked up from the apples he was sampling.
Obviously excited, Dunham stumbled into the cool darkness of the mill and came to a halt in front of the captain. "The sentry on the road south just reported that there are rumors of Quantrill moving up this way again."
The captain paused in his apple slicing. "Any specifics? Has Quantrill been sighted at a certain farm or crossing any particular creek?"
"No, sir," the sergeant said. "Nothing like that. The sentry just said that a farmer had come by looking for a lost cow and said he'd heard that the guerrillas were moving this way, looking for horses and firearms."
"The sentry kept his mouth shut, didn't he?" the captain asked without looking from the apple he had just selected.
"Yes, sir, Captain," Dunham said. "The men know better than to let on that we're guarding a large stock of rifles and ammunition here."
The captain cut a quick glance in Jen's direction as if he hadn't wanted her to hear what the sergeant had just said. "Good. Tell them to keep their eyes and ears open. If they hear more rumors, get as much specific information as they can. I want everybody to stay on alert."
"Yes, sir." Sergeant Dunham gave the captain a salute, turned on his heel, and left the mill.
"Are you really afraid that Quantrill will raid here?" Jen asked as she racked her memory for details about the Confederate raider's activities and any relationship to Apple Grove House.
"He might if he gets wind of whatwe have hidden here," the captain said, slowly picking up another apple to slice.
A chill settled over Jen. "And you didn't want me to know about the rifles, did you?"
"It's best if that kind of information is kept quiet." The captain turned toward her. "Anyway, you're not leaving here until after the guns are shipped out at the end of the week, so all I have to do is keep an eye on you. Nobody should be the wiser about the rifles and ammunition."
Jen hesitated a moment, astonished by what she realized he implied. "You think I'm a spy?"
The captain shook his head. "Maybe you are. Maybe you aren't. You have to admit, your appearance yesterday was rather strange. And where is your groom?"
"I explained that," Jen said, knowing that her vague explanation of Brad being on his way to California must sound fishy to a practical man like Captain Vance. The full impact of what he was saying brought Jen to her feet. "How can you even dream I'm a spy? I would never do anything that would endanger those sweet girls out there or Anna and her family or this place. I love Apple Grove House. I've loved this place my whole life."
"Then why haven't I ever seen you around here before?'' the captain demanded, gazing up at her, one hand on his hip and his knife in the other. "I'd remember you."
"I'd remember you, too." Jen took a deep breath and met his gaze steadily. He had the darkest, most golden green hazel eyes she'd ever seen. A strong brow and long dark eyelashes. He gazed back honestly, but without warmth. She didn't blame him for his suspicions. What was a man to think of a woman who appeared out of nowhere and hinted that she came from another time?
"Why don't you tell me the truth instead of some nonsense about time and cameras?" he asked.
"I've told you all I can tell you," she said and balled her hands into fists. "So am I a prisoner?"
"You mean, am I going to lock you in the corn crib?" he asked without rising from the bench. "No need for that. But you're not going anywhere until the end of the week when the patrol from Fort Scott arrives to take the store of guns and ammunition and the paddle wheeler from Westport shows up to take you and the other brides back where you belong. The least you can do until then is earn your keep. That's what the other ladies are doing."
"They don't know about the guns, do they?" Jen asked, glancing out the door toward the orchard. Among the fruit trees she watched Rebecca Thornton, the corporal's bride, carry her ladder to an untouched tree, place it against the trunk, climb up, and begin picking as she talked with the other girls. The brides were all so young, not a one of them over nineteen and so innocent. Jen felt protective toward them. She was older and she knew more. She knew the future. She'd never dreamed that knowing what was to come would be such a burden.
"No, they don't know about the guns and ammunition," the captain admitted. "I know exactly who they are, where they came from, and why they are here. However, you are another matter. So you can sit in the corner where I can keep an eye on you, or you can pitch in and help us get Anna's cider made by the end of the week. What will it be?"
Jen stood there, uncertain what to do or say. She was innocent. Never in her life had she done anything so two-faced as spying. She certainly would never have anything to do with the low-life guerrillas like William Quantrill. But how could she explain that to Captain Bennett Vance? "I'd rather be making cider than sitting in a corner. Will you allow me to help with the milling tonight?" Jen asked as if she had the luxury of driving a bargain with him.
"Sure," he said, preoccupied with another basket of apples. "Where I go, you'll go. We'll be milling apples tonight. And tomorrow we'll start spreading the mash on the frames for the press and then pressing. We'll need all the hands we can get."
"I'll do my part," Jen said with an indignant, self-righteous shake of her head. She would prove herself to him— somehow. "I'm no spy. You'll see."
"Good," the captain said, slicing off another piece of apple and offering it to her with a skeptical smile. Her declaration obviously left him unmoved. "Until then, don't leave my sight."
******************
That night the milling went well. Bennett set the older Grove boys and two cavalry volunteers to shoveling apples into the mill hopper by torchlight. Below, Anna's old gray mare plodded steadily in the circle, turning the gears that operated the mill. The stone mill wheels crushed the fruit into the pomace necessary for the press. Bennett liked the looks of the pomace, but it was impossible to tell at this early stage if this batch of cider would get Anna ten dollars a barrel.
Even better than the success of the milling, the sentries reported no unusual sightings of suspicious travelers or of raiders near the ferry crossing. But Bennett never allowed the quiet to lull him into over confidence. He'd seen things change too fast too often to let down his guard. He kept the sentries posted day and night and he personally instructed them to be alert and prepared for anything. Quantrill was known for his lightning strikes. Unless they kept a good watch, the guerrilla could ride in, kill them all in their beds, and be gone with the guns and ammunition before any of them knew what was happening.
To the brides and Anna, he said little. He didn't want to worry them. Not that he thought the women incapable of handling the knowledge. He had come to have the greatest respect for frontier women. He'd grown up with a ladylike mother who had been coddled and protected by his father. And Bennett found himself inclined to treat women that way even after his brief unfortunate marriage.
But on the frontier he discovered women who enjoyed being treated like ladies, but who thought nothing of working beside their men, fighting at their men's sides, and making the men's decisions when necessary. Bennett liked frontier women. And he knew if a fight came to Apple Grove House, Anna and the women could be trusted to be more help than hindrance. Until then, guarding against a raid was his soldiers' job, and he'd tend to it himself.
But Jennifer remained a mystery to him. The suspicions he'd voiced about her being a spy had offended her. She'd responded to him with all the testiness and indignation of a pretty little tabby cat who'd been dunked in the rain barrel. That didn't surprise him. How else would an accused spy react? But other things about her didn't make sense.
As much as she claimed that she knew about Apple Grove House, she treated the most everyday occurrences as if each was new to her. Butter making fascinated her. She'd watched little Annie perform the task on the back porch with great curiosity and took a turn at the churn herself.
Later, when Anna's older boy brought in a couple of chickens with wrung necks to be plucked and stewed for supper, Jennifer had turned so pale, Bennett and Anna thought she was going to faint. When she'd dropped a bowl of flour on the kitchen floor, she'd cursed a blue streak and muttered something about where was a Dustbuster when you needed it. At the supper table—Anna had invited Bennett to dine with her family and the brides—Jennifer failed to hide her horror when she learned that they each used their own cloth napkin for a week before getting a clean one on Sunday, whether they needed it or not. A strange girl.
Then there was the matter of her odd underclothing.
Early on the third morning after the weddings, Bennett had walked into Anna's kitchen to get his morning coffee—-the widow's brew was much better than that of the cavalry company's cook. Bennett took a couple of strides into the dim room when something stringy and cool flopped in his face.
 “What the—" Startled, Bennett grabbed at the attacking item only to seize a handful of something sheer and satiny.
Anna, who was standing by the fire, straightened up. "Oh my, Captain. Don't fight it." She chuckled and started across the kitchen to his rescue. "Sorry. That's just a little laundry that Jennifer hung up here to dry. She absolutely refuses to wear the cotton underthings I offered her. Too bulky, she complains. I'm not giving up my Victoria's something she told me. You don't think Queen Victoria wears anything like that, do you?"
"How would I know?" Bennett stammered. He'd never remotely considered what the English queen might wear under her gowns. He held up a strange-looking figure-eight strip with satiny conical cups and narrow straps. In the other hand he held an odd triangle loop of the same smooth shiny fabric. "How? I mean where . . . Surely this isn't—"
"All?" Anna finished for him. "I'm afraid so. She said all the girls wear this where she comes from."
"Is that so?" Bennett turned the garments in his hands, trying to figure how they would fit on Jennifer's slender body. The straps would go over her shoulders and the cups would hold . . . And the loops of the triangle would . . . Parts of him stirred shamefully.
"Now, now." Anna snatched the garments out of his hands. "It doesn't bear too much thought, Captain."
Bennett surrendered the clothing without protest. Anna was right. How those things fit Jennifer did not bear too much thought.
"Where on earth do you think a nice girl gets things like that?" Anna asked, obviously a bit outraged as she examined the garments herself—but also curious and amused.
Bennett shook his head, still trying to put erotic images of Jennifer in the triangle thing out of his head. "I wouldn't know anything about it," he snapped as he ducked under the impromptu clothesline and marched across the kitchen to the coffeepot on the stove.
Whether she was a spy or not, Jennifer was obsessed with Zach Schuster and his camera. Once she'd gotten over her first fit of indignation with Bennett for suspecting her of spying, she absolutely beleaguered him about two things— neither having anything to do with rifles and ammunition. First, she asked endless questions about cider making, and second, she asked about when Zach Schuster was going to return with his camera.
He enjoyed sharing his cider knowledge. Her questions were bright and insightful. She soaked up his every word as if she was filing it away for some future purpose. That was all right with him. But the questions about the damned photographer annoyed him.
"Like I told you before, Schuster will be back with his camera at the end of the week. He said he would try to get photographs again then. He thought maybe something in the weather might have changed and he'd have more success."
"Yes, that's it," Jennifer said with a distracted nod. "The problem never lasts. Something will have changed by the end of the week. The camera will work. Then I can get back where I belong."
The idea that Jennifer didn't belong there jarred Bennett. In the last few days he'd come to find her company natural and almost essential. She'd made herself invaluable. He liked her questions and smiles. He liked having her close and watching her work.
"I can't imagine why you think Schuster will have anything to do with you getting home. I will see that you get on the steamboat along with the other brides and return home safely. That was the arrangement made by Colonel Bailey and his wife with the men and their brides."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Jen said, smiling up at him so innocently that he had to turn away. He didn't like what her insistence about seeing Schuster made him think.  "I didn't come on the steamboat, and it won't take me where I need to go. But Zach Schuster and his camera can," she maintained.	
Bennett shook his head. That a photographer's camera was Jennifer's way home made no sense. Unless he believed her tale of time traveling. Or—unless Zach Schuster was her spy contact. And all this time travel nonsense is just to distract me, Bennett speculated over the barrel of apple juice that he was blending. The spy-contact theory was logical. It relieved him of believing in the impossible, but three days in her company believing that Jennifer was a spy was almost as absurd as believing she traveled in time.
Chapter Six
In the late afternoon of the sixth day after the weddings, tension hovered, tight and expectant, in the cool darkness of the cider mill. Rebecca, Mary, Sara, and Amy had crowded through the door and pressed close behind Jen. In hopeful silence, they all gazed at the glass jar of cider that Bennett held up to the shaft of sunlight streaming through the doorway. Anna stood at his side gazing up at the container also.
"It's time," the widow whispered at last, her gaze darting to Bennett's face, then back at the jar.
Jen nodded in silent agreement.
This was the moment they'd all worked toward for the last five days. This was what they had picked, crushed, pressed, and strained all those apples for. They'd eaten and slept—and Bennett had seen to his responsibilities as captain—but every other waking moment had been devoted to preparing for this first taste of the blended apple juice that would ferment to perfection—and become the best cider in the state of Kansas.
"What do you think, Bennett?" Anna asked, her eyes resting on the captain.
Jen was as excited as anyone in the mill, but she forced herself to keep quiet.
"I'm not sure I like the looks of it," Bennett said without taking his gaze from the jar.
In the light, the cider shone a rich, murky gold—totally unlike the anemic, ultrafiltered pasteurized stuff Jen was accustomed to seeing in the supermarket. Bennett's blend looked so much more intriguing and substantial—like liquid gold velvet in ajar. The sight made Jen's mouth water. Surely it would taste as sumptuous as it looked.
"I think the color looks good," Anna suggested.
"Yes, the color isn't bad," Bennett conceded, still scrutinizing the jar as if looking for something that none of the rest of them could possibly see. "But the body? I don't know.''
Jen's impatience grew. "Well, are you going to taste it or not?"
"Sure looks good to me," Mary offered from behind Jen. The other girls nodded.
"It's time, Bennett," Anna repeated.
Bennett glanced at them, a wicked grin crossing his face, white teeth flashing against his gorgeous tan. "What impatience, ladies! Great things are not to be rushed. Even this blend will not taste like the final product, you understand."
"If this is good," Anna began with a warm chuckle, "the final brew will be delicious. Taste, master cider maker. Give us your verdict."
Bennett put the jar to his lips and took a sip. Everyone watched in silence. Much like a wine taster Jen had seen in a wineshop, he mulled the cider around his mouth in a long, slow, deliberate action—savoring what, she couldn't imagine. She'd never understood wine tasting either.
He swallowed, but still said nothing.
Anna reached for the jar. "Let me try it"
Bennett relinquished the glass container to her, then smiled at the girls, as if he knew something they didn't.
Jen could hardly wait to hear the verdict. Nobody had ever been particularly fussy about the cider that came out of the modern cider mill at Apple Grove House. The beverage had been made to meet certain standards. If it did that, it was good enough.
But Jen knew after working with Bennett for long hours, that if he had anything to do with it, this blend would be something special. He had worked too long and hard, overseeing every detail to not have produced something exceptional.
Anna sipped from the jar.
Still, no one made a sound. Not even an intake of breath could be heard among the seven of them.
The widow, too, took her time, rolling the cider over her tongue and around her mouth like a wine taster. Jen had never thought the making of cider could be as complicated as that of wine, but after the last five days, she was beginning to reconsider. Like the girls, she waited eagerly for the widow's opinion.
When Anna swallowed, a big smile spread across her face. "I think we are close, very close to having rediscovered old Moses's recipe."
Bennett's grin flashed into a broad smile again and he nodded. "I think so, too."
"Hurrah!" Rebecca said, laughing. The other three cheered and danced around in a circle. Everyone had put so much effort into the entire process that they felt the victory was theirs as well as Bennett and Anna's.
Jen laughed with pleasure, excited to have been part of the process. "May I taste?"
"Sure." Bennett reached for another jar on the board-and-sawhorse table they'd set up in the mill. Jen waited anxiously as he tapped the barrel for a sample, then handed it to Jen. He handed one to each of the girls.
Jen put the jar to her mouth and took a small sip, imitating the tasting process she'd seen Bennett and Anna perform.
"What do you think?" he asked, leaning closer as if her opinion truly mattered to him.
Rich, spicy—almost buttery—apple flavor floated through her mouth and filled her head. It was heaven in ajar, completely unlike anything Jen had ever tasted. She stared at the sample to get a better look at it.
"Well?" he repeated. "What do you think?"
"I think it's wonderful," Jen said, convinced more than ever that old-fashioned things were better than new. "No wonder it gets a premium price. This would be wonderful to serve at parties and in the evening in front of the fire or— Golly, I'd drink this anytime."
"It's unanimous, you see," Anna said, touching Bennett's arm
Bennett shook his head as if he wasn't quite satisfied. "It's good, but not quite as good as Moses's."
With a smile, Jen realized what a perfectionist Bennett was. How like him to feel the least fraction of perfect had been missed somehow. What an asset a cider maker like him would be to modern-day Apple Grove House.
"You expect too much, Captain," Anna said withanother chuckle. "ladies, I think we've done a day's work out here. Go wash up and we'll start supper. You'll be along soon, won't you, Captain?"
"Sure," Bennett said, peering into the barrel. "I'll finish cleaning up out here."
"I'll help." Jen had grown accustomed to washing up the wooden cider making utensils at the end of each workday.
"Then let's go, girls," Anna said, leading the young brides out the door with her as if they were an extension of her gaggle of children.
"Last one to the spring is a crybaby," Mary challenged, and they were off, racing up the hill behind the mill.
Smiling to herself, Jen turned to the dish pan full of dirty utensils already on the table.
Funny how accustomed to new and different things you can become in a short time, she mused. She'd only been at Apple Grove House for five days, but she was beginning to feel as if she'd always lived there. Chamber pots, long skirts, boiled coffee, and dishpans held no terrors for her now. It was almost a magical time—like walking into a TV episode of Little House on the Prairie or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.
"These won't take long," she said, as much to herself as to Captain Vance—or Bennett, as he'd given her permission to call him several days ago.
"I'll be finished over here soon, too," he said. "I just have one more barrel to fill."
Jen went to work, musing over all the new things she'd discovered and the few things she truly missed, like ice in her iced tea—Anna Grove had never heard of such a beverage—sandals on her feet, a good hot shower, and her family—especially her family. There were so many little things she would love to share with her sister, Jessica, or with Joey.   Her  nephew would  love  watching  Captain Vance's cavalrymen groom and saddle their horses and perform sentry duty.
But Captain Vance—Bennett—fascinated her. It was more than just the fact that he was her proxy husband. She'd genuinely grown to like him. She liked the sound of his voice when he explained things or gave instructions. She liked the feel of his solid shoulder against hers as they worked. His touch never failed to warm her, but she tried not to show it. She liked that keen concentration that came to his face as he worked. She admired his even hand with his men and his gentlemanly conduct toward Anna, her children, and the girls.
If she was truly a modern woman, those qualities wouldn't be so attractive to her, she told herself. But they did appeal—proof she was old-fashioned and probably a fool. But why not enjoy his company? Because he seemed determined to think badly of her. A spy, indeed.
Remembering Bennett's implied accusation, Jen fumed once again. Now why did she find him attractive?
Every night in bed she'd racked her brain to remember the details of Apple Grove House's Civil War history, searching for some clue that would help her prove her innocence. The best that she could recall was that there had been some trouble during the war. But it had not come from an attack by Quantrill. What exactly had happened? She never could quite recollect.
Then in the morning she would wake to see the sun burning the fog off the river below and the trees on the hillsides turning to autumn hues. Thoughts of war evaporated like the river mist. Living at Apple Grove House was like living in an enchanted place and time. It was like being at Camelot, the mythical kingdom in the musical stage play where it never rained until after dark. The river fog was always gone by eight in the morning and by nine at night the moon shone high above.
Whatever threat the Confederate raiders might pose, as far as Jen knew, Apple Grove House would survive. She'd accepted that Brad and her wedding were a loss. She could live with that. But she couldn't bear to think that Ted Neisen's theme park scheme would destroy this beautiful place. She had to return to 1999.
"I've filled the last barrel of the day," Bennett said, coming up so close behind her that Jen could feel his breath on her neck. "Are you about finished cleaning up?" he asked.
"Yes, about finished," Jen said, grateful for his interruption. She didn't like spending too much time with her own thoughts these days. It was too confusing, drifting in time.
"Then let's walk up the hill to the spring and wash up like the others did," he said. There was a pump behind Apple Grove House where everyone frequently washed up, and the spring trickling into a hillside pool was a favorite place to go, too. In addition to the cold, clear water, it offered the respite of cool shade and a spectacular view of the river and valley below.
"Good idea." Jen hung the last of the wooden utensils to dry on the tool pegs. Then she followed Bennett out of the mill into the last of the twilight.
"So you're satisfied with the blending of the cider?" Jen asked as they walked along the path. Outside, the air was cool and fresh, and a full moon already glowed overhead.
"Yes," Bennett said. "Now time will tell. I don't think we've quite rediscovered Moses's recipe, but it's tasting pretty good. I'm confident Anna will get a good price for it."
They passed the girls returning from the spring. All four were laughing, their faces bright and cheerful. "Don't stay too long now, you two," called Sara Moss. The others giggled.
Jen grinned at the girls and waved. "They think we spend so much time together because you like my company."
"I could do worse things with my time," Bennett murmured without looking at the brides. In a flutter of skirts, they began to trot back to the house, their spirits high and their energy renewed now that their work for the day was done.
Surprised at the remark, Jen stared at him.
"So tell me, how are you feeling about your missing fiancé?" Bennett asked. "Are you getting over the disappointment? Are you going to fall into his arms and believe whatever story he tells you if he shows up?"
"Brad is not going to show up," she said with a wry laugh. "Funny you should bring that up. Actually I haven't given Brad much thought"
"As a matter of fact, you look as though you're recovering from the disappointment very well." Bennett smiled in a way that revealed he meant what he said.
"The first night I was here, I gave him a lot of thought, and I decided that I must not love him as much as I thought I did," Jen said, recalling her first sleepless night at Apple Grove House. Had that only been five days ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed. "Obviously he didn't love me."
"At least he showed you enough respect to recognize the fact and not marry you," Bennett said, a curious tone in his voice.
Jen hesitated in her tracks. "You sound as if you have some special knowledge of that kind of disappointment."
Bennett who had strode on ahead of her stopped and turned. "I was left at the altar, too, once."
"No kidding?" Jen exclaimed, startled by his admission.  She hurried to catch up with him. "Then you know that sick feeling of astonishment."
"I know the sick feeling," Bennett echoed, turning to walk on down the path to the spring. "It was my former wife who left me standing there, red faced, in front of a chapel full of people."
"But who on earth would leave you at the altar?" Jen shook her head. "Wait a minute. You just said your former wife?"
"Yes. Fool that I was, I made it my goal in life to change her mind," Bennett said. “Pride, I guess. But I was successful. She eventually married me. Biggest mistake I ever made. She hated army life. Eventually we hated each other. Does that shock you?"
"No, it's just too bad," Jen said, truly sorry. What a disappointment it must have been for him—a man who had prepared himself for a career in the military—to have a wife who hated the very life he'd sought. "Children?"
"No children," Bennett said. "She went home to her family and remarried a few years later, once the scandal of the divorce had died down."
"And you?" Jen asked, trying to glimpse his face as he walked slightly ahead of her. Did the subject still cause him pain? "Did you marry again?"
"No, don't care to try that again," he said, his face expressionless. "Women find a divorced man suspect. Besides, I learned my lesson the first time."
How like a man, Jen thought. Denies the pain, but refuses to ever open himself up to the experience again.
"Where I come from, everyone has some kind of baggage," Jen said with a shake of her head. "I probably have not learned my lesson. I won't go after Brad—that's for sure. I'm starting to see what a mistake he and I were from the beginning. We cared about entirely different things.  He wanted to build a life around the country club and his golf game. Funny how plain it is now. But dunce that I am, I want to marry someday. When the right man comes along."
"Golf game?" Bennett stopped and looked at her. "He must be a strange man. There's not much golf around here."
There will be, Jen thought, then brushed the questions away with a wave of her hand.
Bennett didn't persist, but turned and headed up the path. "Marrying is not foolish for you. I never meant to say that. You'll find the right man or he'll find you. Here we are."
The sound of the trickling water reached Jen's ears. They had arrived at the spring.
"This is going to feel good," Jen said, dropping down onto a rock and immediately peeling off her shoes and stockings. Her white wedding shoes and stockings were serving her well, because the high-top footwear that Anna had loaned her was impossible to get on her feet. Before she put her feet into the water streaming out of the pool, Jen studied her bare legs for a moment. "Bennett, do you happen to have a spare razor?"
He glanced at her and quickly turned away as if he was uneasy with the sight of her skirt pulled up over her knees. "Do I have a spare what?"
"Never mind." Jen decided not to press the question. She scooped water up onto her face. Its coolness soothed away the heat of the day.
Bennett sat beside her and did the same. For a moment, there was no sound but the splash of their hands in the fresh, clear water and the last song of the day as the birds settled in their nests. The sun had dropped below the horizon. Twilight gathered in the shadows around them.  The tensions of the day eased from Jen as the cool water refreshed her.
When she got back, she'd have to go look for this spring, but she suspected that it had dried up by 1999.
She glanced aside at Bennett. He, too, appeared to relax. "You love this place, don't you?" she asked, suddenly realizing that they had that in common. Jen smiled at her feet and wiggled her toes, pleased with that knowledge.
"Yes, you could say that," he replied.
Suddenly she felt Bennett's hand on her shoulder. She glanced back at him in surprise. They had touched before, but they had not touched intentionally since the day they'd been proxy bride and groom. He put a silencing finger to his lips, then pointed across the spring and back up the hill. Jen turned in that direction to see a white-tailed doe standing statue still in the deep shadows, her liquid brown eyes fastened on them, her ears cocked in their direction, her head up and alert.
Neither Jen nor Bennett moved. She was afraid even a gasp of pleasure would frighten away the beautiful wild tiling. Ever so slowly, one dainty foot, then another, appeared from out of the underbrush until a fawn stood at the doe's side, peering in their direction. The young deer was old enough that its white spots were beginning to fade.
Jen sucked in a breath of pleasure and awe. But the grip of Bennett's hand on her shoulder warned her to remain silent. As if one miracle wasn't enough, another dainty foot appeared and another set of perked ears appeared until the fawn's twin stood looking at them, too.
Jen was about to open her mouth to whisper admiration when yet another movement caught her eye. Behind the doe and her fawns, a buck strutted out of the shadows, the prince of the forest. A full rack of antlers crowned him, a ten-pointer.
As a suburban girl, Jen had caught a fleeting glimpse of a wild deer or two, but this sight was a wondrous feast for the eyes. The buck did not stop to inspect Jen and Bennett. He moved on through the brush, his restlessness communicated to the doe, who soon followed with her twin fawns trotting along behind her. In a moment, as silently as they had come, the deer vanished.
"Did you see that?" Jen gasped, her hand at her throat Her heart pounded with excitement. "The whole family."
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Bennett said. "Sergeant Dunham is going to be sorry to hear he missed them. He's partial to venison."
"He wouldn't shoot them, would he?" Jen stammered, turning to Bennett. "That's like shooting Bambi."
"Who?" He looked at her as if she were crazy. "Don't you ever see deer where you're from?"
"Only when the car lights shine into their frightened eyes," Jen said, desperate to save the beauty of what they'd just seen. "Don't let anybody shoot them."
"Game is game, but I admit they made a pretty sight. And Anna's larder is well provisioned. If it will put your soft heart at ease, we don't have to tell the trigger-happy sergeant about the buck he missed."
"Good. We won't tell him," Jen said, reluctant to let go of what seemed to be a special moment meant for them to share. "Promise?"
Bennett laughed indulgently. "Promise."
"Cross your heart," Jen prompted, uncertain where that childish phrase had come from.
 “Cross my heart,'' Bennett said, drawing his finger across his heart, then leaning closer to her, a sudden smile of insolence on his lips. "And seal my lips with a kiss?"
Jen stared at him, taken aback by his unexpected flirtation, yet pleased and oh so tempted. She shrugged to cover the pleasure that ran through her. "Why not?"
She leaned forward to brush her lips against his—prepared to give only what had passed between them on their wedding day. She didn't even pucker seriously. He was only getting a quick peck on the lips. Surely a man who accused her of being a spy expected nothing more.
Chapter Seven $
Unwilling to allow Jennifer to change her mind, Bennett captured her face between his hands. The sudden movement seemed to surprise her, but she did not pull away. He lowered his head a fraction, then hesitated. She did not move. He studied her lips, tantalizingly pink and invitingly moist from the cool spring water. He refused to look into her eyes. He didn't want to find doubt or hesitation where he wanted to see passion in the velvet brown depths of her gaze. So he focused on her lips, almost as blushing red as an apple. Under his gaze her mouth began to tremble. Then nervously her tongue darted across her lower lip. Bennett's body reacted to the gesture.
He bent to touch her lips with his. He found them pliant, but cool. Yet she did not withdraw from his hold. So he pressed his lips more firmly against hers, then pulled back, releasing her.
After a moment, she opened her eyes and gazed up at him, a soft boldness in her dark gaze. "Well, is that all it takes to seal your lips?"
Bennett studied her. "That's just a practice exercise."
"I thought so," she said, leaning closer again. She spread her hands on his knees, tilted her face up toward his, closed her eyes, and offered her mouth to him.
Bennett didn't hesitate this time. He seized her by the shoulders and kissed her with all the pent-up desire that had been building up in him day by day as they worked next to each other in the mill. Her lips separated willingly. Hungrily his tongue slipped between them to taste her fully. The inside of her mouth was delicious. He explored deeply, thoroughly, before nibbling gently on her lower lip.
Making a low sound in the back of her throat, she kissed him back. As he teased the corner of her mouth with his tongue, her hands inched up his thighs, setting him afire to possess her. With a last shred of sanity, he grasped her hands and pulled them away.
"Jennifer, you are not an old-fashioned girl," he muttered, his forehead resting against hers. "Believe me. You are not."
She made a strange, strangled sound. He could feel her breath against his jaw.
"Not that I'm complaining," he hurried to add.
"How would an old-fashioned girl behave under these circumstances?" she asked, pulling away slightly and looking up at him.
"She would slap me," Bennett said with a rueful smile. He couldn't imagine Jennifer slapping anybody, but he could see her telling him in no uncertain terms what she liked and didn't like.
"What nonsense." Jennifer giggled softly and pulled away smiling. To Bennett's surprise, she reached up and drew her thumb across his lower lip. "Why slap a man after he's given you the best kiss you've ever had?"
Bennett joined in her laughter. "You don't slap him for the kiss. You slap him for what he's thinking."
"Maybe you'd better tell me what it is you're thinking?" she baited, her smile broadening. Her dark brown eyelashes fluttering against her rosy cheeks.
If Bennett's life had depended on it, he couldn't have put into words the strange combination of lust and sweet need that flooded through him. He drew her to him again, intent on having another kiss.
The crack of gunfire shattered the evening's peace.
Instinctively, Bennett shoved Jennifer to the ground and covered her with his body. They hit the ground with a thud. Beneath his weight, Jennifer groaned. Bennett shushed her and lifted his head to hear whatever more he could. He heard a few shouts from his men on the riverbank. He waited, counting on the brush surrounding the spring to serve as cover.
In rapid succession, several more shots rang out. Then he heard the one cry he didn't want to hear: the bone chilling Confederate war cry. He cursed aloud.
"What is it?" Jennifer asked, struggling to get out from under him.
"Raiders. Stay down," Bennett ordered, rising enough to peer over his shoulder down toward the ferry landing. In the last of the twilight, he could barely see puffs of gun smoke floating over the river. Several more shots were exchanged.
He glanced toward Apple Grove House below them. The house was lit up already with coal-oil lamps.
"Douse the lights, Anna," he muttered as the firing continued. Jennifer struggled to rise, but he pushed her down again. Then he jumped to his feet in the next instant, peering down at the house. As if Anna had heard him, the lights rapidly went out one by one.
"Who is firing?" Jennifer asked, sitting up. "What was that funny yell?"
"That's the famous Rebel yell," Bennett said, eager to find Corporal Dunham and find out just who was where. "Don't move until I come back for you. I'm going to see what is happening."
"You're not leaving me here alone," Jennifer cried, scrambling to her feet and grabbing her shoes.
Bennett didn't have the time to argue with her. "All right then, but don't question anything I say."
"Yes, sir, Captain," Jennifer said, striving to get her shoes onto her wet feet.
Bennett ignored the mockery in her voice. He grabbed her hand and started back down the path toward the house and the cider mill. She kept pace with him. Their dark-colored clothes and the underbrush made them difficult to see. If there were only a few attackers, the gunmen would be too occupied with the firing at the sentries along the river to take shots at them above.
By the time they had skirted around an outbuilding, run along behind the wood pile, and made it down to the riverbank, the firing stopped. The sharp stench of gunpowder hung in the air. In the moonlight, the soft innards of shattered pumpkins littered the riverbank.
"Report, Sergeant Dunham," Bennett demanded the minute he ran up behind the men using a stack of pumpkins for cover. "Casualties? Number of attackers?"
"Yes, sir, Captain." Dunham appeared out of the darkness, breathless and making a hasty salute. "No casualties, sir. We think there were only three or four gunmen, sir. Irregulars from the sound of them. You know that godawful hollering they make. Probably a scouting party."
"No, wait," Jennifer gasped, clutching her side and bending over slightly. She held up her other hand as if asking for a moment of patience. "Lord, I've got a stitch in my side. I've never jogged down a hill like that before." She gasped again, then drew in a deep breath and straightened up to face Bennett. "I remember now. I remember what happens at Apple Grove House."
Dunham's gaze shifted to Jennifer with interest.
Bennett whirled around and stepped toward her. Suddenly suspicious of the unexplainable knowledge she sometimes displayed about things, he regretted that she'd overheard their conversation about the guns and Quantrill. It wasn't wise for her to be on the riverbank with him and the men. Yet if she knew something, he wanted to know what it was. If she was a spy, he wanted her to reveal herself. "What do you mean? What's going to happen to Apple Grove House?"
"The attack isn't going to come from the south," Jennifer said with a shake of her head. "It won't be Quantrill who attacks. He's already headed back south. It's going to be another Confederate raider."
Bennett exchanged a skeptical glance with Dunham. They both knew that was not the intelligence that the colonel had received on the Confederate irregulars. They fully expected Quantrill to reappear to press his advantage in Kansas at any time. But Bennett was curious enough now to listen to all that she had to say. He regarded her through narrowed eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "Go on. Tell me what's going to happen?"
"The attack is going to come from the north," Jennifer said, her eyes bright with excitement even in the darkness. "The leader will be Cutthroat Clive Morrison from St. Joe, where the proslavery sympathizers are strong. He's going to be well armed and he's going to be looking for the guns. He knows about them."
She paused, putting a finger thoughtfully to her lips. "Yes, he is informed about the guns. He's going to be damned determined to find them."
Pleased with herself for remembering her history at last, Jen couldn't resist smiling at Bennett. Now he would realize she wasn't a spy.
He didn't return her smile. "What about these scouts?" Bennett asked, his face shadowed and unreadable in the darkness.
"They're Morrison's men, a diversion," Jen said, searching her memory for details of the brief Civil War episode written up in Apple Grove House's long history.
"You don't happen to know the time and date of the raid?" Bennett asked, a strange edge in his voice.
"Shoot, I don't remember," Jen said, wishing she'd paid more attention to the particulars of the historian's account "But Cutthroat Clive already knows the guns are here. He's been informed by a spy."
The silence that followed her revelation made Jen uncomfortable. She'd just told them what they needed to know to defend the place. Why were they—Bennett and the sergeant—staring at her as if she was a two-headed cow? She looked from one man to the other, but neither offered her a smile or a look of gratification.
“You wouldn't happen to know who that spy is?" Bennett asked, scrutinizing her with what she realized was skepticism.
"Wait a minute," Jen said, astonished at the turn the conversation was taking. "I'm not the spy. And I happen to know Apple Grove House will survive this raid. Could a spy tell you that?"
"Don't prove nothing," the sergeant said with a gloomy shake of his head. "Seems to me a spy could tell us anything she wanted to."
"Cutthroat Clive was last reported in Oklahoma Indian territory," Bennett said as if he regretted giving her that news.
"Well, Morrison must be back from Indian territory," Jennifer said with certainty. Her historical research had been confined to the event at Apple Grove House. She hadn't pursued Cutthroat Clive's notorious career. She could not explain away Bennett's information. "I don't know how Clive does it or who your spy is. But Clive will lead the raid."
Anger flashed in Dunham's face. He drew himself up and turned to Bennett. "Captain, you know there ain't a spy among us men. Each and everyone here is as loyal as the day is long. Begging your pardon, miss, but there's no traitor among the captain's men."
When Jennifer turned to Bennett again in the gathering darkness, she could just barely see a frown on his face. She realized that he didn't believe her either.
"I'm aware of the men's loyalty, Sergeant," Bennett replied. "Take Miss Hollis into custody."
Dunham snapped a sharp salute and a grin spread across his face. "Yes, sir."
"What?" Jen cried.
"Lock her in her room," Bennett ordered, his voice suddenly unfamiliar and cold to her ear.
"You can't be serious," she said.
"I'm very serious," Bennett said. "I know my men, and I trust them. Sergeant."
"Yes, sir."
"Bennett?" she pleaded, too shocked to physically protest. "You can't really believe I'm the spy."
Next thing Jen knew, Dunham had seized her wrists and ordered rope to be brought to tie her.
"You know too much, Jennifer. What am I supposed to think?" With a grim frown, Bennett turned to Dunham. "Sergeant, there's no need to restrain her, not as long as she goes peaceably. Just lock her in her room. See that the curtains are drawn and the shutters locked so that she can't send any signals and post a twenty-four-hour watch on her."
"Promise me you'll set an extra watch on the north road," Jen found herself insisting, suddenly frightened that somehow she might have changed history. What if her being there somehow meant that Cutthroat Clive was successful in his raid and burned down the house?
But Bennett remained silent as Dunham led her away.
When the door of her room slammed behind her, Jen almost wept. She was a prisoner in Apple Grove House. Bennett had been a gentleman about it. The shutters on the window in her room were locked, but she was not tied or restrained anyway. Nevertheless, what fun she'd had in being transported back in time had vanished. The joy of the adventure was over. She stood suspected of spying. She was ready to wake up from this bad dream—or jump down a sci-fi wormhole or walk through an enchanted mirror—or do whatever she needed to do to get back to the year she'd come from.
Frustrated, Jen turned away from the door.
A small lamp burned on the bedside table. By its light, Jen saw an open hatbox sitting beside the lamp. Whoever had left the lamp had apparently left the box. It had not been there earlier in the day.
Curious, Jen moved across the room and peered into the box. There lay her dried wedding bouquet, the ribbons carefully arranged around the dried posy. Anna had dried it so that the flowers, though yellowed and edged in brown, still held their shape. Jen could see the curling rose petals and the wide, delicate apple blossom petals. It was still a lovely bouquet.
Jen stared at the posy, then replaced it in the box and dropped down on the edge of her bed. What had happened to her wedding? she wondered. How had Jessica managed? Poor Jessica. What a story Jen was going to have to tell her—if she managed to get back to 1999.
Jen frowned. What if the raid came and the house was burned down and the photographer never came back and she never got home? What if she was hanged as a spy? What if—Jen swallowed her self-pitying sob before it escaped her. What if something happened and she never saw Bennett again?
Thoughts of being separated from Bennett brought her rioting speculations to a halt. Tentatively she licked her lips, longing to know his kiss again. It had been a tender kiss with just a dash of passion. Warm and promising. She had felt the passion quicken in him, in the strength of his grip on her shoulders, and she'd wanted him to surrender to it so she could surrender, too. The thought of that kiss brought a renewed tingling to her belly.
Heavens, if she didn't know better, she'd think she was falling in love with the guy—this man who thought she was a spy. No, it wasn't love, just infatuation, maybe lust, she told herself as she lay down on the bed without pulling hack the counterpane. It was too soon after Brad's betrayal to fall in love again.
No, what she felt for Bennett was just infatuation. Who wouldn't fall for a guy who swaggered like a nineteenth-century John Wayne, flashed a dimpled smile like Brad Pitt, and dished out attitude like James Dean? Jen nodded to herself. Just infatuation. That was all that funny feeling in her belly was. A schoolgirl's crush.
She sighed. Her head felt heavy and she let it rest on the feather pillow. What a mess she'd made of things. Just when she thought she knew how to prove herself to Bennett, he took her knowledge to mean she was a traitor. Now she was at a loss about what to do.
Despite the tension and irritation of being locked up as a prisoner, Jen fell asleep and dreamed of going home. But even in her dreams she couldn't get there.
******************
A single cry awoke her—the warbling screeches of the Confederate raiders. The Rebel yell.
Jen bolted upright on the bed and listened, her heart pounding in her throat. She heard the reassuring sound of Bennett's voice shouting orders. Then the gunfire began. It came from the norm. Cutthroat Clive was here. Jen dashed for the door and yanked it open, prepared to talk her way out of the room. She had to do something to help.
In the dark hallway, the sentry's chair was empty. He'd deserted his post, gone to find his place among the men, no doubt, she thought. Then she saw that the door to the attic was open and she heard the firing from above. He was defending the house.
Anna appeared in the doorway of her room across the hallway, her long, dark, graying braid tossed over her shoulder. Already, the children in the room next to Jen's were beginning to whimper.
''Get the kids. Stay with them and don't light any lamps,'' Jen ordered. She knew Anna and the children would be all right in the house. But she wasn't certain about the girls who had abandoned their bridal tents to sleep in the mill since their husbands had gone. "I'm going to find Mary, Rebecca, and the others."
"Be careful, Jennifer," Anna warned, already gathering her children around her.
"I will," Jen said, galloping down the stairs and bolting out the back door toward the mill.
Outside in the dark, the moon had set. Jen could see very little at first. The gunshots were coming closer. She could hear unintelligible shouts from the men and the whinnies of horses, but the fighting seemed to come from the road toward the north. Satisfied that there was little to fear at the moment, Jen raced across the yard to the mill.
The door was bolted. She pounded on it.
"Let me in," she cried. The sound of the fighting was coming closer. She could hear the sound of horses' hooves on the road now. The last thing she wanted was to be caught outside. "Open up. It's Jen. Let me in."
Instantly the door opened and Jen stumbled into the safety of the mill and Mary's arms. Rebecca shut and bolted the door behind her.
"Is everyone okay here?" Jen demanded, regaining her feet and counting the four girls: Mary, Rebecca, Sara, and Amy, each dressed in a long white night rail and hovering around Jen like ghosts in the darkness.
"Yes, we're all right," Rebecca said. The girls nodded in agreement. She seemed to be the natural spokesperson of the group.
But pounding began on the mill door immediately. "Open up," the thwarted raider shouted.
Jen glanced around at the other girls. None of them recognized the voice of the man outside. Between the boards of the cider mill wall, they could see and smell the flames of his torch. Jen could hear firing from the house. Anna and the children were safe, but Jen and the girls had been cut off.
"Come on," the man said. "Your gallant captain is off on a wild-goose chase. Open up."
"There's nothing in here that you want," Jen called. "Just cider."
"I'll be the judge of that," the man said. "Open up or maybe I'll just set the building afire. I have a feeling you're more attached to it than I am."
Jen hesitated. Where was Bennett? Then between the boards, she saw the light of the torch move closer. Smoke drifted into the mill. The light arced downward toward the bottom of the door. Jen gasped. He wouldn't, would he? She stared in fascination as an orange flame licked under the door and up the inside of the wood.
The girls gasped and stepped back.
Jen gulped. According to the official history of Apple Grove House, the mill would not burn down for another thirty years. Another flame appeared licking up higher than the first. Then another.
"All right," Jen cried, unwilling to tempt fate or the Rebels. "We'll open up, but only under a flag of truce."
"Seems to me you don't have much choice about your terms," an eerily familiar voice said.
Jen watched the flames licking up at the bottom of the door. The uncanny feeling she'd met this man before overwhelmed her, but she couldn't imagine how she could ever have met a Confederate raider before. "Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Cutthroat Clive Morrison, missy, and I'm going to burn this place down if you don't open up." Cutthroat Clive emphasized his demands with another blow to the door. It rattled on its hinges. The flames licked higher. "Open up or maybe we'll set fire to the house, too."
Chapter Eight
"No, wait. There are innocent women in here," Jennifer called, unable to take her eyes off the threatening flames at the base of the mill door. She hoped her admission would appeal to any chivalry Cutthroat Clive might still possess.
She heard him mumble something, but the torch was withdrawn and the flames disappeared. A sigh of relief hissed from her and the girls standing behind her in the dark mill.
"Hurry." Jen turned to them. "Get dressed and put your shoes on," she ordered, suddenly aware of how vulnerable and defenseless the ripe young brides would appear to the excited men outside.
Without argument, the girls obeyed. All the time the distant crack of gunfire grew closer. Jen wondered if Bennett was in the midst of the fighting. "Where are the captain and his men?"
"There are the guards in the house. The others are down by the river and a few rode up north with Captain Vance," said Rebecca, the corporal's bride, as she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her bodice.
So Bennett had heeded her warning, Jen thought, relieved to know that, but wondering how the raiders had gotten to the house in spite of him. She heard the thunder of more horses outside. Men shouted and cursed. Someone let out another Rebel war cry. The shout was so near it sent shivers down Jen's back.
"Come on," the raider outside shouted. "Open the door or the bonfire begins."
"All right, hold your horses," Jen called back in her best stick-it-in-your-ear tone of voice. She didn't want the man to think they were intimidated. She glanced around at the girls. "Ready to run for your lives?"
The girls were respectably dressed. In the dark, their faces were pale ovals—eyes big and mouths small with apprehension. But they bravely nodded that they were ready to face the foe.
"Remember, they want the guns, not us," Jen whispered to the girls over her shoulder. "When I say to, go straight to the house and lock up as soon as you are inside."
"What about you?" Rebecca asked.
"I'll join you if I can," Jen said. "But don't wait for me. Understand?"
The girls nodded.
"Mr. Morrison, I'm opening up," Jen called through the door. "But I expect safe passage for the women to the protection of the house."
"Agreed," Morrison said.
Jen threw open the mill door and found herself staring up at a dirty, bearded man. In the torchlight, she had a good view of his face. With a lewd grin on his lips, he raked his gaze up and down her figure, making her feel as if she was undressed—even though she was fully clothed.
He stood a head taller than she, spare and grizzled, a feather in his hat and gun belts crisscrossing his chest. Jen gulped back her fear. He grinned, showing his stained and dark teeth, but in that instant—poor dental hygiene aside—she knew exactly who he reminded her of.
Her fear of the guerrillas vanished. Anger welled up inside of her. Yet irony brought a harsh laugh to her lips. She was staring at the spitting image of Ted Neisen, the theme park developer.
"You scum bag. You greedy-livered dipstick," she spit out, half laughing and half cursing, completely confusing Ted Neisen and Cutthroat Clive Morrison. "You selfish, ritzy old goat. I might have known: Once a villain, always a villain."
His grin froze into a cold glare. "You Yankee women can't keep a genteel tongue in your head. I'm Captain Morrison to you."
He reached for Jen's throat, but the girls grabbed her arms and pulled her beyond his grasp.
Cutthroat Clive charged into the mill after her. But the minute the torchlight fell on the barrels, he seemed to think better of pursuing Jen. Turning away from them, he marched across to the cider barrels. "Sam. In here. Quick."
Another man carrying an ax entered the mill.
"Start over there," Cutthroat Clive ordered, gesturing toward several cider barrels Bennett had just filled that afternoon.
Jen winced as the ax split the barrel end. Fresh cider splattered the mill walls and gushed out, flooding across the wooden floor.
"There isn't anything here, Captain Morrison," Jen said, her eyes telling the girls to keep quiet. 'Just barrels of cider."
Cutthroat Clive grunted and grinned, advancing on the girls again. "Then where are the guns?"
"We don't know anything about guns." Jen pulled away from the girls and stood up to Morrison again. Where in the hell was Bennett? she wondered. Off on a wild-goose chase? Or hurt—lying somewhere wounded, in pain, and without help? Jen's mouth went dry. But protecting the girls was up to her now. "You agreed to let the ladies join Anna Grove in the house," she reminded Morrison.
Cutthroat Clive kicked at the broken barrel, then glared at her again. "Sam, where do you think Vance might have hidden the guns?"
The man with the torch nodded his head toward the outside. "They might have buried them."
"Start searching," Cutthroat Clive shouted with impatience.
The man dashed out the door.
"Now let's get acquainted," Clive said, that lewd grin returning to his face. "Just who are you ladies?"
Rebecca gulped and started babbling despite Jen's frown. "I'm Rebecca Thornton, and this is Mary Roberts. That is Sara Moss and Amy Boland."
"And who is this pretty blond lady?" Cutthroat reached out and tugged on Jen's loose hair.
"That's the captain's wife," Mary blurted.
"No, I'm not," Jen declared.
Rebecca pinched Mary's arm.
"No, she isn't," Mary cried, realizing her mistake too late. "No, oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Vance."
Jen almost groaned at the sound of Bennett's last name. The girls had teased her about her unique married status all week.
Clive turned on Jen, his eyes narrowing with renewed interest "So you're the captain's lady. And he's run off and left you here undefended."
"Vance isn't worried about me," Jen said, actually wishing that he was concerned, at least a little. "And he isn't my husband."
Clive regarded her for a silent moment. "You." He pointed at Rebecca. "You lead the ladies to the house. My men won't bother you. We don't have any argument with Anna Grove and her brood."
Rebecca glanced in Jen's direction as if looking for permission.
"Go," Jen said to the young bride while her gaze held Clive's. She prayed he meant what he said. She knew from her reading that sometimes the Confederate irregulars were surprisingly gallant toward women. Sometimes they were not "Go on. Get out of here."
Without further delay, all four girls ran out the door and turned toward the house. Jen peered out to watch them. None of Cutthroat Clive's men made a move to stop the women. On the back porch, the door opened quickly and the girls disappeared safely inside.
"Now," Clive said, pulling Jen back into the dark depths of the mill. "I just bet you know more about where those guns are than you're owning up to."
"I honestly don't know anything," Jen parried, playing for time now. Bennett and the rest of his men must be somewhere near. Or something was wrong. He took his responsibilities too seriously—and he loved Apple Grove House too much—to have deserted them. "Why would the captain tell me where the guns are? He doesn't trust anybody. I saw the cider barrels filled as we worked. That's how I know there are no guns in them."
She started to add that Bennett thought her a spy but thought better of it. Instead, she added, "If you want to know where the guns are, why don't you ask your spy?"
A malevolent grin suddenly lit Clive's face. "Just what do you know about my spy?"
"Only that there is one," Jen said. "If he told you the guns are here, he must know where they are."
Morrison went to the door and called out to one of his men. "Bring me the sergeant."
"Dunham?" Jen gasped, stunned at the sight of Clive's men dragging the sergeant into the cider mill. His hat was gone and his uniform ripped. His shoulder glistened in the torchlight. She realized Dunham was wounded. A sickening feeling curled in her gut.
If they'd wounded and captured Dunham, what about Bennett? The historical account she'd read claimed nobody died in the raid—she was certain of that. Nor had the account identified the traitor.
"All right, sergeant," Clive said, as soon as his men halted before him. Dunham sagged between the two raiders, held on his feet only by their grip on each arm. "Where are the guns? You sent us a message saying they are here. Where?"
"Where's my pay?" Dunham rasped as he raised his battered head. He seemed little concerned about Jen's presence.
Clive slapped him. "I ain't got the money now. Fess up."
The sergeant's head snapped back, then forward again. But Dunham made no sound.
Jen's neck hurt just at the sight of the violence. She began to ease her way farther back into the shadows, hoping Cutthroat Clive had forgotten her.
Clive stepped up to the sergeant, grabbed the man's hair, and yanked his head up until they stood eye to bleary eye. "Spit out the location or I'll take you out to the orchard and hang you from one of those pretty little trees. You'll dangle there with your toes just touching the ground until you scream it out."
"You'll never be able to get the guns out before Vance gets you," Dunham muttered between swollen lips. "They're buried too deep."
"Getting them out isn't what I'm here to do," Clive said between barred teeth. "Where are they?"
"Clive?" shouted one of the men in the yard. Rifle in hand, he ran up to the door. "Clive, they've spotted troops coming up from the south. And I don't hear any gunfire on the north road either. Vance may have broken through."
Had Bennett been trapped up north? Jen wondered, relieved to think that he was all right.
"I don't have any more time to waste." Clive returned to Dunham and hit him again. The smack echoed throughout the mill. Then he yanked the sergeant's hair once more. "Where, damn it? Where are the guns and ammo buried? You best tell me, traitor, because you ain't going to get nothing for your silence but sorrow."
"Behind the mill," Dunham whimpered. "We dug into the hillside and buried the boxes there."
"All of it is there?" Clive demanded.
"Yes," Dunham said. "Guns and ammunition in the same hole."
Clive stepped back. He made a quick motion with his hand. The men holding Dunham immediately released their prisoner and backed away from him. Before Jen realized what was happening, Clive drew his gun and shot Dunham. The sergeant's body jerked. Then he dropped to the ground like a boneless scarecrow.
Bile rose in Jen's throat and she choked it back. She swayed for a moment in a nightmare world of darkness and guilt. She clutched at her throat. A sob of terror escaped her. Nobody was supposed to die. She had been sure of that. Nobody died in this raid. Was this her fault?
She dashed toward Dunham, daring to believe that he might still be alive, but Clive seized her arm and swung her around to face him.
"Lead the way to the back of the mill, missy," he demanded, his revolver flashing in the torchlight as he slipped it back into his holster. Gripping her by the upper arm he shoved her toward the mill door. "The sergeant don't need your help anymore."
Jen stumbled out of the door and into the night with only Clive's painful grip to steady her. In the yard she could see that the house was shuttered up. On the roof and at the attic windows, she could see the gun barrels of Bennett's four men, who were holding the guerrillas at bay. She was thankful for that. The girls, Anna, and the children were safe in the house.
Morrison gave her another little shove so that she stumbled out into full view of the soldiers in the house. But he held her in front of him.
"Fire on us and you'll hit the captain's lady," Clive shouted to Bennett's men.
The man on the roof waved. "We'll hold our fire as long as you hold yours. Don't you hurt the lady. Captain Vance would take exception."
"I bet he would," Clive called back. Then he twisted one of Jen's arms behind her back and leaned so close she smelled his rotten breath. "Keep me safe, missy."
He pushed her again, but without releasing her. Jen stumbled along toward the back of the mill. Angry and ashamed of being used as a shield, she marched, her head bowed. She racked her brain for a clue about what she should do next. She didn't have a single idea. What's more, she was uncertain about Clive's plan. Was he going to dig up the guns and the ammo and load them on a wagon or what?
At the back of the mill, he stopped to gape at the pyramid of apple baskets next to a towering stack of orange pumpkins. All week, farmers had been arriving with wagonloads of the fall produce to sell to Anna or to ship downriver. If the firearms were buried here, they were under the stack of pumpkins and apple-filled baskets.
Clive cursed aloud. He shoved Jen away from him now that they were out of range of the house.
"Tom, get more shovels. Bill, you and Dave start throwing the pumpkins over there," the determined raider ordered. "Get more men and start moving those apples."
"Yes, sir," Tom said.
Clive turned to another man. "Sam, where are those troops you said were sighted?"
"They're nearing the river," Sam said.
Clive cursed viciously again. "Forget the pumpkins, Bill. Look for loose dirt and dig there. Dave, get the dynamite."
"Yes, sir," Dave said. "It's in my saddlebags."
"Sure would have liked to have these guns," Clive said. "But if we can't have them, the Yankees ain't going to have them either."
Dave disappeared in the direction of the horses being held by the other guerrillas.
In the meantime, another man joined the first two. They were digging hastily at the edge of the apple-basket pyramid. The excavation deepened rapidly. Jen prayed they found nothing, but she was almost certain the guns were there. She remembered the dirt being disturbed just before Bennett's men began to help the farmers unload their harvest onto the ground.
Jen had no idea what Clive planned to do. But if it had to do with dynamite, it wasn't going to be good for Apple Grove House or the people in it or Bennett.
"Why wouldn't they bury the arms down by the river?" Jen said, trying to gain time. "Do you have men looking down there?"
Clive cast her a skeptical glance. "I believe Dunham. Enlisted Yankees don't have enough imagination to be good liars."
A shout from the direction of the digging distracted Clive.
"We hit something, Clive," one of the men said. "A wood box. This has got to be it."
"Let me see." Clive charged off in their direction and jumped down into the hole they had already dug.
Now was her chance to run to the house and gain safety. But if she did she'd never know what they were doing or what Clive planned. Jen turned toward the river for a glimpse of the troops Clive's men had said were on the way, but she saw nothing.
"Wire it," Clive shouted, climbing out of the hole. "Do it quick."
Jen saw Dave jump down into the pit. He carried a saddlebag over his shoulder. Then she understood. They were going to dynamite the guns and ammo. They were going to blow everything up—maybe even the cider mill and Apple Grove House.
She stood frozen, frantically searching her brain for a way to stop this madness. She started to go back to the mill for a shovel. Around her commands were shouted. Clive's men began to come out of hiding and find their horses. The raiders were preparing to make their getaway.
When Jen turned back toward the hole, she could see the four men's hats bobbing as they worked at whatever had to be done to make the explosion happen. Hesitant at first, then with growing determination, Jen raced to the hole. When she reached the edge, the men began to climb out, shoving her aside and scrambling as if their lives were threatened.
Clive grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the pit with him. "Now, you don't want to be anywhere near this place in a minute or two, missy."
Jen tried to resist him, but his grip was so firm he almost lifted her off the ground. She tiptoed along beside him, deciding perhaps it was better to waylay his suspicions by seeming to do what he said.
"Now, Clive?" Dave called by the time Jen and Clive had almost reached the lower corner of the mill. "You want me to light it now?"
Clive turned, swinging Jen around with him. She had a plain view of Dave standing with a torch in one hand and a long string she realized was a fuse in his other.
"Now, Dave. Light it now and let's get the hell out of here." Clive shoved Jen in the direction of the house. Suddenly she could hear the sound of galloping horses and of gunshots growing nearer.
Clive released her and mounted the big black horse Tom had brought up for him. "Give the captain a kiss for me, missy."
Then he reined his horse around and spurred it down the lane. His rabble of men followed, dust flying, hooves thundering, and torches glowing bloodred against the night sky.
Jen never spared the retreating raiders a second look. She hiked her skirts up above her knees and raced up the hill. Every step of the way she searched the darkness for the burning fuse. If she was quick enough, she could do it. She could do it. She could save the mill.
At the edge of the pit, she halted. For a moment, she still did not spot it. All she saw was the corner of an ammo box jutting out of the dirt. Then sparks flashed against the darkness. She could hear the soft sputter of the gunpowder flaming its way closer and closer to the ammo box.
"Shoot!" Desperate, she scrambled into the hole, stepping over the edge, sliding down on her bottom, and ruining her shoes. But she paid no heed to the damage. Her feet-first plunge had sent soil flying. Without the torches, the hole was inky blackness. The fuse disappeared. Where was it? In the dirt? Under her? She scrambled to her knees, her fingers searching through the dirt. Nothing.
But now she could hear the fuse burning. Panic clutched at her heart. Fingers spread, she sifted through the dirt, again and again. But no fuse.
Then something thumped her soundly on the back of the head. She glanced up over her shoulder in time to see a basket of apples from the pyramid above, descending on her. She ducked, but was inundated by an avalanche of fruit. But she kept digging. Apples pummeled on her back, but she refused to be deterred.
"I will find it," she muttered over and over. She reached for the edge of the box. Time was growing short. She ignored the apples pounding down on her. "I will find it. I will."
"Jennifer?" Bennett's voice reached her in the darkness. "What the hell?"
Relief rushed through her. She had no idea where he had come from, but she needed his help. "The fuse," she shouted. "I've got to pull the fuse. But it's so dark. And the apples. It's here somewhere."
Suddenly the pit was crowded with Bennett's solid body. Immediately the pounding of apples against her back ceased as he sheltered her from the onslaught.
"Get out of here," he ordered, pulling at her shoulders.
"No. I can find it," she insisted. Still, she groped. Then she felt it. Tight and sharp against her palm. The fire stung her, but she didn't care.
"I've got it," she cried in victory. With all her might, she hauled back on the fuse, throwing herself against Bennett and yanking the burning fuse free of the ammo box. The sparks sputtered in her hands, then died.
Jen released a long slow breath and collapsed into the bottom of the pit.
Bennett's arms surrounded her and she felt his lips against her temple.
"I did it," she whooped, elated and exhausted all at once. "I did it. I saved the cider mill. We're going to be okay." Then she remembered where she was and whose arms were surrounding her. Her head came up so quickly that she caught his chin.
With a groan, he released her and rubbed his jaw.
She leaned back against the dirt wall of the pit and regarded him with pure indignation. "Where in the hell have you been?"
Chapter Nine
"You were right about Morrison's raiders attacking from the north." Bennett unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off as he prepared to wash. Just enough light streamed through the kitchen window onto the porch for Jen to admire the contours of his muscular chest and robust biceps. Perched on a stool with a fresh towel in her hands, she was eager to find out just what had happened, but she didn't mind enjoying this intimate view of Bennett either.
She'd already bathed and then helped Anna settle the brides on pallets in the parlor. The girls were remarkably calm after the raiders' attack, but none wanted to return to the mill for the remainder of the night.
Bennett had already met with the major of the troops from Fort Scott and together they had posted additional sentries for the rest of the night, though no one expected Cutefroat Clive to return. The household was settling down to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn.
Bennett reached for the cake of soap on the washstand and began to lather his face and arms. Jen watched, hypnotized by the rivulets of soapy water trailing over his collarbone, down his bare chest, and dripping from his dark curly chest hair. She sighed and licked her lips. His maleness never failed to thrill her.
"I won't ask you how you knew the attack would come from the north," Bennett continued, scrubbing behind his ears and down the back of his neck like a schoolboy, unaware of his fascinated audience. "I don't think I want to know. But on the chance you were right, I rode north with several men. We practically rode right into Morrison. We were outnumbered and they pinned us down for longer than I'd expected. But if we hadn't been up there and run into them, Morrison would have taken us by surprise in our beds."
"Do you still think I'm a spy?" Jen asked, her back straightening with pride.
"You are not a spy," he admitted, pausing long enough to meet her gaze, honestly, openly.
A smile of relief crept across Jen's lips. His expression was the closest thing to an apology she'd get from him, she suspected. But she was satisfied.
He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto his face. "Dunham is going to pay for what he did."
"I can't believe he's still alive," Jen said with a shudder. The sight of seeing a man—even a spy—shot before her eyes had left her chilled and shaken. It reminded her that things could have turned out much worse. "I thought Dunham was dead for sure when Clive fired at him."
"It's a bad wound, but Anna thinks he'll live," Bennett said, reaching for the towel. "It was probably dark and Morrison was hurried and careless. All to Dunham's benefit."
"But when I saw him lying there and thought he was dead," Jen said with a shiver, "I thought it was my fault I thought I'd changed history somehow."
Bennett paused, the towel in his hand, and water dripping from his strong jaw. He studied her for a long, significant moment, his eyes narrowing. "You're not going to give up on this time thing, are you?"
"Whatever made you think I would?" Jen asked, realizing that she might be cleared of espionage, but Bennett didn't necessarily believe everything she claimed.
Bennett put the towel to his face and continued. "And Will Johnson will face charges for leaving his post"
"Will? He was just trying to defend the house," Jen protested, shocked that Bennett would be so harsh on the young guard, who had unwittingly allowed her to escape. "It was chaos around here, Bennett. There was no way that poor boy was going to keep me in that room when I could hear the shooting outside. You can't hold him responsible for what happened."
"If he'd been where he should have been, you wouldn't have been held hostage by Morrison or have crawled down into that pit after the dynamite fuse." His voice had become harsh with anger. "You could have been killed, Jennifer."
Shocked by his vehemence, Jen stared at him. "Bennett, we all could have been killed. There was nothing special about my particular circumstances."
He lowered the towel and glared at her as though he wanted to argue more, but thought better of it. "If you'd been in the house under guard as I'd ordered, everything would have been different."
"If I'd been in the house where you wanted me, the cider mill would have been blown to smithereens," Jen replied, annoyed with his refusal to recognize her help.  "Your precious guns would be mangled and there would be no ammunition."
He glared at her a moment longer, as if she were a willful child who was not to be reasoned with. He threw aside the towel and reached for the clean shirt she held for him.
"There was nothing I could have done for Dunham," Jen said, mentally reviewing events. "But you've got to admit that I saved your guns and I did save the mill."
"You did save the mill," he agreed, as he pulled on the fresh shirt and began to button it without looking at her. "But you took a terrible risk."
"You take risks every day," Jen said.
"I'm a soldier and that's my job," Bennett said, his eyes flashing with anger again.
"And is your job to protect me?" Jen snapped though she was amused by his old-fashioned male protectiveness— and a bit touched by it, too.
"Is there something wrong with that?" Bennett snapped back, clearly offended.
"Nothing, except it's ridiculous." Jen said, becoming offended also. "Especially when I remember that you thought me a spy only twenty-four hours ago."
"I thought you might be dead only an hour ago," Bennett threw back, his voice low and husky. He met her gaze again. The pain in it astonished Jen. "And I didn't like the feeling."
Instantly she recalled her desolation when she thought of him hurt somewhere along the road and she couldn't get to him. She whispered, "I was afraid for you too."
"Jennifer." Bennett knelt down on one knee and took her hand. He held it firmly as he spoke, his head bowed over their clasped hands.
Jen stared down at the top of his head, his dark hair still wet and mussed.
"I can't begin to tell you how I almost panicked when I realized Cutthroat Clive and his men had managed to pin us down and skirt around us," Bennett said. "I knew he was here at the house. I didn't give a damn what happened to Apple Grove House or the guns and ammunition. All I could think of was you. I should have known you weren't the spy. I knew you'd talk back to Morrison. I knew he'd threaten you if he fancied you were my wife."
"Everything turned out all right," Jen reassured him, the depth of his words almost bringing tears to her eyes. She touched the top of his head gently, his hair warm and coarse between her fingers. "I was afraid for you, too. I knew how this raid was supposed to turn out, but I couldn't be sure . . . and I thought if you had . . . Oh, Bennett."
He turned his face up to hers. She bent over him, longing to brush her lips against his, this time with the passion his lips had promised earlier at the spring.
"Well, you two," announced Anna, emerging from the kitchen with a coal-oil lamp in her hand. "I have a full house."
Jen withdrew her hand. Bennett sprang to his feet.
"I've got Sergeant Dunham on a cot in the kitchen," Anna said, a smile of indulgence on her lips. "I'll watch over him during the rest of the night. The new troopers are bunking on the porch, Captain. So you've lost your cot out there. Unless you want to sleep with the snoring enlisted men when you have a perfectly lovely wife in a bed upstairs."
At the suggestion, Jen and Bennett stared at each other.
A blush stung Jen's cheeks. She prayed it wasn't evident in the dim light. But the idea of spending the night in Bennett's arms didn't trouble her one bit. But what did he think? Apologizing for drinking that she was the spy was importanL But it was hardly a declaration of love. She turned away, fearing that he would see the eagerness in her eyes.
Bennett shook his head. "Anna, you know that was a proxy wedding."
Anna laughed. "Only if there is a husband to show up and fill your place. And I sure haven't seen anyone. Is there someone in that room up there that we don't know about, Jennifer?"
"No, of course not," Jennifer said, but she would not pressure Bennett into sharing a room with her. "Perhaps I could sleep in the children's room or with the girls in the parlor so the captain can have a good bed for the night."
"No, no need for that," Bennett said, suddenly restless and moving away from Jen. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."
"Of course," Jen stammered, baffled by what he might intend.
"Here's a lamp to take up to your room," Anna said.
Bennett accepted it. Then he took Jen's hand and led her into the house.
Upstairs Jen stood in the middle of the tiny room, while Bennett closed the door behind them. Without saying anything, he set the lamp on the table and blew it out.
"We can make a pallet for me to sleep on the floor," Jen offered hastily. After all, the man had not said that he wanted to share a bed with her.
Jen watched him make his way across the room toward the bed and sink down on the edge of it His shadow was barely discernible against the others in the room. He reached out, pulling her down beside him.
"Why worry about a pallet when we have a perfectly good bed right here," he said. "After tonight, I'm not entrusting you to another guard or a lonely bed."
Relief flooded through Jen. "That works for me."
He bent his head down over hers. His beard was rough against her temple. Eager to feel his warmth, to have some hint of the expression on his face, she inched her hand up his chest to touch his face. Her finger lightly grazed his lips.
He moaned. The sound rumbled from deep inside him, a faraway sound. Possessively he drew her against his chest. She could feel the solid beating of his heart. He held her there for several heartbeats. Then he tilted her head back. Jen allowed her head to fall back in wanton invitation. His mouth descended on her throat, trailing hot kisses upward along her jaw and to her mouth. Jen gave herself up to the power of the passion.
He paused when he reached her mouth; then his lips parted. His tongue delved into the most intimate depths of her, exploring secret places, stroking with feverish heat. Jen clung to him, her senses humming deliciously. The kiss went on, gaining in ardor with each sweep of his tongue until she thought she had no existence, no being beyond this sweet moment in time.
Suddenly he released her. She gasped for breath and a chill swept over her. Only the warmth of his hand soaked into her bare shoulder. She realized that somehow Bennett had slipped her dress and her bra straps from her shoulder. He bared her breast and lowered her to the pillow. A moan escaped her as his hands brushed over her nakedness, molding his fingers to her shape. His thumbs grazed her nipples, teasing them to aching peaks. Then he lowered his head to her. The hot wash of his tongue tugged at her, a torturous caress, delivered with agonizing slowness that left her mindless.
She longed to hold him against her, but she couldn't because he had pinned her arms to her sides. Her blood pumped hot and quick through her veins, but she had neither the strength nor the will to move against his restraint. Under his mouth, her breast swelled and grew heavy.
When he eased himself on top of her, she welcomed his weight. His lips found hers again. His tongue stole into her mouth, but gently this time, a cunning intruder. He was delicious: apples, leather, and soap; heat and passion.
"Have you been wanting me as much as I've wanted you?" Bennett breathed into her ear, his tongue teasing her lobe.
"Yes, oh, yes," she whispered. "From the moment I saw you."
"And to think we've wasted all this time," his said, his voice full of amused regret. He sat up briefly, stripping off his shirt. Jen heard the clang of his metal belt buckle being unfastened, then watched his dark outline as he stood long enough to step out of his trousers.
Then he was with her on the bed again, his skin warm against hers. His hands slipped downward, encouraging her to raise her hips and allow him to slip her dress, petticoats, and panties off. Suddenly she was naked and vulnerable beneath him. But his touch was tender. Every contact with him sent fiery thrills through her body—even his kiss brushed along her collarbone and tingled in her toes. She gasped when his hair tickled her belly. When his tongue warmed her navel, she arched against him, longing for more. He did not disappoint her. He touched every part of her, even the secret parts, encouraging her to open for him so he could kiss the insides of her thighs.
The endearments he whispered made her feel sexy and loved. When he opened his hand over her mound, she pressed against him again, relishing and cherishing the slow, circling caress that consumed her in a fiery sweetness.
Gentle, investigative fingers stroked her, drawing surprising wetness from her depths and bringing swirling pleasure to her belly. And the overwhelming desire to find her completeness by holding him inside her grew and morphed into a need so strong she ached for him.
She reached for him, tugging gently on his hair and drawing him to her mouth again. He released her arms and kissed her briefly before he covered her—completely this time.
Penetration was slow and sweet. She savored it. The sweetness of it made her sigh. She moved with him, rocking. With a final thrust, the exhilaration of his steely manhood buried tightly inside her snatched away her breath.
Weak and supple in the glow of her pleasure, she let him gather her beneath him, positioning her for comfort and the utmost sensation. Random kisses fell on her throat, her face, her breasts, burning against her skin. She reveled in their heat.
She lost herself in the rhythm that rocked their bodies together in oneness. His strokes were sure and deep, slow at first, deliciously erotic. Then their rhythm gathered momentum. Sweet demand urged Jen on, seeking the completion she knew he could give her. Suddenly the spiral wound tight inside her burst free.
Jen cried out softly. Her body convulsed. Waves of glorious release swept over her, again and again. She thought it would never end. She prayed it would never end. Her life would forever soar at this pinnacle of pleasure. Then, slowly, it slipped away. She gasped for breath. Bennett's voice reached her, tender and reassuring.
His body tensed. He groaned, his breath hot against her ear. He whispered her name. Against the walls of her womb, she felt each eruption of his love. Replete, but greedy, her body fused around him.
They remained locked in each other's arms for a long time. Jen even fell asleep, then awoke when he moved to her side. He gathered her up in his arms and both fell asleep with his lips pressed against her shoulder.
They awoke just as the watery light of dawn crept between the slats of the shutters. They made love again. No words. Slow, sweet, and tender caresses. Incredible pleasure. Where had Bennett been all her life?
Jen awoke. Her eyes snapped open, but she did not move. She did not want to disturb Bennett. She did not want to lose the pleasure of his arm lying heavy across her waist and his knee inserted between hers.
"Zach Schuster comes back today with his camera," Bennett said without opening his eyes.
"I know," Jen said, surprised that he was awake.
"That's what you've been waiting for all week," he said, still without moving.
"Yes, well, I know now that the danger is over here." Jen closed her eyes and longed for their lovemaking to have changed the world as it had changed her heart, her life. "But where I came from the danger still exists. I think."
She opened her eyes and a small laugh escaped her. "I have seen the enemy and he's a Confederate raider. Wouldn't Ted Neisen love that? But I'm sure he'd trade in the ammo belts for something more dapper, like a uniform with shiny buttons and gold epaulettes."
Bennett opened his eyes at last. He regarded her solemnly, the hazel of his eyes dark, soft, curious. "What are you afraid this Ted is going to do to Apple Grove House?"
"He will turn it into a gift shop full of Beanie Babies, coffee mugs, baseball caps, and gummy bears," Jen said.
"Beanie Babies?" He raised a questioning brow and smiled. "As bad as that?"
"Never mind. You have no idea," Jen said as her frustration with Ted Neisen took shape in her head once again. "He's not going to destroy the house per se. Not at first anyway. He's just going to destroy the essence of Apple Grove House. The tradition of understanding our heritage will disappear. The pleasure of savoring the smells and the joy of working in an orchard and being close to the land. The satisfaction of learning how to make good use of what is at hand. I suppose if you've been shot at and about blown away by dynamite, the house being turned into a shop doesn't seem like such a terrible fate."
Outside the rooster crowed and the bugler sounded reveille, but still Bennett did not move. "You know what else will be on that steamboat today?" he asked with closed eyes again.
Jen rose on her elbow so she could see his face, so she could admire that strong jaw with the dark overnight dusting of a beard on it. "What?"
"My mustering-out papers."
Jen hesitated. She wasn't certain what he was talking about.
"My discharge papers," Bennett explained. "Believe it or not, this country is willing to be shed of me, even during a war."
Insulted on his behalf, Jen sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. "But why?"
"I've served my time," Bennett said, still without moving. "I could reenlist, but I've had my fill of the army and its arrogant officers. I've risked my life and spilled my blood once for this country in the Mexican War."
Jen stroked the long scar on his thigh, wishing she could have been there to help him.
"I have nothing to prove to the military anymore. I'd rather stay here, near Apple Grove House, or go west."
"Don't you have family or someone in Pennsylvania?" Jennifer asked, troubled by the thought that he was so alone in this world.
"No. At least no one close," Bennett said. "My brothers took over the family farm, and they are busy with their own families. There's no one who would be glad to see me."
"Then come with me," Jen suggested softly, almost unwilling to believe how perfect the solution was. Bennett Vance was just what Apple Grove House needed. He was just what she needed. "Come back to 1999 with me."
Chapter Ten
Bennett opened his eyes at last to look at the first woman he'd ever loved enough to spend the rest of his life with. Everything that had happened to him before—the first courtship, the marriage, the divorce—that had all been youthful folly. But Jennifer was the real thing. At last he understood that funny old saying married folks used about their better half. The feeling defied logic, but he knew Jennifer was his.
Strange how she'd appeared at this turning point in his life. It was as if the army had been taken away and Jennifer given to him instead. The thought of parting from her was distinctly unpleasant—almost frightening. But she had this crazy notion. "Jennifer, what you are telling me about yourself and time is impossible. Surely you understand that."
"I would have said the same myself a week ago," she said, sitting in the middle of the bed with the sheets gathered close. Excitement lighted her oval face and womanly satisfaction glowed in her cheeks. Her golden hair hung over her shoulder and drew his gaze toward the sheet pressed to her breasts. Bennett took a deep breath to still the desire that stirred in him. Reveille had been called, but he wanted to pull her down into bed with him again. Duty be damned. He reached for her.
"Bennett, listen." She grinned that vital grin of hers and playfully swatted his hand away. "Now think about it. There is something about this place that allows for weird things to happen in time. It has to do with cameras. But besides that, think! If you were with me in my time, we could save Apple Grove House from becoming another side show at an amusement park. We'd get the cider mill to produce a drink that would bring people from all over Kansas to buy it. Maybe we could start a restaurant and expand the craft festivals. Halloween events. A Thanksgiving connection. Private parties. Hayrides."
She was gazing off into space, spinning plans for things he barely understood. "We'll find quilters and wood carvers. A blacksmith. That would be good and a ferrier so the kids could see him shoe a horse. I never knew there was a difference between a blacksmith and a ferrier until I came here. We'll make coming to Apple Grove House a trip back into time for the whole family. A journey to meet our heritage."
Pleased with her own ideas, she grabbed Bennett's arm and attempted to shake him. "Bennett, you have to come with me."
Bennett freed himself from her grip and laid his forearm across his eyes. She had a valid point when she brought up the camera and the light. "What troubles me is I almost understand what you're saying."
"Then why the hesitation?" she asked, her winged brows crowded together in puzzlement. "You don't have any obligations here. Get your mustering whatever papers and come with me."
"Jennifer." Bennett shook his head. "Even if the time thing is true, what makes you think Zach Schuster's camera can do it this time when it couldn't before?"
The light went out of Jennifer's brown eyes and the joy vanished from her face.
Bennett muttered a curse but went on. "Think this through. Even if you could stand up in front of Schuster's camera and the magnesium light again and it does flash you back to where you came from, what makes you think I could do it, too? What if the light only takes one of us?"
"I don't know." She frowned in confusion. "I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I know. But it's the only explanation I have. And why wouldn't it work for you, too?"
"I don't know how or why it happened in the first place," Bennett said, as unhappy with the prospect as she appeared to be. "You've got to admit there are a lot of unknowns here."
"I never thought of the limitations." Jennifer shook her head. "No, no. Don't even think that you can't come with me."
"But it is a possibility we would have to consider. We could stand in front of that camera and be parted forever."
"Bennett, I have to go back," Jennifer said. "I don't know what to expect when we get back. Lord, I wonder if my sister Jessica has reported me missing. Old Ted Neisen is probably rubbing his hands together in delight. With no opposition, he has probably ordered his theme park engineers and banking team to move full speed ahead. He probably has a groundbreaking scheduled."
It was a crazy story—an amusement park and a highhanded land developer—but Bennett had come to almost accept it himself—because Jennifer so sincerely believed it, if for no other reason. "You're Neisen's only opposition?" Bennett asked.
"There are others," Jennifer said. "But none of them have the resources to pull things together like I've done. The media, the fund-raising, the support from celebrity names. Saving Apple Grove House in 1999 isn't going to be as easy as pulling a fuse off a couple of sticks of dynamite."
Bennett closed his eyes against the heart-stopping vision of Jennifer turning to him with the explosives in one hand and the broken fuse in the other. Everything could have ended in that one moment, but it hadn't. It hadn't. "So you think I can help by making cider in 1999."
"Oh, yeah, and by posing for some of the publicity," Jennifer said, a curious smile returning to her face. "There won't be a woman in Kansas City who will be able to resist those good looks of yours."
Bennett laughed, surprised by how easy it was to banter with her. "You can't win me over with flattery."
"I'll win you anyway I can, Captain." Jennifer leaned nearer and kissed him on the nose. "Come with me. Come with me and I'll show you the wonders of the future," she pleaded.
"Jennifer, if I go with you, assuming this moving in time is possible as you claim, it won't be to see the wonders of the future," Bennett said, finally getting to the point that troubled him most.
She sobered. "What then?"
Bennett took a deep breath. He'd confessed his feelings once before to a woman—to his first wife—and he'd been sorry. Painfully sorry. "Jennifer, if I stand in front of the camera, if we make the attempt to go back to where you came from, it will be because we love each other."
"Is any other reason acceptable?" she asked lightly, then leaned close once more. There was no mistaking the love shining in her velvet brown eyes. "I do love you, Captain Vance. I don't know where you've been all my life or how I got here to meet you. But I love you. If you want, if doing what I ask seems too crazy— Heavens, I can't believe I'm saying this." She paused to take a deep breath and she touched his face, cupping his chin in her hands. "But I mean every word, Bennett. If you want, I'll stay here with you."
His heart lurched. He closed his eyes and kissed the thumb that pressed against his mouth. / must be crazy, he told himself, but he smiled. Then he whispered against the warm pads of her fingers, "Sweetheart, I suppose you want me to wear my dress uniform for the photograph?"
"Oh, yes," she whispered as she leaned nearer and pulled the sheet away from between their naked bodies. "Wear your dress uniform and your hat with that glorious big plume."
******************
"Now, I can't promise anything," Zach Schuster said for the third time as he steadied one of the legs of the wooden tripod that held the huge box camera. At his side, Bob, his apprentice, stood ready with the light-making machine. In front of the camera, Jen and Bennett stood posed against the hallway wall.
Jen was dressed in her wedding gown, with her hair up, and her veil on, just as she had been a week ago. Her white stockings were beyond repair, but Anna had loaned her a pair that would do. She'd brushed her stained shoes to make them presentable. They hardly qualified. But they'd have to do. All she cared about at the moment was that Bennett was beside her.
He looked fabulous in his uniform with his hair brushed back and his hat set rakishly at an angle. His mustering-out papers were signed and tucked into his pocket. His discharge was official and he was holding her hand, their fingers intertwined. Whatever happened, they were going to face it together. That was all that mattered.
"I may have no more luck getting a photograph this session than we had last week," Zach Schuster continued. "You can never tell here at Apple Grove House. Nobody has ever been able to explain why photography is so difficult here." He glanced in Anna's direction. "No offense, Mrs. Grove, but some photographers think there's some kind of Indian curse on the place."
Anna chuckled. "The Indians dunk photography is some kind of white man's curse."
"Can we just get on with it, Mr. Schuster?" Bennett said, squeezing Jen's hand. She didn't blame him for being apprehensive about what was about to happen. She had no idea what to expect either.
"Certainly, Captain," the photographer said. "Bob, light the machine."
"Yes, sir," the boy said, striking a match and putting it to the wire feeding from a wheel over a tray. A flame sizzled into brightness, then glowed unsteadily.
"Now, remember," Schuster called from under the black camera cape. "Don't move for twenty seconds from the time I tell you."
"Okay," Jen said, drawing in a deep breath and praying that this was going to work. Beside her, she felt Bennett tense. She reached for his hand. He accepted hers, his grip tight and resolute. Time would have to rip them apart, but Jen prayed silently that they would not lose each other, whatever was to come.
Anna stepped forward. "Wait, Jen, do you want your wedding bouquet? I know it doesn't look pretty like a fresh one, but a bride should have her flowers in her picture."
Jen started. She wanted her bouquet. Even if it was dried and crumbling, the fresh beauty of it gone forever, the memories would still cling to it.
"Too late, Mrs. Grove," Schuster said as he snatched the cover from the camera lens. "The light is burning and we are exposing the plate. Don't move. Four. Five. Six ..."
Jen stiffened and held her breath. Bennett squeezed her hand.
The magnesium wire sputtered; the light wavered. Jen thought it was about to go out. But it continued to burn, sputtering, then flaring. She held her breath and kept her gaze on the camera lens. She didn't know what else to do to make this work. Bennett's hand still gripped hers. A sudden pop cracked from the light machine. Then a white light washed all images out of Jen's vision.
******************
Joey stared at the camera lying on the floor in the parlor corner, where he'd thrown it only twenty minutes earlier. He'd come back to the parlor to see if Aunt Jen might have come back somehow. His mom was so upset about being unable to find her that Joey knew there was going to be trouble if he didn't do something fast. But the parlor was empty. Aunt Jen still wasn't here.
Outside, the video camera crew was everywhere taking pictures. That Kelly lady said the cameras were working now. The wedding guests were already eating and drinking. Mom had given them the go-ahead. Joey pouted. Earlier she'd told him he couldn't have anything until after the ceremony.
"Just a slight delay," she'd explained to the guests and given them that polite smile of hers. "Nothing serious."
Then she'd turned away, frantically searching through the house, the cider mill, and even the caterer's van—but no Aunt Jen. She'd finally told Dad. When she had, her face was white and all worked up as if she was going to cry—Joey had never seen his mom cry. That was when he really got scared. That was when he knew he had to do something.
In the parlor, Joey looked around to be certain that no one was watching him. All the grown-ups, except for his mom and dad, were at the food table or at the fancy cider fountain, drinking like fish. Slowly Joey bent to pick up the camera.
It was cool to his touch. In his hands, it appeared just as innocent as it had before Aunt Jen had disappeared in its flash. Joey turned it over again. Nothing about it seemed strange or weird. It didn't glow or hum or throb like weird things did in the movies or on TV. It just looked like an ordinary camera, like all the other ones on the guest tables.
When he'd been outside he'd watched that Ted guy whom Mom and Aunt Jen didn't like pick up a camera just like this one and aim it at some of the guests. Joey had waited with his heart in his throat as Ted aimed it at the smiling people. Joey had almost hollered, "Wait, don't do that." But he hadn't. He wanted to see what happened. The people pressed together with glasses raised and toothy grins. Flash.
Not a one of them had disappeared. Joey frowned. They were still there, eating all the cheese puffs—his favorite— and talking too loud as grown-ups did when they'd been drinking.
No one had left. No one had disappeared. They were all still waiting for Aunt Jen and that Brad guy to show up so Reverend Gleeson could marry them.
Joey knew he had to do something. Aunt Jen would be so disappointed to have missed her own wedding. And he couldn't bear to see his mother so upset. Hesitantly he walked to the spot where he'd stood when he took the picture. Raising the camera to his right eye, he peered through the viewfinder at the mantel, where Aunt Jen had been standing. He remembered that the brown flowers in the glass dome thing had been in the frame. He adjusted the view so he could see the dried thing inside the picture box.
"Well, here goes," he muttered to himself. Taking a deep breath to steel himself against the explosion of light, he clicked the button. A flash. The camera made a sound as if taking a normal picture, then . . .
Nothing. The parlor remained empty.
"Shoot," Joey grumbled, examining the camera in his hands again. Then he put it to his ear, listening carefully. "Shoot and double shoot. Are you in there, Aunt Jen? I'm trying to get you out."
But the camera gave no hint that Aunt Jen might be inside.
"Okay, I'll give it three tries," Joey said. "That was one. . . ."
"Joey? What are you doing?"
He whipped around to see his mother standing in the parlor doorway. "I'm just taking some pictures of Aunt Jen's favorite room."
"Okay," Mom said, glancing down the hallway and out the door at the wedding guests. "You haven't seen her, have you?"
Joey shook his head.
"If you do, you tell her to see me right away," Mom said.
"Sure, Mom."
When she was gone, Joey aimed the camera at the mantel. "Please, Aunt Jen. Come back. Pleeease."
Click. No flash. Nothing.
"Oooh," Joey cried in frustration. He glared at the camera again, wondering if there was a special button to push—a setting—to make people who'd disappeared come back. All he saw was the little light that told him the camera was ready to take another picture. A terrifying thought descended on him. What if Aunt Jen never came back? Impossible. He looked at the little window and saw that there were three more pictures to take. Surely that meant he still had a chance to bring her back. "Okay, I'll do this until she comes back. This has got to work."
He braced his feet on the very spot where he'd first photographed Aunt Jen, put the camera to his eye, adjusted the viewfinder so that he saw it was exactly the same picture frame as before. He snapped the button twice more. Nothing. Only one picture left.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered and clicked the button for the last time.
Poof! The room went bright white.
Chapter Eleven
Joey dropped the camera and tried to shield his eyes from the blinding light. It almost hurt, just like before when Aunt Jen had disappeared. And there was no sound.
"Aunt Jen?" he called, his hands pressed against his eyes, leaving him still unable to see. "Aunt Jen? Are you back?"
"Joey?" a strange, faraway voice called.
Joey froze, uncertain that it sounded like Aunt Jen.
"Joey, is that you?" Closer this time. And sounding more like her. It had to be Aunt Jen.
Suddenly tears filled his eyes. Arms wide, he stumbled in the direction of her voice. When he encountered a set of legs, he wrapped his arms around them and pressed his cheek against the warm, firm thigh. "Oh, Aunt Jen. I'm so glad to see you. Where have you been? Mom is looking for you. And she's so upset."
"Uh, son?" questioned a deep voice.
A big hand descended on Joey's head. He opened his eyes to see blue cloth and black boots. Not Aunt Jen's white satin skirt.
Instantly he released the leg and stumbled backward, staring upward. "Who . .. ?"
Before him stood the neatest soldier with a wide-brim hat and a plume. Shiny brass buttons gleamed down the front of his blue coat, and a long silvery saber hung from the red sash at his waist.
"Cool," uttered Joey, impressed. "Who are you?"
"We made it," Aunt Jen cried, throwing herself into the soldier's arms. "I told you we would."
The soldier laughed, hugging Aunt Jen to him as if he knew her real well. "We made it, just like you told me," he repeated, then kissed Aunt Jen—a big smack right on her lips. Then they grinned at each other like smoochy grown-ups.
"Where have you been, Aunt Jen?" Joey demanded, tugging on her skirt and feeling a little betrayed. Obviously she'd been off having a good time somewhere.
Aunt Jen whirled around and looked down at him. She smiled that warm smile Joey knew was meant for him. "Joey, you're still here at Apple Grove House?"
He grinned back. "I'm glad you came back, but who is he?"
"This is Captain Bennett Vance," Aunt Jen said. She was standing with her arm tucked around the captain's. "Captain, my nephew, Joey."
"Hello, sir," Joey said. Inspired by the distinguished uniform, he stood up straight at what he thought was attention and saluted the captain. With all due gravity, the captain saluted back. Joey grinned. The stern-faced soldier grinned back at him. Joey liked the captain.
"What's going on?" Aunt Jen said, looking around the parlor as if she'd not seen it for a long time. "It doesn't look like Ted Neisen has done anything to the house yet."
"Mom is in a panic about you disappearing," Joey said, wondering about the strange look of surprise in Aunt Jen's eyes. She would clear everything with Mom, wouldn't she? "Where'd you go?"
"A long way away, but I'm back now." Aunt Jen turned back to him and smiled as if she was really glad to see him. "Have I been gone long, Joey? Did your Mom notify the police?"
"No, not yet," Joey said, looking from Aunt Jen to the captain. They were acting really strange. "She's trying to keep the wedding guests happy. But if we don't tell her you're back soon, Reverend Gleeson will leave. Then she'll be really mad and there won't be any wedding."
"Joey, do you mean it's still my wedding day?" Aunt Jen asked, her eyes wide and her voice breathless.
Joey shrugged. "Well, what other day would it be?"
"Is it possible that I lived a week in 1863, but no time passed here in the present?" Jen exclaimed, unable to believe that her wedding guests still awaited her outside. She glanced at Bennett
"I don't know. I just arrived here," said Bennett, who was looking around the parlor, his hand still holding hers fast. "How can you tell this isn't 1863?"
"Joey is here and there's a phone on the wall," Jen said, just as she noted that Joey was looking at her as if she was crazy.
"Mom is about to have a cow because the ceremony is going to be late and all the guests are already eating the food and Brad hasn't shown up. Reverend Gleeson said he has to leave soon, because he has another wedding today. Dad was trying to calm her down. We better go find her."
"Poor Jessica," Jen said, knowing her sister would expect a good explanation. "She must be frantic. What did she say when you told her the camera made me disappear?"
Guilt clouded Joey's face. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and toed some invisible speck on the floor. "I didn't tell her I made you disappear." His head came up. "I didn't mean to do it, Aunt Jen. The camera just—"
Moved by his confession, Jen reached out and touched Joey's cheek. "I know you didn't, Joey. It's okay. You don't have to say anything to your mother. I understand. We're here now, Captain Vance and I. Let's keep this our little secret for now."
His sweet freckled face brightened. "And we'll still have the wedding? I'll still walk down the aisle with the ring? See. I've got it here."
To Jen's astonishment, he pulled the wedding ring out of his pocket. The circle of diamonds she'd chosen for Brad to put on her finger glittered in the autumn sunlight falling through the windows.
"How did you get that?" she exclaimed, hardly aware of the sudden squeeze Bennett gave her hand. "Jessica wasn't supposed to give it to you until just before the music starts."
A devilish grin spread across Joey's face. "Oh, I have my ways." Then he seemed to think better of his bravado. "Mom doesn't know yet. She's been too busy looking for you to look in the ring box. You're still going to let me carry it, aren't you?"
"You may still carry it, soldier," Bennett said, smiling at Joey. "You shouldn't have taken it without your mother knowing. But your aunt and I trust it to your keeping. Go find your mother and tell her her sister wants to see her."
"Cool," Joey cried, then he snapped a boyish salute. "I mean, yes, sir." He dashed out of the room.
"You handled that well, Captain," Jen said, glad that Bennett and Joey liked each other. They were kindred arrogant male spirits. "But am I still discombobulated or did you just agree to go ahead with this wedding ceremony?"
"Why not?" Bennett said, smiling down at her. "Actually, we were married once. Remember Judge Tyler?"
"Of course, but— This is all happening so fast," Jen said. "This time-travel stuff is worse than any jet lag I ever had."
"Jet lag?" Bennett shook his head.
"We'll have to start a list of things for me to explain," Jen said, ready to accept going ahead with the wedding— with Bennett as her groom.
Jen looked up into his dark hazel eyes. She loved the depth and strength she always saw there. He was a courageous man, not just as an army officer. He had courage above and beyond the call of duty. He'd braved the mystery of traveling across time to be with her. "There's no going back from this wedding, Bennett," Jen said, remembering that he'd been married once before.
Bennett swooped down swiftly, giving her a light, sweet kiss. "I knew that last night."
"Well, there you are," rasped a familiar male voice Jen disliked. "Do you know your sister is looking for you?"
Jen jumped. She pulled away from Bennett and turned to find Ted Neisen standing in the door and holding a flute glass of bubbling apple wine in his hand.
Bennett turned, too. When he saw the man standing in the door, his face transformed into a mask of fury. "Morrison!" he snarled. "You son of a—" His hand went to his saber.
Ted paled and backed out the door.
"No, no." Jen put a hand on Bennett's arm to keep him from drawing the weapon on Johnson County's most famous developer. "Bennett, this gentleman is Ted Neisen. It's all right, Ted, really. I'd like for you to meet my groom, Captain Bennett Vance."
"You're carrying the old-fashioned promotional theme a bit far with the soldier's thing, don't you think?" Ted said without making any effort to shake Bennett's hand. "I thought you were marrying Brad what's-his-name."
"Change of plans," Jen said, waving her hand airily and inwardly relishing the challenges ahead of her with Bennett. Life was miraculous. She'd found the love of her life, and with him, they were going to whip old Ted. Jen hugged Bennett's arm. "I rather like the soldier thing."
Ted looked nonplussed, but Jen didn't care. He'd find out soon enough that his plans for Apple Grove House were about to turn to dust.
Before Ted could reply, Kelly, the head of the video crew, rushed in.
"Here you are," Kelly screamed and jumped up and down like a tiny, mad jumping bean. Jen frowned at her undiluted joy.
"Kelly, get ahold of yourself," Jen said, trying to calm her photographer friend, who was as devoted to the Apple Grove House cause as Jen was.
"Hi, Ted," Kelly said, a malicious grin spreading across her face. "Just wanted to let you know the KSWB-TV's news truck just pulled up. Jen, your wedding is going to be aired on the six o'clock news!" Kelly began to screech and jump up and down again.
The confident grin fell from Ted's face. "Shit."
"I'll thank you to mind your language," Bennett warned, his hand inching toward his saber again. "There are ladies present."
Ted stared at Bennett as if he thought they'd all gone mad. "You've gone too far, Jen. You're taking your own publicity too seriously. If you think a couple of minutes of airtime on the six o'clock news is going to save Apple Grove House, you're mistaken."
Ted turned and left the room.
"Oops, just ruined old Ted's day," Kelly said with a giggle. "A couple of minutes of airtime on the six o'clock news is exactly what we needed. And isn't old Brad going to be sorry to miss out on putting his face in front of the news cam. Oh, excuse me. I'd better go show the news boys where to set up. I know these guys, Jen. They'll do a great job for us. We'll get the city and the county behind us, and we'll save Apple Grove House yet. Hang in there, Jen."
As Kelly vanished out of the door, Jessica dashed in.
"Jen, where have you been?" she cried. The lipstick had been chewed off her lips and a strand of her brown hair stuck out from behind her ear. "The guests are about to mutiny. A few more minutes and the food will be gone and the band will be packing up. And who are you?" she concluded when she got a good look at Bennett.
"Captain Bennett Vance of the cavalry has come to my rescue," Jen said, smiling up at him. "And I'm going to marry him."
Shock robbed Jessica's face of its exasperation. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-five-inch height—the same as Jen's—and scrutinized Bennett. She studied him from the toe of his gleaming black boots to the tip of his blue plumed hat. "You mean in the place of Brad? Jen, don't you need time to think about this? No offense, Captain."
"None taken," Bennett said, a smile of amusement on his lips.
Jessica went on. "I mean with the upset of Brad— You know? On the rebound? Are you certain, Jen?"
"We've had all the time we need," Jen said, looking up at Bennett for confirmation.
"Joey has the ring," Bennett said, putting his hand over Jen's. "And with your permission, we're ready."
"Absolutely," Jen said, her conviction slowly growing that this alliance was meant to be. She prayed Jessica would accept that, too.
Jessica drew in a deep, weary breath and nodded. "License?"
Jen grinned. Her sister was back to her practical self again.
"Here," Bennett said, producing some papers from his coat pocket.
Jen gaped as he displayed the license and certificate Judge Tyler had signed the day of the first ceremony.
Jessica nodded. "They look strange, but official enough." Her expression cleared and she began to give Jen the once-over again.
"Your shoes look terrible. And where's your bouquet?" Jessica said, staring at the hem of Jen's gown. "Heavens, Jen. What have you been up to?"
"Saving Apple Grove House," Bennett said in a low conspiratorial voice.
"Yeah, what's new? I get a full explanation of all this later," Jessica agreed with a dismayed shake of her head. "And what have you done with your bouquet?"
"I forgot my bouquet," Jen said, recalling that instant when Anna had asked the same question. Then she glanced at the bell jar sitting on the mantel. Her breath caught in her throat. The dried flowers in the jar were the exact ones that Anna had dried and placed in a hatbox for her.
Jen knew with absolute certainty in that moment that her meeting with Bennett had been fated by some wrinkle in time. "But there's a bouquet right here. I'll carry this one."
She exchanged a glance with Bennett. She saw that he understood and approved that she would carry the same flowers she had the day they were wed—as proxies. Jen turned back to her sister.
"That's fine with me, but the ladies of the historical society will have a fit," Jessica said. "You'll have some explaining to do."
"I can handle the ladies of the historical society." Jen gingerly lifted the bell jar cover from the bouquet. With great care, she took the dried flower posy into her hands. It was surprisingly sturdy, the flowers intact. The satin ribbons were still smooth and shiny and had only yellowed slightly, just enough to give an elegant antique patina. The greenery still provided a nice contrast to the off-white dried flowers. A faint fragrance of roses and apple blossoms filtered into the room and tickled Jen's nose.
Though the dewy freshness of the flowers was long gone, the posy remained as full and lovely as any dried autumnal bouquet.
"You know, it doesn't look bad considering," Jessica said, eyeing the posy critically. "I can get some fresh flowers off one of the tables for you."
"No, this is it," Jen said, silently thanking Anna for her careful work. "This is perfect. This is the bouquet I want to carry down the aisle."
Bennett's arm tightened around her waist.
"Okay," Jessica said with a shrug. "What else do we need to see to before I cue the music?"
"Our vows," Bennett murmured to Jen. "They should be something special. Not the usual love, honor, and cherish words. This is a special ceremony. It's the real thing. Right, Jen?"
Jen nodded, reminded of the vows she was about to exchange with Bennett. They would say real vows this time. No proxy charade. Today they'd recite their real commitment to each other. "And there's one thing we'd like to change in the ceremony. Will you tell them to Reverend Gleeson for us?"
Jessica agreed.
******************
Unbelievable as it seemed to Bennett, they had done it, just as Jennifer had insisted they could. They'd flashed through time. Transported by light. He had no other explanation for it.
The year 1999 was noisy. The new century assaulted Bennett's ears with the voices of wedding guests, the jumpy music of the musicians in the orchard, and a strange drone from the sky overhead. He'd have to ask Jennifer about the noises after the wedding. Yet the house and the orchard seemed familiar enough to be reassuring. He even saw some guests in military uniforms nearly like his.
But the most important thing to Bennett was that they were together.
Soon all the necessary arrangements had been made to get the wedding under way. When they walked outside and he saw the strange glittering vehicles without horses, the video crew with their cameras, and the women in short skirts, the only thing he said was, "I'm going to have a lot of questions later."
"I'll answer all of them gladly," Jennifer said. "I think we should postpone the honeymoon in Hawaii until we get you the proper identification and coach you on what to say at the security gates."
Bennett didn't want to speculate about what that meant.
It was a perfect wedding, unlike the first one. Bennett was glad of that. Reverend Gleeson was sober, though the guests weren't. He could hardly keep his mind on the reverend's words because of all the new things he glimpsed around him—and the distraction of the people Jen had called the news crew.
Joey had the ring when it was needed. The jeweled band slipped onto Jennifer's finger, a perfect fit. To Bennett's surprise, her tears splashed down onto their joined hands as they exchanged their vows—real, binding ones at last. Bennett just smiled at her—a comforting smile, he hoped.
Jennifer's voice was shaky as she repeated their vows, but Bennett made his strong and clear. He held Jen's gaze as he recited his vows. She hung on every word he uttered.
"I, Bennett James Vance, love and cherish you,Jennifer, for being all that you are, all the things you are not, and all that you can be. Your pain will be mine, and your joy will be mine as well. All I ask of you is your love, your trust, your caring."
Then he paused before repeating the phrase they had agreed on. "I choose you to be my wife till time chooses to part us."
"You may kiss the bride," Reverend Gleeson intoned.
Bennett took her firmly by the shoulders and bent to kiss her. Then he was making love to her mouth ardently in front of the TV news crew—and two hundred wedding guests.
He concentrated completely on his new bride, kissing Jennifer mouth to mouth, wetly and passionately. He'd come too close to losing her not to appreciate this moment. He was glad to claim her anytime and anywhere. He never broke contact with her lips, not even when they needed to breathe—or suffocate. He allowed her to have her way until she angled her head up and the tip of her tongue teased the inside of his upper lip. Bennett uttered a low groan.
The wedding guests began to applaud. Jennifer gently pushed him away, saving them both from embarrassment.
Jennifer smiled up into his face—that beautiful bright-eyed smile of hers. "Hold that thought," she whispered.
Bennett slipped his arm around Jennifer's waist and pulled her closer just as they were thronged by wedding guests.
"Well, you are quite a surprise, Captain Vance," said one of the white-haired ladies Jennifer had introduced as her great-aunt. "Jen never told us about you. Just what do you do and where did you two meet?"
"I'm a cider maker," Bennett said without hesitation. "And Jenni—Jen and I met at another wedding."
"How nice," the lady muttered. "How like you, Jen. Always up to something different. I must have a photo of you for Aunt Martha, who couldn't come." She raised a strange small black box to her eye and aimed at them.
With rude swiftness, Jen snatched the box from the lady's hand. "Not right now, Aunt Lizzie. If you don't mind, we've had enough of the cameras today."
"Well, of course, dear, if you say so." Aunt Lizzie looked surprised and puzzled. "But I promised your Aunt Martha."
"I'll send a wedding photo to Aunt Martha," Jen said with an ingratiating smile. "I promise."
"Yes, that would be nice, dear." Aunt Lizzie smiled uncertainly and hurried off to join her friends.
Jen held the box up for Bennett to see.' 'This is a camera. I don't think we should allow anyone at Apple Grove House to take our picture."
"I agree." Bennett wondered how that little thing could be the same kind of mechanism Zach Schuster had used. "Who knows what another photograph might bring?"
"I've crossed time twice to marry you," Jen said, looking into his face, "I'm not taking a single chance of losing you j      again."
Jessica appeared with two glasses of bubbly wine and shoved mem into Jen and Bennett's hands. "Here, you two. Toast each other."
"Thanks, sis." Jen looked at the wine, men up at Bennett. "But let's not toast here. Bring the wine and come with me. I want to show you something."
Perplexed, but willing to desert the crowd of guests, Bennett followed her back into the house and up the familiar winding stairs to the balcony over the front porch.
Jennifer went straight to the corner and leaned out over the balustrade, peering into the distance. "Yes, it's mere. Come see it"
Bennett joined her and squinted into the distance. Without any difficulty, he saw the tall gleaming towers of a city on the southeast horizon.
"That's it. Kansas City of 1999," Jennifer said.
Bennett heard pride and relief in her voice. She was glad to be home.
"Of course, there is other evidence of progress," she added.
He followed her gesture toward the Kansas River below the house. It looked different, too, narrower, with a road and streetlights lining it. And up the river stood a tall, wide bridge.
"I see a lot of things have changed in a hundred and thirty some years," Bennett said. "But I'm willing to toast the future, to Apple Grove House, and to us."
He lifted his glass.
"Hear, hear." Jen lifted her glass and looped her arm through his.
Then they took their first sip of wine as man and wife.
The sweet, bland taste evaporated on Bennett's tongue, leaving him disappointed, unimpressed. He held the glass up to the sunlight for closer examination. "What is this?"
"It's a special apple wine that I had shipped in especially for the wedding," Jennifer said without looking at him, her voice noncommittal. "What do you think of it?"
Bennett tried not to grimace. After all, she had gone to a lot of trouble to serve this stuff at their wedding. "I don't know a lot about wine, but I know apples. I think we could do better than this."
A wide grin lit Jennifer's face and Bennett knew he'd said the right thing. "I think we can, too. We'll start producing a good cider. When its reputation is established, we'll develop our own wine."
"I like the plan," Bennett said, certain he was going to like the future with Jen.
She leaned toward him to bestow a kiss.
He wrapped an arm around her and accepted her kiss, feeling the specialness of Apple Grove House and the orchard blooming around them. It mattered little that he did not understand what had just happened with the lights and the camera. Love was what was important. "Time brought us together, but love will keep us united," he whispered against her lips.
"Forever," Jen said, flashing that joyous smile at him.
Bennett lost himself in kissing her once again.