The bedroom Deborah took her to was not the room she'd occupied earlier, but Amanda remained silent. As Deborah turned down the coverlet and helped her out of the robe and into bed, the story of Alice Through the Looking Glass came to Amanda's mind. That's how she felt. As if she'd stepped through a mirror and into a parallel world where things looked the same but nothing was as it should be. All she needed now was to see a white rabbit. Or a Cheshire cat.
Suddenly yielding to the fuzzy edges of exhaustion that had been hovering at the edges of her consciousness for some time, Amanda slipped beneath the light counterpane on the bed and lay back on a fat feather pillow. She was vaguely aware of Deborah arranging gauzy folds of mosquito netting around the four-poster bed, and murmured her gratitude just before sleep claimed her.
“Who the devil is that woman?" Jesse asked his sister when he found her in the kitchen. "And where did she come from?"
Deborah shook her head. She looked puzzled. "I'm not certain. Her first name is Amanda. She said she's a Brandon. I think she must be from the English side of the family, for she was mumbling things about the queen and a cat."
"Queen Victoria?"
"No, something about the queen of hearts and a cat from Cheshire." Deborah shrugged wearily. "I think fleeing Memphis must have greatly unsettled her mind. Heaven only knows what must have happened to her along the way, for she's wearing one of the old dressing gowns I put up in the attic a few days ago. I couldn't find any sign of her own garments, but the shift she's wearing looks very new and modern-"
When Deborah broke off with a faintly embarrassed smile, Jesse grinned wickedly. "Tell me about the shift she's wearing, Deborah. That sounds much more interesting than anything about a cat."
"Really, Jesse, you're impossible. The lady's undergarments are hardly any of your business, nor any other gentleman's, I would think."
Unable to resist the temptation to tease his sister, Jesse said, "I hope your new husband is not so ungallant as to ignore all those fine silk shifts from New Orleans that you managed to bring with you."
"Jesse!" Though two splotches of color stained her cheeks, Deborah's mouth quivered with suppressed mirth. "You should be ashamed to speak so boldly to a lady."
"Ah, but I'm your brother and I've known you longer and better than anyone. Well," he amended, "maybe not better than Michael does."
Rather anxiously, Deborah asked, "Has there been any word from Michael and Jamie yet?''
Jesse raked a hand through his hair, wondering just how much he could tell her. Michael and James were assigned as scouts to report on the fleeing enemy. Obviously, something must have happened. How could he tell her that? She'd only worry, when it was probable they were just delayed in their return. From what he'd just been told, the battle at Brice's Cross Roads had been long and drawn out, and in the ensuing chaos of pursuit, it was easy to lose track of time. He should know that well enough. It had taken him an extra day and a half to get back to Oakleigh because of the Yanks fleeing Forrest. The area was thick with them, and they would have been only too glad to capture the Rebel spy they'd named the Hawk. If caught, Jesse would have been hung from the nearest tree without waiting for even the semblance of a fair trial as prisoner of war.
"Jamie and Michael will be back soon, I'm sure," he said evasively, and knew from Deborah's soft sigh that his answer was not the least bit reassuring. "Our more immediate problem," he added, "is what to do with our strange guest. General Forrest gave me orders to use her to get word into Memphis."
"Use her? Whatever for?"
"Forrest said she obviously knows the area, and seems rather bold for such an attractive young woman. He's convinced she must be a spy of sorts. I'd think," Jesse said dryly, "that would be enough to earn her lodging in the nearest locked shed, but Forrest is of a different mind."
Jesse lapsed into silence, thinking of the honey-haired beauty who had stared at him so long. He'd been hard-pressed not to stare back at her just as boldly. Despite her confusion, there was a vibrancy in her that intrigued him. He'd found most young women to be rather pale, insipid creatures, full of flirtatious tricks and little else. Having resisted his parents' efforts to wed him to any of the empty-headed belles they kept pushing at him, he'd been vaguely grateful when the war interrupted their marital plans.
"She isn't going alone?" Deborah was asking, and Jesse looked up at her with a faint smile.
"No, Forrest has requested a volunteer to don a disguise and accompany her into Memphis."
"At least she won't be alone. But what man would be so foolish as to take such a risk?"
Jesse grinned. "Me."
It came to Amanda in the seconds before she was fully awake, how she had arrived in 1864. Her eyes popped open. Sunlight streamed through the windows and was diffused by the mosquito netting around her bed. Of course. The portrait in the attic was the clue. This Deborah was the sad woman in the portrait. The fair hair drawn back from her forehead, the wide, honest eyes-the gown. It had to be the connection, the vehicle that had sent her spiraling back in time.
Nothing had happened until she'd buttoned the final pearl button of Deborah's wedding dress. Then she'd immediately grown faint. There had been a sudden gust of wind, the lights had gone out, and everything had gone black. Was that when it had happened?
Blinking at the gauzy threads of light filtering through the netting and into her eyes, Amanda put a hand over her brow. That must have been it. Somehow, the dress had been the catalyst to bring her back in time-but how could she help? Deborah had already wed Michael, and apparently the dissension between the brothers was not troublesome enough to spark murder. But where were they? Deborah had said Jamie and Michael were gone. The news article- the one in the attic that had related the details-hadn't it said something about Michael being killed by his half brother somewhere in the woods? Maybe by some miracle it was still there, and she could find out the details.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, batting aside the netting. As she slid from the bed, a light tap sounded on the door and she called out, "Come in."
"Good morning," Deborah said as she came into the bedroom with a well-laden tray. "Did you sleep well?"
Amanda managed an answering smile, wondering how much she could ask without being considered a lunatic. Did she dare ask if Deborah had heard from her husband and brother-in-law? Of course. It was a natural enough question to ask…
“I thought you might like to have a bite to eat up here in your room rather than with the others," Deborah was saying as she placed the tray on a small stool. She chatted easily as she puttered with the teacup and saucer, and Amanda managed reasonably intelligent replies.
Finally Deborah stood back, fidgeting with the folds of her dress a moment before looking up with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I hate to seem impolite, but I must ask- is your shift all you have left of your clothing?"