Chapter 12


Tory comes the stairs, yawning loudly, arms stretching. In the kitchen, Kit and Linus are speaking in low urgent voices, hands wrapped around cups of coffee. Kit looks worried, that familiar little crease between his eyebrows appearing. When she walks in, they fall silent and plaster smiles on their faces as they turn to her. She narrows her eyes at them.

"What's going on?" she asks warily. They mumble negative in turn, too carefree for it to be anything but suspicious. Kit crumbles under her glare first. Slumping in his seat, he sighs and massages his eyes. He's silent, trying to find the words to explain what's plaguing him, and Tory feels the need to turn away. She picks up the kettle, peering into it.

"Fort Wagner on Morris has been abandoned."

Tory slams the kettle down on the counter, whirling around.

"That's one of the city's main defenses! They can't just abandon it! What happens to Fort Sumter?" she said, hands in the air, gesticulating wildly.

"They were under siege, Tor. We can hold Sumter for a while longer but with the Union manning Wagner on Morris, it's only a matter of time before we lose Sumter too," he placated, face haggard and so much older. Tory feels a panic seize her because if they've lost Wagner and will lose Sumter soon enough, it's only a matter of time before the Union troops come marching in. She thinks of the fire at the church. How bad is it gonna be?

She thinks of Shelton and Hi and Ben, of the stories about Northern prisoner camps.

She looks at Kit's face, sees how tired he looks, and Linus, who hasn't smiled since before Ruth's death. How much longer will this war go on?

The kitchen feels too hot and stuffy. Tory can't breathe. Wheezing out an 'excuse me', she makes her out of the house and into the garden. She leans against the stone bench, knuckles pressing against the unyielding stone, nails cutting into her palms. Her mind is an endless array of images, of blood and bodies and gravestones. She searches for the light, grasping at happy memories that shy away in the writhing darkness. She finds one.

The blanket rustles under her as she shifts. Ben's arm comes into her line of vision as he reaches up to point out a constellation.

"That star there is The Star That Does Not Walk Around," he said, finger pointing at the North Star.

"We call it the North Star. What do you call the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper?" she asks, pointing out the nearby stars.

"Those are the stretchers carrying the gods of creation, followed by the Medicine Man, his wife and the Errand Man," he pointed out the three stars of the handles.

"Down the middle, they say is the Pathway of the Departed Spirits," he turns his head to her, long hair spilling onto the blanket. Propping herself up on her elbow, she reaches out and twirls a strand around her finger. He pauses and looks up at her, breath stuttering. She grins and leans down, pressing an open mouthed kiss on his lips. His arm wraps around her waist, hand settling on her back. His lips part under hers as she deepens the kiss. Her skin tingles with every contact. She can smell the spice her mind has come to associate with him, feel the burn of his stubble, the softness of his hair. She slides her hand up his chest and across broad shoulders, fisting the fabric in her hands as their noses bump against each other.

Hands wandering further down, she stills his hands at her waist and pulls away. The silvery glow of the moon brightens the coppery tone of his skin and under it, she can see how his pupils have dilated, how his skin is flush with color, how his breaths come out heavy and uneven. She can only imagine what she looks like, hair mussed, lips swollen, cheeks red with color. Crooking her finger at him, she grins. Sitting up, he huffs and echoes what she said the day they first kissed a year ago.

"You're missing the lights," he says and she can feel his smile against her lips.

"They'll still be there afterwards," she mumbles and leans back in, fingers curling in soft dark hair.

She doesn't know when she started crying but she's sobbing and god, she's so sick of crying. She never cried this much before but she's never had so many people to love and care for before. Truth of the matters is, hurt is part of the package when you love someone. She reaches up to wipe the tears away, trying to calm her erratic breathing, when she catches sight of the blood on her knuckles. The skin there is scraped off and dark red circles cut into the flesh of her palms, some drawing blood. A sort of demented laugh bubbles up and out of Tory and she thinks morbidly, this is what it's like to go crazy.

"Tory?"

She drops her hands to her side, laughter cutting off, as Whitney walks up beside her. She sees the blood first.

"Oh honey, what did you do to yourself?"

She soothes the sting of the cuts, dabbing at the blood with her handkerchief and then she looks up. Steering Tory around and onto the bench, she settles beside her and brings Tory's head to lie on her lap. They sit there quietly for awhile, Tory staring off into space and Whitney running her hand through Tory's hair, singing softly under her breath.


Tory's a mess by the fifth day comes around. She hasn't heard anything from Ben since before the news of Fort Wagner and Whitney is worried sick about her. Even Kit's noticed how she doesn't eat and how pale she looks. Ella is still on her honeymoon in Paris (how long is a honeymoon honestly?!).

She's off exploring in the woods behind the house, Coop at her side, when she finds the cabin. Its small and the insides are full of dust but it's warm and dry and something in Tory wants to fix it up, maybe if just to keep busy and keep her thoughts at bay. She spends the next two days cleaning it and she swears she won't ever get all the dust out of her nose but it's worth it in the end.

She's sinking into bed that night, bone tired, when she hears it. The clinking of rocks against the glass. She's out of bed and down the stairs in a matter of seconds. She barrels into his arms, crushing their mouths together so hard their teeth clack. She pulls away and grabbing his hand, she marches through the woods, ignoring his inquiries and apologies, pulling him along until they reach the cabin. She watches him as he takes the cabin in and turns to her, understanding in his eyes.

Crowding her against the doorway, he presses a kiss against her lips, soft and tender. He kisses her jaw, lips trailing down to kiss her neck. They suck and nibble at the hollow where her collar bones meet and she's throwing back her head to bare more of her throat but he's pulling her back in for a kiss. The kiss is hungry and demanding, so much more raw and dirtier than any before. Its teeth and lips and tongue and every drop of anger and worry and fear in their body. And love, so much love.

She shrugs out of her dress, feeling a bit bare with only her corset and hoop skirt, having forgone the petticoats in the crisp September air. Her fingers slide down to the edge of his shirt and then she's pushing it up and over his head. The coppery skin underneath is warm and soft to the touch but the way it stretches taut over his bones makes her pause. A lump in her throat, she runs a finger down the visible ribs, feeling how they catch in each hollow. Eyes flickering to Ben's face, she sees the uneasiness, the fear that maybe she finds him repulsive. Cupping his face, she leans in and kisses him, guiding his hands to the strings of her corset. She feels the ribbons slide against her skin as he loosens the corset and it falls away. She shimmies out of the crinoline and then she's pushing him backwards onto the bed.

Crawling up the length of the bed towards him, she settles on his thighs and leans down to capture his lips. His hands settle on the skin underneath her chemise and they stroke gently down the side. Grabbing the edges of it, she pulls it over her head and shivers as the cool air brushes against her naked skin. He's looking at her, pupils dilated, and it makes her feel self-conscious. Sitting up, he mouths at her neck first, then collarbone and then his lips fall to her breasts. She cried out, fingers falling into the dark locks of his hair, losing herself to the heat of the passion as her brain shut down.

Afterwards, her brain is still short-circuiting a bit but she knows she's never done that before. For a brief moment, she feels a deep shame that she's done this without being married like her mother would have wanted her to but her mother never married Kit and she knows Ella had sex with Chance long before they married. Why should I feel guilty?, she thinks.

She looks over at Ben who's asleep beside her, lips parted, hair dangling in front of his face. Smiling, she turns on her side towards him and tucks the hair behind his ear.

"I love you," she thinks but she must have said it out loud because Ben smiles and without opening his eyes, responds.

"And I you, ahyoka. Now sleep."

He tugs her toward him and she rests her head on his chest, fingers splaying across the hills and valleys of his ribs. She finds herself drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady underneath her.


I cant even begin to apologize for this. This was my first attempt at writing a sex scene and I am literally so mortified right now.

(1) Fort Wagner on Morris Island was abandoned in September 1863 after a siege. Following this, Fort Sumter was gradually reduced to rubble.

(2) These names were used by the Skiddi Pawnee tribe in central Nebraska in the 1700s. There is a star chart from the tribe, depicting important star patterns, in Chicago's Field Museum of Natural History.

Until next time.