After the train got underway, he dropped his head against the back seat and closed his eyes. She decided to ignore him. But within five minutes of trying to see through the train’s sooty windows, her eyes burned. She rubbed them with the heel of her palm and slid her gaze back to her companion.
“Are you a carpetbagger, Alex?”
That woke him up. He shifted in his seat, his brows hiked. “Why would you think I’m a carpetbagger? Carpetbaggers are Northerners who came South after the war. I was already here.”
“I see no difference. Why did you stay?”
He bolted upright, flexing his shoulders. “The army is my career. I was ordered to stay. What do you know about Carpetbaggers, Gillian?”
“We’re a political family. My aunt Mandy corresponded frequently about my father’s political campaigns. The Carpetbaggers teamed up with the Freedmen to shut out the Democrats, even those who could take the loyalty oath, including my father.”
“Your aunt doubtless also told you how devastated the region was.” A touch of anger edged his voice. “No supplies, no food, no shelter, no money, no transportation. Who do you think came in to replace those things?”
She’d seen the remains of burned out houses and overgrown farms along their route. All had yet to be replaced.
Yes, that was anger she’d detected. His voice rose, his tone heated. “All your politicians had to offer was hatred and belligerence. I, along with a lot of others, invested in the rebuilding, and fortunate for the South we did. It’s rebounded faster than anyone thought possible.”
“But you benefited from those investments.”
His anger wilted like the argument didn’t deserve any more of his breath. “I built up a small nest egg, which I hope to use to build onto my parents’ farm one day, but I’m far from rich. The wealth goes to the more industrious.”
“Or greedy.”
His tight lips relaxed into a smile. “Or the greedy.”
“You can’t blame them for their hatred, can you? Especially here in Georgia where the innocent were so brutally treated.”
He drew in a deep breath, and his eyes went to half-mask. “No, I can’t blame them. I’ve known hatred myself.” He raised his gaze to hers, and for the first time she felt like she peered into his soul. “And I could tell them, and you, that hatred turns inward and eats away until you hate yourself.”
Something warned her she shouldn’t delve too much further into his past. Not now when she depended on him to get her home.
Chapter 3
Those twin companions—anticipation and trepidation—flared Gillian’s nerves as she stepped onto the Macon depot platform and took her first measure of the hometown she’d left behind eight years ago. Everything looked much the same. Not surprising, since the war hadn’t reached this far. She shouldn’t expect to see damage. Nothing like the burned- out buildings in Atlanta Aunt Mandy had described in all their gory detail in her correspondence.
But it had changed. An undercurrent of hostility ran through the very air, and the people were different, hardly taking the time to nod in passing.
Alex, Captain Blaine, Alexander the Great—she gave him each of those names, depending on her mood—had gone to fetch a buggy. She was grateful for his protection during the grueling journey. She’d like to think she could have taken care of herself, but it was a comfort she didn’t have to.
She glanced up and down the street. Despite all the differences, there was something familiar about the blonde woman in maroon with her head downcast. Could it be?
“Lizzie.”
As Gillian bounded down the steps, the woman’s head came up. Her impassive expression didn’t show a bit of recognition.
Gillian stopped in front of her. “Don’t you remember me, Lizzie?”
Lizzie peered at her, squinting. She’d always been nearsighted and was too vain to wear spectacles. “Gillian? Is that you? I thought you were still in England. Mama didn’t say a thing about you being back.”
Lizzie’s mama was Aunt Mandy to Gillian. If anyone knew anything, she did. Except this. “She didn’t know. I’ve only just arrived in town. As soon as I’ve settled I want to visit her. Maybe we can go together.” Aunt Mandy lived in Atlanta, and if the train was running, they could make the trip in half a day.
“I’d like that, but I doubt I can get away. You know I’m married.”
Gillian slapped her chest. “No. Who? When?”
“Last year. Lukas Boyles. Didn’t Mama write you? I would have, but I knew she corresponded with you regularly.”
Gillian couldn’t prevent a jaw drop. Lukas Boyles was almost as old as Papa. That Aunt Mandy didn’t include that information in her letters said a lot.
“It’s been a long time since I received correspondence from Aunt Mandy. The mails are still not what they should be.”
Lizzie lips drew into a bow. “I know Mr. Boyles is more than twice my age, but Gillian, all the old beaus are gone. Either killed in the war or married.” Her hand flew to her mouth as if she’d caught herself in an indiscretion. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You lost your brothers—and your dear mother. This is a sad homecoming for you.”
“Indeed, it is.” How quite Lynwood would be without John and Matt. And William, still missing and presumed dead. Presumed by everyone except her. Her mother had died of influenza. The war had killed her mother as surely as it killed her brothers. Mama had fallen ill near the end of the war when all available doctors were tending the battle wounded.
“Have you met Julia?” Lizzie asked.
The thought of meeting Julia, Papa’s new wife, put a sour taste in Gillian’s mouth. “No, I’ve just arrived in town. Ever since Papa wrote of their marriage, I’ve been trying to place her. I do recall her younger brother came to Lynwood often to ride our horses.”
“That’s Reuben. He’s quite a dandy these days.” Gillian couldn’t imagine the skinny, towheaded boy as a dandy.
The sound of horse’s hooves pulled her attention to the street. Alex navigated the heavy traffic in a buggy drawn by a sturdy roan mare.
Lizzie cut her eyes to Alex like she questioned a union officer driving a southern lady. Gillian had no intention of introducing Lizzie to the captain. That might create complications she wasn’t prepared to deal with, so she took her cousin’s hands and blocked her view of the buggy. “I must go, dearest. My driver is here. I’ll call on you as soon as I’ve settled.” The cousins kissed.
Alex reached out to help her onto the buggy’s seat, and she waved her farewell to Lizzie.
He cocked a brow before taking up the reins. “So, I’ve been demoted from cousin to your driver.”
Was he trying to annoy her or addle her mind with that crooked grin? She met him glare for glare. “I couldn’t introduce you to Lizzie as my cousin. She happens to be my cousin and would know you couldn’t be.”
His smile widened as he dipped his chin, his eyes holding a sardonic glint. “Of course. When one lie is inconvenient, another must be used.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d called her a liar, and she huffed her annoyance. He took pleasure with raising her ire, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded. Regardless, she was grateful he’d agreed to escort her all the way to Lynwood. She feared outlaws more than the disapproval of people who might whisper about her traveling alone with a Yankee officer.
“Captain, show some compassion. You must realize how apprehensive I am, not knowing what I’ll find at Lynwood. Papa didn’t mention it in his later missives, and I just know there’s some kind of trouble he’s hiding from me.”
“Why do you think that?”
She huffed again and added an eye roll. “He got married without telling his family anything about it. And he isn’t fighting the Republicans who unseated all the Georgia Democrats in the legislature. That isn’t like him at all. He was extremely dedicated to his job in the government before the war, spending most of his time working for his district.” At the expense of h
is family.
Alex’s lips tightened like he wanted to continue the subject but decided against it. His smile took on a forced look. “You may be right, Gillian. I promise we won’t end on a sour note. Truthfully, you’ve been a delightful traveling partner.”
She sent him a sharp look. Ha. He couldn’t get rid of her soon enough, but she wasn’t ready to end their acquaintance. She was more convinced than ever he could help her find out what happened to Will, but she wasn’t ready to approach him about that yet.
True, he’d barely told her anything about himself on the train, but how could he when she’d kept up a constant stream of chatter. Maybe that was it. She hadn’t given him a chance to talk. He couldn’t be blamed for that.
All she really knew about him at this point he was one of the enemy who’d destroyed her homeland. And a man she found much too attractive.
As he maneuvered through the traffic, she let her gaze travel slowly from his hat to his polished boots. He wasn’t so much older than she was. Under thirty, probably. She returned to his face set in profile. Strong, square chin, straight nose, laugh lines, dark brows and lashes, a hint of wave in his hair. She wished he’d take off that hat so she could watch the sun play on those dark brown waves.
Why had God wasted all that handsomeness on an arrogant Yankee? She turned to stare at the horse’s rump. His attraction bothered her. He was exactly the type of man she’d like to flirt with. If he weren’t in uniform. She was quite certain if she met him in evening dress in a ball room, she’d get him to ask her to dance.
She should have taken the opportunity to get to know more about him. He had to have more in his life than that uniform. She’d been so caught up in her own problems, she’d blathered on and on about herself, and he’d egged her on.
“You must have joined the army young…to have attained the rank of captain.”
“I was nineteen and the war had been going on for months.”
She calculated the years. He’d be no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. “What made you join?”
“I went to hear President Lincoln deliver a speech and was struck by my duty to serve. What did you think of Lincoln, Miss Carey?”
So she’d become Miss Carey again. “I didn’t like him at first, but when the war ended, I read his speeches and knew he was a compassionate man—a Christian. The South lost more than anyone by his death.”
She saw a look of astonishment cross his features. “It might surprise you to know that not all Southerners supported slavery, Captain Blaine. My father never owned slaves.”
“Who worked his plantation?”
“White share-croppers. Lynwood has been in operation since the early eighteen hundreds, and even when Grandfather used slaves, he gave them their freedom. The truth is, most Southerners didn’t own slaves because they couldn’t afford them.”
Alex nodded. “That’s true, and it’s a shame they rose up to fight with the wealthy slave holders.”
She swiveled in her seat. “You may be interested to know almost all the political offices were held by wealthy slave owners. They made the decisions. The common man was forced to fight for his home.” Her pulse raced and her face grew warm with the argument. She should stop, but that would be like stopping a run-away horse. “Furthermore, Alexander the Great, my father was one of the few politicians who didn’t have slaves. He was a state senator and spoke out against slavery—a position that didn’t win any friends, you may be sure.”
“I’m sure your father is an honorable man.” He had the audacity to smile. “When your face lights up like that you look even more like a rose…a beautiful rose.”
She drew in a breath and swallowed. “You think I’m…pretty?”
“Very. Don’t tell me those Englishmen didn’t tell you so. Or don’t you believe your mirror?”
Of course, she’d received compliments but thought that was just a part of the grandiose speech expected of the bucks and beaus of London. Her mother had been beautiful, but she could never compare with her. “I suppose I’m passable. Turn to the left here at this dirt road. It goes straight to Lynwood.”
They lumbered along in silence as Gillian scanned the countryside, looking for something familiar. The further along they went, the more alarmed she became. The fields that should have been lush with summer growth lay barren. They topped a small rise, and she drew in a sharp breath.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, pulling on the reins.
“The Kennebrew’s farm. It’s abandoned.”
“From the looks of the house, it hasn’t been lived in for years.”
“But why? The Kennebrews share-cropped for as long as I remember.” Papa hadn’t written anything about losing tenants. What else had he kept from her?
“Times were hard, Miss Carey—still are.” Captain Blaine laid the buggy whip on the horse’s back, and they jolted on past the ramshackle house. “No one had money after the war.”
Gillian lurched forward on the seat, silently urging the captain to keep up a brisk pace. All she wanted now was to get home.
They rounded a familiar curve in the road, and tears smarted her eyes as Lynwood came into view. Three-stories, white timber, wide verandas, and three alcoves facing the long circular drive lined with stately oaks. Tall magnolias stood sentry at the corners of the house.
The place had seen better days. A paint job was badly needed, and the brilliant lawn of Gillian’s memory hadn’t been cut in some time. A cracked window in the carriage house threatened to fall from its frame. Poor Papa. With his sons gone and tenants moving out, how could he keep the place in repair?
Alex halted in front of the house, and Gillian jumped to the ground before he had time to set the brake. She ran across the cobbled drive and up the wide steps.
The locked door disturbed her, and she knocked frantically, all patience gone. The captain’s footsteps pounded the porch’s floorboards. “I don’t see anyone about. Maybe no one’s at home.”
She darted a glance over her shoulder. “That’s impossible. Someone’s always at home. Papa wouldn’t leave the house un—” The blast of a shotgun cut her off, the bullet zinging above their heads and shattering the top of the doorframe.
A scream tore from her throat as she jumped into the captain’s arms.
***
Alex hooked Gillian by the waist and pulled her down against the wall. Shielding her, he twisted around, the pistol already in his hand. “Halt! U. S. Army.”
Another shot rent the air, but the bullet flew wild. Unable to find a target, Alex fired in the direction he judged the shooter to be. A man emerged from the side of the house, shotgun held aloft. “Don’t shoot. We’re on the same side.”
The man, short, stocky with a full sandy-colored beard took a couple of steps toward the wide porch. “I thought you were with that gang of Rebs.”
Gillian pushed her way up. “Who are you? What have you done to my father?”
“Hold on.” Alex shoved his arm to block her. He addressed the man. “Put the firearm down and give your name. What are you doing on Gilbert Carey’s property?”
The man laid his shotgun on the porch. “Name’s Richard Lyman. This ain’t Mr. Carey’s property no more. I bought him out six months ago.”
Alex heard Gillian’s intake of breath and sought to forestall her. He slid his pistol back in the holster. “Where is Mr. Carey?”
“He moved to his townhouse. I wouldn’t put it past him to send those Reb thugs out here to run me off so he could take it back.”
“How dare you,” Gillian sputtered.
“Let me handle this, Gillian.” Her given name fell out naturally. He liked the sound of it, and it felt good on his tongue.
Lyman squinted. “Didn’t know Mr. Carey had a daughter. Heard he lost three sons.” He didn’t speak like an educated man, but neither did he sound like a Southerner either. “Where are you from, Mr. Lyman?” Alex asked.
“Pennsylvania. Heard there’re opportunities down here. Thought the a
rmy would’ve put down the Rebs by now. When’s the army’s going to stop the scoundrels?”
“Carpetbagger.” Gillian’s steely glance told Alex she considered him in the same category.
He sent his gaze back to Lyman. “I just got here. What’s been going on?”
“I expect your regiment will tell you. I’ve filed enough complaints.” He pointed to the carriage house. “See those windows? They busted them out last night, but most of damage was done to the tenants. Barns burned down. Fences cut. Dogs set on chicken coops. Hogs hauled off. You name it, they’ve done it.”
Alex expected the regiment would tell him. His assignment was to manage the investigation under Major Turley’s command with orders to put down the criminal behavior Lyman had just described. Could it be possible Gilbert Carey was involved? For Gillian’s sake he hoped not. She was clearly devastated to learn her father had sold the plantation.
“Let’s go.” She tugged his arm.
Alex laid his arm across her shoulder, and they descended the steps. “I’ll be back to talk to you.” He directed the comment to Lyman.
Lyman grunted. “Tired of talking. I want something done about it.”
“Something will be.”
Gillian shoved away from Alex and was already on the seat when he reached the buggy, her face still flushed with anger. “Lynwood has been in my mother’s family since seventeen, eighty-nine. Papa wouldn’t have sold it unless something terrible happened, something he was afraid to tell me.”
Alex took up the reins and gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know, Gillian. Seems to me he had reason enough since your brothers didn’t come back from the war. With no one to leave the plantation to, he probably lost his desire to keep it up.”
“What about me?”
“You’ll get married.”
“Why does everyone assume I’ll get married? Lizzie said there weren’t any eligible men left.”
He turned the horse around. “I expect you’ll find one.” If there was an eligible man within a hundred miles, he’d find her. That thought didn’t sit well with him. She obviously didn’t consider him an eligible suitor, and that was all right by him. He couldn’t afford to get involved with a woman right now. This new assignment was going to take a great deal of time and undivided concentration.
The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Page 3