The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3)

by Elaine Manders

  Love. He loved the way she teased him. He loved her sassy banter. He loved her sharp wit. Her kindness to people, black and white. Her sense of justice.

  He just loved her. As long as there was a chance to gain her trust, he might stand a chance of winning her love. A small chance perhaps, but he was willing to take it.

  This business concerning her brother would test the limits of their budding friendship. Still, his conscience irritated him like an itch he couldn’t reach, and it wouldn’t let him be until he’d told her as much of the truth as he dared.

  Abe returned with his coffee, and Alex had almost drained the cup when he heard the swish of skirts.

  He set the cup on a Cherrywood side table and stood at attention, ready for whatever mood she brought with her.

  She swept into the parlor in a cloud of silk lilac and lace. Her hair had been artlessly brushed back into a roll held by a net affixed on each side of her head with pearl combs, leaving the shorter strands to wisp around her heart-shaped face.

  He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of lilac cologne. “Feeling better?” His voice rasped deeper than he’d intended.

  “Much.” Her lips tipped into a smile. “Please be seated.” She sat beside him on the high back settee.

  He did, sitting sideways to get a better view of her. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with the decision to unseat your father in the legislature.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug and twisted to face him. “I know you couldn’t have, although the thought did cross my mind. Then I remembered you were only recently assigned to General Terry.”

  Now was the perfect time to tell her about her brother, but nerves tightened his throat. He coughed.

  “I hope you didn’t catch cold. We should have gotten you something dry to wear. Aunt Mandy’s oldest son is just about your size, and I’m sure he left some of his clothes here. Uncle George’s wardrobe is vast, though he is rather portly around the middle.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I don’t catch cold easily, and, anyway, my shirt is completely dry.”

  “I imagine you’ve been in much worse weather, out in the elements while some battle raged.” She reached over to touch his arm, not realizing her touch sent a shock of awareness through him. “I’ve heard officers had much better accommodations, even in war. But you weren’t an officer for the entire war.”

  “No, and my accommodations weren’t much better when I achieved rank.” He cleared his throat again. She looked so relaxed and playful, it took all within him to utter the words that would send her into despair. “Gillian, I want to explain about your missing brother.”

  She sat up straight, her small hands fisted at each side. Her eyes took on a look of anxiety as she searched his face.

  “I wasn’t exactly honest when I told you about the man we located who might have known your brother. The man’s name is Jubal McElroy. He was one of the three escapees when a boy of your brother’s description was killed.”

  He saw her swallow, and her chest rise and fall. Silence fell between them, threatening to cut off his breath. His courage left him, and he knew he couldn’t tell her his part in Will’s death. Not now. He took her hand, soft and cold. “McElroy lives with a clan up in the mountains, and I’m going to talk with him to get more information.”

  He could hear her heavy breathing. The silence continued until he squirmed under her scrutiny. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and shaky. “But you still don’t know the name of this boy who was killed. You don’t know if it was Will.”

  “No, that’s why I’m going to talk to McElroy.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Early in the morning. It’s a two day trip at best, and I’ll be going on my leave. The trip isn’t approved by the army. Some of these mountain people refuse to admit the war is over, and the General doesn’t want any trouble. I’ll be going as a civilian. That’s why I can’t attend church with you and Amanda. I could use the prayers though.”

  Tears welled and tracked down her cheeks. He knew she’d never given up hope her brother would be found alive, as unlikely as that seemed. “Will was more than a brother. He was my best friend.” She sobbed with her breath coming in great gulps like a drowning woman. “I was a skinny, ugly little girl and taunted by my classmates, or they tried to, but Will defended me. He was my hero.”

  He couldn’t ever imagine her ugly. Gathering her in his arms, he rocked her as gently as one would a baby, rubbing circles on her back. “I’m sorry, Gillian. I’m so sorry.”

  With her head tucked under his chin, he let her soak his shirt for how long he didn’t know. When she finally quieted, he whispered, “I know how you feel. It’s been five years since I lost my brother in the war, and it still hurts.”

  She pulled back enough to peer at him. Slipping a handkerchief from her pocket, she sniffed into it. “Tell me about your brother.”

  He loosen his hold, but kept his arms around her. “My twin brother. We did everything together, played together, worked together, got in trouble together, joined the army together. I watched him die and remember thinking, we should have done…that…together.” His voice broke and unable to continue, he shook his head.

  She took his hand, pressing it between hers. “It’s all right. I understand.”

  His smile came easier than he’d imagine. “I know you do. It’s something burned into my memory that will haunt me all my life, but I’m better able to understand now.”

  Her hand stroked his cheek, and he saw real compassion in her eyes. “How did you come to accept it?”

  “I couldn’t until I turned my grief over to God. When you look at death from the standpoint of eternity, whether we die at ten or a hundred, it’s like a flash in time. I’ll miss my brother for the rest of my life, but I know he’s waiting on the other side.”

  “I have to keep reminding myself of that, too.” Her watery gaze went straight to his heart. She looked so sad and vulnerable, like a child needing comfort.

  A desire to comfort her drew his mouth to hers, and he tasted salty tears as he gently kissed her soft lips. Surprisingly, her arm came around his neck, prompting him to press butterfly kisses to her again and again.

  Then, when heat rose within him, he broke away. “Is your aunt at home?” He hated to leave her, but he must.

  “No, she’s at Mrs. Renshaw’s, planning the cotillion.”

  “Then I’d better be leaving.”

  A deep sigh shook her body as she straightened and rose. “Of course. When will I see you again?”

  “I can’t say exactly when I’ll get back from the mountains, but I’ll call on you as soon as I can.”

  She got his coat and walked him to the door. As he turned on the threshold, she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Godspeed.”

  Later that evening, Alex stood at the dark window of his bedroom at the Grand studying the skyline. In the distance was Peachtree Street. Behind the walls of one of those brilliantly lit houses, Gillian resided. Was she thinking of him as he of her? He could still feel her soft lips. Had it meant anything to her?

  He’d done what he’d promised never to do. Take advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. He dropped the drapes and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. That weakness had sent him to search for a familiar Scripture. The Apostle Paul who admitted he did what he didn’t want to do and failed to do what he should.

  That the great apostle had wrestled with the same problem gave Alex some comfort. But not much. He sat at his desk and laid his head in his hands. Lord, you know I love this woman. She’s the one I want for my wife. If you could make that possible, I’d really appreciate it. But no matter what, I pray you keep her safe.

  He knew she wasn’t safe. The gang that held Gilbert Carey by the throat threatened his daughter, and not just because they wanted him from the legislature. They either threatened to expose some secret, or they wanted revenge. He didn’t know exactly which yet, but he feared they wouldn’t be satis
fied until they’d stripped Mr. Carey of everything he held dear.

  They’d already succeeded in taking his plantation, and all that remained was his daughter.

  If only he could warn Gillian—tell her everything. Impossible, since he worked for intelligence, and the information was classified. The life of one woman wasn’t as important as the security of the country. He’d been able to understand that until now.

  To him, Gillian was his world. As soon as he’d taken his leave of her today, he’d vowed to win her love somehow.

  But what if he learned he had been responsible for her brother’s death. Her budding affection could easily turn to hate. He could keep that from her, too. Except, it wasn’t right. Not if he intended to ask for her hand in marriage. Never had his conscience been so inconvenient.

  He ought to be reading the reports stacked on his desk. General Terry expected a briefing tomorrow. But the task repelled him. He’d rather relive his time with Gillian.

  Lifting his head, he groaned and rubbed his eyes. Lord, make it possible. I want to leave the army. I want to marry Gillian and settle on Pa’s farm. I want to share my life with this woman. She’s the one I want to help me build our future. To be the mother of our children. To discuss the events of the day and sing those songs we both love in the evening.

  And at night, I want to hold her to my heart.

  Chapter 15

  Thank you for helping me sort these clothes for the church charity box.” Purity pried the top off a large crate on a makeshift work table in her bedroom.

  “I’m glad to do it.” Gillian tied her apron and peered inside the crate. The musty aroma of old clothes assaulted her nose. She sneezed and fanned the air. “With the rain continuing, what better time?” She could think of a lot better things to be doing. If she hadn’t jumped to conclusions, behaved like a petulant child and ran out of the Capitol— But Alex would have had to bring them back home when the storm hit. And if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have told her about Will.

  Or kissed her.

  The kiss lingered on her lips. She’d never have imagined Alex would kiss her so tenderly. Of the few kisses she’d experienced in the past, none had been tender. Or memorable. She’d never forget the way he held her. His gentle touch. The compassion in his eyes.

  Compassion motivated him. He felt sorry for her because of the bad news about Will. She couldn’t read more into it than that.

  But Alex had surprised her before. She wished she knew his real feelings.

  “These are the boys’ and young men’s clothing,” Purity said, oblivious of Gillian’s musings. “I think they belonged to Amanda’s sons.”

  Gillian rummaged through the trunk, and tugged a familiar shirt from its depths. Her pulse quickened with the find. “This shirt belonged to Will. When he outgrew clothes, Mama sent them on to Aunt Mandy. If Mama was anything, she was thrifty, but I’m surprised Aunt Mandy let her boys wear hand-me-downs.”

  “Doesn’t look like that shirt got much wear.”

  Gillian sneezed again as she shook out the blue shirt and held it up to the light. No, it looked almost brand new, just like she’d last seen it. “This is the shirt Will wore that day they put me on the ship. I didn’t want to leave, and I begged him to come with me. Papa would have let him.” She hugged the shirt to her chest and gazed off to the window where dust motes danced. “Will said John and Matt were joining the army, and he couldn’t leave Mama and Papa.”

  She bit her trembling lip. Even now she refused to accept that Will had died in the war. Would she be able to believe whatever Alex discovered? How could she when her connection to her brother remained so strong? If his spirit had left this world, she’d know it in her soul.

  If only she could go talk to that ex-Confederate soldier in the mountains herself. She’d know what questions to ask to find out if the man indeed knew Will. Alex had police powers, why couldn’t he just bring the man in here for questioning?

  He wouldn’t. The occupying force was trying a different tack—treating the ex-Confederates with respect, negotiating with them to leave a lasting peace. Give them back control of their government.

  “Here’s the coat and trousers that went with the suit.” Purity lay the light woolen garments before Gillian. “Even the belt—an unusual belt.”

  Gillian examined the silver buckle with a horsehead engraved on it. Memories brought laughter to her lips. “That came from Will’s cowboy stage. He was thirteen years old and wanted to go out west and drive cattle.”

  “Drive cattle where?”

  Gillian shrugged. “Who knows? They could have driven them in circles for all Will cared.”

  “Here’s the hat, I think.”

  Yes, the black bowler. She laid all the garments out in order as they would fit a boy. Everything was here except the boy.

  “Why don’t you take them as a memento,” Purity suggested, and Gillian seized on the suggestion—a crazy idea just forming in the back of her mind.

  “I will. Look.” She held the shirt up to her bodice. “It fits me, don’t you think?”

  Purity laughed. “It’s big enough, but fit? No.”

  Gillian rolled the clothing together, securing them with the belt and set the hat on top. She placed the roll on a chest of drawers and fell back into sorting the remainder of the items by size into piles. Each pile would be bound with twine, and they’d affix a label. Abe would take them down and pack them with the other clothing to go to the church.

  As they worked, Purity opened up to talk about her past and life at Lynwood. Gillian garnered some hints into Papa’s troubled relationship with Julia. The talk turned to less serious topics—from fashions to favorite books.

  She and Purity had grown to be friends during the past week. They’d shared confidences, so she dared to raise the uncomfortable questions about the girl’s past. “Purity, I hope you don’t mind my curiosity, but did Mama know about your mother?” According to Aunt Mandy, she did.

  Purity gave her an incredulous glance, clenching her hands together into a tight ball. “Of a certainty she knew. I was born at Lynwood. But being the proper aristocratic Southern lady, she looked the other way when she had to.” She dipped her head to stare at the floor like the subject shamed her. “My…father…had been visiting, helping Mr. Carey with his political campaign. He was never invited back to Lynwood after my birth.”

  The subject was obviously unpleasant to Purity, and Gillian could understand why, but her curiosity made her ask, “What about your mother?”

  “She died when I was a small child. I can’t remember her.” She raised a stoic gaze. “Let me begin at the beginning.” Unclenching her hands, she flexed her fingers as if preparing for a difficult task. “You know your Grandfather Malcolm ran a safe house for runaway slaves.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Gillian answered anyway. “Yes, our house on Dogwood Lane, the one with the secret passages.” She dusted her clothes, removed the apron, and sat on the window seat, eager to hear more of Purity’s story.

  “A family took refuge there, but the oldest daughter, my mother, got sick and couldn’t continue their journey. When the young woman recovered, the elder Mr. Carey hired her as a maid. From what I heard, your Grandmother Carey was very kind to my mother. When you were born, Lynette took a long while recovering and required constant care. Your grandparents sent my mother to Lynwood to help out.”

  Purity drew in a deep breath and paused so long Gillian leaned forward to urge her to continue. With her patience ready to snap, Purity picked up the story. “Maisy, my mother, was light, but she definitely had Negroid blood and couldn’t pass for white. She made Mrs. Carey uncomfortable, especially after I was born.”

  Gillian understood how it was. In those days, it wasn’t unusual for plantation owners, or their guests, to dally with the female slaves, but when Maisy gave birth to a white baby, Mama could no longer ignore the situation and demanded that Maisy leave.

  She shifted on the cushion of the window seat. Being
in the South, it didn’t matter how diluted the blood. Even one drop of Negroid blood made one a Negro. “Go ahead.”

  “My mother and I were sent to the Drayton plantation, and when she died, I grew up to be a housemaid for the Drayton family. Then Mr. Drayton joined the Confederacy, and when he was killed—when it looked like the Yankees would invade Georgia—Mrs. Drayton wanted to move to her family home. Mr. Carey came to get me before all the slaves ran away.

  “This was after Mama’s death?”

  “Yes, shortly thereafter.”

  “Does Julia know that you’re passing for white?”

  “I don’t think so. She wanted me to leave because her brother, Reuben, began to notice me.”

  Gillian nodded. Reuben had a roving eye. “I’m glad you moved up here. I don’t quite know what to make of what’s going on at our Dogwood Lane House, but I think you’re better off with Aunt Mandy.”

  Purity snipped the twine of the last pile. “Let’s get some lemonade.”

  “Wait, what about the will you mentioned at the courthouse?”

  Hugging the bundle of clothing to her chest, Purity shrugged. “I really don’t know much about it, except what I overheard months ago. There was a question about whether Mr. Carey had the legal right to sell Lynwood since your grandfather’s will entailed it to his descendants. It wasn’t known whether the wording of the will mention only male heirs or not. If it didn’t, then you are the heiress.”

  “But it was sold.”

  “Yes, and Mr. Carey was using the legal standing of the will to force the buyer to sell it back to him. At a lower price, I gather. But I could have misunderstood. It’s something you should discuss with your father—or Amanda might know.”

  Gillian doubted that. Aunt Mandy wasn’t the type to keep anything of that import secret. Besides, if Will were still alive, as she fervently hoped, he would be the heir. She tucked all this in the recesses of her mind, then straightened and rubbed the small of her back with her balled fists.