If indeed they didn’t have the whole Union and Confederacy between them?
He tipped his head back against the stone surrounding the fireplace. Lord willing, if he continued recovering and wasn’t shunted off to Richmond and prison, he’d be returning to duty and then—no telling where he’d be sent next, or what would befall him there. He’d nothing to offer Pearl under the best of circumstances.
Likely Pearl’s perspective on it was the wisest view after all, that what had happened changed nothing of their relation to each other.
Between the shadow over his thoughts, the warmth of the hearthstones at his back, and the rise and fall of the other men’s voices, his attention drifted, and the world around him shifted and blurred until dreams took its place. A warm summer day, and his mother’s voice urging him to go get his chores done, but all he wished to do was linger and—
He woke abruptly to someone tapping his foot. Looked up, bleary eyed, to Lydia standing over him. The room was quiet except for the hiss of coals in the fire beside him, and nearly dark.
“You should get to bed,” she said, an odd smile twisting her mouth and a gleam in her eye.
“Of course,” he mumbled and climbed to his feet.
Once there, it was sweet relief to stretch out. His last waking thought was of mighty trees on a steep hillside, swaying with the rushing wind, and the soft surrender of a Rebel girl in his embrace.
He should hold on to that memory, because it could never happen again.
Pearl lay staring into the dark, exhausted, but somehow unable to quiet her thoughts and fall asleep.
“If you sigh one more time,” Lydia said from her pallet on the floor, “I’m a gonna come up there and slap you.”
“I’ll slap you right back,” Pearl murmured. “And then your babies will wake up because you be caterwauling.”
A chuckle answered her, and the rustle of bedding as Lydia turned over, then Lydia sighed as well. “Travis ain’t gonna like this.”
Pearl sniffed. “What he likes doesn’t matter.”
“You think not? Your man’s a Yankee prisoner. Don’t think Travis won’t see that he’s sent up to Virginia, in a moment.”
Pearl’s heartbeat stuttered. “He isn’t—my man.”
“Shoo, girl. I see how he looks at you. Especially—this evening.”
“It—” She swallowed hard, then forced the words out. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You still gonna camp on that?” More rustling, then Lydia was there beside her, nudging her. “Move on over.”
Pearl turned on her side, making room on the narrow bed for the other woman, as they often did. Lydia settled, back to back. The warmth was comforting—not in the same way as Josh’s embrace, but comforting nevertheless.
Utter nonsense that being in that man’s arms suddenly became the standard she measured by.
“There you go again,” Lydia groused.
“My apologies,” Pearl mumbled. Her eyelids stung.
“So. What are you gonna do when Travis pushes you for an answer?”
“Tell him no. What else can I do?”
“Mm-mm. It’s hard, for sure.”
Silence hung between them. Pearl whispered, “I—just—can’t—marry him.”
“And you shouldn’t marry a man you don’t love. No matter how hard things be here.”
Because regardless of what she felt about what had happened up there on the ridge, she absolutely knew now that she couldn’t bear giving herself to someone whose kiss did not make her feel what she’d felt standing on that cold, windswept hillside.
“Women marry for convenience or necessity all the time,” she said.
Lydia snorted. “You’d do whatever you needed, if you were convinced it was the right thing. But Travis? No, girl.” She hesitated. “Especially not with the likes of Mister Wheeler bein’ a possibility.”
Pearl yawned. “It’s too early to know if he’s a possibility or not. And I’m fairly certain he is not. But regardless—” A second yawn nearly cracked her jaw. “I’m sleepy now, thank you.”
“That’s convenient,” Lydia snipped.
With a chuckle, Pearl shut her eyes and burrowed a little deeper into her covers.
Her last waking thought was of strong, warm arms around her, rocking gently as the wind rushed overhead. If only she could be held like that for always.
Josh woke to rain pattering outside the window. Again.
He rose, dressed, and headed out to the privy. Lydia was up and at work in the kitchen, both her children seated at the table with half a gnawed-on apple each, but Pearl was nowhere in sight. About half the other men were awake and stirring as well.
In short, an ordinary morning as these last couple of weeks had gone. Lord willing it would stay that way.
The rain was a mere drizzle at the moment, but he was glad for the extra layer of his coat so early. At the front steps he stopped, glancing around. Still no Pearl—not at the well nor anywhere else. He frowned. Was she in the barn? Maybe he’d best go check on her. It didn’t set well with him for her to be wandering alone after the events of yesterday.
He’d finished his business and was coming out when something hit the door of the outhouse, slamming into him and knocking him backward. He threw himself against the inside, but then it flew open too abruptly and rough hands hauled him outside and upright. “Become a secesh lover, have you?” came a low growl.
Josh fought with all his might, and at finding himself suddenly free, he scrambled away so he was no longer surrounded. Three men faced him—the Kentucky scoundrel and his two cronies, also from yesterday.
Such a surprise, that.
Josh stayed in a half crouch, backing up as they edged toward him. “It’s a yellow-bellied thing to force your attentions on a woman,” he snarled.
“And she needs a one-armed soldier to guard her?” the Kentucky man sneered.
“This one-armed soldier whipped your tail and sent you back.”
“Yeah, well, won’t happen today. And then we’ll be happy to show Miss Pearl what she be missing in the way of manhood.” He and his companions snickered.
Josh unclenched his teeth and struggled to keep his vision clear through a haze of red. “Have some respect for a woman who’s fed you and tended your wounds, when she could just leave you to die.”
Another ugly laugh. “She ain’t nothin’ but a darky-lovin’ Rebel chit. Although I wouldn’t have figured on putting those two in the same breath.”
Blast it, there were three of them, and Josh could only sidestep and angle away so long. He glanced around for something, anything, to use as a weapon, but Pearl kept her yard just too tidy.
Wait—there, a stick, left by one of Lydia’s little ones. He dived, seized it, came up swinging just as the three closed in on him. He landed a good three or four blows before it was wrested from him and their fury descended.
In the root cellar, Pearl heard the commotion but dimly, and was already on her way, apron full of sweet potatoes, when Clem appeared at the top of the steps. “Come—right now! Fight outside!”
She dumped the sweet potatoes and dashed up the steps. Clem thrust a revolver into her hands. He held another and had a third tucked into his waistband. “Here. It’s Josh. Three of the others have jumped him.”
A crowd of men blocked the door, commenting and cheering, but Clem led in shoving their way through. They parted readily enough when they saw that she and Clem were armed.
They burst out into the yard, and Pearl wasted no time in leveling her gun on the knot of men. “Stop! Right now, or get yourselves shot!”
They minded her of a pack of dogs, savaging. Dear God, please let me not hit Josh!
“I said, stop!” She punctuated her scream with a pull of the trigger.
One of the three attackers reeled away, howling. The other two scattered back as well, but more slowly, glancing between her and the huddled form on the ground.
Oh Josh …
“Farther back,”
she ordered, motioning with the revolver barrel. “Get clear away from him, right this minute. That’s it. Now what were y’all thinking, here?”
The man who’d threatened her the day before offered what he doubtless thought a conciliatory smile. It came across as a leer. “Don’t be hasty now, miss. Just put that thing down, or someone might get hurt.”
“Someone already has,” she gritted out. Aside, to Clem, “Where’s Portius?”
“Not here,” he hissed. “I think he went to fetch Travis. I couldn’t find him last night.”
Travis … or Portius? Either way, clearly this task fell to her and Clem.
The two men still standing took a couple of steps forward. “Do you truly want to die, here?” Pearl demanded. Their companion huddled nearby, clutching his side, whimpering. “Or maybe you’d prefer waiting until my cousin hauls you off for a long train ride ending in prison.”
He laughed, but with a nervous note this time. “Like I said—”
“Do not move another step,” Pearl said. “Or I will shoot you.”
“You’ll hang if you do,” he snapped, suddenly grim.
“I’ve a dozen men at my back to bear witness to the fact that the three of you attacked an unarmed man, and one of your own, to boot. And then you’ve threatened me.”
His hands lifted, fingers splayed, and his eyes widened with mock innocence. “I’ve done nothing of the kind.”
“I heard you,” Clem growled beside her, in a voice she was sure he’d never used before. “And I ain’t the only one.”
Pearl saw the change when it came, the resolve hardening in the man’s face. And when he launched toward her, she had no choice but to fire again.
Two cracks sounded, nearly simultaneous, then a third. Incredibly the man’s feet carried him forward until he fell, facedown, so close she had to jump back to avoid him. In the breath of silence that followed, she caught Clem’s face beside her, completely white. Josh’s third attacker threw his hands up and sat down, where he was. And then a babble of voices rushed over her from all sides.
Shoving the revolver in her skirt pocket, she ran to Josh’s side, dropping to her knees on the muddy ground and murmuring his name.
He breathed, at least, but she hardly knew where to touch him. After a moment’s hesitation, she laid a hand on his shoulder, and he rolled to his back, moaning.
She brushed his hair aside. His face was a mess of cuts and bruising, his clothing completely soiled. The front of his blouse gaped open, torn, revealing more bruising. “Josh—can you hear me?”
He rolled his head to the side, and his eyelids fluttered open. His hand flailed out and seized hers. “Pearl?”
“I’m here, Josh.” She was suddenly weeping. “How—how bad is it?”
“I’ll—live.”
“You’d better,” she sobbed.
He offered a weak smile, heartbreaking against the blood and dirt, and closed his eyes.
She looked around, wildly. Someone was helping Clem tie up the third attacker, and her brother glanced up. “What do we do with the other one who’s shot?”
Heat fired through her veins. “Tie him up as well. We’ll tend him—eventually.” She bent over Josh again but found herself at a loss, beyond holding his hand. Could she even properly assess his injuries without Portius here to help?
As if in response to her thoughts, hoofbeats thudded beneath the sound of the other commotion. “What’s going on here?” came the strident voice of Travis.
His gaze swept the scene and landed on Pearl. Squashing whatever chagrin she might feel at being caught at Josh’s side, she laid his arm carefully across his chest before clambering to her feet. “Three of the other men attacked this one, presumably because he had acted in my defense.”
Travis dismounted from his horse, and Portius from another, behind him, and strode across to her, eyes wide and mouth tight. “What do you mean, in your defense?”
“Yesterday, that one”—she stabbed a finger at the man lying facedown—“came seeking a little more hospitality than I am prepared to give. Josh—Mister Wheeler—intervened.”
Travis noted the slip and its correction—couldn’t help noting it, she was sure. The flicker in his expression found an answering pang in her breast. She truly did not mean to wound him.
“Well. I’m glad for his intervention.” He glanced around again, saw Clem still holding the brace of revolvers. “Did you shoot?”
Clem nodded toward Pearl. “That was mostly her. I just helped.”
They’d fired two shots apiece, Pearl remembered—but who was counting?
Travis swung back to her, approval and consternation at war in his features. “And I ask again, what happened?”
She huffed. “They—apparently they jumped Mister Wheeler.” A glance at Clem to confirm, and he nodded. “Clem came and got me, and we—put an end to it.”
“You certainly did,” he murmured.
Portius rose from the side of the one who lay unmoving. “He’s dead, Mister Travis.”
Under his breath, Travis swore bitterly. “Confound it all, Pearl, you can’t just go shooting the men who are here to receive medical care—”
“Is a woman not allowed to defend her own honor, then?”
“Of course, just—”
“Just what? Should I have let them kill Mister Wheeler, then submitted quietly to my own violation? Would that have seen the situation justified? You left me to care for wounded enemy soldiers, Travis. I had no other recourse. Nor time to think of any.”
Her cousin stood, body stiff, face scarlet, doubtless from such a public tongue-lashing. Suddenly weary, Pearl swiped a hand over her eyes and released a hard breath. “Could I please obtain your assistance in moving Mister Wheeler inside?”
Travis went to one side, Portius to the other, and after a false start or two, they lifted Josh between them. Pearl trailed after, but once they’d laid him on the bed, Portius shooed her back out into the sitting room and shut the door. She hovered a moment, limbs trembling, but Lydia ushered her to the kitchen and made her sit, then pressed a cup of something warm into her hands. “Drink this,” she whispered.
Hands shaking, Pearl could hardly lift the cup. She tasted mint and—was that whiskey? She shot Lydia a glance, but the other woman only put a finger to her lips.
Travis came out of the bedroom and squatted next to her. Pearl refused to meet his searching gaze. “Why such distress over a Yankee soldier?” he murmured, at last.
She could feel her cheeks heating and tried to hide it behind another sip of Lydia’s concoction. “He defended me. Does that not deserve gratitude?”
His lips thinned. “This is more than gratitude, Pearl. I’ve never seen you so upset—not over a stranger.”
“I just shot a man,” she snapped. “Two, actually.”
And Josh was not a stranger, not anymore.
“You were holding his hand, Pearl.”
She set the tea on the table with a solid thump then deliberately met his gaze. “I am not your wife, Travis. I’m not even your fiancée. Not yet, and likely not ever. But even if I were—you asked me to nurse these men. And he appears to be gravely wounded. Again. Forgive my distress in the moment, wherein I only sought to ascertain the extent of his injuries.”
He watched her for another moment, then sighed, gave a quick nod, and rose. “I’ll see what I can do about moving the men who are able to travel.”
He angled toward her bedroom, and with a quick knock, he disappeared inside.
“Well.” Lydia spoke from the stove.
Pearl glanced over, found her staring into the pot, brow raised. Eyes burning, she didn’t even have the strength to ask Lydia’s thoughts. After a gulp of her tea, she folded an arm on the tabletop, lay her head upon it, and let the tears come.
Every breath hurt. Even the agony of amputation seemed a dim memory by comparison.
Portius was gentle enough while removing Josh’s clothing and assessing his injuries, but it was still no
picnic to be examined and tended as if he were fresh off the battlefield. And in truth, Josh felt like his body had taken the brunt of an exploding shell this time, and not simply a minié ball to the wrist.
“At least two broken ribs. Your limbs seem to be … fine.”
Josh knew the hesitation in the man’s deep voice could bode nothing good. Especially when Portius lingered overlong when examining the amputation wound.
Josh thought he remembered at least one of those ruffians stomping that limb.
“As far as everything else,” Portius went on, “only time will tell.”
“Is Pearl—safe?” It hurt to speak, and his head throbbed with the effort, but he had to know.
“Miss Pearl is very much safe.” Portius’s voice was edged with amusement this time. “She and Clem made pretty quick work of those scoundrels, in fact.”
Memory drifted back of her voice, ringing out above the haze of the attack, just before the first shot … then sudden quiet, and her voice again, taking charge of the situation. He breathed out a long sigh. Thank You, Lord, for that much at least.
A rustle came from the other side of the room, and Travis Bledsoe loomed into view. His pale eyes were like ice.
“I told you I’d look out for her,” Josh rasped, before the man could say a word.
“So you did,” Bledsoe admitted. “Might you explain to me what happened?”
Josh closed his eyes against the searing ache in his brain then refocused on the man. “Those three who jumped me this morning were all standing out by the barn yesterday, and when Miss MacFarlane walked past, the one followed her, thinking to start trouble.”
Bledsoe’s face remained hard, whether because of Josh’s dissembling over his familiarity with using Pearl’s given name or the gravity of the situation itself, Josh wasn’t sure. “The others weren’t around to come to her aid? Or they left it to you?”
Josh thought about how to reply. “She headed up the hill, into the timber, alone. And no one else noticed him following her.”
Bledsoe chewed his cheek for a long moment. “So you sent him packing?”
“I did.” Never mind that Josh had caught the ruffian off guard, or he might not have had such advantage. “And apparently he didn’t take so kindly to it.”
The Rebel Bride Page 15