by Gina Danna
He pulled off the U.S. emblem from Goliath’s chest strap, and flipping the saddle blanket hid its U.S. marking. He couldn’t remove the brass medallions from the bridle without destroying the piece and reluctantly left them in place.
“You were stolen,” he said to the horse, patting his withers. “Remember that if they ask.”
The animal raised his head, still munching on grass, and snorted as though in agreement. Jack chuckled.
His clothing was next. It would be risky to ride into Virginia dressed as a Yankee soldier. He then rode into Morgantown, which straddled the borders of Virginia and Pennsylvania. Shoving his frock into his saddlebag and throwing his overcoat underneath the bedroll, he looked for someone to exchange clothes with. The appearance of the town square indicated the village had been ravaged by the war.
Goliath’s hooves created a small cloud of dust as they plodded along the street. Jack scanned the storefronts, hotels and saloon, but all was quiet. Except for the pattering of feet behind him, he would have thought the town deserted. With a slow smile, he turned in the saddle and saw two young boys, back far enough to prevent being kicked, their eyes riveted on Jack.
“Whoa,” he said, flicking the reins and leaning back in the saddle. He concentrated for a moment before saying anything. He’d been up North for so long, he knew he didn’t sound as Southern as he needed to now without working on it. The boys were about ten or twelve. Their clothing was too small to be of use to him, but… “Good morning, gentlemen.”
They stopped but didn’t run and stood staring at him as though he was the devil delivered. He guessed he probably was.
Their ragged and dirty clothing was promising, though. He hoped someone bigger would happily exchange their equally shoddy wear for a finely tailored wool suit, especially with winter coming.
“Perhaps you boys can help me,” he continued, slipping back into his Louisiana drawl. “Is your daddy around?”
#
Emma lay on the mattress, her eyes wide open, unable to sleep. It was before dawn, still dark outside. She heard the grandfather clock in the hall chime four and quietly sighed. So close to the time to rise...
It had turned a bit chilly in the early morning hours. She shivered, wanting to edge back into Billy’s embrace, but she didn’t. He had insisted they sleep together again. That his injury was better, but she saw him fighting the pain. His stump still looked inflamed. But he remained stoic, pulling her into his arms every night, claiming he could keep her warm. That was true, as even his breath on her back helped.
She shut her eyes and shuddered. A week had passed since he’d confessed to her. He appeared much relieved afterward, but she hadn’t been. She sometimes still enjoyed his company. But the fact that he’d slept with Caroline had been salt in her wounds.
Why had his revelation surprised her? Caroline had taken everything that Emma had or hoped for. Everything. Even as a child she had been greedy. First taking Emma’s dolls, clothes, ribbons and schoolbooks, then taking men from her. She didn’t doubt Caroline would have stolen Angel, too, except the mare didn’t like Caroline and bit her on any occasion when she got too close. What a smart horse Angel had been… Then the Yankees showed up and found her in the woods where Emma had hidden her.
Caroline took Jack. And then, she learned Caroline had taken Billy, too. The news had almost destroyed Emma. What did she have left? Nothing but a house to run and maintain, her brother’s fate unknown, her father’s mental stability waning, slaves leaving…and Caroline’s baby. A baby God had granted Caroline and Jack but not Emma and Billy. Billy had tried to make love to her since he returned from the war. But he couldn’t last because pain from his leg intensified as his excitement grew.
Frustrated, she threw off the blanket and got up. Nathan slept through the night now. Tilly took care of him when Sally was busy and slept in the same room with him, freeing Emma to leave the house. She put on her chemise and corset, knowing her weight loss would make it necessary to adjust them soon. Shrugging on a simple work dress of brown and cream plaid, she eased her way down the stairs and out the back door.
Even the armies remained quiet at pre-dawn. Emma hadn’t heard of any more battles nearby, but fighting men passed through on their way north. The patrols that rode through the area, to “protect” the families of soldiers and prevent any mischief were troublemakers themselves. But they, too, slept now.
At that hour of the day, she could spend some rare time alone, with no one fretting over her health or coming to her with their problems. It was a slice of Heaven.
She moved silently to the barn. The two remaining cows needed to be milked–a chore she disliked but one that had to be done. Tilly was worthless at it and Sally too old. Emma needed Jemmy and Jeremiah and the remaining hands for fieldwork. Frankly, she always dreaded the morning. Reports, of another hand leaving, more food being taken, a chicken missing, seemed to occur daily. Money was scarce, and goods to buy were dwindling. Winter was going to be hard.
The barn door needed repair, too, because it had become hard to open. Emma slammed her shoulder into it with all her might, and it slowly gave way.
“Morning, ladies.” She hung her lantern on the peg. Glancing at the dim light, she realized she should have left the lamp and made her way in the dark because their supply of oil was low. Grabbing the stool and bucket, she stepped to the first stall.
“Why, hello there, my pretty.”
Emma froze. The male voice came from a dark corner of the barn. It had startled her. She didn’t recognize the voice. Fear snaked down her spine, and her hold on the bucket tightened. She swallowed the knot in her throat and slowly turned.
The speaker revealed himself and went toward her.
“Who are you?” she demanded, taking a step back.
He was young, close to her age but slovenly looking. Wearing torn clothing, he reeked of sweat, blood and whiskey. He grinned at her, his dry, cracked lips parting to show her yellowed, broken teeth.
She took another step back as he came closer, and she met the wall of the barn.
“Oh, pretty, it’s been too long,” he drawled slowly, his knuckles caressing her cheek.
Her breath was ragged as she gulped huge breaths. His greasy black hair fell in disarray around his whiskered and weathered face.
“You better leave me be,” she warned, but her heart thudded so loudly that she couldn’t hear her own voice.
“Why? Me and you could have a good time.” He was excited knowing he had her cornered. His fingers trailed down her neck and into her bodice, yanking it down and splitting the material. “Ah, ain’t they ripe for the pickin’,” his voice was husky as he grabbed her right breast and squeezed it out of the corset.
She opened her mouth to scream when his other hand covered it. “No, I’m thinkin’ you should be quiet. All I’m wantin’ is some of you. If you scream, I’ll have to shoot your husband, the cripple.” He let go of her breast but not her mouth. She wished he hadn’t. When he brought his hand back up, it held a knife.
“See?” he said, using the knife to slice down the front of her dress and petticoat.
Emma closed her eyes. Then she opened her mouth to bite his hand when she heard the click of a gun at the door.
“Boy, get off her.” The voice was angry, demanding. It was Jack’s. She blinked. No, it couldn’t be Jack.
The vermin holding her didn’t even flinch but shouted over his shoulder, “You can have her after I am done with her.”
In a split second, the man released her as an explosion sounded in the barn. Sulfur and gunpowder filled the air as the man fell into a heap on the floor, blood pouring from him.
“Emma.”
She couldn’t hear well after the shot.
“Jack?”
#
The sun hadn’t yet reached the horizon, but Jack figured he was close to Rose Hill. He was so tired, he slouched over Goliath’s neck. The animal plodded along slowly, but Jack wouldn’t stop.
A
t the top of the rise, he glanced down and saw the house.
“Boy, we made it,” he whispered to the horse, patting his neck. With a second wind fortifying him, Jack sat up and nudged his ride faster. “Almost done, boy, then you can rest.”
They crossed the creek and entered the pastures surrounding the barn. Jack saw a woman leave the house, carrying a lantern to the barn. She was thin, with a regular work dress on in some dark color, and her hair was pulled back in a knot on her head. He wanted to call to her, but he’d have to yell for her to hear him, and at this time of the morning, it probably would scare her to death.
She walked into the barn before he got there. He smiled. Milking cows. Funny how war could change a person, in this case from privileged young lady to hardworking farmhand. Not that Emma had been as spoiled as his wife, but he’d bet his horse she’d never expected to milk a cow in her life. He chuckled.
As they made it to the barn, Goliath sidestepped, snorting and shaking his head. Something felt wrong. Jack slid off the horse and pulled out his revolver.
The door wasn’t closed, and he slipped through it. In the dim light, a vagrant was holding a knife to Emma, whose clothing was torn. Cocking his weapon, Jack spoke.
“Boy, get off her,” he demanded, his military-trained voice loud and clear.
The dirty scum laughed and refused to step back, muttering something Jack couldn’t hear. Emma’s face was pale with fear. Jack took aim, bent on killing the bastard. Without another thought, he squeezed the trigger.
The man fell to the floor as Jack raced to Emma and grabbed her arms. She was shaking badly.
“Emma,” he said. “Emma?”
“Jack?” She said and screamed, just as the back of his head exploded. Pain engulfed him, and his world turned black.
Strange as it may seem to you, but the more men I saw killed the more reckless I became.
—Union solider Franklin H. Bailey in a letter to his parents
Chapter Seventeen
Rose Hill
A low hum of voices slowly became more distinct as Jack fought the blackness that enveloped him. With effort, he forced open his eyes and immediately regretted it. The bright light burned, and he closed his eyes again, turning his head away. Severe pain stabbed the back of his skull, and a moan escaped him.
“Why, look who’s up,” a male voice said.
Jack grimaced. He knew that voice, but the pounding in his head clouded his thinking. Suddenly, relief arrived in the form of a cool cloth gently placed across his brow. He opened his eyes again. Everything was blurry. He blinked and focused. Emma. He relaxed. She looked all right. He’d stopped that man in time.
“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling slightly before backing away.
He tried to reach for her, but his movements were sluggish, as though he was swimming in mud. “Emma,” he called, but his voice had no strength.
“What are you doing here, Jack?” The gravelly voice asked.
Jack lifted himself from the mattress, fighting a wave of blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. He concentrated on the form sitting across the room, and his eyes finally focused. It was Billy. He thought the man was off fighting, or that’s what he recalled from a couple of months ago.
“I came back to check on Emma and…”
“My wife?” Billy’s voice sounded hard.
“Billy,” Emma intervened, her voice soothing Jack’s frayed nerves. She helped him sip some water from a cup. The sweet liquid trickled down his parched throat, and he gulped, wanting more.
“Miss Emma,” Sally called from the doorway.
Emma smiled, taking the cup from Jack’s lips. She pushed an errant strand of hair from his face before she stood up. Her touch had reached inside him, to that place he had locked closed long ago. As she stepped away, he almost begged her to come back until he saw her husband glaring at him. Emma glanced from Jack to Billy. “You two be mindful, you hear me?”
Billy’s glare disappeared when he looked at her. “Of course, darlin’, ole Jack and I just have some business to discuss. Hurry on.”
She snorted and sailed out the door with Sally.
Jack sat up, swinging his legs off the bed to the floor. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed the bitter taste. He stared at Billy. The man was haggard looking and almost gaunt. He wore civilian clothes, his long hair tied back. He looked like a veteran, prematurely aged by war. It seemed the battlefield could have that effect overnight. By the end of this fight, there’d be no young people left in the country, Jack mused.
“You married her?”
“Yes,” the curt reply. Obviously, Jack’s arrival did not sit well with the Confederate.
With extreme effort, Jack rose unsteadily to his feet, but at least he was standing. His head throbbed.
“You realize you killed that bastard, don’t you?”
“That was my aim,” Jack stated. He’d have done anything to save Emma. “Where the hell were you?”
Billy sat like a statue, anger in his eyes. “So, you deserted the Union? You’re a man without a home?”
Jack flinched. That’s what it must have looked like with him showing up in civilian clothes. To them, he was a traitor to the South, and now, it appeared he had deserted the North. “I came to take my son to safety…”
“Oh, so now you accept him as yours?” Billy guffawed.
Emma stood at the door, the baby in her arms. Jack grabbed the bedpost, suddenly weak from the pain in his head, but his eyes locked onto her. She walked slowly toward him, the babe’s eyes open and wandering around the room. As they got closer, Jack saw the child’s eyes were green, like his, and the tuft of hair on his head dark brown, almost black. The color of Jack’s.
Emma noticed Jack’s reaction to the baby’s coloring, his unspoken acknowledgement that the child was, in fact, his. “Your son,” she said softly.
Jack was amazed. Nathan had grown so much in the last three months. His eyes and hair were so similar to Jack’s own that he could never deny the boy again. He reached out to touch the baby’s small hand that had fisted on Emma’s bodice. When Jack’s finger traced the tiny hand, the baby squealed and grabbed it, wrapping his own tiny fingers around his father’s.
A slave boy ran into the room, up to Billy. Jack was vaguely aware of the boy’s frantic panting as he spilled the news to his master.
“Well, well, well.” Billy slammed his walking stick to the ground. “Seems our good ole Yankee-loving Jack here’s brought attention to more than just us.”
Jack pulled his hand back and turned.
Emma held the baby tighter. “What’d Jemmy say?”
“Word of Jack killin’ that bastard got back to his men. We got patrols, Jack, vigilante groups to keep the peace and such, with the other men gone to fight for our freedom,” Billy replied. “You done killed one of Wilcox’s men. They had one of their own watching, saw you ride in. Jack, they’re coming, and they’ll kill you if they find you here. And once these groups get started, if they find you, they’ll kill the rest of us for ‘aiding and abettin’.”
Jack heard Emma gasp. He’d put them all at risk if he stayed. But he wasn’t leaving without them.
“I’ll go. Wasn’t planning on staying, but I’m taking my son with me.”
“You can’t be serious,” Emma stated, her eyes shifting wildly. “Where do you think you can go? I’m not letting you take the baby!”
“I’m taking him to my parents. You’re too close to Richmond here. The fight will return here and soon. They want Richmond and will wipe out anything in their way. I won’t leave him here.”
“No!” She hugged the baby tighter, enough so that he wailed.
“Emma,” he started as Sally raced into the room.
“Enough!” Billy roared. His deep voice boomed off the walls, quieting everyone, including Nathan. They waited for him to continue. “Emma, take Nathan away. Jack and I’ll discuss this.”
“Billy, please…”
“Emma, g
o,” he said calmly.
She patted Nathan’s little back, glaring at Jack as she and Sally left.
Jack let out the breath he’d been holding, watching her walk down the hall, his son peering over her shoulder at him. “Guess I should have figured she’d be attached to the little one.”
The throb in the back of his head returned. He massaged his temples, trying to stop the pain. It didn’t work. Frustrated, he turned.
“You need to persuade her to come with me,” he stated, hesitating before adding, “And you, too, of course.”
Billy frowned, his eyes fixed on the door beyond Jack. “Did you love her?” he asked quietly.
Jack’s brows rose. It seemed a strange question to ask under the circumstances, and he wondered for a moment who Billy meant. “I beg your pardon.”
Billy’s sad eyes turned back to Jack. “Caroline. Did you love her?”
Jack’s mouth twitched. It was a fair question. “I cared about her, more than she knew,” he answered carefully.
Jack noted Billy’s look of regret. “Why do you ask?”
Billy shook his head grimly. “Caroline was,” he paused. “Lovely, difficult, but a jewel,” he whispered.
Jack snorted. He was correct about her being difficult, that was for sure. “She never told me she was with child,” he added. Would he have kept her with him had he known? He knew the answer–no, because he’d never believe the child was his. The look on Billy’s face made him keep that to himself. What Jack saw in the man’s eyes told him everything. Billy had loved Caroline.
Billy laughed hollowly. “She had a difficult time, I was told. Blamed you for everything, that was, till the end.”
His skin prickled at the tone of Billy’s voice. “You loved her.” At his nod, Jack continued, “Why did you marry Emma?”