by Gina Danna
#
Jack caught Emma in his arms and carried her to the other room. She was so thin, although Tilly had gotten her to eat some. He gently laid Emma on the bed and sat next to her and caressed her face. She wasn’t especially warm, but, still, she hadn’t fainted for no reason.
He relished that moment alone with her. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed touching her. Trying to protect Emma by staying away from her had hurt him every minute of the day, and it was worse at night. Without thinking, he removed the pins and braiding in her hair to better feel the silken strands. He desperately wanted to hold her, to keep her next to him. He fought the impulse to kiss her, to plunge past her lips and taste the inside of her mouth.
Her eyes fluttered open but he couldn’t read anything in them. He remained, waiting, hoping she’d accept him. At least she hadn’t screamed at him or ordered him away, but the fact remained that he was a Yankee, a murderer, a traitor and a deserter and no good for her.
And she was his angel; he prayed she was a forgiving angel and not a vengeful one. To have to live without her would be his lifelong penance.
“How are you feeling?” His voice sounded strained, on the verge of cracking.
“I’m all right.” Her reply was a shaky whisper, tinged with fear.
Fear he’d caused. He was angry with himself but also felt desire stirring because of her nearness. “Good. Rest some more, but not for long. We need to go soon. When we get to town, I want the doctor there to look at you, too.” He wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms again. Searching her eyes, he silently begged her to allow him. But she offered no permission in return. Slowly, he untangled his fingers from her hair, stood up and walked to the door.
Just as he reached it, he heard, “Jack.”
His heart raced as he turned.
She gave him a whisper of a smile, no more. But he was relieved by it and gave her a lop-sided grin in return. “I’ll get the wagon ready.” He left.
#
Emma bundled Nathan and placed him in Tilly’s arms. The child squirmed to get free but wound up burrowed even deeper inside the greatcoat she had on. Emma had insisted the slave wear the mammoth coat because her cotton dress wasn’t warm enough for the chilling temperature. She herself felt the bite of the wind even though she had on a long sleeve dress and had worn her three under-petticoats for added warmth. If she was lucky, a wave of heat would wash over her, as it had on the last three days. Her illness had continued, and when she tried to eat—which was difficult in itself—she barely kept anything down.
“Here, put this on,” Jack said gruffly as he shoved his wool frock coat at her.
She took the garment, muttering thanks, but he had already walked away. Anger flared anew. He should have given it to her sooner to guard her health for the sake of his son. Slipping into the warm coat, she felt better instantly, even though she cringed at wearing anything Yankee. Closing the lapels tighter, she inhaled the faint traces of Jack’s sandalwood scent. Her emotions began to battle again–her longing for Jack seeming to win the fight. If only…
Abruptly, she was lifted onto the wagon and gasped in surprise. The heat of Jack’s hands on her hips and memories of when he had touched her naked flesh came back to her in a rush. But the memories disappeared just as quickly when he sat her on the seat.
“We gotta get moving,” he said, hauling himself up next to her and picking up the reins. “I heard a large number of horses close by.” With a signal from Jack, Petey began pulling the wagon.
Jack kept the wagon to the trees, trying to remain hidden, but a buckboard traveling across leaves and sticks couldn’t help but make noise. Goliath’s lead was tied to the rear of the wagon, but he was saddled as well.
Emma gripped the seat, feeling unsteady. Jack was so close to her that her emotional barriers faltered. But he wouldn’t even look at her, leaving her torn by anger, desire and loss. She closed her eyes and fought not to cry again.
“See, ahead,” he whispered to her. “Movement in the trees and there, in the field.”
And she did see. Horsemen ran out from the trees to their right, up and away from them, whooping and hollering as they fired their weapons at a distant target. But she heard gunfire in response. It sounded close and she shuddered. Jack must’ve thought so too, and he snapped the reins to make Petey go faster.
They continued until the sounds of battle began to fade. Just as Emma started to breathe easier again, she realized their cover was gone. Jack had steered them out of the trees and down the hill to the township below.
Evening was falling as they rode into the quiet village. Emma could barely read the signs on the buildings. One she could read said, “Thompson’s Station General Store” in gold-colored paint above the door. Jack stopped the wagon and leapt off the seat.
“Stay here,” he said and walked into the store.
Emma turned to check on Nathan. He was wide awake, looking at the buildings and listening to the few people on the street. Tilly also was awake but said nothing. Emma’s father was asleep. He had been sleeping a lot recently.
Without a word, Jack came out and stepped back up onto the wagon and took them down the street to a two-storied clapboard house. A small wooden sign swung in the breeze. “Doctor Elijah Thompson” was stamped across it. Jack lifted her off the wagon, but she steeled herself against his touch.
Elijah Thompson looked up as his wife brought Emma, Nathan and Jack into his study. The man’s eyebrows rose at the unexpected intrusion. “What do we have here?”
“Dr. Thompson,” Jack stepped forward, offering his hand. “I’m Jack Fontaine. I’ve brought my wife and child. We’ve been travelin’ and they’ve both been ill. We still have a long way to go. I need you take a look at them.”
Thompson stood slowly, his legs stiff with age. He was perturbed. “Young man, now see here, I…”
“Sir,” Jack’s tone changed, dropping to almost pleading. “I need to get them home to my family in Lou’s’ana. With all the troops in the area, I fear I’m runnin’ out of time. I can’t have anythin’ happen to them. I beg you.”
The elderly doctor sighed. “Follow me.”
He took Emma and Nathan to his medical office at the right side of the house and closed the door on Jack’s face.
“Come here, little fellow,” he coaxed the child, sitting him on the table. The doctor looked at Emma. “What’s been wrong with him?”
“Slight fever and crankiness.”
The old doctor chuckled. “Your first?” When she nodded, he looked in the boy’s mouth and ears. “His teeth are comin’ in. Always a problem, especially for new parents. Here,” he handed her a small bottle after he dampened a rag with it. He made a noise at Nathan and opened his mouth. The boy mimicked his movements. “Good lad.” He rubbed the boy’s gums. “Put a dab of this on his gums. It’ll deaden the pain.” Handing Nathan a flat wooden stick to play with and placing him back on the floor, he then turned to Emma.
She bit her bottom lip as his eyes narrowed, taking in her coat.
“Your husband sounds like a good Southern boy, so you wanna tell me how you got that coat?”
She swallowed. “Found it on the road. It’s cold out, so I took to wearing it for the warmth.” He seemed skeptical.
“And how are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Uh huh,” the doctor said, tilting her head one way, then another, scrutinizing her.
“I’ve been having spells of feeling a bit ill,” she admitted slowly. “Lightheaded, sick to my stomach sometimes, hot and cold, but it passes.”
The doctor took her wrist and pressed against her veins, quiet for a moment. “Sit.”
She sat on the table.
“Feeling sensitive to touch or smell? Food unappealing?”
She shook her head no—a lie. She had a broken heart and frayed nerves, but she doubted there was a medicine for them.
“Your last flow?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your last flow, my dear. When was it?”
#
Jack peered out the window during the night, too on edge to sleep. The doctor had told him about Nathan but nothing about Emma. All he’d said was that she needed her rest and not to worry. Glancing back at the bed, he saw her nestled in the blanket, her brown hair mussed by sleep. It hadn’t upset the doctor when she had passed out in his office. The man had simply laughed and patted Jack on the shoulder, sauntering off to tell his wife they’d be staying for dinner.
Later, the couple had put Jack and Emma in the same room, believing them to be husband and wife. It made things even more difficult for Jack because he wanted Emma, plain and simple. He’d missed her, but he’d seen her looking at him like a wounded animal. It was probably because he had rejected her, but how else could he have protected her from her father’s wrath the last time? And now, there was no other way to keep her reputation safe than by claiming she was his wife. But he had to stay away from her despite his desire. So he sat near the window and waited for dawn.
Stuck inside the doctor’s house, in a small hilltown in Tennessee, Jack was alert to every sound and every movement outside. Come hell or high water, they were leaving at sunrise. What they’d avoided the previous day was only a prelude to a bigger battle and probably a closer one too. He didn’t have enough ammunition to fight their way out if either army descended on them.
As dawn colored the sky pink, a horse raced toward the house and stopped. The rider jumped off and pounded on the door. Jack could barely hear the doctor and the horseman talking.
Fear crept up Jack’s spine. Putting on his jacket, he went down the stairs and found Thompson packing his medical bag.
“Oh, Mr. Fontaine,” the doctor greeted. “I must go see a patient. Sorry. I gave your wife the gum-numbing tonic for your boy’s teething. As to her—” he shut his bag.
“Honey, Mr. Samson is going to wear out our porch if we don’t be movin’,” Thompson’s wife said from the doorway.
“Right,” the doctor muttered.
“What about my wife?” Jack said, grabbing the man’s arm as he tried to leave.
“She’ll be fine. Her illness is perfectly normal. Just keep her fed and rested. Safe journey,” he walked out. “Oh, and Mr. Fontaine, be careful out there.”
Jack nodded. As the doctor walked out, Jack saw cavalry, riders dressed in grey, entering the town. Hell was about to break out, and they needed to go.
When he went to the bedroom and found only Tilly asleep on the cot, he shook her awake and asked, “Where’s John Henry?”
#
John Henry woke confused and lost. It was dark and he couldn’t figure out where he was. Everything looked odd and out of place. The room had a bed and dresser with a washstand, but they weren’t his. Getting dressed, he searched his mind for an explanation and walked out the door and down the stairs, still disoriented.
As he wandered through the house, he convinced himself he was dreaming. He went out the back door, through the yard and into the woods. If he was dreaming, before long, he’d wake and all would be right.
The cold air made him feel alive, and he quickened his pace. Ahead of him was a group of horses, haltered and tied to a line. Something made him cautious and he slowed.
He heard the click of a gun behind him and he stopped.
“Who goes there?”
John Henry smiled. “Colonel John Henry Silvers of the King’s City Militia.”
“King’s City?” The gunman walked up to his right side, still aiming at him.
“Yes sir,” he answered pridefully. “Best set of rifles east of Richmond.”
The guard’s brows knitted but he didn’t lower his rifle. “Come with me.”
John Henry did as he was told and soon entered a Confederate camp, where the guard took him to a walled tent.
“Sir, I think you should see this,” the guard said, standing outside with John Henry.
A muttered curse and the sounds of someone inside tripping over things came through the canvas walls. The flaps parted and a young man, pulling on his uniform short jacket came out. “What the hell is it, private?”
“Found this man, sir, coming from town, claiming to be a colonel with the King’s City something or other.”
The officer rubbed his eyes. “Father?”
John Henry smiled. “Charles.”
“Father, what are you doing out here?” Charles asked dumbfounded.
Finally, John Henry felt like himself again. No longer lost in confusion. “Had to find you, lad.”
Charles frowned, as he stepped forward, motioning to the private to return to his post. “Really, father, there’s a war on. Why aren’t you at home? Where’s Billy? You left my sister alone at Rose Hill?”
“Charles,” he dropped his voice. “Your buddy Jack came, and because of him and his Yankee colors, he got Rose Hill burned and Billy killed. He’s a traitor.”
“What’s this I hear?” A deep voice reverberated behind Charles.
John Henry looked past his son to see a tall lanky man with a receding hairline. His face was pale, with high cheekbones and a thick dark brown goatee. His jacket displayed more silver embroidery than his son’s.
“Father, General Forrest, the ‘Wizard of the Saddle’,” Charles introduced his commander. John Henry noted his son’s obvious admiration for the man. “Gen’ral, my father, Colonel John Henry Silvers, of the former Rose Hill Plantation in Virginia.”
“Glad to meet you, sir,” John Henry extended his hand.
Forrest eyed him. “I heard you speak of a traitor to the cause?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, smiling. “A Yankee amongst us. A good ole Southern boy turned against his brothers.”
Forrest grinned and nodded to Charles. “Looks like we’ll be having company for dinner, Silvers. Why don’t you find out where this lost brother is? Time to bring him home and see if we can’t make him see the error of his ways, or at least pay for them.”
“Yes, sir,” Charles responded quickly. As Forrest left, he turned to his father, his brows furrowed.
John Henry continued to smile. It was time that Yankee Jack Fontaine paid for his crimes.
We have a great many wounded; the same old story – men mutilated in every possible way…I am sick at heart at these scenes, and there seems to be little prospect of a change.
—Kate Cumming, Nurse, Army of Tennessee, CSA, Diary Entry, June 27, 1863
Chapter Thirty
March 5, 1863, Thompson’s Station, Tennessee
Despite Emma’s protestations, Jack gave up looking for John Henry. The man had wandered too far off. Jack’s search ended when he saw what he guessed was over a thousand Confederate soldiers who had arrived at Thompson’s Station from the south side of town. Their commander had lined them up in the hills, where they extended for more than a mile. More troops gathered, most on horseback, but some who dismounted went to a fence running along the gully at the foot of the hills. Sharpshooters dispersed throughout the town to better warn their comrades of federal soldiers approaching.
The hairs on Jack’s neck stood up. Pushing Tilly into the bed of the wagon, he handed her Nathan and turned to Emma.
“Sweetheart, we need to go now,” he stressed, reaching for her.
“But my father,” she retorted. “I won’t leave without him.” She let out a scream when he grabbed her waist and lifted her up to the wagon seat.
“We can’t wait any longer, Emma.” He gestured toward the hills, sweeping his hand in the direction of the buildings nearest them. “Rebel troops. They’re getting into position. Most are on horses, Emma. Cavalry. Fast and furious. From where they’re stationed, the federals must be coming in from the North. I will not put my son in harm’s way. Do you understand me?” But she only shook her head; he could tell she was readying her argument. “Do you understand me? We leave now.”
Throwing the reins to Emma, Jack jumped onto Goliath. She glared at him but as he nudged Go
liath onward, he swatted Petey’s rump, knowing Emma would avoid leaving if she could.
Jack kept an eye on the ground before them, trying to judge which way to leave town. To the left, he saw additional cavalry amassing. In addition, a battery was forming, with cannons aimed toward the north on both sides of the Columbia Turnpike at the end of town.
Jack gritted his teeth. Goliath sidestepped under the tension of his rider. Petey snorted and Emma struggled with the reins to keep him in line. They were just outside town and the only ones on the street. Jack’s frustration grew.
Emma was looking beyond him, her face paling. “Jack.”
He turned around. Riders, five of them, heading toward them fast. He reached for his revolver, even knowing it would do little good against five armed soldiers. His son and Emma were in danger already.
“Stay quiet,” he warned her and rode a few feet ahead of the wagon, where he waited.
The riders halted, except their ranking officer who approached. “Jack Fontaine.”
Jack’s spine stiffened. “Yes.”
“Captain Maury, at your service,” he replied, a sly grin on his face. “Your presence is required.”
“For?”
“To answer accusations of you being a traitor, spy, and murderer.”
Jack heard weapons being cocked and Emma’s gasp.
#
The escort took them past Confederate lines, beyond the trees to their base camp. Emma drove the wagon, at a loss about what to do. Maury had assured her she was safe in their protection from the traitor. But, he did suggest she wait till they got the federals to retreat before sending her on.
“Can’t ever trust them Yankees to be civil’zed to a lady,” he warned. He directed her to General Van Dorn’s walled tent and helped her off the wagon. As she took Nathan in her arms, she walked over to the tent and set him down, with Tilly to watch him. Bile rose in her throat and her heart beat frantically.