by Nan Ryan
Then he moved. He sprang forward agilely and brought down his right arm with swift military authority.
In a second the Federal gunboats opened their batteries. Captain James Montgomery’s Confederate flotilla—outmanned and outgunned—swiftly launched a bold attack, and the dawn Battle of Memphis was under way.
The morning was perfectly clear and perfectly still, but the reports of guns on both sides were heavy and rapid. Within minutes a heavy wall of smoke had formed on the river, and Mary Ellen could see only the flashes of the guns.
She blinked and squinted through the field glasses as the guns boomed and men shouted commands and citizens of Memphis prayed for victory.
But the Federal resources far exceeded those of the Confederates, and within two hours the Rebel flotilla had been completely disabled. Only one of the eight Confederate vessels escaped the fiercely fought river battle.
Now completely unprotected, Memphis surrendered.
At noon Commodore Charles H. Davis’s Union fleet was able to make its way on downriver toward Vicksburg, where he would link up with Farragut, who was heading north from New Orleans.
But not all of Davis’s fleet would be going south with him to Vicksburg.
The gunboat and three companies of fleet marines were to secure the Union’s prize: Memphis, Tennessee. The surrendered city of Memphis was to be immediately occupied by Union troops under the command of a brilliant young naval Captain in whom Commodore Davis had total confidence.
By evening blue-jacketed Union sailors were swarming over the city, and that night Mary Ellen took with her to bed the painful knowledge that the victorious Federals had captured her hometown and were now in control of the city.
Memphis—the metropolis of the American Nile—had fallen to the Yankees!
She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. For the first time in her life she was afraid in her own home. She’d never thought about such things before, but now she wondered how safe she was in the big empty mansion with only the old cook, Mattie, and the aged, arthritic Titus.
The other servants had gone months ago. Those who hadn’t run away had been sent to the homes of more prosperous citizens. Mary Ellen would have sent Mattie and Titus, but no one wanted the helpless old couple who, after years of caring for the Prebles, now had to be cared for by her.
Sleep was a long time coming that night.
When Mary Ellen awakened to a new day and hurried to Shelby County Hospital, she was incensed that the streets of Memphis were filled with Yankee sailors.
And she was horrified to see, atop the five-story post office, the Stars and Stripes fluttering in the gentle morning breeze.
She stopped and stared in disbelief.
Shaking her head, Mary Ellen moved on dazedly. On Adams Street, a block from Shelby County Hospital, Mary Ellen was stunned to see blue-uniformed Yankees streaming up the old Wheatley mansion’s steps and into the house as if they belonged there. Transfixed she watched in horror for several long moments.
And as she watched, she was being watched.
From inside the Wheatley mansion’s spacious front parlor, a tall, dark Union naval officer leaned a muscular shoulder against a wooden window frame and looked out. His narrowed eyes as cold as ice, his hard, handsome face totally devoid of expression, the officer unblinkingly studied the slender blond woman standing directly across the street.
The dark, lean Captain was the officer who had led the steel ram of the conquering Federal fleet into Memphis. The Captain was now in command of all occupying naval forces. At ease in a position of authority, the respected commander discharged his duties with decisive proficiency and still had time to monitor Mary Ellen’s every move.
The Captain knew each time she left Longwood. The Captain knew where she went and what she did and when she returned home. The Captain even knew the exact minute when she blew out the lamp beside her bed each night.
22
MARY ELLEN NOW HAD a new worry, that the Yankees might occupy Longwood. The prospect of such an occurrence filled her with dread.
Days passed, and she held her breath each time she saw a blue-jacketed man near her home. Many of the city’s mansions had been swiftly taken over by the occupying forces. Mary Ellen was terrified that they would move in and destroy her beloved home.
A full week went by, and Mary Ellen began to breathe a little easier. She told herself there was an abundance of large, comfortable houses in Memphis; maybe the hated conquerors would have no need of hers. Thank heaven. She could think of nothing worse than seeing those arrogant, blue-uniformed Yankees lounging around on the rosewood furniture in her parlor!
Mary Ellen hated the sight of them filling the city streets; hated passing by them on her way to the hospital each morning; hated the lecherous looks they cast her way.
Even when there was not a single Union sailor or soldier in sight, there were times when—for no logical reason—she felt the wispy hair at the nape of her neck rise, as if one of the Yankees had his eyes on her.
As if he were following her. Examining her. Watching her.
Abruptly she’d stop and look around anxiously, expecting to catch some blue-uniformed sailor or soldier staring insolently at her. But she’d see no one. She assumed it was her raw nerves getting the best of her. She was so edgy, she was imagining things.
Finally Mary Ellen began to relax a little. A couple of weeks went by with no Yankees setting foot on Longwood’s overgrown grounds. Apparently she was being spared. She didn’t know why, but whatever the reason she was grateful and relieved.
The despised Yankees continued to cast longing glances her way when she walked to and from the hospital, but none had really bothered her. For a host of reasons she continued to have trouble sleeping, but her sense of security had partially returned.
Still, she knew very well it was unsafe for a woman to be out alone after dark in the Union-occupied city, and she hadn’t dared tempt fate.
Until one sweltering hot June evening when she could stand the heat and the loneliness no longer. She recklessly left the safety of Longwood, wandered down to the river, and encountered the naked naval Captain.
Part II
23
“CLAY KNIGHT,” MARY ELLEN murmured again.
“Yes.”
That was all he said.
Then a long silence as the pair stood motionless in the moonlight. His tanned fingers gripping her fragile wrist, Captain Clay Knight, commander of Memphis’s occupying Federal naval forces, held Mary Ellen Preble close against his tall, wet body and looked directly into her eyes.
Mary Ellen stared up at the dark, formidable figure and was instantly swamped with conflicting emotions. Anger and attraction caused her temples to pound, her eyes to sting with unshed tears.
Clay. Clay Knight.
The sweet-faced boy who used her heart for a stepping-stone to a vainglorious military career was now this cruel-looking Union naval Captain. Closely examining the darkly handsome face that with the years had hardened into roughly chiseled lines, Mary Ellen realized she had almost forgotten how much she’d once loved him.
How much she hated him.
Clay looked into Mary’s wide, dark eyes as similar emotions swept through his tall, naked frame.
Mary. Mary Preble.
The spoiled, pretty young girl who had used her charms to frivolously break his heart was now this haughty, highly desirable woman. Her closeness instantly rekindled a kind of passion and pain that made his bare belly contract, his knees go weak.
His gaze shifted, touched the radiant white-blond hair now silvered by the moonlight, then slid appraisingly over the perfect features of her beautiful face, before finally settling on the tempting, full-lipped mouth.
God, he had nearly forgotten how much he had once loved her.
How much he hated her.
The spell was broken when finally Captain Knight spoke.
In a low, rich baritone, he said, “Surely you must realize, Mrs.
Lawton, that it is unsafe for you to be out alone at night.”
Mary Ellen quickly replied, “I am no longer Mrs. Lawton. I’m Mary Ellen Preble, and it was perfectly safe until you and your horde of heathens got here.” Again she tried to free her wrist from his grasp. “Let go of me!” she commanded, confused and trembling with mixed feelings.
Captain Knight held her fast.
He took the wadded greenbacks from her clenched fingers and calmly stuffed them inside the bodice of her low-necked summer dress.
His warm, wet hand against the rising swell of her breasts, he said, “Accept this as partial payment for lodging, Mary Preble.” He removed his hand. “As commander of all occupying naval forces, I have chosen your home, Longwood, to be my headquarters for as long as I’m stationed in Memphis. You can expect me at noon tomorrow.”
Mary Ellen was horrified. “No!” she shouted, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want you there. I forbid it!”
“You misunderstand. I’m not asking for permission, I’m informing you of my intent.”
“And I’m informing you that I’ll never allow you to set foot inside Longwood!”
“I’ll be there at noon tomorrow,” he repeated calmly.
“Why? Why my home?” she asked angrily, struggling against him. “There are dozens of large mansions in Memphis.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “As you may recall, I once—a long time ago—lived here.”
“Take one of the finer homes for your headquarters!”
“I was always partial to Longwood,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable there.” The merest shadow of mockery flickered around his hard mouth.
Mary Ellen saw it, and her anger rose. “Is there no end to your cruelty?”
“I had an excellent teacher,” was his puzzling reply, and his cold silver eyes were starkly pale in the darkness of face.
He moved back slightly, revealing his wet, hair-covered chest, powerful shoulders, and swelling biceps.
He said, “Unless you want your modesty shocked, you’d better hurry back home. I’m ready to get dressed now.”
Afraid he would carelessly expose his nakedness, Mary Ellen anxiously reached out and clasped his slippery upper arms. “Don’t you dare move until I’ve turned around!”
Mary Ellen pushed him away and spun about all in one swift, fluid motion. She immediately lifted her long skirts and sped across the damp sandbar as if she were fleeing from Satan himself.
Clay made no move to get dressed. He stood there naked in the moonlight, watching Mary race madly across the wet sand, her loose white-blond hair dancing around her slender shoulders, her skirts swaying with her rapid movements.
That she was anxious to get away from him was more than evident, but that didn’t particularly bother Captain Knight. He would occupy her home whether she liked it or not; her feelings were of no real importance to him.
He started to stoop and pick up his discarded clothing, then changed his mind as a thought struck him. When he had come up on Mary, she had been barefoot. Which meant she had left her shoes and stockings on the riverbank. She would have to retrieve them.
Idly he wondered. When she stopped to pick up her shoes, would she look back at him?
All at once every muscle in his lean body tensed and he found himself hardly daring to breathe. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. He watched and waited, speculating. Would she look back? He found himself hoping she would, even as he told himself he didn’t care.
You will turn and look at me, Mary, he commanded silently. You can’t keep from it. You will turn. You will look back.
At last Mary Ellen scampered off the long sandbar and stepped onto the riverbank. She had gone but a few steps when she bent and snatched up her shoes. She straightened but didn’t immediately hurry on up the path. She hesitated. For some insane reason she was tempted to look back. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.
She sucked her bottom lip behind her teeth and told herself she’d be worse than Lot’s wife in the Bible if she turned and looked back. Why on earth would she even want to look at him, anyway? She didn’t! Lord, no. Besides, the Yankee naval Captain had likely gotten dressed and was gone. He wouldn’t still be just standing there, for heaven’s sake.
And since he wouldn’t, what difference did it make if she looked back?
Mary Ellen couldn’t help herself.
Slowly she turned and looked back.
The tall, dark Union officer stood there just as she had left him, naked and unmoving in the moonlight. Mary Ellen gasped, whipped around, and anxiously ascended the river cliffs, her heart hammering.
Out of breath when she reached the safety of Longwood, she hurried inside the double fan-lighted doors and threw the bolt lock against intruders. Exhaling with exertion and relief, she climbed the stairs to her room and nervously undressed in a shaft of moonlight.
Troubled, Mary Ellen lay awake in her bed, wondering if Captain Knight actually meant to occupy Longwood. Could he be that cruel and insensitive? Hadn’t he hurt her enough all those years ago? Did he wish to exact even more pain from her?
Mary Ellen cursed his name and vowed she would never let him come inside her house. Or her heart. Thinking it over, she told herself he probably had no intention of occupying Longwood. He had wanted only to frighten her. To devil her. Surely he wouldn’t show up.
But she knew he would.
Mary Ellen couldn’t sleep. She tossed restlessly, worried and upset. Each time she closed her eyes, visions of the dark, naked, very masculine Captain Knight loomed before her. Dawn was not far off when finally she fell asleep.
But even then she found no rest, no peace. She thrashed about, moaning and whimpering, frightened by the dark, disturbing dreams that dominated her fitful, uneasy slumber.
As the noon hour approached, an exhausted, anxious Mary Ellen stood alone on the wide gallery of Longwood. One of her father’s ancient heavy dueling pistols gripped tightly in her right hand, she waited and watched.
At straight up twelve o’clock, she saw Captain Knight coming up the pebbled drive of Longwood. Bareheaded, his blue-black hair glittering in the sunlight, he was unarguably dashing in his dark blue naval uniform. Brass stars decorated his stiff, stand-up collar, yellow Captain’s stripes pulled on his firm biceps, and a double row of shiny brash buttons marched down his broad chest. A bright yellow sash was tied around his trim waist, securing the gleaming saber that rested against his dark blue-trousered thigh.
He was astride a spirited, high-stepping stallion whose sleek, shimmering coat was as black as his rider’s midnight hair. Man and beast were perfectly matched; both were sleekly handsome, incredibly graceful, and very likely dangerous.
Following several paces behind their mounted commander, a column of armed, blue-coated men marched determinedly up the drive toward the big bluffside mansion.
Her heart pounding with emotion, her pale hand gripping the pistol at her side, Mary Ellen Preble stood alone on the wide front gallery and watched as the Yankees moved steadily closer.
She despised them, each and every one. But it was their dark, arrogant commander she hated most of all.
Mary Ellen took a long, deep breath and lifted her chin proudly as Captain Knight dismounted just beyond the front lawn. Dropping the long leather reins to the ground, he spoke softly to the black stallion, put his troops at ease, then turned and let himself in the heavy wrought-iron front gate.
Mary Ellen stiffened.
She felt short of breath as he entered the estate’s grounds, which were badly overgrown with dying vines.
The brass buttons on his chest catching the noonday sun, he advanced up the flagstone walk as if he belonged there. When he reached the steps of the shaded gallery where Mary Ellen waited, he stopped.
He put a booted foot on the first step, rested his hand on the hilt of his gleaming saber, looked directly at her, and said in a low, even voice, “I told you I would be here at noon, and so I am.”
“A
nd I told you I would never allow you to set foot inside Longwood.” She clamped her jaw down and lifted the heavy dueling pistol. Holding it in both hands, she pointed it directly at Captain Knight.
He didn’t flinch or make a move.
“Are you meaning to shoot me, Mary?”
“If necessary,” she told him, dark eyes flashing dangerously. “Take one more step and I’ll pull the trigger.”
“I suppose I should be frightened,” he said, the relaxed attitude of his tall, lean body indicating he wasn’t. “But you can’t kill a dead man,” he said, and leisurely climbed the remaining steps.
“Get back!” she warned, the gun growing heavier in her shaking hands. “I’ll shoot you, so help me I will!”
“What are you waiting for?” he asked in a low, even voice as he moved forward until he stood directly before her, filling the entire scope of her vision.
Finally he was so close that the wavering silver barrel of Mary Ellen’s raised pistol was pressed to his chest.
He said, “That’s not quite the right spot.”
And he helpfully shifted slightly so that the barrel was directly over his heart. If she pulled the trigger, it would kill him instantly.
He knew it.
She knew it.
Mary Ellen battled with her conscience. She was frightened by the strength of her desire to actually shoot this hard-faced Yankee Captain whom she had hated for the last dozen years. It would be so easy simply to squeeze the trigger and end his life as he had ended hers when she was a young, trusting girl.
Mary Ellen looked into his pale gray eyes and saw not the slightest hint of fear. She was baffled by his strange behavior. It was as if he didn’t care whether he lived or died. And what had he meant when he’d said you couldn’t kill a dead man?