Ecstasy's Promise (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Victoria found some relief from her heartbreak over her father's death by training Rebel for long patient months. When Rebel was not penned up he would follow her about as faithfully as any lap dog, and would allow no one to ride him but Victoria. The few who had tried had been thrown from the stallion's back before they had even seated themselves in the saddle.

  Victoria gave Rebel a final pat and made her way back to the manor house. She was restless and wandered aimlessly from room to room, taking in the beauty of her home. She looked at the stately dining room, which had on many occasions seated more than forty people. She went into the sitting room and admired the rose-colored silk settee and chairs, the crystal chandeliers that glistened like sparkling diamonds. Last of all, she went to her bedroom. A dark-blue carpet covered the floor. A white organdy bedspread and canopy covered the bed. Victoria looked at it as though she were seeing it for the first time—or perhaps the last.

  She was just about-to go downstairs when she heard the faint sound of riders approaching the house. Victoria knew it could not be Bodine, for he would have come from the river. She went hurriedly to her bedroom window. Her hands were trembling as she drew the curtains aside and looked down on the driveway below. She held her breath. Then she saw them as they emerged from the trees, three riders wearing the hated blue uniform of the Union Army.

  Her first reaction was to run, to flee into the safety of the swamps. Panic had taken over her reasoning. She took a big breath of air and squared her shoulders. No, she would not run from the enemy; she would face them. She said a quick prayer for the courage and strength to meet the ordeal that awaited her.

  She ran down the stairs and almost bumped into Bess, who had rushed into the hallway. Bess looked at Victoria for a fleeting second, her eyes blazing and her chin set stubbornly. She carried a broom in her hand, and reminded Victoria of a commanding general about to meet the enemy.

  "You run into the swamp, honey. They won't follow you there. I'll keep them busy until you are safe."

  "Do not be foolish, Bess. We will face them together." Seeing Bess so unafraid and determined gave Victoria the courage she needed. She ran into her father's study and picked up the pistols she had loaded earlier. She heard the jingle of spurs as the three intruders dismounted. Then Bess's voice came to her from the veranda:

  "What you Yankees doing 'round here? Better get on them horses and ride off."

  One of the men laughed. "We come to liberate you, haven't you heard?"

  "I don't know what that liberate means, but you ain't welcome here!"

  Victoria stepped out the door and stood beside Bess. She kept her hands behind her back to conceal the weapons. She observed the three men. Their uniforms were tattered and dusty. One of them, a young man, looked very ill at ease. The other two seemed much older, and more self-assured. One of them had a red scar that ran from his temple to his chin, giving his face a sinister look.

  "Well, well," the man with the scar said. "What have we here?" His eyes raked her body. The other, older man, grinned at his scar-faced companion.

  "That is what is known as a Southern belle," he said.

  The younger man pushed them aside and looked up at Victoria. "Ma'am, I am Corporal Fish. My companions and I are advance scouts for General Sherman. We have orders to search the premises." His eyes looked at her pleadingly, as though asking her to forgive the intrusion. "This is Private Mace," he said, nodding to the scar-faced man, "and Private Stouffer," he said, indicating the third man.

  Victoria said nothing. She stood coolly before them, giving them her most contemptuous look. Private Stouffer leered at her, his eyes burning into hers. "You two just run along and search the barns," he said. "I will tend to little Miss High and Mighty. How about it, honey? Let's you and me have a chat."

  Never in all her life had Victoria been spoken to so shamefully. Her face grew hot. Corporal Fish intervened, "Damn it, Stouffer, it is not going to be like the last time, now that I am in charge."

  Private Stouffer shoved him aside with a force that caused the corporal to lose his balance and fall to the ground. "Run along, sonny. This is man's work. Come back when you are old enough to shave."

  Private Stouffer's eyes never left Victoria's. The other man, Private Mace, threw back his head and laughed. "That's a-telling him. We don't need no green corporal telling us how to handle our job."

  Private Stouffer started up the steps toward Victoria.

  Bess swung into action. She wielded her broom as though it were a saber. She hit the man a stunning blow that landed him at the foot of the steps. "Get gone!" Bess said hotly. "You ain't coming up them steps unless you comes through me."

  Stouffer regained his balance and glared at her. He rushed up the stairs and before Bess or Victoria could react, he grabbed Bess by the shoulder and threw her forcefully down the steps.

  Victoria saw Bess's head come down sharply on the stone walkway. She heard a loud crack, and Bess moaned, her body twitched, and then she lay still, her black eyes open, staring at nothing, seeing nothing. It had all happened so swiftly, but Victoria knew in a split second that her beloved Bess was dead. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she faced her enemies.

  Private Stouffer smiled at her. "Now, then, pretty little girl, let's you and I get acquainted."

  Corporal Fish intervened in a shaky voice. "Private Stouffer, I will not allow this. Our orders are not to harm women and children."

  "Mace, will you shut him up?" Private Stouffer said hotly.

  With a feeling of dread, Victoria realized that there would be no help coming from Corporal Fish. Mace picked him up by the shirt front and plopped him into the saddle. Then he drew back his hand and slapped the horse on the rump. Victoria watched as her only hope rode off, leaving her to face the two men alone. She drew one of the pistols from behind her back and aimed it at Private Stouffer. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her uneasily; then he smiled.

  "Ain't no pretty little gal like you gonna shoot me. Look how your hand shakes. Give me that pistol." He took a step toward her.

  Victoria remembered Bodine telling her when he had taught her to shoot, "If you ever shoot at a man, aim at his heart, for you will only get one shot, and if a man is only wounded, he is very dangerous." They had joked about it, never dreaming she would one day face a man over the barrel of a pistol.

  Victoria aimed the gun at the Yankee's heart, cocked it, and squeezed the trigger. She saw the look of surprise on his face as the bullet entered his body. The force of the bullet knocked Private Stouffer backward. He tumbled down the steps, and landed beside the still form of Bess. Bess had been avenged; her murderer was dead.

  Victoria stood staring at the dead body, unable to tear her eyes away. She could feel her stomach churn and felt that she was going to be sick.

  "You have killed him," a voice said angrily.

  Victoria turned her eyes to the man, Mace, who stood looking up at her. His eyes were deadly. The red scar on his face stood out menacingly.

  "You will pay for this," he said, stepping over the body of his friend, and walking up the steps toward her. She threw down the spent pistol and drew the mate from behind her back. She aimed it at his broad chest. Her hand trembled so violently, she placed her other hand on the gun, trying to steady it.

  "You have seen that I can shoot with deadly accuracy," she warned him. "If you do not want to join your friend, I suggest you mount your horse and ride away." She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

  Mace paused in his tracks. "You just killed a man," he said softly. "It was not a pretty sight, was it? I do not think that you can kill a second time." He licked his lips and took another step toward her.

  "Don't underestimate me, Yankee. That was your friend's mistake."

  "Come on, honey, you don't want to shoot old Mace, do you?" He took another step toward her. She cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. It had misfired. She saw the twisted smile on Mace's face as he took the remaining stai
rs with a single bound and grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her back. He drew her to him with a force that knocked the breath from her body. "Now, little lady, let's just see how you like what old Mace has in mind for you." She could smell his foul breath as he forced her face up to his own. "I ain't going to hurt you none. In fact, you may even enjoy it," he said caressingly. Victoria shuddered in disgust.

  "Take your hands from me," she said, some of her old courage returning.

  He threw back his head and laughed. "That's what I like, a woman with spirit." He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house. He kicked open the door to her father's study. She struggled with all her might, but knew that she was no match for him. She wished that she had turned the gun on herself.

  "You sure are a looker," he said, running his hands over her breasts and down her body. She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, but to no avail. He threw her onto her father's leather couch and lowered his body to hers. She could smell the scent of his unwashed body, and prayed for death to release her. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at his ugly face.

  All of a sudden, she felt the weight of his body leave hers. She opened her eyes, and saw Bodine standing over her. He had the helpless Mace in an arm lock. "You are dead, Yankee," he hissed. Victoria heard a loud crack as Bodine's powerful arms tightened about the man's neck. Mace went limp and Bodine released him, watching as he slipped to the floor. His eyes went to Victoria. "He did not hurt you, did he, honey?"

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She rose from the sofa and threw herself into Bodine's arms. Tears washed down her face. "Oh, Bodine, it was awful. They killed Bess." There was so much grief in her voice.

  Bodine held her to him tightly, the hate burning in his eyes. "It is all right, honey. It is all over now."

  Victoria cried out her grief for the woman who had loved her and fought so valiantly in her behalf. "I ... I killed the other Yankee," she said, looking up into his face.

  Bodine dried her tears with his handkerchief. "I know," he said soothingly. "I saw when I came up."

  "Bodine," she said, suddenly remembering Corporal Fish, "there was a third man. He rode away. He will probably return with more soldiers. What will they do to me?" she asked fearfully.

  His arms tightened protectively around her. "Nothing, Victoria," he said meaningfully, "because we are not going to hang around waiting for them. Now, listen to me. Between the two of us, we have killed two Yankee soldiers. I do not need to tell you the consequences. You gather together whatever you can carry in a small bundle and meet me out front. Hurry," he said. "I am just going to saddle the horses. There is no time to waste."

  He watched as she raced up the stairs; then he quickly went to the front yard and picked Bess's body up, brought her back into the house, and laid her gently down on the bed that had been her own for so long. Then he made his way to the swamp where the horses were kept.

  Victoria quickly gathered up what few things she needed—her comb and brush, a few mementos that she treasured—then, she rushed downstairs, found the book Romeo and Juliet, and placed it in her pack. She went out to the veranda, and, seeing that Bess's body had been removed, silently thanked Bodine for his thoughtfulness. She retrieved her father's pistols, placed them back in the leather case, and added it to her bundle. She tied it together neatly.

  Quickly she lit an oil lamp and looked about her for the last time. "Forgive me, Father," she said aloud, as she raised the lamp above her head and threw it against the wall. She watched as hungry red flames licked at the drapes. "I swore no Yankee would burn Farraday," she said.

  She picked up her bundle and went out to meet Bodine. He was waiting for her. He took her bundle and helped her mount Rebel. He could see the red flames through the window, and looked at her questioningly.

  "I had to," she said simply. He nodded.

  They rode toward the swamp just as a Yankee column rode up the winding driveway. The sun had set, but the flames from the burning house lit the way for the advancing Yankees, as well as the two fugitives who fled into the swamp. When they were safe within the confines of the swamp, Victoria halted Rebel and looked back at her home. Bodine rode up beside her and they both watched silently, each lost in thought. They could see the tall fingers of fire reaching high into the sky, lighting up the countryside like a giant bonfire.

  "This is the worst day of my life," Victoria said softly. "I lost Bess, my home, and I have killed a man; and it is not over yet. I do not suppose the Yankees will rest until they have their revenge on me."

  Bodine was silent. He had no words of comfort to offer her. He would gladly have given his life to protect her, but there was nothing he could say to ease what she was feeling at the moment.

  "Bodine, the pain is so great and yet I cannot cry. I feel so numb."

  His face was expressionless. "Later you will cry, honey. But for now, we had best ride on. They will soon be beating the bushes, looking for us. I intend to have you a long way from here before they put the pieces together and start a county-wide search for you."

  With one last look at the burning manor house, Bodine led her deeper into the swamp. They rode for about an hour before Victoria realized that Bodine had taken the road that led to Five Hills Plantation. The smoldering remains of the Martin's manor house rose grotesquely in the pale moonlight. She could hardly credit that the house where she had spent so much of her girlhood was nothing but smoldering ruins.

  This is the way Farraday Plantation will look, she told herself. She felt an ache within her breast. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the horrible sight. She wondered where the Martins were now. Had they gotten away safely?

  "They probably moved into Savannah," Bodine told her as though he had read her thoughts.

  "I hope so," she said wearily.

  "I thought this would be a safe place to spend the night," he said. "Since the Yankees have done their worst here, they are not likely to return. You are tired, honey. The barn seems intact. We will seek shelter there for the night. You stay with the horses while I check around."

  Victoria was cold and weary. She felt the night air creep into her body. She shivered. Where was this all going to end? Was the rest of her life to be spent as a fugitive? Her mind refused to dwell on the past events of the day. She could not let herself think of Bess. It was too painful.

  Rebel nuzzled her neck as though wanting her attention. She stroked him gently. "At least I still have you," she said. "I could not bear it if I had lost you, too."

  Bodine returned. He gathered up the reins of the horses and led the way to the barn. "It will not be too uncomfortable," he told Victoria.

  The interior of the barn was dark, with only the faint light of the moon shining through the open doorway. Bodine unsaddled the horses. He took a blanket and spread it on a pile of hay, which he had smoothed out for Victoria. She sat wearily down on the pallet.

  "I am sorry we have nothing for you to eat," he said.

  "Do not worry about that. I am sure that I have eaten since you have."

  "Lie down," he told her gently. "You are weary. I want you to try to get some sleep." She curled up on the pallet while he spread a second blanket over her. She was tired. Never in her life had she been so utterly exhausted.

  Bodine sat down with his back against the wall, his gun across his lap, his eyes and ears alert to any sound that might mean danger.

  Victoria was quiet for so long he thought she had fallen asleep. Then she spoke softly. "The war is lost, isn't it, Bodine?"

  "Yes," he replied simply. He heard her sigh. Then she closed her eyes. He sat for a long time, lost in thought. He had to decide what was the best course for them to take. He loved the small golden-haired girl with a fierce devotion. She was very like her mother, and if fate had not been so unkind, she might well have been his own daughter. Then the answer came to him. He knew what he must do. He would tell Victoria his decision in the morning. He would take her to Texas.

  It wou
ld be a long hard journey, filled with many dangers, but he knew it was the only place where she would be safe.

  The next morning Bodine woke Victoria before daybreak. He saddled the horses while she went to the well and washed her face. He led the horses out of the barn and stood waiting for her.

  It was a cold crisp morning. The grass was wet with dew. Victoria stood looking at the ruins of Five Hills in the early-morning sun. It was still smoldering. She could feel the heat from it warm her cold body. She turned and looked at Bodine. "What now?" she asked him. As always when she needed guidance, she turned to Bodine. He was the rock from which she drew her strength, and he had never let her down.

  "I have given it a lot of thought," he answered, "and the only thing I can see to do is take you to your grandmother in Texas."

  She looked at him in surprise. "Texas is a long way from here, and I do not even know my grandmother."

  "Your grandmother is one of the finest women I know. She will be delighted to have you. She is alone, as you are. You are the only family she has left."

  "I am not alone, Bodine. I have you."

  He smiled. "So you do, Imp."

  She walked over to a wooden bench and sat down. "Tell me about my grandmother," she said.

  "That would take some telling." He sat down beside her and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Alice Anderson is probably one of the kindest women I have ever met. She is much loved by her neighbors. In fact, most of them call her Mammaw, affectionately. She took me in when I was a ten-year-old boy with no home of my own; she made me a part of her family. She had two children—a girl, your mother, and a boy who died in infancy. Your grandfather died fighting for Texas' independence from Mexico."

  "I know you worked for my grandmother, Bodine."

  He nodded. "She has a small ranch, which she put me in charge of. Though she treated me more as a son than a ranch hand."

  "Why did you leave Texas and come to Georgia?"

  He was quiet for a moment. "When your father came to Texas on a business trip, he met and married your mother. Your mother asked me to accompany them to Georgia and I agreed. I never intended to stay permanently, just long enough for your mother to settle into her new home." He spread his hand out and studied his fingernails before he answered. "One thing led to another, and the first thing I knew I was running Farraday Plantation for your father."