by Janet Dailey
He shook his head. "It would be too risky to linger here very long, much as I would like to. Too many Yankee patrols use the Texas Road, and this place is too close to it. Every minute we stay here increases the chance my men might be spotted, and we'd find ourselves fighting to escape. We have to leave now—as soon as we can." He curved his arms around her waist and drew her closer, as if holding her was the most natural thing in the world. "It seems every time we meet, I barely have a chance to say hello before I have to say goodbye. This is a helluva courtship for you."
"Is that what it is? A courtship?" Susannah asked, her voice all breathless.
"It is to me." He rubbed his cheek against the side of her hair. "I love the smell of your perfume, that fresh, clean hint of sandalwood. It makes me think of sunshine and spring days." He stroked a hand over her back. "We'll have those days together, Susannah. I swear that to you." He drew back and cupped a hand to her face. "Right now, all we have is this minute. It has to be enough."
"It is," she whispered, loving him totally, completely.
"The hell it is," he muttered and kissed her hard and quick, then pulled away and walked into the house.
Within the hour, they had lifted The Blade onto the back of a horse. Lije swung up behind him and reached around him to collect the reins. Rans stood in the stirrups and released a shrill, loud whistle. A dozen riders—two dozen—poured from their hiding places in the surrounding trees and converged on the pair.
Lije checked to make sure Deu was mounted, then he tipped his head to peer at his father's profile. "Are you ready?"
The Blade nodded, still grimacing with the pain. "Let's go."
"He's hurting, Eliza," Temple murmured brokenly.
"He'll be fine." She curved an arm around Temple and rubbed her shoulder in comfort as Lije moved the horse out at a walk.
Rans reined his mount over to the back veranda, hooked an arm around Susannah's waist, and scooped her up to plant a hard, needy kiss on her lips. Then he let her slide to the ground.
"I'm coming back to collect my dance," he told her. "You'd better save one for me."
"I will," she promised, both a little dazed and a little dazzled.
He touched his hat to her and backed his horse away, then swung it after Lije. His men fell in behind him. Amidst the clatter of hooves and the groan of leather, Susannah heard him whistling. Even though she could only hear snatches of the tune, she knew the song was "Oh Susannah."
Sorrel glanced sideways in curious wonder. "Are you in love with him, Susannah?"
"I'm not sure, but I think so." She smiled at the thought, secretly pleased by the idea. It was crazy, but it also felt very right.
The house was silent. There was no sign of movement anywhere around it. Again, Alex scanned the run-down shanties of the Negro quarters and the plantation outbuildings. Nothing except some chickens scratching in the dirt.
The buggy was still in the barn. He had checked that already. They had to be around somewhere. Maybe the vegetable garden. He climbed onto the black mare. Keeping to the trees, he rode around the manor house to the plot of ground near the river. Phoebe was stooped over a shovel, digging potatoes.
"Where is your mistress?" Alex halted the mare close to the fence and made no attempt to check her nervous dancing.
"She's in the orchard, picking apples."
He started to ask her about The Blade, then thought better of it. He reined the mare away from the fence and kneed her into a canter, heading for the orchards.
The Blade had been here. He knew that. But the soldiers hadn't found him when they searched the plantation three days ago. Why? Where had they hidden him? Was he still here? Had he died? The questions had tormented him for days now.
A mule stood hitched to a wagon in the shade of the apple trees, its tufted tail swishing lazily at the buzzing flies. Alex slowed the mare to a walk and turned off the dirt track onto the tall yellow grass that carpeted the orchard. Almost immediately, he spotted Temple and Susannah, both on ladders picking apples.
Then, he spied Sorrel strolling back to the wagon, a basket of apples in hand. He rode up as Sorrel took the apples one by one and placed them in a wooden crate in the back of the wagon. The last one she kept, brushing it off and biting into it, reaching up to catch the juice that rolled down her chin.
"Are you supposed to be eating that?"
Caught unawares, Sorrel whirled around, guiltily hiding the apple behind her back. She recognized him and broke into a smile. "Alex. What are you doing here?"
"What does it look like?" He dismounted and walked to the back of the wagon. "I came to visit my favorite cousin. But I see your mother has put you to work picking apples."
She wrinkled her nose in dislike. "Mama is determined that the raiders aren't going to get all of the fruit this year. Want one?" She gestured to the crate. "They taste best like this, all warm from the sun."
He took a ruby-skinned fruit from the box, but he didn't immediately bite into it. "How is your father?"
"He's fine as far as I know." She shrugged and crunched again on her apple.
"What do you mean? Isn't he here?"
"No. He left two—or was it three days ago?"
"Then he recovered from his wounds." This meant The Blade would be after him now. Not necessarily right away. The Blade would pick the time and the place—unless Alex got to him first.
"He was still in a lot of pain," Sorrel paused to lick the apple juice from her fingers. "Mama was upset."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She just was."
"I wonder if she found out," he mused aloud.
"Found out what, Alex?" The voice was Temple's.
He turned sharply, surprised to find her standing behind him. Did she know? Should he tell her?
"I didn't hear you come up," he stalled, trying to decide.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She walked over to the wagon and lifted her basket onto its wooden bed, then paused and wiped her hands on the front of her work apron. "Now, what was it you wondered if I knew?"
"How my father died?"
She looked at him with sudden wariness. "You told Susannah he was killed."
"He was murdered, shot down in cold blood . . . by The Blade."
"No." Susannah walked up. "I don't believe you!" "It's true," Alex stated, his eyes going cold. "I was there. I saw it all."
"No," Temple murmured and looked away, her shoulders slumping.
"First he shot the gun out of my father's hand, then he ordered me to throw mine away." His voice was thick with bitterness. "He said, 'You're a man who deserves to die, Kipp.' And then he shot him."
"If that's true, why didn't you tell me this before?" Susannah demanded.
"I wasn't sure you'd believe me."
"I'm not sure that I do now."
"But she does." Alex smiled and pointed to Temple.
Horror-struck by the possibility, Sorrel turned to Temple. "Is it true, Mother? Did he kill him? Is my father a murderer?"
When Temple failed to answer, Susannah rushed in. "Sorrel, you have to understand there is a war going on. Your father and Kipp were on opposite sides. During a war, people get killed. That doesn't make it murder."
"But you heard Alex. Uncle Kipp didn't have a gun, and he shot him anyway," Sorrel said with a sob in her voice. "He knew who Kipp was and he killed him. It wasn't the war!" She turned and ran, tears of shame streaming down her cheeks.
25
Tahlequah
Cherokee Nation
May 1864
Massive bouquets of wild azaleas and fragrant honeysuckle stood once again in the great hall of the former Cherokee Female Seminary. Its doors were thrown open this night to host a military ball. The red, white, and blue of the Union flag, prominently displayed, echoed the colors in the bunting that draped the bandstand where musicians from Fort Gibson played.
Officers in full dress uniform whirled their partners in an ever-moving circle around the dance floor. As far as Ad
am Clark was concerned, none of the ladies in attendance was as lovely as the woman he held in his arms, none more alluring even though the necklines of their gowns dipped daringly low. The illusion of décolleté was there in Diane's blue satin gown, but a sheer lace netting of silver and blue threads discreetly covered the swell of her breasts and the bareness of her shoulders, culminating in a high-ruffed collar of satin at the throat.
"You do realize that I am the envy of every man here," he said, needing to have her look at him.
"Is that right?" she murmured, her lips curving.
"A smile. I finally coaxed one from you."
"I haven't been very good company tonight, have I? I’m sorry."
"You should be sorry," Adam informed her. "After all, you're in the arms of the most skillful and graceful dancer this side of the Mississippi," he proclaimed and immediately, deliberately, stepped on her toe. Diane laughed, almost in spite of herself. "Now, that is the music I've been waiting to hear all evening."
"You are hopeless, Adam."
"No. I am never without hope." That was the wrong thing to say. He saw it immediately as the laughter withdrew from her eyes and again, she became preoccupied. She had been that way ever since they arrived. Something was bothering her.
When the song ended, he slowly came to a stop, then hesitated, unwilling to let go of her. Around him other couples acknowledged their partners. Adam stepped back and did the same, bending slightly at the waist, then offering his arm to escort her from the floor. But the instant he turned toward Eliza Gordon and her daughter Susannah, he knew he didn't want to take Diane back to them. He wanted to keep her to himself a little longer and find out what was troubling her. This moodiness wasn't like Diane. His Diane was vibrant, full of life and laughter, rarely subdued.
"Let's take a walk outside," he suggested.
"You should ask Susannah for the next dance."
"Reverend Cole can dance with her."
"Reverend Cole?" Her surprise quickly turned to a barely suppressed smile of amusement. "Can you imagine him dancing with his two left feet, holding himself stiff as a board? Or should I say . . . Bible?"
Adam laughed, catching a glimpse of the Diane he knew so well. But, as before, it didn't last. "No, I truthfully can't imagine that. But I don't think Susannah will be unduly troubled if she sits out another dance. I'm convinced she accepts my invitations out of a sense of duty. Her heart's not in it anymore than mine is." He steered Diane toward the outer door, conscious that she offered no objection.
"No. I think her heart is elsewhere."
As they walked outside onto the seminary's columned portico, the band struck up a military two-step. The lilting air drifted after them into the darkness. A warm breeze wandered over the front lawn. A lopsided moon beamed down, lighting the night and the towering brick columns. Together they strolled to the far end of the colonnade. Diane idly trailed a hand over the bricks as she turned and faced the lawn, gazing across it.
"You are very quiet tonight," Adam observed. "Want to talk about it?"
"About what?"
"Whatever it is that you have on your mind. I promise I'll be a good listener."
"You always are." There was a certain wryness in her voice.
"Talk to me. What's bothering you?"
"I don't know." Her shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. "Maybe it's just all this—you in your dress uniform and me in my best gown, music playing in the background, people dancing, laughing . . . pretending the war doesn't exist. How can they do it? How can we do it?"
"We all need to escape from the war and the tension once in a while or we'll go crazy. It's been a long winter." With little action, he could have added.
The inactivity, the waiting, and the wondering had made everyone restless and edgy. Other than a rare encounter with an odd patrol, it had been too quiet in the area. A dozen times Adam had wanted to believe the war was winding down, the South was beaten. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the lull before the storm. Even though the rebels couldn't win, they wouldn't quit.
"After all the misery we've been through these last three years, we are entitled to some gaiety, Diane. Even if it's only for one night."
"Perhaps. But here we are waltzing while not far away people are suffering. Reverend Cole talked to one of the rebel prisoners the other day. The man told him that down in the Red River country of Texas, people are hungry. I don't want to think what it must have been like for them this past winter with little food, clothing, or shelter, and almost no medical supplies. It must have been horrible."
"We aren't in much better shape. The rebels couldn't launch a winter campaign, but neither could we."
"It isn't the same."
"Isn't it?"
"You know it isn't. Sometimes I wish—" She stopped and sighed heavily. "I don't know what I wish anymore."
"Like all of us, you wish the war would end."
"Except it's never going to end. Never. Because the hate won't. I'm so tired of it, Adam."
When she felt the touch of his hands, Diane swayed into his arms, desperately wanting and needing the things his arms and lips offered. She ached to be loved, to be comforted and cared for, to have her worries kissed away and her emptiness filled.
He did all that with the caressing stroke of his hands and the eagerness of his mouth. She took and took—and demanded more, her fingers sliding into the curly ends of his hair, forcing him to increase the pressure. Greedily, she took everything he had to offer, and the tears rolled from her eyes because she had nothing to give. She had already given everything to Lije.
Fighting the tears and the pain, she broke off the kiss and flattened her hands against his chest to push back from him, keeping her head down. "I'm sorry, Adam. It's too soon."
"Too soon?" he repeated huskily, his hands tightening to prevent her from completely pulling away from him. "Am I supposed to believe that after the way you kissed me?"
Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him. "It's true. I didn't want it to be, but it is."
Stark pain flashed in his eyes a second before he took a deep breath and willed it away. "I can wait. I've waited this long." He stepped back, releasing her. "I think a short stroll is in order before we go back inside."
"I think so, too." Like him, Diane wasn't ready to rejoin the other party guests.
Making good her escape from the hall, Susannah slipped outside the seminary unnoticed. If she had to smile and make polite conversation with one more person, she would scream. She knew she shouldn't feel that way. It was a party—a ball. Dancing and idle chatter were naturally part of it.
She paused in the deep shadows by the door and glanced both ways. To her left, a couple wandered across the moon-silvered lawn, moving slowly in her direction. Recognizing Diane and Adam Clark, Susannah walked swiftly to her right, keeping to the dense shadows close to the building. She didn't feel like explaining her desire to be alone.
After she had rounded the corner of the building unseen, she slowed her steps and started down the long side colonnade, the taffeta of her copper gown whispering softly around her. The music from the hall carried clearly into the night air, a muted serenade, which oddly failed to soothe her restlessness.
Almost absently, Susannah recalled her school days here at the seminary. She had always thought she would come back here to teach. But it was closed now, like all the rest of the schools in the Nation because of the war.
But she didn't want to think about the war. Instead, she made herself remember the last time she had heard the fort's military band play. It had been here at the seminary, too, but outside on the rear lawn near the blackjack woods.
Drawn by the memory and the dark mass of trees that loomed ahead of her, Susannah left the shelter of the colonnade and moved across the lawn. The night breeze wandered over the bareness of her shoulders. She briefly wished she had stopped to retrieve her shawl, but then it would have been obvious she was going outside, and that young lieutenant would have repeated
his earlier invitation to take her for a moonlight walk. She knew she should have been flattered by his interest, but instead she wished he would leave her alone. And she wished, too, that he hadn't complimented her on the perfume she had worn.
It only reminded her of Rans Lassiter. She would be better off to forget him. Six months had passed, and she hadn't seen or heard from him. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't silence. Maybe he hadn't meant the things he had said. Maybe it was only talk—a trick to steal a kiss. Maybe she was simply a fool.
She heard someone whistling and glanced back to the seminary, regretting that she was out here in the open, easily seen. Then she recognized the tune, "Oh Susannah." Her heart leapt in excitement. The sound came from the woods. Rans. It had to be him.
Casting one quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't seen, Susannah caught up her taffeta skirt and ran quickly into the well of black shadows at the edge of the woods. A dark figure in a slouch hat left the concealment of the trees and stepped forward to meet her.
"Rans."
The moonlight gave a silver gleam to his gray eyes as he smiled at her. "I believe this is my waltz, Miss Gordon."
By the time she realized it was a waltz the band was playing, he had swept her into his arms and guided her into the first series of steps. "What are you doing here?"
She still felt stunned, as if this were a dream. She was half-afraid if she closed her eyes, Rans would be gone when she opened them. Yet the arm at the back of her waist and the fingers gripping her hand were no illusion.
"I heard the Yankees were having a cotillion tonight. When I stopped by your house, your colored maid Phoebe said you were here. I couldn't let those Yankee officers have every dance with you."
Susannah suddenly remembered the hall was filled with blue uniforms. "Rans, what if one of them sees you? Don't you know practically every Union officer from the fort is present?"