She took a deep breath, realizing he was right. "But we still have a chance," she exclaimed hotly, her passion for the Confederacy whipping through her veins like a living fire.
Daniel chuckled. "You're a Reb all right, the biggest I ever sawbut it's all over, honey. We fought and we fought like wildcats, but there wasn't enough of us, and we didn't have enough to fight with."
"Could you forgive Taggart?" Silky whispered.
He expelled a long sigh. "I reckon I could. This whole nation will have to do a lot of forgettin' and forgivin', so I'll have plenty of company." He considered her gently.
"The question isan you forgive him?"
She couldn't have answered him even if she'd wanted to.
"The war is over, honey. It's time to latch onto a new dream. Latch onto it hard and fast and never let go."
A sick feeling coiled in the pit of Silky's stomach like poison. "You're leaving the city tonight?" she asked Delcie as they walked along Murphy Street in the cool dusk. "Can't you wait until morning?"
The girl clasped her hand. "Nothe Yankees are almost here, missy," she answered. "They done captured Petersburg, and folks is gettin' out of Richmond fast as they can. Everybody that's able is sellin' their house or just leavin' it standin' and takin' off."
Crushed by the news Silky stared at her, not knowing what to say. It was April second and almost dark when Delcie had knocked on her door, suggesting they take a walk. Now, as the pair strolled along the broken sidewalk discussing the situation, rumbling wagons rolled past them, riffling up dust in the gutters.
"Everythin' sure is a big mess," Delcie continued, her eyes misting with emotion. "See them wagons?" she asked, glancing at the shadowy street that was filled with riders and conveyances of every kind. "Me and Jim is goin' west like them, then circle back to Baltimore." Tears trembled on her thick lashes. "I just came so's I could tell you good-bye."
Silky paused, catching her elbow, not wanting her to go. "But the Yankees are coming to free the slaves," she blurted out before she thought.
Delcie widened her eyes. "You forgets me and Jim is already free." She tightened her shawl against the twilight chill. "Us is leavin' 'cause of the fires."
"Fires? What are you talking about?"
"Missy, when the Yankees come bustin' into Atlanta half the city burned down and a lot of folks got killed. Our shantytown bein' so flimsy, it'll burn for sure." An uneasy look settled on the girl's face. "Come mornin' Richmond will be a real dangerous place to be!"
As Silky considered what lay ahead for the couple, a tremor skittered across her skin. "Do you have any money to help you along?'' she asked, looking into Delcie's concerned eyes.
Delcie hung her head, then looked up, her face etched with worry. "Just a speck. Us figured on gettin' work along the way."
Silky surveyed her dejected posture, suddenly realizing she'd been the best friend she ever had. Spurred by a strong impulse she didn't completely understand, she slipped off Taggart's earrings and gazed at them, a host of poignant memories rushing over her. Then, very slowly, she opened Delcie's hand and dropped the them into her cupped palm. "Heretake these with you," she ordered hoarsely, knowing Taggart would approve of the action.
Delcie shook her head. "Oh, missy, I can't take them earrings. What'll you do when your money runs out? Why, it's nearly runned out already."
"Daniel is getting some back pay," Silky lied. "He'll loan me a little till I get a job."
"I knows the Confederate army don't pay nothin' no more," Delcie replied, trying to thrust the jewelry back into Silky's hand. "Lieutenant Taggart done give you them earrings for Christmas. You needs to keep them to remember him by."
Silky bit back her tears. "No," she whispered, knowing she'd recall every second she'd spent with him for the rest of her life. "I can remember him just fine without them." She forced a smile, still holding Delcie's disbelieving gaze. "Everybody needs a wedding gift. This is my wedding gift to you and Jim. When you get north, sell them and have a real wedding like you've always wanted."
By now, tears welled in Delcie's eyes and, clutching the earrings in her fist, she wiped them away. "Missy, my heart feels like it's about to bust. I thanks you. The money from these earrings will give us a whole new start."
Unable to speak, Silky watched Delcie slide the jewelry into her apron pocket, then blow her nose on a ragged handkerchief. "You's just got to forgive Lieutenant Taggart," she said, trying to collect her emotions. "I knows that man loves you, even if he ain't told you so." She narrowed her eyes. "Some men just be hardheaded that way. And maybe he lied to you, but I reckon he lied to keep you from carryin' on so." She trembled and chaffed her thin arms. "Don't matter what he lied about now. This war be just about over now anyway."
As if by mutual consent they walked on, and Silky realized Delcie was virtually echoing her brother's advice. "Even if I decided to forgive him," she said, "there's no way I could tell himnot with him locked up in prison."
Delcie clasped her arm. "I's done told you, you's got to get him out of that place. Some of them guards might shoot him out of meanness 'fore Gener'l Grant gets here. 'Sides that, the lieutenant be locked up and can't help hisself. He'll suffocate for sure when the fires start."
Silky scanned the girl's tense face. She knew she was right. Fouche was so vindictive there was to telling what he might do, and the area about Libby was full of old warehouses, just waiting to explode with fire when the first winddriven spark hit their roofs.
Delcie wiped back her tears and pointed a slim finger at the next corner. "I's got to go now, missy. Jim be bundlin' up our stuff, and he's supposed to meet me 'cross the street over there." Her face a welter of emotion, she caught Silky's hand once more. "I knows how you want things to be," she allowed with glassy eyes, "but sometimes life don't work that way. Most folks just have to take what life hands 'em and do the best they can. If you looks hard enough, you'll see you can make somethin' good out of what you's got. Once you understands that, you's gonna feel a heap better,"
Delcie transferred her attention to the corner and, following her lead, Silky saw a huge black man emerge from the milling crowd waiting to cross the street. Dressed in ragged clothes and a floppy hat, he wore two bedrolls tied to his back and carried a bulging sack over his wide shoulder. His anxious gaze traveled the length of the street, then circled back and paused on Delcie, prompting a relieved smile on his face.
Delcie looked at Silky, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I's gonna remember you always," she murmured, backing up and letting her hand slowly slide away. "I's never gonna forget you!"
Silky stepped forward and hugged her friend's slight frame tightly against her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be all right," she whispered, holding back her own tears.
Delcie eased away, her eyes glistening with emotion. "I prays to God you will be." With that, she picked up her ragged skirt, and wove her way through the traffic to Jim, who enveloped her in his big arms. Bathed in sunset colors, the girl raised her slim arm in farewell; then the pair clasped hands and swiftly disappeared into the throng moving westward.
Misery cutting through her, Silky started walking back to the boardinghouse. Her life was changing so quickly, almost as quickly as the glowing sky, she thought, noticing lamplight blooming in the windows along the way. Delcie had been an integral part of her days since she'd come to Richmond, and now she was gonegone forever. Desperately lonely, Silky realized she would never know if the girl made it north, never know if she had her wedding, if she had children. All she'd have would be a collection of memories and suppositions about her future.
As the sound of creaking wheels broke into her dark reverie, she scanned Murphy Street once more. Riders with bundles tied over their mounts' rumps hurried westward, making their way around wagons piled high with furniture. With a dull sense of foreboding, she saw that all Delcie had predicted was coming to pass. The Union would be in Richmond in a matter of hours, and soon after that the South would taste defeat.
&
nbsp; A great ball of tangled emotion in her bosom, she saw her boardinghouse, and a few moments later sat down on its steps. How she'd wanted the South to win; how she'd wanted to see the Stars and Bars flying proudly over every building in Virginia. Lord, how desperately she'd wanted all of this. But with tears sliding from her eyes, she realized with the fullness of her heart and soul that it was not to be. The realization filled her with unspeakable pain, but after it had abated a bit, she sensed a new sense of peace welling up within her.
Yes, her blood would always course hot at the sound of "Dixie." Never had the world seen an army that had fought with such valor as the Confederacy, she thought with fierce pride. With a third of the men and a quarter of the supplies of the Union, the South had nearly achieved the impossiblebut in the end it was simply not enough. With burning eyes, she knew she had to produce the strength to accept this fact and keep on living.
Pulling in a steadying breath, she turned her thoughts to Taggart. She had to grudgingly admit that in his own way he possessed an integrity that made her proud, for she knew he'd tried to have himself removed from his assignment because of her. And it would take a fool not to see that Caroline Willmott was a person of honor.
At the same time, her most basic instincts told her Fouche was a cheat and a liar, and he lied not as Taggart had lied to foster a cause or protect a person's feelings; he lied because he was cruel and perverse. Relief washed over her as she accepted the fact that Taggart and Caroline weren't lovers. There was no way she could prove this, she thought, but as the lady had suggested, she'd looked into her heart and found her answer.
The South had lost the war. In that area her dreams had been smashed. Taggart would never be her hero in graybut he was a hero in his own way, and she could make something good out of that, she decided, remembering Delcie's advice. With a little sob, she admitted to herself that she loved him even if he was a Yankee, and the admission shook her world.
With a long sigh, she felt the strength of that admission empower her. It was all so clear now: what was a war compared to a lifetime of love? Surely their love was more important than any cause, even a beloved cause. And because of that love she'd found the strength to forgive him. She suddenly understood love was the keyit was the only thing worth living for and dying fornothing else could even come close. Because of love, Daniel and Abby were on the cusp of a new life, and Delcie and Jim were on their way north to be married. Yes, happiness was possible if she was strong enough to swallow her pride and go back to Taggart.
Her spirit aglow with a new purpose, she slowly stood and straightened her back. Trembling, she stared at the traffic rattling down the dark street. Somehow she had to free Taggart, she decided, resolve steeling her spirit. Then, with a shaft of despair, she remembered she'd betrayed him. If by the wildest chance she could manage to get him out of Libby, would he forgive her?
It didn't matter. Even if he wouldn't have her, she still had to do her best to save him. Her heart aglow, she finally understood what love was all about.
Chapter Twenty-One
After pacing about for hours trying to come up with some plan to free Taggart, Silky tossed a shawl about her shoulders and left her room, praying that Burton Harrison might help her. Aided by light from a dim gasolier attached to the stairwell wall, she saw the shadowy outline of a man entering the foyer and drew in her breath. It was Fouche. As she'd expected, he must have sent someone to follow her the day she'd returned from the provost marshal's office. How else would he know where she lived? she thought, shock momentarily rooting her to the landing.
"What are you doing here at this hour?" she asked harshly, hoping she could send him away with a show of courage.
Looking at her with a peculiar stare, he started walking up the stairs, weak light flickering over him. How different he looks, she thought, offended he'd chosen this very inopportune time to invade her privacy. For the first time since she'd met him he wore civilian clothesan expensive suit and fine boots. His hair, usually so well groomed, was windblown, and a string tie hung loosely about his neck, giving him a hastily dressed appearance.
When he paused by her side, she detected the scent of whiskey on his breath and noticed his eyes were clouded with drink. She'd always known he was overfond of expensive wines and French brandies, but had never seen him like this, his fine discipline ruined by overindulgence. He clasped her arm, his fingers pinching into her skin. "We must talk," he said, wrenching the key from her hand.
Terror threatened to engulf her, but she silently vowed she'd never let him know how scared she was. After turning the lock, he shoved her into the room, then closed the door and tossed the key on the table.
"What do you want?" she demanded, raising her voice to cover her desperate fear. "I'm in a hurry."
"Doubtless," he replied coldly. "As you must know the Yankees will soon be invading Richmond. I've come to escort you out of the city before they arrive. Pack a few things and I'll take you to Danville, then on to New Orleans."
So that was why he was drunk and dressed in civilian clothes! she thought, disgusted with his cowardly behavior. He'd shed his uniform because he'd abandoned his post and was fleeing the city. Her nerves taut, she presented her back to him and crossed the room. "I'll manage fine," she replied briskly, deeply relieved her voice still held steady. "I don't care to go with you."
"You're making a grave mistake," he exclaimed reproachfully. "Don't you understand? The South has lost and the Yankees will have their retribution if it means burning the whole city."
She turned and noticed his eyes gleaming with a sick light. Squaring her shoulders in defiance, she boldly met his gaze. Instinctively she knew she couldn't let him intimidate her; at the same time, she felt her courage curling up like a dry leaf.
When he came to her, his manner became overly polite, as it had been when she first met him. "I'll be your protector," he offered, his mouth slack with lust. "You'll need one now that Taggart can no longer look after you."
Panic swept through her like swift flames. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, stiffening.
Fouche assessed her sharply. "I wanted to save your feelings, but you're forcing me to be blunt." She caught her breath as his dilated eyes revealed all the cruelty and ugliness within him. "He has met his expected end. He was hanged this afternoon."
Silky's heart lurched crazily. Feeling as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, she braced her hand on a chair. "No, you're lying," she cried. "You're making it up. It's nothing but another of your lies!"
He reached for her, but she stumbled backward, her shawl slipping to the floor. He clenched her arms roughly. "It's true. He's dead and you're better off without him." He shook her as if she were a rag doll. "Listen to me. I'm offering you my protection. I have money, more money than you ever dreamed of."
Feeling totally exposed and helpless, she knew she had to keep him talking until the landlady came to check on her male caller. "And where did you get all your money?" she breathed, trembling with fear. "How could your family afford to spare such funds? Everyone in the South is ruined now, even the rich," she rushed on, saying whatever came to her mind. "Why, the only people who really have money are speculators."
A sheepish smile surfaced on Fouche's mouth and, her stomach turning, she realized she'd accidentally put her finger on his source of wealth. "Why, that's what you are, isn't it?" she rasped, suddenly understanding why he made so many trips out of town. "You intimidated the warehouse and railroad workers here in Richmond, then shipped the merchandise to other parts of the Confederacy, didn't you?"
"I only did what others have done," he answered with annoyance, his tongue loosened by drink and the excitement of the moment. "It doesn't matter how I got my moneythe point is I have plenty and I'll take care of you."
Silky tried to wrench away from him. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in the world!" she vowed, her spirit surging back and sending fresh strength to her limbs.
Fouche's mouth fell open. "Marr
y you?" he laughed, his eyes brightening with contempt. "Do you think me a fool? I would never marry another man's leavings. My name is the oldest in New Orleans, my blood the finest in the state. I said I would take care of youmake you my mistress. As white trash, that's the best you can hope for."
She struggled violently to free her arms. No one had ever called her white trash before, and the words struck rage within her. White trash, indeed! Why, her family had been among the first settlers in Virginia, and her forefathers had fought valiantly in the American Revolution. "I don't think you a fool, I know you a fool!" she cried, finally freeing her arms and soundly slapping his face. "I'd never leave Richmond with you. I'm going to get Taggart out of prison!"
His eyes flickered with such malice her blood ran cold. "I'd rather see you dead first."
"So he is alive?" she exclaimed, her intuition verified.
Ignoring her question, Fouche brutally grabbed her waist and jerked her against him. "I'll show you, you little spitfire. I'll take what I want, then be on my way without you." She tried to escape, but his fingers cut into the flesh over her ribs. "I've wanted you for so long," he muttered, his eyes gleaming with hot longing. "Wanted you all the time you were sleeping with that Yankee, and I promised myself I would have youand I shall." He lowered his head and pushed his lips against hers. His hot, fetid breath washed over her face, his mouth braised hers, and his hand groped at her breast.
Silky hit out at him again and again, her only thought to protect herself. I'm almost away from him, she thought, her heart palpitating wildly. Just one more blow and I'll be free. Then, as his fingers dug into her arms once more, she realized that with his greater strength she was at his mercy. Knowing she had to do something to even the odds, she suddenly shifted her weight to one side and, taking advantage of his surprise, shoved at his chest with all the strength she possessed.
Instantly he released her and, tangling his feet in the discarded shawl, tumbled against the table, hitting his head on its sharp corner. His eyes rolled up in stunned shock for a second; then he crumpled to the floor and remained perfectly still.
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