But the atmosphere in the other rooms was quite different. There the men talked of the war. Some still exulted over the December thirteenth battle on the heights overlooking Fredericksburg, Virginia, when the Federal General Ambrose E. Burnside had ordered six grand assaults against General Robert E. Lee's entrenched army. The result was useless slaughter, and some said Burnside had wept over the killing and wounding of ten thousand of his men. Lee had lost less than half that many.
The damned war, Julie swore, as she moved through the crowd. Soon she would be out of all of it. She and Myles would go west and start a new life, and they could turn their backs forever on all this grief and suffering.
Glancing up, she saw Sara motioning to her from the rear hallway. She followed the servant to the little sun-room at the back of the house. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sara asked, "Miz Julie, you sure you gonna want to leave tonight? Lionel's scared Mastah Virgil is gonna be suspectin' something. He done said we gonna get a beating for what we did last night, after all this is over with, and if he thinks we gonna try it again, he might just shoot us...."
"He would be least suspicious tonight of all nights. He thinks I'm too grief-stricken over both Mother and Myles to make any plans to run away so soon. We must leave tonight. We have to get to Wilmington without delay."
Sara blinked. "Wilmington? What for? I heard they took Mastah Myles to Richmond."
"I'm going to Wilmington to find Captain Arnhardt—"
"Arnhardt?" Sara cried, stunned. "You told me—"
"I know what I told you, but I also know the man, Sara, and I have a feeling that he escaped. He's not like other men. He's strong, both in spirit and in body. Oh, you'd never understand. But we are going to Wilmington and somehow, we'll find him, and he'll help me."
"Even if he is alive, how do you know he'd help you?" Sara looked at her suspiciously. "You ain't got time to dig up none of that silver and jewelry to pay him with. And he's after money. Ain't that why he held you for ransom?"
A warmth moved through Julie's body. She wondered if that were the real reason. Perhaps at first it had been, but after awhile, when it became obvious no ransom would be paid, he had not been anxious to be rid of her. "Let me worry about that, Sara. Now I must get back to our guests. If Virgil sees us talking this way, he will get suspicious."
She turned to go, but Sara called out to her worriedly. "There's something else. Me and Lionel are afraid that if something happened to you, folks would say we ran away. He's got a brother, a free man, and he works on a farm up in Pennsylvania, and Lionel says if we could go there, we'd be safe."
"Of course," Julie said without hesitation. True, she would miss both of them. They had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, but she acknowledged that they also had a right to pursue happiness. "I'll sign papers stating that you are free, and you can make your way north. There should be no problem."
Returning to the front of the house, Julie, nodding and saying the appropriate words, graciously accepted condolences from those who had just arrived. All the while, she was wishing time would pass quickly so she could escape.
"We really would have liked to wait longer to bury her," she heard Virgil saying in that mock mournful tone he had so quickly acquired. "It's a tragedy, but she wasted away. She was sick for so long, you know. Julie and I discussed it and decided it would be best to put her to rest as quickly as possible."
Julie glared at him to let him know she could hear his lies. She had made the decision to have the funeral as soon as possible, not he—and that was so she could be on her way. Only he did not know that yet, and, she hoped, would not till she was safely gone.
"It's such a shame about Myles,"' someone said. The voice came from the parlor, and Julie paused on her way to the kitchen to listen. "After coming all the way back to visit his mother, only to be captured. Did he get to see her before she died?"
"Unfortunately, no," Virgil answered, his voice oozing pity.
Pharisee! she wanted to scream out at him for everyone to hear and know what he really was.
"Myles is my stepson, you know," Virgil went on, "but he was wanted by the law, and I couldn't stand the thought of him being hunted for the rest of his life, perhaps being hung by vigilantes. I did what I felt was best for all concerned and informed the sheriff that I suspected he was lurking about."
His listener gushed, "Oh, that must have been a very difficult thing for you to do, sir. You are to be commended for having the courage."
She could see Virgil in her mind's eye, belly thrown out, head held high, probably with a cigar in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other.
"Well, I did persuade the sheriff to turn him over to the Confederates. As high as the feelings in town have been against the boy, I knew he'd never make it to trial. Why, he'd be lying in a coffin next to his dear mother here."
"Possibly. The riffraff of the waterfront can be a surly lot, and I've heard they were still after Myles. I wonder what the Confederate authorities will do with him."
"Well, he did run from the South to fight for the North. Obviously he deserted the Yankee army. The Confederates will send him to Libby prison in Richmond, where he'll likely be for however long the war lasts. The Yankees won't want him in a prisoner exchange, not if he deserted them."
"Oh, but Libby prison, sir," the man gasped. "They call it the Black Hole. The tales I have heard about that place are atrocious. They say our soldiers despised Major General John Pope for his antagonistic attitudes toward Southern civilians, so they're determined to vent their hatred on prisoners from his army particularly—but every prisoner there suffers. As well they should, being Yankees."
Julie listened in horror as the man went on to describe what he had heard about the prison, and, with each word, knew she had to move as fast as she could to get Myles out of that place.
"Well, you can't expect better for a stinking Yankee." A third voice joined the conversation. "And with all due respect, sir, the boy's a traitor to the South!"
Julie could not bear to listen to such drivel any longer. She moved swiftly into the parlor, where the three men looked up at her in surprise. She did not have to ask who had spoken last, for when she recognized Thad Parkland, a deacon in the church who took it upon himself to sit in judgment on everyone, there was no doubt in her mind that he had made such a remark.
"I will ask you to leave this house," she said tightly, struggling to keep her voice low, her anger in check. "I will not have you speak of my brother in that manner, and I should think you would have some respect for the dead. Go now. This is a day of mourning."
Several people standing about overheard Julie's remarks and gasped with surprise. Virgil's eyes bulged as he cried, aghast, "Julie—what is the meaning of this?"
"If you do not leave," she continued to glare at Thad Parkland, "I will call a servant and have you thrown out. Now, do you wish to make a scene?"
"You have already made one, Miss Marshal," Parkland said curtly. Turning to Virgil, he bowed slightly and murmured, "My sympathies, sir."
Everyone in the parlor followed him to the front door, buzzing among themselves and glancing back nervously at Julie.
Virgil reached out and clutched her arm so tightly that Julie winced with pain. He had turned his back on the crowd, shielding them from the view of the others. "Julie, how could you do such a thing? Thad Parkland is one of the most prominent men in the community—"
"He's a sanctimonious pharisee, and I would've attempted to throw him out of this house myself had he not gone willingly. It's quite enough that you are here, for you're the most damnable hypocrite of the lot! To think what you have done to my mother, my brother, and to me." She jerked her arm away, taking him by surprise; freeing herself, she stepped back. "I wish it were you in that coffin, Virgil Oates! And if you ever try to touch me again, I will see you in your grave!"
A few people closest to the parlor heard and turned their heads to stare. Virgil's face colored as he gave
them a nervous smile and murmured, "The girl is grief-stricken. Pay no heed, please." With lowered voice he whispered to Julie, "You go to your room at once and remain there until the hour of the funeral. And remember, how long that bastard brother of yours lives depends on how you behave."
It took every ounce of self-control for Julie to walk out of the room. How she wanted to strike him... cursing and screaming for everyone to hear. But this was not the time. No, there were long hours to be endured before she could leave, and if things were to go smoothly, she would have to force herself to remain calm.
Nervously she paced about in her room, anxious for time to pass so she could be on her way. And all the while, she was reminding herself that she must face the possibility that Derek might not be in Wilmington. Perhaps he was somewhere between the port and Bermuda. Though his ship had been destroyed, he might be on another. How could she hope to find him?
In any case, she refused to let herself think he was dead. No, he was alive. He had to be. She would find out more once she arrived in Wilmington. Surely there would be a headquarters of some kind where blockade runners would be listed, crewmen and officers. Maybe she could locate someone who had been on the Ariane.
Sara's voice brought her back to the agony of the present. "Miz Julie, the parson says it's time."
Quickly opening her door, Julie stepped into the hallway and whispered, "We must succeed tonight, Sara. Is everything ready for us to leave? We won't get a second chance."
"Yes'm. Everything was done just like you said to do it. Now you better get along downstairs, 'cause everybody is waiting for ' you."
Julie led the way nervously, her whole body trembling with the fear that ran through her veins. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she was stunned to see the swelling crowd below. Not only was the parlor filled to overflowing, but so were the other rooms and the hallway as well. She stiffened as Virgil hurried up the steps solicitously to take her arm and lead her to her place near the coffin.
As the parson read from the Bible, Julie kept her eyes on her mother's stark white face. To think she had devoted her life to making this place so prosperous, only to lose it to such an unscrupulous man as Virgil. Shaking her head and biting her lip, Julie fought once again for control in order to keep from raging at the heavens above. It was not fair. Dear God, none of it was fair.
The procession formed behind the wooden cart carrying the coffin and made its way to the cemetery. Virgil kept his hand clamped on Julie's arm, squeezing even tighter when they reached the spot where Myles had been captured. She stared down at the earth covering her father's grave and wondered if anyone else would notice that it had been disturbed.
The casket bearing her mother's body was laid in the gaping hole in the ground, and then the parson was murmuring words she did not hear, and people were singing hymns that escaped her memory. She could only stand there mutely, stiffly, thinking ahead to the hour when she could leave.
Finally, it was over. People were departing. Virgil released her, to accept more words of sympathy. Playing his role to the hilt, she thought with disgust.
Suddenly she heard her name called out. Turning, she found herself staring into the sad eyes of Adelia Carrigan. Of course she would come to the funeral, but Julie had not thought of the possibility, or prepared herself for the eventuality of their meeting. Now she found it difficult to keep from turning and running. This was the last woman on earth she wanted to see.
"I am so dreadfully sorry, dear," Adelia murmured in a soft, gentle voice, her hand extended.
Julie had no choice but to touch fingers with her. No point in making a scene. Not now. "Thank you, Aunt Adelia. It was nice of you to come."
"Please, if there's anything I can do, or my children—" she began, but Julie interrupted.
"No, there's nothing anyone can do. Mother is out of her misery now. She won't suffer any longer. Now if you'll excuse me, it's been a trying day, and I'd like to lie down." She did turn away then, unable to bear the woman's presence any longer. There was so much more she wished she could say to her, but it was not her place to judge. Julie had spent too many years feeling bitter as it was.
"Julie, wait. There's something I'd like to say. I... I heard about Myles—" She sounded nervous.
Julie turned back, surprised. "Yes, I suppose everyone has heard by now."
"Well, I didn't know if you knew or not, but Thomas is one of the officers at Libby prison," she said anxiously, hands clasped together to stop their trembling. "I heard your stepfather asked that he be turned over to the Confederacy. I expect Libby is where he'll be sent. I just wanted you to know that I plan to write to Thomas, so he'll be aware of what's going on. He says the prison is terribly crowded, but if he knows Miles is there, I'm sure he'll look for him."
"That's nice of you...."
"Now, I can't promise Thomas can treat him any differently from the other prisoners, but they are cousins, and I just wanted to let you know I'll get word to him right away."
Julie was finding it difficult to contain her excitement. Not only was it highly likely that Thomas could make life easier for Myles, but there was a good possibility that he could help her get him out of that horrid place.
"Thank you, Aunt Adelia," she said, lips trembling. "Thank you very much." And then she turned and hurried toward the house, lifting her skirts so that she could scurry quickly across the red Georgia clay. She still despised the woman for what she had done with her father, but this day Adelia had done her family a great service.
Julie found the kitchen empty. The servants had gone to the grave and were singing gospel songs while it was being covered and the guests were leaving.
Quickly she looked around and found what she was after: a short-bladed butcher knife that could be easily concealed. She had just slipped it inside her high-topped shoe when she heard footsteps coming across the back porch. She straightened and was smoothing her skirt as the door opened and Virgil walked in, frowning.
"I saw you running this way and thought perhaps you were ill."
"No, I'm quite all right, but don't concern yourself with me," she snapped. "What I do is no business of yours."
His voice was like a whip in the silent house. "I challenge that statement. I'm the undisputed master of this household now, and I have supreme rule over all that goes on."
"Not with me, you don't."
He took a step forward, then hesitated. "You're going to marry me, Julie. I'll give you a decent period to grieve, but then we'll plan our wedding. No one will be surprised. They all knew it was you I was courting in the first place, so it's only natural we marry now. So do your mourning and then make ready for our wedding."
"Marry you?" Her eyes flicked over him contemptuously. "I'd sooner die!"
She ran from the kitchen as he yelled after her, "You'll be sorry you said that. You're going to learn to show me some respect around here...."
The sound of his voice faded as she hurried through the house and made her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. Outside a light, cold drizzle had begun to fall. The gray shroud that was enveloping the land would make darkness come even earlier.
She changed from her black bombazine dress to a simple woolen garment that would be warm and comfortable for travel. Then she began to count the hours till her escape.
Sara brought Julie a supper tray of warmed-over stew, a fried potato pie, grits, and hot tea. She was so nervous and jittery that Julie gently chided her, saying she would give everything away if she did not get hold of herself. "Virgil shouldn't suspect anything tonight, of all nights. He thinks I'm too grief-stricken to make plans to leave just now. And the weather outside is turning raw, too. But if he sees you behaving as you are now, he's sure to figure out something is up."
"Yes'm. I'll try. I'm fixing to give him his supper, even though he says he don't want nothin'. Some of the folks wanted to stay, but he told them he just wanted to be left alone with his sorrow." She snorted. "The only thing he's sorry about is that she
didn't die before now. And he's drinking, too. Hard liquor. He's in the library guzzlin' it down and staring at the fire and mumbling to hisself. It's gonna seem like forever till midnight, Miz Julie."
"I know. Let's just hope he passes out drunk. Now you be sure you and Lionel are in that wagon and ready to leave the second I get there. We're going to have to travel hard and fast and put much distance between Rose Hill and us, no matter what kind of weather we run into. We can't fail now."
Alone again, she wandered about in the dark room until she grew weary. Then she lay down on the bed to wait until the appointed hour. The clocks had been restarted, and each time the chimes tolled, she held her breath and counted.
There was an eeriness in the air that made her flesh crawl, as though the house were a living, breathing thing, waiting for something to erupt within its very soul.
She was tired. She had had no sleep the night before, and the day had been exhausting. It would be so easy to fall into slumber, but she could not allow herself. The hour of departure was too near.
Something made a clicking sound.
Sitting straight up, her spine rigid with fear, she stared into the darkness. Was it her imagination or had she really heard the doorknob turn?
Suddenly the door banged loudly against the wall, and her hands flew to her throat, stifling her scream of terror. Virgil was in the room. She could not see him, but she knew it was him.
"Don't you come near me—" she heard her voice warble, hating its frightened sound. She had to be brave. "I'm warning you, Virgil. Don't try to touch me again—"
"Ah, you beauteous bitch, you've been waiting for me." The words were slurred. He was drunk.
Quickly she yanked up her dress, reaching for the knife she had tucked into her shoe. Her trembling fingers wrapped about the handle, she slid from the bed, backing toward the doors leading to the balcony. "I'm warning you, Virgil. Get out of here! Now!"
This Rebel Heart Page 25