M. Donice Byrd - The Warner Saga

by No Unspoken Promises

  Blake Warner.

  Meredith stared at the paper for several moments then reread it.

  17

  Blake Warner sat atop his shiny black mare heading south out of Union territory into an area filled with bushwhackers, Southern loyalist and countless rebel troops. His pockets were filled with penny candy and matchsticks.

  He had been more than a little put out to have to leave Meredith right now but he didn’t have a choice. The delays in Minnesota and Iowa had put him way past due and that was why Rebecca had shown up. His contact near Sedalia had been spooked and wouldn’t meet with anyone but him. Blake on the other hand had nearly been captured the last time he met with the man and had no intention of meeting him again. His information, never more than troop size and movement, could easily be gathered by Blake himself. That’s what the candy and the matches were for. For every twenty-five foot soldiers he’d move a Lucifer from one pocket to another. For every ten cannons he’d move a peppermint and for every ten horse soldiers he’d moved a piece of butterscotch. It was easy to do if they were moving. He would just stand by the side of the road, watching and counting. It was more difficult to do if they were camped. He had no qualms about entering a military camp. What spy would be so brazen? He’d ride in and tell the sentry he needed a pass and minutes later he’d be escorted in. They’d ask where he was from and why he needed to travel through the area. Blake would tell them he was from St. Joseph and he was searching for his sister who had run off with a man. He’d then show the officer a miniature of his mother that his father had given him after they had been reunited and claim she was his missing sister. The only drawback was he had to stop and ask everyone he saw if they had seen her. It was time-consuming but he had to do it or his story wouldn’t ring true.

  It took Blake several days to get where he needed to go and a day to gather the information he needed before he began to head back to St. Joseph. He opted for a different road back for the sole purpose of looking for more troops. When he began having people tell him they knew the woman in the miniature, Blake had no choice but to leave his route to seek out the woman, Anna Morgan.

  It was midafternoon when Blake made his way down the narrow forested road to the secluded farm.

  “That’s far ‘nough, mister.”

  Blake dismounted at the road and had barely set foot onto the Morgan’s land when the boy stepped out of the house with a shotgun trained on him. He put his hands in front of his chest so the boy could see his hands were empty.

  “You just git on back to yer horse and keep a-ridin’. Yer kind ain’t welcome ‘round here.”

  Blake felt momentarily startled wondering if the boy knew he was a spy.

  “My kind?”

  The boy squinted as he lined up the sights. “Strangers,” he said, the word spat with disgust.

  Blake laughed out loud in hopes of disarming the boy’s fear of him but stopped when he saw the boy’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger.

  Suddenly, a small girl bounded out of the house giggling, completely unaware of the tableau in the yard. The boy startled and Blake was sure he would unintentionally pull the trigger.

  “I’m gonna tell Pa yer playin’ with his gun, Petey.”

  “Shush up, now,” the boy hissed. “Go git Ma.”

  The girl blanched at his raised voice. Her bottom lip pouted out, her eyes wide with question as if the boy had never raised his voice before.

  “We got company, Lolly. Please, go git Ma.” His voice was calmer but it still came out as an order.

  The girl swung around and noticed Blake then. She gasped and ran off around the building as if fire licked at her backside.

  “Son, I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d take your finger off the trigger,” Blake said in what he hoped sounded like a friendly tone. “I think we’d both feel bad if an accident happened.”

  His eyes steadied on Blake again. “Maybe both of us would. Maybe just one of us.”

  The sardonic smile on the boy’s face worried him. He hated seeing a look like that in one so young. It was an expression Blake himself had developed and then learned to cover up in his youth. Damning the war, Blake decided the best course of action was to remain quiet and wait for the mother.

  Amber-brown eyes that had seen far beyond his years narrowed at Blake with suspicion. The boy was gangly thin with slightly sunken cheeks. His straight brown hair fell limply to his shoulders. His homespun clothing dyed in mismatch browns were well-worn but clean except for the mud on his shoes and hems of his pants, the moisture leaching up the leg several inches from walking on the dewy ground.

  Blake’s breath caught in his throat as the woman came around the corner of the house. For a brief moment it was like seeing his mother’s ghost.

  Anna Morgan greatly resembled Blake’s miniature of his mother. Her face was oval like his mother’s with high cheeks, wide mouth, and a pert nose. Her hair was the same jet black color but pulled back severely in a tight bun that Elizabeth would have never worn. Her eyes were not almond-shape nor the color of whiskey as the picture depicted. Anna’s eyes appear wider apart and bluish green as the dark turbulent sea.

  “How do,” the woman said brusquely.

  Blake heard the Southern twang and immediately regretted coming.

  “Good morning, ma’am. You must be Anna Morgan.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Must I?” Anna Morgan placed herself between her son and Blake, staying far enough to the side so Pete still had a clean shot. “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Blake Warner.” Not that anyone had given him a chance, he added to himself. “I’m sorry to have alarmed you.”

  The little girl hugged her mother’s leg and watched the stranger intently from a mostly concealed position behind her mother’s skirt.

  “You got business with Mr. Morgan? I don’t think he’s got shine to sell.”

  “No, ma’am. I actually came to see you. Some of the men in town sent me out here but I can see I’m just wasting your time.”

  Blake turned to leave. Her question stopped him.

  “What men?”

  Blake shrugged. “I didn’t ask their names. They thought you look like my sister but I can see you’re not her.”

  “Your sister is missing?” Her voice softened.

  Blake nodded stepping closer. “Would you like to see her picture?” Blake froze when he saw the boy lining up the sights again.

  “Pete.”

  At the sound of his name, Pete lowered the gun barrel and approached his mother.

  Anna gazed at the picture.

  “That you, Ma?” the little girl asked as curiosity drew her out of her hiding place to stand directly in front of Pete. “Looks like you.”

  “No, baby doll. This man is lookin’ for his sister.”

  “What’s her name?” the little girl asked boldly.

  “Lolly,” Anna chided the child. “Little girls are to be seen and not heard.”

  Blake squatted down on his haunches. “Her name is Lizzy.” He grinned kindly at the child who looked like a porcelain replica of her mother. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that she may have a little girl just like you that I don’t even know about.”

  “Would you be her pa?” The girl’s face scrunched up in confusion.

  Blake chuckled. “No, sweetie, I’d be her uncle and she’d be my niece.”

  “I ain’t got no uncles.”

  “I don’t have a niece that I know of.”

  “I could be your niece.”

  “Lolly,” her mother said in an exasperated voice.

  Blake didn’t glance up. “Well, I suppose we could pretend – just for today. You have to call me Uncle Blake and I have to give you candy.”

  “Candy!”

  “Well, of course. That’s an uncle’s job.”

  Blake knew what a treat candy was when sugar was almost impossible to come by. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a handful of butter
scotch candies wrapped in a square of brown paper. Carefully, he unfolded the paper and held it out to her.

  Lolly looked to her mother. At Anna’s nod, Lolly reached out and snatched one up.

  When she struggled with the paper her mother helped her. “Thank you, Uncle Blake,” she said remembering her manners after the candy was in her mouth. Her thank you was garbled but Blake’s grin widened as he perused her expression of joy. He patted her soft curls before standing back up and offering a piece to her brother.

  “No thanks, Uncle,” Pete said in a tone that bordered on insolence. He lifted Lolly onto his hip in a protective gesture despite the fact the girl was nearly too big to be held in that manner.

  Blake didn’t blame him in the least. The boy was smart to question the motives of a stranger giving away a precious commodity like candy.

  He folded the paper around the remaining candy and handed it to Anna. He could see she wanted to object but the woman obviously had a soft spot when it came to her children.

  She returned the picture to him. “I can see where people might think I look like her. I hope you find her.”

  Blake gave Lolly one last smile before he left. “Don’t bite into the candy. Make it last.”

  A faint smile touched Blake’s eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth as he mounted Wunner to go back to the main road. He would have frowned had he realized it.

  His thoughts were on the little girl. He wondered if he’d someday have a daughter with his dark hair and the same tendency to curl as it grew. He ran his fingers through his unruly mop thinking he needed to get it cut again before it began to curl in earnest.

  No, he’d rather the boys looked like him and the girls looked like Meredith – except for the curls of course.

  Had Blake been on foot he would’ve stopped dead in his tracks. He wanted his daughters to look like Meredith. Not any anonymous woman or even a woman with Meredith’s coloring but Meredith herself.

  The thought scared the bejesus out of him.

  If Blake admitted to himself, he wanted to have children with her, then he had to admit also to having feelings for her. Scowling in earnest now, Blake refused to entertain the notion he might be in love. He discarded labels of smitten, crush and infatuation as belonging to foppish boys. He was too serious and sensible for those ridiculous sentiments.

  Feelings. He liked the vagueness of the word and tried to turn his thoughts away.

  Perhaps since he did have feelings for her, he’d been too hasty in filing for his divorce. He liked children and wanted to be a father someday. And that usually involved a wife. Perhaps they could come to an agreement, after all, they had decided to divorce before they had gotten to know one another. She might be a little rough around the edges but he liked her nevertheless.

  Like. He could live with that word, too.

  They could remain married but live apart. He could visit, slake his lust – if it could ever be slaked with her – and then returned to his own hotel room.

  Lust. He could definitely admit that. He was more than a little attracted to her. Attracted. Add that one.

  He would not allow his children to grow up as bastards. They would definitely remain married. Despite living apart, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind they were indeed married. He would have to take Meredith to the theater or the opera or the ballet at least once a week, holding her hand publicly so everyone could see they were fond of each other.

  Fond. Blake wasn’t sure he liked that word much.

  He would be forced to take her to most of the society functions keeping her possessively close by and looking tenderly into her eyes. That should lay his claim to her and keep the bucks at bay.

  Possessive, tender, claim. He grudgingly added the words to his mental list.

  It was only honorable that he should give up all of his women also. And good riddance to them. He had never been entranced by any of them like he was by her. Never had any of them ever kindled these warm feelings. Oh, some may have claimed they were enamored with him but this was the first time he had, in his heart, felt that way about a woman. She was a woman to cherish.

  Honor, entranced, warm, enamored, cherished. Blake groaned there was only one more word to add to the list. A small four-letter word.

  Fool.

  Like a switch being thrown, the locomotive that was Blake’s thoughts suddenly change tracks. Or perhaps more accurately, completely derailed into a mass of tangled metal.

  Suddenly, an image of his mother, Beth, loomed before his mind’s eye. Blue from being drained out, her soulless body draped over the edge of the large cast-iron tub. Blake felt his stomach roiling a manner, oh, so, familiar. And Blake knew he could never allow himself to love Meredith. How could he give his heart to a woman when the first and only woman he loved could betray him in the ultimate betrayal as she had?

  If she had to kill herself, she did not have to do it in such an obvious manner, leaving him to discover her lifeless corpse. She could have swam out into Lake Michigan until the weight of the water in her skirts pulled her under or poisoned herself or stepped in front of a rushing coach. But the way she did it left no doubt she killed herself and intended for him to find her. How he hated her for that! It had taken him the remainder of his childhood to get past the maudlin and the anger. He had been good at covering it up so no one knew – he could not let it show for if he did, they might ask and his mother’s death was a secret he would take to his grave.

  This thing with Meredith, whatever this thing was, scared him to death. It brought back all the boyhood vulnerabilities he felt. She made him feel content which was strangely alien for him. Accustomed to a privileged life of parties and balls, he’d grown bored. It prompted him to seek out Allan Pinkerton, the man who searched for him for nearly a decade and who started the Union Intelligence Agency, to become a spy. Even after Pinkerton had been replaced by Lafe Baker, Blake stayed on. He had attended two different military schools and knew he’d rebel against the structure of the army so spying was a better fit if he wanted to serve his country.

  He wanted to follow his father into politics but with his illegitimacy tarnishing his background, Blake could never get elected.

  Meredith was a breath of fresh air in his stuffy life. She always said something that surprised him or irritated him to no end and she kept the boredom away. Unlike the debutantes and socialites he knew, she never let him have his way just to gain his favor. It never occurred to her to capitulate when her opinion differed from his. No doubt that was why he found her so fascinating. But the way she had brought forth unbidden feelings in him made him stop and take notice. No woman had ever done that to him before. He always broke off every relationship when he suspected the woman had developed feelings for him. He did it at the first sign to spare the woman from getting too deeply hurt but now he knew, for both their sakes, he would have to follow through with the divorce, perhaps even more than for her sake; for his. He just couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t let her get under his skin because if he did, there would be no way he could protect himself. He didn’t know if he could ever climb out of that hole again if she hurt him the way Beth had. If only this warmth had not taken hold, if he didn’t find himself fascinated by her, then maybe he could stay married to her. He was becoming accustomed to the idea of being married – mostly because he would like to have children but not with her. Not with any woman he could care for. No, he wanted only a marriage of convenience. Not a love match.

  It would probably be best if he never saw her again. Surely, Donna would be willing to take her to her relatives. If they wouldn’t take her, or either Donna or Meredith felt she was in danger, Donna could find her a safe place to live and help her find work. He just couldn’t put himself in that close proximity to her when she was his fatal flaw.

  The thunder of hooves came from so far away that Blake didn’t notice it until it crescendoed to a roar in his ears. His mind was so preoccupied that he merely guided his horse to the edge of the road to allow th
e other riders to pass at their breakneck speed. It did not occur to him that these riders could be after him until he was surrounded.

  18

  Blake lay on his back staring at the ceiling of the tiny cell. They were hanging him for being a spy in the morning. Unless his contact, Charles Bromley turned him in, they had no proof but during wartime, suspicion was all it took. And, of course, the fact that he was a spy made him resigned to his fate.

  Blake threw his long legs over the side of the bunk and sat up. He couldn’t sleep. “Deputy, are you awake?”

  The deputy who had been tilting the wooden chair against the wall with his booted feet on the desk, sat up with a start. By the disoriented look on the man’s face Blake knew he had awakened him.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were sleeping,” Blake said. “I was wondering if you had some paper and a pencil so I can write my wife a letter.”

  “Sorry, the sheriff says the paper is for our use only.”

  Blake sighed. “Please, I’ve been married only a month. My wife is going to think I abandoned her.”

  “I guess you should’ve thought about that before you brought your Yankee-ass into the South.”

  Blake put his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. “Deputy, please. Her parents were killed days before we got married. She has no one else but me.”

  The revelation startled Blake. It was mostly true. She only had him and an aunt and uncle from whom she was estranged. A strange pang niggled at his subconscious.

  Silence stretched out for half a minute before the deputy spoke. “How were they killed?”

  “Sioux renegades. They lived in Minnesota.”

  Hyram Abercrombie pulled his feet off the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a pencil and a few sheets of paper. “I think you’re pouring it on a little thick but I can see I’m not going to get any sleep until I give in.” He snatched a book off the shelf so he’d have a hard surface to write on and took it to his prisoner.