Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I hope so, Burke. The children are beginning to feel it,” she answered sadly. “Dent asked me a minute ago why his father didn’t like him.” Her hand touched Thomas’s under the table. “It made me cry, Tom! I didn’t know what to say to the poor child.”

  The eyes of Thomas Rocklin were burning with anger. “Clay’s not too old for a thrashing!”

  “Yes, he is.” Susanna spoke bitterly. “We should have seen to that when he was much younger.”

  Thomas felt the power of her remark, and though he realized she was speaking of the two of them, he said, “You’re right, but it was my responsibility. I failed him, Susanna.” Bitterness rose in his throat, and he had to force himself to keep the anger from showing on his face. The others, he realized, all knew what Clay was. Marianne, who loved Thomas more than the others, had tried to comfort him, but he had said, “Don’t try to find an excuse for me, Marianne. I should have used the strap on him when he was younger. He’s got a rebellious streak. All of us Rocklins have it, I think, but with Clay, it’s almost like a demon!”

  Thomas looked across at Marianne, saw her watching him. She always sensed his moods better than the others, and now he tried to cover his anger with a smile. She answered it, but both knew that the day was spoiled for most of them.

  After the cake and punch, gifts were brought in, and the boys flew through them, sending the colorful wrapping paper flying. Both of them got exactly the same things, a few toys and some books. Marianne noticed that David snatched up a book and had his nose in it at once, while Dent was fascinated by a toy rifle. “That’s sort of symbolic, isn’t it, Claude?” she said to her husband.

  Claude Bristol was of no more than average height, but he looked very much like the French aristocrat from whom he had descended. “David the scholar and Dent the fighter?” he remarked with a smile on his thin lips. “Yes, they are like that. Dent is like Clay, but I don’t know whom David takes his quiet ways from.”

  “From his grandmother, I think. He’s very like her.” She looked toward the window, thinking of Clay but saying nothing.

  “I should have gone with him,” Claude said. Then he saw something in his wife’s clear eyes that made him drop his own. “But that would be like sending a fox to guard the chickens.” A slight bitterness touched his fine gray eyes, and he added, “Is that what you’re thinking? That I’m very much like Clay?”

  Marianne did not deny his words directly. But she touched his hand, looked into his face, and smiled. “You and Clay suffer from the same temptations. But you are man enough to struggle against them. Someday, Claude, you’ll defeat them all. And you’re a fine father!”

  He shook his head slightly. “I try, my dear. And I will always try, for I love you very much.”

  At that moment, before Marianne could respond, Brad Franklin said, “Here comes Clay!” He had walked to the window and was staring out into the front drive. Now he turned and said evenly, “He’s in time for the cake.” Amy’s husband was a smallish man, under medium height. He was lean, with fair skin and reddish-blond hair and a hungry-looking, intense face. He owned Lindwood Plantation twenty miles from Gracefield—closer to Richmond, which suited him, for he was up to his ears in politics. Now he moved to stand behind his wife, touching her shoulders, then stepped back to lean against the wall. He didn’t like Clay, or more accurately, he didn’t respect him. More than once in his rather intense fashion, he had told the younger man to his face that he was a sorry excuse for a husband and a father; Clay had taken it badly, and the two were always on guard when together.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” The four children began to squeal excitedly and would have gone to meet their father, but Ellen said sharply, “Get back in your chairs, all of you!”

  Three of them obeyed, but Denton ignored her and ran out of the room. Ellen rose to go after him, anger in her eyes, but Susanna said quietly, “Let him go, Ellen. You can speak to him later.”

  Clay came in, his eyes bright but his speech slurred. He had Dent in his arms and cried out, “Happy birthday!” as he entered. As usual he ignored Ellen, going at once to where David sat watching him with a pair of steady brown eyes. “How’s my birthday twins?” Clay asked loudly, then picked them both up and squeezed them. Only then did he turn to face the others, and there was a defiant light in his dark eyes. “I got held up in Richmond,” he said briefly, which they all knew would be his only apology.

  “Dorrie, bring some cake for Clay,” Susanna said quickly. “Boys, show you father what you’ve gotten for your birthday.”

  Ellen said nothing, not to Clay, at least. While Clay exclaimed over the presents, she sat rigidly in her chair, her eyes fixed on him, unblinking and angry.

  Claude said quietly to Brad, “Look at Ellen. She’s mad enough to cut Clay’s throat!”

  “Guess she has reason,” Franklin answered briefly. He got on well enough with Claude, but the Frenchman was too much like Clay and in Brad’s opinion was partly responsible for Clay’s lifestyle.

  Claude said no more to Brad, and the two men stood back, letting the party wind down. Soon the children were hustled off to bed, and Thomas instructed Zander to have the evening meal set out. When they were all seated, Thomas asked the blessing. In his prayer, he said, “… and remember Gideon, Lord, and keep him safe from the enemy.”

  “What do you hear about Gid, Tom?” Brad Franklin asked, cutting the roast beef on his plate. “He over that wound he took at Monterey?”

  “Stephen says so,” Thomas replied. “Said he’s going back to his unit in a couple of weeks.”

  “I don’t believe in this war,” Marianne said, her brow troubled. “Everyone knows President Polk brought it on, and it was Andrew Jackson who put him up to it.” She took a bite of potatoes, then added, somewhat angrily, “Jimmy Polk never had an idea in his head that Andy Jackson didn’t put there!”

  “In that you are correct,” Claude agreed, nodding. “Jackson was a man possessed when he was president. ‘Manifest Destiny’ was his creation, and he was convinced that God has given America a special place in history. He, and many others now, feel it’s her right—her destiny—to take whatever lands she needs to become a great nation.”

  Brad nodded, his narrow face thoughtful. “He and Sam Houston were thick as thieves. Jackson needed Texas as a state, but he also saw it as a door to getting control of California.”

  “But Mexico owns California!” Amy protested.

  “Of course, dear.” Brad grinned. “And that’s what this war is all about. Partly, anyway.”

  “The rest of it is slavery!” Clay said suddenly. He spoke thickly and was weaving just slightly in his seat.

  “That’s correct, Clay.” Brad nodded. “The Missouri Compromise has got the North and the South in a bind.” The now-famous act declared that slavery could not be introduced into any state north of the Louisiana Purchase territory. But the South had realized that there were more potential states in the northern area. Franklin said with a sudden passion in his voice, “Soon there will be more states in the Union that are opposed to slavery. They’ll strangle us! So what Polk has done is open the door to more Southern states.”

  “You don’t mean take Mexico!” Thomas said, a little shocked at his son-in-law.

  Franklin hesitated. “That is not impossible. Some say Mexico is a natural extension of the South, good cotton country. But most thinking men of our part of the world are thinking of New Mexico and California. Mexico owns them, but they don’t care about them. Already Polk has sent two forces to California to have our people in place when the Mexican War is settled.”

  Marianne was troubled. “Isn’t that what we fought against England for, Brad? So we could have freedom?”

  “Why, Marianne, there will be freedom! America must have that land; we must reach from shore to shore! And the good thing about it is that all this territory will become slave states!”

  The discussion went on for some time, but finally Susanna said, “Well, I don’t know about this
war, if it’s good or bad. But I do know that I’m very proud of Gideon.”

  Thomas added, “Stephen tells me the boy got a medal.” A cry of approval went around the table, but Thomas noticed that Clay dropped his head to stare at the table.

  “They don’t give those away!” Claude said with admiration. “I read the report of the action in the papers. It was a bloody affair, taking Monterey. Do you have a report of what the boy did to get the medal?”

  “Yes. I don’t have the letter Stephen wrote, but it was a very courageous thing.” He proceeded to relate Gid’s rescue of the major and concluded by saying, “I’m glad a Rocklin is serving his country so well!”

  Clay got up suddenly, looked around the room, then said, “So Gid’s a hero! Well, soldiering is a pretty exciting life. Let him try to do something heroic around this place! He’d find it a little harder than playing soldier!”

  He lurched away from the table and went to his bedroom, followed closely by Ellen. But when she started to berate him for missing the party, he said thickly, “Ellen, shut your mouth—or I’ll shut it for you!”

  “Go on, hit me!” she cried out bitterly, her fists clenched. She would have struck him but knew better. “Do you think that would hurt me as badly as what you do all the time?”

  He threw his head back, his eyes bitter. He had long kept his tongue over the way they had gotten married. At first, he had done his best to make a real marriage of what they had … but he was haunted by the memories of Melanie. And the memory of Ellen’s behavior had become a sickness with him.

  “You wanted this marriage,” he said in a deadly tone. “Well, you’ll have to take what you got!”

  “You never loved me!” Ellen whispered. “Do you think I don’t know?”

  “Know what?” he demanded, tired of the scene. It was like so many others!

  “That you’re still in love with Mellie!”

  Clay stared at her, saying nothing. Their words seemed to have released a storm of emotions, a Pandora’s box of buried thoughts that he had kept so deep that he had almost forgotten they were there. He thought of Mellie as she had been when he had courted her, and when he saw the twisted rage on Ellen’s face, he knew he was doomed. There was no such thing as divorce in his family. I will be married to this woman, he thought bitterly, as long as I live.

  Suddenly he wanted to strike her. He wanted to scream, “You’ve ruined my life! I’m trapped—and there’s no way out!” Standing with his fists clenched, he almost let the wave of fierce anger overpower him, but then he wheeled and staggered out of the room.

  She heard his steps pound unevenly down the hall and then down the stairs. A weakness took her, and she sat down on the bed. But there were no tears. She had shed them all long ago. Now there was only a barren anger that fed upon itself, and she sat there until she heard the sound of his horse leaving the stable, picking up speed until it reached the road and the furious drumming of the hoofbeats faded out.

  I hate him, she thought numbly, sitting with her hands clenched. He’ll go to Richmond, to those women! I smelled their perfume on him tonight! I hope someone shoots him at one of those places. I wish he were dead!

  Ellen almost got her wish exactly two weeks after the twins’ birthday party.

  It didn’t happen, however, at a bordello. No, it was the jealous husband of a woman named Lorene Taliferro who shot a bullet exactly one-quarter of an inch away from Clay’s right ear. And then Clay put a ball from his dueling pistol into the left side of Duncan Taliferro.

  A light snow had fallen, cloaking the harsh dead earth with a beautiful coating of white. The two parties had met at eight in the morning at a spot just outside of Richmond. Clay could have stopped it all with a simple apology, but he had lived in a state of drunkenness since he had last seen Ellen. He could not live with the knowledge that his wife knew of his love for Melanie—and since he could not have the woman he loved, any woman would do—even a silly one like Lorene Taliferro!

  Clay had stood quietly, giving Taliferro the first shot, which had missed. He thought once of tossing the pistol down and walking away; all honor would have been satisfied. But then, in a gesture that he never understood—never!—he aimed at the man’s side and pulled the trigger. Watching Taliferro fall backward, the pristine snow suddenly turned a violent crimson, he was suddenly shaken as he had never been. A feeling of self-loathing swept over him, overwhelmed him, and he left the dueling field without stopping to see if the man was dead or alive.

  For several days he tried to drown the knowledge of his own heart in a bottle, but never succeeded. He discovered that everyone considered what he had done an act of cowardice. Even Taylor Dewitt, his best friend, had left him in disgust, saying, “My God, Clay! What a cowardly thing to do!”

  He had not gone back to Gracefield, nor had he been sent for. The loose women and his drunken friends in Richmond had laughed at the duel, but this only made him feel worse.

  Finally the pressure got to him. One gray morning he left Richmond, riding slowly along the rutted tracks of the road, unaware of the beauty of the countryside. He could have reached Gracefield before dark easily, but he dreaded the ordeal of facing his parents—and his children. He didn’t care about Ellen, except that it was torture to be with her.

  All morning he rode, his head down, his horse picking its way along the road. Blackbirds dotted the sky, making raucous cries, and a red fox came out of the brush, stared at him, then walked calmly away. Noon came, and by two o’clock he was sober. The sun was dropping and clouds were lowering in the west. He discovered that he had wandered onto a road that he didn’t know, so he began looking for a house where he might ask for his bearings. It was nearly an hour later when he rounded a curve in the road and saw a child leading a calf. The yearling was not disposed to go, and the young person was having a hard time of it. Clay spurred his horse forward and brought him to a stop when he was ten feet away.

  “A little balky, is he?”

  The figure had a voice, and from it Clay deduced that the figure’s gender was female. “Hello, Mister Clay.”

  Clay blinked, then peered at the shapeless figure. The girl was wearing men’s trousers, a ragged bulky coat that was far too large, and a black slouch hat that came down to her eyes. He tried to see her features, but they were covered by a green scarf pulled over them, which was tied behind her neck. “You know me?” Clay asked.

  The girl loosed the scarf, pulled it away. “Why, certainly I do! It’s me, Melora, Mister Clay!”

  “Why—so it is!” Clay exclaimed. He had seen the child several times since she had nursed him to health, but time had slipped by. He remembered the books and asked, “Did you read all those books, Melora?”

  Melora had a pair of remarkable green eyes, and they sparkled in her reddened face. “Lots of times,” she said warmly.

  Clay smiled, then said, “Calf stray away last night?”

  “Yes, sir. Pa sent me to look this way.”

  “Well, it looks to me like he’s more than you can handle. Give me that rope, Melora.” He took the rope, then leaned over, saying, “Now you.” She hesitated, and he said, “Not afraid of my horse, are you?”

  “N–no, sir,” she said. She lifted her arms and he put his right arm around her. She was larger than she looked, heavier and more filled out. He laughed, saying, “You’re a grown-up woman almost, Melora! Another year or so and I won’t be able to do that. How old are you now?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve.” Clay twisted to smile at her. “Time sort of slipped by me! I thought you were about eight or nine.”

  “No, sir. I was twelve last month.”

  Clay touched the horse with his heels, gave the calf a jerk that nearly upended him, then began to question the girl. By the time they had reached the Yancy place, he had gotten a full report on her parents and the other children.

  “Well—if it ain’t Mr. Clay!” Buford Yancy had come from the barn at the sight of the man on horseback, and
there was a welcoming light on his face as he reached up for the rope. “Git down and be friendly!”

  The warmth of Yancy touched Clay, coming after the cold treatment he was used to. “Might do with a cup of coffee if it’s handy, Buford.” He reached back to help Melora, but she slid to the ground on her own.

  “Melora, go tell your ma to fry up some of that venison!” He ignored Clay’s protest, saying, “No bother. Now you come and let’s put this feller where he belongs—then we’ll get us some grub outta my woman.”

  After the yearling was put into a corral, Buford showed Clay around the place. He had added several buildings since Clay had been tended by Melora, including a stout barn and several smaller additions. Yancy was proud of his place, Clay saw, as proud as any Rocklin was of Gracefield with its thousands of acres. Finally they went inside, and soon Clay was seated at the slab table eating fresh deer meat. He had eaten little for several days and suddenly was hungry as a wolf. It delighted the Yancys to see him eat, and he found himself feeling at home with them.

  After the meal, he had to see how all the children were doing, and was impressed. Royal was fourteen, a carbon copy of his father, thin as a lathe and with alert greenish eyes. Zack, age ten, was more like his mother, short and sturdy. And Cora, at nine, was like Melora. The younger children resembled their father.

  Melora, though, was a shock to him. Though only twelve, she was already possessed of the beginnings of beauty. She sat back from the fire, saying little that evening but taking in every word that Clay said.

  Finally Buford said, “Well, I guess it’s bedtime. Mattie’s got you a bed made, Mr. Rocklin. Real feather bed! You take this room.”

  Clay was tired and said good night as Yancy and his wife retired to the single bedroom at the rear of the cabin. Melora herded the children up into the loft with practiced authority.

  Clay drank the last of the coffee, then sat in a handmade chair, staring into the fire. He was so lost in his thoughts that he came to himself with a shock when Melora’s voice came from close to his side.