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

by Gilbert, Morris

  Bing glared at her, then suddenly nodded. “Right you are! You’ve got my number,” he said angrily. Then he grew uncomfortable, shifting his feet and looking down at the ground. “Well, that’s right enough, Miss Steele. I’ve been a hard one. Had to be, I guess.”

  “I know it’s been hard on you, Bing—on all of you.”

  Her admission seemed to encourage the big man. Lifting his head, he said, “Well, I ain’t done much to be proud of, but nobody ever accused me of being a coward. I thought—I thought I could take anything, no matter how tough it was. But then … when the battle started …” Bing gave her an anguished look and bit his lip. He had trouble speaking, then blurted out, “I run like a yellow dog, that’s what I done! Noel and some of the others stayed and fought, but I run.” He got control of himself, shrugged, then went on. “I didn’t care at first. Just glad to be out of the thing. But it kept eatin’ on me, you see? Me, Bing Kojak, runnin’ away from a fight, like a spineless worm!”

  “Lots of men ran away, Bing.”

  “Well, that’s their problem! But I ain’t no coward!” Bing glared at her as if challenging her to deny it, but found understanding in her eyes. “Well, I tried getting drunk, but that didn’t help. Finally I knew I’d never have no rest until I showed I wasn’t no coward. I could have gone back to the army, but I wanted to show Noel. I come to get him out of that hospital and back home—and I’m gonna do it, too!”

  “I think that’s fine, Bing,” Deborah said quietly. “Do you have any ideas about how to go about it?”

  “Naw, I can’t figure nothing,” he said, shaking his head gloomily. “Guards at all the gates and inside, too. All I know is to wait until the middle of the night, take one guard out, then go in and try to find Noel.”

  “He’s on the second floor, Bing,” Deborah said.

  He stared at her, asking abruptly, “What are you doing here, all disguised?”

  “The same as you, Bing,” Deborah said and told him swiftly how she’d felt guilty over encouraging Noel to enlist and had come to try to do something.

  “You got any ideas on how to bust him out?” Bing asked.

  Deborah thought for a moment, then said, “If we get him out, Bing, it’ll have to be at once. My brother Pat was with him until today. They took him to a prison camp, and I think they’ll transfer Noel soon, maybe in a few days.”

  “We got to get him out! There must be some way!” Bing said savagely.

  Deborah said, “We’ll do it, Bing. If we do get him out, can we get him out of Richmond?”

  “I’ll handle that, right enough,” he said with a nod. “There’s wagons and boats and trains, and they can’t watch them all. Just let me get him out of that place, and the rest will go all right!”

  Deborah said at once, “Bing, you start looking for a way to get him out of Richmond. Do you have any money?”

  “Not a lot,” he admitted.

  “I’ve got enough. Find a way and meet me here tomorrow about this same time.”

  “All right.” Bing hesitated, then asked, “You got an idea how to get him out?”

  Deborah said, a peculiar look in her eyes, “The Bible says that God sets the prisoners free. All I have to do is ask Him how to go about it.”

  Bing stared at her, then shook his head. “You talk to God, then. I’ll be here tomorrow.” He wheeled and disappeared into the darkness.

  Deborah went to her room, but she didn’t sleep that night. By the time dawn came through the grimy window of her tiny room, she still didn’t have an answer.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE MIRACLE

  You want my advice,” Chief Surgeon Baskins said, “I think we ought to put some drugs in his food, then take him down to surgery and take that arm off. When he wakes up he can rave all he wants to, but he’ll still be alive.” He looked across Matron Huger’s office to the medicine cabinet. “Give me some whiskey.”

  Matron Huger frowned but didn’t argue. She got the whiskey from the cabinet and put the bottle and a glass before him. Baskins sloshed the liquor into the glass and drank it down.

  “We can’t do that, Doctor,” she said as he sat there frowning at the table. “It’s his life—and besides, he has a family. If anyone makes a decision like that, it’d have to be them. And they’re not going to do it.”

  “Blast the man!” Baskins growled, slamming the table with his fist. “Why’s he making such a fuss? He ought to be thankful it’s not worse.”

  Matron Huger didn’t argue, but she thought she knew why Dent Rocklin refused surgery. She had talked with the man’s grandmother, a sensible woman, and had discovered that her own guess about the man was correct.

  “He’s got too much pride,” Susanna Rocklin had said, sorrow in her fine eyes. “He’s had everything, and now he can’t face up to the loss. He’ll have to be broken before he’ll agree to the operation—and I think he’ll choose to die.”

  It looked as though the old woman had been correct. Matron Huger hated to lose patients, hated it with all the vigor of her soul and spirit. She rose suddenly, left the office, and went into the ward room. Raimey Reed was sitting beside Denny Gipson, a seventeen-year-old from Texas. Matron Huger waited until the boy finished telling the girl about his home along the Rio Grande, then said, “Miss Reed, may I speak with you when you’re finished with Denny?”

  “I think Lieutenant Gipson’s told me all the tall tales about Texas that I can take for one day, Matron.” She reached out, and the soldier took her hand eagerly. “I’ll bring the book with me tomorrow.”

  Matron Huger said, “Come to my office. We’ll have some tea.” The two women left the room and soon were drinking tea and talking about the men in the ward. “We lost Major Glover last night,” the matron said. “I’ve been so upset over it.”

  “He was a fine Christian man.” Raimey nodded. “He was a widower. I don’t think he’s been happy since his wife died.”

  “I didn’t know that,” the older woman said in surprise. “When did she die?”

  “Two years ago. He talked about her a great deal, especially the last few days.” She sipped the tea, a thoughtful expression on her face. There was an inner quietness in Raimey Reed such as Matron Huger had never seen in one of Raimey’s age. Usually such peace and serenity were seen only in the very old or in small children. “I was with him just before they came to get him for the surgery. He knew he was going to die, but he wasn’t afraid. The last thing he said was, ‘Thank God, I’ll be with Doris now!’”

  Tears rose to the matron’s eyes, though she was not a woman who usually allowed such a thing. “Well, he’s with Doris now,” she murmured.

  Raimey lifted her head. “Don’t cry for him, Matron,” she said with a fine smile. “He’s happier there than he could ever have been here.”

  Matron Huger was taken aback. “How did you know I was crying, Raimey?” she asked.

  “Your voice had tears.”

  Matron Huger shook her head. “You have more sensitivity than any young woman I’ve ever known, Raimey,” she murmured. The two of them sat there drinking tea, and finally the matron said, “We’re going to lose Lieutenant Rocklin, I’m afraid.” She saw a break in the girl’s smooth countenance, which confirmed a conviction she had formed. “Even if he agreed to the surgery, it may be too late,” she went on, then leaned forward. “Why don’t you talk to him, Raimey? You love him, don’t you?”

  Raimey nodded slightly but said, “I’ve begged him to have the operation.”

  “Have you told him you love him, that it doesn’t make any difference to you that he’s scarred?”

  “No!” Raimey said, her lips suddenly trembling. “I—I can’t do that!”

  “Why can’t you? Or maybe it does matter to you? Some women can’t abide such things.”

  “You know that’s not true! But … I can’t tell him that I … love him!”

  Matron Huger paused, then knew she had to be cruel. “Oh, I see,” she said quietly. “It’s your pride, then
. You can’t afford to risk a refusal. Well, I suppose your pride is more important than Denton Rocklin’s life.”

  “That’s not fair!” Raimey rose with an angry gesture that sent the cup in her hands to the floor. It broke into pieces, but neither woman paid any heed. “I’d do anything to save his life!”

  “I think you’re his last hope, Raimey,” Matron Huger said, her voice insistent. “He’s a strong, stubborn man, and I think he’s made up his mind that there’s nothing for him to live for. He’s proud, too, and it comes down to this—which of you is going to have your pride broken? I think he may care for you, Raimey. I’ve seen him when you were with him, and he watches you with the kind of look a man has when he loves a woman. He’s gotten to be good friends with Simon Alcott. Simon is a pretty sharp fellow. We talk quite a bit, and he says that Rocklin is in love with you.”

  “Did he say so, that he loved me?”

  “Of course not! He’d never admit it to anyone. That’s his pride, and it’s killing him. He’s been a man who could attract women with no trouble, and now his own mother flinches at the sight of him—I could murder that woman! Now he’s afraid that no woman could love him, so he wants to die. But if he knew it wasn’t so, he’d want to live.”

  Raimey stood there, trembling and clasping her hands in an effort to conceal it. Finally she whispered, “All right, I’ll do it.”

  “Fine! Fine!” Matron Huger cried and moved to put her arms around the girl. “Do it now, Raimey. He needs you.”

  Raimey left the matron’s office, and Dulcie was waiting for her. She began complaining at once. “I don’t know how I got any fingers left on my hand! If I have to write one more letter for one of them soldiers, it’ll drive me crazy, Miss Raimey!”

  “You’ve done so much for these men, Dulcie,” Raimey said gently, her thoughts elsewhere. “They all love you for it, too.”

  “Hmmm! I don’t know about that, but they sure can eat! Susie told me she was not going to keep making a hundred pies every day!” There was a pause, and Dulcie said, “We got to get home. Your daddy said for you to be home before dark.”

  “I want to talk to Lieutenant Rocklin, Dulcie. Then we’ll go.”

  Dulcie stared at her mistress, a suspicion in her bright eyes. “You talking too much to that man. He’s too sick to do much talking, anyway.” But she had learned that a new authority had come into her mistress, so, grumbling under her breath, she led Raimey to Dent Rocklin’s cot. Then she left, saying, “We have to leave before it gets dark, you hear me?”

  “All right, Dulcie.” Raimey touched the chair and moved to sit down, asking, “Lieutenant Alcott?”

  “Simon’s down at the end playing poker.” Dent’s voice was ragged with exhaustion, she noted, and she thought she could smell the infected wound. He went on, “Want me to call him for you?”

  “No, Dent. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Dent looked at her, his face hollow with the fever that had raged for several days. His eyes were dull and his speech was slow. “Guess I’m not much to talk to, Raimey.” He fell silent, the pain in his arm sapping his energy. He had eaten little, and there was no hope in him.

  “I don’t want you to talk to me, Dent. Not now. I—I’ve got something to say to you.”

  “All right, Raimey.”

  He could see the pulse beating rapidly in the blue vein in Raimey’s throat and wondered what had upset her. She looked frightened—and fear was something he’d never seen on her face before. She drew a deep breath, then began speaking.

  “Dent, I’m not like other girls. I’ve missed out on so many things that are natural with them. For a long time I was angry with God for letting me be blind. It didn’t seem fair somehow. But when I was thirteen, a very wonderful thing happened to me. I was in a revival meeting with my parents, and for the first time I really heard the gospel with my heart. I guess I’d heard a thousand sermons on how people need to be saved from their sins—but I was too mad at God to believe anything. But that morning, the sermon was on the death of Jesus, and for the first time I understood what real suffering was—His suffering, when they nailed Him to the cross ….”

  Dent lay there listening, half out of his head. If he had been himself, he would have refused to listen, for he had been angry at God since the battle. But his weakness kept him still, and he listened as Raimey told how she’d felt the weight of her sins and how she’d begun to grieve, finally calling on the name of Jesus.

  “He saved me, Dent,” she said simply, tears in her eyes. “Since that moment I’ve been happy.”

  “You’re still blind,” Dent said roughly. He had been touched by her story, but the bitterness in him was strong. “Why doesn’t He heal your eyes?”

  “I don’t know why, Dent,” Raimey said quietly. “But I know one thing, and that is that God loves me. And anything that comes to me—including blindness—comes through His hands. I know that, Dent, and I know that as long as I live He’ll be there. There are worse things than being blind, Dent.” She leaned forward, reaching out her hand, and he took it. Holding on to it as hard as she could, Raimey whispered, “Being bitter and unhappy is worse, being the way I used to be—and the way you are now!”

  Dent held on to her hand, stung by her words but knowing that the ring of truth was in them. He couldn’t answer, but simply lay there. As he did so, he began to feel peculiar. A strange sense of shame came to him, and myriad thoughts flowed across his mind in a montage of scenes—and in all of them he saw himself as a small man, petty and unkind. He thought of his father and how he’d spurned the advances the older man had made. These thoughts, and many more, coursed through his mind.

  Finally Raimey said, “Dent?” And when he spoke, she said, “You know you’re going to die if something doesn’t happen?”

  “Yes, I know that. Won’t be much of a loss.”

  “It will be a great loss!” Raimey cried, clinging to his hand. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was strong. “What about your family? Your grandparents and your brothers and Rena? And your father? He loves you, Dent. They all do!”

  And then when Dent made no answer, Raimey took a deep breath and went on, her voice unsteady. “What about me, Dent? Don’t you know that I love you?”

  Dent blinked and stared at her. His mind was working so slowly that he thought he had mistaken her words. “What did you say?”

  “I—I love you, Dent,” Raimey said, her head held up proudly. “I know a woman’s not supposed to say things like that, and I know you don’t love me—but I won’t have you say that it makes no difference whether you live or die!”

  Dent had been aware that Raimey Reed was a girl of powerful emotions, but he had never seen them evidenced.

  Now as she sat there, her chin lifted, her lips trembling, she was beautiful. Her glossy hair gleamed faintly, and there was strength in her firm jawline and beauty in the curve of her smooth cheek. Slowly Dent reached out and put his hand on that cheek—and felt the dampness of a tear.

  “Don’t cry, Raimey,” he whispered. “There’s nothing to cry about.”

  “There is!” she insisted with a sob and put her hands over his. “Dent, I’ve never loved a man before and I’ll never love another. If you die, it will be death for me!” She moved from the chair and fell on her knees, putting her face against his chest. Her hair was fragrant and soft against his face, and he held her as her slim body was wracked with sobs. “I love you, Dent, as much as any woman ever loved any man!” she sobbed. “Please live, Dent! You don’t have to love me—you can marry another woman, and I’ll be happy just knowing you’re alive!”

  Dent had known many women, but none had affected him like this one. He had been dazzled by the beauty and charm of Deborah Steele, even ready to fight for her. But now … now the gentleness of the woman who knelt beside him and the declaration of her love hit him hard. His mind was cloudy with fever, but he knew what it had cost her to come to him. He held her until the sobs ceased; then when she lifted her head and sta
rted to move away, he whispered, “Raimey, I’m all mixed up. I don’t know what to do.”

  She sensed the confusion in his mind, and then something came to her. She knelt there, not moving, and the thought came back even stronger. She thought, I can’t say that! It would be cruel! But as the doubt came to her, there was something else—a sense of the presence of God. She had felt such a thing three times in her life, and each time there had been in her spirit an absolute certainty that God was speaking to her. It was there now. Her lips parted, and she grew still as the impression became even stronger.

  “What is it, Raimey?” Dent asked, noting her expression.

  “Dent, will you let me pray for you?”

  “Why—I guess so.” The request made Dent feel uncomfortable. Others had asked the same thing, and he’d curtly refused, but now he felt strange. “I don’t believe in God very much,” he said finally.

  “I believe that God is going to do something for you, Dent,” Raimey said. She hesitated, then added, “I think He wants to heal your arm.”

  Dent looked down at the arm, aware that the doctors had given up, saying the infection had gone into gangrene. He was too weary now to be angry about it. So though the girl’s faith seemed strange and unreal, he said, “Well, Raimey, if anyone does anything with my arm, it’ll have to be God.”

  Raimey put her hands out, touching the ruined arm, and prayed a very simple prayer: “Oh God, my Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, I ask You to heal this infection in Dent’s arm. I believe that You can do all things, that nothing is impossible for You. Give us this sign of Your power and Your love, for I ask it in the name of Jesus.”

  Dent lay there, then asked, “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” Tears flowed freely down Raimey’s face, for she had been given an assurance that her prayer had been heard. “I must go.” She got to her feet and called out, “Dulcie—I’m ready.” Then as the maid came to get her, she turned to face Dent. Her face was luminous in the light that flowed through the window, and she whispered, “I love you, Dent!”