Jake sat there, wishing that he were anyplace in the world but in that carriage. He longed to pick up the lines and drive the carriage as far from Richmond as possible.
But he could not. He sat there until the Franklins came and got into the carriage. No one spoke to him, and the silence was thick all the way back to Lindwood. When Tad pulled the carriage up in front of the house, they all got out and went into the house. After they were gone, Tad asked cautiously, “You want me to hep you down, Marse Vince?”
“Yes.”
Jake got to the ground with the servant’s help, then went to his room. He lay down on the bed, fully dressed, not even lighting the lamp. The darkness was a warm blanket that hid him from the world, and he longed for an even blacker night to cover him. But he knew that the morning would come and that he would have to face the world.
Suddenly one thought came to him, but he rejected it at once. It was the thought that he might pray to God.
“No!” he cried out between clenched teeth. “I’ve done without God this far! I won’t whine now, like a whipped puppy!”
He put the thought away and lay there steeling himself for the sunrise, when he would have to go out and face the sneers he knew would be waiting for him.
It was a long night—but not long enough for Jake Hardin.
CHAPTER 12
AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK
Like I said, boy, the devil’s going to take care of his own!”
There was a hint of grudging admiration in Dr. Maxwell’s tone as he stepped back and watched Jake pull down his pant leg. He had given the young man’s injuries a quick inspection, and now his watchful old eyes had a speculative look as he added, “I’ve seen good people take twice the time to get well that you have. Don’t seem fair that a wastrel like you should have such an easy time!”
Jake smiled at the elderly physician, answering, “Sorry to upset your theology, Doctor. But it’ll all catch up with me in the end, I guess.” He stood and picked up the light cane for which he had traded his crutches. “How’s my mother?”
Maxwell scratched his thick jowl, his fingernails making a rasping sound over the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “Not doing as well as I’d like.” He looked around the room, then asked, “You got any drinking whiskey in here?”
“There’s a bottle in the library. Come along.” Jake moved ahead of the doctor, favoring his leg, and soon the two men were sharing a drink of whiskey. Jake wanted more details about Amy Franklin’s injuries, but there was little that Maxwell could tell him.
“Don’t pester me, Vince,” he said with a flash of irritation in his voice. “I set the bone and that’s all a man can do. Like I said, it’s up to God now.” He sipped the whiskey, then stared at the younger man. “And you and me, we don’t have much influence there, do we?”
“Can’t say about you, Doctor, but I don’t have any myself.”
Maxwell fired a question at him suddenly. “What you going to do about Duvall? You can’t run every time you see him. This world’s too small for that.”
It was the first reference anyone had made about the incident at the ball to Jake himself, although he knew there had been much talk. The Franklin family had not said a word, but there was a coolness toward Jake that had not been there before the ball. Rachel had not smiled at him since that night, and his father had not said more than half a dozen words to him. Amy alone had retained her warmth, and for that reason Jake had spent more time with her than with anyone else.
“They say time heals all wounds, don’t they?” He answered Maxwell’s question with a question, then added, “Sooner or later Duvall will either get killed in one of his duels or he’ll get killed in the war—or maybe he’ll just forget it.”
“And so you’re just going to hide in your little hole, hoping for one of those things?” Maxwell snorted in disgust, finished the whiskey, then slammed the glass down. “You’re a fool, boy!” He turned angrily and stomped out of the library. Jake picked up the glasses and, as he made his way to the kitchen, heard the door slam.
“You’re right about that, Doc,” he murmured. Entering the kitchen, he found Melora shelling peas. She nodded at him but said nothing. She was not, he thought, angry or disappointed in him as was the rest of the household, but she did seem to have lost some of her quickness of spirit lately. He didn’t understand why, but he regretted it. “Guess I’ll go sit with Mother awhile,” he said. “Maybe she’d like some tea.”
“She’s asleep right now. Wait for an hour or so.”
“All right. Can I help you shell peas?”
She did smile then but shook her head. “I’m almost finished. Why don’t you go down to the barn and see the new colt? You need to get out more.”
“Well, maybe I will.” He paused to say, “I miss having you read to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have let you know that my eyes are about normal.” When she only smiled and shook her head, he turned and left the room. She’s carrying some kind of load, he thought as he put on his heavy coat and wool cap. Wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with Clay Rocklin. She’s not been the same since the night of the ball.
He left the house, blinking at the cold wind that bit at his face. The world seemed dead with all of the grass a dry brown color and the trees looking like skeletons with long bony fingers lifted to a colorless gray sky. Dry leaves rustled as he walked across the frozen ground, and a gust of wind gathered some of them together in a miniature whirlwind. They lurched at him and seemed to strike at his leg; then they broke apart to go tumbling across the lawn.
The barn was large, with many stalls for horses, a few for milking cows, and a huge loft stuffed with hay. Jake passed by one of the slaves, an elderly man named Delight, who was milking a cow. “Hi, Marse Vince,” he said cheerfully. “You come to help me milk dis ol’ cow?”
“Guess not, Delight,” Jake said, smiling at the slave. “I never could get the hang of milking.” He passed along to where the horses were kept and found the new colt with her dam in a walled-off section at the far end. But the leggy creature was not alone. Rachel stood there stroking his nose. She looked up as Jake entered, saying, “Hello, Vince,” in a level tone.
Jake nodded, then put his weight on his good leg, saying, “Good-looking foal.” He studied the long slender legs, the wide-spaced eyes, and the fine barrel of the animal, then remarked, “He might win a race or two.”
Rachel was wearing her outdoor working clothes—a pair of men’s overalls and a worn white shirt. A felt slouch hat was pulled down over her forehead, and she wore a pair of leather boots that were well scuffed and dirty. The old coat she wore was made of wool, but it had lost any color it might have had long ago and had only one button in front.
Even in clothes like that, she’s beautiful, Jake thought with a start.
The colt stared wildly at Jake, then moved closer to Rachel, pushing at her with his silky nose. Rachel laughed. “There’s your mother over there,” she said, but stroked the face of the colt, allowing it to nibble at her fingers. She was, Jake thought as he watched her, more attractive in old clothes than most women were in ballroom gowns.
“What’s his name?” he asked, wanting to hear her speak. Although he had not admitted it to himself, he had missed his times with Rachel more than he had thought possible. She had been hard, almost cold, but considering his role, he could understand that. Besides, he had come to know that hardness was not what Rachel was really made of; she had a fundamental sweetness that she kept concealed under a rough display of manners—and it was that hidden nature that Jake had grown to like.
“I would like to call him Precious,” she said. “But he’d be embarrassed by that when he’s a big stallion. I guess he’ll be Stonewall.”
“After Jackson?”
“Yes. All colts are flighty, but the first time I came to see this one, he stood there stock still, and I thought of Jackson and what General Bee said about him at Manassas: ‘Rally on the Virginians, men—there stands Jackson, like a stone wall!’”
“Good Southern name for a fine Southern foal,” Jake said.
Rachel gave the foal a slap, which made him snort and stagger back to his dam; then she moved away toward the door. “Going back to the house?” he asked quickly, attempting to prolong their moment together.
“No, I’m going to give Crow a workout. He hasn’t been ridden in a while, and you know how ornery he gets when that happens.” She was at the door and waited as he followed her, hobbling a bit to keep up. When they got to a stall where a tall black horse stared at them over the bars with a pair of wicked eyes, she suddenly turned to Jake, saying, “You know, I think your fear of horses started with Crow. From the time he piled you up when you were sixteen, you’ve stayed away from horses. It’s a shame. There are so many fine horses here, and you don’t get any pleasure out of them.”
Jake said carefully, “Well, maybe you’re right, Rachel.” He hesitated, not wanting to get too far from Vince’s habits, but finally said, “I’d like to ride a little this morning—maybe not on Crow, but on a nice steady horse.”
She looked at him, surprise reflected in her eyes. “Well, there’s plenty of those around. If you really mean it, I’ll have Lady saddled for you.”
He agreed, and she called out to one of the slaves to saddle the two horses. When they were ready, Jake moved toward the mare, a smallish horse with a finely shaped head. She turned around to look at him calmly, then snorted once and waited. Tossing his cane onto a bale of hay, Jake took the reins from the slave, grabbed the saddle horn, then put his left foot into the stirrup. “Need some help?” Rachel asked. She had mounted the big stallion in one swift motion and was watching him carefully.
“No, I can make it, I think.” Jake shoved off with his good leg, pulling his weight up with both hands, and managed to throw his right leg over the horse, coming to rest in the saddle with a grunt. It had brought a twinge of pain to his leg, but he was happy to know that he was able to ride. He touched Lady with his heels, and she moved obediently, stepping out of the barn into the corral, followed by the big stallion.
Rachel watched him with barely veiled amazement. “You’ve been on a horse before!”
Jake looked at her quickly. He had forgotten that Vince never rode, and Rachel was too much of a horsewoman for him to try to deny the obvious—that he had mounted the horse and started it out with confidence. Well, the best defense was a good offense, and if there was one thing Jake was learning to do, it was to be offensive.
He smiled mockingly. “Just because I choose not to ride doesn’t mean I can’t do so, dear sister. Though why that should matter to you is beyond me. Unless, of course, you’re afraid that being wrong about me in one area may mean you’re wrong about me in others. And that’s just too much for you to take, isn’t it, Rachel? Being wrong about me?”
For a brief moment, Jake thought Rachel would wheel Crow and ride away from him. Then, suddenly, her expression changed from anger to something he couldn’t quite define—but it almost looked as though she was ashamed. She closed her eyes for a second, then spoke in a soft voice.
“I never thought I’d be saying this to you, Vince, but you’re probably right … and I’m sorry.”
Jake looked at her, stunned. When he didn’t respond, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the hurt and confusion he saw in her made him want to reach out and take her in his arms.
“I’ve had my mind made up about you for a very long time,” she said. “And you’ve never given me any reason to change my opinion—until lately.” She shook her head. “There’s something different about you, Vince. I’m not sure I can trust it, but I want you to know I’m trying. And I will try to stop making judgments based on the past.” She smiled wanly. “Mama says she’s been praying for you for years. I guess I need to keep in mind that God just may be answering her prayers.”
Jake was dumbfounded, but fortunately, Rachel didn’t seem to need any response from him.
“Want to ride down to the river?” she asked, and Jake nodded. He had no idea where the river was, but he hoped it was far enough away for him to get his thoughts together. Rachel turned Crow’s head toward a low-lying hill with a crop of tall timber at the crest. She kept her horse at a slow walk for Jake’s benefit, but with some difficulty, for he wanted to bolt. “He’s still rambunctious,” Rachel commented. “I remember the day Daddy gave him to you. I cried all night,” she said, smiling faintly at the old memory. “I wanted him so much!”
“Well, I guess you got him. I hear you’re one of the few who can put up with his meanness,” Jake commented. “He was just too much horse for me, I guess.” She didn’t respond, and he said, “You don’t have to plod along with me, Rachel. Give him a run.”
“I’ll do that coming back. He needs to learn to mind.” They wound around a trail that led through a pine forest, then followed it around a small pond that was riffled with the sharp breath of wind. After crossing several fields, all forlorn-looking with their dead spikes of old cotton plants, the two riders came to the river. Actually, it was more of a creek than a river, for it was no more than twenty feet across, but it had steep banks, and Jake knew it would be a fine stream when the spring rains came.
It was a cold ride, but Jake enjoyed it. After being cooped up, he relished even the sharp bite of the wind. His face grew stiff and his hands, as well. “I like this,” he said as they finally turned back. “I wish it would snow.”
She looked at him curiously. “You’ve always hated cold weather. I remember so many times, after it had snowed, how Les and Grant and I would go out and make snowmen and have snowball fights—and you’d stay in the house huddled up to a fireplace.”
“I wasn’t much fun back then, was I?” he said quietly. When Rachel looked at him uncertainly, he added, “Guess I’m losing my taste for some things in my old age. People always say you do.” Then he said idly, “Guess I’d be better off if I did change.”
Crow suddenly lunged out, as was his habit from time to time, but Rachel gave the reins a quick jerk, bringing him to a halt. “Stop that!” she commanded and waited until Jake caught up. His remark had caught at her—if only she could believe it! After a silence, she picked up on it. “We all change, don’t we? I mean, just getting older means we have to change in some ways. And that’s a good thing. I’d hate to be like I was when I was twelve!”
He looked at her quickly, admiring the color the wind had brought to her smooth cheeks. “Why would you hate that?”
She laughed, seemingly embarrassed. “You don’t remember what a pain in the neck I was to everyone then? Always crying or laughing—no middle ground. Every day I changed, and the world was either terrible or grand. I wonder why Daddy and Mama didn’t have me put to sleep!”
Jake laughed at her outrageous conclusions, saying, “You’re still a little along those lines, I think.”
“Oh? I thought I was doing better. I wish I was more like Mama. She never gets flustered and bothered over things. Seems as though I cry over dead leaves!”
“Makes you more interesting.” Jake grinned at her.
“That’s not what you used to say,” Rachel retorted. “You’d get so mad at my moods you begged Daddy to whip me.”
“He didn’t do much of that, did he?”
“Not enough, you’d probably say.”
A question came to Jake, surprising him. He tried to put it out of his mind, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. Finally he asked it carefully. “What about Leighton Semmes? You going to get emotional over him?”
“Leighton? Why, I don’t know,” she said, but his question disturbed her. She fell silent, and the two of them rode without speaking until they got to the crest of the hill overlooking the Big House. Pulling Crow to a stop, she said, “He’s quite a fellow, isn’t he? Money, looks, and all that.”
Jake felt an irrational surge of annoyance at this description of the man. “You like him pretty well?” he asked, making his voice casual.
“Oh, I don’t know, Vince!” she s
aid with a trace of sudden irritation. The truth was that this question had been much on her mind, and she was upset that she had no clear answer. “Why are you so interested?”
Jake wondered at that himself but only answered, “Like to see the spinster of Lindwood get a good man. When I get old and broke, it’d be nice to have a rich brother-in-law to sponge off of.”
“You’re a scoundrel!” she remarked, laughing, surprised by his teasing tone. Then she grew more serious. “We’re all going to change, aren’t we? Nobody knows what this war will be like, not really. But I think it’s going to be worse than the politicians think.” She took off her slouch hat and shook her hair free, letting it fall over her shoulders. “I think we’re going to lose everything.”
“Father doesn’t agree,” Jake said. “And neither does Semmes, I’d guess. But you’d better keep thoughts like those to yourself. Anyone who speaks badly of the Cause is automatically branded a weakling—or worse.”
“I know that, but I can’t help what I think. Fortunately, even the war can’t take everything away from me. I mean, nothing can take away what matters the most.”
“Oh?” Jake looked at her curiously. Rachel returned his look, her eyes serious.
“‘Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord,’” she quoted, her voice low and confident. “I know you don’t believe in that,” she said with a shrug, “but I know it’s true. And I know that no matter what happens, God will be there to guide me and sustain me. That’s what really matters.”
Jake found himself strangely moved by what she said and by the confidence with which she said it. If only he could feel that way …
“Anyway,” she said, putting on her hat, “Semmes won’t be rich if we lose the war, now, will he? Maybe I’d better go North. Lots of rich Yankees, I hear.” She slanted a mischievous grin at him.
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 81