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

by Gilbert, Morris

  She said no more and just walked on down the path, but Jake was shaken. He’d never seen God as he’d seen Him reflected in the life of Amy Franklin, and now he felt that he was being moved along a road, directed by a power he could not see or hear. Somehow, he knew, there’d come a point on that road when he’d have to make a decision about God, and the thought of it made him clench his fists. He said nothing, but he knew the clock was ticking off seconds and, sooner or later, the rendezvous with what he feared most would be at hand.

  All over the South, the threat of invasion by the Federal Army was in the air. It was in Richmond that it was strongest. Everyone knew that General George McClellan was building the largest army that had ever marched on the planet—over two hundred thousand men, it was reported. Sooner or later that force would cross the Potomac, and there was no doubt in a single mind about its objective: it would head straight for Richmond, the symbol of the Confederacy.

  Perhaps because of the imminence of this threat, parties were given almost nightly in the city. There was something of the Epicurean philosophy—“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die”—about the constant holiday air that prevailed. That there should be several large New Year’s Eve parties, therefore, was a foregone conclusion, and Rachel had agreed to accompany Leighton to the largest of them all, which would take place at the Elliot Hotel.

  She was ready when he came for her, looking quite beautiful in a pink and gold brocade gown. As they drove into town, he made all the proper gestures of gallantry, and Rachel listened to his talk, weighing it carefully. When they reached the hotel, early darkness had fallen. When he pulled the horse up, he wrapped the lines firmly around the brake and turned to her instead of getting out.

  She watched him carefully, aware that he was going to kiss her. When he put his arms around her, her curiosity rose and she allowed him to pull her close. The kiss was expert, and there was, to be sure, a certain stirring in her, for Semmes was a handsome man. She had been kissed before by him, and for one moment, she let herself believe that the response she felt was love. Then she suddenly let her lips slide away and drew back.

  Semmes was thrown off balance and tried to draw her into another embrace, but she smiled and shook her head. “I think we’d better go inside, Leighton.”

  He stared at her, then said, “You’ve heard that I’ve been a womanizer, I take it?”

  “It’s the common talk.”

  “Well, I’ve told other women how beautiful they are,” he admitted. “I’ve even told some of them I loved them. I’ve said those things not entirely meaning them. Now I want to say them to you because I mean them—and I wish I’d never used those words before.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “Is there a chance for me, Rachel?”

  Rachel smiled quickly, then shook her head. “I don’t know, Leighton. I really don’t know. Now let’s go inside.”

  He took her into the ballroom, his temper ruffled by her lack of response to him, but he was an optimistic man. She’s a woman; therefore she can be had, was his thought, and he spent the next two hours pleasantly enough, enjoying her company and not pressing her in the least.

  The room was crowded, and Rachel saw that Jake had come along with her father. They came to speak with her, her father saying, “You look lovely, Rachel. Good thing you took after your mother and not me!”

  Rachel laughed and patted him on the shoulder, then turned to Jake. “You can give that leg some practice, Vince. I’ve seen several young ladies waiting for you to ask them to dance, but your first one is mine.”

  Jake grinned at Semmes and stepped forward at once. As they moved out onto the floor, he asked as casually as he could, “Did the captain make his offer yet?”

  “Oh, he made an offer, all right.” Rachel laughed. “I’m not sure, though, just what kind of offer it was.”

  “Little girls need to beware of tall, handsome strangers with long teeth.”

  He seemed in better spirits than he had been for several days, and she enjoyed her dance with him. But when he took her back to where Leighton stood, he said, “Captain, be careful. This woman is dangerous!”

  “Will you dance with me again?” Rachel asked him, surprising both herself and Jake. He struggled with the desire to claim all of her dances—regardless of how it might look—then sighed in surrender to common sense.

  “No, my leg is growing sore again. I think I’ll join the card players,” he said, trying to ignore the disappointment that crossed Rachel’s face. He smiled at her and Semmes. “You two look very handsome together,” he said, forcing himself to play his role. But the words left a bitter taste in his mouth as he walked away.

  As he left, Semmes frowned. “I can’t figure that fellow out. He’s not much what I expected. The word I got was that he was a pretty sorry specimen.”

  “He’s—changed a lot since he was injured,” Rachel said, watching Jake walk away, wishing she understood herself and her reactions to him …. Then she changed the subject.

  The time went by, with everyone looking at the big clock from time to time. At eleven thirty Rachel said, “Come along, Leighton. Let’s go get Vince away from that old card game.”

  Semmes was reluctant but had little choice. Rachel moved ahead of him, and when they entered the room used for cards, they found themselves in the middle of a drama.

  There were at least fifteen men in the room, but there was almost no sound. Everyone was standing silently, gathered loosely around a table where Rachel saw her father and Jake sitting. Right across from Jake sat Simon Duvall.

  He was drunk, Rachel saw at once, and seeing her brother Grant, she moved to him, whispering, “Grant—what is it?”

  “Duvall came in thirty minutes ago—drunk. He forced his way into the card game, and he’s been trying to get a fight out of Vince.” His face was dark with anger, and he said, “If he doesn’t shut his mouth, I’m going to shut it for him!”

  Rachel felt a streak of fear but could only stand and watch. This was a man’s world, and she knew that Vince would get no help from anyone.

  Duvall threw his cards down, having lost yet another hand, and glared across the table, saying, “You been taking lessons, Franklin?”

  Jake could have beaten Duvall blindfolded, for the man was a poor player. He had been taken off guard when Duvall had walked in, and alarms had gone off in his mind at once when he heard others mention Duvall’s name and saw that the man was drunk and spoiling for trouble.

  “Do you want to play another hand, Duvall?” he asked evenly.

  Duvall cursed, saying, “Come on, you whelp! I can beat you at cards—or anything else!”

  Jake dealt the cards, and the stakes rose rapidly. The other two players dropped out, and Duvall, obviously with a good hand, raised the bet again. “Now we’ll see what kind of nerve you got!” he said. When Jake met his raise, he tossed his cards down with a harsh laugh. “Three aces!” he said, and he started to pull the chips in.

  Jake laid his cards down, saying nothing. A full house. A mutter went around the table, and Duvall’s face flared with anger. He shouted, “You cheated, Franklin.”

  Jake said evenly, “Careful, Duvall.”

  But Simon Duvall had just lost the stake he’d been waiting for for weeks, and rage washed over him. “You’re a cheat and a coward! I’m taking that pot!”

  He reached out, but Jake said, “Take your hands away, Duvall. Either bet or get out of the game.”

  Duvall stared at him; then his voice grated as he said, “I’ll fight you for it.”

  “It’s mine already,” Jake said.

  “You dirty little coward!” Duvall almost screamed. “I’ve been waiting for this. Now come on out and we’ll see if you can act like a man!”

  A silence fell over the room. Brad Franklin wanted to order Duvall to leave the room. In fact, he would have told any other man at any other time to do just that—but this time his son was on trial. One glance around showed him that eve
ry man in the room expected Vince to run. He was expecting it himself, and he steeled himself for the shame that he felt certain was coming.

  Rachel closed her eyes, knowing that if Vince ran away, he was finished. She was trembling and wanted to leave, but could not. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Jake was studying Duvall with a steady gaze.

  The silence ran on, and it got to Duvall, who yelled, “Are you going to fight me or not?”

  Jake said softly, “Yes, Duvall, I believe I am.”

  Duvall was shocked. He started to rise, a smile on his face. “Come along, then. We’ll find a place—”

  “This place is good as any,” Jake said.

  “Here?” Duvall said in a startled voice.

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a fine linen handkerchief. He unfolded it, then, holding one end, flipped it out, saying, “Take hold of that end, Duvall.”

  Duvall, acting on instinct, took the end of the handkerchief. Then he growled, “You crazy? We going to fight with handkerchiefs?”

  Jake moved so smoothly that few even saw the .32 revolver that appeared in his hand. A gasp went around the room, and Duvall blinked, his sodden mind suddenly much clearer in the one instant that he saw the gun.

  “You’ve got a gun under your coat, Duvall,” Jake said. “Take it out. Then we’ll hold on to the handkerchief, and on the count of three we’ll start shooting.”

  A gasp went around the room, and Brad Franklin, fighting man that he was, could not help but grow pale. He knew it was one thing to stand twenty feet away and take a shot at a man, but to face his fire only inches away, with no chance in the world that he would miss—!

  Duvall’s face was a study. His lips puckered as though he had tasted something bitter, and his olive complexion grew gray as old paper. He stared at the gun that Jake had now placed on the table, but made no move to go for his own.

  “This—this isn’t the proper way to fight a duel!” he protested.

  Jake’s eyes were cold as polar ice, Rachel saw, and his voice was steady. “You’ve been running around calling me a coward for months, Duvall. Well, here’s your chance to prove it. Now—get your gun out!”

  Duvall flinched at the harsh command. He hunched his shoulders and squeezed his eyes together. Slowly he lifted his hand and reached inside his coat—but stopped abruptly.

  “No! I won’t fight you like this!” he gasped. Dropping the handkerchief, he got to his feet and would have left, but Jake’s voice caught him.

  “Hold it, Duvall!”

  The man turned to find that Jake had picked up his gun, and he shouted, “I’m not drawing on you, Franklin!”

  Jake stood up, putting his gun inside the shoulder holster. Then he said, “All right, we’ve both got an even chance. Pull that gun, Duvall. Let’s see if you’re a man or not!”

  But Duvall had seen how the other had conjured the .32 out of the holster. He shook his head, saying, “I won’t fight—”

  Jake cut him off, moving around the table quickly despite his limp. He came to Duvall, raised his hand, and cracked him across the cheek. “Come on! Are you a man? Pull that gun!”

  Duvall suddenly ducked and, shoving men to one side, ran out of the room. The sound of his short, labored breathing faded as he passed through the doors, and there was a sudden babble of voices. Men were coming to Jake and patting him on the shoulder. Rachel glanced at her father and saw tears on his cheeks.

  “I want to go home, Leighton,” she whispered. “But I want to go with my father and my brother.”

  Later she could remember little of the ride back. Jake said almost nothing. Once her father said, “My boy, I believe I’m going to have to tell you how very proud of you I am!”

  They got out of the buggy and went into the house. A light was on in the parlor, and Brad said, “I’d better turn that out. Betty must have forgotten it.”

  Then they all heard Amy call. “Come into the parlor, all of you.”

  Brad looked at the others with surprise. “Why, I guess she’s waited up for us.” He led the way, and as they entered, he saw Amy sitting on the couch, her wheelchair across the room. “Amy—!” he said, concerned, and started toward her, but she stopped him by crying out.

  “No, stay there, Brad!” Her dark eyes picked up the reflection of the lamps, and there was a look on her face that none of them could understand.

  “Amy, are you all right?” Brad asked with some confusion.

  “Yes, dear, I’m all right.”

  She spoke quietly enough—then she suddenly gave herself a push against the arm of the horsehide sofa, coming to her feet awkwardly.

  “Mother!” Rachel cried out, then pressed her fist against her lips, for her mother took two short steps, paused for one moment to gain her balance, then with a happy cry walked across the floor. Brad leaped to grab her in his arms, crying out, “Amy!”

  Jake did not move but stood transfixed as Rachel ran to her mother. They were all laughing and crying at the same time, and finally Rachel asked, “Mother, did you walk before twelve o’clock?”

  “It was just as God promised me,” Amy said, tears gleaming in her eyes. “I waited until it was five minutes until twelve. Then I reminded the Lord of His promise … and then—I got up and walked!”

  “It’s a miracle!” Brad whispered. “Does your leg hurt?”

  “Like fury!” Amy laughed. “But God didn’t promise me it wouldn’t hurt or that I would run around the house—just that I’d walk.”

  Then she turned to Jake and held out her hand. In a soft voice filled with triumph, she asked, “Now, my dear boy, do you see what God is able to do?”

  Jake Hardin stood there unable to speak for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “Yes, I do see.”

  In a flash, the others were all talking at once—but Jake was quiet, for he knew that God had spoken to him again, this time in a manner he could neither deny nor ever forget!

  CHAPTER 19

  A LONG, LONG HONEYMOON!

  A warm wind swept across the South, melting the snow and thawing the streams. It was exactly in the middle of January, the fifteenth, when Jake remarked to Rachel, “This weather can’t last, can it? It seems too good to be true.”

  They had left Lindwood at noon and ridden to the foothills, stopping to water Crow and Lady at a small stream. Rachel was wearing a pair of Grant’s old jeans, a worn blue blouse, and a thin sweater. Her hair crept out from beneath a wide-brimmed slouch hat, and she poked it back as she said, “I don’t think so, but we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

  The ride had put color in her cheeks, and her clear eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “Let’s race to that old pine,” she said with a smile and, before he could even nod, kicked her horse into action. Jake yelled, “Hey—no fair!” then Crow shot out of the creek in pursuit of the mare. It was less than a quarter mile to the tree, and the mare was a quicker starter. But the long legs and powerful frame of the stallion began to tell, and he shot past Lady, winning the race by a length.

  “You lose,” Jake said, grinning. “Now pay up!”

  “We didn’t bet,” Rachel said.

  “I always get something for winning. You’ll have to make me some of those fried pies.”

  “No. You always eat too many of them. You’ll get fat.”

  Jake grinned wickedly; then, before Rachel could react, he brought the stallion closer, reached out to throw his arm around Rachel, and kicked Crow in the ribs, neatly picking Rachel off her horse. “Vince—!” she yelled. “You put me down!”

  He kept Crow at a trot, squeezing Rachel close and ignoring her indignant cries. He came to a small depression in the ground that was filled with water. He stopped the horse and smiled down at her. “Either I get my pies or you get a bath. Which will it be?”

  Rachel squirmed in his grasp, but his arm was like steel. “You wouldn’t dare!” she cried, trying to hit at him.

  “No? Well, let’s see—”

  He loosened his grip, and Rachel felt her
self slipping. She screamed and grabbed at his arm. “No! Don’t drop me!”

  “Do I get the pies?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed breathlessly, somewhere between laughter and tears. “You beast!”

  Jake laughed, tightened his grip, then moved Crow to dry earth. “Sticks and stones …,” he said, amused at her anger. He abruptly reached over with his left hand and lifted her easily in front of him, holding her like a child. “Now if I was one of your gentleman callers—say, Captain Leighton Semmes—I’d get more than a fried pie out of you in a situation like this.”

  Rachel reached up, grabbed his hair, and gave a tremendous yank. Jake yelled, “Hey!” and shook his head to free himself. “Let me go! You’re pulling my hair out!” When she persisted, he suddenly constricted his grip, holding her so tightly that she gave a gasp and released him. She looked up at him, and he thought she was angry, but then he saw she was laughing.

  Rachel said saucily, “It’s a good thing it’s me you’re hugging instead of one of those dreadful women you like to chase around with!”

  As she laughed up at him, he was suddenly painfully conscious of her soft form pressed against his chest and of the gentle curve of her lips only inches away. Something in his face made her stop laughing, and then she, too, was conscious of the intimacy of his grip. For some reason she could not fathom, the touch of his iron arm around her disturbed her. She waited, trying to understand, confusion flooding her face with color. They stared at each other until she finally said, “Put me down, Vince.”

  At once he swung her to the ground, then dismounted and handed her Crow’s reins. “I’ll get Lady for you,” he said and walked away, glad to have something to do. He took his time bringing the horse back, handed her the reins, then said, “Sorry for the horseplay.”

  “It’s all right.” A restless discontent had been stirring in Rachel for days, driving her to feverish activity at times, at other times bringing a desire of solitude so strong that she had gone on long rides alone. Now she was disturbed anew by the swirl of emotions struggling within her breast. Most disturbing of all was the fact that she did not understand what was making her discontented.