Jesus loves you!
Suddenly he knew what it was! He had heard of Jesus Christ since his boyhood. He knew the stories in the Bible about Jesus, but Jesus had always been a dim figure, a picture in a book with a halo around His head—a man like George Washington or Alexander the Great, someone about whom he had heard and in whom he had believed.
But now he was somehow aware that here, in the very room where he stood holding the hand of a dying man, someone had entered—and he knew that it was Jesus! He saw no visions, indeed, could not have seen if a physical form had been there, for his tears blinded him. But he knew he was not alone!
And he’d always been alone—that was what came to him as he stood there weeping. He’d had friends, but he’d been alone in every other sense. He’d become so accustomed to it that he’d even forgotten to be sad about it. But now as Irons said, “Jesus loves you,” he knew that he was being asked to give up his aloneness. It was as if someone were saying, Let Me come into your very being. Let Me share your grief and your fears. Please, just allow Me to come in, and you’ll never be alone again!
Jake stood there trembling like a man with fever, and then Irons prayed, “Lord Jesus, these men need You. They’re afraid, but take away their fear. Show them how much You love them—let them know You died for them! Let Your blood cover their sins, O Jesus!”
Jake never was able to remember exactly what happened. He knew that Irons asked him to pray, to call upon God, and he knew that he did. It was an awkward prayer, more of a cry for help than anything else—but he never forgot the peace that came into the room … and into his heart.
And then Irons said, “Thank you, God, for these two men!” He released Jake’s hand and reached up to pull his head down, then held him there, against his chest, whispering, “My brother, love God always!”
Then he released Jake, who turned from the bed, conscious that Irons was now holding Vince in an embrace. He stumbled out of the room, made his way blindly through the house, and walked away toward the grove of trees where he would be hidden from all eyes. There he threw himself flat on the ground and began weeping with great tearing sobs, praying and calling out to God.
He never told anybody what took place during that secret meeting with God—but when he came out, Jake Hardin was a new man.
As soon as Jake and Vince left the room, Irons called for his children. He spoke with them quietly, blessing them and asking them to follow God always. Finally he appeared to grow weaker.
Melora was there, and he smiled at her.
“Clay?” he asked.
“I’ll get him,” she said, hurrying to the door and calling his name. Clay entered at once and came to kneel at the bedside; Melora knelt on the other side. They held his hands, and he seemed to be gone. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest told them he was still there.
Then he opened his eyes and looked first at Clay and then at Melora. His lips curved in a smile, and he said, “I have loved you, Melora.” Then he turned to Clay, saying, “My brother, you have been faithful. God has told me He will reward you—”
He lay there for a moment; then his eyes closed. “God—is—faithful!” he said haltingly, then smiled and, with a sigh, expelled his breath.
Melora reached up and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and when she looked at Clay, she said, “Now we know how a child of the King goes home!”
CHAPTER 25
A FINE CASE OF REVENGE
Jeremiah Irons was buried with full military honors, and one of the speakers to pay tribute was President Jefferson Davis. Melora said later, “Jeremiah would have hated all that fuss!”
After the funeral, a reporter from the Richmond Inquirer cornered Jake, having discovered that he had been one of the two men who’d brought Irons back all the way from Fort Donelson. Jake tried to make his escape, but when he realized that the reporter, a heavyset young man with bulging eyes and a heavy moustache, intended to make him the hero of the story, he said, “Let me give you the real story about our escape.” Then he proceeded to relate how Vince Franklin had been the real leader. He told the truth, though he minimized his own efforts and expanded Vince’s.
The reporter, whose name was Jarius McGonigle, scribbled madly, his eyes popping with excitement. “This is a real story, soldier! You’ll read it in the paper tomorrow.”
“Remember, you promised to leave me out of it.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” McGonigle said and scurried off, mumbling to himself.
The next day when Jake came back from a ride, Amy called to him from the porch. He tied the horse and found the family there, with Major Franklin standing in front of them. Rachel, he saw, gave him one quick look, then dropped her eyes. She looked pale, and there was little of the vivacious quality he’d always seen in her.
“Jake, I want you to hear this, too!” Major Franklin said and unfolded a newspaper with a flourish. Holding it up, he said, “Colonel Benton brought it to me, and as soon as I read it, I got on my horse and nearly ran him into the ground getting here.”
“What in the world is it, dear?” Amy asked. She had never seen Brad so excited—or rarely so—and tried to read the headline, but he was holding the paper up before his eyes as he began to read.
“‘Many brave men have taken up arms for our beloved Cause, and we honor them. It is only fitting that one of our own be mentioned here, and we pay tribute to the hero of Fort Donelson—Private Vincent Franklin.’”
A cry of astonishment ran around the group, and Vince turned pale. His father gave him a proud look, saying, “Listen to this!” He continued to read the story, and Jake smiled despite himself, for McGonigle reached the heights of oratorical splendor in describing the hair-raising escape out of the fort, led by Vince.
Brad read on, “‘No less a man than General Nathan Bedford Forrest himself said, “This young man is the epitome of our fine Southern aristocrats! With soldiers like Private Vincent Franklin under our banners, we need not fear for the future!”’”
Vince saw the smile on Jake’s face and burst out, “Blast you, Jake Hardin! You’re behind all this!”
“Just told it as I saw it,” Jake protested.
As her father read the account, savoring every word, Rachel was watching Vince. By now she knew him well enough to understand that he was embarrassed over the article. She also could tell from his dour looks at Jake—and from Hardin’s bland looks in return—that the truth had been stretched. But her father was so pleased that she could not be sorry. Her mother, too, she saw, was leaning forward to catch every word, as were Grant and Les.
Finally Brad finished reading, and then the paper was passed around so that each of them could read for himself. Vince refused to look at it, going to stand at the window. Jake went to him, asking slyly, “May I have your autograph?”
“You snake in the grass!” Vince snapped. “I’d like to punch your head! Why’d you tell that reporter all those lies?”
“They weren’t lies, most of them. If it hadn’t been for you, we’d be in a Yankee prison camp. I owe you for that, so just consider this my first payment!”
Major Franklin called for attention, saying, “Tomorrow there’s going to be a special presentation ceremony. Several of the men are going to be decorated, and Colonel Benton insists on your being there, Vince. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t come away with some kind of a decoration.”
Vince protested, but his father said, “You’ve made it clear that you don’t like such things, but it’s really for the others, for those who’ve been at home, praying for their soldiers. Not very many good things have happened to our armies lately, and it’ll be good for people to see that some fine things are taking place. You’ll have to go, I’m afraid.”
Vince argued but in the end agreed. Jake slipped away while the family was talking, took Dancer’s reins, and led him to the barn. He stripped off the saddle and began rubbing him down, thinking with a smile of the way Vince had been take
n off guard. When he was almost finished, he heard a sound and turned to see Rachel, who had walked in through the doors at the far end of the barn.
She stopped as he turned to face her, almost as if she were afraid of him. “I—came to ask you something,” she said with an obvious effort.
“Sure.” Jake put Dancer in the stall, filled his box with feed, then turned to say, “What is it?”
Rachel looked around to where Bruno was cleaning out a stall a few feet away. “Could we go outside?” She turned, and he followed her through the door. She glanced toward the house, then turned and walked along the path that led to a small pasture surrounded by a rail fence. Inside were five grown sheep happily nibbling at the brown grass. Rachel looked at them, and Jake came to lean on the fence a few steps away from her.
A brisk wind blew her fine hair over her face, and she reached up to tie it back with a ribbon from her pocket. Her fingers, Jake noticed, were long and tapered, and her wrists looked strong. She had fine skin, made rosy by the breeze, clear and smooth with a few freckles across her nose. As Jake studied her silently, he thought that she had always impressed him as one of the strongest women he’d ever met, determined and firm. Now, however, she seemed undecided. She picked at the top rail of the fence, stripped off a flexible splinter, held it between thumb and forefinger, then tossed it to the ground and turned to face him.
“Was that true, what the paper said about Vince?”
“Most of it. All the important parts were true.”
“It was really Vince who found the way out?”
“He found General Forrest, who was leading the escape. Forrest’s scouts had found the old road earlier, but it was Vince who got the men from our regiment together and persuaded them to get out while there was still time. The wagon for Jeremiah was his idea, too.”
Rachel listened to him carefully, weighing his words. Her lips looked soft and vulnerable, rather than firm and almost harsh as Hardin had seen them more than once lately. She stood there, her eyes looking serious, and then some sort of embarrassment came to them and she let them fall. “I–I’m glad it was true,” she said. “Daddy and Mother are so proud!”
Jake nodded but said nothing. In truth, he didn’t know what to say. Just the sight of Rachel fired strong emotions within him, but he couldn’t say anything. He thought, suddenly, that she seemed to be waiting for him to speak, for she lifted her eyes and her lips parted, seemingly with expectancy. His breath caught in his chest, and he struggled for control. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that there was no other woman in the world for him, nor ever would be. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, to hold her with all the strength that was in him and never let her go. He did none of these things.
Rachel saw something of the struggle going on in the tall man who stood before her, but when he remained silent, she stiffened her back and said evenly, “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad for Vince.”
She moved away then, and Jake wanted to run after her. But for what? What could he say? She hated him, and with good reason. He was guilty! Even if that didn’t loom before him, he was a penniless man, a gambler with no future. What could he offer any woman?
So he let her go and stood there watching her walk slowly back to the house. When she disappeared through the door, he turned and walked toward the grove of pines that crested the small hill. He found the place where he’d come to pray on the day that Jeremiah Irons had died—and discovered that it was still a good spot for meeting with the Lord.
The Richmond Grays made an impressive sight as they marched onto the field, rank on rank. The president sat with his wife on the platform, along with most of the members of his cabinet, applauding the men as they went through their maneuvers smartly. After the drill exhibition, President Davis descended and met Colonel Benton, and the two of them presented decorations to several of the soldiers.
Finally when all the expected awards were made, Colonel Benton said, “We have one more award to give to a fine soldier who is not a member of the Richmond Grays. Private Vincent Franklin—front and center!”
As Vince came to stand in front of the two men, Brad Franklin rose to his feet stiffly, his face under tight control. As the president read the commendation, giving the details of Vince’s exploit, Brad turned, and his eyes met those of his wife—and the two of them smiled.
The president, after reading the commendation, smiled, too. An austere man with chiseled features, he had been accused of being cold and unfeeling, but there was a warm light in his gray eyes as he said, “Your family is well represented in the army, Private Franklin. Both your father and your brother are in the Richmond Grays. I am wondering if you would like to join them in this fine regiment?”
“Yes, Mr. President!” Vince exclaimed at once.
Davis smiled more broadly, saying, “The powers of the president are strictly limited, but I think in this case there will be no protest if I use my office to make your request official. And I feel certain that Colonel Benton will welcome my request that you be appointed sergeant as of this moment!”
“Certainly, Mr. President!” Colonel Benton said instantly. “Congratulations, Sergeant Franklin!”
The ceremonies were concluded, and Vince was surrounded by many people—including some of his friends who were in the Grays, as well as by his family. He smiled and shook his head when Clay came to him, saying, “You’ll have to give me lessons, Uncle Clay. I don’t know a thing about being a sergeant!”
“Just yell as loud as you can,” Clay said, shaking Vince’s hand. “Now we’re all going to the hotel for a reception, I hear.”
“I guess so,” Vince said. “Father insisted on it.”
“He’s very proud of you. We all are. God has brought you to a place of true honor.”
The reception was held in the dining room of the Edwards Hotel, which was soon crowded to the walls. “We should have gotten a larger room, Amy,” Brad said as he brought her a glass of lemonade after shoving his way through the crowd. “I never dreamed there’d be this many people here.”
Amy took the glass, sipped the tart liquid, then looked across the room, pleased to see Vince surrounded by friends. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it, Brad?”
“Miraculous, I’d say,” he answered. “I don’t think I’ll ever doubt God again, Amy. Just a short time ago Vince was going to hell as fast as he could manage it. Now it’s all different!” He glanced at her, asking, “Did he tell you about what happened to him when Jeremiah died?”
“Yes! And he wants to go all the way with the Lord, Brad. He told me he wants to be baptized as soon as possible.” Her eyes grew sad for a moment as she said, “I’ll miss Jeremiah so much, but he died doing what he loved most—winning men to Jesus!”
“Vince says he thinks Jake Hardin was converted, too.”
“We’ve got to help that young man, Brad! He seems so alone. You must get close to him.”
“I will,” Brad promised, nodding. “I’m going to try to get him transferred to the Grays so he’ll be with Vince. You know, Vince told me that the worst thing about all this today is that Jake got none of the credit. He says he’d never have made it if it weren’t for Jake. But we’ll make it up to him!”
After an hour and a half, the crowd thinned out, and Vince saw Rachel sitting alone, looking rather forlorn. He went to her, took a seat, then said, “Well, this will be over soon. It’s been fine, but I wish Jake had gotten something.” He saw a shadow cross her face and asked, “What’s wrong, Rachel?”
“I guess I’m just feeling a bit of a letdown,” Rachel said, and then she reached over and patted his hand. “I’ve just got the mullygrubs.”
He smiled at the word, a carryover from their childhood days that signified a case of depression. “You need a sweetheart, Rachel. What’s become of Semmes? I thought there was a promising romance budding there.”
Rachel smiled slightly. “Haven’t you heard? He’s engaged to Marianne Huger.”
“Well! He ca
ught a big one, didn’t he? Her father’s the biggest planter in Mississippi, I hear.” He studied his sister carefully, searching for a sign that she was grieving the loss of Semmes, but could tell nothing from her face. “But how does that make you feel?”
“Leighton was never in love with me,” Rachel said with a shrug. “He was just challenged. I was the only girl he’d courted who didn’t fall all over herself to get him.” She suddenly smiled, adding, “Now it looks as though I’m the spinster of Lindwood for good.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vince said sharply. “And don’t call yourself that anymore. I don’t like it.”
Rachel shook her head, then changed the subject, “The talk is that McClellan is about ready to move against Richmond—” She suddenly paused, and he saw her eyes widen as she looked across the room.
He followed her gaze and saw Simon Duvall standing in the double doors leading into the dining room. “That’s trouble,” he said, and he got to his feet. Rachel rose and followed him, noting that Duvall’s face was flushed and that he was weaving. She paused as Vince came to a halt close to Clay and Ellen. She got one glimpse of Ellen’s face and saw that she was pale beneath her makeup. She was clutching at Clay’s arm, trying to pull him away, but Clay stood firm, his eyes fixed on Duvall.
“What do you want, Duvall?” Vince called out, his voice carrying over the room.
Duvall blinked and with an effort focused his bloodshot eyes on Vince. He licked his lips, and when he spoke his speech was slurred. “Gonna have—it out with you … Franklin!” He was so drunk he could hardly stand, but there was a mad look in his eyes.
“You’re drunk,” Vince said steadily.
“Yes, I’m drunk! But I’m no coward, which is what you are!”
Major Franklin roared, “Get out of here, Duvall!”
“Whas’ matter, Major? I’m not good enough for you?” Duvall sneered; then when Major Franklin took a step, he yelled out, “Stay where you are!” His hand dipped inside his coat, and when it came out, he flourished a large pistol.
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 97