"I need that man to work this land, and I don't cotton to anyone taking him away. I suggest you folks drop that rope before you learn about this newfangled Yankee weapon. Like I said, I can't promise my aim's too good. If I have to shoot the damned rope, I might end up hitting something a little more personal. It'd be a damned shame to geld a friend, wouldn't it?"
The men on horseback grumbled angrily. The one holding the rope jerked it, bringing Jackson to his knees. Had she been alone, Dora would have just walked out among them and shamed them into releasing their victim. As it was, she thought she'd best stay out of Pace's sight until needed. While the men argued, she slipped behind the shed and came around Pace and Jackson from behind.
"You ought to geld that nigger," one of the men shouted. "We cain't have niggers hanging around white women, even if they are nigger-lovin' Quakers. It sets a bad example."
"I don't think I'll aim for the rope, Howard, I think I'll aim for your filthy tongue," Pace answered laconically.
Dora gasped and hastened to Jackson's side as Pace raised that nasty pistol of his. Jackson muttered, "Get out of here, Miss Dora," as she struggled with the bonds around his wrists, but she ignored the warning. She had his hands free before any of the men even noticed her presence.
"Hey, look! The bitch just freed the nigger! Hell, jerk that line and get him out here."
One of the men turned his horse for a better grip on the rope still wrapped around Jackson's neck. Another leaped from his mount to go after Dora.
This time, two shots rang out.
The man holding the rope lost his grip as his horse reared back and threw him with the first shot. The man approaching Dora let out a scream of agony with the second pistol crack, hitting the ground and grabbing his leg while emitting furious curses.
"You take one step closer to my woman and it won't be your damned ankle I'll hit next time," Pace warned, walking out from the shadows of the barn toward Jackson and Dora.
"What in hell are you firin' with, Nicholls?" Abandoning the game, one of the men still seated watched his progress with interest. "I ain't seen nothin' like it in my life."
"That's 'cause you're an ignorant hillbilly, Howard. The Yankees have a rifle even better than this piss-poor pistol, but I need both hands to blow your head off with a rifle. So I'll just stay close and blow it off point-blank for now. I wouldn't take any chances coming back if I were you, though."
Dora caught her breath as Pace grabbed her with his good arm and pulled her to his side, dangling the pistol from the hand in the sling as he talked. She stared at the smoking weapon with horror, but the hard pressure of Pace's arm possessively around her waist kept her speechless. That, and the reference to "his woman." She would tear him apart after these men left, but she didn't intend to try right now. She could barely keep her heart from fluttering up her throat.
Jackson had untangled himself from the rope and eased back to his feet. Dora could sense the furious tension in him, but he kept his mouth shut. This was Pace's show. These were his people. He knew how to handle them.
"Hell, if she's your woman, you're welcome to her. But you sure oughtn't to let your hired help get so friendly with her. It leads to talk." The man apparently leading the group sawed backward on his horse's reins, turning it around. "Come on, boys. Lets get out of here. Mebbe we can find some of them guns over at the army camp. They sure would be mighty handy to have."
Pace continued holding Dora tight against him as they rode away. She didn't move from his side. She couldn't tell who held up whom at this point. Her knees wobbled, but Pace's weight sagged heavier and heavier against her. He should never have come out here like this. He was barely well enough to be out of bed. But he seemed immensely large and strong when she shifted to take more of the burden.
"Thou hadst best go back inside," she murmured once the marauders left.
"Are you planning on carrying me?" Pace asked sardonically. "Or do you want to watch me crawl?"
Silently, Jackson hauled Pace's good arm around his neck. Dora escaped, darting ahead of them to prepare the way. She felt warm all over. Her blood raced madly through her veins. She'd never felt this nervous before, even that time the slave catchers surrounded her. Crazy thoughts leapfrogged through her mind. She couldn't control them. Pace's arm around her had left a burning brand against her skin. Her thoughts kept darting back to that moment, to the weight of him, the faint bay rum scent of him, the smoking pistol, the gruff rumble of his voice in her ear. Her teeth practically chattered, and then her thoughts would leap to Jackson with his neck in a noose, and her stomach threatened to lose its contents.
She dashed in to straighten Pace's sheets. The bed was a wrinkled mess, and she hurriedly pulled the bottom sheet tight and smoothed it, then shook out the top covers and fluffed the pillows. She found the bottle of laudanum the doctor had left and poured a tiny portion into the water glass. He needed to rest after overexerting himself like this.
Pace caught her doing this last and lashed out irritably, "Don't give me any of that stuff! I'll not be lying here in a stupor when those bastards come back."
Dora looked up in alarm. "Will they return?"
"Not tonight, Miss Dora, and they ain't gonna find me iffen they did." Jackson helped Pace to the bed, then straightened once his burden was gone. "I'm gettin' outa here now, while the gettin' is good."
"What about Liza?" Appalled, Dora could only stare at him. Her mind had quit functioning with this new blow.
"I cain't do any more for her here than I can over there." Jackson shrugged. "I'll just bide my time till I can come get her."
"Don't be a fool, Jackson," Pace growled from the bed as he sought a comfortable position. "They'll confiscate everything you saved if you run now. You'll just have to sleep in here until I can get over and talk to the military commander. Maybe we can convince them your owner is a true-blue Unionist. Then they'll pay him to free you if you enlist and you can keep your savings. They're paying good money for volunteers across the river. You could probably double your savings."
"Thou art sending him off to be killed!" Dora protested. "What kind of friend art thou? We must find another way."
"Get her out of here, Jack," Pace grumbled, leaning back against the pillow and closing his eyes. "We don't need any more of her nattering."
"Nattering!" Dora dodged Jackson and approached the bed, jerking the pillow from under Pace's head to plump it some more, then slamming it back in his arms rather than touch him to put it back beneath his head. "I do not natter! Thou canst not come in here and turn my life upside-down and expect me to keep silent about it. Thou toldest that man I was thy woman! What must he think of me now? I will not be able to hold my head up in town. I will have to explain myself in Meeting. And now thou wouldst send Jackson off to be killed! Thou art a horrible, awful man, Payson Nicholls, and I would thee would tend thy own business."
"If he'd tended his own business, I'd be a dead man by now, Miss Dora," Jackson commented dryly.
"Thou wouldst not! I was on my way. And I would not have shot that poor misguided man to do it. Violence begets violence. Hast thou not seen example enough of it by now?"
Pace rubbed his aching head with his good hand and refused to open his eyes. "Out, Dora. Get out before I have Jackson carry you out. And, Jackson, take my rifle with you when you escort her home. To hell with the law."
Dora had never been so frustrated and furious in all her life. She wanted to scream and kick and throw things. But of course, she couldn't. As she had since childhood, she hid all her fury behind her usual placid demeanor, lifted her skirt and petticoat with fingers tight with tension, and swept from the room.
She was shaking by the time she reached the lane. She told herself it was merely the aftermath of what might have happened. The good, Christian man beside her could have died this night. She knew that evil existed in the world, but that did not make it any easier to encounter it. She kept her fingers clenched in her skirt and walked faster.
&n
bsp; "I'm sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, Miss Dora," Jackson said from beside her, his long legs easily keeping up with her hasty retreat. "It looks to me like the crop's a loss anyways. Mebbe you ought to think of sellin'."
"I'd sell it to thee before I'd sell it to any of those miserable, thieving, good-for-nothing renegades around here. I'm keeping that land, Jackson, and there's nothing they can do to make me sell it."
Jackson was silent for a minute. His voice, when he spoke, was almost hollow with hopelessness. "They ain't much of a chance of me ever makin' a livin' from land 'round here, Miss Dora. I reckon once I go to be a soldier, I'll use my savin's to buy Liza free and take her 'cross the river. If I come back, I'll just hire out. I've got a strong back."
"Hast thou any people around here, Jackson?" Dora calmed herself by turning her thoughts to Jackson's plight. Thinking of others made it much easier to forget herself.
"No, ma'am, not since my master sold my mama and little sister away. I don' know where they's at. I kept hopin' they could get away now with Mr. Lincoln declarin' them all free down there, but I ain't heard nothin'. Looks to me like most of them makin' their way up here ain't much better off than runaways anyhow."
"Unless the North wins and brings the Confederate states back into the Union, the Emancipation Proclamation isn't worth much, I'm afraid," Dora said sadly. "Jefferson Davis may as well announce all the slaves in the North are free, for all the good it does."
Jackson chuckled. "That's about right, I guess. Wouldn't it be something if the North wins and calls all us niggers free citizens and allows us to vote? I'm willin' to risk my neck for that, I guess."
Hope even infected the hopeless, Dora noted wryly. But she wasn't so naive as to believe the day Jackson dreamed of would come soon or easily. "Oh, I'd enjoy that real well, Jackson," she said with a trace of sarcasm. "I can picture that now, with thee and Solly and Odell going off to vote while I sit back at the house and wait to see who all the big strong men have decided to send to Frankfort to tax my little bit of land. Dost thou think if I joined the army they'd let me vote someday?"
Jackson laughed. They'd reached the foot of the porch stairs, and he halted there, leaning on Pace's rifle as he looked at her. "I'd a sight rather see you voting than Solly, but I daresay we'll all be watching from heaven before either of us sees any of that happen. You get on inside now, Miss Dora. Me and Pace will look out for each other."
"Oh, and a fine job thou wilt do of it, I'm certain. But if I find bugs in my larder, I'll make the both of thee scrub it on hands and knees.”
"You can send Annie down to check on us once in a while." He remained at the foot of the stairs and watched as she went up them. When she was almost at the door, he called softly, "You deserve better than Mr. Pace, Miss Dora, but I'll look after him for you."
Dora pretended she didn't hear.
Chapter 13
I have mark'ed
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth.
~ Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing
July 1864
Pace tried sitting patiently in the chair beside his mother's bed, but his gaze kept drifting toward the window, then back to the door. His arm ached, but the pain was negligible compared to the way it had been before. The reason for that was around here someplace, but she avoided him.
"You should go over and see Josie and the baby," his mother admonished. "Perhaps you could make her see how foolish it is to stay over there when this is her home now. What would Charlie say if he came home and found his wife gone?"
Pace knew his mother fretted more over the fact that Charlie hadn't written than where Josie stayed, but he didn't correct her. "I'll ride over there this evening, Mama. I'll want to see my niece before I go, anyway."
"Go?" She looked alarmed. "Where are you going? You won't go too far with that arm like it is, will you?"
Pace stretched his injured muscles. He'd removed the sling and practiced moving it, but the arm wasn't cooperating particularly well. "My arm will be fine, Mama. It just needs a little exercise. Dora did a fine job on it."
He'd avoided her question, but she didn't notice. Now that her attention had turned to Dora, his mother's thoughts drifted in that direction. "I don't know what I would do without that girl. These darkies aren't worth anything anymore. I told your father we should sell them all, but he just wouldn't listen."
Unless things had changed drastically since his last visit, Pace didn't think his mother had talked to his father in years. He assumed the conversation referred to had taken place a decade ago. He could remember his parents arguing over the servants back then. "There aren't many left to sell these days, Mama. And I don't know where we'd get hired help. Dora can't do it all on her own."
"Call her in here, will you? I want them to make dinner rolls for tonight. I'm sick to death of cornbread." Harriet Nicholls fussed absently with the covers, picking at imaginary threads and smoothing the sheets, not looking directly at her son.
"I'll tell them on the way out," he said soothingly. "There's no sense in making Dora run all the way up here just to tell her that."
"Dora always looks in on me this time of day," Harriet responded fretfully. "What can be keeping her?"
Pace had a good idea of the answer to that. Concluding his mother had had enough visiting for the day, he stood up and strode toward the door. "I'll find Dora on the way out, Mama. You just rest easy now and take care of yourself."
Her gaze momentarily diverted to him. "You're looking more and more like your granddaddy every day. Every bone in that man's body was mean," she declared.
"I know, Mama," Pace answered patiently. "You take care now."
He strode out, fuming with frustration and a nagging sense of something lacking. He'd never expected much from his mother and never received much, so he usually walked away from these visits with more of a sense of relief. He didn't know what was wrong with him now. Maybe he just felt his injury deserved a little more attention. That was plain damned foolishness, if so. He'd nearly had his head stove in before and his mother had never noticed.
Pace found Dora stirring the contents of a pot in the kitchen. He had the urge to fling something against the wall when he saw her where the slaves belonged, but he curbed the impulse. He had promised himself he would display better control around her from now on. He was a grown man, an experienced lawyer, an officer in the army. He ought to show a little discipline around this snip of a girl.
"Mama is looking for you. You'd better go on up to her now. Where's the kitchen help? She's wanting dinner rolls instead of cornbread tonight."
Dora cleaned off the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot, then laid it on an empty saucer. She wiped her hands on a towel before looking at him. "I'll take her some lemonade. I'm not too good with yeast rolls, but I'll try. Just don't complain if thou canst bounce them off the walls."
Pace shot her a look of annoyance. At times like these, he felt as if she hadn't changed in appearance since the first day he met her. She was like a tiny gray sparrow, all big eyes and ruffled feathers, nothing anyone would notice. But back then he'd seen flashes of color, moments of laughter and defiance and song. And now, somewhere under that dull plumage, he saw the body of a woman. Everything about her annoyed him.
"I didn't ask you to make rolls. We've still got some help around here, don't we? Just tell them to make the rolls. I probably won't be around to eat, so don't worry about me."
Her eyes widened with alarm. "Where wilt thou go? That arm is not strong enough to hold a horse yet. And Solly is out in the field. He can't drive thee."
Pace grimaced and headed for the door. "You're not my mother, Dora. I'll take care of myself."
He slammed the door after him. He didn't
need a damned mother right now. He needed a woman. He didn't suppose Josie would be so obliging as to accommodate him. In this mood, a little adultery wouldn't bother him greatly. He didn't know anyone around here anymore. Maybe he should go up to Louisville and find a whore. Wouldn't Dora pitch a fit if she thought he meant to try that? She would have a kitten just knowing he meant to take out one of the horses.
He'd managed to get Jackson signed up with the military across the river by the simple expedient of walking him down to the fishing shacks. The fishermen had rowed him over and back. But the Andrewses lived several miles in the other direction, and Pace didn't feel inclined to walk that distance in this heat. He would have to get back on a horse if he wanted to rejoin his regiment. Today seemed as fine a day as any to do it.
He'd seen his father ride out earlier. He'd avoided taking his meals in the big house just to avoid any confrontation. He'd gleaned enough information from Jackson and Dora and his brief forays into town to know that his father despised the Union soldiers who had taken control of the state. Accustomed to living on the wrong side of his father's beliefs, Pace could shrug it off. He just didn't relish disturbing the rest of the household by meeting his father head-on.
He persuaded his arm into throwing a saddle over one of the gentle mares. He cursed his lack of mobility when he attempted buckling the girth, but with a little practice he managed it. He wouldn't complain. He could be armless by now. Or dead.
By the time Pace had the mare ready, sweat dripped down his brow, and he would rather fling himself across a bed and collapse then put himself through the hell of visiting Josie. But he wouldn't surrender to weakness. The arm was mending. The time had come to get his strength back.
He should have known Dora would be in the yard when he rode the horse out of the barn. She had the ability to know where he was and what he was doing at the worst of times. Pace hoped he looked like he had control of the mare. Restive, the horse danced sideways, as if no one had exercised it in a while. It took everything Pace possessed to pull her up one-handed at the hedge so he could speak to Dora.
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