“Your word? But nothing more?” Willing turned to the court and made a solid speech regarding ‘reasonable doubt’ and the necessity of facts over hearsay. As he listened, even DeQuincy had to admit to himself it was good stuff. Finally Willing said, “If there were only one witness, I would not be so adamant. But you gentlemen know that the most heinous crime in any army is desertion and joining forces with the enemy. By all the evidence, this is exactly what Burke Rocklin has done. I know not his reasons, but there is no justification for this behavior.”
DeQuincy studied the faces of the men on the court and knew he was licked. Even the younger men can’t let him go—not with evidence so piled against him!
“We will hear the closing arguments after a short recess,” Colonel Hill announced. The members of the court got up and filed out, and DeQuincy rose and accompanied Burke to the room that was his cell. The lawyer sat down, lit up a fresh cigar, and then looked at his client.
Burke caught the look, then shrugged. “You didn’t have much to fight with, Major.”
“Now don’t be handing down any verdicts, Burke,” the lawyer admonished. “We’ve still got a chance.”
But late that afternoon, when DeQuincy emerged from the courtroom to speak with Clay and Susanna, his face told the story. Even before he could speak, Susanna said, “He was convicted, wasn’t he?”
DeQuincy nodded slowly. “If we could only hear from your husband—!”
Clay felt his stomach knot up. “We’ve got to do something! It can’t end like this!”
DeQuincy knew that things did end just this way—often—but he only said, “We’ll hope for clemency in the sentence. I’ll try for life imprisonment instead of execution.”
“No!” Susanna said at once. “That’s worse than death, to be locked up for life!” She was pale, but her eyes were not defeated. “We will believe God! In the shadow of the gallows, I’ll believe God!”
CHAPTER 22
“GIVE LOVE A CHANCE!”
Melora pulled her horse up in front of the mansion, slipped to the ground, and handed the reins to the servant who came to take them. “Thank you, Moses,” she said with a nod. As he took the lines, she asked, “Has your father come back?”
“No, ma’am, he ain’t.” Moses was the tall son of Dorrie and Zander. His high-planed face was sober, and he shook his head, adding, “Sho’ is miserable ’bout Marse Burke!”
As the slave led her horse away, Melora turned and mounted the steps. When a young maid opened the door in answer to her knock, she said, “Hello, Lutie. Is Mrs. Rocklin here?”
“Yassum, Miss Melora. She’s in de parlor wif Marse Clay. I guess you knows de way.”
“Thank you, Lutie.”
Melora went down the long hall to a small room and knocked lightly on the tall double doors. When she heard Susanna’s voice bidding her to enter, she opened the door and stepped inside. Clay got up at once and came to her. She put out her hands to him, saying, “I just heard, Clay.”
“I knew you’d come,” he said. He wanted to take her in his arms, but turned as his mother stood and came to Melora. The two women embraced, and then Susanna said, “You two sit down. I’ll go make tea.”
She left the room, and Clay summoned a sad ghost of a smile. “How’d you hear about Burke?”
“Tad Greenaway heard about it when he was in Richmond. He knew we’d want to know.”
“It’ll be in the paper today,” Clay muttered. He looked pale and ill, Melora noted. Catching her glance, he shook his head. “It’s hit me harder than I thought anything could, Melora.”
“Come and sit down,” she urged.
“No, I’ve been sitting here for hours. Is it too cold for you to walk?”
He got his coat and forage cap and helped her on with her heavy coat, and the two of them left the house.
“Your mother will wonder where we are,” Melora said.
“No. She’ll know,” Clay said. He led her to a path at the side of the house, and the two of them walked down the narrow road that led to the summerhouse. The air was very cold, and he asked, “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes. I love cold weather.”
They walked for half an hour, past the summerhouse where Clay had lived alone until Ellen had died. As they moved deeper into the woods, Melora thought of all that had happened in the last few months and knew that Clay’s thoughts were on this, too.
The snow was packed down into hard plates of ice, and they walked carefully to keep from slipping. When they came to a small creek, Clay said, “Let’s cross over. The ice will hold us up.”
They edged carefully across the ice, grabbing at saplings to pull themselves up on the far bank. Clay went first, then reached back and pulled Melora after him. Her feet slipped, and she grabbed wildly, but he caught her and pulled her to firm footing, holding her close.
She had cried out as her feet flew out from under her, but when his arms closed around her, she held on tightly. Clay pulled her closer, and she looked up quickly. She knew he was going to kiss her and could have pulled away…but she did not. She surrendered to the pressure of his arms and rested against him, lifting her face.
The feel of her in his arms and the sight of her soft lips raised to his were enough for Clay. He held her tightly, and their kiss was wildly sweet. For that one moment, he forgot about Burke and the war and the children. There was only the joy of being with this woman he’d loved for so long and the solace of that love.
Melora clung to him, her hands going up to pull him closer. A tumultuous rush of love rose in her, and she gave herself to him completely, yielding herself to him with a sweet willingness.
Finally Clay lifted his head, but he did not let her go. “Melora, I love you so much!” His voice was husky with emotion.
“I know!” Melora whispered. “I know, my dear!” Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her hand. “And you’re the only man I’ve ever loved!”
They stood there clinging to each other, shut off from the world. Finally she took his hand and drew him down a narrow path that followed the creek. They said no more until he drew her to a stop, turned her around, and asked with torment in his fine eyes, “Melora, what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to be faithful to God and to each other,” Melora said at once.
“But—”
“I know, Clay,” she broke in. “I know all that stirs within you, because it’s in me, too. We’re older; you could get killed in the war—” Her voice broke, and she shook her head. “It’s all true, but God knows our hearts, and through Him, we’ll always have each other. Do you believe that?”
“I only know I want you,” Clay said simply. “But with Ellen dead so short a time and with a war to fight—”
“I’ll be here, Clay,” she said softly. “When the time is right, I’ll be here.”
He groaned and held her close again. “Oh, Melora! If we could just run away from here, just you and I! If we could find someplace where we could just be together and love each other.”
Melora’s lips curved in a tender smile, and she let him hold her for a time, then pulled back. “You’d never run away, Clay Rocklin, not in a million years!” Pride was in her eyes, for she knew this man well. “You’d let yourself be pulled into pieces before you’d run away from your duty!”
Clay peered at her closely and then smiled. “I never knew I was such a noble cuss,” he said. “Tell me more.”
She talked with him, telling him of her love and the reasons for it, and so took the sting out of Clay’s sorrow. By the time they got back to the house, he realized what she had done. Just before they went inside, he took her hand and kissed it. “Came to get the old man out of the grumps, didn’t you?”
“You’re not an old man!”
“Well, old or young, I am a grateful man,” he answered. “You know me pretty well, I guess.”
“Clay, let’s take what we have and be grateful for it.” Melora turned her face upward to him, and Clay knew she was sweet beyond any
thing he’d ever known. “It’s too soon to talk of anything permanent between us, so let’s just take every moment we do have and savor it.”
She kissed him lightly, then went inside. Clay followed her, and as soon as Susanna saw them, she knew what had happened and was glad. She, too, longed for the day when this son of hers could claim the joy he’d been waiting for.
After Clay left to go back to camp, Susanna and Melora sat for a long time, speaking some—but also sharing the silence in the way fine friends often do. Finally Susanna said, “Melora, you’re the daughter-in-law I’ve always longed for. Has he asked you to marry him?”
“No, it’s too soon.”
Susanna shook her head, a wistful smile on her face. “It’s often too late for love, but never too soon, Melora! I’ll pray God will help that foolish son of mine see that!”
A few days had passed since the verdict, and still no word came from Thomas Rocklin. With each passing day, the hopes of the family were dimmed. “He must be sick and unable to speak,” Susanna said finally.
Burke had stood before the court for his sentencing and listened as they sentenced him to death—but the judgment had come only after a stormy session in which Lieutenant Powell Carleton almost managed to get himself court-martialed!
Lieutenant Carleton literally blew up when he saw that the court was going to hand out the death sentence. He turned pale, then stood up and said, “No! He’s not going to hang—sir!”
Colonel Hill was taken completely aback—even more so when young Carleton refused to be admonished. A wild session ensued, in which Carleton had cried, “I won’t be a part of it! He may be guilty, but I’m not convinced of it. The least we can do is hand down a life sentence so that there’s a chance to straighten things out!”
“Straighten things out!” Colonel Hill grew incensed. “Are you telling me we’re unjust?”
“You’re not God, are you, Colonel?” Carleton demanded—and if the other members of the court had not intervened, it is likely that Lieutenant Carleton would have been Private Carleton and in the guardhouse!
Finally Burke was brought in and the sentence was pronounced by Colonel Hill. But Lieutenant Carleton stood up and stared straight at the colonel, stating flatly, “I want it on record that I oppose this sentence as being overly harsh!”
“Sit down, Lieutenant!” Colonel Hill almost shouted. He calmed himself, then looked at Burke. “You have been found guilty of treason and this court sentences you to be hanged. You will be taken from this place to a place of confinement, and at dawn on February 14, you will be executed by the provost marshall.”
Burke said nothing to the colonel. He only looked at the young lieutenant and smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said softly, then turned and followed the sergeant out of the court.
George Willing came over to stand beside DeQuincy. The captain had a great admiration for DeQuincy and said with a certain sadness, “Too bad. But there was never any real chance for him, was there, DeQuincy?”
DeQuincy kept his head down as he stuffed his briefcase. Finally he lifted his eyes, which where hot with anger. “Willing—I hate to lose!” he gritted between clenched teeth.
“Why, Gaines, I believe you think the fellow is innocent!”
DeQuincy snatched up the briefcase, and as he stalked toward the door, Willing asked, “Where are you going?”
Major Gaines Franklin DeQuincy stopped and turned his head. “I’m going to get drunk,” he announced, then did an abrupt about-face and marched out of the courtroom.
Captain Willing stared after him, then shouted, “Hey! DeQuincy! Wait, blast it all! I’m going to get drunk with you.”
Burke was moved from the city jail to the stockade immediately after he was sentenced. He was treated kindly enough and spent most of his time writing. For the first two days he had visitors, but he pulled Clay aside to say, “On the last night, don’t let Mother come. Or anybody else.”
Clay said, “I’m coming, and that’s final.”
Burke grinned at his brother. “Just the two of us, then. All right?”
“If you say so.”
And so the two days went by, and on the last night, Clay came and the two men sat and talked. Clay marveled at his younger brother’s coolness and finally said, “Burke, I couldn’t take it like—like you are.”
Burke had been sipping coffee but lowered the cup. He stared at the other man for a long time, then said, “Clay, you were wrong.”
“Wrong? About what?”
“About my not being an actor. That’s what you told the court.” He sipped the coffee, then stared into the cup. “I’m an actor, all right. Because I’m scared. Have been ever since this thing blew up.” He looked up and caught Clay’s look of amazement. “Oh, come on, Clay!” He smiled briefly. “It’s like before a battle. Everybody’s scared, but no one wants to show it. Isn’t that right?”
Clay nodded slowly. “It’s the way it happens to me. I get so scared I can’t swallow, but of course you can’t show that in front of the men.”
Burke grew silent, then asked with some difficulty, “It makes a difference, doesn’t it, when a man knows God?”
Clay answered carefully. “Christians get scared just like men who don’t know God. But—it’s a different kind of fear, I think. Before I became a Christian, I was in a few spots that looked like the end, and I was plenty afraid. But after I got saved, why, I was scared, but it wasn’t the same.”
“Tell me about it, if you can, Clay.”
“Well, a lost man doesn’t have much hope. He’s afraid of two things—death and what comes after. But a Christian, he knows he’s all right after he dies, so it’s just that fear of the unknown that gets him. And I think some of that’s built into us, Burke. Self-preservation. Some men get close enough to God so that they lose even that. Men like Stephen, in the Bible, the man who was stoned.” Clay’s eyes grew thoughtful as he added, “Now there was a man for you! Praying for his enemies as they killed him!”
The lamp outside the cell threw yellow bars that fell across the faces of the two men, and as Clay studied Burke, he saw the younger man’s fear. “Burke, I’ve never believed much in shoving people toward God. Always thought God could do the drawing and a man could do the giving up.”
The shadow of death lay on Burke, and he looked down into his cup for a long time before finally saying, “I’ve—wanted to call on God, Clay.” He looked up with misery in his dark eyes. “But it seems like such a—a rotten thing to do!”
“Calling on God, rotten?” Clay blinked in astonishment. “How could that be?”
“I’ve never called on Him before, never listened to Him when I had the chance. Now I’m in trouble and need Him. It seems so cheap and insincere, Clay!”
Clay shook his head. “You’re making a big mistake, brother. You’re thinking of God as if He were a man. God doesn’t act like we do. He’s God, and He acts like God.”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“Well, when somebody hurts you, what do you do? Hurt them back if you can, right? But that’s because of what we’ve become. God didn’t make us like that, Burke; sin makes us like that. Adam wasn’t like that, not before he fell away from God’s grace. He was like God. The Bible says that God said, ‘Let us make man in our image.’ That really means God made man like Himself.”
“I haven’t seen much of God in people,” Burke said quietly.
“Yes, you have.” Clay nodded. “You see it in Mother and in Raimey and in Melora. And you saw it in Jeremiah Irons. Isn’t that right?”
Clay saw that his words hit Burke hard.
“Yes, I did!” he answered thoughtfully.
“And you saw it in that young woman, Grace Swenson, didn’t you? I know you did, Burke.”
Again Burke nodded. “You’re right, Clay. She was full of God!” Then his lips drew into a harsh line. “But I’m not like them, Clay!”
“They’re what Jesus Christ made them, Burke.” Clay drove home the words
, and for hours the two men talked. For Clay it was like one of the battles he’d taken part in. Sometimes he seemed to forge ahead, winning ground, and then Burke would counterattack, and he’d fall back. It was hard, agonizing work, for he knew he was wrestling for the very soul of his only brother.
More than once Burke cried out, “Leave me alone, Clay! It’s no use! I’ve gone too far!”
But Clay never gave up. He read scripture after scripture. He prayed as he’d never prayed before in his life! And all the while he knew that some power was flowing into him, for he found himself quoting verses he didn’t even know!
It’s Melora and Mother—they’re praying for me! he thought with certainty. And that realization encouraged and energized him, helping him as the night wore on and he pressed the matter on Burke.
Burke was holding himself together by will alone. He was terribly afraid, more afraid than he thought a man could be. He wanted to weep and beat the walls with his fists, but he sat in the chair trying to believe what Clay was telling him. “Do you mean that all I have to do is ask—and God will save me?”
“If you ask rightly, you’ll be forgiven,” Clay answered. When he saw the bewilderment in Burke’s eyes, he said quickly, “Many people call on God who don’t mean it. They want something, but they don’t want God Himself.”
“Well, I want to live,” Burke said.
“I think you want more than that,” Clay said. “You talked a lot about that preacher woman. I’m thinking if you lived, you would want her. Is that right?”
“Yes!”
“Well, you know you’d never have her as you are, don’t you, Burke? And why do you want her? You may think it’s because she’s a woman and because she cared for you. But I will guarantee you that what drew you to Grace Swenson is the fact that you saw God in her! That’s what drew you, for there is no greater lover than the Lord. Now if you could walk out of this cell and go to her, you know what she’d say?”
Burke nodded wearily. “She’d never have a man who didn’t love God.” He shook his head. “If only I could believe like she does…if I could know God the way she does—” He broke off suddenly, blinking in surprise at what he’d just said. Then he turned wondering eyes on his brother, eyes that were beginning to fill with understanding. “Why, maybe I have wanted God, Clay! Ever since I met Grace, I wanted what she had! The peace and the strength…the capacity to love and love…”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 59