Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  “No’m. Not really I mean, I got a job heah at the hotel. If’n the Yankees come, they gonna burn evahthing. What me gonna do then? Starve or get kilt, I reckon.”

  April pointed out that it might not be that bad. “And you would be free. Don’t you want to be free?”

  The dark eyes rolled upward as she shook her head back and forth. “Not if’n it means I gots to look after myself. Somebody’s lookin’ aftah me now, and I ain’t goin’ hungry. I’d just as soon evahthing stayed like it is.”

  “But nothing ever stays the same,” April said quietly, more to herself than to the girl. She was thinking of the days at Pinehurst before Vanessa became so discontent…before Poppa became ill. “No,” she repeated, “no matter how happy you think you are, nothing stays the same. It gets worse or it gets better, but everything always changes.”

  The girl said nothing more, eyeing her strangely as she continued to work on her hair. When she had finished, golden ringlets hung in a cascade from the top of her head, held in place by fragrant gardenia blossoms tied with blue silk ribbons and bows. “Cap’n Taggart gonna like that,” she said proudly, standing back to admire her work. “He one handsome man, and he gonna have one pretty lady with him tonight.”

  April stood before the gilt-edged oval mirror and stared at her reflection. In the weeks since coming to Richmond, her coloring had improved. She looked rested. The gaunt, frightened look was gone from her eyes. For this much, she was grateful. Of course, she could stand to gain a bit of weight, but judging by the neckline, she had not lost anything there.

  Rance knocked on the door, and the servant girl let him in. He was splendidly attired in dress grays and white gloves, a shining saber held by an ornate scabbard at his side. Three bars on his collar and four rows of gold braid on the sleeve of his coat denoted his captain’s rank. He was, April was forced to admit, quite a splendid man.

  His eyes swept over her, mirroring his pleasure. He held out his arm and murmured, “Never have I been graced by so beautiful a companion, Miss Jennings. I think it’s time the Captain and his lady joined the others.”

  She did not return his smile but allowed him to lead her from the room and out to the sweeping, curving stairway. They paused, staring down the stairway as light from hundreds of candles in crystal chandeliers and lanterns filled with whale oil and set along the walls cast a mellow glow over the colorful array of dancers. Fragrant bouquets of gardenias, roses, and magnolia blossoms were tied to the stair railings with garlands of greenery and ribbons. The scent of flowers mingled with expensive French perfumes floating through the air.

  The men were resplendent in their dress uniforms. Some, like Rance, wore their sabers. But it was the ladies who adorned the scene the most brilliantly. Their rainbow-hued ballgowns and hooped skirts swirled gaily to the sweeping music of a military band.

  They laughed, chatting with the officers who held them as closely as propriety allowed. Some, April supposed, were visiting sweethearts. But most were probably wives, come to see their husbands before they marched off to yet another battle. It was obvious that all were making a determined effort at a happy time, an effort not to think of war. Some of these men would die before the war ended, if it ever did.

  Rance led her down the stairs. Revelers nearby turned to stare. April nodded politely, eyes scanning the crowd for someone, anyone, who might lend a sympathetic ear.

  “Don’t try it, April,” Rance growled close to her ear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped.

  “Yes, you do. You think you might find someone who will believe you’re being held against your will. If you dare try, I’ll let everyone here know that you’ve been in prison, sentenced as a Union spy.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  He smiled confidently. “Oh, yes, love, I would. And I would leave out the part about your having been pardoned. I would merely say you were released to my custody for the duration of the war.”

  He moved to stand before her and bowed slightly. “May I have this dance, lovely lady?” His crooked smile made her want to slap his face. She suppressed her ire and moved into his arms.

  He held her closely, too closely, and she cursed herself for the warmth spreading through her body. Once, he danced her behind a huge potted plant and kissed her. She complied, thinking dizzily how his kisses always tasted of warm, sweet wine. He left her shaken, and the twinkle in his eye announced that he was aware of her reaction.

  In the weeks since taking her from Blackmon, he had never tried to seduce her. What did he have in mind? It was maddening.

  And once more, as though reading her mind, he whispered, “I’m waiting for you to ask me, love.”

  “Ask you what?” She bit out the words, trying to move away. But he continued to hold her tightly.

  “I’m waiting for you to invite me to your bed. I won’t give you the pleasure of claiming that I forced you.” He cocked his head to one side and stared down at her. “It’s going to be good. We both know it. How much longer do you intend to hold out? Your stubbornness is causing both of us misery.”

  Suddenly she jerked out of his arms, not caring who saw or heard, but there was no one within earshot. “You let me tell you something, you pompous, arrogant privateer! I’ll rot in hell before I invite you to my bed.”

  She whirled and walked away. Strangely, he did not follow. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he was talking to an officer of higher rank. He cast a worried glance in her direction but continued to talk with the other man.

  Now is the time to escape, she thought frantically, almost falling in her haste to get to the front door of the hotel. A soldier stepped forward to block her path. “You must be Miss Jennings,” he said politely, without smiling. “Captain Taggart said you might be wanting to leave, and he left orders that you were to remain here. He doesn’t want you roaming the streets alone at night. It isn’t safe, nor proper for a lady.”

  Exasperated, she tried to push by him, but he clamped a firm hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry, Miss Jennings.” He sounded impatient. “If you persist, I’ve orders to return you to your quarters upstairs.”

  She turned away, thinking to try the rear of the hotel, but he called out softly. “There are guards back there, too, ma’am. Why don’t you join the other ladies and help yourself to some champagne? The meeting the officers are having now was unexpected. But, I can assure you, it is important.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll just return to my room,” she said haughtily, starting for the stairs.

  “Wouldn’t advise that, either.” He sounded amused now, rather than annoyed. “The Captain will probably prefer you to wait with the ladies. The ball will continue when the meeting is over.”

  “Well, I don’t prefer to wait with the ladies,” she snapped, stomping in unladylike fashion through the ballroom and to the open doors of the veranda. Of course, there was a guard there also, but she assured him that she wanted only a breath of fresh air. “I am not going to leap over the balcony, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the wall, watching her suspiciously.

  The gentle night breeze kissed her burning cheeks as she moved to grip the balcony railing with angrily shaking hands. Beyond, just down a few bricked steps, lay the courtyard. Bathed in moonlight, the air was sweet with the floral gardens. It would be nice, she told the guard, if she could just go for a little walk, alone.

  “Fine with me,” he drawled. “There’s guards all around those walls out there, and they’ve got orders to watch you, Miss Jennings. And, believe me, they know who you are.”

  With a defiant set to her face, she whipped around to face him and ask, “Just how would they know who I am?”

  His grin was slow, lazy, and annoying. “Captain Taggart spread the word that the most beautiful woman at the ball might want to leave, and we were to stop her. You’re easy to spot, ma’am, ’cause you’re easily the loveliest flower around.”

 
With a flip of her hooped skirt, she moved quickly down the steps, almost stumbling in her haste to rid herself of his vexing company. In the courtyard, she inhaled deeply of the sweet night air, enjoying, for a moment, a sense of peace. Continuing to move, she walked toward the shadows where excited voices issued from an open window. She paused just far enough away to overhear, without appearing to eavesdrop.

  “…sorry to take you men away from the party,” an apologetic, yet gruffly authoritative voice was saying. “We were afraid this would happen. We’ve been waiting for word from General Lee’s staff.”

  April pretended to examine an ivory magnolia blossom while she listened. Inside, against the glow of the oil lanterns, she could see them—officers in dress uniform, brows knit in consternation. Rance was among them, a thin cheroot dangling from his tightly set lips. The man speaking, a ponderous figure with bushy gray sideburns matching his wiry beard, wore the three stars of a Colonel.

  “We have known all along, of course,” he was saying, “that the Army of the Potomac has been encamped on the northern side of the upper Rapidan, near Culpepper Court House.”

  “I reckon we do,” one of the officers interjected, to a round of laughter. “They’ve been there for three damn years, and they’re only a few miles farther south than they were when the war started.”

  The Colonel’s glowering eyes quelled the robust reaction, and everyone fell silent once again. “As I was saying, the Army of the Potomac is camped there, and we have reason to believe its mission now will be to head south and attack. Since Lincoln named Grant commander of all the Union armies, we have felt that his strategy will be one of extreme aggression.

  “His objective will be our armies, not our cities and strategic points. He will try to put our armies out of action as quickly as possible. His theory is what our strategists are basing their defensive tactics on. There are, we feel, two armies that will concern Grant the most—the Army of Northern Virginia, under Lee, and the Army of Tennessee, under Joe Johnston.”

  April glanced through the window quickly as another man spoke. She could not denote his rank. “Has President Davis finally realized that Braxton Bragg just can’t win a battle? He made a big mess of that Kentucky invasion back in the summer of ’62, and good Lord, he let victory slip right through his fingers at Murfreesboro.”

  “As you are aware,” the Colonel answered in a condescending tone, “the President removed him after Chattanooga, and he now serves as his chief military adviser.” He paused to take a deep breath and sweep the men circling him with a fierce gaze. “Let me remind you, gentlemen, that we accomplish nothing by criticizing our fellow officers. Our purpose right now is to attempt to thwart Grant’s inevitable advance.”

  He continued, “Johnston is now entrenched on the low mountain ridges northwest of Dalton, Georgia. Lee’s army is just below the Rapidan River in the central part of Virginia. These two armies are the only ones that matter. We have sizable forces west of the Mississippi, under Edmund Smith, but that region is cut off now that the Yankees control the river. Gentlemen…”—he paused for effect—“the fate of the Confederacy depends on the fate of Johnston’s and Lee’s armies. We have every reason to believe that Grant knows this, and that he is going to try to destroy them.”

  April saw him reach for a bottle of brandy and pour himself a drink, as though needing it. He took a long swallow. All eyes were upon him as, with a grim expression, he announced, “Gentlemen, I regret to have to inform you tonight that the Army of the Potomac has begun its move. With over a hundred thousand men, Grant is moving now toward the Army of Northern Virginia and the city of Richmond.”

  Gasps went up, but before the excitement could drown him out, the officer cried loudly, “Listen to me. There’s more. Sherman is reported to be moving toward Georgia, after Johnston. Our scouts have told us that Grant is crossing the Rapidan and is on the move. We have just received this word, and each of you is to return to your companies for further orders now.”

  The men began leaving the room. A few stayed behind to confer with the officer who had been speaking. April saw that Rance was one of these and knew she had a few moments respite before he would look for her.

  She felt a chill beginning deep within, a chill of terror. The Yankees were heading for Richmond! Would the Rebels be able to stop them? And Sherman. What was it that officer had said about Sherman? He was marching for Georgia. Did that mean he would eventually attack Alabama…and Montgomery…and possibly destroy Pinehurst? Now she felt the need to return home more strongly than ever. There was nothing she could do in the way of defense, but at least she could be there. It was better than doing nothing. It was certainly better than sitting and waiting for Grant to attack Richmond.

  She turned and hurried through the courtyard, heading back toward the ballroom.

  Rance would have to see the wisdom in letting her go. He would be going to battle. What was to become of her? He could not leave her locked in the hotel room.

  Word had spread quickly. Even the guard at the door looked alarmed. She pushed by him, eyes scanning the room for Rance. Everywhere the officers were taking their ladies in tow, preparing to leave. An air of suspense and, yes, stark terror was bearing down on them with an invisible but smothering force.

  Then she saw him, striding purposefully toward her. She caught his arms, stared up into his stormy brown eyes and cried, “I heard, Rance. I know what’s happening. You must let me leave. You can’t expect me to just sit here and wait for Grant to attack the city. And with Sherman marching toward Georgia…my God, he could attack in Alabama, too.”

  His face contorted angrily as he demanded, “Just how the hell do you know all this, April?”

  “I was outside the window, in the courtyard. I heard it all. Oh, does it matter?” She implored, “Rance, please. Let me go. There’s nothing for me here.”

  He stared at her for a long time before speaking, then murmured, “No, I guess there’s not. I guess I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. But you’re crazy to want to go running back to Alabama and that devil sister of yours. You’ll be safer here. I have to ride with Stuart. I want to ride with him. All hell is about to break loose in this infernal war, and every man will be needed. I’ll see that you’re taken care of here. Richmond will be well defended, rest assured.”

  “No!” She gripped his arms. “I’ll find a way, somehow, to leave. Damn you, why do you insist on keeping me? I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Its madness, it’s—”

  He grabbed her arm, squeezing painfully as he steered her toward the stairs. “I’ve listened to all of this I’m going to, April. I’m a fool. I dared to think—”

  He stopped short. They had reached the second floor. April looked up at his face, saw the tight set, the quickly narrowing eyes, felt his tension. Slowly she followed his gaze.

  Kaid Blackmon was standing before them, towering ominously, legs spread wide apart in a challenging stance. His right hand was poised only inches from the gun in his holster. “I come to talk to you, Taggart,” he said quietly. “No trouble. Just talk. Had a time trackin’ you here, but I did. And now we’re goin’ to talk.”

  Rance showed no fear of the man. “Do you want to talk here or in my room?”

  “Wherever. Might be best in private.”

  A few people were hurrying by, officers with anxious faces, women crying.

  Rance led the way to his room, keeping April close to him. Inside, Rance pointed toward a chair and she took it gratefully, sitting down to grip the arms and watch the two men as they faced each other.

  Rance removed his spotless white gloves. “All right, Blackmon. What’s on your mind?”

  “I just heard the word from a lieutenant headin’ out. Grant’s crossing the river. I’ll get to the point.” Tobacco dripped from the corner of his mouth. He looked around for a spitoon and, not finding one, crossed to the window and spat. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he faced Rance again. “April wants to go to Alabama. I’ll ta
ke her.”

  Rance sneered. “Even if she wanted to go with you, how do you figure you can take her? We’ve got a huge battle coming up. Every man is needed.”

  “I’m desertin’, Captain. It’s that simple. I’ve done my share for the Confederacy. And I’m sick of this damn war. I’ll kill any man that tries to stop me.”

  Rance laughed. “I doubt you’ll even be missed, Blackmon. From what I hear, you were never good for anything anyway, except raping helpless women prisoners.”

  Blackmon took a menacing step forward. “That’s a goddamned lie.” Rance did not retreat. He did not move a muscle. Blackmon sized him up, then snapped, “I didn’t come here to jaw with you. April wants to go with me, and I’m takin’ her back to Alabama, just like I promised her I would.”

  April was a storm of emotions. She desperately wanted to leave Richmond. But go with Kaid? The thought sickened her. Still, Rance did not love her, and whatever feelings she had for him were, she knew, probably never to be returned.

  “You won her in a horse race, and that’s how come you figure she belongs to you, right?” Blackmon asked.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Damn! She was getting tired of being nothing more to any man except a possession. Was she simply going to sit here and let them talk about her? Decide her fate as though she were a mule to be traded from one to the other? Before she would allow any further indignities, she would make up her mind. Quickly, she said hoarsely, avoiding Rance’s eyes, “I will go with him. I choose to. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

  Rance was silent, and she began to feel panic well up in her. Well, why didn’t he say something? Would he try to stop her, tell her he did love her? Was he finally going to admit his feelings for her?

  A second passed and then another, and when she could not stand the silence any longer, she rose from her chair—still avoiding Rance’s gaze—and moved a step toward Blackmon.

  “There is nothing for me here. Yes, I’ll go with you, Kaid,” she said, her voice quavering. She hoped to God that she could trust him not to touch her. But there was no way she could stay here now, knowing how little Rance cared for her. “I’ll meet you in the morning, at the stables. Good night.”