Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Get it in here now!” Cole commanded in a barely subdued bellow. “Or I’ll tan that skinny rump of yours!”

  “Gotta ketch me furst, Yankee!”

  “I’ll catch you,” Cole warned. “And I’ll not only tan your bottom, I’ll show you what a bath is for!”

  At that threat, Alaina stuttered into silence. She wouldn’t put it past the Yankee to do just that.

  “Al!” The captain’s patience was wearing thin.

  “All right! All right!” Alaina moaned in the petulant tones of a yielding teenager. She went to the fireplace and tested the steaming kettle with her finger. Then suddenly a glow of mischief brightened her eyes. Pouring cold water into the hot, she slipped her hand into the water. Just about right! After she was through with him, that Yankee would never ask this of her again. She dipped a bucket into the kettle, filling it full, then caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she struggled with the weight of the pail across the room.

  “Al!”

  “I’m coming!” she wailed in answer. “Keep yer suds up, Yankee. I’m hurryin’.”

  She avoided Dulcie’s horrified stare and shuffled into the pantry, pushing the door wide. “Gotcha yer water, bluebelly.”

  Before Cole had a chance to reply, Alaina emptied the whole bucketful down his back. A hoarse gasp was torn from him at the sudden shock. It was just hot enough to be very noticeably uncomfortable. His roar of rage made Alaina drop the bucket, and as he grasped the sides of the tub to heave himself out, she quickly decided the moment was at hand for a hasty retreat. A gay torrent of laughter followed her as she fled. The enraged doctor snatched a large towel around his hips and charged after her, nearly slipping as his wet feet made puddles on the floor. The menacing look in those startling blue eyes squelched the rippling sound of gaiety the very moment Alaina shot a hurried glance over her shoulder. She did a spritely scamper across the kitchen to place Dulcie’s bulk between herself and the nearly naked and furious Yankee.

  “You little whelp! I’ll blister your britches good!” Cole cried.

  “Whatsa matter, Cap’n?” Alaina asked, her chuckling voice a pure shade of innocence. “Weren’t it hot enough?”

  “You witless little vagabond!” Cole’s longing for vengeance was more than apparent as he began to stalk her. “It’s about time you learned what a hot bath is for!”

  Alaina solved Dulcie’s dilemma by leaving that shelter and strolling across the room, carefully keeping the large cooking table between herself and the enemy.

  “Jes’ ’cause ya think ye’re some kinda relative now,” Al informed him haughtily and rubbed a slim finger through some flour on the table, “don’t think ya got a right ter handle me anymo’ than befo’.”

  “I’ll handle you, all right!” he warned direly and lunged around the table for her.

  A moment later Cole had to duck as Al kicked a boot off, sending it flying toward him. The second boot followed on its heels, catching Cole on the bare shin. His grunt of pain brought a quick grimace from Alaina who hadn’t really meant to hit him so hard, but she had no time to pause in consideration of his injury before he charged after her. Her giggles floated back over her shoulder as she circled the table.

  “What is going on here!” a shrill voice demanded, and all turned in abrupt silence to see Roberta in the doorway.

  “That brat nearly scalded me again!” Cole gritted through clenched teeth. “And when I’m through with him, he’ll need a cold pack for his rear!”

  “Cole! Stop it!” his wife railed as he lunged toward the dodging waif who sprinted quickly away from the kitchen table to retrieve her boots.

  “Not until I teach him some manners!” Cole flung. “It’s high time somebody did!”

  The man followed the laughing imp and raced toward the back door just behind the ragged form. The portal slammed closed, and in the next instant, Cole found himself facing Roberta who, fearing that her husband would follow Alaina into the yard, spread her arms across the portal, barring his escape.

  “I want to talk to you!” she said sharply. “Upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

  “I was taking a bath,” Cole retorted and turned toward the pantry. “And I plan to finish it, now that I’ve gotten rid of that little menace.”

  “And paraded yourself naked around the women of this household,” Roberta sneered.

  Holding the towel firmly around his hips, Cole caught himself in mid stride, turned slightly and gave a brief, apologetic bow to Dulcie. “Your pardon. I did forget myself in my quest for revenge.”

  Dulcie’s chuckling merriment could not be restrained as she busied herself stirring the grits. “Dat Al, he sho’ can scamper.”

  “Cole!” Roberta warned him tautly. “Stay away from that boy!”

  Cole arched a brow toward his wife. “Now, I can’t very well do that, my dear. It seems I brought him to the hospital as a hireling, and I have yet to find cause to dismiss him. And as you should know, my dear”—his voice was pleasant but held more than a trace of sarcasm—“that is where I work.”

  “Too much!” Roberta gritted. “You could just as easily take me tonight, but you’re more devoted to that damned hospital than to me.”

  Cole refused to comment on that statement. Of late, it was the only place he could escape from Roberta’s ceaseless harping. He noticed that Dulcie had quietly slipped from the kitchen, giving it over to them.

  “You don’t deny it, then,” Roberta sneered. “You can’t!”

  He shook his head slowly. “Don’t start that again, Roberta. Just the other night I had Major Warrington take my duty hours so I could go with you.”

  “And you were miserable, weren’t you?”

  “If you’ll remember, my love,” he stressed the endearment, “we went to the theatre the night before and Antoine’s afterward. My total hours of sleep were three. I was tired!”

  “Anytime you go with me you’re tired!” Roberta flung petulantly. “But you can chase that—that boy around the kitchen!”

  “Now what does that have to do with it?” Cole threw up his hand in resignation. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of that pint-sized ragamuffin?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just that you never seem to find time for me, but you’re always with him.” She jerked her head toward the back yard.

  “Don’t worry.” Cole’s sarcasm had thickened. “He won’t be going with us to Washington.”

  “Huh!” Roberta tossed her dark mane over her shoulder. “You’d just as soon stay here than be attached to Mister Lincoln’s personal staff.”

  Cole sighed wearily and shook his head. “Roberta—I doubt that I will be on the President’s staff. He has colonels aplenty to serve him. For your information, Washington has a large hospital which General Grant keeps well stocked with wounded. The only thing you can be sure of is that I’ll probably have more paperwork to keep up.”

  “It’s still an important advancement. And if not for me, you’d have thrown away the chance. Now, as it is, you’ll probably make general, and we can live in Washington and meet all the people who surround the President. That is, of course, when the Union wins.”

  “I wish Grant were as sure as you are.” Cole gave a wry, lopsided grin and considered Roberta more closely. It seemed that she had progressed quite far in her plans for them. “You should also know that after the war, I’ll be returning to my home to take up my practice again.”

  “What? To be slaughtered by the Indians just like all those other poor people? Oh, I heard about all those wild savages roaming the countryside. I’ll never go there to live! Never!”

  Angrily, Cole turned his back upon her and strode into the pantry, slamming the door behind him. With a curse, he threw aside the towel and got back into the tub, but Roberta was in a bit of a temper herself and followed him.

  “You’ll not escape me so easily, Cole Latimer!” She marched straight to the tub. “And we still have to settle the issue about tonight. I want to go to that ba
ll!”

  Cole flung up a hand irritably. “Then go! But I’ve got work to do!”

  “You wouldn’t care if some other man did take me!” she wailed with a sob of rage. “You’re cold! Unfeeling!”

  He gave her a sidelong look of disbelief. “Madam?”

  “Ice runs in your veins!” she accused tearfully.

  “Well, my dear,” he drawled leisurely. “I’ve seen ice thaw quicker in a Minnesota January than you in bed.”

  “What do you mean?” Roberta demanded, in outrage.

  “Let’s face it, Roberta. Since our marriage you seem to have become bored with it all. If you want to know the truth of it, I liked you better the first time, after Al fished me from the river.”

  For a stunned moment Roberta gaped at him, then the next instant the air cracked with the sound of her open palm meeting Cole’s cheek. “How dare you! How dare you!” she railed in high agitation. “Just because I don’t act like some eager little trollop who falls into bed with you for a trinket, you insult me like this. I am a lady, Cole Latimer, and don’t you ever forget it! I assure you, a lady does not enjoy being pawed and petted!”

  He frowned at her curiously as he passed a hand down his reddened cheek. “Strange, I seem to remember giving you a trinket for your favor. A medallion, as a matter of fact.” His gaze lightly skimmed the heaving bosom above the low décolletage of her lace dressing gown. “And sometimes, Roberta, I get the feeling there are two sides of you, each completely different. Where is that woman I held in my arms that night, Roberta? Has she retreated now that the vows have been spoken and sealed?”

  Roberta straightened indignantly, gave him a scathing regard, whirled on her high heels, and stalked out of the room, taking her turn at slamming the door. Cole leaned back in the tub and listened to her heels clicking in rapid staccato across the brick floor in the kitchen. That woman, he mused, was turning his life into a living hell.

  Idly he picked up a bar of homemade soap from a dish that held a vast assortment of scented bars Roberta had recently purchased. A fragrance wafted from it, filling his head and stirring in the very depths of his soul some twinkling memory he could not quite grasp hold of. A phantom form swam through his mind, and from its soft, beckoning lips came the ripple of sweet laughter mingled with honeyed words—

  “But therein lies my cause, Captain. You have not paid.”

  Cole’s eyes flew open. That voice again! He must be going mad! He had not even seen the young widow’s face, and here he was already having illusions of holding her in his arms!

  Presenting herself at the general’s residence shortly after Cole left for the hospital, Roberta played upon Mrs. Banks’s sympathies and gained an escort for that evening’s affair. She spent the afternoon preening herself, trying on countless gowns and casting them off in distaste until she found one that met her mood. Before dressing herself for the grand affair, she napped in order to be fresh and rested for the long evening ahead. She would teach that Cole Latimer a lesson he would not long forget.

  Though Dulcie had been hard at work all day, cutting and preparing to smoke the meat of a hog that Cole had purchased and sent out, Roberta gave the black woman stern orders to make sure the bedroom upstairs was neat and tidy before she returned. Dulcie was still grumbling about the command when Alaina came home that night after helping Mrs. Hawthorne with some heavy chores.

  “Miz Roberta gone off a highfalutin it wid some Yankee colonel widout tellin’ Mistah Cole, Mastah Angus, or Miz Leala, and there her pa and ma went off visitin’ wid kinfolk for the night. Dere sho’ is gonna be some fur flyin’ in dis house if’n Miz Roberta ain’t fetched herself home befo’ Mistah Cole.” The woman slapped down a long length of sausage she had just finished stuffing and shook her head sorrowfully. “An’ ah is gonna see some feathers flyin’ myself if’n I ain’ cleaned up dat room befo’ Miz Roberta gits back. Cora Mae and Lucy went off to sit with Miz Carter cause de doctor tole dat ol’ lady to rest in bed. I jes’ ain’t got around to cleanin’ upstairs yet wid all dis heah po’k a-needin’ to be smoked befo’ hot weather sets in. Miz Roberta don’t care if de rest o’ us eats or not.”

  Despite her own weariness, Alaina offered assistance, well understanding the woman’s plight. Since Cole had portioned out a comfortable salary for the black family and had taken over the expenses of running the household, Roberta had assumed for herself the role as mistress of the manor. Now that she was a woman of affluence, Roberta had become a rather domineering figure and expected Dulcie and her family to cater to her every whim above that of the elder Craighughs. More and more it was ceasing to be a home that could be enjoyed by all who occupied it.

  Late into the night Alaina helped hang the hams and meats and clean the kitchen, then seeing that Dulcie was near exhaustion, she propelled the older woman off to bed with the assurance that, after her bath, she would straighten up Roberta’s bedroom herself.

  Alaina had no inkling just what she had volunteered herself for until she stood in the doorway of her cousin’s room and stared in amazement at the jumble of clothes, shoes, petticoats, hoops, and a vast assortment of accessories left helter-skelter about the floor and over the furnishings. Beneath heaps of petticoats and silk stockings, the bed was unmade and rumpled. But in the disarray, Alaina noticed there was nothing of Cole’s. His clothing was neatly arranged in the tall armoire that had been moved into the room to accommodate his possessions.

  Alaina placed cool fingers against her temples. She was bone tired and dearly longed for sleep, but she had promised Dulcie that she would see the room neat and presentable before she went to bed. Despite the monumental task laid out for her, she had to keep her word.

  The soft patter of raindrops that began to hit the windows was a prelude to the storm that soon swept down upon the house. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled swiftly on its heels, making Alaina jump as it loudly cracked the silence. She worked by the light of one lone kerosene lamp that sat atop the bureau beside the door. Angus had exacted a bit of revenge upon the Yankee, though it was little noticed by the one to whom it was directed, and had taken all but one lamp from the room. The late hours Cole usually kept saw him making his way through a dark house and finding the path to bed without aid of a light.

  Alaina carefully folded the silk stockings and put away the rich gowns, allowing herself the luxury of holding a few before her as she passed the tall, standing mirror. In sharp contrast, her threadbare robe was a disillusioning mark of her own poverty. It brought to mind that she had failed thus far to raise enough capital to buy Briar Hill. Unable to think of a logical explanation as to why Al would need so much money, she had not dared to approach Cole on the matter of a loan.

  Almost self-consciously Alaina doffed the tattered robe. Her gown still bore a bit of pretty lace across the bodice, even though the carefully mended rent Cole had put into it caused the garment to pucker untidily.

  Silently Alaina worked, admiring the expensive clothes while she put them away. Though they belonged to another woman, it was a luxury just to touch the fine silks, the rich velvets, the seed pearl-encrusted bodice or the jet-trimmed crimson ball gown.

  A bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky, and the rain washed down the window in sheets. The small clock on the bedside table delicately chimed in the late midnight hour, and Alaina stared at it in amazement, wondering where the time had flown. A few last articles to put away, the bed to straighten, and then she could go to bed.

  Moments later, as she was tucking away the vast folds of a petticoat, Alaina paused to listen. Had she heard a noise in the hallway, or was it the rumble of distant thunder? Whatever it might have been, she decided it was best to hurry. She had no wish to be caught by either Cole or Roberta.

  Quickly Alaina closed the armoire door, then halted abruptly. This time she could not mistake the creaking of the wood floor in the hallway as someone came toward Roberta’s bedroom. No scuff of boots were heard, nor the sharp click of high heels. But it was rai
ning hard. Cole would have stopped at the back door to remove his boots, whereas Roberta would have tracked mud through the house rather than trouble herself.

  Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Alaina flew to the lamp and blew out the flame. But he’d only light it again, she thought frantically. Carefully, trying not to make a noise or worse yet, drop the lamp, she put the glass hurricane lantern on the floor behind the dressing screen. The room was now totally black, but she knew Cole had the advantage. His eyes were accustomed to the dark!

  Alaina stood in the middle of the room, turning about indecisively. She couldn’t pass him in the hall! He’d probably mistake her for Roberta and stop her. A place to hide then! Under the bed! Heaven forbid! She’d be trapped there as an unwilling witness should he and Roberta become amorous. The dressing screen! Of course!

  The doorknob turned, and Alaina flew to join the hidden lamp. But not fast enough. As the door swung open, Cole’s eyes caught the pallid glow of her white gown as she dashed behind the screen.

  “Are you still up?” His voice still bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke of a lingering vexation.

  A jagged ripple of lightning touched the sky as Cole dropped his wet blouse over a straight chair that sat before the fireplace. Alaina, fearfully peering around the edge of the screen, saw him doff his shirt and move to where the lamp should have been. He searched the top of the bureau, patting it carefully in the dark so he wouldn’t knock anything over. Failing to find the lamp, he swore and opened a drawer in the chest, took out a cigar and match. He turned, lighting the cheroot, then raised the small, flickering light high. Alaina ducked back and held her breath as he looked about the room for the lamp.

  “Where has the lamp gone to?” he growled. He walked to the windows and threw the draperies wide before opening a window a crack. The scent of rain mingled with the aromatic smoke as he stood gazing out onto the ebony, storm-tossed night, leisurely enjoying the cigar. Finally he turned, unfastening his trousers, and sat down on the edge of the straight chair to pull them off. He was about to doff his underwear when he turned thoughtfully to face the corner of the room where the screen was.