by Diane Wylie
Milk hit the bucket in a thin stream, frothy and warm. She had the rhythm now, squeeze-squeeze, squeeze-squeeze. The milk hit the bucket with little zings. Satisfaction. She could do this. Ten minutes later her hands began to cramp. The bucket was only half full, and she was slowing down.
“Oh!”
Her hands were drawn into tight claws when she was forced to stop. Tears of frustration filled her eyes. Massaging one painful hand with the other cramped hand, she began to sob aloud. Upset by her noise, the animals in the barn set up a ruckus of their own. A cacophony of neighs, moos, and bleats filled the musty, animal-scented air.
“What’s this?” a deep, masculine voice asked from the doorway. “Has Noah boarded the Ark without all of you? What is this fuss about?”
Jenny jumped to her feet, knocking over the bucket of milk in her haste to identify the familiar voice.
It was David. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and a happy smile lit up his face.
* * *
“Look what you made me do, you…you…Yankee!” Jenny sobbed.
David ignored her attempt at insult and was beside her in three strides. Catching up one stiff hand, he gently pressed her knotted muscles with his thumbs, working out the cramps from the center of her palm out to her fingertips. She tried to pull back from his warm grip, but he didn’t let go.
Raising his gaze from her work-reddened hands, he met her eyes. They were still clear and china blue, but now those eyes held no discernable welcome. She was furious.
It was impossible to suppress a smile at the sight of her. It didn’t matter that she was angry enough to spit nails, that her hair was an untidy braid hanging down her back, or that her homely brown dress and apron were spotted and soiled. Jennifer Winston still took his breath away and made him feel very much alive…and very much a male.
“Hi, Jenny,” he said quietly.
She scowled at him. “Get out of here. You are not welcome anymore, Captain Reynolds.”
His thumb loosened the fingers of her left hand and it finally relaxed.
“Uhhh,” she moaned.
“Better?”
She yanked her hand out of his grasp and turned her attention to the overturned bucket. “Didn’t you hear me? I asked you to leave. Get off my land.” Her voice was low and as bitter as the winter wind whistling outside the old barn.
“Why are you milking the cows?” He looked around. “Where is Nate or Luther? Why were there no slaves in sight when I rode up? I saw and heard no one until I heard you yelling and all the animals setting up a ruckus. Where is everyone?”
“I don’t have time for your questions, Captain. I have to get some milk for my brother. He is not well. He needs nourishment.” Pushing past him, she dropped the stool and bucket next to a second cow. The animal looked around at her and mooed a greeting.
“Tell me what is going on. Benjamin is ill? Where are Isaac…and your father? I half expected to be met with a shotgun when I rode up.”
She flexed her hands and began to milk again. “Why are you here, David? What do you want…the last of our horses? Or does the army need cows now?”
He put both hands on her waist, lifted her bodily, swung her around, and set her on her feet. Taking her place on the stool, he began to milk the cow. The level in the bucket rose swiftly.
“Enough of this. I am here at my own peril on Southern soil. Would you have me found and shot or beaten again for want of a civil answer from you? I have come because I still care for you and needed to know that you were all right.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation for anything that happens here at Pleasant Manor, Captain Reynolds,” she replied frostily. “But if my telling will make you leave, it will be worth every word.”
What happened here? His sweet, caring Jenny had become bitter and shrewish in such a short time. Was she reacting this way to him, or had circumstances truly changed her?
He continued to milk the cow, actually enjoying the feel of the warm animal beneath his hands and the feeling of doing something productive rather than the destructive work of the past week. Milk foamed and frothed in the pail. Jenny began to pace up and down between the rows of stalls muttering under her breath about foolish men. David could hear her footsteps, muffled by the hay and soft dirt, as she stomped up and down the aisle.
Finally she began to talk out loud. Once she began to tell him all that had happened, the words poured out. She stopped pacing and sat on a bale of hay, staring at nothing, as she related the events that had transpired. He milked the cow until her bag was empty then he sat as still as he could for fear he would draw Jenny’s attention and disrupt her story. She seemed to have forgotten he was even there.
The pain in her voice when she told of her father’s murder charge and the change in him from a proud person to a beaten-down man troubled him deeply. He wanted to gather her close to tell her that he would personally bring her father back home. But that was impossible. As he listened, he understood why the sight of him and his blue uniform had caused her such distress.
His army had taken away her father and, though she didn’t know it, he was probably responsible for Isaac and his group running off from the plantation. After all, it was David who told the man about the Underground Railroad. But he had no regrets about that, no matter how upset she was. It was regrettable that both events had happened at the same time, but how could he have guessed that Mr. Winston would commit murder?
Jenny finally ran out of words, and her anger at him seemed to run out with those words. She stared at her reddened hands in her lap. The sight of him must be repugnant to her. The thought twisted his insides. As she dropped her face into her hands, her voice was ragged when she spoke again.
“Now you know. Now you can leave and never come back, Captain Reynolds.”
David knew that he had done this. He had turned this woman who had been so full of love and life, just a few months ago, into someone bitter and sad. Though he yearned with every fiber of his being to hold her tight and tell her he loved her so much that every minute they had spent apart had been pure hell for him, he didn’t move from the milking stool. He wanted to tell her he would make things right for her and Benjamin somehow. But he didn’t say anything. His father was correct in every way. David couldn’t do anything right.
“If you don’t mind, Jenny, I’d like to stay here until darkness falls and rest awhile. I’d prefer to travel at night to avoid another band of Rebs.”
* * *
She jerked her head up and over to the Yankee. He acted as if she hadn’t said a word, as if she hadn’t laid everything out on the table! All he thought about was his own precious hide! Her anger toward him flared bright and hot once more. She had killed for this man! What could she have been thinking?
She opened her mouth to shout at David, but before she could utter one word, her mind finally registered what her eyes had captured. The Yankee sitting before her was exhausted; his uniform was coated with a layer of dust, splotched with mud and torn in places, and, worst of all, his face was devoid of animation. His eyes were dark, flat, and dispirited. He leaned his forehead against the cow, turning his head away from her.
She nearly laughed aloud. “Look at us,” she wanted to shout at him. “The belle of the plantation with cow manure on her shoes, calluses on her hands, and straw in her hair. And you, college boy, sitting there covered with filth, and your once jaunty plume all drooping and wilted.” But she clamped her mouth shut on the useless bitter words.
“Go ahead. You can stay here in the barn. You’ll be safe enough here. I have to get back to my brother.”
She rose and bent toward him to get the pail of milk that he had collected. Her eyes fell on his hands hanging loose between his bent knees. Memories of the feelings those long, elegant fingers had awakened in her body hit her with an unwelcome blow. They were cut and battered from whatever unholy activities he had participated in recently. She didn’t want to know what those activities may have been, but based o
n his appearance, she knew he had not been sitting around in winter camp.
Suddenly one of those hands wrapped around her arm, stopping her cold, her shoulder level with his face. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. His eyes were shadowed, and his face was shuttered and still.
“Jenny,” his voice was low and guarded. “Have you been all right since I left?”
“No, David…I have not. Did you not hear anything I said?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “but I didn’t mean that. I meant…was there any consequence of our…time together?”
His eyes flicked down to her stomach. Realization dawned, and she wanted to cry, and she wanted to hit him. That is why he came—to ease his guilt! Straightening up, she held the pail in front of her. Something clicked shut inside. Raising her chin she met his eyes defiantly.
“No, there were no consequences.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She could see no expression on his face. For just a brief second she wanted to see what he would do if she told him she was with child. But her pride got the better of her. She gave him a narrow look.
“I would be the one to know, Captain Reynolds.”
The blankness of his face made her long to slap him, gnash her teeth, and wail with frustration. How could she love this man?
He nodded. “All right then.”
He released her arm, and she backed away from him. If Ben didn’t need this milk so badly, she would have dumped the entire bucket on the Yankee just to change that mask to a face with human expression. She turned on her heel and started toward the door.
Suddenly the barn door flew open. A blast of cold air came in with Jebediah holding his lantern high. His dark, weathered face was creased with worry that cleared when he saw them both.
“Mith Jenny, Kizzie and I was gittin’ worried ‘bout yo’ when yo’ didn’t come back. Now I sees why.”
He turned to David and grinned broadly. “Cap’n Reynolds, is yo’ here to marry Miz Jenny?”
Jenny gasped and jerked, nearly spilling the precious milk. “Jeb!”
But David’s voice was calm when he responded matter-of-factly, “Yes, Jeb. That is why I’m here again.”
Clenching her jaw, she carefully handed the bucket to Jeb and took the lantern from him. “Jeb, would you please give this to Kizzie for Benjamin? Tell her not to wait up for me. I left some wood in her room and yours for the night. How is Benji?”
“Kizzie say the boy doing better. His fever down now.”
She gave a sigh of relief and hung the lantern on a nail. “That is good to hear. Thank you, Jeb.”
Jeb grinned at David. “Good night, Cap’n. Good to see yo’ again.”
“You, too, Jebediah. Take care.”
The minute the door closed behind Jeb, she rounded on him. “You! What do you mean, that’s why you’re here?” Her voice shook with anger once more. This man had a knack for bringing out the worst and best in her. “I told you there is no child between us. There is no need for you to marry me!”
David stood up and moved toward the door, ignoring her outburst. “I’m going to get Napoleon and bring him in the barn with me for the night. It is cold, and there may be wolves about…or Confederates. I am not taking any chances.”
His long saber clinked against his canteen as she watched him move with a graceful fluid stride. There was no trace of a limp in his gait. Stopping beside her, he put a hand on her shoulder briefly, just a quick, light touch before continuing out into the night. She froze in place, not allowing herself to look at him. She couldn’t believe the audacity of that man. Here to marry me, indeed!
And then she yawned so hard her jaw nearly became unhinged. This had been another in a string of long, exhausting days with only two slaves and a young boy to help run what was left of an entire plantation. Stumbling to the bench against the wall of the old barn, she sat. She could hear the wind howling outside, but nothing stirred inside. The barn was solidly made; Papa had seen to that. The few horses and cows that remained made contented snuffling, chewing noises.
Inhaling the fragrance of sweet hay and farm animals, she sighed and leaned back. What was taking that damned Yankee so long to get his horse? Closing her eyes for just a minute, she pulled her shawl tighter around her. It was almost too much to bear—her father in prison, runaway slaves, soldiers taking the horses and much of the livestock, and now David comes back. His return was both her fondest wish and most dreaded fear. She had wanted to kiss him and smack him silly at the same time. What to do? Yes, what to do…
* * *
Keeping a careful watch on his shadowy surroundings, David made his way back to the grove of trees where he had hidden the big stallion. Rebel patrols could be anywhere behind the enemy lines like this. Maybe it would be better to just climb on Napoleon and head back to camp without speaking to Jenny again. He ached at the thought of not seeing her at least once more. Could he really bear to leave her when she hated him so much?
The leaves rustled loudly as he untied the reins. “Hello, old man,” he whispered in the horse’s ear, “Let’s take you someplace warmer. I need some sleep, or I’ll collapse.”
A flicker of a velvety black ear was the response he got. Then Napoleon turned his head and looked him full in the face, his big brown eyes shining in the darkness. Sometimes this horse all but talked; he could swear it.
Moaning and whistling between the trees, the wind seemed to give voice to the cold loneliness gripping him. Straining to see through the darkness, he hoped he wouldn’t see anyone else out here tonight. He was tired to the bone. His scratched hands were swollen and burning from the hideous work he had accomplished earlier today. When Kilpatrick dismissed the cavalrymen he had gathered for the special mission, it had been easy enough to split off early from the group that was heading back to winter camp. The other officer in the returning group hadn’t cared when David asked to visit a relative in Orange County…as long as he returned to camp within three days.
How wonderful it would be just to stay here on Pleasant Run Plantation forever, never to go back to that war where death and loss came everyday. He wouldn’t have to think about Jack’s death or that he had already been responsible many times over for killing someone else’s best friend, son, brother, or husband.
He deserved Jenny’s scorn when he viewed the situation from her side. He was a Yankee soldier, one of the hated men who had brought death and devastation to her and her family. It was his fault that Isaac, Luther, and the rest of the slaves had left. He was the one who told Isaac about the Underground Railroad, and he would do it again, if need be. If he were the one being enslaved, however kind that bondage was, he would have left, too.
Turning Napoleon in the direction of the barn, he walked silently through the darkness. David held tightly to his saber and canteen to quiet their noise. He didn’t want any Rebel patrols to find him here behind enemy lines alone. The scars from his last encounter still itched at times, reminding him of their presence.
Fully expecting to continue their conversation, he was surprised and relieved to find Jenny had fallen asleep sitting on the hard wooden bench. Her accusing eyes were closed, and her hurtful words silenced. He could enjoy the woman of his memory this way.
Gently lifting the sleeping woman into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. Her curves molded into his body perfectly, as if she were a part of him. Oh, how soft her hair was against his lips. All that shimmering spun gold was just too much to resist. He kissed the top of her head again and rubbed his cheek over the spot. She didn’t stir. Her head lolled against his shoulder. It was all worth it—worth risking life and limb to make this trip for just this moment of pure bliss.
For a long time he held her, just standing in the center of the dimly lit barn looking at her beloved face and committing every detail to his memory, a memory that he would carry with him for the duration of the war, perhaps for the duration of his life. He feasted on arched golden eyebrows, thick dark lashes against a sof
tly rounded cheekbone, and best of all, full rosy lips with just a slight natural upward curve in sleep.
Finally, reluctantly, he made his way to an empty stall filled with fresh, sweet hay. He desperately needed a few hours sleep before he left her. Slowly sinking to his knees, David bent over and released his precious burden into the soft, dry pile.
* * *
Warmth, safety, and serenity filled every fiber of her being. She was happy. Familiar sounds of Pleasant Run Plantation waking up drifted in through her open window—field hands singing as they headed out to the fields, Patsy and Cordelia quarreling good-naturedly, and Madeline humming softly to herself as she began to lay out her mistress’ day dress. Jenny was cocooned in the warm, strong arms of her loving husband. Sighing with pleasure, she snuggled deeper into them without opening her eyes. He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her close against his body.
A warm hand brushed the hair away from her neck to be replaced by soft lips that pressed against the sensitive part of her nape. She groaned at the wonderful sensation. There was no doubt about it…her husband was indeed a loving man. He kissed his way up the back of her neck then moved up to catch her earlobe softly between his teeth. When his breath and tongue aroused delicious tingling that moved from her ears down to gather in her abdomen, she couldn’t help but move against him, feeling the hardness of his desire for her.
“Ah, Jenny, my darling, how I love you,” he whispered huskily. His hand moved slowly to caress her breast tenderly. “But I cannot linger, and I dare not give into my feelings for you.”
With a soft groan, he hugged her again and then released her. The bed creaked a little when he rose. What a good husband he was. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and let her sleep since she was so tired. Gradually she began to sink back into the depths of sleep when she heard the soft nicker of a nearby horse.
A horse! In her bedroom! Her eyes flew open, and the cobwebs of sleep vanished in an instant, but she could see nothing but darkness. A sinking feeling of despair blanketed her when she realized that it had all been but a dream. Madeline was not here humming; it was someone else in the darkness murmuring softly. The voice was deep and rich and familiar.