The Rebel Wife (32 page)

“Was it something I did?” he pleaded. “Something I said?”

She yanked open the wardrobe door and continued to stew in silence. Belle always said, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say nothing a’tall”. There wasn’t anything nice she wanted to say.

She pulled out the farmwoman’s drab sack-dress and smoothed a wrinkle with her finger. She should’ve tossed out the ugly garment when they bought its replacement at the sutler’s store. Back then, it’d been a matter of squirreling away the spare dress in case she needed it. Now, it was a reminder of the start of their journey and how much her life had changed since meeting Jack Porter—for the better.

“What are you doing, Kitty?”

“Packing.”

“I can see that. Why? I thought you’d want to wait for your brother to be released.”

She folded the dress into a neat square and gently tucked it into her bag. “I
am
going to wait for him, but not here with you.”

“Where will you stay?”

“I reserved a room in Lance’s name. It’s all taken care of.”

He wagged his head. “You can’t stay alone, Kitty. It’s not safe.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Though if she were honest with herself, she’d come to like having him look after her. Made her feel special.

“Yes, you’re entirely capable of caring for yourself. I’ve never seen a more determined woman in all my life.”

His admiration swirled around her like heady perfume. She snagged her satchel and crossed to the dresser. She wouldn’t be swayed by sweet-smelling words. Not this time.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy. Lance is going to be released soon. The Lawrences are locked up.” Lines furrowed his brow. “So there has to be something else.”

“You bet there’s something else. You lied to me.”

“Why do you think I lied to you?”

“I don’t think you did.” She stepped around him. “I know you did.”

“Lied about what, for God’s sake?”

She plucked his journal off the bureau. The spine bit into her clenched palm. “This.”

“What about it?”

“I read your notes, Jack. You wrote about me, my family, our affairs. Things that are personal and private.” Her chest filled with pain. She thrust the journal at him. “For a damned newspaper article.”

“You read my journal?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been going through your things—”

“And maybe I should be angry with
you
.” His tone softened. “But it’s more important to me that you were able to read.”

That caught her off-guard. She folded her arms over her chest, holding onto an anger that was fast fading. “Would you have told me about your plans if I hadn’t read it?”

“Yes, I would have.”

“When?”

“Soon. I meant to. Started to back in Baltimore, but then all that mess happened with Calhoun. You don’t think I was sneaking around..?” He rifled a hand through his hair. “Lord, you do.”

“You should’ve asked my permission to write any of it, Jack.”

“Maybe I wanted the work to be pure. An objective portrayal of the events, and not colored with your perception of things. But as I got to know you, fell in love with you, it became harder to stay objective.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Worst thing that can happen to a journalist...getting too close to his subject.”

“Subject? That’s all I am to you? I should’ve known. Tarnation, I’m so gullible.” She bent and jerked on the dresser drawer. It came out crooked and stuck. Dratted drawer. She yanked harder. It didn’t budge.

“Let me help you.”

She swatted away his hand. “I can do it myself.”

His fingers fisted into a ball. “Gripes, you’re one stubborn female.”

“Hmmph. This stubborn female will soon be out of your life. Then you can do whatever you please with your precious writings.”

He slammed his palm on the top of the bureau, startling her. “So, you’re leaving because of a damned article?”

“To you, it’s an article. To me, it’s my family, my life. You had no right putting that to paper.” Hands trembling, she pushed the drawer closed, then pulled it out slowly. Miracle of miracles, the thing opened straight. She scooped up a handful of underclothing. “I suppose you’re still planning to send it to your editor.”

“It’s a grand story, Kitty.”

“I’m sure they’ll pay you well for it.”

“It’s not about the money. Not entirely.” He reached out and cupped her hands still full of clothes. “Don’t you realize how wonderful it is? The trials your family has endured. How you’ve persevered and overcome them. Other people could derive so much strength from reading about you and Lance.”

“You think other people will admire us for that?” She wiggled out of his grasp and stuffed her things into the bag. “You’ve been out in the sun too long, Jack. We’ll be looked down on even more than we were at Spivey Point.”

“Why would anyone look down on you? Because you’ve had hard times? You’re not the only ones who have suffered. This War has torn the country apart. But you’re one of the people who have triumphed, in your own way, in spite of it.” His expression softened. “That’s to be admired. And I do admire you—a great deal.”

Her heart trilled at his words. “Jack—”

“No, let me finish. You’re right. I probably should’ve discussed it with you. At least mentioned I was thinking about using your plight as the subject of my article. Heck, I was even thinking it could make a book.”

“A book?” She shook her head. “I don’t want the whole world reading about my family’s private affairs.”

“I didn’t realize it would upset you like this.”

“Well, it does.” She snapped her satchel closed and straightened. “And no amount of pretty words will change my mind.”

His mouth tightened. “Is that all that’s between us, Kitty? Does it mean so little that a damned article is all it takes to make you walk out on me?”

“If you kept that from me, what else might you lie about? It appears my leaving will save you from committing yet another sin. You can return to Baltimore without dishonoring your promise.”

“You’re wrong, on both accounts. This...” He shook the journal at her. “...is a good article. Hell, it’s great. Probably one of the best things I’ve ever written. Probably because the subject is so damn important to me. You might let it stand between us. I sure as hell won’t.” He wheeled around and stomped to the fireplace where he knelt and jerked open the ledger.

Hogs rooted in her belly. He was madder than she’d ever seen him before. Even at his granddaddy’s house. “What are you doing, Jack?”

“Doesn’t matter. Finish your packing.” He began ripping out the pages and tossing them onto the grate.

Her pulse tripped. He was destroying the work he’d poured his heart and soul into. She dropped her satchel and crossed to the hearth, standing behind him, fingers aching to knead the tautness from his shoulders.

“Someday, Louisa dear...” He didn’t look up, merely continued shredding his journal. “...You’re going to have to trust somebody. Apparently it’s not going to be me.”

Louisa, not Kitty. The shush of ripping paper mirrored the tearing of her heart. Was she about to lose a love she might never find again? He reached for a match, and she stiffened. “You’d burn your notes? For me?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Your story is personal and private. You’re madder than blazes because I’ve committed it to paper, and now that I’m willing to destroy it, you say no.” He shook his head. “When you snuck into my tent that night, I knew you were crazy. Should’ve held with my instincts and tossed you out on your sweet little backside. Saved myself a pack of trouble.”

Sandalwood and soap filled her nostrils. The scent of clean. Just as he’d washed the mud from his body, his goodness had washed the taint from hers. She should be thanking her lucky stars he
hadn’t
tossed her out on her backside.

She dropped to her knees and rested a hand on his arm. “This article is important to you. You say it’s your best work. You can’t...I can’t ask you to destroy it.”

“You’re not asking me. I’m making a choice.”

“But your career...and your debt. How will you pay back your granddaddy?”

“I love you, Kitty. I want you to be my wife.” He struck the match head to the bricks. “There’ll be other articles. Other stories. Other ways to make money. There’s only one you.”

Her heart soared. He loved her. More than any words on a page. She snuffed out the flame with a quick puff. “I won’t let you do this, Jack. I care about you and everything that’s part of you. And I don’t want to lose any of it. It’s unfair of me to expect you to give up something important just to save my pride.”

“You mean that?”

“With all my heart. Where’s the closest church?”

“As much as I want to marry you, our nuptials will have to wait. I have to settle my debt in Baltimore and convince a stubborn mule he’s wrong.”

Epilogue

The mouth-watering aroma of baking chicken filled the parlor. Rosemary and thyme, Nanny Belle’s favorite herbs for spicing yard bird. Sally had, no doubt, added her two cents worth. Both women knew their way around a cookstove and seemed to be getting along like old friends. Their combined efforts in the kitchen would soon have everyone’s bones fleshed out.

A movement in the doorway caught her eye. Mr. Porter wandered in toting a bolt of cloth under each arm. His health was much improved. His face had fleshed out, the skin pink and shiny. He had a lively, almost boyish hitch to his gait.

“Miriam Goldstein sent these over to you, my dear.”

She crossed the room and relieved him of his burden. “I wasn’t expecting them until next week. Thank you for bringing them to me.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a nod and turned for the door. “I know you’re eager to get started, so I’ll leave you to your decorating.”

“Won’t you stay and help decide which looks best? It is your house after all.”

He swiveled back around and shook his head. “It’s your house, too. Besides, I trust your judgment.”

“Like you trusted me with Jack’s heart? That was a rotten trick you and Sally pulled on us.”

He chuckled. “It worked didn’t it? When you arrived from Point Lookout, neither of you were anywhere near to making a commitment, much as we wanted to see your sham of a marriage made real. We knew if we pushed, you’d rebel. Pardon the pun. So we figured we’d turn Jackson’s propensity for doing the opposite of what I wanted against him.”

She laughed with him. He certainly knew his grandson. “And here we are, preparing for a wedding.”

“I had my concerns when you went missing. But luckily an acquaintance sent word that he’d seen you staying with Jonas and Mary Sloan. The Sloans are good people. I knew you were safe, and that Jackson would soon find you. So we just let nature take its course.”

“You are a wily one. It’s no wonder you beat me at checkers.”

Smile lines creased the skin around his eyes and mouth. “You hold your own pretty well. In all respects. I’m proud to call you Granddaughter.”

Her heart swelled. “Thank you, Mister Porter. That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“Grandfather. You must call me Grandfather now.”

“I’d be happy to...Granddaddy.”

A twinkle lit his eyes. “Jackson will have his hands full keeping up with his Rebel wife, pun intended this time. I couldn’t have selected a more fitting bride for him if I tried.”

He turned and headed for the doorway, his laugher trailing after him until he disappeared from view. Louisa smiled. Her life was complete. She had a new home filled with people she loved. The only gray cloud—Calhoun’s whereabouts and the unsolved murder of the Yankee courier. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She wanted to enjoy this undertaking she’d only dreamed of doing.

As she unrolled one of the bolts, a familiar auburn-topped head poked around the door jamb. “We’re off now, Sis.”

“Oh, Lance. Good. Is Jeb with you?”

Lance stepped into the doorway. “He is. Do you need something?”

“Yes. Could you help me with these fabrics before you go?”

“Sure.” He moved into the room, followed by Jeb. Both men walked gingerly, but not near as badly as when they arrived several weeks ago. Their wounds were healing nicely, thanks to Sally’s superb doctoring.

“What you gonna do with ’em, Miz Lou?” Jeb asked.

“I’m going to make curtains. But I can’t decide which of them would look best.”

“They mighty pretty. Hard choice to make.”

“Yes, it is.” She handed one bolt to Jeb and the other to Lance. “Unfurl the cloth, then stand on either side of the window and hold your piece as high as you can.”

She moved between them and eyed the fabrics. The dark green velvet picked up the earthy colors in the furniture coverings, yet the red made the white walls gleam. Decisions. Decisions. She smiled. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

The creak of the front door sounded, then came Jack’s, “Anyone home?”

“In the parlor, sweetheart,” she called out.

Boot heels clicked in the hallway, then he entered the room. “What have we here?”

“She’s trying to decide which of these to use for curtains.” Lance grinned impishly. “Which do you prefer, the garnet or the emerald?”

“I prefer the jewel in the middle.”

“Wise choice, soon to be brother-in-law.” Lance tossed the fabric onto the chair, then gave her a peck on the cheek. “We have to skedaddle, Sis. See you at dinner.”

“Good-bye. And good luck with your sale. I’m sure Mr. Randolph will love your sketches.”

“I hope you’re right. I could sure use his endorsement.”

As Lance and Jeb left the parlor, Jack crossed to her side, his loving smile, as always, making her pulse thrum. “Speaking of jewels, I have something for you.”

“You do? What?”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a tiny black box. “This.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

She lifted the lid and gasped at the huge ruby nested inside. “Oh, Jack, it’s lovely.”

“A precious, fiery engagement ring. Just like my gem of a wife.”