Souls Aflame (42 page)

“I suppose I should try to find us something to eat,” he yawned. “I can’t feast on that luscious body of yours all the time, but you do wear me out, woman. I’ve always felt I was a better man than most when it came to satisfying a woman, but you are a challenge.”

She turned and began walking up the beach toward their palm-frond shelter. “Maybe I’ll give you a rest,” she said over her shoulder. “Maybe if I refuse to give you what you want every time you want it, you won’t be so damned sure of yourself.”

“Now that’s a fine way for a genteel southern lady to talk,” he laughed, getting to his feet. “And by the way, Julie, you’ve sure got a cute bottom. I like the way it bounces when you walk, especially when you’re mad. When I finally make you my mistress, I think I want to keep you naked. So don’t expect to be dressed in fine fashions as kept women usually are.”

“Damn you, Derek Arnhardt!” She whirled around to scream at him. “I’ll never be your kept woman, and it’ll be a damned long time before you take your pleasure with me again. I’m sick and tired of your smugness!”

Still laughing, he started walking toward the water. “I’m not worried about your threats, Julie. All I have to do is touch the right places, and you’ll squirm and scratch and bite and beg for more…”

She stooped and grabbed the first thing she could find, a large conch shell, and she flung it at him, but he merely chuckled as he reached out to catch it easily with one hand.

“Remember, misty eyes,” he called teasingly as she quickened her steps to hurry away from him, “I can always catch anything you throw my way, and so far, I’ve been able to throw back even more…”

I hate him,
she thought furiously as she threw herself down upon the dried palm fronds beneath the little shelter.
I do hate him! I only think I love him, because he makes me say the words over and over, and we’re here alone on this miserable island, and there’s no one else, and I’m making myself think I love him to justify all that we have together! It can’t be love! I won’t let it be, because I could never, ever love such a beast!

She struck at the sand with her tiny fist, cursing herself for letting him make her so angry. If only she could return his arrogance, his smugness…

“Julie!”

At first she ignored his call. Damn him, anyway, she thought. He was going to learn that she would not come running every time he beckoned.

“Julie, come quick…”

There was an urgency to his tone that she had never heard before. Forgetting her anger for the moment, she rose, moving quickly to peer out of the shelter to where he stood waist-deep in the water. Had he been stung by one of those jellylike creatures that were forever washing up on the beach and that he said would burn like fire if they touched you? Or was a shark nearby? Dear God, if he’d spotted one of those terrifying fins slicing through the water, then why was he standing there staring out at the open sea, his back to her, waving his arms wildly over his head and yelling at the top of his lungs?

And then she realized what was happening. She could see it too—so small it looked like one of the wooden carvings she’d been so fascinated to see the crusty old seamen whittle as they sat on the docks at Savannah. A ship! It really was a ship!

She broke into a run, stumbling in the sand as she made her way to the foaming surf, wading in to stand beside Derek. He was so much taller, the water was up to her bare breasts while it only reached to his waist.

“Is it a Confederate ship?” she cried, raising her arms to wave with him. “Can you tell?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said excitedly, turning around to splash his way back to the beach.

She followed him, watching as he gathered the dried-out driftwood that they always kept for fires. In moments he had a blaze going that sent smoke skyward.

“They should see that,” he said anxiously, staring back at the murky waters. “They aren’t that far out. Can’t imagine what a ship would be doing nearby. We haven’t seen one before.”

Suddenly he reached out and hugged her tightly against him. “Julie, I think they’ve seen us,” he cried, and she could feel his body trembling. “Yes…yes, they have. I can tell. They’re coming this way. We’re saved, Julie! They’re coming after us…”

A strange emotion washed over her as she allowed herself to be lifted in his arms and swung about in jubilation. Derek did not notice that she was not smiling, did not share his enthusiasm. He finally set her back down on her feet, leaving her to run and stand at the water’s edge and watch the ship’s approach. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts. What if Yankees were approaching, and not Confederates? Would she and Derek be taken prisoner? And if it was a Rebel steamer, what then? Would Derek help her rescue Myles from the Black Hole?

She shook her head, body trembling. Dear God, she did not know what she was supposed to feel at this moment in time. Should Myles be dead, or already freed and making a life of his own, in peace, what was there left for her to return to? Here, on this quiet island, she had found solitude and love, even though the love was obviously felt only on her part. At least there had been happiness and joy, but now, with rescue in sight, the future suddenly seemed more uncertain than ever.

Suddenly, as though he finally remembered her presence, Derek turned. “Those clothes…“ he called. “The ones we had when we arrived—get them. I know they’re rags, but I don’t want them to find us just standing here naked, Julie. Piece together what you can…”

And then he was facing the sea once again, turning his back on her and the life they had shared together, the passion, the bliss.

Bitterly she walked to where they had tucked the remnants of clothing beneath a large rock, planning to fashion them into some kind of blanket should the weather ever turn cool. Yanking her tattered dress about her, she knotted the dangling sleeves across her breasts, cursing herself all the while. Here they were, about to be rescued—how could she be so foolish as to feel sad? It was ridiculous. Why, the world was waiting out there, a new life, and however confused and tumultuous she might find it, she would find a way to face it. There was no point in looking back now.

She carried the remains of Derek’s clothing to him, and he wrapped a piece of cloth around himself large enough to conceal his privates. Then they stood side by side, the lapping water foaming about their feet as they waited in silence.

Soon they could make out a small rowboat moving steadily toward the island. Julie could feel Derek tensing beside her, knew that he was worrying over whether their rescuers would be Confederates or the enemy.

Then they were able to see the faces of the three men in the boat. Two carried rifles, which were pointed straight at them. The third man sat in the bow, eyes slitted as he studied them suspiciously. All were bearded and wore the clothes of men of the sea. There was no way to tell on which side they fought.

One of the armed men laid down his weapon and jumped into the waist-deep water, leaping up now and then to ride a breaker as he guided the boat to the shore line. The seated man continued to stare, while the other kept his gun trained upon them. Derek did not move, but Julie had begun to tremble, and she sidled closer to him so that their bodies touched. His arm went about her protectively, and despite the tension of the moment, she felt a shudder of confidence at his nearness.

The man who had been seated stood as the boat slid smoothly onto the beach. Parting tight-set lips he barked, “My name is Joseph Bosworth. I am first mate on the
Judy T
. This is Bradley Whitlock,” he nodded to the man who had pulled them through the surf, then to the one holding the gun, “and this is Sherman Kiser. We are fishermen. Who might you be and why are you marooned here on this island?”

“I’m Derek Arnhardt,” Derek’s voice rang out, clear, steady, and if fear mingled with the blood in his veins, it was not evident in his tone. “My ship was destroyed by the Federal blockade at Wilmington some time back. We don’t know how long we’ve been here. But whether you are friend or foe, I pray we can be grateful that you’ve come to rescue us.”

“Arnhardt!” Joseph Bosworth’s tight-set lips curved slightly into a pleased smile of recognition. “I’ve heard of you, sir. It’s
Captain
Arnhardt, isn’t it? And sometimes you are called Ironheart, because they say you rule your crew with a fist of iron and a heart to match. We heard you were lost at sea with your ship.”

He stepped from the boat with an outstretched hand, and, shaking Derek’s warmly, he told his men to lay down their weapons. “We have nothing to fear.” To Derek he said, “Neither do you, sir. It’s a pleasure indeed to have a hand in rescuing a man of your worth, believe me. We are fishermen. We take no part in the war, but we’re southern blood, and that is where our loyalties lie. If my pilot hadn’t gotten himself saturated on rum he smuggled aboard and fallen asleep on duty, we wouldn’t have gone off course. We sail in and out of Richmond, and here we are on the other side of the Gulf Stream on an uncharted island. Now I’m glad that we did, and I won’t have that man keelhauled, because it was surely a stroke of fate that we happened this way and found you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Derek murmured gratefully. Then, remembering Julie’s presence, he nodded in her direction and made the necessary introductions.

The men exchanged uncomfortable glances, and Julie felt her cheeks flaming. It was not hard to figure out why they were so embarrassed. Shipwrecked on an island for untold months, it was obvious what had transpired between them, especially since they stood there barely clothed in shreds and remnants of material.

“We should get you on board at once.” Mr. Bosworth extended his hand to Julie to lead her to the rowboat. “We’ll get some good solid food into you, then we’ll be on our way back to Richmond.”

It was Bradley Whitlock who asked, just before shoving the boat back into the surf, if there was anything on the island they wished to take with them to the
Judy T
. Derek glanced at Julie expectantly, but she lowered her eyes and shook her head. What she had left behind, she thought painfully, could not be brought with her, for she feared that she was leaving forever any love the two of them might have shared.

Once aboard the fishing boat, they were introduced to the captain, a burly, potbellied man named Meade, with warm gray eyes and a friendly smile despite his authoritative air. He ordered food brought to them immediately, then he instructed one of his crew to bring them some clothes.

“We’ll have to dress you like a man for awhile, missy,” he said jovially to Julie, and she smiled slightly, grateful for anything they would give her to wear.

When they were fed and clothed, they went to the captain’s cramped quarters. Julie lay her head on Derek’s strong shoulder as they sat on the narrow wooden bunk, listening sleepily while he spoke with Captain Meade as the two shared a bottle of brandy.

“I just can’t believe what you’re telling me.” Julie snapped to alertness at the loud, stunned tone of Derek’s voice. “It can’t be nearly winter…”

“Ahh, but it is.” Captain Meade smiled sympathetically. “It seems the two of you were lost in another world, and you may wish before this dreadful war ends that you had stayed back there in your own private realm.”

Derek leaned forward, eager to hear all that Meade knew about the war.

The captain packed his corncob pipe with tobacco, lit it, drew on it, exhaled, and then began to talk.

He told them about a man named John S. Mosby who, with his Confederate partisan rangers, had attacked Fairfax Court House, Virginia, on the night of March 8, only a few miles from Washington, the Union capital. “The only thing they got,” he chuckled, “was the garrison commander, General Edwin Stoughton, who was asleep when they went slipping in.”

But the humor left his voice as he told about how Federal cavalry under General George Stoneman had cut a swath of destruction through Virginia from April 29 to May 8, almost to Richmond itself. “Stoneman being gone from the Army of the Potomac helped Lee win one of his biggest battles yet, though,” the captain explained. “You see, late in April, General Joe Hooker headed south toward Richmond with an army that they say numbered over a quarter of a million. He marched through a mass of thick woods and dense underbrush called the Wilderness, and Stonewall Jackson hit him with a surprise flank attack at a road junction called Chancellorsville. The fighting lasted for about three days, and it went all the way from Chancellorsville ten miles eastward toward Fredericksburg. Ol’ Hooker lost almost twenty thousand of his soldiers, I hear tell.”

Suddenly his voice dropped, cracked, as though he was fighting for composure. In a whisper so low they had to strain to hear, Captain Meade said, “We lost Stonewall there. He was accidentally hit by one of his own men.”

“Stonewall Jackson!” Derek breathed reverently. “God, what a blow to the South…”

“But Lee got started on a second invasion of the North.” The captain slammed his fist on his desk. “He wanted to capture an important city in the North, like Baltimore or Harrisburg, or even Washington. The papers said if he could do that, it would relieve the pressure on Vicksburg, down in Mississippi, and we might negotiate a victorious peace. Then the South was also hoping that if we could win a great victory on northern soil, England might raise its eyebrows and offer to mediate.

“Lee also wanted to get some of the fighting out of Virginia,” the captain went on after pausing to draw on his pipe thoughtfully. “And the South needs supplies bad. So last June, Lee took his army and crossed the Potomac. Lincoln had replaced Hooker with a Pennsylvanian by the name of General George G. Meade.”