The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (13 page)

McClellan had taken a train to the capital, but Jack rode his horse. He needed the ride. What he had seen and heard on the battlefield haunted his dreams—the moaning of the wounded, the blood, the legs, arms and abdomens ripped to shreds by metal projectiles. Riding hard, wearing both himself and his horse out, brought exhaustion and much-needed sleep. Sleep where dreams had no place. Well, most of the time.

At the door, he stopped. He heard muffled noise from inside, as though Caroline had company. Great, he thought. The last thing he wanted was company. As he turned the knob, he wondered where George was. He walked in, the servant’s name upon his tongue when Caroline’s laughter rang out, followed by several male voices.

He frowned. Dropping his saddlebags at the door, he strode to the drawing room.

Caroline was entertaining four young men—two in dark suits, the other two in navy wool uniforms. Officers. Everyone was laughing and holding glasses of what Jack guessed to be his brandy.

No one had heard him come in.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he stated as coolly as he could, tamping down his rising anger. With a nod to Caroline, he added, “my dear.”

Her eyes widened, and he caught a flicker of something. Surprise, perhaps? She schooled her features and smiled as she stood. With a step, she was at his side, on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Darling, I’m so glad you’re home,” she greeted. “You should have sent word.” She tried to kiss his mouth. When her lips touched his, he didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the men.

Her mouth twitched. “Let me introduce Senator Wilmington of Indiana, his aid, Mr. Cassidy and Lt. Wilcox and Capt. Carter.”

Carter grinned at him, like a child whose best friend had been caught stealing a toy. Jack bristled. What the hell was going on, he wanted to yell at her, but gritted his teeth instead.

“Gentlemen, to what do I owe this honor?” He managed to control his tone though it took all the strength he had.

Cassidy stood, his round body quivering as he laughed. “Came to see your lovely wife on an investigative tour,” he stated, his tone that of a politician’s. It grated on Jack’s nerves. “You have quite the lady here, Captain.”

He eyed them speculatively. “Yes, well, gentlemen, I’ve just returned from the West. If I could ask you all to leave.” It wasn’t a question but a command. He wanted the lechers out. Even Carter.

“Of course,” Cassidy replied. Turning to Caroline, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

She smiled. The others also thanked her and left.

With a vicious glare, she turned to him. “How dare you? Of all the rude…”

“What the hell are you doing entertaining men while I’m gone?” he demanded.

She looked at him with shock. “How vulgar war is making you,” she commented flatly. “As to those gentlemen, what else am I to do? I was bored waiting for your return.”

His temper flared still more. “You will not entertain any man in my absence, do you understand me?”

“What does it matter to you who I keep company with?”

“You are my wife. You will do what you are told,” he ordered. “You vowed to obey me. And to honor me. You will be respectful of me and your position here.”

“Position,” she scoffed.

He stormed out of the room but stopped and turned to her. “And you will sleep with no one but me. Am I making myself clear?”

She laughed. “You. Yes, just like before you left for war? You left me in our bed alone.”

He bristled. “And you lied to me, implying you were a virgin.”

Her head fell back in laughter. When she looked at him, her haughty spoiled-daughter face was in place. “I was. One past indiscretion, when I was taken advantage of, and you’ll hold it against me?”

His gaze narrowed. “Darlin’, I doubt anything has ever been taken from you without you asking for it.” He left the room, but instead of heading toward the bedroom, he went to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she shrilly demanded.

“I’ve work to do.” He slammed the door behind him as she screamed his name.

#

Jack swallowed more of the smooth dark amber brandy, welcoming the scorch as it slid down his throat. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Damn, she was beautiful, he thought to himself.

She took the glass from his hand and reached up to kiss his lips. “Jack, let me help you forget,” her soft, seductive voice cooed. His body tightened at her suggestion.

“Leslie,” he replied. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She laughed. “All you had to do was ask.”

After he left Caroline, he went to The Eagle saloon on First Street and found his long lost lover lounging at the bar, listening to some distraught politician rant about the new president. It took him but a second to suggest the man find another ear. She’d laughed at his arrival, claiming she came to Washington for new clients, and with the War, her income had grown.

He bought her for a week. He refused to go home. Instead, he put Leslie up in her own suite at the Carlton Hotel and made his home in her bed. Not that he needed her for sex, though that was obviously on the agenda. No, what he needed was her comfort. The very least he had thought Caroline could give him, but as far as he was concerned, she had betrayed him both in bed and in their marriage.

With Leslie, everything was simple. He paid for her company—no responsibility on his part after he bought her time. It was her duty to attend to his every need, every desire, even if it meant doing nothing. No marriage vows, no attachments. She was beautiful, alluring and for hire, not his legal obligation. After that night, so many years ago at home, he wanted no duty to family.

Despite all he had drunk, Jack’s member hardened and he rolled over onto her. When she giggled, he impaled her with it. Her lips and hands roved over him as he entered her. She murmured his name and moaned with insistence, but he heard none of it. Instead, his mind transformed her ebony hair to auburn, her porcelain white face to a sun-kissed one, with freckles sprinkled across her nose.

“Jack,” the vision called. Emma’s voice.

With a groan of frustration, he withdrew and fell to Leslie’s side. “I’m sorry,” he muttered without looking at her.

He knew she’d say nothing. It wasn’t her place. As her hand stroked his hair, he succumbed to the blackness and freedom of sleep.

#

August 1861

Emma tried to thread her needle again. The late afternoon sun poured into the drawing room, making it terribly hot. No breeze came through the open windows. Sally had Mary’s son Titus fanning Emma with some tweed stretched across a square frame at the end of a long pole—a pole longer than the boy was tall. He hadn’t complained, actually didn’t speak even once, but she pitied him as she sweltered in the heat. Finally, in an act of Christianity, or maybe frustration as he almost dropped the device on her, she sent him away. But as perspiration ran down her neck, beneath her dress and past the chemise and corset lacings, she wished she’d kept him there.

When the white thread missed the needle’s eye on her third attempt, she threw it down, along with the cotton shirt she had been sewing. Her fingers ached from clutching the material so tightly, and her back ached. She had finished four shirts already for her father’s militia boys, the Charles City Knights. Sipping her lemonade, she glanced out the window at some noise. It sounded like a carriage and team.

She walked out the front door, straining to see through the cloud of dust in the lane, wondering who’d come calling.

A carriage pulled by four bay horses thundered into the drive and stopped at the porch. She watched warily as her slave opened the door and dropped the step from the vehicle. Inside, there was the sound of silk rustling. The passenger leaned out the door to take a step, and Emma’s mouth fell open in utter surprise.

Caroline.

Cautiously, Caroline stepped out of the carriage and onto the ground before she looked up at Emma. She smiled as only Caroline could, in a show of bravado at returning home. Emma waited, watching the carriage. Tilly emerged and began to arrange Caroline’s skirts. But no Jack.

Emma’s upper teeth tugged at her bottom lip. But when she noticed Caroline’s smile falter as she started to swoon, Tilly caught her and Emma sprang forward.

“Hello, Emma,” her sister said.

“Caroline, are you all right? Where’s your husband?” Emma feared he’d be there soon. Could she handle seeing him again? A flash of hatred and fear twisted her stomach. She hoped he’d stay away after he had betrayed her.

The two helped Caroline inside and to the settee in the front parlor.

Sally appeared instantly. “Oh, Miss Caroline. Tilly, go get her some lemonade.”

Emma’s brows furrowed, confused. “Caroline, the trip here couldn’t have been easy. Why did you come?”

Caroline’s smile wavered. “Jack decided it would be better if I came home to rest.”

“Rest? Caroline, are you ill?” Fear coiled inside Emma. With the war effort and the raising of troops, getting a doctor would be nearly impossible.

“No, Emma,” she said softly, her hand resting on her stomach. “I’m with child.”

Emma’s gaze fell to her sister’s stomach, which still looked flat. She blinked. Buzzing filled her ears, so much that she couldn’t hear Sally coddling Caroline or anything else for that matter. The edges of her vision blurred, and she heard herself moan as the blackness came and her knees buckled.

The time for compromise has passed, and the South is determined to maintain her position, and make all who oppose her smell Southern powder and feel Southern steel.

—Jefferson Davis at his inaugural speech, February 16, 1861

Chapter Twelve

Rose Hill, Winter 1861

God must hate her. Emma stifled a groan as Caroline’s voice echoed throughout the house, calling for Tilly. Poor slave. Emma pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. This winter was cold, harsher than any she could recall. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace and closed her eyes. She had never felt so alone as she did now.

Caroline waddled into the parlor, her hand on her lower back, supporting it because of the baby growing inside her. “Have you seen my Tilly?”

Emma wanted to tell her that if she’d stop slapping the girl, she’d probably come when called, but she bit her tongue. Nothing got through to Caroline. The woman was a grouch and had only gotten worse as the weeks went by. Sally warned Emma that her sister’d probably have a rough confinement simply because she had never been restricted from anything before. Her condition kept her housebound, and at almost six months along, her mobility was slowing. According to Sally, she’d spend the last three months in bed. Emma feared the demands Caroline’s increasing confinement would bring.

“No, sister. Why don’t you go sit and I’ll see if I can get her.” Emma rose to leave when she heard a groan behind her. Caroline had slumped onto the settee, her face swollen like her stomach. Emma’s eyes narrowed. “You did tell Jack you were expecting, didn’t you?”

Caroline glared, her jaw tightening. “Of course. Who do you think sent me back here?” she snapped.

Emma left the room, and a troubling thought occurred to her. If he knew she was in the family way, why hadn’t he written to find out how she was? Emma took the mail every time there was a delivery, but nothing came from him. Somehow, that seemed strange, considering her sister raved about how wonderful he was to her and their grand life in the Union capital. But when pressed as to why she was home, the woman grimaced, saying he was going to war and felt it better for her to be home with loved ones.
Posh!

Glancing into the drawing room, she didn’t find Tilly. So she walked down the hallway to the back of the house. Tilly no doubt was hiding. She’d hide too if she had to answer to Miss High-and-Mighty. She bit her lower lip. It wasn’t Miss but Missus. Just like she was. Mrs. William Bealke. But unlike her sister, she remained barren. Granted, they had only the one night together, and he left before dawn with her father to gather their unit and march to Richmond. Emma fought the urge to cry, clenching her hands at her sides. Not even a child to look forward to. The notion upset her when she saw her sister’s bulging belly. Jack’s baby.

As she walked farther down the hall, she heard the rattling of metal and leather. The way it sounded on a wagon. She heard a man say very clearly, “Whoa,” and the hooves stopped. There was a commotion outside and she frowned. What was happening?

Boots thudded to the back door. “Emma! Emma!”

“I’m here,” she replied. Her mouth fell agape, and she froze.

Billy was home! So was her father! But they looked dismal. Billy was supporting her father. John Henry’s head was wrapped in bandages, very dirty-looking bandages. His eyes were sunken, his face thin, and he stared ahead with a pain-filled gaze.

“Daddy,” she cried, racing toward them.

“Oh, my darlin’ Emma,” the man said softly, his hand reaching for her face as she approached him. He trembled under her touch.

“He was standing too close to the artillery,” Billy interjected. When Emma reached to touch John Henry’s cheek, Billy added, “He got stung by the blast, Emma. Too close, and when it exploded, he was thrown.” He released his grip on his father-in-law as the slaves came under Sally’s direction and moved John Henry toward the stairs.

Emma watched her father, and her heart faltered. He looked almost dead. She trembled. War, this dreaded war. Wasn’t it to be over by now? It was close to the holidays, and both sides had boasted it’d be finished by then. Tell that to the troops she’d had to run off two days hence. Troops looking for supplies and food, and she had none to spare.

“Emma, I’m sorry,” Billy said, pulling her into his arms. “I tried to get him to leave long before the fighting, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.”

She shuddered. It was all too much. Her sister pregnant. Her father injured. All her household responsibilities. Unless…she looked up at her husband. His face showed all the signs of fatigue. Lines creased his eyes, his face gaunt and dirty. Once tawny-colored hair had turned dark, matted with mud and sweat. The arm around her shoulders was thick, his chest hard and lean. It was as though he was another man. She twisted free of his grip.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her eyes roving over him, seeing his butternut-colored short coat and pants stained with hard work and war.

He grinned wryly. “I’m okay. Can stay a couple of days if you’d like.”

“Of course,” she replied coolly. “I have Caroline home as well.”

She caught a flicker in his eyes at the news. “Home? What’s wrong? That Yankee dead?”

Emma chewed her bottom lip. He sounded harsh, not like the sweet man she had wed. “She’s with child. He sent her home so we could care for her. He’s with the Union army.”

“Child?” he muttered. His jaw tightened. Emma noticed and was going to ask about it when he released her and smiled. “Tom here,” he motioned to the wagon driver “and I could use some food, and I need a bath.”

#

Caroline huffed a disgruntled breath as she tried to push her ungainly body off the cushions. The babe kicked at her, and she fell backwards, her hand to the bulge protruding from her. Another kick. She figured she’d be black and blue by bedtime at this rate. Three more months. She was so uncomfortable. This child wouldn’t let her sleep, always making her get up to relieve herself, plus she couldn’t bend over and see her feet. She felt miserable, as though this nightmare would never end.

Tilly came scurrying in, her bare feet silent against the wood and carpeted flooring, but as usual, she knocked the table, sending the vase of flowers teetering. “Miss Caroline.”

She glared at the slave. Insolent creature, that one was. She’d slap her hard for making her wait. “When I call for you, I ’spect you to be here.”

The slave knelt before her, close enough for Caroline to reach. As she pulled her hand back, the girl closed her eyes. Caroline swung hard, slapping her cheek. It reddened even under the dark skin. Slightly mollified, she pulled the girl’s chin up. “You go get me some tea. And be quick.”

Tilly nodded and jumped to her feet, leaving the room as fast as she could.

Caroline grimaced. Good help was getting so difficult to find, she thought, rubbing her belly. Another kick.
Heavens…

“Caroline?”

She looked up and smiled. Her Billy was home. “Billy,” she exclaimed, excited. Quickly she tried to get up, but the creature inside her made a simple move nigh on impossible to do.

“Let me,” he said, coming to her and taking her hand. He pulled and supported her weight at the same time, getting her to her feet. Heavens, she felt fat. And as his eyes roamed over her, she grimaced.

“I’ve put on some weight,” she said, self-conscious. He was bound to find her ugly, even disgusting, carrying another man’s child.

He held her chin up. “Is the child mine?”

Caroline saw the hope in his eye and felt a moment of sadness threaten to overwhelm her. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t answer and shook her head instead.

He gave her a tight nod and looked away. She felt his pain and cursed Jack for putting her in this condition.

When Billy’s eyes returned to her, his lips curved at one corner. “You look good.”

She saw the tick in his cheek. “I’m told you married my sister. See, aren’t you glad I taught you?” She gave him a weak smile.

“Caroline,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

She closed her eyes. Heaven. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He laughed. “But you managed to stay busy I see.”

His vulgarity about her condition irked her. How dare he make fun of her? But when she looked into his beautiful grey eyes, they regarded her warmly. Her precious Jack had dismissed her so coldly, she felt lost. Billy had always been there for her, even if he did marry her sister. But Billy still seemed to feel something for her. Did he love her?

“How long are you home?” she asked, her heart fluttering—and the baby kicked as well. Little tyrant.

“A week, maybe,” he replied. “I brought your father home. He isn’t well. Hurt on the field by cannons.”

Her breath hitched. “Daddy’s hurt? Oh, heavens...” She was so frustrated as she padded across the floor.

“Yes, darlin’,” he whispered, taking her arm and returning her to the settee. “Relax, I’m sure he’ll recover physically.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Billy, what’s wrong with my father?”

She watched him swallow hard. A memory of him swallowing her flooded her mind.

“Caroline, I’m sorry. Your father’s injury hurt his brain.”

#

That night, Emma stared at the canopy above her bed, counting the folds in the fabric. Billy lay next to her, his arm thrown across her stomach. His heavy, even breaths on her neck assured her he was asleep. Something she needed herself but doubted it’d come to her tonight.

Arranging for her father’s room, redoing the menu for the added company, ordering a bath for Billy and his man, having their soiled uniforms laundered and dealing with Caroline’s demands had just about done her in. Sleep should’ve come easily. Billy attempted to make love to her, trying to fill her with his seed in hopes she’d become a mother, but he had failed. He couldn’t maintain his erection, and she was no help. What a miserable end to her day. God really must hate her.

Her eyes blurred and she sniffled. Billy reacted by pulling her against him, and he snuggled his face in her hair. She tried to relax and enjoy his embrace but melancholy prevented it. He didn’t love her. He loved Caroline. She’d seen his face at dinner and noticed her sister’s lightened, jovial mood. Emma tried to deny it to herself, but it was right there in front of her. Billy and Caroline had been involved with each other. When or how, she wasn’t certain, but she refused to spend any more time thinking about it.

Once again, her sister had won. She had married the man Emma loved with her whole heart but apparently had a liaison of some type with Billy too. A lone tear fell. Yes, God hated her.

#

March 1862

Emma sat, knitting another blanket for Caroline’s baby. From the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline lying on the settee, her bare feet resting on the pillowed arm. Emma grimaced at her sister’s swollen ankles and feet. The woman hadn’t worn shoes for the last week, waddling barefoot on the wooden floors of the main house. Happily, the spring air was warm, but Caroline complained of the heat and Emma just shook her head.

The heat wasn’t the only thing Caroline complained about. Anything was fair game. The slaves stayed out of her way. Well, all of them but Sally. Sally just scolded her and laughed, a rich, deep laugh that seemed to placate Caroline and soothe Emma’s nerves.

“Just be thankful you’re not going through this,” Caroline told Emma.

Emma bit her lip. It made Emma sad to hear her sister so unhappy about approaching motherhood. Emma simply couldn’t understand her sister’s attitude when her own womb remained empty. Unfortunately, Billy’s brief return had done nothing to change that.

“The war, Emma,” he told her. “It mars a man. Let me get through this and then…”

Let him get through the war? The war that was to have ended last Christmastide? The war that continued even now? Stealing every man from every home? She shook her head again as Caroline continued to rant about her condition. The woman never ceased. Instead of staying in bed as the doctor had told her to do, she roamed the halls, refusing to be “trapped” in her room. It was enough to drive everyone mad.

Except their father. Emma heard the chimes from the grandfather clock and looked up. One o’clock. Time to get daddy to eat. That is, if he was still in the library where she had left him this morning. She didn’t understand it. He seemed so alert, so rational, only to suddenly forget the present and dwell in the past, when she and Caroline were children and their mother alive. At those times, he also became short tempered, violent in his language and actions.

“Caroline, I need to get father,” she stated, putting her knitting down and rising.

“You can’t just leave me like this.”

Oh, yes I can
. The evil thought flashed through her mind and she came close to saying it but dampened her anger. It did no good to express it. “Here, give me your hand,” she said, holding out her arm.

Caroline grasped it and with her other hand pushing behind her, she managed to stand. “Thank you.”