The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (15 page)

By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land.

—George McClellan’s self-appraisal shortly after he assumed
command of the Union forces around Washington, 1861

Chapter Fourteen

Rose Hill, 1862

She couldn’t breathe. Yankees at her door. Jack. Everything happened at once, and she ended up in his arms. Wide eyed, she refused to blink, afraid he’d be gone, that it was a dream or maybe a nightmare. No, his emerald green eyes stared into hers, and his mouth was so close. The heat from him warmed her. His arms were so inviting and his fingers squeezed her back, making heat pool in her stomach.

Behind them, she heard the baby cry, and a woman shrieked. Reality slammed into her, almost like Jack had, but, it wasn’t anywhere near as desirable. A crash of furniture finally caught her attention, and she stiffened. Yankees. Yankees had invaded her home while she lay here in Jack’s arms. A glance at his shoulders made anger flare inside her again. He was wearing blue. Yankee blue.

“Get off me, Jack.”

The warmth of his breath brushed across her as he let go of her and moved to get up, but his hand remained on her back. Granted, he had kept her from hitting the floor, but he was too close. She was burning from his embrace. Once he got her back on her feet, she pushed him away. Quickly, she bent to retrieve her rifle, but he beat her to it.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this right now,” he stated, grabbing the gunstock and moving a step away.

Furious, she stormed into the house. Chaos reigned. Tilly was screaming, her hands over her ears. Jeremiah stood to the side, his weapon also gone from his hands. If those Yankees took another gun, she’d use her father’s sword on them.

“Emma.” Jack called from behind her.

“You’re in charge of these vermin,” she seethed, hearing another door bang up upstairs. “Why are they searching my home, Lieutenant…”

He ignored her.

“Sergeant Foley,” he called, standing at the foot of the grand stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the men back down here,” he ordered.

Emma cringed. They sounded like a herd of cattle thumping down the stairs. She wanted them out of her house. She fought every bit of desire to have Jack stay. She must be going mad.

“Miss Emma.” It was Sally behind her. Emma turned. The elder slave was holding Caroline’s baby in her arms. The child’s crying had distracted Emma on the porch. Despite the puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, the baby had quieted. Stroking the downy head of the three-month-old calmed her.

“I sees Massa Jack returned,” the slave murmured. “I’s done tole you he’d be back.”

Sally was the only one there who remembered those dark days a year ago. Emma’s world had been turned upside down to find the man she loved marrying her sister because he had compromised her. The slave had held her many nights when she couldn’t sleep without waking, screaming until her lungs hurt. And despite the glimmer of hope in Sally’s eyes, Emma refused to fall under his deceitful spell again.

Emma watched the soldiers march out her door, only to find Jack standing next to her. She searched his face as he watched her, taking little notice of the child. Her eyebrows creased. Like everyone else along the James River, she’d heard the fighting, constantly fretting over whether they should board up the house or hide in the smokehouse. The slaves, the handful she had left after the long winter, had hidden the remaining horses, chickens and grain from raiding armies’ quartermasters. Both sides had appeared at her door, Confederates last fall and Yankees two weeks ago, looking for supplies. Paid in Confederate and Union dollars, Emma knew she’d never get back the value of what they stole. And now Jack was there. She’d yank that gun from his grasp and hit him with it if he tried to take anything more.

“Massa Jack,” Sally said. Her voice broke the eye contact between Emma and Jack.

He gazed in her direction, a crooked smile coming to his lips. “Sally, with a baby,” he said, the smile faltering as he glanced at Emma.

She waved the slave away and then walked to the parlor. Outside the window, dark had descended. Federal men stood on guard. Her blood boiled.

“Is that necessary?”

He leaned against the doorframe. “There’re fields full of soldiers not far from here. Fight hasn’t gone out of their blood. It’s safer if you have some practiced men handling the weapons.”

“I know how to shoot,” she stated flatly. “Billy…”

Jack was next to her now. “Billy? Frankly, I’m a bit surprised he isn’t here.”

She scoffed. “He’s off killing Yankees.”

His head cocked. “How Christian of you.”

She turned her head away, but her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. “What do you want, Jack?”

#

Silence hung between them, thick as wool. Jack felt her hostility rising—hate and fear mixed.

Where was her father? Where was Caroline? Hiding? And a baby. Emma had a baby. His gut twisted. Thinking of her being held by another man ripped through him, his mind going black at the thought. Yet he had no right to feel that way. He was married to another.

Something was amiss. He swallowed the knot of apprehension in his throat. She looked too thin to have had a baby that young. In fact, her dress, a simple frock of faded calico, hung from her frame. She didn’t have the cage crinoline on, and from what he could tell, not many petticoats, as the skirt lay flat over her hips and buttocks. He glanced at her left hand and saw the narrow silver metal on her ring finger, what looked like a wedding band. He wasn’t totally sure as she noticed his gaze and hid her hand in the folds of her apron.

“Emma, Emma, why is Nathan crying? Oh, Jack,” John Henry started, as he walked into the entry way from the library. The worried look evaporated from his eyes and he smiled. “Jack, what do you think of your son?”

Jack’s brows furrowed. His son?

“Daddy, please,” Emma said, sweeping past Jack to take her father’s arm. “Why don’t you go back and lay down.” As she turned her father, she looked over her shoulder at Jack, shaking her head tightly.

“Not until you tell me why the boy is so upset. I heard him crying.”

“He’s just hungry. Sally’s feeding him now.” She prodded him along.

Jack stood still, trying to figure things out. John Henry had aged considerably since he’d seen him only a year ago. The man’s hair was tousled, as if he hadn’t combed it in days. His chin was whiskered from lack of shaving, his shirt slightly askew. And he had appeared in only his shirtsleeves, a rare occurrence for the master of the house. What had happened to him? Had he seen a scar on the man’s temple? Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t thrown Jack out. His animosity could not have ended so soon, especially if Caroline had told him that Jack had virtually abandoned her, threatening divorce.

Where was Caroline?

He started for the stairs as Emma came back, her face drawn. He reached out and took her hands, pulling her close to him.

“Emma, your father…” he started, his arms wrapped around her. Just to hold her again, to comfort her, and she seemed to relax, but it didn’t last. He felt the sharp line of her shoulders stiffen under his embrace. He didn’t recall her feeling so thin before. His hand traced up her neck, his fingers weaving into her tightly wound bun, and he held the back of her head to look into her eyes.

“What has happened? Was your father injured? Who did you marry?” His mouth twisted as he asked, “Where is Caroline?”

Her eyes reflected a myriad of emotions. Her bitter laugh surprised him as she broke away.

“So she lied to me. Not for the first time, but how pathetic.” Her eyes blazed. “Nathan is your son.”

#

Jack was stunned. It was the effect she wanted, had strived for and yet, it brought her no satisfaction. She longed to be in his arms again, to be embraced in his warmth. Her gaze rolled down his body and back to his face. He had become lean, and when he held her, his chest, shoulders and arms were hard, the line of muscles rippling with his movements. Those green eyes remained the same, vibrant above high cheekbones, a straight nose and a sharp jawline. His jaw twitched as minutes passed and the news settled.

He’d hate her before she was through, although she had pined for him when he left her. God still hated her. He’d make Jack desert her–again.

Her gut clenched. Those thoughts were evil. What about her husband?

“Where is my wife?” The words were hard and cold. What else had she expected?

She swallowed hard, fearful of his reaction. “She’s dead, Jack, died in the birthing bed.”

He blinked. Color faded from his face. Puzzlement crossed his eyes. “She wasn’t carrying when I sent her home.”

Emma nodded slowly.

His expression turned cold. She felt chilled by it.

“That is not my child.”

Memories of Caroline’s last few hours, rocking in labor pains, came back to Emma. Her sister’s plea to tell Jack the babe was his echoed in her ears. What had Caroline done to make her fear that her husband would deny being a father?

“Jack, she swore…”

He laughed and walked away. “Emma, after all this time, you believed her?” He snorted. “You don’t understand. There is no way that child is mine. None.”

“Of all the people to say that,” she said, her nerves bristling. “She was your wife.”

He faced her, anger etched into his face. “Yes, she was. And I know perfectly well what she was.”

Tilly snuck up next to her, tugging at her arm. “Miss Emma.”

Emma stared at his snarling face, not understanding. He had betrayed her to be with beautiful Caroline. He had married her. How could he deny his own child? It wouldn’t take long for him to figure out he was Nathan’s father, just by counting back the months. Granted, she hadn’t told him when the child was born, but his disbelief made her withhold that information.

How dare he deny Nathan? She’d give anything to have had him herself. Her heart wept. Not for Caroline but for the babe whose father denied him. With utter disgust, she turned and followed Tilly.

#

Jack steamed at the idea. Caroline swore the child was his. Of course, otherwise, the babe would be considered a bastard. Jack had been foolish for tolerating that woman, knowing she entertained men while he was at war. He had no doubt she had continued after he moved out. He spat in disgust, marring the wood floor, but he didn’t care.

Staring at nothing, he gradually felt the slave’s presence. Sally was shaking her head at him. He snorted. She could berate him all she wanted. It was strange. He never really grew accustomed to being married, and now, he didn’t know how to act as a widower. A thought came to him that he was free, but a crushing feeling hit him. Emma wasn’t free. Who had she married?

“Massa Jack.”

He gave up ignoring the slave. “What?”

The plump woman waddled up to him, still holding the babe. He sucked on the cloth over her shoulder. Jack shook his head. There was no resemblance in that child to him. Couldn’t be his…but a thought struggled for acknowledgement. They had consummated their marriage fully. His eyes closed tight.
No, no…

The rustling of Sally’s skirt and apron stopped, and he opened his eyes. She was standing in front of him. “I know Miss Caroline, helped raise her as well as Miss Emma and Massa Charles,” the woman’s soft voice said. She adjusted her hold on the infant. “But, I’s believe Miss Caroline. This here child is yours.”

“Sally…”

“Now, I know she done you wrong with Miss Emma. Cain’t help that now. But don’t you be takin’ out on Miss Emma any troubles you had. That poor chile was bad then and has more than enough on her plate now witout you yellin’ at her.” She kissed the babe’s head and glanced at Jack with a smile. “He looks jus’ like you.”

He gritted his teeth but did look. The babe had a fuzz of light brown hair on his head, and his eyes were sky blue. Hell, Jack didn’t have a clue what he himself looked like as a babe, and his brother was too close to his age to remember. He shook his head.

“I don’t see any resemblance.”

She chuckled. “Of course, you be looking the wrong way. But I see you in him. Don’t you be worrying none about his eyes. All white babes be born with blue. I’m bettin’ they’ll change right directly.”

Jack was about to argue the point when he heard the roar of cannon in the distance. It was faint but distinct. He swallowed. The War. They had to leave.

“Sally, despite how I feel, I have to go.”

She nodded. He started toward the door when she spoke. “Ya know, Massa Jack, Miss Emma shed plenty a tear over you. Used to scream something fierce at night in her sleep after you took Miss Caroline. I ‘spect she’ll be screamin’ again now you done return.”

“But I haven’t returned,” he countered. “I just had to make sure she, I mean all of you, were all right.”