The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (19 page)

“Jack’s right,” he said dryly. “The Yankee scum will be back. They want Richmond, my dear. By taking the capital and all that, they win.” He hugged her tightly. “Rose Hill is too close to Petersburg, our railroad hub, and too close to the capital. To take them both will be the aim of those bastards. I can’t risk losing you, too.”

Her heart screamed. Tears rolled down her face. They’d talked about this once, a long time ago, when the Union Army was at their doorstep. She ran her hand through Billy’s hair. “All right, let me have Sally gather your things—”

“I’m not going,” he interrupted her.

“Of course you are.”

“No.” His answer was quiet but firm.

Emma probed his eyes, hoping for a way to reach him, but Billy wasn’t giving anything away. She turned her head toward Jack. He stood silently. She broke Billy’s hold on her and stormed over to the green-eyed rake. “You put him up to this,” she said, shaking with anger.

He looked at her and slowly shook his head.

“Damn you!” She flayed her fists at his chest. “I will not leave my husband.” Jack grabbed her wrists to stop her pummeling him.

“Emma, it’s for your own good,” he said, his voice low. “I am taking my son. I need you to help me get him to safety.”

She yanked her hands away and turned back to Billy. Her husband held his hand out again for her, and she went to him, dropping to her knees to bury her head against his chest. She heard his heart beating fast, but his heat soothed her. The clicking of boots on the hardwood floor grew faint as Jack left them alone.

“Emma, my darling Emma,” he said softly, pulling her face up toward him. He reached down and brushed her lips. “I’ve been a fool for years over you and Caroline. My own weaknesses have ruined us. And the judgment for my betrayal came from the War.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, touching his cheek with her hand.

“No, darling, you know I’m telling the truth,” he smiled sadly. “My leg is infected, the poison will kill me,” he paused when she gasped. “You’ve known I’ll never be whole again. I can’t even give you a child.”

“That’s not important,” she argued.

“Yes, it is very important. I want you to be happy. And I know I’ve never really had your heart. You gave it to Jack years ago,” he stroked her hair as she shook her head in denial. “Emma, go with Jack. He loves you. He can give you children.”

She gulped, her heart racing. What was he thinking? She wasn’t a brood mare to be bartered and traded. “No, my place is with you.”

“Emma, they’re coming. You know what those men will do. Now, they won’t hurt me, not an invalid, but you,” he shuddered. “I can’t let them hurt you, and this is the only way.”

Tears hit her hands. She hadn’t noticed till now that she was crying. She inhaled deeply but couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred, she focused on Billy’s eyes. She knew it hurt him to shove her away like this, to another man. But he wanted her to leave.

“Go with him. I’ll hold them off,” he pleaded. “Then I’ll catch up to you. I promise.”

They were the words she wanted to hear, although she didn’t believe them. She would never see him again. But his expression begged her to agree. Slowly, she nodded.

“Good,” Billy said, sounding relieved. His resigned tone bothered her, but she had no time to question him as he gently pushed her away. “Go get the babe packed. And always remember, Emma, that I love you.”

She stopped at the doorway, sobbing because his words touched a deep wound inside her. A lump in her throat made speech impossible. Swallowing hard, she nodded once, acknowledging she had heard him.

Emma was running away with Jack, the man she had loved so long ago. After all this time, she finally could be with him, encouraged by her own husband. Oh, how she had grown to hate Jack Fontaine!

The great fact which we asserted from the first is now placed
beyond reach of controversy. We said the North could never subdue the South,
and the North has now proclaimed the same conclusion
.

—The Times
(London), September 14, 1864

Chapter Eighteen

Virginia, Fall 1862

Jack rode Goliath to the back of the house. The horse pranced in reaction to his rider’s agitation and the people surrounding the buckboard. It took every bit of energy to keep his mount under rein. And none of it helped Jack’s head. Jemmy had aimed the butt of his rifle to knock out the man assaulting his mistress. As God was his witness, Jack’d never let that slave get behind him again. He grunted as he slid off the saddle and his boots hit the ground.

The few house slaves who had managed to pull the wagon around back were loading it with whatever supplies they could muster after Jack had told them to get the buckboard and not the carriage. A nicer vehicle traveling across the war-torn South would raise too many questions. It was important for him and his charges to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Sammy rounded the corner of the barn with a large unfamiliar horse. Goliath snorted loudly, throwing his nose in the air and neighing to it. Jack looped the reins over the wagon’s wheel and went to the slave.

“Where’s Miss Emma’s horse?”

“Sir, the Yankees done took ‘er,” the man replied, plodding slowly.

Jack took the large chestnut’s lead. “This one looks about twenty if not older.” He lifted a hoof. It was caked with mud and manure but was well shod. He hoped that spoke well for the entire animal. An older horse could be steadier but might lack the necessary energy for the trip and be stressed by cannon fire and troops.

“Is this horse the only one available?”

Sammy patted the white-striped muzzle. “Petey is a good boy. He’ll get you where you be takin’ Miss Emma and the baby. He ain’t nev’r left us down.”

Wonderful
. Jack closed his eyes, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. So many miles to cover with winter edging closer. The crisp autumn air and rustling leaves only added to his raging headache. What he needed to know was where the armies were.

A loud snort and dancing hooves immediately got Jack’s attention. It was Goliath. Jack spun and found John Henry almost at the horse’s head. The stallion stared wild eyed, his head up, ears alert and hooves stomping as the older man approached.

“John,” Jack began. But he stopped when he saw how the man’s soothing tone quieted the beast. Of course, the apple in his hand helped. Goliath loved apples.

John Henry turned his head and after a second, he grinned. “Jack, I knew you’d be back.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. There was something not right with John Henry. The man had had impeccable style as a rich planter but now looked slovenly. He stood there only in shirtsleeves, with no necktie, his tan trousers dirty, his salt and pepper hair long and mussed and whiskers on his face. As he petted Goliath’s neck, the horse happily munched on the apple he had given him, John Henry behaved as though it was just another lazy summer afternoon on the estate. Slaves bustled around him, loading food, blankets and trunks in the bed of the wagon. And yet, John Henry didn’t seem to notice or care.

Sally stepped out the back door with a jacket in her arms.

“Massa John,” she said as she stepped behind him, opening the jacket.

“Why thank you, Sally,” he said, sticking his arms into the coat. “Has Sammy gotten those tools fixed?”

“Yessir, he’s done that last week,” she answered warmly.

“Good, good. Go tell Caroline her husband’s here.”

Jack flinched. Sally glanced at him before she answered. “Yessir.”

She walked up to Jack, her voice lowered. “Massa John done been injured. His mind ain’t workin’ right.” She shrugged and walked back into the house.

Tilly emerged, carrying Nathan. The baby, wrapped in swaddling, was awake, his eyes roving and him responding to all the sights and sounds. Jack watched, fascinated. He hadn’t expected a baby would move him so. He held out his arms without realizing it, and the slave slipped the child into them. Nathan’s green eyes locked onto his, and he felt a pull at his heart. The little body shifted and Jack adjusted his grip, mesmerized. That was, until the babe opened his little mouth and wailed loudly.

“Let me take him.”

Jack heard her voice and turned. Emma. Dressed in a chintz dress, a crinoline underneath, a bonnet on her head and a shawl around her shoulders, she looked beautiful. She had swept her hair up, leaving a few tendrils hanging about her face and neck. He couldn’t move.

She took the child from his arms and began to hum in Nathan’s ear, rocking slightly. The child quieted.

The two most important people in his life stood within feet of him. His responsibility was to get them out of there. Suddenly, his necktie seemed to tighten around his throat, suffocating him. He tugged at his neckline.

She was his. He should feel elated. Her husband had given her to him. His stomach twisted. But this was all wrong.

“Massa Jack, Massa Jack!” Jemmy yelled, skidding to a halt before him.

“Slow down, boy,” Jack said with a chuckle. The boy panted, gulping huge amounts of air as his body shook. “What did you see?”

“Riders, sur,” the slave sputtered. “Comin’ this way fast. On the lane from the rails, sur.”

Jack looked up and beyond the boy. They needed to get out of there fast. “Go tell your master what you told me. Go, boy.”

Emma stood next to him. He turned to her. “We need to leave now.”

“Daddy, Tilly,” she called.

John Henry already sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon. Tilly leapt into the wagon bed, taking the baby from Emma’s hands. Jack helped her up to the seat.

“Can he drive?” Jack lowered his voice so John Henry wouldn’t hear him.

She nodded. “He has his moments when he’s fine. Driving is easy. He hasn’t yet forgotten how to do that.”

He wasn’t sure whether that was good or not, but he nodded and went to Goliath. With his foot in the stirrup, he swung into the saddle, adjusting his weight as the animal sidestepped.

“Let’s go.” He led them from behind the house and through the fields.

Jack hoped Billy could hold off the Yankee soldiers long enough to get Emma and the others away in time. His nerves tingled with anxiety. He had two women, a baby and another man who apparently wasn’t right in the head. It was going to be a long trip.

#

Billy sat on the veranda, the Enfield rifle in his right hand. He watched the wagon and rider head out from the backside of the house toward the vacant fields. They were exposed and that vexed him with Wilcox’s patrol heading his way, but Jack’s was the shorter route southwest, and it avoided the road vigilantes would take.

He swallowed the knot in his throat as he watched Emma leave. His heart hurt, worse than he thought it would. How could he stand to lose her? He had loved her since he was a boy, and, as a man, he’d helped her through the tears she’d shed after Caroline stole Jack from her. But ultimately, Billy had betrayed Emma. When Caroline returned carrying that bastard’s child, it tore him apart. It ate at him so much that he finally told Emma he had loved Caroline, too. His confession had hurt her even more than Jack had. He saw it in her eyes every day.

He grabbed the cup next to him and drank, feeling the whiskey burn his throat and belly. The fire momentarily took his mind off the stabbing pain in his leg. He’d kept it a secret from Emma, but he could smell the rotting flesh now and knew she would have insisted he return to the surgeon. Fortunately, though, God had shown him how to redeem himself with her, and he had seized the opportunity. He had given her a chance at happiness with the man she truly loved.

And he planned to stop Wilcox and the others from pursuing them. He hoped, in the melee, he’d be put out of his misery forever. But before being killed, he needed to make sure Emma and the others had enough time to get away from the posse headed in his direction.

Art Wilcox and his mangy men turned toward the house. Billy knew Wilcox well enough—trash through and through, unfit for any sort of military service. Billy himself had denied Wilcox’s enlistment in the Charles City militia. Wilcox could barely read, and his brother, also in the patrol, could hardly speak the English language let alone read or write it. The other three were barely old enough to shoot a gun with any effect. While the Confederacy might take them for fighting, Billy hoped it wouldn’t come to that. However, they made excellent targets from his seat on the second-story porch.

Billy lifted the cup again and felt the cool porcelain against his lips. His thinking was a bit muddled because of the combination of laudanum and alcohol. As Wilcox brought his horse to a stop and dismounted, Billy’s mind cleared and hatred flowed fast through his veins. He downed the rest of the contents, set the cup aside and raised the rifle to his lap, his fingers playing against the hammer and percussion cap.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he called, his voice from above catching them by surprise. “To what do I owe this unexpected and unwanted visit?”

Wilcox looked up at him, moving the brim of his hat back to see, and lowered his revolver.

“Good day, Billy,” the man responded with insincere politeness. “We’re lookin’ for a traitor to the cause, the man who shot one of my men. Shot him dead in yer own barn.”

Billy was silent. The pain in his leg was deadening, along with his ability to think quickly. The last sip of John Henry’s finest was working, and he wanted to enjoy the moment free of agony. It wouldn’t hurt Wilcox to wait.

“That bastard of yours was here. Tried to rape my wife. He deserved to die,” he stated coldly.

Wilcox’s men raised and aimed their arms at him. Billy smiled when he heard them cock the rifles. Wilcox himself stood there, his head cocked to the side, and he shook his head and laughed.

“Phil could be a bit forthright with the ladies, but he ain’t ever got a complaint from them.”

Billy’s anger threatened to overtake him, but he fought it. It wasn’t time yet. Billy feared Jack hadn’t made it far enough away. “Ladies of the night will take money, even from trash like you and your men, without complaining about the stink you leave behind.”

Offended, Wilcox took a step forward, revolver in hand. “So, you be hidin’ this killin’ son-of-a-bitch, huh, Bealke? God knows, my men knew t’wasn’t you who went into that there barn, gun raisin’.”

Billy put his hand under the muzzle of the weapon and his fingers on the trigger, ready to strike. “Get off my land, you bastard. I don’t have anything here for you.”

Wilcox let out an evil laugh. “No, you ain’t, ya’ damn cripple. Maybe while we’re here, I’ll go enjoy the missus. Bettin’ she be missin’ a man inside her.”

Temper now out of control, Billy raised his rifle, cocked and aimed. “You bastard. Go to hell!”

Wilcox’s grin turned into a snarl as he aimed his revolver at Billy. “Afta you…”

Simultaneously, six guns exploded.

#

The wagon moved slowly. No one said a word. Even the baby had settled in Tilly’s arms, asleep. They could no longer see the house or its outbuildings, which he secretly was grateful for. He led them just southwest of the property, close to the James River. He needed to get them far away from Rose Hill. Silently, he prayed that God would grant him enough distance before all hell broke loose, especially before it got any more personal for Emma.

The air was still. It was peaceful, quiet, surrounded only by nature, yet fear gripped the travelers he led, threatening to explode.

Behind them, gunfire sounded. Jack recognized the faint short pops readily enough. Back at the house. He turned in the saddle to gauge the distance they’d covered and to check on Emma. Goliath snorted, his hind legs sidestepping as he picked up on the danger.

Emma reached over and pulled the reins from her father’s hands, yanking them back, trying to halt Petey. The stallion balked. John Henry took back the tack, uttering “Whoa.”

“Emma,” Jack said loudly, guiding Goliath toward the wagon. But he was too late. Despite her skirt, petticoats and crinoline, she leapt from the buckboard to the ground.

“Billy!” she cried, picking up her skirts with both hands and running back to Rose Hill.

Another round of gunfire roared through the air. She screamed and ran faster. Jack fully understood why Billy had made sure they all left. He knew the man’s pain was killing him and that Billy wanted to make this sacrifice to save Emma. But if she returned, it would be bad for her. Even if the patrol had left, she’d find Billy dead. That thought and fear for her safety drove Jack to urge Goliath into a gallop, quickly covering the short distance she had traveled. He could see her breathing hard, her face red from exertion. Her tight corset reduced her air intake and her ability to move fast.

“Emma!” He pulled the reins and jumped off the horse. Within two steps, he had her in his arms.