The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (24 page)

It had the same effect on him as artillery fire. They briefly froze in place before he rolled off her. She leaped off the bed, pushing her chemise down to pad over to his son.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, lifting the squalling child into her arms.

Jack fell back onto the bed. He needed to have a talk with that boy.

Emma cooed to the baby, changed him, rocked him, giving him all the attention Jack wanted and needed. Frustrated, he washed in the water basin and dressed.

“Jack,” she said.

He sighed when he saw she’d covered herself with the blanket. So much for seeing her naked again. “Yes, my dear.”

She gave him a half smile, her cheeks reddening. “Go see if you can get us some milk, or get Tilly.”

He nodded and left the room.

When he descended the stairs, he saw the lower floor was washed in dawn’s light. The snow had stopped, which was good. He peered out the window. It didn’t look too deep. Water dripped off the overhang, so the snow was melting already. It meant a sloppy road, but at least it would be passable.

He walked to the dining room, intending to go out back and find a cow or Tilly. From the corner of his eye, he noticed someone and his step faltered. A man sat in the wing-back armchair near the table.

“Mr. Parker, sir, good morning,” Jack greeted. “You startled me. Didn’t think anyone else’d be up yet.”

The man’s face was hard and cold, so unlike last night. It made Jack’s nerves jump. Fear snaked up his spine, and he wished he had his revolver.

“Mr. Fontaine,” his voice cool. “What’s your wife’s name again? I can’t seem to recall.”

Jack squinted, feeling as though he was on an iced-over pond with the sun melting the edges.

“Emma.”

“Emma, yes, I remember now.” Franklin Parker stood. He was a good-sized man, about Jack’s height, give or take an inch. And he was holding a revolver. “Nice chat I had with your father-in-law. He kept referring to her as Caroline.”

Jack froze. His eyes narrowed as he gauged the man. Thoughts scrambling, Jack considered possible responses, none of which were especially good. His main concern was whether he could get everyone out of there alive, including himself

“Caroline was his older daughter,” he answered. His mouth was dry as he swallowed the fear knotting in his throat. “And she was my first wife.”

“And Emma?” Franklin took a step, aiming the gun at him.

“She’s my current wife.” He prayed fervently to a God who hadn’t seemed to hear him before now. He gave Franklin a tight smile. “You’ll have to forgive John Henry. He was in charge of our militia and too close to a cannon when it was fired.” Jack touched his temple and gave a nod.

Franklin’s eyes widened for a second, but he didn’t lower the gun. “Your drawl sounds N’Orleans style.”

“I grew up not far from there, about thirty miles upriver, in Avoyelles Parish.”

“So, you a coward, boy, or a traitor?” The man’s eyes were like iron, his jaw ticked.

Jack’s mouth thinned. “I’m afraid, sir, I don’t understand what you’re implyin’.”

“Most of our boys are gone from around these parts, off fightin’. Why ain’t you?”

Jack tensed. He remembered news through the ranks of one of the Union’s victories, Admiral Farragut capturing New Orleans in April, before McClellan’s ships left for Virginia. The Confederacy’s largest port was under Union occupation, but not the entire state. He could use this information to his advantage, but he wanted to know first what John Henry had blathered about besides Caroline.

“My father-in-law’s home was burned by the Yankees,” he claimed. “I’ve a wife and son to care for, so I’m taking them to my parent’s home. Need to see them safe ‘fore I can fight more.”

Franklin frowned as he considered Jack’s explanation. It was obvious he couldn’t decide whether to believe it or not.

“Seems unsafe to be travelling there. But I’m taking a leap of faith, boy, in believing you. Could be you’re a Yankee anyhow, and I don’t take kindly to being duped,” the man said, but he lowered his weapon. “Snow isn’t deep. Sun’s to shine it ‘pears. Federals are all around here, though. Our son’s already at the war. We lost one for the cause as it is. I won’t have them bluebellies on my land lookin’ for the likes of you. I want you out of here.”

Jack nodded. He went to get Tilly and took her to Emma. As the slave girl held Nathan and parted her bodice for him to drink, Jack motioned to Emma.

“We’ve got to go. Franklin says there’re federals all around here. It’s not safe for us.”

Color drained from her face. “I’ll get us packed.”

“I’ll ready the wagon. Make sure your father is up and dressed.” He turned to leave, but she touched his arm. The embers of what almost happened earlier stirred his blood, and it took all his strength to dampen them.

“Jack, about…”

“Emma.” He knew what she was going to say, and he couldn’t bring himself to listen. He wasn’t good enough for her. He never had been, truth be told. And he couldn’t offer her his name so it was just as well they’d been interrupted. He needed to stay away from her. “Sorry about this morning. I won’t let it happen again.”

He left the room quickly, not wanting to see the relief in her face, and vowed to stay far away from her. His heart, held only by a fragile thread, broke.

Then write to my mother and father that I tried to do my duty.

—16 year-old Private James Sullivan, Company K, 21
st
Massachusetts,
after a surgeon told his sergeant, “He can’t last five minutes.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tennessee, December 1862

Emma stood there, her mouth drawn. Her insides twisted and shattered after what Jack said. He had denied wanting her. Tears blurred her vision. She had given him her heart only to have him break it—again. Last time, she had hidden her pain and married Billy. Memories of that time had yet to fade–her relationship with her husband had been tarnished by his love for Caroline and hers for Jack. But now, considering Jack was a widower and she a widow, and that Nathan needed a mother, Emma thought she and Jack would marry, whether he wanted her not. But apparently, Jack didn’t share that vision.

Vaguely, she heard Tilly humming to Nathan, and her pain came to a sudden halt. She had no time to wallow over the wound in her heart. Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, she rubbed her eyes and swallowed hard. Her charge needed her. With her shoulders straight and her head high, she opened the small trunk to dig out a clean dress for the babe.

“Finish up and get him dressed,” she ordered Tilly. She bit her tongue and looked at the slave. Nathan was at Tilly’s shoulder, and she patted his back to make him burp as she sashayed to the bed. She grabbed the dress, never looking at Emma.

Furious at herself, at Jack, at the world, Emma quickly left the room to get her father ready. She really had no one to blame but herself for allowing Jack to do what he did. She had behaved like a slattern.

But the self-accusation did not make her feel any better. In fact, it made her angry, on the verge of actually cussing–how unbecoming that would be. Even now, she could hear her mother scolding her for even thinking about doing it.

“Daddy, it’s time for us to move on,” she stated, walking into his room as if it was another day at Rose Hill.

He gasped as she threw the curtain back from the lone window and the sun poured into the room, reflecting brightly off the snow.

“Dear girl, it can’t be that late,” he protested, struggling to sit.

“No, it’s early but federals are on the move. The Parkers want us out as we won’t be safe here.” She threw his clothes onto the bed.

“Did you get Caroline and the babe up?”

She rolled her eyes as she put his belongings into the satchel. “Yes, Daddy. Tilly’s fixin’ to get Nathan dressed as we speak.”

“Good, good,” he mumbled, moving his legs off the bed.

“Five minutes, daddy, five minutes. Don’t be takin’ any longer, you hear me?” She didn’t wait for him to answer and left the room.

Tilly had Nathan ready and the trunk packed by the time she returned. Franklin took the piece down the stairs and they followed him. John Henry was last, lugging his satchel. Though dressed, he still looked lost. Emma sighed. He looked lost most days now.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” Patricia said softly as they followed her husband out the door and into the crisp December morning. She patted Emma’s arm. Her sympathy made Emma bite her lip as tears threatened again. She was being exiled with the man who wanted nothing to do with her except to act as a mother–for the time being–to his son. And her reward? Nothing.

“I understand,” she murmured and gave the worried woman a weak smile.

Patricia nodded. An unspoken thought passed between them, men interfering where there was no reason for it. “I packed a barrel of flour, some salt and sugar along with a side of pork,” she added. “There’re also a couple of loaves of bread and an apple pie in there as well.” She glanced quickly at her husband. “It’s Franklin’s favorite. Thinkin’ it’s the least we can do, considerin’.”

Emma swallowed. “Thank you.”

The woman shoved a bag into her hands. “These are some clothes for your son. They’re from our boys and long outgrown. Nathan’s growin’ fast. And there are a few items for him to play with. You take care of that babe.”

Emma nodded. The tears rimming her eyes would fall, and she refused to look Patricia in the face. Instead, she took her father’s hand and climbed aboard the wagon. She was the last to settle.

Jack nudged Goliath on, and they left that cold December morning heading west.

The next couple of days rolled along without incident. Driving the wagon had become taxing, and Emma’s strength was always drained by the end of the day. Despite the long hours and continuous motion of the horses plodding and the wheels turning, they never seemed to make it far. Jack rode ahead, scouting the area for signs of either Union or Confederate troops and ways to avoid them.

Emma watched her father slip further away mentally. He stared into the campfire each night, at times with a grieved expression, otherwise his face was blank. He called her Caroline sometimes and referred to Jack as Charles or Billy. Tilly remained Tilly and Nathan–the child was lost on him at times.

Emma thought of Charles. She hadn’t heard from her brother in months. Where was he? Was he alive? Had he written only to have his letter undelivered? Between her father’s condition and her brother’s absence, she became fearful. But her responsibilities had grown too much for her to succumb to the fear.

Soon, nighttime came earlier and darker, and silence fell upon the group. Nathan’s gibberish was about the only sound from any of them. Emma was too exhausted even for talk.

Jack didn’t sit with them for long. He spent the majority of his time with the horses or scouring the perimeter of their camp. He rarely glanced at Emma, and when she caught him looking her way, his pained expression nearly undid her. Regret was what she saw and it filled her with remorse.

Although Indian summer-like weather came much later than usual, it dispelled the nighttime chill. And Jack’s embrace was gone as well.

#

Jack rode ahead of the wagon, angry with himself and circumstances beyond his control. On that bleak December morning, he stopped Goliath and considered another possible path through the Cumberland Mountains. He’d led the wagon around Knoxville after glimpsing a rebel army in the area, but he didn’t know whether they were totally clear of the threat. Mentally, he cursed. They’d need supplies before long. What the Parkers had provided might sustain them through the next three days, but maybe not. His son was eating grain faster than Jack could have imagined. But he noticed Emma rarely ate, which also concerned him.

At supper, he sat by himself. Madness threatened to engulf him when he looked at her. He wanted her, craved her, needed her and yet, denied himself. He felt unworthy of her attentions. Oh, he knew she’d give her body to him, but what of her heart? He’d ruined that possibility when he married Caroline. Anger washed through him at the thought of his deceased wife. She had manipulated most situations in her favor and he’d become one of her victims. And, because of that, he had lost the woman he loved.

At the Parkers’, he had wanted to reclaim Emma, finally make her his. But it wouldn’t have been right. Although he didn’t deserve her love after what had happened with Caroline, his seed might offer some redemption. He had already fathered a child, something Emma desperately wanted. And her dying husband’s request was that Jack give her one. Trying to save his son and the woman he loved while war raged around them was dangerous enough. To father another child now would be madness–and another responsibility he didn’t want.

So, as night fell, he guarded the camp and got little sleep as usual. It was the price he had to pay for being a traitor and a deserter, both as a soldier and as a man.

In the morning, a light wind blew, skirting across the field. It was cool, a prelude to colder weather ahead. They had to clear the mountains and get more supplies before winter arrived in full force. Jack pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck and rode on.

#

“There.” Jack pointed to a nook in the mountainside. “The mountain will shelter us from the wind tonight.”

Without a word, her mouth grim, Emma pulled on the reins to turn the wagon. Evergreens flanked the opening, helping to break the wind and conceal them as well. When the horse stopped, she dropped the reins and breathed a sigh of relief.

She gathered her skirts and leaped off the seat. The days of gentlemen assisting her onto or off a wagon seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Here, hand him to me.” She opened her arms to take Nathan from Tilly. “Come here, mister,” she teased him and he giggled in return. She smiled. He was the joy of her otherwise dismal life, and she needed that small pleasure before making dinner.

“I’ll go get us something to eat,” Jack announced, walking away, rifle in hand.

John Henry began to follow him.

“Daddy,” she called him. He didn’t stop. With a deep sigh, she tried again. Nothing. “John Henry Silvers.”

He slowed.

“I need firewood, daddy.”

He nodded and turned toward the trees.

She prayed he wouldn’t go far nor forget what he was about. She sat the baby on the blanket Tilly had laid out and got his bag of toys.

The slave started a small fire with the kindling she had stacked and waited for her master to return. Before long, he brought her wood, and together they built a reasonably good fire for cooking. Emma sat a pot on it and heated water, removing some of it for a mash for Nathan as Tilly undid her bodice. She lifted the baby and settled with him in her lap as he suckled from her nipple.

Emma watched, her envy growing every time she did. Inside, she ached, wanting to feed her own child, but Jack never even came close to her now. It was a sin, she was sure, to bear a child out of wedlock, but as time passed, she fought her yearning daily. Jack swore he wouldn’t touch her again, and she feared he’d keep his word. Her tears had dried after that rejection, but the pain lingered, deep and hard.

She refocused and found the young Negress staring at her before Emma bent her head, biting her lower lip. Heavens, did her pain show? From the look on Tilly’s face, it did.

Jack returned, his kill hanging from a rope.

“My o’ my, whatever did you kill?” she asked. Of all the things to say. Her ladylike behavior had almost completely deserted her.

He grinned. It was the first one of those she’d seen in days. He had dimples when he smiled like that. Her heart skipped a beat. He was devilishly handsome, his face rugged, whiskered and still tan from the summer. Oh, why didn’t he want her?

Standing before her, Jack dropped the turkey. Her eyes widened. It was huge.

“I’ll pluck him and cut him up.” Jack pulled the knife out of the sheath tied to his leg. “He’ll cook faster in small amounts.”

“Jack,” she said. He waited. “We’re running low on supplies.”

He nodded.

Supper had been simple. Turkey and biscuits. Jack had told them to sleep while he finished cooking the rest of the bird. Nathan fell deeply asleep, and John Henry and Tilly did so not long after. Emma, though, couldn’t fall asleep, her thoughts too at odds to allow her to rest.

“Are you cold?”

His deep voice caught her off guard. Emotions wrestled within her. She envied her father having someone to keep him warm on such a chilly night. She grabbed the extra quilt the Parkers had given them and reached to take the babe from Tilly’s arms when Jack grasped her arm.

“Emma,” he said softly. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Was it? She had no calendar, no invitations to festive galas, nothing to note the time other than dark, dreary and cold days.

“Emma, please,” he begged, pulling her close. “Come with me.”

“Jack,” she shook her head. She’d refused to let him get close again.

“I need a word with you, and I don’t want to wake them.”

She clamped her eyes shut. Why was she so weak around him? His touch, what she’d been craving, burned her through her clothing. Why was he doing this? After an eternity of ignoring her, what could he possibly have to say now? Could he break her heart anymore?

But she followed him as he led her away from the others, closer to the trees.

Away from everyone else.

#

After they were far enough away in Emma’s mind, she wouldn’t continue. He turned to find her wide eyed and her face pale.

With more of a jerk than he intended, Jack drew her into his arms. When she finally realized it, she fought him, thrashing at his chest.

“Let me go!”

“Emma, keep…”

“Get your hands off me!”

He released her but held onto her fingertips. “Emma, please. This is important.”

“You going to kill me now?” Her voice was frantic, and he felt her tremble.

“What?”
Oh dear Lord!
“Emma, for God’s sake, please, no. I would never harm you.”

He let go of her fingertips, and she fell to the ground in fear.