Smolder on a Slow Burn

by Lynda J. Cox

  “You could have picked someone else.” A.J. shook his head. “That was an honor I would have preferred not to have, thank you.”

  “No, I couldn’t. I picked you for that assignment for another reason, too. How many deaths did you prevent because those men looked up to you and would follow your orders? How many died from crossing the dead line after you got there?”

  Jed…but the boy hadn’t crossed the dead line. “None,” A.J. grudgingly admitted.

  “How many men died from being sent to a sweat box for some infraction, real or imagined, after you got there?”

  “None.”

  “How many of those men stopped turning on one another for a scrap of food after you got there?”

  A.J. let out a long breath. “All of them.”

  “How much did morale improve and how long before esprit de corps was fostered again in those men after you got there?”

  The imagined infractions, the unjust punishments, the sheer brutality aimed at A.J. had brought about that esprit de corps. He saw that within a week of being sent to Infernum. No matter what happened, his men never broke formation, giving the Federal guards another excuse for brutality toward them. Men who were lost in a prison had purpose again, even if it was only thwarting Oakten’s deliberate cruelty. When the blows had rained down on his head and shoulders as he knelt in the mud, Oakten trying to break him, his men had not moved. The Federal guards had shifted uncomfortably more than once, but his men had been statues.

  When he had enlisted, taken an oath to defend the Confederacy, to repel those the South saw as invaders and defend the Southern states from what they perceived to be the tyranny of the North, he knew he was committing his life to that cause. He knew well that he was pledging his honor, his fortune, and very possibly his life to that defense.

  “We were the enemy, Harrison. What did any of that matter to the Union?”

  “It mattered, A.J., because a lot of us saw you damn Rebs as our brothers, our friends, and our countrymen, not our enemies. It mattered because by that time, it was apparent that inevitably the Union was going to win that war and the only way to rebuild a shattered and broken country was to make sure there was a very clear face to the enemy for the Southern troops.”

  “What did it truly matter if there was a clear face of Northern tyranny? We already had Lincoln. And then Sherman and Butler.”

  “None of the men in those camps would have been able to let the war go and get on with their lives if there wasn’t a clear face to the enemy, someone other than Lincoln or Sherman or Butler. In many of the prison camps in the North, we put men in charge who had shown a clear and wide streak of cruelty and evil and put a second in command that was the exact opposite in an attempt to keep the commander slightly in check. For the men at Infernum that very clear face was Oakten.” Taylor took a deep breath. “In your case, that clear face belonged to me. It was not a sacrifice I made willingly, but like you, I took an oath. I swore to save the Union. And, after the war, the Union would need those men to go home and help rebuild and heal our country.”

  A.J. was silent for a long time, staring at a spot on the floor.

  Taylor finally broke the silence. “And, speaking of sacrifices, unless you want both my head and yours served up on a silver platter to appease my wife’s wrath, we need to get mounted up and ride to the ranch or we’re going to be late for Rachel’s dinner party.”

  A.J. lifted his head. “I really hate being cold.” It was a total non sequitur and he knew it.

  “I’ll go get that coat.”

  ****

  “We’re about the same size. If you’re comfortable in denims and a flannel shirt, I’m fine with it. But, if you’d like to change into a dress, you’re welcome to anything in my closet.”

  Allison couldn’t stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Rachel grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t criticizing what you’re wearing. I usually wear denims and flannel, much to Harrison’s disappointment, but as I keep telling him it’s hard as all get out to work a ranch in a skirt.”

  Allison shook her head. “That’s not it.” She looked around the large, warm kitchen of Rachel’s home. “My sister and I always used to talk about sharing clothes, but we couldn’t. She was so tiny even though we were twins.”

  “Were?”

  “She was murdered and I’ve been blamed for it.” Allison wiped the tears from her face but they would not stop falling.

  Rachel enveloped her in a smothering hug. “I am so sorry. I’m also certain Harrison and that man of yours will figure something out. And, if they don’t, I know we can.”

  Rachel broke the hug and took Allison’s hand into hers. “You and A.J. haven’t been married long, have you?”

  Rachel’s ability to change from one subject to another left Allison speechless for a moment. She took a long, deep breath, debating what to tell her and settled for the truth. “We’re not really married. He proposed to me five days ago and we promised ourselves to one another, but we haven’t been before a justice of the peace or a minister.”

  “Or a priest. Harrison’s told me some things about A.J. He’s Roman Catholic.”

  “I’m not Catholic.” Allison stared at the floor. “I don’t know much about the Catholic Church but I do know he can’t marry me if I’m not Catholic.”

  “That’s hog wash. He can marry you. Just because the Church won’t let you say your vows in a church doesn’t mean you can’t be married. Harrison and I have never had our vows blessed by the Church and we’re both Roman Catholic. I defy anyone to claim we aren’t married.”

  Allison drew a deep breath. “My sister was always the pretty one at the balls and parties. I was always called the smart one.” She looked at Rachel. “I don’t want to stop being smart, but just once, I’d like to feel pretty.”

  “All right, then. Let’s get you into something guaranteed to knock him completely off his feet.” She pulled Allison through the kitchen, through a hallway into a wide open foyer. Allison glanced at the floor, stunned. Intricate, multi-hued pieces of wood had been laid out in a massive starburst pattern. Rachel didn’t stop in the foyer, but continued up one side of a double, arcing staircase. At last, she pushed open a door to a room in the middle of the second floor.

  The sun had already set into the embrace of the dark mountains in the west, the last of its dying rays spiking into an azure sky now fading into cobalt. The view from the large bay windows was breath-taking.

  Rachel gestured out the window. “My favorite view in the whole world…well, almost. I like the view when I open the door to my son and daughter’s rooms, also, when I check on them at night.” She flung open the closet doors and Allison could only stare.

  Silks, velvets, and taffetas in every hue of the rainbow spilled from the closet.

  “You’ll find that we come up with just about any excuse to host parties out here.” Rachel looked over her shoulder at Allison and began to smile. “I have the perfect dress. Do you trust me?”

  “I suppose so.” Allison was certain that to say she wasn’t sure or that she didn’t trust her was not the best course of action.

  As if she read her mind, Rachel began to laugh. “I promise I will not put you in anything that would be embarrassing or that will not look stunning on you. Trust me.”

  Before Rachel could pull a dress from the closet, her husband shouted from somewhere downstairs, “Rachel, I’m home and not late, this time.”

  She chuckled and sent a conspiratorial wink at Allison. “Sometimes, a little threat is all it takes to get them to show up on time for supper. Wait here. I want to talk to Harrison for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  Allison gravitated to the closet in Rachel’s absence. She had never in her life seen so many dresses, and in such rich fabrics. If she had not seen this house or the closet stuffed full of clothing, she never would have imagined the Taylors had this kind of money. Neither of them acted like the moneyed families she had grown up around—who believed the
y were a sort of royalty—or the new money families that had poured into Georgia after the war, new money that bought what was left of anything good and decent and beautiful of the old South.

  After several moments she heard Rachel’s light tread scampering up the steps.

  Almost an hour later, Rachel stepped back from Allison. “There. Look in the mirror and tell me what you think.”

  Allison stepped over to the cheval mirror in the corner of the room. Little Kyla, not even two years old, sat on her mother’s massive bed, clapping and continually stating, “Pretty.”

  The breath left Allison in a gasp. She didn’t know the woman in the mirror’s reflection. Rachel had pulled her long, walnut hair into a loose chignon and fastened it with tortoise shell combs inset with sparkling pieces of what Allison hoped were glass and not real gems. If those were real and she lost one… Spilling from the chignon were several tendrils of hair Rachel had curled with a round heating iron. Those wisps framed her face and floated against her neck. A simple silver chain graced Allison’s throat, holding another piece of what she prayed to be faceted glass. The silver chain was so fine the glass appeared to float in the hollow of her throat.

  But the dress was the crowning glory to all Rachel did for Allison. Made of a green silk so dark that it was almost black until the sheen of the material caught the light, the neckline plunged to just below the V of her breasts. The bodice clung to her skin as if the dress had been tailored to fit and the skirt flowed gently away from her body. Black lace peeked out from the silk at her wrists and had been inset into the skirt so it appeared she wore an overskirt.

  Allison had the overwhelming desire to turn a quick pirouette in front of the mirror. If only Alice could see her now. She wasn’t a mule in horse’s harness tonight. For the first time in her life, she understood why so many girls and even women enjoyed donning their finest for a dinner party or a ball. This time, there was someone she wanted to dress for.

  There was a rustle of fabric behind her and Allison didn’t turn, granting Rachel privacy to change her dress.

  “Let’s go down now and see what those men of ours have been up to. They seemed to have reached a truce when I went down earlier.”

  Allison smiled. “I wonder whether the Union or the Confederacy petitioned for the truce.”

  Rachel scooped up Kyla. “All I have to say is if Harrison doesn’t have Joshua in his dinner attire, he will be petitioning me for peace.”

  “Joshua?”

  “Our son…well, my son...no, our son. Harrison adopted him right after we were married.” Rachel led the way from the bedroom. “He’s a good boy, but he spends entirely too much time with the hands in the bunk house. I finally understand the frustration my father felt with me.”

  She led the way down the stairs to a set of closed pocket doors. Rachel pulled them open and Allison’s first sight into the room revealed a massive fieldstone fireplace with a roaring fire blazing on the hearth. Dressed in full formal dinner attire, Harrison stood next to the sideboard, pouring a light brown liquid into a short, squat crystal glass. A second glass, half full, was on the sideboard. Two winged, high-backed chairs were near the fire, situated so that anyone sitting in them would be invisible from the doorway.

  Harrison looked up and slowly set the decanter down. “Sweet Mother of God.”

  From a winged back chair at the fire, A.J. bolted to his feet with Harrison’s oath and came around the chair to a few feet in front of the fireplace. Allison stared at him, speechless. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who wore a similar size as one of the Taylors. Dressed in a formal dinner jacket complete with long tails, a silk jacquard vest, and black trousers, complete with a perfectly knotted white silk bow tie, A.J. looked impossibly broad shouldered, narrow hipped, and long legged. Conspicuously absent was the holster on his thigh she had become so accustomed to.

  A grin grew on her face. “Apparently, peace is declared between the North and South.”

  Harrison nudged Joshua, who sat on a settee next to the side board. “You always stand when a lady comes into the room, Josh.”

  With a sigh, the boy stood. “It’s just Momma. But, that other lady sure is pretty.”

  “Yes, she is,” A.J. murmured and closed the distance to Allison. Harrison held a drink out to him as he walked by. Allison fought down a chuckle when A.J. didn’t even see the offered drink.

  A loud knock at the front door broke the spell in the room. Rachel set down Kyla, who promptly ran to her father, to be scooped up into his arms. The child laughed and hugged him around his neck. Allison smiled when she saw Harrison practically melting in his daughter’s embrace.

  Rachel held her hand out to Joshua. “Will you come with me, young man, and help greet our guests and take their coats and hang them up?”

  Joshua’s brow knit with confusion. “Guests? You said it was just…”

  Rachel cut him off. “Yes, I know who I said was coming. But, I would like your help welcoming them.”

  Another sigh sounded from Joshua, this one speaking of long-suffering. “Can I just go back to the bunk house? Ben and Luke are teaching me to play poker. I don’t like these grown up parties.”

  “Absolutely not,” Harrison announced. “And, I’m going to have a word with Ben in the morning about teaching an eight year old to play poker.”

  Allison took the hand A.J. offered and he pulled her into him for a hug. He tilted her face up to him and placed a light, brushing kiss against her forehead. “You’re beautiful, Alli.”

  She smoothed her hand over his chest, for the first time since she had met him unable to speak.

  Voices sounded from the foyer. “Got your message, Rachel. Ben almost had to catch us at the road to turn us around to change. Why formal wear for tonight’s dinner party?”

  Allison couldn’t hear Rachel’s reply. A.J.’s hand tightened on hers and she felt him shift his weight, as if he was having difficulty standing. She looked over her shoulder to see what had affected him. Rachel had returned to the parlor, three people in her wake. The young man of perhaps twenty or twenty-five holding hands with a young woman could have been A.J.’s twin, save for the obvious difference in age.

  “Drake.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.

  He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.

  ~Psalms 126: 5-6

  A.J. spoke the name before Rachel made the introductions.

  The young man nodded at A.J. and Allison. “Yes, sir. I’m Drake, but I’m afraid I’m at a complete disadvantage. I don’t believe I know you.”

  Allison was startled by how much alike the two sounded. The only real difference was Drake didn’t have that slight southern Kentucky drawl and inflection to his voice. Rachel stepped into the middle of the room. “A.J. and Allison Adams, I would like you to meet Royce Majors, his daughter Jessica—everyone calls her Jessie—and her fiancé, Drake Adams.” She pulled Kyla from Harrison’s arms, set her on the floor, and instructed Joshua, “Take your sister to the kitchen and tell Cookie to get you two your supper and then take Kyla to your room and please play quietly.”

  “She only wants to play dolls,” Joshua complained.

  Drake laughed. “I understand how you feel, Joshua. When we were younger, that’s all Jessie wanted to do, too.”

  “You live with the Majors?” A.J. asked in a neutral tone after Joshua left the room with his little sister’s hand in his. He slipped his arm around Allison’s waist, pulling her more closely into his side.

  “Yes, Mr. Adams. Royce is my step-father. I don’t remember my parents at all.”

  Majors lifted a brow. “Damn interesting coincidence, same last name and looking enough alike to be father and son.”

  “Brothers,” A.J. corrected. “There’s almost eighteen years difference between us. He was six, the last time I saw him.”

  Drake’s brow furrowe
d exactly as A.J.’s did when he was deep in thought and puzzling something through. Jessie moved a little closer to Drake, in a gesture Allison recognized as protective. Majors also seemed to sense a need to protect the younger man as he positioned himself partially between A.J. and Drake and demanded, “Harrison, pour me a drink. I have the feeling I’m going to need one shortly.”

  “Already have one here.” He pushed the drink A.J. had ignored out to Majors.

  A.J. hadn’t moved but Allison felt his arm tighten on her waist. The whole room throbbed with tension.

  “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Adams,” Majors said, glaring at A.J., “if Drake is your brother, why it is you never bothered to look for him and how he ended up where we found him in the middle of Indian Territory with a tinker—”

  “Named Darby.”

  Majors’ expression tightened when A.J. cut him off.

  “When I found Darby, he claimed he hadn’t seen Drake for six months and the boy had wandered off into the wilds.”

  Majors’ hand tightened on the crystal. “Drake didn’t wander off. Darby sent him out every night to steal from passing wagons. We caught him in our wagon. When it became apparent Darby was abusing the boy, we took him with us. Of course, had you started looking sooner for your brother, as you claim Drake is, you might have found him before Darby got him.”

  “That’s a bit problematic,” Harrison interjected, finally leaving the sideboard and sinking into the large, overstuffed leather couch. Rachel moved to stand behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “A.J. couldn’t start looking for Drake sooner,” he added, “as he was in a prisoner of war camp until July of sixty-five and it took him almost another year to walk home from upstate New York.”