She was both pleased with the prospect of visiting Aunt Mandy and disappointed her father was so readily willing she leave. Pushing off the desk, she went to him. “Thank you, Papa.” She grabbed his arm for leverage and stretched to deposit a kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to see what Silva has for supper.”
Before she reached the door, she remembered. “Papa, Captain Blaine is going to make inquiries into finding what happened to Will.”
“Captain Blaine?” His eyes furrowed as if he’d forgotten who Captain Blaine was. “I made inquiries all the way to General Grant’s office.”
“I don’t trust General Grant’s office. Captain Blaine was at Chickamauga. He has connections, but he needs all the information you may have gathered. Where is it?”
“Everything is in a vellum folder in the bottom left drawer of my desk.”
She glanced over her shoulder to the desk. “I’ll get it for him after supper tonight.”
“Gillian, I hope you don’t get your hopes up. I’ve had mine dashed too many times.”
Her chin jutted out in a gesture of defiance he’d recognize. “I know the odds are against finding anything, but I won’t rest until every stone is unturned.”
She started to turn and be on her way, but something in Papa’s eyes stopped her. Not sadness at the loss of his son. Not hope that he’d be found. Something akin to fear. Holding onto the doorknob behind her, she dared to voice her growing suspicions. “Papa, why were you anxious for Captain Blaine to move in here?”
That look of apprehension disappeared as he smiled. “I wasn’t anxious. I have rooms to rent and the captain was new in town. Officers don’t cause trouble and generally keep to themselves.”
His explanation was reasonable, but for some reason, maybe from what Miss Maybelle and Miss Lydee had said, Gillian suspected Papa looked upon the captain as a measure of protection. But from what?
She was making a muddle of things and tried to get at it another way. “I noticed you spend every morning receiving those men, I suppose on business.”
“You suppose correctly. I told you I give advice. I help those men lay out plans for finding sharecroppers. It’s not easy, Gilly. The planters still want to treat freedmen like slaves, and they look upon white sharecroppers as lazy drunkards. On the other hand, neither the freedmen nor the white farmers trust the planters, and not without cause. People have joined into groups, hating and distrusting others. My job is to break down those walls of animosity.”
“If anyone can, I know you will.”
Her words satisfied him. His smile took years off his features.
But she wasn’t satisfied. He was dealing with some sort of trouble he hoped to keep from her. Maybe when she went to Atlanta, Aunt Mandy could shed some light on what that trouble was.
Chapter 7
This will be your room.” Alex opened the door and let Cal precede him into the former governess’s room.
Cal set his carpetbag on the bed. “It’s better than we had in Savannah.”
“More spacious, but not as secure. I’ve asked Mr. Carey to install locks on both doors. We don’t want anyone snooping around in here.”
“You think he’d snoop?”
“I’m not going to take the chance.” Alex nodded to the communicating door separating Cal’s bedroom from his. “Come on in here.”
He went to the small secretary standing against the wall and sat in the ladder-back chair. After extracting a small key from his coat inside pocket, he unlocked the leather case resting on the desk. Finding what he sought, he took a folded paper from the bottom and handed it to Cal. “Tomorrow you’re to contact these soldiers and give them their orders.”
Cal unfolded the paper and after a glance, slipped it into his pocket. “Their orders are?”
“The men are spies. They’re good at disguising themselves as Southerners. They’ll move into shanty town as drifters, blend in and offer themselves as day laborers on the area farms, but especially those on Lynwood Plantation. The particulars of what we’re looking for are on that paper. The spies should report back to you day to day on vandalism—or anything of interest. At this point we don’t know where the trouble is coming from.”
Cal rubbed his neck as he looked around the room. “I hope the unrest can be put down. It’s beginning to affect investors. My uncle, the rich one, wrote to ask me if it was safe.”
Alex laughed. “I hope you keep in his good graces. That reminds me, I’m going to be leaving for Atlanta Monday and may be gone a couple of weeks. Send me your reports by courier.” He followed Cal back to his bedroom.
Cal began unpacking. “What takes you to Atlanta?”
“A woman.”
Cal swung from the bureau. “A woman? I thought you were taken with Miss Carey. Who’s the woman in Atlanta?”
“A charmer, I’ve heard. The lady’s a married gad-fly somewhere in her mid-forties.” He had enough humor left to enjoy Cal’s reaction.
“Who is she?”
“Amanda Brown.”
Cal’s brows drew together in a rigid line. “Name sounds familiar.” Understanding lit his eyes. “That’s Miss Carey’s aunt.”
“It is, and I’d appreciate it if you not mention my trip to Gillian. She might telegraph her aunt and spoil my plans.”
“What are your plans?”
“To get in Amanda Brown’s good graces. I’m going to strike a deal with her I hope she can’t refuse.” Major Turley wanted him to spy on Mrs. Brown’s activities, but a sense of honor made Alex want to deal fairly with the lady.
Alex thought Cal would prod further, but he changed the subject instead. “Why did you agree to investigate Miss Gillian’s brother? Didn’t it occur to you he might be that kid shot during the escape attempt at Chickamauga? He fit her description.”
The words sliced into Alex like the thrust of a knife. He should have known Cal hadn’t overlooked the connection between Gillian’s brother and the young Confederate killed on his watch. He dragged in a long breath. “Maybe I want to know the answer myself.” He strode to the window and looked out at the descending twilight. The street was almost deserted now.
Cal continued unpacking, and Alex had no desire to discuss his thoughts. He’d not sorted them out, but he’d have to soon.
He’d watched Adam, his twin, die in front of him. Crazed with shock and grief, he’d been put in charge of the injured, along with three captives. It had been a dreary, wet day at Chickamauga, losses great on both sides. They’d found a mountain shack in a clearing to bring the injured and dying. Only one doctor tended the wounded, stretched out as far as the tree line.
Alex had been assessing the situation when Cal and Harper brought in three rebels. With no way to get them to the prisoner of war camp, Alex would have to guard them. He’d anchor them to the wall with rope, all he had.
They were belligerent, boasting how many they’d killed.
His anger built as the three Confederates taunted. Why not let them try to escape? The sentries were stationed. He’d order them to shoot if the prisoners escaped. Three for his brother, Adam. He’d tied the obvious leader loosely and left the shack.
What happened next came in a muddle of confusion. Hiding, he waited with pistol drawn. The three Rebs came out running through the thongs of injured men, stepping on them. His sentries sprang into action. “Halt.” His yell stopped no one.
“Fire,” he ordered. The Rebs were probably too far away for the sentries to hit their target. Later, he realized he should have instructed them to fire a warning shot.
Two halted and were quickly apprehended. One fell. Alex went to the fallen Reb and turned him over. A boy, barely old enough to shave. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? If he hadn’t set them up, that boy wouldn’t have died.
He’d kept his secret buried inside him for two years until the guilt gnawed a gaping hole in his soul, and he had to seek relief. He’d even taken to drinking, but unlike other men, found no solace in the bottle. There would be no re
lief without Jesus.
Alex confessed not only to God, but to the chaplain and his commander, and they both convinced him his action was justified, considering the circumstances. Over the following years he’d come to forgive himself. But, though sin could be forgiven, it still carried consequences. Had God sent him to this place and time to make him face those consequences? To confront the young Confederate’s sister—a woman he already cared for.
He had no way of knowing the boy he’d killed was Gillian’s brother. No one knew his name, and he was buried on the North Georgia countryside as an unknown Confederate soldier.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Alex tried to remember the face he’d thought never to forget. The young rebel had bright red hair. The boy’s eyes were shut in death, so Alex didn’t know what color they might have been. He couldn’t recall a mole. But it was possible the Unknown Soldier was Gillian’s brother, Will. Alex had to know.
“Are you all right?”
Alex started at Cal’s question. How long had he been staring out the window at nothing, relieving that day? Long enough for Cal to finish unpacking. Alex read the concern in the lieutenant’s eyes. Cal had been there when Alex had had nightmares and when he’d relived Adam’s death. Over and over again.
“Just thinking.” He crossed the room when a knock sounded.
Jim stood outside, a wide grin splitting his face. “I come to put in your locks.”
“On both doors? Can they be locked from the outside?”
“Yes, sir. They’ll be the only rooms with locks, except for the bathing room, but it just has an inside latch. Nothing but the front door has locks like these.” He chuckled. “Naw sir. We never locked the front door until the war.”
“The war changed a lot.” He’d said the same thing to Gillian. Maybe one day peace would return so people wouldn’t have to worry about locked doors, but that would be a long time coming.
The crash of splintered glass halted his thoughts. Cal jerked in the direction of the noise, and Jim’s mouth hung open. “Lawd a mercy, what’s that?”
Alex chased Cal to the window where one pane was reduced to shards. He sent a searching glance up and down the street. No one was in sight.
Cal handed him the rock, three inches in diameter, flat on one side. “See anything?”
“Nothing. Come on, let’s go.” Alex grabbed his pistol and slid it into his holster. The back exit was closest, so he led the way.
***
Gillian caught up her skirt and ran out the front door. At the edge of the porch, she craned her neck for a glimpse of the busted window pane. Alex’s room. Who would have done such a thing?
She was just going down the steps when Julia came around the corner of the porch from the side garden. A man followed her.
“Gillian, Reuben has arrived.”
Didn’t they hear the noise? The calm smiles notched in their faces didn’t indicate they had.
The man hurried toward her. Before she could prevent it, he took her hand and brushed it with his moustache. “Can it be the little tomboy I remember has turned into a vision of loveliness?”
Gillian resisted the urge to snatch her hand back. “You’ve changed as well I see.” Truthfully, there was more handsomeness about Reuben as a man than she’d have believed possible. His straight blond hair was slicked back, his moustache full and neatly chiseled. But those light blue eyes were as cold as ever.
“Let’s get out of the sun.” She turned on her heel, making her way to the porch. Both Julia and Reuben halted, staring at her, doubtless expecting her to invite Reuben to sit for a chat. She deliberately sat in the middle of the swing and nudged it with her foot. “Please, have a seat.”
They took the white slatted chairs. Reuben sat on the edge, propping his elbow on his knee. “I don’t know if Julia told you, but I’m at The Cedars, getting the place ready to sell.”
“Who’s buying The Cedars?” The place had never grown more than a few bales of cotton that Gillian could remember.
“Only the north section.” That smug glint in his eyes reminded her of why she’d never liked him. “The Kennebrews have finally saved up enough for a small farm.”
“How nice for them.”
“Yes, they may come from poor white trash, but at least they’ve tried to overcome their circumstances. I expect most of the large plantations will have to sell out in small parcels. It’s impossible to get people to work.”
“So, you’ve moved to Atlanta?”
“That’s right. My business has expanded with the railroad’s growth.”
“Gilbert told me you plan to visit your aunt in Atlanta,” Julia said. “Reuben would be glad to escort you.”
“I wouldn’t want Reuben to make a special trip on my account.” Gillian turned her smile on Reuben. “When are you leaving?” She’d make sure her trip didn’t coincide with his.
“The middle of August.”
“I’ll be leaving a week from Friday.”
Julia pouted. “So soon? Your poor papa has been so looking forward to spending some time with you, and I’d like for us to get to know each other better. You can visit your aunt later in the summer.”
“Aunt Mandy has made plans. She wants Papa to visit…and you of course…to begin his campaign to return to the legislature.” Surely Papa would have discussed this with his wife.
Reuben sent a guarded glance to Julia. “It’s unlikely your father will be able to pass the loyalty oath. Nobody qualifies expect darkies and scallywags, but let’s not talk about that. A pretty girl shouldn’t concern herself with politics.”
“Reuben dear, you forget, Gillian comes from a political family.”
“That’s no reason for her to muddle her pretty head with such things. The Yankees are going to control our laws anyway. I say stay out of it.”
Gillian shot to the edge of the swing. “Papa will regain his seat in the legislature. The Yankees can’t remain in power forever.” Reuben’s patronizing annoyed her, and she’d best change the subject before she lost her temper. “Did either of you see who threw a rock and broke our window?”
Reuben and Julia looked at each other as if surprised. “I saw two lads playing in the street when I came up,” Reuben said.
“Which window?” Julia asked.
“The one in the room Captain Blaine is renting.” How could they not have heard from outside?
Reuben put his hand on the swing’s chain. “I saw a couple of officers take off out the back. I expect they’ll find the culprits.”
Gillian rose to her feet. “I think I’ll go see if Papa is aware of what happened. He was dressing for supper when the window was broken.”
The barest trace of annoyance touched Julia’s features. She shot up and put her hands on her hips. “Then it’s all settled. You’ll stay until Reuben can leave.”
“No, that’s impossible. Even if Aunt Mandy could change her plans, the French couple who accompanied me from London expects me to go with them to Atlanta and give them an introduction.”
Julia opened her mouth as if in protest, and Gillian rushed on. “I promised them and have no way to inform them otherwise.” She smiled, her hand on the door handle. “Please excuse me. I suppose you’ll be staying for supper, Reuben?”
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped inside.
Chapter 8
Alex intended to tell Gillian he’d sent out inquiries regarding her brother, but he saw nothing of her the next day. Jim told him she was out visiting acquaintances and shopping. He expected her to make an appearance at supper on Friday, but at the last minute, she’d been invited to her cousin’s house.
Disappointment hit him harder than he’d thought. He admitted he just wanted to see her, look into those beautiful blue eyes, listen to her charming accent. It had been years since a woman affected him like this, if ever. The clear thinking side of his brain told him to forget any expectations of a relationship with Gillian.
She might speak like an Englishwoman, but she was Southe
rn clear through. Regardless of her flirtatious comments, she looked upon him as an enemy, keeping her father from taking his rightful place in government and society. And if she knew he’d been responsible for her brother’s death—
Hopefully, he’d never have to confess that.
She’d be present at her dinner party on Saturday, along with Reuben Dabney. A good-looking man, the perfect Southern gentleman. Alex didn’t like him at all for reasons other than Reuben being a rival for Gillian’s attention. Dabney had that contemptuous manner that rubbed you the wrong way just by his presence.
Saturday evening, having finished work, Alex looked forward to the dinner party and giving Reuben Dabney some competition. His pulse kicked up a notch as he sped to his room to get ready. Major Turley had kept him longer than usual today.
Miss Maybelle and Miss Lydee waylaid him in the hall. “Captain, might we ask a favor?” Miss Lydee gazed up with doe brown eyes. “Sister wants to go through her baubles stored in her hope chest.”
“Now sister, we don’t want to impose on Captain Blaine. We can get my hope chest down. It has little in it, after all.”
“What my sister means, captain,” Miss Lydee laid a plump hand on his coat sleeve, “is we’ve become accustomed to getting by without masculine help.” She lifted her hand and giggled. “It’s amazing what ladies can do when they have to.”
Alex smiled. “It wouldn’t be an imposition. I’d be pleased to help. Where is your chest?”
Miss Maybelle strode to a door a little down the hall and opened it to reveal a steep stairwell. “At the top by the window, but we don’t want to trouble you.”
“Sister, what trouble can it be? The captain can hoist that chest on his strong shoulders and bring it down before we could get it to the stairs.”
“She’s right. It’ll be no trouble.” Alex gave them another smile and climbed the narrow stairs. Later tonight he’d write his mother and tell her all about the O’Grady sisters. She’d find them amusing. He wouldn’t mention Gillian—not yet anyway.
The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Page 8
