The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3)

by Elaine Manders

  “No. I’ll have to confess and repent first.”

  Her serious tone surprised him. “Guess that’d be the way to do it. The next time you go to church, maybe you should take your confession to the altar.”

  She shook her head, knocking down a coil of hair over her ear. “No, I have to confess to those I’ve lied to first. Purity and Aunt Mandy. Didn’t Jesus say if you’d done wrong to your brother, you should go make things right with him first, then go to the altar?”

  “That’s what the Bible says, all right. Let’s just hope no one else besides Purity and your aunt know what you did. It could cause quite a scandal.” And dressing up like a boy wasn’t even the half of it. Running off with him would ruin her from Atlanta to Macon. Hopefully, she could get back without anyone knowing what she did. “You want to confess to me why you did this?”

  “I want to talk to that man who was with Will.”

  “I told you I’d question him.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you might not know the right questions. And I brought a photograph of Will.”

  Alex didn’t look forward to confronting Jubal McElroy with Gillian beside him. What if the man recognized him? That wasn’t likely. Alex had worn a beard back then, and he didn’t have much interaction with the prisoners. And it had been more than a few years. He was probably worrying for nothing.

  Anyway, whether the man recognized him or not, if he identified Gillian’s brother as the young Confederate who was shot, he’d have to do some confessing of his own. To her. And she was right about the order of confession. He’d taken it to the Lord, but he had to make it right with her, too.

  ***

  Gillian wondered if the town, if one could call it that, could boast a name. A sawmill anchored three ramshackle, wooden buildings. It couldn’t be dangerous, though. The paddlewheel powering the mill on the edge of a rushing hillside stream presented a peaceful, picturesque sight.

  A couple of older, overall-clad men sat on the porch of the stoutest building, their straight backed chairs leaning against the wall on two legs.

  Alex rode straight to the porch and dismounted. Gillian felt better staying in the saddle. “Howdy,” Alex said, and she cringed at his attempt to sound countrified.

  One of the men spit a stream of tobacco juice a good twelve feet off the side of the porch. She suspected he had a lifetime of practice. “Howdy. What brings you folks to Cedar Gap?”

  Cedar—that was the smell coming from the sawmill.

  “I’m looking for a fellow by the name of Jubal McElroy? He might know something about a young fellow missing from the war.”

  “Yep, Recon I know Jubal real good. He married my youngest gal. First farm down the road here.” He pointed a bony finger. “Just around the bend. He’s out weeding the garden patch. Can’t miss him.”

  Alex got back in the saddle and tipped his hat. “Much obliged.”

  Before they’d gotten their horses to a good trot, the trail bent to the right and sure enough a farm house sat off the road. The man yielding a hoe in a small garden to the side must be Jubal McElroy.

  Alex pulled back on the reins. “I guess this is it.”

  He didn’t expect an answer, but Gillian nodded as she turned her horse into the yard where a flock of chickens scattered out of the way. Their squawking jerked the man around. He dropped his hoe and made tracks toward them. Alex dismounted and, this time, Gillian followed suit.

  While Alex introduced himself and stated his business, she fetched the photograph out of her saddlebag.

  “Yeah, I remember Chickamauga,” McElroy said. “Took prisoner there and didn’t see any more action.”

  Alex glanced at Gillian. “That’s what I’d heard. During your time at the prison camp, there was an escape attempt that ended badly. A young soldier was shot and killed. Is that right?”

  McElroy’s eyes narrowed as if he just now wondered why Alex was dredging up old wounds. “That’s right—nothing but a kid.”

  “What was his name?” Gillian asked.

  The man’s glare bored into her, and she dipped her head.

  “Carrot—that’s what we called him. He had hair a little brighter than yours, young fellow. You related?”

  “Could be.” Alex answered for her. “This is Gil Carey. His brother, William, never returned from the war and is still missing. The records at the war department couldn’t identify the young soldier who died in the Chickamauga escape.”

  Gillian produced the photograph. “Is this the soldier who was shot?”

  McElroy pinched the edge of the picture with dirty fingers and held it up at arm’s length from his eyes like he was nearsighted.

  His head nodded in quick jerks. “Yeah, that’s him all right. Lil Carrot. Yanks shot him in cold blood.” He handed the photograph back to Gillian. “Sorry about your brother.”

  “But you didn’t know his name or where he was from?”

  “Never heard him called by anything but Carrot. He didn’t talk much. Just scared, I thought.”

  “He never told you how he fought a wildcat bare-fisted, and came off without a scratch?”

  “Nope, guess I’d’ve remembered a whopper like that.”

  Loud squealing pulled all of them to look for its source. Around the corner of the house several pigs ran in a panic.

  “Excuse me. Hogs got out again.” McElroy trotted to the porch and came back waving a broom over his head, running to get in front of the stampede. “Suwee. Suwee.”

  Alex tried to hem them in on the other side.

  Gillian backed up to give the pigs wide clearance when they turned around. Grunts sounded from behind, and she swung around just in time to see a large hog plow right into her. She yelped, thrashing the air with both hands as her backside hit the ground.

  The hog dashed after her babies, and Alex and McElroy gave up the chase to come to her aid. She searched for her hat, not that it would have done any good. Her hair had fallen around her shoulders.

  “What’s going on here?” McElroy backed away like she was a rattlesnake. He barreled to the porch, exchanging the broom for a shotgun and came back before Alex had helped Gillian to her feet.

  “You’re a female.” It must have taken half of McElroy’s brains to come to that conclusion.

  “Are you hurt, Gillian?” Alex asked.

  She flexed her injured shoulder. It didn’t seem any worse. She shook her head, making the last pins loosen their grip.

  “What’s going on here?” McElroy repeated. Louder. Nastier.

  “This is Gillian Carey, William Carey’s sister. She wanted to hear what happened at Chickamauga for herself, and she thought dressing like a boy would protect her reputation.” Alex chuckled, probably hoping the man would see the humor in their situation.

  McElroy’s moustache drooped as he leaned forward, squinting. “Well, she thought wrong.” He shifted a menacing glare to Alex. “I recollect who you are. You’re that Yank who took us prisoner. Put us in shackles and fed us slop. You ordered us to be fired on.” He pointed the gun at Alex’s chest. “I shore if I ever met up with you again, I’d get even somehow.”

  Alex’s features remained passive, and Gillian admired his control. “You’re right, Mr. McElroy, it was me. The way I treated you was wrong and not the way I was raised. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  McElroy raised his shotgun. “I’ll forgive you all right—as soon as you pay for what you did.”

  Gillian jumped in front of him. “My father will make sure you hang from the top of one of these cedar trees if you hurt him.”

  McElroy acted like he might back off, but as soon as he sidestepped Gillian, he swung his shotgun around and poked it in Alex’s back. “You ain’t got no right to say anything, missy. You ain’t married to this Yank, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you been traipsing around the countryside with him. If you’re that much of a Yankee lover, I think you ort to marry him. And it h
appens the people in this town go to the holiness church what don’t put up with gallivanting.”

  Was he crazy? Gillian couldn’t get the words together to form a retort strong enough.

  “Hey, Tillie, get out here,” McElroy bellowed.

  Tillie turned out to be a tall, hulking woman, several inches taller than McElroy, and wearing a calico dress covered with a blood splattered apron. “What’cha want? I’m killing chickens for supper.”

  “Can you make this hussy look like a woman?”

  Tillie leveled a mean stare straight at Gillian. “What’s she doing dressed up like a man?”

  “It’s shameful enough she’s wearing men’s clothing, but looks like she and this here Yank are guilty of lewd behavior, too.”

  “Lewd!” Gillian slapped her fists on her hips, ready to tear into the man, and she would have if he didn’t have a gun in Alex’s back. “Alex, are you going to let him say that about me?”

  “Gillian, just humor them so we can get out of here.”

  “Come on with me, gal,” Tillie grabbed Gillian by her sore arm and pulled her along with the strength of a lumberjack.

  Gillian yelped and decided to give Tillie all the slack she needed.

  Chapter 17

  McElroy jabbed the gun between Alex’s shoulder blades hard enough to make him stumble. “Come on. You and me’s going to the church. You ain’t leaving until you marry that little gal.”

  “Is that how you intend to get even with me?”

  “Since I can’t rightly shoot you dead, yeah.” McElroy poked him again, clearly enjoying himself. “But I will put holes in you just this side of killing, if you don’t cooperate. People around here will demand you make things right with that little gal. We have two or three shotgun weddings every year, and the preacher happens to be in town. Tillie’ll bring your bride on as soon as she’s decent.”

  Alex followed the path at a casual gait. Let McElroy have his fun. His way of getting even didn’t bother Alex. He still held to the belief things happened for a reason, and though he’d never envisioned his wedding to be at gunpoint, the woman he was marrying would be his choice in any setting. If only she wanted him for her groom.

  The little church was hidden in the woods. Alex didn’t know how word spread, but before Gillian arrived, the twenty or so congregants were in place. The fire and brimstone preacher let loose with a sermon that lifted the rafters and had everyone whooping and wailing.

  Jubal McElroy sat in back of Alex, shotgun resting on his knee. Alex didn’t believe he’d shoot him dead, but even if the man injured him or anyone else, it would cause trouble he didn’t want the army involved in.

  When Gillian joined his side, he leaned down to whisper. “Just go along with them for now. No wedding conducted under duress can be legal. We need to get out of here without any trouble. Agreed?”

  She nodded, and he squeezed her ice-cold hand. Whatever Tillie had put her through had her scared to death. Despite the ugly, faded shift she wore and her hair tangled around her shoulders, she made a beautiful bride.

  Her eyes sparked anger, and her chin jutted out in defiance. He couldn’t blame her. She must have dreamed of her wedding day for years. To have that dream turn into a nightmare would make any woman livid.

  After the ordeal ended, the crowd scattered, including Jubal and Tillie. The preacher grinned, mighty pleased with himself, with no understanding he’d just ruined their lives. He shook their hands and handed Gillian their certificate of marriage.

  Alex grabbed Gillian by her uninjured arm and hastened toward the exit, hoping they could find their horses easily. Twilight had fallen, and they’d have to camp, but they’d do so outside of this crazy town.

  An elderly man stood holding the reins of their horses, and a little old lady rushed toward them, a smile stretching the wrinkles across her cheeks. “What a lovely couple you make. I’m Gladys.” She nodded to the man. “And that’s my husband, Melvin. You won’t find a place to board around here, but Melvin and I would like to invite you to supper and a room for the night. We live a little ways from here, but if you just follow us.”

  “We don’t want to put you folks out.” Alex met Gillian’s eyes.

  “I am hungry,” she said.

  He’d have thought she’d want to get out of this place as fast as he did, but now she mentioned it, hunger pains clenched his stomach. All they had in the saddle bag was jerky.

  The lady’s smile widened. “It’s all settled. I have fried chicken and biscuits waiting, and the best tater salad you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, that’s very kind of you. I can pay you for our meal and room.”

  “We wouldn’t think of it. Just consider it a wedding present—and maybe a way to make up to you for the way you’ve been treated.”

  Gladys hustled toward her wagon. Melvin said not a word, but his toothless grin voiced his silent approval. He relinquished the horses to Alex and Gillian and got up beside his wife on the wagon.

  Gillian nudged her mount to follow. “I don’t know about you, but Gladys and Melvin just improved my opinion of this place by about a thousand percent.”

  Alex laughed. “I guess it goes to show you, you can’t judge a town by some of the people.”

  Or a region. Not all Southerners turned out to be the cruel ogres Northerners thought them to be, nor were all Northerners the aggressors Southerners thought them to be. He admitted it might take a long time for that to sink in.

  After Gladys’s delicious meal, he and Gillian ventured into the small room off the kitchen. It was neat as a pin, but bare of all furniture except a washstand, a cedar chest, and one small bed.

  “I’ll take the floor.” There was precious little of that, the only empty place being a three foot strip between the bed and door.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” Gillian said. “I’m the one who got you into this mess.”

  “No, I probably should sleep in the barn, but that wouldn’t look good for a new husband, I guess.” He chuckled. His attempt to lighten the situation failed.

  “Neither would sleeping on the hard floor.” Gillian opened the lid of a chest at the end of the tiny bed. She pulled out a couple of quilts. Pushing him out of the way, she made a pallet on the floor.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He lowered himself onto the pallet before she had a chance to argue. “We’d better get some sleep and leave at daybreak.”

  Gillian pulled the coverlet on the bed back and blew out the wick on the lamp, leaving them in darkness.

  Lying in the quiet darkness, Alex listened to the springs of the bed squeak in Gillian’s attempt to find a comfortable spot. He thanked the Lord for the fatigue that kept him plastered to the floor. Desire would fight with sleep tonight.

  She’d not said a word about Jubal McElroy identifying her brother as the young soldier Alex had ordered shot. Maybe the commotion of the wedding and her outrage had forced all thought of their purpose in coming here from her mind. She might remember in the still of the night and consider his role in Will’s death.

  He probably should bring up the subject first but couldn’t. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She’d either forgive him or she wouldn’t. “Good-night, Gillian.”

  “Alex, I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

  “That’s all right. What’s done is done, and nothing that can’t be undone.”

  “Did you look at that marriage certificate the preacher gave us? He’s a real preacher, you know, and at least two of the witnesses are sane.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The wedding can be annulled”

  “But won’t it cause you trouble with your commanding officer? Will it jeopardize your promotion to major?”

  He’d already given up ambitions for a promotion. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to get out at the end of this commission.”

  Springs squealed. He turned over to find her sitting straight up in bed. “When does it end?”

  “September first.”


  “That’s in four weeks.”

  “Closer to three. I’ll have to return to Macon to finish—” Finish what? Turn over the final reports to Major Turley. Speak to Mr. Carey? Win Gillian’s heart? Three weeks didn’t give much time.

  “Why did you change your mind? You were getting a post out west, remember?”

  He propped up on his elbow. “I began to change my mind when you sang Shenandoah. It reminded me of home, how much my folks need me. My pa is getting too old to run the farm by himself anyway. In his last letter, he was saying it was impossible to keep farm hands because once they’d learned what to do, they wanted to go out west to file a land claim. Guess you can’t blame them for wanting their own land.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair that your father teaches them how to farm, and they take off.”

  “There’s a lot in life that isn’t fair, but my parents are my responsibility, and I’m all they have.”

  “I know what you mean. Like I’m all Papa has now. I need to get back to Macon, too.”

  What could he say? Her father’s problems were beyond her help, but no need opening up that beehive. “Good-night, Gillian.”

  Her bed creaked again, and she began singing, softly, like a lullaby.

  “Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you. Away, you rollin’ river.

  Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you. I’m bound away, cross the wide Missouri.”

  He was sure Ma and Pa would fall in love with Gillian. He had.

  The next morning after a big breakfast of fried ham, eggs and biscuits, they said their farewells to Gladys. Melvin had gone to bring their horses around, although Alex had tried to tell him that wasn’t necessary. Neither one of this gracious old couple would take no for an answer.

  Sure enough when he and Gillian stepped out the door, Melvin stood in the yard with their horses already saddled and ready to go.

  Gladys came running out the door. She thrust a cloth drawstring bag out to Gillian. “Here’s some left-over chicken and biscuits for your journey.”

  Gillian took the bag and reached over to kiss the old lady’s wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for all your kindness.”