The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1)

by Gina Danna

  “Sir, we’ve gotta get going,” he urged as the doctor went to one of his chests.

  “What’s wrong with the boy?”

  Relief flooded through him as the man dropped the lists. Jack flicked a glance toward the closed tent flap. “Fever.”

  “I see.” Spencer opened a black satchel, rummaging through its contents and adding more to it. “How old?”

  “A babe sir,” Jack stated. The patrol passed the area he’d just come through. Two minutes tops was all they had.

  Picking up his coat, Spencer shrugged it on and grabbed his bag. “Let’s get going. I need to be back soon.”

  They edged out under the early dawn sky. Jack pulled one of the horses from the line of tethered mounts and glanced back at the surgeon who stood silently. The man didn’t look like the type of rider to go without a saddle, Jack surmised. Quickly, he saddled the horse, cursing every second that passed as their chance for making an easy departure grew smaller. With the bit in the horse’s mouth, Jack eased the bridle over its ears when he heard another weapon being cocked.

  “Whoa, soldier. Where do you think you’re going?”

  They were never going to get out of there. He swallowed the acid in his mouth as he turned. The man pointing the weapon stood before him. The doctor had vanished. Hell!

  “I do believe we got us a man thinkin’ of leaving this fine army,” the soldier said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  Jack’s gun was tucked in his waistband again, but if he went for it, the soldier could fire before Jack could free it. Fear snaked down his spine. He had been caught. He’d never get his son the aid he so desperately needed. And Emma was out there, alone, with a slave and her father. His mind worked frantically, looking for an escape.

  “Private Wilson.”

  “Yes sir.” The soldier promptly came to attention, lowering his rifle.

  The surgeon appeared, his voice commanding authority. “Soldier, we’ve heard of a family not far, needing attention. Now, what type of example will we show if we can’t help our fellow countrymen?”

  Wilson’s eyes flicked. “Sir, orders…”

  “Private, I’m countering those orders. Do not question me.” Spencer walked over to the horse, handing Jack his bag.

  “No, sir,” Wilson answered.

  Jack pulled up into the saddle behind the surgeon. As the soldier backed off, they rode out of camp.

  “And you, sir,” Spencer shot over his shoulder. “I do remember you, Captain Fontaine.”

  #

  Emma teetered near exhaustion. Worry and fear filled her as Nathan’s temperature seemed to climb and Jack had not returned. She paced within yards of the fire but not too close as the bundle in her arms had enough heat to warm them both. His crying had stopped and he remained asleep as long as she kept moving. Tilly took him sometimes and they both bathed him in tepid water, hoping it would cool him down, but Emma feared it wouldn’t help.

  Where was Jack?

  Her father was still asleep, thankfully. It took both her and Tilly to calm him down when he started yelling for her mother and Sally. The last thing Emma needed right now was for him to have one of his fits. He was getting harder and harder to deal with daily. She watched confusion settle over him, and he lashed out about common things, but she discovered if she talked of old times, before the war, peace came to him.

  Dawn was fast approaching. And still no Jack. Fear gnawed at her belly. She’d heard those drumbeats last night, faint but there. Soldiers were not far away. What if he had been caught? Killed? And the baby?

  No, she wouldn’t allow herself to think such things. She looked down at the angelic face resting in the crook of her arm. His face was still flush, his little lips pursed and quivering. God couldn’t hate her that much to take this child from her, she prayed fervently.

  It was then she heard the hooves pounding close. She fought to remain calm for fear of waking her sleeping angel. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she glanced in their direction. Jack’s dark bay stallion, his mane wild, caught her attention first. Jack was back.

  The horses flew through the fields and stopped within feet of her.

  Jack jumped from Goliath and raced to her. He leaned down and kissed her quickly as his fingers touched his son’s head. Horror filled his eyes as he looked at her.

  “He’s burning up.”

  She gave him a weak nod, her eyes blurring.

  “And what do we have here?” The other man stood before her, his big rough hand touching the child’s head.

  “Emma, this is Dr. Spencer,” Jack hastily introduced.

  She eyed the doctor’s clothes. “A Yankee doctor?”

  The older man laughed. “I’ve been a doctor for many years, dear. Doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.”

  She gave Jack a questioning glare. He shrugged. “Stole him from Buell’s army.”

  The doctor took the child from her arms before she could protest. Nathan woke with a cry of fury. The man’s soft tones calmed the babe down. He inspected his patient, and Emma heard him cooing to Nathan every so often.

  “Stole him, Jack?” she muttered, never taking her eyes off the child.

  “It was far easier than trying to find a goddamn willow tree in the dark,” came the stiff reply.

  “You’ll have the whole federal army here, Jack. What will we do then?” She threw the accusation at him and stormed off. Had to get out of his reach when all she truly wanted was to be held safely in his arms.

  “Emma,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “Please.”

  She was so tired, the fight had been drained from her. She fell into his arms and leaned into him. The smell of horse, leather and wool mingled with Jack’s deep masculine essence. It invaded her nose and she welcomed it. If she could ever just have the time to be with him, she’d happily drown herself in him.

  The doctor was in front of them, handing the child to Tilly. “Fevers like this will come and go as he grows. You two being new parents are bound to fear quickly and sometimes, that fear is good, but he’ll break it soon. Here,” he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a miniature brown glass bottle. “Willow bark. It can be bitter. Put it in some water and give it to him. It’ll help. Just a pinch, though.” He looked at Emma. “You, my dear, need to rest. You tell this husband of yours that your health is just as important as your child’s or it’ll be up to him to care for the changing and whatnot.” He winked.

  Emma felt the warmth of a blush rush up her cheeks as she nodded. The man thought Nathan hers and Jack was her husband. A dream that she wished but felt uncomfortable hearing. Apparently so did Jack as he released her immediately. Her knees nearly buckled as relief swept through her, knowing Nathan’d be all right.

  The doctor turned sternly to Jack. “I can see why you left, Captain. I don’t normally help deserters, but I see your reason. You planning on returning?”

  “But of course,” Jack promptly replied.

  He answered a little too quickly for Emma’s taste. He’d take her and his son to his parents and leave her again. But of course, why would he not? Everyone else had abandoned her. She thought she’d scream but refused to give in to the urge because she wanted to take care of Nathan.

  The doctor leaned in. “There’s a house just across the border into Tennessee. Less than two days’ ride under normal conditions. The Parkers live there. Large house. They’ve got a brood of young’uns. Go there. Tell them I sent you. Get your son well and your wife rested before you go further.”

  “Yessir,” Jack answered. “And thank you, sir.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Emma joined in.

  The doctor chuckled. “I’ll find my way back. But don’t stay here. I’ll have a report to do for General Morgan.” He got on his horse and rode away.

  They watched him go. She wanted to say something to Jack. Hoped he’d say something to her about the doctor’s assumptions but instead, he turned away from her.

  “You heard the doctor,” he said to her qu
ietly, over his shoulder. “We need to pack up and leave.”

  Her heart missed a beat. Nothing. He’d already left her.

  #

  Crossing the border wouldn’t be easy. Jack looked down the slope. Below them was the town of Stickleyville and it was swarming with bluecoats. It was early December, and cold winds whipped through the hills, freezing his breath and stifling his curses. He’d hoped to take the Virginia and East Tennessee Railroad line into Tennessee. Train passage would cut their travel time, allow Nathan and Emma to rest and give him an opportunity to settle down and think. He had come close to being arrested. Repayment of his debt to Dr. Spencer, though, had to wait until after his family was safe.

  Safe. Safe from what? Yankees? His father? Himself?

  But the scene below him made it clear that boarding a train would be impossible. Hell!

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper with the Parker’s address on it. With a last rueful glance, he reined Goliath to the left and returned to the wagon.

  John Henry wasn’t allowed to drive the buckboard now. They were too close to the federals, and his violent behavior, along with his mood changes and memory lapses, made him untrustworthy. Emma held the reins. She was so brave. His gaze drank her in. She smiled faintly at him as he approached, making his heart skip a beat.

  He reproached himself for his wayward thoughts, the better to keep from saying or doing something foolish. The War was a demanding mistress, one he couldn’t escape or ignore. He had no doubt he’d be pulled back into her wicked embrace, and he, like the rest of the soldiers, had a good chance of not surviving. He didn’t want to take Emma as his wife, only to make her a widow again. He resigned himself to the fact that he needed to get his son–and her–to the safety of his family’s home and then leave. There was no other choice. Besides, she said she hated him. He was a killer, after all.

  “We can’t take the train,” he told her. “Too many federals down there. We’ll have to ride around them.”

  Emma nodded. With a glance back at her father and Tilly, she said, “We’d better get going. Nathan’s asleep. The roll of the wagon wheels calmed him to slumber. No doubt we’ll regret it tonight, but…” she shrugged as she bit her bottom lip.

  Lust slammed into him. Oh, how wanted to soothe that lip. To roll his tongue over it, caressing her pain away. He hardened and shifted in his saddle, trying to alleviate his desire. His mouth went dry.

  A cry came from the back. She broke her gaze from him to turn, and he was thankful she had looked away. If he had stared into her eyes any longer, he’d forget about the child and simply take her away.

  “He’s teething,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?” He pushed his lustful thoughts aside. Babies. He groaned inwardly.

  “Your son’s teeth are cutting. It’s painful.”

  “What about giving him more of that medicine?”

  She scowled. “He’s not sick. Teething is normal. Wish I had a teething ring for him, though. Didn’t think to bring the one from home.” He heard her voice quiver. Home. The home she grew up in. The one her husband died in to give them the chance to live.

  Jack’s mind raced. He had to get her mind off home. He so wanted to erase the pained look in her eyes. Then a thought struck him. He couldn’t eliminate her pain yet–he’d work on that–but he had something else in mind. Reaching into his saddlebag, he felt the contents and then pulled out one of the items.

  “Here, try this,” he said, handing her a baked square of flour that felt like a stone.

  “What is this?” She turned it, testing its hardness in her fingers, her brows knitting together.

  “Army-issued hardtack,” he replied. “All soldiers receive a ration of it. It’s hard as nails and not easy eating, but it may be good for the boy to gnaw on.”

  Somewhat reluctantly, she turned and gave the hardtack to Tilly. They watched her rub it along the baby’s lips, and he stopped wailing as his mouth clamped onto a corner. They laughed.

  Jack’s gaze slid back to Emma. She nodded her gratitude. Hardtack. He snorted. He wanted to give her so much more.

  #

  “Come on,” Jack whispered softly in Emma’s ear in the morning. “If we get moving, we should be at the Parker’s by afternoon.”

  Throughout the day, the cold air nipped at her ears, but she was almost numb to it. Her father’s mind had been drifting for days. He remained mostly silent but periodically rambled about Rose Hill and the field hands or her brother, who he sometimes called Jack Charles. At times, she was Caroline to him.

  On the other hand, offering hardtack to Nathan had been a brilliant way to reduce his discomfort and give all of them some peace. Although he gnawed on it for hours at a time, it barely showed any signs of wear.

  Around them, fields and homes had been destroyed for as far as the eye could see. Jack shoved his hat further down on his head. At first, Emma thought it was to block the wind until she realized he was trying to conceal his face better. The land was crawling with federals. Their small party didn’t linger or stop, and he didn’t talk except to urge them forward.

  The skies finally opened, raining sleet on the weary travelers. The ice pellets felt like pinpricks on her face and she shuddered. Behind her, Tilly set Nathan down and hauled out the canvas flap to raise it above their heads, though because the sleet fell at a slant, the flap didn’t shield them much.

  “There,” Jack yelled above the wind, pointing down a muddied lane.

  She turned. A large two-storied house sat perched on a hill. Smoke came from the chimney. She smiled at him.

  As they drew closer, Jack glanced at her and then darted to the house. She watched him knock on the door. It had to be the Parker residence. Heavens, she was freezing, the chill reaching inside her bones. No one behind her had uttered a sound. The last time she had looked, Tilly was sitting on her father’s lap, with Nathan in her arms and a big wool blanket wrapped around them.

  Standing on the porch, Jack talked to the man who had answered his knock.

  She snapped the reins on Petey’s back and the older stallion picked up his hooves, moving at a faster pace.

  When Emma reached the house, Jack helped her from the seat just as the sleet began changing to snow.

  “Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her cheek. “Come meet the Parkers.”

  His greeting startled her. The endearment and kiss were unexpected, but the look in his eyes silently bid her to play along. After she took Nathan from Tilly, Jack slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the porch.

  “Mrs. Fontaine, so glad you are here. Dr. Spencer is an old family friend. We’re more than happy to have you stay here and rest.” The older woman who greeted her, Mrs. Parker, led Emma by the arm. “I’m Patricia Parker. Do come inside.”

  Emma could have melted when she walked into the house. Warmth from the fireplace permeated the home. She smelled the burning wood and the stew cooking over the flames, and her stomach growled.

  Patricia chuckled. “I bet you’re hungry. And the little one?”

  Nathan gurgled as Patricia took him from Emma. “I daresay, he does look like you. What pretty green eyes. Just like your husband’s.” Emma swallowed the knot in her throat and pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, just like Jack’s.” Oh dear, he must have told them they were married. It was the only logical assumption but a lie nonetheless. And what would her father say about that? Would he play along? She strongly doubted it. These people needed to know the truth before they were deceived any further. Just as she opened her mouth, a male voice sounded over her shoulder.

  “Why yes, they’re as green as mine,” Jack replied.

  They laughed, which eased the tension, but it sounded hollow to Emma’s ears.

  “Well, we’re glad to have you,” Franklin Parker stated, carrying in a small trunk. “Here, follow me.”

  Franklin took them to the first room on the right upstairs. Setting down the trunk, he stated, “This is
your room. Your father will have the one next door. I’ll put your slave with ours. After everyone gets settled, we’ll all eat.” He left them.

  Emma glanced around the room. It was small, with only a double bed, a single table, and one set of drawers, but even that small amount of furniture made the room seem crowded. The bed loomed big before her.

  “I had to tell them we’re married,” Jack stated blandly. “They don’t have room to spread us out, nor did they think they’d have to, travelling as we are.”

  Her eyes fixated on the bed. “We, we can’t.” To sleep against him while outside, fighting the cold, fully dressed and around everyone else had been safe. There, the two of them would be alone in a bed, and that was not safe. Her stomach flipped. “I’m in mourning. I can’t do this.”

  She watched his eyes, those beautiful green eyes, turn cold. Colder than the ice outside. “There is no choice. I’d rather sleep with the horses but can’t; therefore, you’ll have to put up with me.” He threw on his jacket again, saying “In fact, I need to take care of them so we can leave tomorrow. Or you could tell them I’m a deserter and your widowed brother-in-law, not your husband, in which case, we’d have to leave tonight.”

  He stood there, glaring at her. She shook her head and with a snort, he left the room.

  She collapsed on the floor, fighting tears of frustration and anger. Why had he said that? Had he lied to the Parkers just so he could bed her? Billy’s words echoed in her head—that Jack could get her with child. Was that why Jack was escorting them to his parents’ home? Only to bed her and leave her? She wanted more than that from him, had always wanted more until Caroline had stolen Jack from her.

  Now she could have what she had always dreamed of, to be with Jack. But would she be happy after all? She raised her head and silently screamed in frustration.

  Eventual victory must be yours, as far as man can judge. But at how terrible a cost?

  Look this well in the face! That of extermination…Let the South go.”

  —Archer Gurney, Paris, France, in a May 24, 1861, letter to the editor, New York Times