by Gina Danna
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, 21st 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.
With a sigh, he bent down. “Emma, darlin’, I need to tell you something. I’ve got to leave.”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
He stood and held out his hand to her. Slowly she placed her hand in it and he helped her stand. She wasn’t trembling now, and he relaxed a bit.
“Wherever did that thought come from? I’d never hurt you, you know that.”
Her eyes watered as she shook her head. “But you did.”
He closed his eyes. “Emma, I wish I could change everything.” He ran his hand through his hair, frustration combined with lack of sleep battling for control. “Look, we need supplies. We’re not too far from Murfreesboro, I think. A day’s ride there and back. It’d be faster if I go alone. We’re pretty secluded here, if you think you can hold on.” He continued holding her hand, needing to feel its warmth. “That bird should keep you until I return.”
She gulped and he watched the motion of her throat. Her neck was long and perfect, the type that begged for kisses. He wanted to be the one to kiss it, as he wanted to do on the nights when he had curled around her to keep both of them warm. Nights when he thought she’d reject him, as would have been her right, for being so forward.
“You can’t leave me, I mean us,” she sputtered. “What if the Yankees come? What if…”
“Emma,” he interrupted. “There’s movement around here. I think it’s the Federals. Maybe Rebs. I’m not sure, but I’d rather know who it is before continuing with you and my son.” He brought her closer. “Please don’t fight me on this. I promise I’ll be back.” He gave her a lopsided grin and tried to lighten his voice. “It’ll be my Christmas present to you.”
#
With a deep breath, she allowed herself to relax into him. He was rock solid, a contoured wall of strength. Heat radiated from him, warming her, and desire unfurled deep within her. When he lightly caressed her cheek on his last words, she dreamed about what she really wanted for Christmas.
He was leaving them to get them food, to find where the armies were, to protect them. War still reigned in the land. Despite his promise to return, he might not.
It was almost too bold to think of, and even harder to say, but it might be the only chance she ever got. “I want that and more for Christmas,” she whispered.
His brows furrowed.
There, she had said it. She rolled her bottom lip under her teeth, fearing his rejection again.
“Oh, Emma,” he replied, “you don’t want…”
She placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him. “Yes, I do.”
His eyes flickered before turning dark, and his arms momentarily tensed. Her mouth felt dry and she couldn’t breathe. He devoured her with his gaze. She wetted her lips as nerves began to overtake her. He would reject her again, she was sure, whether it was because he had preferred her sister or for some other reason.
He growled, interrupting her thoughts as h
is lips claimed hers. She gasped in surprise, and he took her reaction as an invitation to plunder her mouth. He tightened his embrace. She encircled his neck and met his lips with a force of her own. He ran a hand down her back, heat from it penetrating her clothing as it continued over her hip and buttocks, cupping her against his arousal.
She shivered with delight. He wanted her. The unexpected joy of it caused her to sigh deeply as he kissed her neck, nipping as he went. His other hand sank into her hair, which she’d hastily arranged that morning, and pulled out the pins holding it up. Her long tresses fell loose and cascaded down her back, like a waterfall caressing his skin.
She moaned aloud. Inside, she burned with desire, want and need pooling in her lower stomach.
“Oh, my love,” he rasped, taking her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugging it. His tongue skittered down her neck again to her collar. With a groan, he began unclasping the pin at the top of her bodice. He undid the buttons with the expertise of a man who was familiar with the design of ladies clothing. When his hand slipped into the opening, it burned against her skin despite the cold air threatening to chill her.
He kissed her along the swell of her breasts, searing her with his lips, tingles branching down and through her. He pulled the ribbon at the top of her corset and opened the clasps on the busk, freeing her breasts from the boning. With a growl, he lowered her scoop-necked chemise, giving him full access to one of them. His tongued blazed a trail to her pearled tip, engulfing it and he suckled, his tongue teasing the taut bud.
Desire blossomed within her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, enjoying the feel of his silken locks. His mouth covered her other nipple, teeth lightly grazing the hard nub, making the flames within burn brighter, and she groaned.
Without releasing Emma, Jack slowly backed her against a boulder. She felt the hard cool rock behind her, but because of the fire he stoked in her, it could have been made of ice and she wouldn’t have complained. Its uneven surface cut into her back as he raised her, but she barely noticed as his lips reclaimed hers. Her hard nipples were abraded by being rubbed against his wool vest, making her tingle even more and moan louder still.
