by Gina Danna
“Emma…”
“No one’d take him. He’s too old, not quick enough for your line of work.” She reached over and pulled up his right suspender. Nodding toward the left side, she said, “Best be leavin’ that one down for a while.”
He snorted as he sank into a chair. “Yes.”
“Daddy and Tilly found this shack deserted. Needed to get you out of the weather anyway.”
“How long?”
“Almost a month.”
Without a sound, he repeated the words to himself. With a groan, he rested his left arm on the table. The pain had dulled during the time he’d spent in bed, but he wasn’t ready to use the arm much.
“We gotta go,” he mumbled, rising to his feet.
“Here,” she said, throwing the pillow at his left side. He reached to catch it, but pain shot through to his shoulder. “Uh. Not yet, we ain’t leavin’ till you can use that arm better. Heavens, you’d never be able to hold Goliath now.”
As she bustled about the room, adding additional logs to the fireplace, he stared out the window. The woman had risked too much for him, and he didn’t deserve it.
#
Another week passed. It was the middle of February now, and they still waited for Jack’s arm to recover. Each new day, he felt the muscles mending and the pain lessen. At first, he moved it gently. Now, he was lifting things, starting with his shirt, a lightweight item, increasing the weight as time continued, and he convinced himself he was stronger, despite the stabbing pain. But he needed the arm to be as good as it had been, so he could ride, hold a rifle…embrace Emma and make love to her. His body needed time to heal, but his patience wore thin.
“Come here,” he called after his son as the toddler crawled away, giggling.
“Don’t encourage him,” Emma scolded him. “He’ll be harder for me to watch if you keep that up.”
“He’s a boy,” he replied smugly. “Boy’s gotta grow strong and be curious so he can fill his role in Society.” At her grunt, he smiled. The significance of his words struck him. “Role in Society” sounded like something his father would say. The door to his past threatened to open, and he mentally slammed it shut. He abruptly stood and headed for the door–stepping away from the familial setting and the responsibilities it implied.
Outside, warmer temperatures had melted the previous week’s snow, turning it to mud. But the brisk breeze made it clear that winter was far from over. He inhaled and knew conditions would deteriorate.
Tilly must have realized it as well. She and John Henry carried more wood to the shack.
“Massa Jack,” she said as they came closer, “You be lookin’ like yous be ready to ride.”
He chuckled. “Soon, Tilly, soon.”
She smiled shyly at him, but Emma’s father scowled. John Henry seemed more himself. His memory lapses hadn’t gotten any worse, and he wasn’t as quiet as he had been. But one thing had changed—he detested Jack. Waking up to find the old man pointing a gun at him wasn’t exactly new to Jack. He’d done the same when he found Jack in bed with Caroline. Now, though, Jack figured John Henry saw him as a traitor to the South. Or perhaps, the cause of Caroline’s death. It didn’t matter. Emma and Tilly kept John Henry occupied with chores and Nathan, leaving him little time to spend around Jack.
One thing they did was keep the guns away from Emma’s father. Given his obvious dislike of Jack, he couldn’t be trusted, not to mention they had no ammunition to spare. All Jack had were ten rounds for his and Emma’s rifles. The Le Mat was fully loaded except for one cartridge. He didn’t want to know how the first cartridge had been used.
Jack picked up a grimy rock with his left hand and threw it. The motion unleashed a fury of pain in his shoulder although the rock fell only eight feet away. Rubbing his wounded flesh, Jack worried. They needed to go and soon, before the ground thawed and fighting resumed.
#
Emma was near her wit’s end after spending more than a month in the little shack, with Jack and yet, without him. She wanted to scream.
The long ride back to the camp after Jack’s injury had nearly finished both of them. At first, she rode behind him and tried to keep him from falling, but he was too tall and weighed too much for her. Eventually, she strapped him into the saddle and walked on the right side so she could drop back and support him if he slid. Frustrated and exhausted as she was by the effort, his moaning and groaning tore at her soul.
Fear of exposing Jack to the elements had also heightened Emma’s anxiety, and she was greatly relieved when they reached camp and her father, in a lucid moment, told her about the abandoned shack. It took a full day to clean out the shack, but it proved to be a lifesaver when winter hit hard in the Tennessee Valley.
Emma stayed with Jack night and day, cleaning his wound with melted snow, which took the place of rainwater, or “sweet” water as the surgeons called it. The wound oozed pus and though Judd had told her pus was good and showed the wound was mending, Tilly adamantly claimed it didn’t. They also used a combination of boiling water and the rest of the whiskey Judd had reluctantly given to Emma to clean the wound, but Jack put up a fierce fight because of the pain. Yet she had to take care of her man as well as she could, however much he fought her.
Of course, Jack wasn’t hers. If he belonged to anyone, it was the Union Army. And she had stolen him from them. If caught, he could pay with his life, for he’d surely be tried as a deserter. Jack had deserted his post to get her and Nathan out of Virginia, and then she took him to save his life from those butchers they called surgeons. She saw what they had done to Billy and refused to lose Jack too.
Although she’d kept Jack’s wound clean, he developed a fever. Emma wiped his face, trying to cool him. He shivered so badly that she’d covered him with most of the few blankets they had, but then he acted as though he was drowning. The only thing left to comfort him was her body. It had worked. He had relaxed when she slid into the bed with him, trying to cover Jack without touching his inflamed torso and arm. But she had hardly slept.
Emma’s father was livid because of what she’d done. After Jack’s fever broke and she found her father pointing the gun at him again, she realized she’d gone too far.
Now, she avoided Jack but continued to worry about his wound. Her heart twisted when he didn’t seem to want her, but she realized he was in too much pain for physical desire. And when her menses came, it reminded her again that she was still barren.
Emma loved Jack. She wanted him. She had assumed the role of mother to his son. The ties between her and Jack were there. To survive, they had pretended more than once to be married. Much as she loved Nathan and knew he needed her, she desperately wanted Jack to give her a child of her own.
“Ouch,” Emma cried when the needle jammed into her finger as her vision blurred. She sucked on the tiny wound, fighting to stop the tears from falling.
“Miss Emma, the light be fadin’,” Tilly softly said. “Cain’t see to be fixin’ that piece, donna think?”
Emma bit her bottom lip and nodded. She could finish repairing the tear in Jack’s shirt the next day and put it down. Tilly wasn’t a bad girl, not at all, despite how much Caroline had complained about her. The slave’s help with Nathan and her father had been invaluable.
She looked at Tilly as she hummed, swaying her hips, rocking Nathan who suckled at her breast. Envy pricked at Emma, but she ignored it.
Tilly burped Nathan and put him in the open chest drawer that served as his bed.
“Good nigh’, missy.” Tilly climbed into the bed with Emma’s father, whose snoring she briefly interrupted.
Emma nodded and turned. The only other bed was Jack’s. She could barely make herself go there. Every night, she waited for Jack to fall asleep before climbing in and turning away from him, even though she didn’t want to.
She went into the other room. The flames were low and would be nothing but embers by morning. When sharing Jack’s warmth, Emma could sleep. Quietly, she removed her dre
ss and corset to slide in behind him. A sob escaped her before she could stop it.
He turned toward her. “Emma,” he whispered, caressing her cheek with his hand.
She couldn’t move. He must have been dreaming. Had to be. He was using his left hand.
Jack’s emerald eyes stared at her. They grew darker as the moments passed. He brushed her lips with his, then pressed harder. She closed her eyes. If it was a dream, she was the one dreaming.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, pushing at them for access. How could she deny what she so badly wanted? Her lips parted and he invaded her mouth, searching, exploring, his tongue dancing with hers. He hummed in her mouth and she relaxed.
Jack held her in his bare arms, and, under the cover, his skin rubbed against her petticoat. His hand skimmed down her neck to her chest. He cradled her breast in the palm, pinching the nipple with his fingers. She groaned in his mouth, arching her back toward him and felt his smile against her lips.
He grasped her petticoat and pulled it up. She shrugged, and he freed her of it. “Oh, Emma,” he sighed as his lips traced down her neck to her breast. His tongue swirled around her pearled nub. Lips engulfing it, he suckled, his teeth grazing the nub before he nipped it. She inhaled sharply as her excitement grew. He laved the tender nub with his tongue and nipped it again.
Desire pooled between Emma’s legs as his hardened arousal pressed against her stomach. Her split pantalets became damp.
Jack laid her on her back and lifted himself above her, his hips between her thighs.
“Your arm…”
“Is fine,” he murmured against her stomach before kissing it. His tongue dipped into her navel and then went to the waist of her undergarment. Jack glanced up at her, a wicked gleam in his eye as his hands reached around to her back, releasing the button. Rocking back on his knees, he pulled the pantalets off and tossed them onto the floor. Her stockings went next.
Jack looked at Emma with a lazy smile, his gaze roving over her nude body.
She bit her lip, embarrassed, but it didn’t last long. On his knees before her, he was like a Greek statue, muscles defined and sculpted. And his member was thick, hardened with arousal.
Lowering himself between Emma’s legs, Jack kissed the inside of her thigh, and she nearly leapt off the bed. He chuckled as his left hand splayed over her stomach, holding her down. He kissed her other thigh on the inside. The apex of her thighs turned to liquid, her lower lips heavy. Jack kissed them and she shivered at the feel. When his tongue slipped between them, her hips lowered instinctively. Slowly, he licked, up to the nub at the top and back again. Then he suckled her mound until her hips swayed. Finally his tongue delved deep inside her core.
It was the most intense feeling she had experienced since he had been inside her. Her excitement grew as Jack inserted a finger, then two. They slid in and out as he suckled again. Emma gasped for breath. Her mouth went dry. Her hips rose and spread. When he fingered her again, she felt the sky explode into a million pieces. Wave after wave washed through her, intensifying as his mouth replaced his fingers and he lapped at her. Slowly Jack brought Emma back down, but she still panted uncontrollably beneath him.
He rose up, smiling deviously.
“You are wicked,” she managed to gasp.
He grinned as he kissed her lips and slid his hardness into her soaking sheath.
She gasped again as he lifted his head to look at her. Eyes locked on hers, he withdrew and plunged back in. She clung to him, her hips meeting his thrusts. She reached to kiss him but he shook his head.
“I want to see your eyes when you climax,” he whispered.
She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Every time he entered her, she felt him nudging at her womb. She wanted him to go even deeper. She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting and withdrawing in rhythm with him. Her body hummed, the pressure building again. She saw Jack clench his jaw, his eyes narrow and darken, his lips thin as he plunged faster and faster.
Emma writhed beneath him as the stars exploded again. She groaned and felt Jack thrust harder, lifting her hips as a strangled moan escaped him and his seed filled her. Then he collapsed onto her. Sated, Emma felt a wave of happiness settle over her, the heat of their lovemaking and his body protecting her from the cool air.
The click of a gun’s hammer jerked them back to the real world.
“Get off her, you son of a bitch.”
We have been grossly cheated by the North and I would rather that every soul of us would be exterminated than we should be allied to her again.
—South Carolina Secessionist T.H. Spann, Letter to Annie Spann, January 27, 1861
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jack tensed. Still inside Emma, he shielded her nudity after hearing the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. He shut his eyes. It was John Henry, and he had the Le Mat. How had he gotten hold of it after all they’d done to keep him away from the firearms? One day, maybe today, the man would kill him.
Jack’s wound ached. Slowly he turned and got off the bed, pulling up the blanket to cover Emma.
“John Henry…”
“How dare you? You’re married! To her sister!” Enraged, the man sputtered like lava from an erupting volcano. His eyes bore holes into Jack as he raised the revolver level with Jack’s chest.
Emma leapt up, holding the blanket in front of her. “Daddy, stop!”
“Get dressed,” her father ordered her, never taking his eyes from Jack. “You Yankee-loving scalawag. She’s not even done mourning, but you couldn’t keep your filthy hands off her. I oughta send you straight to the Devil.”
Jack carefully reached for his trousers and put them on. His arm stiffened with pain. The old man would have been justified in killing him. “Sir, I know this doesn’t look good…”
“Damn right it don’t!”
“Daddy, please,” Emma interjected again.
“If she carries your bastard…”
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through Jack’s mind. Emma. His son. He had to protect them, get them out of the war zone. If John Henry finally fulfilled his threat and shot Jack dead, they’d be even worse off than before. Jack said the only thing he could think of to save them–even if it meant losing Emma. Damn!
“Then it would be Billy’s son,” he said flatly.
#
Emma’s heart sank. Jack had just made love to her. Surely, he didn’t mean what he’d just said.
“You’re damn right, I won’t have no stinkin’ Fed in our family, no sir,” John Henry spat. “Bad enough you seduced my darling Caroline, who was easily persuaded. But my Emma’s too smart for that. I’m figuring you must have promised her something…”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
Emma’s eyes blurred, and she clenched the blanket tight to stop from trembling. Caroline easily persuaded? She’d laugh out loud if her father hadn’t just stated that she, Emma, was too smart to fall for such a thing. Too smart or too plain to be seduced–was that what he really meant? Once again, even from the grave, Caroline had come out ahead.
No matter now. The pain in Emma’s heart was because Jack had denied promising her anything. And the truth was, he hadn’t. Not marriage, not love, nothing. But many men would have married again to help raise a child, and Nathan was motherless. In Jack’s absence, Emma had replaced Caroline as Nathan’s mother–a responsibility she had accepted without hesitation because she loved the boy. She also loved his father. Yet Jack still had no intention of marrying her apparently.
She wanted to retch, but anger and pride kept her from doing so.
“No, daddy, he’s right,” she said, tamping down her emotions. “He’s promised me nothing. A Yankee, through and through. Nothing but to get us safely to his folks, remember?” She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and padded barefoot to her father, holding out her hand to him. “Caroline’s no longer with us, daddy. She’s gone to heaven. But there’s the baby, little Nathan,” she lowered her voice, focusing on John Henry
and refusing to look at Jack.
“Baby?” Her father asked.
She smiled weakly at him, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. He looked lost and scared. It was exactly how Emma felt. She bit hard on the swollen flesh of her bottom lip, the lip that was swollen from Jack’s kisses.
“We have to leave, to get to Jack’s father’s before the Yankees find us.”
Her father scowled. “Yes, but he’s one of them.”
Her lips trembled, losing the battle to keep smiling. “But he’s the only one who can get us there. Then he’ll leave.”
John Henry looked beyond her. She had no idea what Jack was doing, and she swore to herself that she didn’t care. Her father finally gave her the gun.
Tilly was at the doorway, and, at Emma’s nod, the slave went to her father. She took his arm. “Massa, you be needin’ to come wit me.” Turning, they left the room.
Silence prevailed. She heard Jack dressing behind her as she hugged the weapon to her breasts. Despite her desperate attempt to steel herself against this Union deserter, her heart wept.
“I’ll go,” he said softly, leaving her in the room. Alone.
Bereft, she sank to the floor and stared at nothing.
#
Nature’s hint of an early spring had disappeared quickly by morning. Icy air and clouds had moved in and frost covered the ground. The cold seeped through the clapboards, matching the cold in Emma’s heart. She’d remained on the floor, tears streaming down her face, for what seemed like hours. She had only the blanket wrapped around her naked body and could feel her own dampness mixed with Jack’s as she rocked on the floor, her world in shambles.
Emma had repeatedly given Jack her heart only to have him throw it away time and again. She was glad she had never said she loved him, although he must have known how she felt. Why else would she have risked everything to save him from the battlefield? Or to brazenly tell him that night in the field that she wanted him? She had given herself to him, but now her skin crawled where he had touched her. He had betrayed her again.
