by Gina Danna
Jack hadn’t returned to the cabin that night, but she doubted he’d left them. After all, he had his son to consider. Her loving nephew needed a mother. That would be Emma’s job until Jack remarried.
Emma vaguely realized Tilly was there. The slave had said nothing but helped her to her feet. She gently wiped Emma’s body with a wet cloth, as though she knew Emma wanted to be cleansed of Jack. Without a word, she helped Emma dress and brushed out her tangled hair as she huddled before the fireplace.
A cry from Nathan interrupted the peace that had finally settled on Emma under Tilly’s aid. Her own little world might have stopped, but life went on and the baby was hungry. Tilly left to take care of him. Emma swallowed her wounded pride and stood, shoulders back. She had family to care for and chores to tend. She erased Jack from her mind and, she hoped, from her heart as well.
#
Jack cursed again when his boot slipped on the slick frost. He was cold and his shoulder hurt to high heaven, but he deserved it. After leaving Emma the previous night, he had joined the horses under the eaves of the shanty. Wearing his wool pants and jacket and covered with saddle blankets, he had sat there sleepless, damning himself for hurting Emma again.
He had dismissed her on purpose and taken no responsibility for his actions. He had convinced himself she still mourned the man she had married and maybe even loved. But he had never been able to fight his attraction to her. And after she’d saved him from certain death at the hands of the field surgeons…Ensuring her safety, telling her he loved her and marrying her were what he should have done instead of taking her in the same small cabin where her unpredictable and sometimes violent father stayed.
Damn. Once more, it hit him hard–he was no good for her.
The smell of coffee and pork fat frying, a rare treat, wafted his way, making his stomach grumble and interrupting his self-loathing. If he could smell those things, anyone else nearby could, too, but he simply sat there, savoring it instead. Not that he’d get any of it anyway. He hadn’t the strength to face Emma. God knew he deserved her wrath, and he’d leave her if it wasn’t for Nathan.
The cabin door opened and Tilly came out with his tin Army plate, covered with a rag, and a cup of steaming coffee. Surprised, he stood and went to meet her.
“Massa Jack.” She handed him the plate.
He took it but asked, “How’s she doing?” Damn, his voice sounded shaky.
The slave shrugged. “She be doin’.” She turned away but came back. Her voice dropped though no one else was close enough to hear her. “Massa, I’s can make her some tonic ta make sure there ain’t no babe, if’n you want.”
He stood there, breathless, barely aware of the heat from the tin plate in his hand. He wasn’t especially surprised by what Tilly had said. The slave community on his father’s land had many recipes, probably including one for aborting a child.
A wife and children were things he hadn’t wanted until he’d met Emma. But then he spoiled his chance with her as he fell into Caroline’s trap. Nathan’s birth had resulted in a responsibility he could not ignore.
With a war raging, however, it would be foolish to marry again and to have more children. But Emma wanted a child. Billy had asked him to give her one. He strongly doubted she’d want to bear his child now, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept Tilly’s offer. He just stared at her.
#
Emma watched through the window as Tilly took food to Jack. She wanted to wipe the smile from his face as he took the plate. The slave said something to him, and she watched him bend his head to hear her better. When they finished talking, Tilly nodded and turned with a spring in her step.
What had she said? Did he want Tilly too? The thought of Jack caressing another woman, holding her, kissing her, sliding into her, made Emma cringe. In fact, she thought she would be ill.
“Emma, honey, are you all right?”
She blinked rapidly, willing her mind to rid it of thoughts of Jack as she pasted a smile on her face. “Of course, daddy.”
John Henry sat at the small table and frowned, assessing her.
Nathan. That sweet happy boy played on the floor with his blocks, chirping quietly.
“Well, get yourself something to eat.”
She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the mention of food. “Later.” Her voice was on the verge of cracking. John Henry nodded.
Later never came.
#
Emma woke with a start the next day. Despite the dirt on the window, weak morning sun poured into the room, but something else had awakened her. She sat up and yawned. As her eyes focused, she saw there was a strong fire thanks to a sturdy stack of wood. It should have dwindled during the night. Her brows knitted. Jack. He must have been there.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she straightened up. With her heart still in tatters, somehow she had to rise and see about Nathan. She heard the child’s giggle through the door, and anxiety gripped her. What if Jack was still there? How should she act?
As she went into the other room, she found Jack on the floor, playing with his son.
He looked up and gave her a lopsided grin. “Good morning.”
Her gaze devoured him like a starving dog devoured its dinner. His emerald eyes sparkled, reflecting the flames in the fireplace. Dressed in his navy wool pants and white shirtsleeves, his long legs were stretched out before him. He balanced Nathan’s feet on his thighs as he held the child upright. The babe gurgled, a drooling smile stretched across his face.
“Oh, my, let me take him,” she said, grabbing the linen piece off the table and scooping up the boy to blot his mouth.
Jack studied her as he stood. The grin was gone, leaving him looking pensive, as though he was unsure of himself. But it disappeared so quickly, Emma wasn’t sure she’d really seen it. He grabbed his sack coat off the chair, his eyes never leaving her.
Tilly stopped stirring the pot that hung above the flames and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Here, missy,” she said softly, holding out her arms.
Emma felt her face heating. The boy was her defense against Jack and she hated to give him to Tilly, but the child began to fidget in her arms. He was hungry. She handed him to the slave. Tilly took Nathan, cooing at him as she unbuttoned her bodice. Emma heard her talking to the babe, but she kept her eyes on Jack.
“I’ll go get more wood and something more substantial for breakfast,” he said, picking up the rifle and shoving the revolver into his waistband. “John Henry, I could use some help.”
Her father glanced up at hearing his name. For the most part, he had remained quiet, lost in his own little world, except for the momentary breaks in his melancholy. Moments when he remembered everything that had happened more than five years ago, even though he couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for breakfast only hours earlier. Unfortunately, sometimes when the melancholy left him, anger took its place. No cause or reason could be determined. But now, he was more congenial and picked up his jacket to follow Jack.
Absently, Emma watched them walk into the woods and disappear among the trees. She shuddered as a chill swept through her. Something felt wrong but what it was, she didn’t know.
#
Jack crunched through the snow as he and John Henry scouted for prey. He had encouraged the old man to accompany him because he wanted to see how bad John Henry’s feelings were for him. Jack was wary about fighting in the area, so they didn’t go far. He wanted to remain close to the cabin in case of trouble. Heavens only knew who might find them. The longer they remained there, the stronger his fears became. When the snow and ice melted, he would have to get them back on the road to Louisiana. Spring’s arrival was coming and with it, more fighting. He had no doubt both sides were preparing for the next battle. Tennessee was ripe for the picking, as he’d seen in Nashville and Murfreesboro. Frankly, he was edgy because he’d seen no signs of either army recently. Idle armies could be bad.
John Henry had a lucid moment and began asking Jack w
hat their chances were of safely getting to the Fontaine’s when Jack spotted a rabbit and killed it with one shot. Breakfast. It also ended the conversation.
On the way back to the cabin, the hair on the back of Jack’s neck bristled and he stopped. John Henry ran right into him. “Shush,” Jack warned, pointing ahead.
Three saddled ponies were tethered to the post before the front door of the cabin. The animals showed nothing to indicate their origin—that is, fed or secesh—but to Jack, both were bad. The riders obviously were inside the cabin.
Shoving the dead rabbit into John Henry’s arms, Jack leaped over some downed trees, slipping on the snow, but he didn’t fall. His son was in there, and Emma. Closer to the cabin, Jack heard Nathan’s cry and Emma’s soothing tones virtually drowned out by a man’s roar.
He pulled out the revolver, cocking it as he stole to the door. It wasn’t fully shut, and, with a nudge, he opened it further. Before him was a hellish scene.
Emma stood to the side, hugging Nathan to her. Her face was pale, arms wrapped tightly around the little boy who screamed, aware of the escalating tension.
Two men stood there dressed in filthy, tattered clothes that reeked of sweat, dirt and horse manure. Their oily, matted hair fell below their shoulders. Jack noticed their bloodshot eyes, weathered skin and, as they laughed, their broken yellowed teeth. Some of the country’s finest, paying a call to the neighbors.
“She’ll like it. They all do, dirty whores,” one of them snarled, throwing Tilly across the small tabletop. In a lightning swift move, he tossed her skirt up.
Tilly screamed, trying to get away, but a third man came out of the other room, his handgun pointed at Emma. He laughed.
“Don’t,” Emma whispered.
“We don’t hurt white women,” the man stated flatly.
Jack’s temper flared. Violating slaves apparently was accepted. As the girl lay there, unable to move because of the way she was spread on the table, Jack’s demons came out. For a brief time, everything seemed as raw and violent as it had been thirteen years ago. Another cabin, another slave girl, his childhood friend, sprawled nude and just as vulnerable. Held down by two other men and her owner, demanding Jack take her…
As quickly as the memory came to him, Jack buried it again. All it took was a wail from Nathan to get his attention again. He raced in and elbowed the man in his ribs with such force that he could hear bone break. The other man holding Tilly’s arms above her head released them to grab his gun. Tilly rolled off the table as Jack raised his gun and fired, hitting the man in the shoulder.
“Drop your weapon or she gets it,” the third man ordered, cocking the gun he had pointed at Emma. But Jack kept his own weapon cocked and waited. Each man eyed the other, assessing. Jack knew he could kill the bastard, but what if he pulled the trigger when Jack’s bullet hit him? His momentary indecision made the man snort. “Yellow bellied bastard, I’m...”
Emma stared at Jack, her eyes wide with fear. Fear and a clear message. She wanted him to shoot the man. Her hand braced the back of Nathan’s head as she nodded her head slightly. In that split second, she turned away, shielding the child with her body. Outraged, the man moved to shoot her and Jack pulled his trigger. The bullet whizzed through the air, hitting the intruder between the eyes. As his body thudded to the ground, the other two men ran outside.
Jack stood there, his revolver smoking from the blast. Nothing mattered more than the two people in front of him–his son and Emma. Nathan cried, angry and upset by all the commotion. He squirmed in Emma’s embrace. Vaguely, Jack saw Tilly hurry over to the babe, her clothes righted. She took Nathan. Emma’s eyes were unblinking as she stared at him, her lips paling as blood drained from her face. Just as he reached her, she collapsed in his arms.
I cannot comprehend the madness of the times. Southern men are theoretically crazy. Extreme northern men are practical fools, the latter are really quite as bad as the former. Treason is in the air around us every where and goes by the name of Patriotism.
—Thomas Corwin to Abraham Lincoln January 16, 1861
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jack carried Emma to her bed, laying her gently across the mattress. She laid there limp, barely breathing. His own heart thudded wildly.
“Massa Jack,” Tilly whispered behind him. Placing his son on the floor with his wooden horse, she dampened a rag and pushed Jack out of the way to place it on Emma’s head.
Jack backed out of the room, his eyes never leaving Emma. He prayed that God had heard him and would make her all right. But once out of the room, he knew he had to go after the two men.
Stepping outside the cabin, he found only one horse remained. John Henry stared at him from the trees, still holding the dead rabbit.
“Jack?”
He shook his head and went back inside, collected the body of the man he had shot and carried it outside and into the woods. The ground was too frozen to dig a grave, so he gathered tree limbs and other foliage to cover the body.
They needed to leave, before the man’s friends returned. He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. He didn’t want to move Emma until she woke up. His shoulder twinged, pain streaking down his arm and into his chest. Damn! He needed to rest himself, because if they ran into trouble on the road, he doubted he could control Goliath and shoot with only one good arm.
On his way back to the cabin, he saw Emma dash out the door and go to the side. She hugged her stomach and bent over, retching and heaving. She groaned, and, pale and trembling, wiped her mouth when done.
Jack became alarmed. Why had she been sick? He quickened his steps but stopped as Tilly walked to her, holding a tin cup. Emma took it and drank. The contents must have tasted awful because she shuddered when she finished. Handing Tilly the empty cup, Emma went back inside.
Jack’s temper flared. What the hell had that slave done? He stormed up to her. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted it, making her drop the cup.
“I told you not to give her that poison,” he snarled.
The girl cowed before him. “But she ain’t well, massa…”
“If you’ve harmed her or made her loose…” He couldn’t say the words. If the concoction made Emma abort a child, he’d kill the girl.
Tilly shook her head frantically. “No, sur, afte’ ever’thing, she’s a mite jittery.”
“What the hell are you saying?” He released her wrist.
She rubbed the reddened skin, looking at the ground. “She ain’t slept much nor ate hardly a thin’, massa.”
He closed his eyes, banking his anger. No, of course not, she’d been too upset to do either. He had hurt her anew, soon followed by witnessing the attack on Tilly and the threat to her own life. It was no wonder Emma couldn’t keep anything down, and it was all because of him. Hell and damnation!
“She’s not with?”
She shook her head. “Nots that I’s can see.”
He nodded. Sending Tilly back inside, he returned to his father-in-law and the dead rabbit. They’d eat and let Emma rest some more. If they didn’t leave soon, though, they’d have more “visitors.” Union troops. Confederate troops. Or more “patrols” like the white trash who wandered the area, claiming to be the law while their betters were fighting. The dregs of society, with loaded guns and no one to stop them from ransacking or anything else, all in the name of the law. He flexed his shoulder and winced.
#
Emma held her hand on Nathan’s forehead and could feel the heat radiating from it. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but still, the baby was cranky. Fortunately, Tilly’s bout with the same illness had passed, but she feared the slave’s inability to feed him enough milk wasn’t just due to her illness. He was nearly a year old, had been crawling around the cabin and had begun pulling himself by using furniture for support. He’d be walking in no time.
Emma rocked back on her heels, pressing her fingers to her temple. The light headedness and weakness that threatened was beginning to take control.
&
nbsp; Her tension heightened when Jack walked in. She closed her eyes. Despite resolving to treat Jack as simply a helpmate while she handled most of Nathan’s needs, she still felt the pain in her heart. Did he really think she’d be able to forget what had happened between them? Or when those men had attacked Tilly and threatened Emma, the look in Jack’s eyes? Had it meant fear? Anger? Revenge? Whatever the emotion, it had frightened her.
Tilly finally convinced Emma to eat something, exclaiming in her shrill voice that if she didn’t, Nathan wouldn’t have a mother. Cringing, Emma fully felt like his mother, at least for now. The little boy couldn’t be faulted for having a deceitful father, so she tried to eat, to make herself stronger for him.
“We need to leave,” Jack stated flatly as he stood behind her.
She refused to turn. “Give me till this afternoon. He’s not as hot today, but I don’t want to leave till I think he’s well enough for the trip. It’s still cold out there.”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “We may not have the time to wait, my dear.”
The endearment confused her, but he had said it so casually, surely he meant nothing by it. Swallowing the knot in her throat and praying she didn’t lose her breakfast, she said, “Have you seen movement?”
“Something’s up. Too many damn hills around here, so I can’t place the sounds right,” he muttered. “Think we’re close to Thompson’s Station. We’ll stop and get some supplies, maybe see if the doc there can look at the boy, then go.
She nodded numbly. Suddenly, her ears began buzzing, but when she tried to say something, her world turned black.
