by Gina Danna
Two tents down, Jack slid from Goliath’s back, and a soldier tied his hands together before shoving him into the tent. When the soldier exited the tent, he was carrying Jack’s revolver and walked away. Another armed soldier stood guarding the tent.
What was she going to do? If her father was around, she was sure she could get him to intervene on Jack’s behalf. He’d done so earlier. But where was he?
In the distance, she heard guns firing, which startled Tilly. Emma turned to the slave and motioned her to be quiet, pointing to Nathan. The little boy was more interested in some of the tinware lying on the ground—plates and cups that’d been rinsed but not put away.
“Ma’am,” Maury called, pulling his horse behind him, “I need you to be stayin’ here. You’ll be safe.”
“What if you lose?” Fear gripped her; if the fighting came their way, could she get them out of there fast enough? And what about Jack?
The Confederate smiled. “Believe me, under Generals Van Dorn and Forrest, us losing ain’t goin’ t’ happen,” he drawled confidently. “I’ll leave a couple of my men here to see to your needs whilst we fight.”
He turned, gathering his reins and pulled himself onto his saddle.
“What about Jack?” she asked, panic beginning. “What will you do with him?”
“I canna say. He your husband?” He looked at her.
Emma bit her bottom lip. One voice inside her said she should say yes, but the stronger voice reminded her firmly that Jack had rejected her, had taken her body without any promise for the future. From the look of things, he truly was considered a traitor to the South. And he had betrayed her as well, with Caroline. What would prevent that from happening again? She remained silent.
“I see,” Maury said, a puzzled look on his face. “It’ll be up to the generals to decide.” He pulled the reins to the side, his horse turned and they rode off.
As he disappeared within the trees, it suddenly hit Emma what she’d done. Her indecision could cost Jack his life. Nathan giggled behind her because of some trinket he’d picked up and another pain shot through her. Because of her, Nathan might lose his only remaining parent.
#
For six hours, the battle raged. Jack could hear men yelling, gunfire, cannons roaring and the guard outside his tent pacing. He considered trying to escape, but the soldier was carrying a loaded rifle. Men like him itched to be in the battle as much as they feared it. That fear caused them to act impulsively, such as firing on anyone for little or no reason. Jack knew Emma and his son were only two tents away. The last thing he wanted was for the soldier to hurt one of them by mistake if he missed Jack.
The binding around his wrists was tight. Despite his attempt to wiggle out of it, it held strong. Because of his struggling, the hemp rope cut into his skin. He slid down the pole he was tied to and sat.
He hoped Emma still had the directions to his parents’ land. At the very least, he knew he could count on rebel officers to be gentlemen and have her and his son escorted there safely. One thing was sure, it was a southern home and his father was no doubt well immersed in Confederate politics. He spat, disgusted. If nothing else, he would make a final demand—that she and the boy be taken there. He knew what fate held in store for him. He couldn’t defend himself against the accusations with which he was charged. After all, they were true. And his punishment would be death.
Head bent in resignation, Jack was filled with remorse. It occurred to him that he never told Emma in words that he loved her. What a fool he was…
#
The battle at Thompson’s Station ended before nightfall. Union General John Coburn’s troops advanced to the center of the village, but Confederate forces were too strong and outnumbered them. General Coburn’s aide told him their ammunition had dwindled faster than expected. Coburn braced himself.
General Nathan Bedford Forrest knew exactly when to attack, and as his troops rode into the Union lines, he approached the federal commander. General Coburn surrendered. With a cocky grin, General Forrest took Coburn’s colors and arms and rode back to camp.
Van Dorn walked out of his tent as Forrest reached it and slid off his horse, laughing.
“I see you’re all ready to go celebratin’,” Forrest commented.
Van Dorn twisted the end of his mustache, still glistening from the water he’d used to clean the filth of gunsmoke off his face. “Yes, I do believe so. And, in fact, I believe we have us some entertainment, according to Lieutenant Maury.”
Forrest raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He pulled out a cigar and lit it.
Van Dorn smiled. “The traitor you were informed about.”
“Always a good time. You get yourself all gussied up for that?”
“Of course not.” Van Dorn threw his shoulders back and pulled his jacket straight. “The man was taken while holding our informer’s daughter hostage. She’s with us presently.”
Forrest laughed. “General, if you ever stop chasing the ladies, you’ll live to a ripe old age.”
“Perhaps, but what good would life be without the ladies?”
The two men walked down the lane as the camp began filling with the wounded and prisoners. Confederate cavalry cooled their horses and relaxed at their tents, unwinding from a day filled with the horrors of war.
When the two generals reached the walled tent, Van Dorn motioned at the guard to bring out the prisoner.
Forrest chomped on his cigar. “Where’s Colonel Silvers?”
“Right here, sur,” a soldier said, escorting the elder man to him.
“Colonel, appears we’ve found your southern deserter,” he drawled.
John Henry righted himself, chin in the air as he cleared his throat. “Good, good.”
“Daddy!”
They turned and Forrest snorted. So this was what Van Dorn was talking about. A woman, with coppery brown hair falling from a braid and her dress billowing, raced to the old man’s side. One thing the “Wizard” noticed was that she was wearing a Yankee officer’s frock coat, minus the obnoxious brass shoulder pieces. Probably given to her by the traitor, he smirked to himself.
“Gentlemen, my daughter, Mrs. William Bealke,” John Henry introduced.
Van Dorn bowed. “Mrs. Bealke.”
“A widow, thanks to that bastard I told you of,” the old man added.
“Father, please,” she pleaded. Forrest noticed her ivory-colored skin was drawn tight across her thin face, but her eyes were puffy and her lips pale. Had travel made her ill? No doubt being a hostage to a ruffian had taken a toll.
The guard dragged the restrained prisoner, still wearing Union blue, out of the tent.
“Jack Fontaine,” Van Dorn stated. “You’ve been accused of traitorship to the southern rights of independence. That you murdered Mrs. Bealke’s husband, destroyed southern property and are a spy for the Union, down here under false pretenses.”
The prisoner gazed at the Confederates who had gathered for the quasi-military trial and raised his chin, a posture that, to Forrest, seemed to indicate he had been falsely accused. Perhaps so, the general thought to himself, but this was war. When it came to charges such as Fontaine faced, there was no time or inclination to consider other possibilities.
The woman stared at him, her eyes widening. “Jack, say something,” she pleaded.
She turned to her father. “Daddy, you know…”
“It’s only just, my dear. He’s southern born and raised. To turn his back on his own countrymen at our time of need and to seduce my now deceased daughter, marrying her only to shun her while she carried his child is unacceptable.” Emma gasped. John Henry looked at her. “And then to take you, my darling Emma, after he killed your Billy, I shudder at your condition now.”
Emma was stunned, her embarrassment complete.
Colonel Silvers turned to Forrest and Van Dorn. “In addition, I heard him tell part of a Yankee unit who stopped us that he was on a mission to find our army’s strength and report it back to his su
periors…”
“Daddy, he said that to get those men off our trail…”
“Emma, my dear little Emma, he’s so cast a spell on you,” her father said softly. “Where do you think he went before he was supposedly injured? He returned to his army, to report his findings.”
That remark prompted Van Dorn to speak up. “When might that have been, sur?”
“Just after Christmastime, north of here, near, where was that? Oh yes, Murfreesboro.”
Listening to this exchange, the soldiers around them began cursing and judging Jack. In their opinion, he was guilty and deserved to be punished.
#
Jack closed his eyes. Nothing he could say or do would help against John Henry’s accusations. He had used the excuse of spying. He had taken Emma while she was in mourning. He hadn’t reported to his side, the Union, willingly, but he wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of that. If Jack had been traveling alone, he would have tried something, although he wasn’t sure what. With his hands tied behind him and armed soldiers circling, it appeared he had no recourse.
“Well, I do believe,” General Earl Van Dorn began. Jack knew the bastard. He’d grown up not far from his family’s land across the river in Mississippi. Arrogant womanizer. And Van Dorn recognized him as well. The Fontaine family was well known in the Deep South. Van Dorn’s expression made it clear that Jack would not be released.
“As our traitor here hasn’t said a word denying these accusations,” Van Dorn continued, “they must be true. His sentence is…”
“No! Please! I have his son,” Emma cried.
Jack saw Van Dorn appraising her, and it made him furious. If that son-of-a-bitch touched Emma, Jack would kill him.
“Ma’am, you have my deepest sympathies. I’ll personally make sure you get to a safe location, wherever that might be. I give you my word.” He turned back to Jack. “But, as I was saying, I sentence you, Jack Fontaine, to die by firing squad for betraying the Confederate States of America and for killing one of our people.”
A cheer rose. Jack saw John Henry grin, General Forrest nod his head and Emma’s face go white. She broke free of her father’s hold and ran to him.
“Tell them it isn’t true,” she begged.
He gave her a slight smile. “Take care of Nathan for me. Go to my father. Please, Emma.”
His refusal to deny the accusations registered in her eyes. He hated himself for it, but it was him against the Confederate forces there, easily several thousand men. All was lost.
Anger contorted Emma’s face as she stepped back. “You bastard,” she whispered.
No tears. No desire for him. Inside, his heart broke. But what he’d done was for the best, for he knew the Southerners would make sure she and his son would arrive at his father’s safely. However, when Van Dorn sauntered over to Emma, took her hand in his, and spoke softly to her, Jack’s hands clenched. He’d kill the man!
As Van Dorn led her away, Forrest puffed on his cigar, not taking his eyes from Jack. “Maury, get the firing squad. And tell them to be neat about it,” a smile spread slowly across his face. “I’ll be taking that jacket when you’re through with him.” And he walked away with a chuckle.
Maury moved Jack to a tree behind the tents as three soldiers arrived bearing rifles. The men looked war weary and tired, perhaps too tired to fire straight, Jack mused. A few more men followed, including John Henry.
“Jack?”
Charles appeared before him, just to the side of the firing squad.
“Charles,” Jack said, looking at his grey uniform. He squinted. Jack couldn’t figure out the intricate swirls of embroidery on Charles’ sleeves, but they obviously meant he was an officer.
“Son, let him go,” his father said sternly. “He needs to make his peace with God.”
“No, this is wrong.” Charles turned to his father. “Stop this, father.”
John Henry looked at him. “No, son…”
“You know better than half of what you said was a lie. How do you think you made it this far? Because of Jack. And he’d never hurt Emma. You know that,” Charles sputtered.
John Henry suddenly looked like the man Jack had taken from Virginia. A puzzled expression had returned to his father’s face as Charles continued addressing him. Jack just shook his head.
“Aim.”
The squad pulled up their cocked rifles. Jack inwardly scorned the Confederates. What a waste of ammunition it was to have several men shoot him. One man would do. Jack had no intention of trying anything now that he believed Emma and Nathan would be safely escorted to his father’s as promised.
From the corner of his eye, Jack saw Emma on the general’s arm and heard Charles pleading with his father.
Suddenly John Henry began choking as though he was drowning. His face contorted in pain and surprise as he gripped his chest and crumpled to the ground.
“No, father!” Charles screamed at the same instant the command to fire was issued.
When John Henry cried out, it startled the firing squad and scattered their aim. The impact of bullets striking living tissue sounded like rocks hitting a pillow, and the force knocked Jack off balance and to the ground.
He hit it hard, especially with his hands still tied behind him. He couldn’t move and was barely able to breathe with the pain. He was vaguely aware of Emma’s scream and Charles begging John Henry to move. Before passing out, one of Jack’s last visions was of Charles, calling loudly for his father.
#
Jack breathed deeply. Cold March air invaded his nostrils and its briskness woke him suddenly. With a gasp, he sat up, his eyes struggling to focus on the scene around him. White tents glowed by campfire light. The sound of crackling flames and men talking filled the air.
He stretched, his body aching throughout. Moving his arms brought a fresh wave of pain on his left side. Glancing downward, he saw a rip in his jacket, just above the flesh wound beneath and realized the wound had been bandaged. He was to have been executed so why was he bandaged? What the hell had happened? He remembered the firing squad and John Henry collapsing. He remembered people yelling, the firing squad and hitting the ground himself.
Suddenly, he heard a noise to the left, and it sounded like metal hitting dirt. Slowly, he turned and saw Charles, jacket off despite the cold. He was digging a hole–a difficult task in late winter with the ground still frozen. Jack was confused. Why would a Confederate officer dig a grave? Especially by himself? Was it for Jack? But, he wasn’t dead, as he could tell from the searing pain he felt. Then who was the grave for?
A body lay no more than twelve feet away. Wrapped in heavy canvas, the inert form held Jack’s attention. Rising, he walked over to Charles.
The man was concentrating so hard on his work that he didn’t notice Jack.
“Charles?”
He looked up at Jack, face drawn, and he stared. Jack saw no light in his friend’s eyes. Something was amiss.
“So, you are up,” Charles stated, continuing to shovel.
Jack blinked hard and nodded. “What, I mean, who are you digging for? For me? Apparently, your firing squad missed. And where is Emma?”
Charles shoveled a little more before answering. “My father, Jack, I’m digging my father’s grave.”
“What?”
Charles stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He wasn’t well, Jack. You had to know that. Why he accused you of what he did, I don’t know. And don’t explain it to me. I don’t want to know. Not now.” He swallowed hard and loudly. “And, whatever was wrong with him must’ve ate at him, the war or home...” His voice began to falter so he closed his mouth and pushed the shovel in for another mound.
Jack felt as though the world had changed but that he hadn’t changed with it.
“He started to say somethin’, maybe to save you. Or accuse you of more,” Charles laughed acidly again. “A man he called a traitor.” He looked up at Jack, his eyes filled with pain. “Did you kill Billy?”
Jack shook his head, unable to find his tongue.
“And what about my sisters?”
Yes, what about them? Jack’s mind whirled. Charles’ tormented gaze bore into him. He deserved to know the truth about all he’d lost fighting for “The Cause.”
“Caroline…We had,” he paused. “Problems. I sent her home. She died while birthing our son. Emma…” He looked around. “Where is Emma?”
“She’s gone. Father’s dead and you—” he glanced up and down at Jack. “Everyone. The troops, command, the surgeons are all gearing up for battle. But me? I’m busy with my father’s dead body. Emma was too distraught to stay. With another round of battles coming, it’s not safe for her here anyway, not even to see to a funeral for our father, let alone a burial.
“No!” Jack lashed out. “I need her!”
“Did you seduce her, too?” Charles glared. He threw the shovel down, his hands clenching into fists.
“I love her,” Jack stated loudly, not moving away even though he knew Charles was on the verge of striking him. “I always have. I can’t explain about Caroline.” Not in a way Charles would have wanted to hear. He glanced at the nearly empty camp. “How long was I out?”
“Most of the day.”
Jack’s right upper chest stabbed with white-hot pain, and he gritted his teeth, trying to subdue it. When the pain subsided, he said, “Did you bandage this?”
Emotions flashed in Charles’ eyes. Hate. Anger. Sorrow. All combined, each struggling for control. It took him a minute to unclench his hands and shovel the ground again, and then he snorted. “Best I could do, though why I did it still escapes me, considering my father’s accusations.”
He threw another clod of dirt to the side. “You’re lucky. Only one bullet hit because everyone’s aim was thrown off when father collapsed and Emma screamed. You got a deep gouge, so I cleaned it the best I could. Most of the surgeons weren’t going to waste time on a traitor.” He shrugged and continued shoveling.
Jack nodded. “Thank you.”
