From This Day Forward

by Victoria Thompson

  “It’s awful quiet, Lieutenant,” another of the boys pointed out. “What do you think that means?”

  “It means we’ve got those Yankees scared shitless,” Eric was glad to report. “I remember at Antietam—”

  “I hope to hell they ain’t run off,” the first boy said, cutting Eric off before he could manufacture a story for them. “I never even got to fire my gun the other day. How can I kill Yankees if I never shoot my gun?”

  Eric glared at them, but they didn’t seem to notice. And certainly, they didn’t care that he was annoyed with them. Then he remembered the purchase he’d made last night from one of Showalter’s men, a sure fire way to get their attention and keep it.

  “Hey, you boys want to see some pictures?” he asked. “What kind of pictures?” a boy wanted to know. Plainly, he wasn’t too interested.

  “Pictures of women,” he reported, gratified to see them all look at him now. Even the sick ones perked up, pushing up on their elbows.

  “Let’s see,” the boy challenged, as if he didn’t believe Eric had such pictures. The son of a bitch.

  “What have you got to trade?” Eric challenged back. “How do we know these pictures is worth a trade?”

  Eric grinned. “Because the women in these pictures don’t have no clothes on.”

  The pictures had cost him a bottle of whiskey, but they’d been worth it. Just the expressions on the boys’ faces was enough. “Line up now. Hurry, or we’ll be moving again and you’ll miss your chance.”

  The boys began digging in their pockets for something that might be considered worthy of trade, and a few enterprising ones came forward immediately.

  “Oh, they’s drawed," the first boy in line complained of the erotic sketches.

  “What’d you expect, a tintype of a real naked woman?” the second one scolded. “If you don’t want your turn, get out of the way!”

  As the boys crowded around, jostling for position, Eric smiled benignly. “Soon’s we get to Brownsville, we’ll find us a real woman,” he promised. “Then you boys won’t need pictures anymore.”

  Eric had expected a cheer or at least some grins, but instead he only received several startled looks, and most of the boys wouldn’t even look at him at all. What the hell was wrong with them?

  Before he could figure it out, the word came down the line: the Yankees were gone from Brownsville. They’d fled across the river to Brazos Island, a barren strip of sand that nobody in his right mind would want to fight for, leaving behind a trail of scattered equipment leading toward the coast from Fort Brown.

  The men moaned in disappointment.

  “Look at it this way, boys,” Eric advised them. “At least you won’t be tuckered out from fighting when we find that woman.”

  But he got no knowing grins in reply. In fact, all the boys studiously avoided looking at him. Alex was the only one who would meet his eye. The little bastard actually glared at him. “We won’t be goin’ with you this time, Lieutenant.”

  Eric glanced around in fury. “You gonna let this sissy speak for the lot of you?” he demanded.

  A long moment passed during which Eric felt his remaining power over them draining away.

  Finally, Alex said, “I reckon they are, Lieutenant. If’n you want a woman, you’ll have to find one on your own.”

  ***

  Lori was so happy. She hadn’t been happy since the day she’d learned her father had been killed in a battle so unimportant that it didn’t even have a name. Not until today, at least. Because today she’d found out that Adam loved her.

  He’d sent her a letter.

  “My dearest Lori,” it began, and Lori flushed with pleasure each time she recalled how he had addressed her. “I’m sure you must have noticed my great admiration for you. For years I have been satisfied to admire you from afar, but I believe the time has come to tell you in person just how much you mean to me. You will make me the happiest man alive if you will meet me by the oak tree that marks the boundary of our properties at three o’clock this afternoon. Until then, I remain your devoted servant, Adam Ross.”

  Now she was waiting for him, waiting for him to come to her, and then she saw him. He was riding a horse, coming quickly over the fields, and her heart began to thunder with excitement. He couldn’t wait to get to her! He was as eager as she! She could hardly breathe, and for a moment she was afraid she would faint, but she wasn’t going to faint because she was too strong for that. Oh, no, she wasn’t going to faint ever again.

  She wasn’t sure exactly when she realized something was wrong. She should have known immediately, of course, because Adam never rode horseback. And because she knew Adam would never have sent her a note. He would have told her himself if he wanted to meet her. In fact, he would have called on her at her house. He would have asked Bessie for permission, and he would have come to visit. She knew that because she wasn’t a foolish, silly girl. She was smart and she was brave, and she wasn’t afraid when she realized the man riding toward her was Eric Ross instead.

  He climbed down from his horse, and he was smiling, an evil kind of smile that made Lori furious because he thought he was going to hurt her. But he couldn’t hurt her. Didn’t he know that?

  “You’re mine,” he told her, reaching for her, but she batted his hands away.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried and began to hit him. She slapped and punched and kicked and then she had a stick and she began to beat him with it. He cowered before her, screaming in terror, trying to cover his head as she beat him to his knees.

  “Don’t hurt me!” he begged her over and over. “Please don’t hurt me!”

  But she kept hitting him and kicking him, feeling the blows vibrate through her body, then lifting her stick to strike another one.

  And then he was laughing, just the way Adam had said he’d laughed that terrible day when he’d crippled his brother. He was looking up at her and laughing and no matter how many times she hit him, he just kept laughing. And that was when she remembered the gun, and then it was in her hand. Cold and heavy, and he just kept laughing because he didn’t think she would shoot him, but she would, she knew she would because she was stronger than he was and she would win.

  She lifted the pistol, holding it tightly in both hands. She aimed for his head, using the site as her father had taught her, centering it on his forehead, and then the gun exploded n her hands. But there wasn’t any smoke, not any at all, so she could see that she’d shot him all right, but not in the head. She’d shot him in the leg, and he was rolling on the ground, bleeding and screaming and writhing in agony.

  And Lori looked down at him, and she laughed.

  She woke herself laughing, a strangled sound deep in her throat because she was really asleep and startled herself before she could actually laugh out loud. She opened her eyes to the first gray light of morning and an amazing sense of triumph.

  The dream was ridiculous, of course. She could never hurt anyone the way she had hurt Eric in the dream, and she could certainly never shoot anyone. Where on earth had that come from? Revenge for Adam, she supposed, thrown in on top of her own. Revenge for both of them. It was so sweet, she only wished she could share it with her husband. He was sleeping beside her, one arm thrown over her as if to hold her in place. She could wake him up and...

  But he didn’t like for her to speak of Eric. And he wouldn’t understand, anyway. Nobody would understand, except maybe Sudie. Lori would have to tell her all about the dream first thing. Each time she’d had it, she’d managed to make it end more satisfactorily. Sudie would want to know she’d finally managed to shoot Eric.

  No, she corrected herself instantly. Not Eric. Sudie must never know he was the one who had attacked her. But she’d want to know Lori had shot her rapist, if only in her dream.

  Her relief was almost palpable as she snuggled more closely against Adam. The room was sweltering hot already, so the day promised to be another scorcher, but she still longed for the closeness. She and Adam
hadn’t been able to make love for several weeks now, and in spite of all the times she had resented his taking possession of her body, now she found she missed the sense of intimacy she experienced only when he was inside of her.

  Had she once longed for this respite, thinking she would relish having her body to herself once more? How foolish she’d been, because her body still belonged to another. It had merely passed from her husband’s possession to her child’s. The last time she and Adam had made love, they had almost given up in frustration because her bulk had nearly made the act impossible. Now she was even more huge and so awkward that even getting up out of a chair was a day’s work.

  The heat hadn’t helped, either. Her hands and feet were so swollen, she couldn’t wear shoes, and she’d had to remove her wedding ring. She’d tried not to look at herself in the mirror, but she didn’t need to see her reflection to know she looked like a cow. How Adam could stand the sight of her she had no idea, but at least he still sought her out in the dark of night, pulling her close to him and holding her there.

  As she felt his arm tighten around her in sleep, tears came to her eyes, tears of joy and gratitude for the wonderful man who had married her. She’d had no idea anyone could be so good and so kind and so unselfish. Perhaps, she prayed, someday she would be worthy of him.

  ***

  That bastard Showalter was drunk again. All the men were whispering about how he’d let a Union wagon train escape because he’d been too drunk to understand what was happening and give the orders to attack.

  Well, what did they expect a man to do? Eric wondered bitterly. Another month and more had gone by since they’d raised the stars and bars over Brownsville, and not a Yankee in sight. Old Rip Ford had stood upright that day just long enough to see the flag raised, and then he’d fallen over in a dead faint. For days he’d lain in bed, too sick with the fever to even sign his name to orders, but he’d had to remain in charge because his senior lieutenant colonel—Showalter— and his chief of staff were both too drunk to take command.

  Eric would’ve been drunk, too, if he could’ve gotten his hands on enough whiskey at any one time to do the job. Unfortunately, that and everything else was in very short supply. Ford had scattered his forces over the countryside, so they could find forage for their animals, since most of the grass was burned browned by now, so late in the summer. And in the countryside, whiskey and women were as scarce is grass.

  To make matters worse, the Mexicans were getting into the fracas. Eric didn’t understand and couldn’t have cared less about the political situation south of the border, but for some reason one side or the other of the ongoing revolution down there had decided to fight for the Yanks. Probably had something to do with Showalter’s troops taking potshots at the Mexicans from their position on Palmito Hill overlooking the river southeast of Brownsville.

  Eric couldn’t be bothered with figuring it all out. The only thing he knew was that word had come down that he and his men would be riding to reinforce Showalter just in case of trouble. About time, too.

  Some of the boys in his company were too sick to sit a horse, so they’d been left behind. Eric was happy to note that Alex, the nasty little bastard, was one of them. Maybe he’d die this time. Eric kept forgetting to shoot him whenever they were in a fight.

  They hadn’t ridden very far when the sound of big guns shattered the morning stillness. Up ahead they could see the billows of smoke from the Mexican side of the river that told them artillery had opened up on the Confederate troops at Palmito Hill.

  Putting the spurs to their horses, they broke into a run, racing to support Showalter and his troops. But they were still several miles from the hill when they saw the troops racing back toward them, running in panic from the attack. It was a hell of a mess, and only afterward did they find out the reason for the panic and retreat: Showalter had been too drunk to command. Again.

  George Giddings relieved Showalter on the spot and re-placed him with Major Kavanaugh. They managed to stop the retreat and form a defensive line several miles from the hill. But it was too late. Palmito Hill now belonged to the Yankees, and they would control all traffic to and from Mexico.

  The Cavalry of the West braced for an attack, but none came. The rain began again and fell so heavily that the Yankees couldn’t exploit their victory.

  And as he sat in the rain, huddled under a sodden blanket Eric began to shiver with the fever he had, up until now managed to avoid. Swearing, he took a pull on his pocket flask, only to find it empty.

  ***

  Lori paused in her inventory of the kitchen, putting both hands in the small of her back and stretching to relieve the ache that had settled there. Her back had been aching for weeks, but this was the worst it had ever been.

  “I told you,” Eliza said from where she was kneading bread at the counter. “That baby done dropped.”

  Several other of the slave women, including Sudie, had made the same observation. She hadn’t been sure what it meant, and she still wasn’t.

  After glancing around to make sure they were alone, she asked, “What does that mean?”

  Eliza grinned, showing where she had recently lost a tooth. “It mean that baby be born real soon now.”

  Dear heaven, Lori hoped so! She no longer cared that it had been less than six months since her marriage. That people would talk and count on their fingers and cluck their tongues. She just wanted to be able to roll over in bed and jet up out of a chair and walk across the room again. And she wanted to feel like a woman instead of a cow. And she wanted Adam to look at her without frowning.

  And, although she hadn’t admitted this to anyone, she wanted to hold her baby in her arms.

  Sudie had been right. She no longer hated the child or even resented it. Her feelings had progressed from those to pity to actual affection. The child, as Sudie had told her time and again, couldn’t help who his father was or how it had been conceived. He deserved a chance in this life, and he would have one or Lori would die trying to give him one.

  How much help Adam would be, she had no way of judging. He’d promised to be a father to the baby and to make sure he didn’t grow up bitter and angry the way Eric had. He’d even begun to express an interest in the child. But would he ever be able to look at it without remembering it wasn’t his? Or without remembering how it had come to be?

  The muscles in her back tightened again, making Lori wince and forcing her to stretch again.

  “You lookin’ a might poorly, Missy,” Eliza observed with a worried frown. “Maybe you best go lay yourself down for a while. I’ll fetch Sudie to see you to your room.”

  “That’s all right,” Lori insisted with a smile when the spasm had passed and she could speak again. “I don’t need help getting to my room!”

  But she’d taken no more than a few steps when she felt a rush of warm liquid running down her legs. “Oh, my!” she cried in humiliation. What was happening to her? How could she have lost control when she hadn’t even been aware of an urge to relieve herself?

  “What’s the matter?” Eliza asked in alarm, and then she saw the puddle forming at Lori’s feet. “Oh, Lordy, Lordy!’ the girl cried and began screaming for Sudie.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Lori demanded nearly frantic and certain from Eliza’s reaction that it must be something terrible.

  But Eliza only smiled again. “I reckon your water done broke, Missy. That baby be here before night!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Adam was examining a cotton ball and trying to judge the yield per acre he would get from this field when a young boy came running up to him.

  “What is it, Jeremiah?” he asked the panting, sweating child who usually worked in the house.

  The boy needed a second to catch his breath, and Adam waited patiently, wondering what on earth could have been so important to send him running on a sweltering day like this. The only thing he could think of was Lori...

  Dear God, what was wrong with him? “Is
it Miss Lori?” he demanded of the boy who nodded vigorously.

  “Sudie,” he managed to gasp. “She sendin’ the buggy...”

  But Adam wasn’t going to wait for the buggy. He began to run himself, or at least to move as quickly as his bad leg and the rough ground allowed him to.

  It was the baby, it must be. She’d said the middle of September but two weeks either way, and this was only a week short of the middle of the month. So it had to be the baby. Unless...

  Dear God, don’t let anything be wrong with Lori! he prayed frantically as another thought occurred to him, one he hadn’t even let himself consider until this moment. Please let her be all right!

  Visions of his mother suddenly appeared in his head, visions of her lying on her deathbed, too delirious to even know she’d had a baby, too weak to even squeeze Adam’s hand as he stood beside her bed, begging her to get better.

  He stumbled and almost fell, catching himself just in time. Up ahead he could see the buggy rattling toward him, but he didn’t stop. He kept on going, oblivious of the searing pain in his leg, oblivious of everything except his desperate need to make sure Lori was all right.

  Somehow, he finally reached the buggy, but Oscar wouldn’t let him drive. He practically hauled Adam onto the seat, then he whipped the horse into a run again.

  “Is she all right?” Adam demanded of Oscar as he clung to the handstrap to keep from being flung out.

  “The baby comin’,” Oscar reported with a grin, and Adam sagged back against the seat in relief. At least for a moment. Because no sooner had he felt that relief than he remembered that his mother had come through Eric’s birth just fine. It was only later that she’d sickened and died.

  “Can’t you hurry?” Adam cried.

  “Sudie say ain’t no hurry,” Oscar informed him. “First babies usually takes they time.”