“Three of the Yankees are leaving now, Captain Rand,” she told him in a low voice after a perfunctory introduction. “That means we stand a much better chance of taking them.”
The soldier could hardly conceal his surprise. “And what exactly are we to do with them, ma’am, once we take them?”
“We hold them prisoner,” she returned firmly. “We use them to keep any more Yankees from coming here, and burning-’’ She stopped short. The man was actually smiling at her.
“They’re only the first, Miss Lanford,” he said with a weary sigh. “There’s no way to stop them.”
Ambrosia opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she began. “Do you have any idea how many Yankees are camped between here and Savannah? Thousands! Tens and hundreds of thousands and more... all of them armed and fed and well trained. Do you think for a moment we could hold them off with four Yankee hostages? Two of them half-dead?” He gave a short laugh. “And that’s if we managed to catch that Yankee major off guard, which wouldn’t be as simple as you seem to think.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” she said slowly, a bright gleam of accusation in her eyes.
The captain drew a long breath and spoke without guilt. “You ought to be afraid. You didn’t see him fight, ma’am, but I did. Saw him kill a boy not old enough to shave without blinking an eye. Saw him drive his saber so deep in the colonel’s heart that it came clear through the other side.”
Ambrosia gulped at that and the soldier knew that his point had been made. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Lanford, but as I was saying, I saw enough to make me wary of crossing a man like that. Even if I were a woman, I’d watch my steps real close-like.’’ The defiant courage in Ambrosia’s green-gray eyes died slowly away, and at length the soldier let out a sigh. “It ain’t easy to admit it’s over,” he said softly, sadly. “But the way I see it, it just ain’t worth dying for something that’s already dead.”
Her eyes sparked with renewed rebellion as she rose to her full height and shook her head. “It’s not over, Captain Rand. It will never be over. Not while a single loyal Confederate lives and breathes.”
The soldier met her hard green eyes for a moment, then slowly looked away. Too many people felt as she did, and they would only make the inevitable take that much longer. He watched her as she turned from him and stiffly exited the parlor, hoping that she would at least have the good sense not to try the major’s patience. She just couldn’t know how dangerous a man he was.
Chapter 4
The remainder of the morning passed without incident. Sheba and Andrew were ordered to catch up on lost sleep, while Sally helped Ambrosia tend to the watering and setting out of the seedlings in the warmth of the early spring sun. Then there were soiled blankets and bandages from the evening before to be laundered and hung out to dry. Now and again as she went about her work, Ambrosia was aware of being under close surveillance, an awareness that filled her with anger and frustration. The Yankees had almost made her feel like a prisoner on her own land, Lanford land, and her only satisfaction came from knowing that she had conveniently forgotten to ask the major’s permission to leave the house.
It was nearing sunset when she and Sally took down the laundry, folding clothing and blankets and rolling long strips of linen, some of them still badly stained in spite of their best efforts to clean them. Ambrosia returned to the house heavily laden and began sorting and putting away the laundry while Sally went to cover the plants against the sudden, sharp chill of dusk. Ambrosia had just begun to set the table when Sally flew breathlessly into the dining room, her large brown eyes wide with excitement. Ambrosia dropped the silverware on the table and went to place both hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Sally, what is it? Calm down now and tell me.”
Sally waved both her hands about in the air, then bit her lip and shook her head as she tossed a long, cautious glance over her shoulder. “It Josiah!” she whispered breathlessly. “It Josiah!”
“Josiah? Where?”
“Out deah, Miz Ambrosia.” She pointed toward the stables and Ambrosia instinctively took a step in that direction. “I telled him ‘bout de Yankees,” Sally whispered. “An’ he say he ain’ comin’ no closah. He say he seed ‘nough warrin’ an’ Yankees fo’ his life.”
Ambrosia’s eyes remained calm, but her brow pulled deeply with worry. Josiah had never before come home without her father. Yet Sally had said nothing about Jack son Lanford, only that Josiah was home. And if he had come home alone, then it must mean that her father was badly wounded, or. . .
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Sally. Before the Yankees have a chance to notice. You finish setting the table.”
Ambrosia all but ran toward the stable, which was several hundred feet from the house. She threw open the door and raced inside, blinded momentarily by the cool darkness of the interior. She stopped short, whirling about as she heard the creak of a wooden floorboard.
“Miz Ambrosia?” The voice was low and cautious, but it made a smile of recognition break across her face. And as he stepped toward her and her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw all the memories of her childhood in those few brief moments.
“Josiah! Oh, is it really you? I can hardly believe my eyes!” Her green eyes brightened with tears as she let them feast on the familiar broad shoulders and huge brown eyes. He had always been a big man, with a wonderful, vibrant voice and a gentle, proud way about him. He had felt privileged to accompany Jackson off to war, and like many blacks who accompanied prestigious Confederate officers, he had been outfitted with a fancy uniform of his very own. Now that uniform was in utter rags upon his back. And the hint of secret inner pride that had always lit his large brown eyes was gone too. Ambrosia stared up at him,her smile fading as she breathlessly searched his face. “Papa?”
The dark eyes brimmed with grief, and the hope in hers faded. Ambrosia’s stance wavered for a moment, though she was hardly aware of it. Josiah gripped her forearms to steady her. “He spoke of you at the last,” Josiah told her. “He said I was t’ come home t’ you, t’ be help t’ you here...at Heritage.”
Ambrosia drew a deep breath and straightened. “I shall need your help, Josiah. I shall need God’s help.” She swallowed hard and raised her eyes, prepared for the worst. “Ledger?”
“I ain’t seen Massah Ledgah for a long time now. But he was just fine last summer. Just fine. He-”
Josiah’s head jerked up at the ominous sound of a gun being cocked. Instinctively he made a move for his weapon, but he stopped at the sound of the low, cool voice threaded with steel. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Wary brown eyes locked then with the major’s blue ones. The major gave a slight nod of his head and Josiah obligingly stepped away from Ambrosia: “Now the gun. Toss it out here, slow and easy. And don’t make any quick moves.”
The blue eyes never wavered all the while Josiah considered whether or not to surrender his weapon.
“Do as he says, Josiah,” Ambrosia ordered quietly. He dropped the weapon immediately at her order, and
Rambert’s predatory stance relaxed the slightest bit. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Josiah opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance, Ambrosia stepped forward. “His name is Josiah. And he is here because Heritage is his home.” Her green eyes glittered rebelliously as she ground out the words.
Josiah felt himself shiver as the major drew a lengthy breath and exhaled very slowly. He could feel the tension heavy and dangerous in the air and wondered just what the major would do if Ambrosia pushed him too far.
‘’Can you talk, Josiah?’’ His eyes slipped from Ambrosia’s to the black’s.
“Yessuh.”
“You are wearing a Confederate uniform.”
Josiah lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “Yessuh.”
“And you were armed.” The black man trembled
visibly as he forced a nod. “Now, I’m asking you again, what are you doing here?”
‘’He is here because-” The retort died on Ambrosia’s lips as the major flashed her a single, silencing glare. He would not hesitate to use his gun if she pushed him any further. She was suddenly sure of it.
“Josiah will answer for himself.”
Josiah looked uncomfortably from one to the other, wondering why Ambrosia was playing such a dangerous game ‘with this man. “Well, suh, Massah Jackson, he-”
“You have no master, Josiah. President Lincoln signed a paper that made you a free man.’’
Ambrosia stiffened at that, and Josiah gulped and shifted his weight. “Yessuh,” he mumbled.
“Go on, Josiah. What about this Jackson fellow?”
Fire leapt in Ambrosia’s eyes at the casual reference to her father, and Josiah could have sworn that the Yankee felt some satisfaction at her reaction.
“Well, sub,” he began again. “I-I came back home
t’ tell Miz Ambrosia that-that Massah-that is, that her father-that he-he passed on.” Josiah swallowed hard and met the major’s cold blue eyes with a proud kind of sorrow in his large brown eyes.
“You will be considered a prisoner of war, Josiah,” the major informed him curtly. ‘’And you will be shot if you try to escape.”
He moved to scoop up the gun Josiah had tossed to the ground, then straightened, and with a jerk of his head, ordered the black man to proceed in front of him to the house.
Few words were spoken as the two Yankees and their prisoners ate dinner that evening, but time and again Drayton’s eyes sought Ambrosia’s and found them else where. He observed her performing her duties with total detachment, even while the other girl, Elly, made a show of sobbing endlessly over the news of Jackson Lanford’s death. There were tears in Sally’s eyes as well, and the old man Andrew used the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes when he thought no one was watching. But Drayton saw no tears in Ambrosia’s eyes; something inside her would allow no such weakness. And it was that same something that made her unafraid of challenging him, even when it was reckless and foolhardy to do so. ‘’Crawford,’’ the major said suddenly.
Private Crawford, who was the only one interested in his dinner that evening, paused to glance at the major as he took a bite of crusty bread. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s a cupola on the roof. From it you can see for miles around.” Drayton paused thoughtfully. “It’s the best place for standing watch.”
Crawford returned a conversational nod, then took an other bite of bread. Drayton lifted a heavy silver spoon and examined it carefully as he spoke. ‘’The men could be here as soon as tomorrow morning, or it could be another three or four days. And there’s always the possibility that they won’t return at all, or that we’ll have other guests before they come back.’’ He paused and laid the spoon to the side of his untouched plate. “From here on out, one of us stands watch while the other stays with the wounded.”
Crawford sighed contentedly as he leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away. ‘’I’m ready as I’ll ever be, Major.”
“Good. I’ll relieve you in a few hours, Crawford.”
The major left the table then and returned the prisoners to the parlor. Crawford followed a few moments later, going upstairs to take the first watch.
Ambrosia’s eyes lifted briefly when Major Rambert returned to the dining room alone, just minutes after he had left with the others. Ambrosia returned her full attention to clearing the table, trying to ignore his presence, hoping that she had misread the belligerent expression in his eyes. She dreaded a second confrontation with him after what had happened this afternoon. But she knew that she had challenged the order he had given her, and that he was not the type of man who allowed anyone to challenge his authority.
“I would have a word with you, Miss Lanford.” Ambrosia paused for a moment, her worst fears confirmed by his brittle tone of voice. Without meeting his eyes, she reached for another plate and separated it from the soiled cutlery. “Yes?”
“Alone.”
Ambrosia felt herself tensing, but she willed away her anxiety. “In a moment, Major.”
“Now.”
Her eyes lifted abruptly at the sharpness of the command. The cold blue eyes held hers, and she slowly laid aside the dish in her hand and wiped her hands on her apron. “Finish with the dishes, Sally. I’ll be back to sweep the floor.’’
Ambrosia held her breath as she strode stiffly past him, pausing to take up a lighted candle, then leading the-way to her father’s study. But as soon as she set foot in the room, she realized her mistake. Her eyes were drawn at once to the huge, gilt-framed portrait of a young Jackson Lanford; his face vibrant and alight with confidence, his large, green-gray eyes filled with calm pride and assurance. Ambrosia stood in silence, staring up at the portrait, feeling the grief cut through the deepest part of her like a knife, feeling a helpless anger in the realization that he would never be coming home again.
For a moment Drayton was also silent as he watched the emotions play upon her face, watched the brightness finally touch her eyes. It was obvious that this had been her father’s room. There was no woman’s touch in the heavy dark-stained paneling, the massive oak desk, or the neatly arranged leather-bound volumes. Jackson Lanford must have been an educated, wealthy man, a man bred to enjoy the finer things of life. Yet he had died in vain like so many others, on some distant field of battle, leaving behind only sadness and broken dreams. It was easy to imagine the magnitude of his daughter’s loss, hidden until now beneath those catlike eyes. Yet. Drayton could not afford to feel compassion or any kind of softness where Ambrosia was concerned. His position was far too vulnerable. He and Crawford and even the wounded could be too easily slaughtered by two or three renegade Confederates if their vulnerability were known. And Ambrosia would not hesitate to turn them all over to any soldiers in gray who happened by, even if the Rebs meant to slaughter them outright. Particularly now, with the news of her father’s death so fresh and painful in her mind. Drayton would have liked to allow her to grieve in peace, to look past her breach of conduct this afternoon and take a chance that it would not happen again. But his instincts for survival refused him that luxury.
“You were told not to leave the house without permission. And you deliberately disobeyed.”
At the sound of his voice a defiant hatred overtook the sorrow in Ambrosia’s eyes. But still she stood silent, staring at the painting, remembering the man she had idolized, the man she had believed invincible.
Drayton’s fingers caught at her arm and she was whirled about to face him. “I said-”
“I heard what you said,” she hissed through clenched teeth, shocking him somewhat as she shook free of his hold and defiantly turned her back on him again.
He allowed her to step away from him, but his voice came again, smooth, silken and edged in steel. “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”
There was a tense, dangerous space of silence. “Miss Lanford.”
She could hear his impatience, but she deliberately made no move to respond. How dare he-a Yankee give orders here? In Jackson Lanford’s home?
“Ambrosia.” His voice had hardened even more.
She straightened and lifted her chin, fighting the tears of anger and heartbreak that clutched painfully at her throat. She would never let a Yankee see her cry. She would never give into them-Never!
Her breath caught sharply as Drayton gripped her roughly and jerked her hard against his broad chest, his fingers biting deep in the flesh of her arms. The green eyes which met his were bright with tears but narrowed and uncompromising.
“I’ve a good mind to bind you hand and foot like the others,” he muttered furiously. His grip on her arms tightened until he knew full well that he was hurting her. Yet her eyes held no trace of pain or fear, no
thing but hatred and defiance. He saw clearly then that his threats had no power to penetrate such resistance. But he intended to see it shattered, regardless. If not in one way...
He let out his breath slowly and his fingers loosened their ironclad grasp and began to knead gently at the bruised flesh of her upper arms. He was aware of the sudden look of uncertainty which shadowed her eyes as he did so, and he knew instantly that the maneuver had been well chosen. His blue eyes moved to dwell for long moments on her full mouth, and he noticed the tremor that passed through her as he once again met her eyes. No man had ever looked at her that way, making her feel totally naked, completely exposed. His eyes dropped to her lips again and she swallowed hard. Slowly, deliberately, he began to lower his mouth.
Ambrosia gasped and twisted violently to avoid his kiss. “What do you want?” she choked out as she struggled with all her might to be free.
He drew back the slightest bit and met her panicked expression with an air of confident authority. The room was so silent that the hammering of Ambrosia’s heart made her head ache, and she knew that he must be aware of her deep, unsteady breathing. “When I give an order,” he said softly, “I expect it to be obeyed.”
He released her then and she quickly took a step backward, then another. For a long moment she stared at him, her breast still heaving painfully, her knees still unsteady and weak. ‘’I will have your word that you will obey my orders for as long as I am here.’’
Ambrosia stared at him dumbly as she tried to gather some semblance of composure, as she tried in vain to reason away her fear. She felt her breath catch when he took a single step toward her, and it took all of her bravado to stand her ground.
“Your word,” he growled more forcefully.
She lowered her eyes and drew a difficult breath. “Y-you have my word,” she said in a quivering whisper. Her shoulders slumped as she said it, and he was fully aware of the effort it took for her to lift her chin and square them again. “Is that all, Major?” Her voice was still soft and trembling.
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