The Raging Hearts: The Coltrane Saga, Book 2

by Patricia Hagan

  But where was he? It had been months. She would have to send word to General Sherman himself, beg him to find Travis and tell him he now had a son. That would bring him back, she was sure. She would write the letter as soon as she felt up to it, and she would give it to Dulcie.

  For all Corey’s graciousness, there was still something sinister about him, something she did not trust. For the moment, she was forced to accept his hospitality. But she intended to remain on guard against whatever trickery he might have in mind.

  She wanted to see her baby again. She wanted to hold him close and whisper to him how much she loved him. She had to tell him about his grandfather, and about his father. Where was the bell cord to ring for Dulcie? Dulcie would bring little John into her and let her hold him awhile longer. But she was so sleepy, so tired, and her eyes fluttered a few times, then gave way to the deep sleep of exhaustion.

  Corey McRae stood outside the door, peeping through the crack, for it was not quite closed all the way. He had heard her anguished whispers, seen the fight and spirit in her beautiful eyes. It would be a real challenge, but he would win. It would take cunning and maneuvering, but by God, he was going to win. Kitty Wright would be his.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kitty stood on the veranda that swept across the front of the mansion. The bare trees lining the circular driveway stood like naked sentinels against the cold, bitter wind, fiercely struggling to stand tall against the onslaught. The flat land was barren, stark, but when spring came, the land would burst with growth. There would be cotton and tobacco and corn. Corey McRae would make the plantation thrive.

  Pulling her robe tighter, Kitty stared down the road until it disappeared over a slight rise. There was not a rider to be seen this morning. But then, few people would be moving about in the chill, especially on Christmas Day. That did not stop Kitty from hoping, and she stood watching and praying as she had every morning for the past ten days. Four of the days had been spent in bed, supposedly to regain her strength after the birth of the baby. She had felt fine and wanted to get up sooner, but neither Dulcie nor Corey would hear of it. So she had spent the time composing a letter to General Sherman, begging him to get in touch with Travis and tell him about the birth of his son. She had given the letter to Dulcie. And she had waited, praying for an answer.

  Something must have happened to Travis. He would have returned otherwise. She could not make herself believe that he just did not love her and had mustered out of the service and gone on back to Louisiana. He would have come by one more time to try and talk her into going with him.

  Where was he? Dear God, he had left Goldsboro the end of March, and here it was Christmas Day. Was he dead? Somehow, she would have known when his dear heart stopped beating. There would have been a sudden awakening in the middle of the night, or a cold shroud engulfing her during the day. Yes, she would have sensed it if Travis had died. He had to come back. He had to.

  Corey had been kind, almost too kind. What was he after? He knew how she felt about her land, that she would never sell, and he knew that she had no intention of marrying him. So far, he had mentioned neither the purchase of her land nor her becoming his wife. He seemed to adore little John. Kitty was frankly puzzled. Corey McRae was not the sort to be nice to anyone without a reason. She remained on guard, knowing that sooner or later she would discover what he was up to.

  She knew she had to leave. But where could she go? There were no buildings left standing on her land except the tiny servants’ shacks down near the swampy area. She would go home to one of the shacks, she thought, suddenly brightening. There was Jacob. He would remain loyal. He would chop wood to keep a fire going, and he would hunt for food. And always, she would continue to pray for Travis’s return.

  It had been a long time since she had gone into town, but she knew the gossips were probably having a time talking about how she was living in Corey McRae’s house. Nancy would have made sure they all knew about it. They would be saying she was his mistress now, and Kitty could not tolerate that kind of talk. No, she could not remain here any longer. Tomorrow, the day after Christmas, she would leave, taking the baby and Jacob.

  “Missy?”

  She whirled around, her face lighting up in a happy smile as she recognized Jacob standing in the doorway to the veranda. “Jacob, Jacob, oh bless you. Why haven’t you come sooner?” She ran across the porch to throw her arms around the old Negro. “I’ve sent messages to you time and again…”

  He stood there, twisting his old hat in his gnarled hands, staring down as he mumbled, “I tried to come, missy, but they turnt me away at the door, said Mistah McRae didn’t want me around. Even Dulcie wouldn’t let me in. She say she’d like to, ’cause she knowed you wants to see me, but she say Mistah McRae won’t let no field nigger in his house, jest the ones what’s trained proper to come inside. I only got in today ’cause Dulcie, she feel sorry fo’ me ’cause it’s Christmas. I brung somethin’ fo’ the baby.”

  He reached in the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a delicately hand-carved wooden dog. Kitty took it from him, turning it over and over in her hands as she stared at it in wonder. “Why, Jacob,” she breathed in awe. “It’s an exact replica of Killer, Poppa’s faithful old hound. Why, you did a beautiful job, and little John will always treasure this. I’ll tell him about the old dog, how he went to war with Poppa. Oh, this is wonderful.” She kissed his wrinkled old cheek, blinking back tears.

  “Next to you, Miss Kitty, I think Mastah John loved that old dog better’n anything.”

  She shook her head abruptly. There was no need to look back. The past held only pain. There was the future to think about. Forcing a smile, she said, “Jacob, I’ve decided that it’s time for us to leave here and go home.”

  He jerked his head up. “Home? Miss Kitty, they burnt you out. You ain’t got no home.”

  “I’ve got my land, Jacob. Remember, Poppa always said as long as you have land, you’re never poor. You’ve always got something. So we’re going home. I’ll live in one of the shacks till spring, or till Travis returns. We’ll get by. I have you to help me. Thank God, I have you.”

  Slapping his hat against his knee, he stomped his foot and shouted with joy. “We’s goin’ home. Yes’m, we’s goin’ home. And you don’t have to worry about nothin’, ’cause I’ll be there to look after you till the captain comes home. Praise the Lord.”

  “Now come with me.” Kitty took his hand and pulled him through the veranda doors and back into the warmth of her bedroom. A fire crackled brightly in the fireplace. The thought of going back to what really belonged to her, no matter how bleak, made her spirits brighter than the flames dancing in the hearth. Home. Her home. She was taking little John and Jacob and going home to wait for Travis.

  She ran to the bell cord and gave it a hard yank. “I want you to see the baby, Jacob. I think he looks a little like Poppa, but there’s no denying he’s Travis’s son. He has that look about him, somehow, and you know he’s got quiet strength, just like his father. And he’s a big baby, too. He’s growing every day.”

  The door opened quietly and Dulcie stood there, looking at the two of them with condemnation in her dark eyes. “Mr. McRae is not going to like you being here, Jacob. You promised you wouldn’t stay but a minute.”

  “Bring in the baby and let me worry about Mr. McRae,” Kitty said quickly. “It’s Christmas, Dulcie, and I’m very happy. So stop your frowning. Be happy for me, too.”

  Dulcie looked uncertain, then said haltingly, “Well, the baby was asleep last time I looked in. Mr. McRae wants you to start dressin’ for dinner. The turkey’s almost done, and—”

  “Dulcie, bring in my son.” Kitty was growing impatient. She was tired of living under Corey’s rules. The baby was hers, and she would see him when she liked. She had put up with a lot, and had bit her tongue in silence when the servants kept the baby from her. But she was going home in just another day. Corey could get angry if he wanted. It did not matter now.


  Dulcie whirled around, her long cotton skirt swishing. She disappeared through the doorway, and Jacob whispered, “Maybe I better go, missy. No need to cause trouble now. I ain’t got no business here. I can go on over and start choppin’ wood and gettin’ things ready.”

  “Where have you been staying?”

  “Right here on Mistah McRae’s place, in one of the servants’ cabins. They’re right nice, too. Evah one’s got a fireplace. Some even got stoves. Funny how evahbody calls ’em servants’ cabins now instead o’ slave shacks.”

  They both looked up as Dulcie came back into the room, holding the baby in her arms. Kitty took him and cradled him against her bosom and stared down in wonder and love at the precious cherub. “You are beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like your father.”

  “He gonna have dark hair, too,” Jacob said, peering over her shoulder to stare down at the tiny baby. “My, my, he’s a fine ’un, Miss Kitty. You sho got good reason to be proud. And the captain, he gonna be proud, too, when he comes back.”

  “I wrote General Sherman.” Kitty rocked the baby, smiling down at him. “I told him about the baby, and I asked him to either get in touch with Travis or let me know how I might contact him. Dulcie took the letter to town. We should hear something any day. Don’t you think so, Dulcie?”

  Dulcie didn’t speak, and Kitty looked at her sharply. “You did send that letter, didn’t you?” She did not like the look on Dulcie’s face.

  “Oh, yes’m, I did. I give it to somebody who say they take care of it. I did. I sho did.”

  She was nervous, Kitty noted. She was forgetting to talk in the proper way that Corey required of all his servants. For the first time, she began to suspect that maybe the letter had not been sent, after all. Well, she would take care of that. As soon as Jacob took her and the baby home, she would write another letter, and she could certainly trust Jacob to send it. This time she would have him take it to General Schofield, or whoever was in charge of occupation of Goldsboro. Still, she did not like thinking that Dulcie could not be trusted.

  Jacob was still beaming over the baby, and Kitty was laughing with delight because little John was waking up and looking around curiously, his rosebud mouth pursing expectantly.

  No one heard Corey McRae enter the room. Only Dulcie saw him, and she retreated quickly, scooting around him to get out the door as she saw the anger flashing in his eyes. “Just what is going on here?” he cracked, teeth gritting at the sight before him.

  “Oh, Corey, good morning and Merry Christmas.” Kitty glanced up to look at him only briefly before returning her gaze to her son. “Jacob came to bring a gift, and he hasn’t seen the baby. Oh, look, Jacob, his eyes are closed again, but he’s smiling.”

  “My momma always tol’ me when a baby smiles when he’s a’sleepin’, it’s the angels talkin’to ’em,” Jacob said, completely captivated by the baby.

  “Oh, what a sweet idea.” Kitty looked at him in wonder. “And I can see that it could very well be true. Babies come from heaven, don’t they?”

  “Kitty, dinner is almost ready.” Corey’s voice lashed out again, this time stronger, and there was no denying that he was quite angry. “I would appreciate your dressing. We do have the baby on somewhat of a schedule, you know, one that the doctor suggested. It does not call for fondling the child at this hour. I believe he is supposed to be asleep. As for Jacob, I think you both know my rules about field hands coming into my house—”

  “Jacob is not your field hand,” Kitty replied, resentment moving through her body, making her back stiffen. “He is my friend, and he came here to wish me a Merry Christmas. As for your so-called schedule, John is my son, Corey, and while I appreciate all you have done for us, I will make the decisions where he is concerned.”

  Jacob had moved back, uncomfortable. Kitty noticed and told him he could go. “I will send for you in the morning. You go and make things ready.” He nodded and hurried from the room, stepping wide so as not to come close to Corey McRae.

  Without turning, Corey kicked his leg out behind him to slam the door shut. “What ‘things’ is that nigra supposed to make ready, Kitty?”

  She walked over to the rocker before the fireplace and sat down, still cradling the baby tightly against her bosom. “I am leaving tomorrow morning, Corey.” She made her voice light, airy. “I have imposed upon your hospitality long enough. Jacob is going to get everything ready for us.”

  Corey chuckled as he walked to stand between her and the fireplace. He wore a red velvet coat and pants of dark blue. His shirt was white and ruffled at the throat and cuffs. Kitty could not deny that he was attractive, dressed so dandily, however personally unappealing she found him.

  “And where do you propose to go, my dear?” he asked quietly.

  “Well, back home, of course.”

  “Have you forgotten that your home was burned? You have nowhere to go. We are having a bitter winter, my dear, and you have your baby to consider. Stay here with me, accept my generosity, at least until spring, when the weather will turn warmer.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. I must leave at once, Corey. Please don’t think me unappreciative, because I will be in your debt forever. But the time has come for me and little John to leave this house. Everyone will be saying that I am your mistress, that I took Nancy’s place, and I certainly don’t want Travis hearing any gossip like that when he gets back.”

  Corey ground his teeth together, trying not to lose his temper. “But where will you live?”

  “They didn’t burn out the cabins at the edge of the swamp. They are small but livable. John and I will live in one, and Jacob will live in the one next door. We’ll get by till spring, and Travis may return any day now.”

  “Travis is dead.”

  It was as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown in her face. Kitty almost dropped the baby as she struggled to her feet. “How dare you say such a thing? He’s not dead! I would know if he were dead. He’s sick or wounded or…or he has duty and cannot get away. There is a reason.”

  “Nine months?” he scoffed, moving to the bell cord and giving it a yank. “Be reasonable, my dear. No soldier has to stay on duty nine months after the war is over. He could have come to you if he had wanted to. Perhaps it is time you faced reality. People are beginning to snicker behind your back. The servants even whisper that you are perhaps tetched. It’s becoming a joke, Kitty. Wake up, my dear, and realize what is obvious to everyone else around you. Travis Coltrane is not coming back. You have a baby to worry about, a baby without a father. You have land, but no decent house. The taxes on your property will soon be due. How do you propose to pay them?”

  She was staring at him, stunned, open-mouthed. Dulcie appeared. Corey had only to snap his fingers and motion to the baby, and the young girl hurried to take little John from Kitty’s limp arms, then left as quickly as she had come.

  “Well, have you thought of these things, Kitty?” Corey snapped impatiently. “How can you be so selfish? It’s not just you to be considered now, you know. There’s a helpless baby involved. He can’t help it that he has a mother who is too stubborn to face reality. Are you going to kill him trying to prove a point?”

  “Kill him?” she echoed, horrified.

  “Yes, kill him. Do you think he can survive down there in a shack by the swamp? You have no milk for him, and if you leave, I will certainly not send his wet nurse with him. She’s needed here for other infants on the plantation. How will you feed him?”

  Her hand touched her breast gingerly. “I had milk. I saw it. Perhaps if I start nursing him now, it will return…” She spoke as though in a trance.

  Corey moved to take her in his arms and crush her against his chest. “You don’t have to leave here, Kitty,” he whispered fervently. “Marry me. I want you for my wife. I will accept your son as my own and give him my name. Everything I have will be yours and his.”

  “No!” She cried, horrified, using both her hands to push against his chest.
“Travis will return. I know he will. He’s the man I love.”

  “You’ll learn to love me,” he cried, reaching to entwine his fingers in her long, golden hair. Bending her head back, he pressed his face closer, whispering, “How long since a man’s lips burned against yours, my dear? How long since the fires of passion moved through your veins? I can make it all happen.”

  His lips came down, bruisingly. She struggled but was no match for his strength. She began to beat upon his back with her fists, but he pushed her backward till her knees buckled and she fell across the bed. His body immediately moved to cover hers.

  “Don’t try to fight me,” he breathed hoarsely, raising his mouth only slightly. She could still feel his lips against hers. “Fight me, and I will only have to hurt you, Kitty, and I don’t want it like that. I just want to hold you and touch you and kiss you…tell you how much I love you and must have you. I know your body is still sick from birth, and I won’t take you, not now. But I can have this much. Oh, God, Kitty, let me love you.”

  A groan came from deep in his throat as he closed his mouth over hers once again, hungrily, tongue thrusting inside to probe about. She began to struggle and fight, terrified, but he quickly caught both her wrists and held her arms above her head with one hand while his other slipped inside her gown to fasten about her breast. He squeezed gently, then roughly, and she heard his gasping noises as though he were experiencing deep pain.

  His fingers moved from her breasts long enough to push the skirt of her robe upward, baring her thighs. Then he was moving himself against her, and she could feel his swollen organ moving to and fro. His fingertips moved to her nipples, gently, then roughly and painfully, and she could only lie there beneath him helplessly while he kept working his swollen flesh rhythmically against her. He worked his hips faster, faster, and the whimpering sound from deep in his throat grew louder, more agonized.