Dueling Hearts

by McDonough, Vickie;

  “Maybe I should just apologize.” A myriad of thoughts raced through Reed’s mind. If he offered an apology for the things that had happened in the past, would Johan be satisfied? His honor restored? The Zimmers had blamed the Bishops for their misfortune for as long as Reed could remember. But apologizing for something he had no part of stuck in his craw. Expressing regret was difficult enough for a man when he was the guilty party. Besides, he was from a long line of patriots and backing down had never been an option.

  He stood straighter and eyed the scrolling inscription etched on the box of dueling pistols. Reed didn’t doubt his own skill with a pistol, and dueling was a commonly accepted form of settling disputes among Southern gentlemen, but was he ready to risk his life for the sake of his pride?

  “Don’t back down, Bishop. Everyone’ll think you’re yellow.”

  Reed glanced over his shoulder at Grady Howard, one of his future college classmates. Had the man actually read his thoughts?

  Beside Grady stood another half-dozen men his age from wealthy families of the South, all of whom were leaving on the ship with him tomorrow. If he apologized now, they would all think him a coward. His reputation would be in shambles, and his classmates would make the years in Scotland miserable. There was no option left, but to continue. He turned his attention on his opponent and shook his head. “My family’s honor has been ground into the dirt one time too many. Itends here. Today.”

  Johan’s lips puckered, and his bloodshot eyes narrowed. “You Bishops don’t know wha’ honor is.” He waved a hand at Tucker. “Get on with it.”

  “Do you have a second?” Tucker asked.

  Johan looked around, as if hunting a friend. A man Reed didn’t recognize stepped forward. “I’ll be his second.”

  “Very well,” Tucker said. He opened the box of dueling pistols and motioned for Reed’s and Johan’s seconds to step forward. “Mr. Bishop, as the wronged party, your second may choose first.” Damian eyed the identical weapons then selected one. Both seconds loaded powder and ball; then each returned to his principal’s side.

  Reed eyed the pistol—a beautiful Henry Le Page creation with a walnut stock and a chrome-and-satin barrel. “Let me see it.”

  Damian handed over the pistol. Reed held it in his left hand, testing its weight, liking the feel of it in his hand. The firearm was a fine weapon and would serve him well.

  Damian patted Reed’s shoulder then took back the pistol. “I sure hope you come out the winner. I’d hate to lose my best friend. Having you go away for years is bad enough.”

  Reed swallowed the lump building in his throat. He could actually die today—and at just nineteen, dying was not something he’d wasted much time thinking about. Should he be the loser and perish, his mother would be shocked and deeply saddened that her only child was gone. They might not agree on many things, but he knew she loved him.

  Tucker closed the pistol box and stepped forward. “Gentlemen, if you two will stand back-to-back, we’ll get this thing over with.”

  Suddenly stiff and somber, Johan turned around and faced the other direction. Reed stalked over and stood behind him, the pistol in his hand shaking. He forced his fist to hold steady and inhaled a deep breath.

  “All right, then, I will begin counting. You will both take a step in the opposite direction on each count I call out; then on number eight, you will turn and fire. God be with you both and may He vindicate the man in the right.”

  A trickle of sweat ran down Reed’s temple. Off to his right, he recognized the chirp of a brown-headed nuthatch that flittered among the limbs of a tall pine tree. The bird’s cheery squeaking was in dramatic contrast to the solemn event taking place on the massive lawn. The midafternoon sun struggled to peek through the gray clouds overhead, as if it, too, wanted to watch the events. In a paddock to his right, a dozen horses grazed peacefully on thick, green grass, and on the left, most of the spectators stood a respectable distance away. He couldn’t help wondering which man they were cheering for. His family was well respected, but there were always those who despised them for their wealth and success.

  “One.”

  Reed hesitated a moment then stepped forward when he felt Johan do so. He had only wanted to have an enjoyable day before he left America. Why couldn’t Johan have kept silent?

  “Two.”

  His whole body jarred as he paced forward. He swallowed the lump building in his throat. What a waste his life had been. His parents had coddled him and let him have his way much of the time when he was young. He’d grown into a young man who liked getting what he wanted.

  “Three.”

  Five more steps to death, maiming, or vindication. But vindicating what? Would winning the duel actually restore honor to either man? Maybe in the eyes of those attending, but would it put an end to the Zimmers’ accusations?

  “Four.”

  Reed could no longer hear his opponent’s heavy breathing. Was the man more sure of his abilities than he looked? A better shot than his reputation claimed him to be? Or maybe he was only pretending to be drunk. Reed clenched his jaw. He wasn’t ready to die.

  “Five.”

  Up to this point, he’d lived mostly for fun and for doing scientific research. He had preferred spending time in a tavern with his friends to working on the estate or at the shipping yard on the harbor that his father half owned. He remembered attending church when he was younger, but like his close friends, he hadn’t seen a need for God or religion. He looked up at the sky. Would he stand face-to-face with God today?

  “Six.”

  No, he wasn’t ready. He had too much life to live. He’d finally settled on a career that sounded halfway interesting. He couldn’t die today. He’d never become a doctor. And yet, how could he become a doctor knowing he’d killed or maimed a neighbor?

  “Seven.”

  If he allowed Johan the first shot, he could well die without ever firing his pistol. He pursed his lips. He couldn’t kill the man; that much he knew. When he turned, he would delay firing and allow Johan the first shot; then he’d place a shot close enough to look real. If he perished, so be it, but at least he’d die with a clear conscience, knowing he hadn’t taken advantage of a drunken man.

  “Eight. Fire at will.”

  Three

  Carina stood on the expansive front porch of the Hanover home, waiting for the groom to locate her carriage and driver. She was so ready to head home. She never should have come. If only Betsey hadn’t refashioned one of her mother’s old gowns and encouraged her that attending today’s ball would help her to get to know her neighbors better. But the slave woman was mistaken. The fine ladies of Charleston had made little to no effort to get to know her. They’d taken one look at her dress and stuck their rich noses up in the air. She was not a native of Charleston or even America. How could she ever hope to fit in with the local society?

  No matter. She didn’t need their friendship.

  Leaning against a tall porch pillar, she studied the perfectly manicured lawn. The road leading up to the main entrance of her family’s home looked like a forest compared to the Hanover’s well-trimmed lawn and gardens. Farther away, dozens of palmettos lined both sides of the drive, making an inviting first view of the Hanover home. If she had forty-eight hours in a day, maybe hers could look as nice. At least she was able to file away several ideas for the day when she could squeeze out time to garden.

  The door behind her opened, and Miss Elizabeth Hanover and two friends exited. They cast her an odd glance then sat in the rockers along the parlor window. Carina watched them out of the corner of her eye. All three were probably only a year or two younger than she. What would it be like to be friends with girls her own age? But then, those spoiled rich girls had nothing in common with her.

  The young women giggled, and Elizabeth caught Carina’s gaze. “I’m surprised to see you out here, considering what’s happening out back.”

  Carina jerked her gaze away. Her cheeks warmed at the thought that
the women had caught her staring at them. She glanced down the long drive, but her carriage still wasn’t in sight. Then her mind latched onto what Elizabeth had said, and she turned back to face her. “What’s going on out yonder?”

  Elizabeth’s blond brows lifted, and she glanced at her friends. “You mean you truly don’t know?”

  Carina shook her head.

  “Oh, dear.” The woman to Elizabeth’s right lifted her fingertips to her lips.

  Apprehension skittered up Carina’s spine like ants climbing a tree. “What is it? And why would I be concerned?”

  Elizabeth stood and walked toward her. “Your brother created quite a disturbance on the dance floor.”

  Scowling, Carina couldn’t for the life of her imagine her highly introverted brother asking a woman to dance. He didn’t even know how to dance, as far as she knew. Why, she had barely managed to get him to attend. She narrowed her eyes, not sure whether to believe the uppity woman or not. “What kind of disturbance?”

  The woman in the lavender dress jumped up from her rocker and hurried to Elizabeth’s side. “I thought it was so exciting. That Reed Bishop, he’s so handsome and collected.”

  Carina’s heart jolted. Hearing Reed Bishop’s name mentioned in conjunction with her brother was not a good thing.

  “We’re not talking about Reed, Amanda.” Elizabeth tossed her head, and her blond ringlets bounced. She narrowed her eyes at Carina. “Your brother was drunk. He shouted across the ballroom, slandering Reed’s father and disrupting the dance.”

  Carina felt the blood drain from her face. “What else happened?”

  “Oh, Reed took it rather well, but your brother wouldn’t listen and challenged him to a duel.”

  Carina gasped. “Today? Here?”

  Both women nodded, but Elizabeth responded. “Yes, Reed leaves tomorrow to attend the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons in Glasgow and will be gone several years. It had to be today.”

  Dropping her satchel, Carina picked up her skirts and raced across the porch and around the side of the house, her heart pounding. Her kindhearted brother knew little about weapons. He had no need for them since he couldn’t stand to even squash a spider and thought hunting was cruel. He wouldn’t even eat meat. Reed Bishop had been hunting all his life. She knew because she’d spied on him when she was younger. He was an expert shot and a man who had no heart. Her sweet brother was no match.

  From the elevated porch, she could see across the wide, open lawn surrounded with pine trees on two sides, where many of the guests stood, watching the event. Farther past them, two men were already pacing away from one another. “No, no, no!”

  She jogged down the steps, heedless of the heads turning her way. She had to stop this senseless battle.

  With the crowd thinner along the edges, Carina squeezed her way past the wealthiest members of Charleston’s society—past men and women dressed in their finery. Why would so many people, women especially, care to watch two men shooting at each other? Had they no sense of decency?

  She had almost reached the edge of the crowd when she heard the counting.

  “Six.”

  Relief almost slowed her steps. She wasn’t too late. Didn’t the count go to ten? “Move out of the way.” She tried to go around, but the crowd was pressed up against a row of thick hedges that lined the side of the garden. Pushing between two giants, she heard the count of seven. “Let me pass. Please!”

  One man glanced down and turned enough that she could squeeze past him. Finally she had a clear view of her brother and that horrible Reed Bishop.

  “Eight. Fire at will.”

  “Nooo!” Carina screamed. She rushed toward her brother, but someone grabbed her from behind, jerking her backward. “Let me go! Please!”

  The hands held firm.

  ❧

  Reed spun around, holding his pistol in front of him. Johan stumbled around, waving his firearm in the air. Reed slowly lowered his. How could he shoot a man who couldn’t even stand up straight?

  To his left, a woman’s scream pierced the air. Johan’s pistol exploded. A moment later, Reed’s left arm erupted with burning pain. He jumped, and his own pistol fired. He grabbed his arm and looked down. A slit had been sliced through the sleeve of his dress coat, and the camel-colored fabric was stained with crimson along the tear.

  “Good show, Reed. How bad are you wounded?”

  Shaken from his stupor, Reed stared at Damian. “I think he just winged me.”

  “Well, it looks like you did more than that to him.”

  Reed’s gaze jerked back to where Johan had been standing. Remorse surged through him like a tidal wave. He’d shot Johan? He must have fired the gun when he jumped after getting shot. Johan lay on the ground, a mass of red covering his torso. A woman in a dark blue dress rushed to his side and fell to her knees in the grass. Shame gutted Reed. What had he done? “I wasn’t going to shoot.”

  “Well you did, and you’ve been vindicated. Your honor is restored.” Damian pried the pistol from his fingers. “Let me return this, and we’ll get out of here before that wife of Johan’s makes a scene.”

  Reed didn’t feel very honorable. He didn’t even know Johan had a wife. The crowd of spectators surged forward. Men clapped his uninjured shoulder, offering him their congratulations.

  “Well done, Bishop.”

  “That’s fine shooting.”

  “Expert marksmanship.”

  The praises floated around Reed’s head like pesky flies. He had to get out of there before he was sick. Pushing through the crowd, he ignored the pain throbbing in his arm. He’d shot a man—and that man could die because of him. How could he become a doctor now that he had a man’s blood on his hands?

  Four

  Tanglewood Plantation, South Carolina

  1852

  Carina eyed the six slaves who stood by the wagon with their heads hanging down. Each clung to a burlap bag that held all of their belongings. She swallowed the aching lump building in her throat. They were healthy and better dressed than most slaves she’d seen in Charleston, and she knew each one by name, knew how long they’d lived at Tanglewood. Leasing them out was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but she had to have income, and she had few options left. Tears burned her eyes, and she forced them away lest Mr. Davies see her crying and attempt to take advantage of her.

  Most folks didn’t give a hoot about their slaves and thought of them only as property, but to Carina, they were her friends—people she’d grown fond of and felt it her duty to watch over. But she’d failed them, and choosing who to lease to work in Charleston and who to keep was almost more than she could bear. By leasing this half dozen for a short while, she hoped to hang on to Tanglewood so that they would one day be able to return. Tonight, when she was alone in her bed, she’d cry at the unfairness of it all.

  Lifting her head, she held out the slaves’ papers then waited for Mr. Davies to look over them. “You promised you’d do right by them, and I’ll trust you’re a man of your word.”

  He grunted but merely continued perusing the papers. “Where’s your daddy? And why ain’t he out here tendin’ to this business?”

  Carina worked hard not to flinch. If Mr. Davies knew that her fader had taken to his bed over a year ago, he’d offer her half what she knew the slaves were worth. “I am the one handling this sale. Are we doing business or not?”

  He rolled up the papers then studied her with narrowed eyes. “Looks like ever’thing is in order here.” He smacked the roll against his palm. “Why not just sell them to me? I’ll give you one thousand dollars for the lot of them.”

  Unable to hold back her gasp, she straightened her back and narrowed her gaze. “You’ll not be taking advantage of me, Mr. Davies. Jesse alone is worth that much. If you’re not interested in leasing them, you can take your business elsewhere.”

  He worked his mouth as if chewing on a slice of jerky. Rubbing his whiskery jaw with the back of his hand, he glared at
her through unusually small eyes the color of swamp water. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Zimmer. Perhaps we could barter a deal that would benefit us both.”

  Her fader had warned her that Mr. Davies was a shrewd businessman, but she wouldn’t allow him to ramrod her. “What kind of deal?”

  His lazy gaze drifted down her body, lingering at the most inappropriate places. She shifted from one foot to the other, fighting the desire to flee to the creek and wash off. She pulled a small pistol from her skirt pocket and crossed her arms, holding up the weapon with her shooting hand, her message clear. “I’ll take two hundred dollars per month with the first two months up front as you promised or nothing. Make up your mind. I’ve got work waiting.”

  He muttered a half snarl, half laugh, then shook his head. “I’ll give you one hundred fifty dollars per month and not a half cent more.”

  Carina’s heart sank. She longed to keep her workers. Without them, the few slaves she had left would find it very difficult to manage everything that needed done around Tanglewood. But if she didn’t get the money to pay the mortgage, she’d lose the land that she’d given her heart and soul for. She simply had to make this bargain today. She would never be able to work up her nerve to lease her people again. Her fader had taught her that sometimes the best way to seal a deal was to walk away. “Then good day to you, sir.”

  She turned her back to Mr. Davies and strode toward her servants.

  Mr. Davies uttered a curse. “Now just hold your horses, missy. They said you was hard-nosed, but I didn’t believe it.”

  Who had said she was hard-nosed? She turned back to face the despicable man, not at all liking that people had been talking about her.

  “All right, I’ll give you one hundred eighty dollars.”

  “The price is two hundred dollars. And you’re getting a bargain.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. “All right. Two hundred dollars. But don’t expect me to be coming around again to pay. You can come to Charleston to collect your payment.”

  Carina almost smiled at the relief she felt, in spite of knowing she’d have to travel so far to collect her money each month. Her fingers tingled as she watched him count out the bills and coins. She could pay the taxes and two mortgage payments, purchase some much-needed supplies and also seed for next spring’s planting. And maybe now she could afford to hire a doctor from town to help her fader.