by Linda Broday
“Don’t discount the power of words, my dear. Since he did, General Buell and his underlings have gotten more careful. I hear government spies watch and report back to Washington.”
Laurel jumped up to pace the length of the room.
“Brodie isn’t influential or anyone of consequence. The soldiers can simply claim they shot him trying to escape.”
The mere thought filled her mouth with bitter rage.
“Sit down. I can’t think if you insist on pacing.”
She returned to perch stiffly beside him. “Spit and thunder. He had to have lost his mind to come back with Texas under military occupation. And why did he have to follow Vallens and try to save me? He didn’t take the danger serious enough.”
“No, he did. And knowing my brother, he would gladly do it again.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? Does he place so little value on his life?”
“You don’t understand my brother very well. He does whatever it takes to ensure the welfare of those he loves, even if he finds death in the process. The answer to your question… He cares for you with his body and soul, so much he’d risk anything on this earth for your safety.”
Brodie’s crooked smile haunted her memory.
At least I’m not the one claiming something they’re not, Lil. I hold no misconception of the sort I am.
Strange how it took losing the man she loved to discover a truth Ollie had tried to pound into her. No person could bring what she craved and thought never to have. It had to come from her.
Wearing a mask and pretending to be someone else didn’t earn her a place of respect.
Strange she’d had it all this time and couldn’t see it.
He couldn’t die because of her foolish notions.
But he would. He’d chosen that.
Laurel gripped the tufted arm of the settee.
He’d die for her.
Twenty-eight
Laurel fought sickening nausea.
“I have an idea worth trying.” Murphy steepled his hands, thumbs on his mouth. “It requires a trip into Jefferson, which I’m not up to…and a lie. It’s a lot to ask.”
“I’ll say anything. Go anywhere.”
“It may not work, but I believe it’s all we have.” Murphy quickly outlined the scheme.
Two hours later, Laurel walked down the gangplank of the steamer at Jefferson and went straight to Epperson & Maxey, Attorneys at Law, tucked between the Rosebud Saloon and Mrs. Kinnear’s millinery shop.
Laurel groaned when Georgia Rutabaga of the Tyler Rutabagas just happened to emerge from the hatmaker.
“Miss James, how delightful.” The clerk of the mercantile pursed her lips. “I’ve spent sleepless nights worrying about whatever I said or did to upset you.”
“You needn’t give it a second thought. I’m fine. Truly.”
Georgia Rutabaga peered over Laurel’s shoulder. “Business with Mr. Epperson?”
Laurel suppressed a desire to tell the woman to mind her own business and tried to be gracious. “Forgive me, but I can’t bear to discuss an extremely sensitive matter.” She sniffled and dabbed her eyes. “I pray you understand.”
“I must get home to Mr. Rutabaga anyway. How time flies.”
After the woman rounded a corner, Laurel patted herself on the back for the stroke of brilliance, then calmed her shaking hands and turned the knob.
“Benjamin Epperson at your service, miss.” A dapper man closed a large volume on his desk. Gray sprinkles shot through his once dark hair.
“Nice to meet you. I have it on good authority you might assist with a grievous problem.” When the man raised a quizzical brow, she went on. “I travel seeking the head of Citizens for Peace.”
Mr. Epperson cast a glance around then hustled her into an inner room. “Merely speaking the name in broad daylight gets innocent men killed. However, I have no knowledge any such organization exists and advise against pursuing this. Whoever claims otherwise committed a falsehood. I practice law.”
“Murphy Yates of Redemption gave me your name. Perhaps he erred. I apologize.” A sudden turn swirled her skirts about as Laurel tried not to show her despair. She stumbled, slamming her shoulder into a paneled wall.
“Wait, miss. You said Murphy Yates?”
“He’s a friend. A contingent of soldiers took his brother to the stockade. A bullet wound during a bank robbery prevented Mr. Yates from coming himself.”
“So the devils finally caught Brodie? Hate to hear that. I understand he gave them quite a slippery chase.”
One that ended largely because of her.
“Then you grasp the importance of my need. Could you direct me to anyone who has affiliations with the Rising Sun?”
“Please follow me, Miss…?”
“James. Laurel James.”
Benjamin Epperson tapped a code of sorts on what appeared an ordinary wall inside a coat closet. Laurel followed him inside a secret room. A small group of men leaped to their feet.
“No cause for alarm, gentlemen,” Epperson said. “This pretty lady asks for our help. Mr. Crump, it’s my opinion that we should consider obliging her.”
In less than half an hour she tucked a hastily designed document into a satchel and headed for the tall gates that imprisoned her love. For the first time since leaving Redemption, she held hope of fixing the mess she’d had a hand in creating.
She only prayed it worked.
* * *
Brodie had no strength to resist when pulled roughly from an airless sweat coffin designed to break a man’s will.
“Commander wants to see ya,” the voice yelled in his good ear, the one they’d overlooked in teaching the “lesson.”
Getting a clear view of the figure through swollen eyes took some doing. And when a shove sent him sprawling at the feet of a woman who bore great similarity to Laurel, he decided the confinement and beatings had left him delusional.
They must’ve bashed out his brains to think Laurel would take tea with his tormenter like she was on a social outing.
“Shenandoah, good of you to place yourself at my beck and call.” General Buell smiled and leaned forward. “Your lovely wife brings a document to my attention. It states your name as Brodie Yates. To wit, you can’t possibly be the infamous spy because you were too busy marrying her.”
A wife?
The brutes had indeed ruined his hearing, along with breaking two fingers and half his ribs, for he could’ve sworn the man called Laurel his wife.
“What have you done to my husband?” Laurel’s strained voice told of her struggle to hold back a sob.
A hundred needles pierced his body when he tried to stand. Although lying on the floor presented tempting argument, he wished to meet the Yankee’s smirk from an upright position. He didn’t push aside the firm grip around his waist or gentle brush of Laurel’s lips to his cheek as she helped him into a chair.
Thumb screws brought less misery than seeing her again.
Facing the only woman he’d ever loved shouldn’t be where he must measure each word with the greatest care. Making amends called for softer surroundings far away from curious ears. Preferably amid a downy featherbed.
“I don’t buy this charade for one minute, but I must compliment you on your excellent taste in women.” Buell bit off the end of a fat cigar and struck a match to it. “No, it’s going to take a lot more than paper. It looks phony to me.”
Brodie felt Laurel stiffen. She clutched a handkerchief to her mouth. “I have no reason to lie. Besides, I have eight children I can march in here to prove he preferred bedding me over fighting a silly war. And you still haven’t answered my question. How did my husband receive this beating?”
A marriage and children? Eight of them to be exact. How could he forget such a large number? One thing for sure, if he’d partaken
of such pleasure, it would never slip his mind.
“Madam, I don’t care if you parade half the children in the state of Texas through here. It won’t prove he’s not Shenandoah,” the general stated dryly.
The raven-haired beauty’s eyes widened. “Perhaps the word of a learned physician would carry more weight. Dr. Whitaker can explain why my husband couldn’t join the cause because he took sick with cholera.” She sobbed quietly into the lace-edged cloth. “But for the pure grace of God, I would’ve lost him. Once he recovered, a horse threw him and broke his leg—my husband’s, not the horse’s.”
Brodie wondered where she got her acting skills. It was quite impressive.
“I declare, Mrs. Yates. That tragic concoction seems too good to waste. But I don’t believe a word,” Buell snapped.
“Disputing my wife’s integrity, General?” Brodie snapped.
“Sure am, even if a Dr. Whitaker does exist beyond the figment of her imagination.”
“Well, I never!” She placed a hand on her hip. “For the last time, I need an answer to my question concerning Brodie’s condition.”
“He fell. Does that suit you?”
“No. I intend to pay a visit to Mr. Loughery. One would think with the trouble he’s stirred up recounting the atrocious prisoner maltreatment in the newspaper you’d take more care not to get on his front page again.”
“Loughery’s nothing but a rabble-rouser. Before it’s over, he may find himself in my stockade if he doesn’t watch out.”
“Could I appeal to your sense of fairness and beg a private word with my husband?” Laurel leaned forward to touch General Buell’s arm. “Please. It’s so little to ask.”
Brodie knew the effect of that contact; still, it amazed him to see how quickly it shredded the hardened man’s resistance.
“I’m no ogre, my dear lady. Ten minutes, no more.”
The door latch slid into place before either spoke. Brodie broke the silence first. “You should’ve stayed away.”
How could he delicately explain that her presence poured salt in wounds that’d already festered?
She put her arms around his neck and leaned against his chest. “I couldn’t stay away. Darn it, I can’t find a spot that’s not bruised or bloody. They’ve reduced you to shambles.”
Brodie shrugged. “It’s nothing I didn’t expect. Comes with the territory.”
“They didn’t need to beat the living daylights out of you.”
“Appears I made ’em mad.”
Brodie winced when she gently brushed the lock of hair from his forehead. Everything about him hurt…mostly his heart. He stepped back from her. Give him back the thumb screws any day over this torture.
“Go home. Surely I don’t have to lay out the risks to an intelligent lady,” he rasped.
“I’m well aware of what’s at stake. But I had to come. You’re here on my account. I can’t leave you to the mercy of these Yankees without trying to repay a debt.”
“Darlin’, so I’m reduced to nothing but a debt? Maybe it was a merchant behind the mask you wore that night.”
“Don’t give up.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Murphy and I…and others will think of something.”
“Dare I point out General Buell saw through your attempt, dear wife? By the way, remind me again when we said our vows? Was that before or after you sneaked out of Curley’s saloon?”
Her lavender eyes registered surprise. “You saw me? I can explain. Believe in me. You did once. For God’s sake, I love you. I wouldn’t do anything to ruin that. In your own way, when you give yourself a chance, I think you love me back.”
Love? It was too late for that… Too late for wishing for something he couldn’t have.
“The only way I’m leaving here is in a box, understand?”
“Quitting at the first skirmish? Strange, I never thought they’d break the legendary Reb so quickly.”
“Stop it. Forget me. Get on with your life.”
“So we simply have dead dreams left? I mean nothing?”
The whisper came from hurt and misery that cut to the quick. He’d lost the one woman who could’ve brought peace.
“Don’t look so sad, love. It’s reality. We aren’t starry-eyed schoolchildren.” Brodie lifted her palm to his face. The smooth skin cooled a fevered cheek. “For what it’s worth, I wish things were different. Only they aren’t. A price comes for dancing to the music. You gotta pay that old fiddler for the privilege at some point.”
“Don’t say that. We deserve happiness and a chance.”
“It won’t happen. You can’t rub the spots off a leopard.”
He traced the moist line of her lips with a finger. When the tip of her tongue came in contact with his skin, he shivered with longing. She moved into the circle of his arm and burrowed her face into his chest. He closed his eyes tight to block the assault of her fragrance, soft curves that molded to his, and desire to have one more second with her.
“It doesn’t matter. Once you’re out of here, we can sort everything out,” Laurel murmured.
Couldn’t she see they didn’t have a forward? Movement in any direction would earn him nothing but a walk up to the gallows.
He tried to smile only it hurt too much. “I dearly wish I could meet these eight kids of ours before that hearse rolls up to cart me away.” He kissed the upturned mouth very gently, surprised he could still pucker.
The squeak of the door silenced a reply. “Time’s over. General said…uh, you hafta leave now…uh, madam.”
Brodie quirked an eyebrow at the brawny soldier’s sudden shyness. The man certainly hadn’t displayed a speck of it when he drove those boots into his ribs.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Laurel’s lips brushed his bruised cheek. “That’s a promise.”
“Let it go, I said. You can’t save me—not now, not ever. Mind your own knitting and quit trying to mend things that are better off thrown into a trash heap. I’m not redeemable.”
He had no choice but to push her away. Didn’t she see the danger she was in? Although sending her back to Redemption would rip out his heart, he had to. But damn. Hurt in her pretty eyes drove a knife into his chest. If only he could hold her and kiss away her sorrow, make love to her one more time.
“I’d ask the General’s permission first, ma’am.” Then the soldier floundered. “I mean…he generally allows visitors only once a week. But he, uh…might make an exception.”
“Heed me. Don’t visit again.” Brodie stared into the cloudless day, his voice brittle and hard. For her safety and his sanity, he could show no weakness.
Or his shattered heart.
Laurel stumbled through the gates. A sob rose, mixing with her tears. He saw in her a cat splattered with mud.
She could wash it off. Her quivering chin rose. Some she’d already scrubbed away. She could the rest.
He’d see. But first they must get him out and soon.
“Fancy meeting the beautiful Miss James in Sand Town.”
In the midst of her pain and despair she’d failed to notice the man in the shadows.
“Vallens! You’re alive and well despite rumors to the contrary. Folks in Redemption figured you for dead.” The good news was they couldn’t arrest Ollie for a murder she didn’t commit. “Do you miss your hound?”
“Not particularly. Dog’s a scrapper.”
“You put Brodie here.”
Vallens rubbed the jagged scar as though it ached down to his rotten soul.
“A word in the right ear works wonders and lures a woman from her safe surroundings.”
Suddenly, everything began to add up.
“The mystery with the meat shipment has your name all over it. Correct?”
“Except Taft failed to show, forcing a change in tactics.”
“I should’ve known i
t’d take more than a bullet to send you to hell.”
“Reckon that’s ’cause I’m already there.” He moved aside to reveal a second figure.
“I do declare, you’re looking splendid, Lil.”
Laurel didn’t need the rough edge of the broken tooth to recall the face that brought her nightmares to life. Icicles formed in the darkest corners of her being.
Will Taft’s mouth settled in a grim line. “I’m out of patience with you. The woman who stole you away from the Black Garter cost me dearly. I want recompense. I will have both the money and you.”
Terror rose, filling her mouth, gagging her with hopelessness. She glanced around for anyone who might help her.
“Grab a shovel because I’m dead to you. You’ll never get Ollie or me. The money’s gone, too.”
“Reckon your hide will do just fine. I’ve never skinned a woman before. I anticipate the pleasure.” The mouth barely visible in Taft’s whiskered face turned up in a smile. “And you have two younger sisters.”
Twenty-nine
Laurel gasped for breath. No one could help her now. Still she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing her terror.
“Touch my sisters and you’ll rue the day you were born. I’ve come a long way from the child you stole. I fight much better.”
A persistent bell rang somewhere in the middle of the afternoon. The clanging penetrated her dull senses that reeled from one surprise to the next. How very strange indeed. Perhaps a fire? Still no one shouted orders to form a bucket brigade.
“There you are, Miss James.” Georgia Rutabaga appeared at her side, gently taking her arm. “Did you forget?”
“Forget?”
“The Garden Club tea I invited you to earlier. Come along or we’ll be late. The ladies get impatient waiting for stragglers. Mrs. Crump grows most fretful when it comes to eyeing tea cakes and mouth-watering scones that she can’t have until everyone arrives.” The woman edged her out of Vallens’s and Taft’s reach with the expertise of a soldier.
“Oh yes. I’m so glad you found me.” Although Laurel had no idea what was going on, she could’ve hugged Mrs. Rutabaga.
