Chase turned back and found Ira passed out cold. Ira hadn’t heard a word he said about his missing memory.
Chapter Eighteen
Chase slowed his horse beside the deepest shadows on the gristmill road and listened. The night had taken on the same eerie silence he remembered falling over his troops, just before the worst cannon fire rained upon them. He heard phantom noises and shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. The drone distorted normal sound and make him hear things that were not there. He cast anxious glances into the thicket.
His breath caught in his throat. A new catalog of misplaced memory popped into his head without warning. The forgotten parts of the war returned to him in a rush. Another empty chasm had been miraculously filled, but the time before he rode off and left Linese was a black void without substance.
He kicked the horse and moved him down the shapeless path. He knew not what route he took, or for what purpose, but he urged the horse forward. Perhaps it was by instinct, perhaps it was a buried memory so faint he did not realize it was even in his head. Whatever it was, it pulled Chase deeper into the darkness while he struggled to resurrect the most important parts of his missing past.
A low whistle drew his head around and his hand went to the Colt. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he had actually heard it. Perhaps it was just another trick of the relentless drone in his head. The horse’s ears pitched forward and worked back and forth. He snorted and the puff of cloudy mist turned translucent in the pale winter moonlight. Now Chase knew he had indeed heard the sound.
“Cordell? Is that you?” A whisper came from a dark copse of woods beside the road.
“I’m here,” Chase answered, not knowing if he was speaking to friend or foe. His pulse quickened and he waited with his fingers tight around the butt of the Colt.
A man stepped out from the thick foliage. He held the reins of a leggy bay whose head drooped with fatigue. Chase saw the man wore no uniform, but then a spy wouldn’t, and Ira had mentioned that a spy would be hung.
Chase sighed in disgust. He still had no idea which side of the conflict would benefit from his reckless actions this night, but Ira had said innocent people would die. Chase could not allow himself to care if they were Southern or Unionist—he had seen enough death. He had to help the innocent, if he could.
“It’s good to see you again, Major. It’s been a long time.”
The ringing in Chase’s ears became a steady hum. He winced against it and squinted at the man’s face while a sharp pain narrowed behind his eyes. Fog surrounded the man’s face, swirled, thickened and obscured Chase’s pained view. When it started to clear, the ringing and pain lessened. Then it was gone completely, and Chase remembered the man.
“Stewart,” Chase said in amazement. He did indeed know the man. He had met him on the battlefield many times, had seen him wear the dark blue uniform of the Union before grapeshot had ruined his hip and brought him back to Mainfield.
“Goten said he would send someone to help. I never dreamed it would be you, sir.”
A deep sigh escaped Chase’s lips. At least he was offering aid to the same side he had fought for. But how had Ira become involved with a Union soldier? Chase had seen the man beaten for being a Southern sympathizer. More confusing questions about Ira Goten formed in his mind.
“We need to hurry, Major. I have information that must reach President Lincoln immediately.”
“Follow me.” Chase wheeled his horse with sudden confidence. The knowledge of their path seeped into his limbs from some unknown source. He could not remember how he knew it or when he had traveled this way before, but he knew exactly which direction meant safety for Stewart.
The next hour passed quickly while Chase successfully negotiated the twists and turns in the phantom trail. Finally he reached a clearing, and even though he still did not know how he knew it, he knew Stewart’s contacts would be waiting there.
A twig snapped under a horse’s hoof. Chase saw four mounted, blue-uniformed soldiers materialize out of the frosty mist at the edge of the clearing.
“Sir?” A bearded soldier addressed Stewart.
“Yes.” Stewart looked tired but relieved.
“We are your escort, sir.”
Stewart turned and reached across the distance to place his gloved hand on Chase’s forearm. “It has been good to see you. God keep you.” And with that he turned and followed the soldiers deep into the foliage before Chase could utter a word.
Chase waited with his gun cocked until Stewart was safely out of sight. The night was quiet, yet all the while Chase had the uncanny feeling of being watched. He spurred his horse and urged him over the frozen ground toward Cordellane with a new sense of urgency.
Something was not right. He could feel it.
The first knifelike pain brought Linese awake. She sat bolt upright in bed and searched the room with her eyes. The small clock on the mantel was visible in the golden glow from the fire the Captain had built, but she was alone.
Two o’clock. The room was quiet, the hard rocker where Chase spent most of his nights was empty. She had been determined to stay awake until he came home, but had failed.
“Where could he be?” Her muttered whisper was cut off by the next pain. The third brought a scream of agony from her lips.
Captain Cordell appeared in his nightshirt beside her bed. Within minutes the room was filled with bright candlelight. She was vaguely aware, through the haze of unbelievable pain, that the Jones girl was mopping her brow with a cool cloth while she writhed and twisted in the mound of bed covers.
“Chase, I want Chase.” Another pain shot through her. She was in labor, hard labor, and Doc’s description had not come close to preparing her for this. She was going to have the baby and Chase was not with her. Linese prayed it was not an omen of what the future was going to hold.
Time became suspended for her while everything in her life became focused inward on the pain ripping through her. It became a cycle. It came, receded only long enough to drag in a ragged breath and brace herself for the next one. She had no concept of how much time had passed, until Doc Lukins strode bleary-eyed and rumpled into the dining room.
Linese realized that Captain Cordell was standing beside the fireplace, fully dressed and warming himself. She knew he had ridden for the doctor in Mainfield and had returned. A long time had passed, and still Chase was not beside her.
Doc Lukins tried to mask his concern when he saw the stain of blood on the sheet between Linese’s thighs. “Listen to me, Linese. You have to work with the pains. If you keep fighting them, you’ll be worn out before the real work begins.”
“Is Chase here yet?” She gulped in air and forced herself to focus on Doc’s face.
“Don’t worry about Chase. Concentrate on what you need to do for yourself and this baby.” Doc’s reprimand was stern. He dared not show Linese how much he feared for her and the child. Her pregnancy had been difficult and the child had grown beyond what he considered a safe size, given Linese’s small stature. Still there was no choice for it—the child must be born.
“Please, I need Chase.” A hard band of pain encased Linese’s belly. Her back felt as if she were being cleaved in two. She twisted the sheets in her fists and stifled a moan. As if in answer to her prayer, she heard his steady tread pounding across the veranda.
“Chase.” Relief flooded through her. The candles guttered momentarily, then flared bright again when the door to the dining room opened and promptly shut behind him.
“Linese, I’m here.” He was beside her, stroking her forehead, her cheeks. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
The smell of crisp winter air clung to his coat. His hair was damp with night frost. She wondered where he had been, but the ensuing pain wiped away her questions. He kept telling her he would keep her safe. She had to believe it.
Linese had never known such pain. The sun came up, the candles were extinguished, and still she had no relief. She watched Doc Lukin’s fa
ce pinch with fatigue while he patted her arm and encouraged her.
Chase sat at the bedside and held her hands. Each time a pain ripped through her, she clamped her jaw together until her teeth grated, and squeezed his hand until her own knuckles ached from the effort.
“Soon, honey, soon it will be over.”
His words were calm and confident, only his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Linese looked into the misty gray depths and knew Chase was terrified, perhaps more terrified than even she was herself.
Day marched into night and the candles were lit once again. Chase dripped cool water into Linese’s mouth and gently stroked her brow with a damp cloth. Time had no meaning, no beginning and no end. Life for Linese had condensed into a series of cramps and wrenching contractions. Finally a blessed exhaustion washed over her and pulled her toward unconsciousness.
“Linese, you’ve got to fight.” Doc’s harsh voice snapped her back from oblivion.
She blinked and focused on his face. Worry was etched into each deep wrinkle. “You can’t give up, Linese, you cannot.” He grabbed her shoulders with his bony fingers until they bit into her skin. Linese looked into his aging eyes and understood. If she did not muster the strength to bring her child forth, they would both die.
“Linese, I love you,” Chase whispered softly.
She summoned the last of her willpower and dredged up one last reserve of strength. While her fingers dug into his hand, she pushed and ignored the hot, tearing pain. An odd gush of warmth between her legs accompanied her own muffled shriek.
“That’s it, Linese, bear down—hard,” Doc instructed.
A wail tore from her throat. One searing pain folded over her, then blessed numbness. Her limbs were leaden but she inhaled her first pain-free breath in long hours.
A lusty cry brought her eyes open and she wearily pulled herself up in order to see her child.
“It’s a girl, Linese.” Doc held up a small red, mottled infant.
A sudden pain jerked Linese back into the mound of pillows behind her head. Stark terror blanketed her. Something must be terribly wrong because she felt the anguish of unceasing pain tear through her body once again.
“What is it, Doc?” Chase’s voice was rife with fear.
“Oh, my Lord.” Doc quickly placed the squirming baby in Effie’s waiting hands and looked down at Linese. His face was pale mask. “Oh, my dear Lord,”
Terror gripped Chase. The baby was a girl, a daughter. Memory of his father’s ashen face drifted before him.
The Cordell curse.
He heard the words in his head. The men of the Cordell family are doomed to lose the women they love. If the Cordell curse were true, then both Linese and the child were at risk. Both were female, both could be taken from him now.
“Push, Linese,” Doc commanded.
Doc’s confusing words penetrated Chase’s gloom. Push? Why was he asking Linese to push? The birth was over….
Chase looked at Linese. She was red faced and determined. Love bloomed and expanded within his chest for her. She was his life, his love, and if he had to defy heaven and hell to be with her he would do so.
“I love you, darling.” He wasn’t sure she heard him over the noise of the soft cries of Chase’s second baby. He was dumbstruck. Blinking like a dazed pup, Chase looked from the first baby Effie held, to the squalling infant Doc held up, while he tied the cord off with a piece of twine.
“Twins?” Chase felt the witless smile steal across his face. A hot lump lodged in his tight throat. The babies wailed loudly in unison.
“It’s another girl.” The old physician sniffed and chuckled. “My first set of girl twins in all these years. Linese, you did a fine job.”
Chase looked at his wife in wonder. Exhaustion was written across her face. Strands of sweat-drenched hair clung to her cheeks, her blue eyes were ringed by hollows of fatigue. She had never looked more beautiful.
“You’ve given me two more Cordell girls to love.” He kissed her eyelids when they fluttered closed.
Effie bathed the babies while Linese’s bed was changed. She was padded and propped in the rocker while Chase, Doc and Captain Cordell set the room to rights. When she was once again tucked up in her bed, the girls were laid on either side of her, clean and sweet smelling.
Each baby had a tight cap of dark curls around her face. Two pairs of tiny cupid’s bow lips were pursed in sated sleep. Linese gingerly peeled back the blanket to check each tiny hand and foot in turn.
“They’re beautiful,” Chase said. “Just like their mother.”
“Prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” Captain Cordell agreed from his position by the fireplace. Linese saw his eyes were misty. She wondered if he realized they were his great-granddaughters, or if the gentle old soul was simply happy to see new life on Cordellane. Doc rubbed his eyes and nodded in agreement.
“Yes, they are fine-looking baby girls. And now I know why Linese was so big. One baby would’ve been about right, but two—” The old physician yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I better be getting back. The Lawrence boy had the croup, I need to check on him on my way home.”
“Thank you, Doc,” Linese said.
“Just take good care of them. I’ll be wanting to show off my handiwork when you’re back on your feet.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Chase stood up but before he and Doc took another step, the sound of anxious knocking drew every eye to the front door. The last time an unexpected visitor had shown up at Cordellane, Sheriff Thompson had been looking for evidence that Chase had been shot.
“I’ll see who it is. Stay with Linese,” Chase whispered so only Captain Cordell could hear.
“Chase, what is wrong?” Linese asked from her bed.
He turned to drink in the sight of her, holding his daughters in the soft glow of fire and candlelight, and smiled. “Nothing to worry about honey. You rest.”
Chase left the room and shut the dining room door securely behind him. He opened the front door and found Hezikiah staring at him.
“Is it the Gazette?” Chase braced himself for bad news.
Hezikiah was whiter than a sheet and his hands were trembling. Chase poured him a whiskey and the man knocked it back.
“What’s happened?” Chase imagined a hundred possible calamities. He envisioned Mayor Kerney and his nefarious associates, then he wondered if Ira Goten’s recent knife wound had been discovered, or perhaps Stewart had been caught before he delivered his news. Problems swirled through his head.
Hezikiah swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Southern troops are pouring into Ferrin County. I just got word from the telegraph office. Mainfield is bound to be overrun with Southern troops leaving Louisiana.”
A few days later, Chase and Hezikiah sat in the makeshift Gazette office talking.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it, Chase?” Hezikiah rubbed his hand over the silent, cold printing press. Mainfield had been occupied by Southern troops since the girls were born, but so far the occupation had been peaceful. “After all you did to keep the news going…”
Chase looked at the silent press and shrugged. “There doesn’t seem to be much point now anyway. It’s only a matter of time until the South falls. They are short on everything, and are fighting on pride and determination alone.” He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. “I just want it to end. I’m tired of war, Hezikiah. I want to live quietly and watch my daughters grow. I no longer have any desire to be a hero and I have little faith left in causes, no matter how worthy.”
Hezikiah smiled and nodded. “Can’t say I blame you. Those girls are cute as buttons. Have you named them yet?”
Chase grinned with pride. “Yes. Linese picked the names, Sarah and Marjorie.” A rush of affection rolled through him at the thought of his wife and babies. He itched to go home and be with them, and now that the Gazette was no longerbeing printed, there was nothing to keep him from Cordellane.
The dark shadow of wo
rry about the secrets of his past still hung over him, but day by day he managed to push it further to the back of his mind, while he saw health returning to Linese and his baby girls growing fat. Nothing horrible had happened and Chase had finally begun to believe there was a future for them all now that he had his daughters safe and sound.
A knock on the door brought the men’s heads up. The potbellied stove hissed and popped when Hezikiah opened the door. Chase looked up to see two Confederate soldiers standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” Hezikiah asked.
“Is Major Chase Cordell here?” One of the men asked Hezikiah.
“I’m Chase Cordell.” Chase stood up and stepped forward. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to place you under arrest.”
“Arrest? For what?” Chase snorted.
“For the murder of Alfred Homstock.”
Chase’s belly clinched tight. The man’s name seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not put a face to it. He looked beyond the guards to see if Rancy Thompson was with him, and saw nobody but the two soldiers. “By whose authority am I being arrested?”
“I am not at liberty to say anything more about it, sir. You’ll have to speak to my commanding officer.” The hand around Enfield rifle twitched nervously. “If you will come with us—now.”
Chase understood the implied threat. If he was so foolish to attempt to resist the soldiers it could be fatal. “Hezikiah, get word to Cordellane. Talk to my grandfather before you let Linese know what has happened.” Chase felt the bite of iron against his wrists when they clamped the manacles shut.
One soldier jerked the chain and nudged Chase in the back with the barrel of his rifle.
“Remember, Hezikiah, speak to my grandfather.”
Mainfield was blanketed in an eerie unnatural silence. The daily cacophony of horses’ hooves and jingling harnesses was mysteriously gone. Even the spring air of 1865 felt charged with some portent of pending doom. Chase told himself he was being silly, that this March day was no different than any other, except for the fact he was locked in jail.
Linda Castle Page 21
