He rose from the narrow cot and tried to shake off his gloomy thoughts. It was probably all some silly mistake. In fact, Kerney was probably behind the whole stupid plan—one last act of malicious revenge. Whether he liked it or not, whether it was good for business or not, Chase knew the war was going to have to end soon. There simply wasn’t enough blood left to keep it going, regardless of what that would do to the profit margin of Mainfield.
Chase relaxed a bit. He didn’t even know anyone named Homstock, at least not that he recalled. He tilted his head in a vain attempt to make the ringing go away while he listened to footsteps in the outer office then the heavy thud of a door being shut. Rancy Thompson’s voice floated to him on the weird hush that had claimed Mainfield. Chase strained to hear what was being said. The words were spoken in a heavily spiced Southern drawl and the voice was not known to him. Rancy was discussing, no, he was arguing with somebody.
“I am still sheriff.” Rancy’s voice grew louder. “Is this a military matter, or a civil one, Colonel?”
Chase found himself holding his breath to hear every word.
“I suppose it’s a bit of both. The man killed was not a soldier, but he was on business for the Confederacy when he was murdered,” the Southern voice explained.
“The least you can do is let Major Cordell have visitors,” Rancy said, “no matter how damning the evidence against him is.”
“At this time, I can find no incentive to do so, sir. As far as I am concerned, Major Chase Cordell will stay right where he is, without visitors, until a jury is selected and we hold his trial. It is my hope we can proceed with a speedy execution shortly afterward.”
Trial. Execution. The words echoed through Chase’s head. He sagged down on the hard, narrow cot. Was he in jail because of something Kerney had finally hatched, or had he committed a crime that he still did not remember? He didn’t know, and not knowing made his frustration all the greater.
He rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingertips. What was going to become of Linese and his daughters? How would she get along with two newborn babies? He longed to see her, just to look into her clear blue eyes and tell her how much he loved her.
“Selfish bastard,” he hissed aloud. How could he put Linese through the experience of coming to the harsh jail to see him?
Later that afternoon Chase heard his grandfather’s distinctive baritone drift through the outer office. He held his breath, straining to listen, but all he heard was the sound of retreating footsteps and he knew his grandfather had been turned away. He flopped down on his cot and tried to sleep, anything to numb the terrible ache in his head, anything to shut out the horrible quiet that blanketed Mainfield. When he closed his eyes, Linese’s face floated before him and he managed to find peace in slumber.
Chase woke with his heart beating like a piston inside his chest. He must have slept for hours, he realized, when he saw the slender shadows of dusk slanting through the narrow slit that served as a ventilation shaft outside of his cell.
He remained still and listened to the baritone rumble of voices from outside, knowing those voices had woken him.
“I don’t care if the Confederacy has declared martial law in Mainfield. This is unconscionable.” Hezikiah Hershner’s words rang with journalistic indignation. “There’s a constitution in this country, or have you secessionists written your own?”
“Be careful, Hezikiah,” Rancy’s deep voice warned.
“Good advice, sir,” a voice agreed. “Be careful what treasonist remarks you make or you might find yourself joining Major Cordell. We could’ve done something a trifle more harsh with you for having been involved with Major Cordell.” It was the same drawling voice Chase had heard earlier.
Chase sat up and dragged his hand over his face. He did not want Hezikiah to come to any harm because of him. Linese would need him to help her—just in case. He swallowed hard and cursed himself.
Was he going to accept this so easily? Was he simply going to resign himself to someone slipping a rope over his neck without fighting for his life? There had to be something he could do.
Several hours later, a voice snapped Chase from his trance of concentration.
“And just who are you, ma’am?” Chase recognized the voice of the burly Confederate officer who had chained him to the floor upon his arrival.
“I am Mrs. Chase Cordell. I’ve come to see my husband.” Linese’s voice was steady and calm.
A million emotions ripped through his mind. Had something happened to his daughters? His grandfather? Fear nipped at his heart while his pulse quickened with the desire to see his lovely wife’s face. Chase was brought up short by a rude bark of laughter.
“Sorry, ma’am, I don’t think we’ll be letting anybody in to see the prisoner. Now get yourself on home before you get hurt.”
Chase could not discern whether the words were a warning made from true concern, or a threat, but he felt fury sweep through him with the intensity of a wildfire.
“But I must speak to him, see him. It is a family matter of great importance.”
Chase heard the desperation in her sweet voice and died a little inside. Dear God, something had happened. He sagged onto his cot in abject misery.
It was useless for Linese to try to bargain with the man. They would not let her in, any more than they let in his grandfather or Hezikiah. Worry about Linese and how she would endure such grief snaked through his heart.
The vow he had made to keep her and the twins safe came back to haunt him. He hadn’t protected them any more than he could protect Linese from the stark hazard of the future as a widow.
“Perhaps this will change your mind about letting me see him,” Linese said softly.
“Well, now, why didn’t you get right to the point before, ma’am? I think I can look the other way for a few minutes.”
Chase moved to the door and clenched the cold iron bars with his fists. What on earth had she given him to change his mind?
He didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was worth it to be able to look at her, to give her comfort, to say he loved her.
The soft, even tread of her feet made him tingle with anticipation. His heart leapt into his throat. The heavy oak door swung open and there she was in the dim hallway.
“Linese.”
She was thin and pale. There were circles under her eyes. His heart broke for her. “You shouldn’t have come, you’re still too weak,” he said, but his heart knew he had never been happier to see anyone in his life.
“I had to see you, Chase.” She waited until the Confederate officer shut the door behind her. When she heard the creak of the chair in the outer office, when she was sure he had resettled his weight and would not be returning, she turned back to Chase.
“Has something happened?”
She smiled and her face brightened a bit. “No, oh, I never meant for you to think so. We’re all fine, just fine, and safe at Cordellane. The Captain and a friend are with the twins.” She did not tell Chase the friend was Melissa.
“It isn’t safe for you to be out with infantrymen and cavalry roaming the streets.” His instinct to protect her suddenly shut out his need to be with her.
“I had to come. I have some information, and it may help.”
“What?” A stubborn flame of hope flared inside his chest. He reached out and stroke the side of Linese’s face with his fingertips. He longed to hold her.
“The man, Alfred Homstock, was a spy for the South. He was about to expose the route of the Underground Railroad. He had been sent to kill people helping along this part of the route, when he was murdered. I guess it doesn’t matter now, with Mainfield occupied, but there is a rumor circulating that the Railroad route cuts across Cordellane property.” She frowned and shook her head as if she could banish the story. “I don’t see how that can be true. Surely we would’ve known about it.”
“How did you learn this?” Chase caressed her delicate fingers through the narrow bars.
“Hezikia
h. I didn’t ask how he found out. I didn’t care. As soon as he told me, I came here to you. He was leaving Mainfield, going to find the Northern troops that he said are getting closer every day.”
She looked at him with blue eyes that held a thousand lifetimes of fear and worry. It cut straight through his soul.
“Does it help? Do you remember anything?” she prodded.
Chase swallowed hard. “Not really.” He had struggled, tried harder than ever before, but the only memory he had salvaged was a strange recollection that had no real substance. It wasn’t enough to allow Linese to pin her hopes on.
“Chase, you must try.” She felt a pang of regret and guilt. Linese cursed herself for ever hoping that Chase would not regain his memory. She hated herself for every selfish minute she had spent worrying about losing him to his past. If he remembered, at least he would be alive. That would be enough, no matter what else happened.
Chase yearned to wipe some of the despair from her eyes. He had to give her hope, no matter how flimsy. “I’m not sure, but I think whatever happened had something to do with Ira Goten.” Chase could not risk telling her the dead man might also have been involved with his grandfather’s mysterious activities, or the truth about the Captain’s madness. His grandfather was in more danger than ever, with the South occupying Mainfield. Chase could not utter a sound that could place the old man in peril.
“I’ll go for Ira at once.” Linese tried to remove her fingers from Chase’s loving grasp. “I’m sure he would help us.”
“No, honey, you can’t.” Chase lowered his voice to a whisper, to be sure the guard in the outer office could not overhear.
“But, Chase, why?” She blinked back tears.
He wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. “I believe he is involved with things that could put him in danger. With the war still going on, I can’t jeopardize Ira or anyone else on vague half-recollections.”
Linese went pale. “Oh, Chase. Tell me you’re not saying what I think you are.”
“Linese, I can’t put another man’s neck in a noose to save myself. I couldn’t live with that. And I’m not even sure—”
She stared at him in mute horror. He could see the struggle going on inside her. One tear threatened to slide over her bottom lid, but she blinked furiously and forced herself to breathe slowly in an obvious attempt to master her emotions.
“I will not cry,” she said fiercely from between clenched teeth.
“That’s my girl. Now, go on home and kiss my babies for me.” Chase brushed his lips against her knuckles. “Keep them and yourself safe, and don’t give up hope.”
“Dear God, Chase, there has to be something. You can’t just—” Her gaze ripped into him. “I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Unless I remember, there is no way I can defend myself against the charge. And there is one other possibility, Lin-ese, as much as it pains me to consider it.” He stared hard at her. “Maybe I did what they say. Maybe I murdered that man.”
“I don’t believe it, Chase.” Linese stared into his flinty gray eyes without batting an eyelash. Neither the old Chase Cordell nor the new one could commit coldblooded murder. “No matter what anybody says, I know you are innocent. Whether you believe it or not.”
He shook his head in wonder at her unshakable faith in him. “You are a treasure, my darling. Never forget how very much I love you.” He leaned close to kiss her when a shot rang out and echoed through the silence outside. He flinched involuntarily when, a heartbeat later, the sound of far-off cannon fire blasted his ears.
Chase had been in enough battles to know there would be no peace once the Union started shelling the town.
“Chase, what is going on?”
“Linese, you must get back to Cordellane right away before the Union troops get in position. Soon Mainfield will be under siege.”
The sound hammered at Chase until he felt his insides roil and twist in pain. He put his hands over his ears, but still the sound of war bludgeoned his senses. It mixed with the ringing in his ears and intensified a thousandfold. He curled up on his cot and covered his head with the thin woolen blanket and lumpy pillow, but still he heard it.
Each shot, each blast, sent ribbons of fire swirling from his skull. His fevered blood throbbed through his veins. It hurt to take a breath. His eyes watered while the ringing in his ears grew louder. Waves of nausea swept over him and wrenched his gut. Bile rose in his throat while he fought for control of his shredding sanity.
Just when he was about to shriek for the Confederates to come and put a bullet into his head, to spare him this unbearable agony, it stopped.
He lifted his hands from his ears and listened. The barrage of cannon and shot outside continued without pause, but the maelstrom inside Chase’s head had simply ceased. The ringing in his ears was gone, the pain was gone. The discordant sound in his head had completely vanished.
And when it did, he remembered. He remembered….
Chapter Nineteen
Mainfield, Texas
May 30, 1862
Chase stood near the press and read the latest report on the war. There never seemed to be a shortage of men to die, or an end to the conflict. More and more lately, he had been observing the battles with a kind of inner discontent.
He knew what it was—he just didn’t want to face it.
Chase had spent a big chunk of his life trying to live down or overcome his grandfather’s mental defect. Now that he had reached youthful manhood, he realized how stupid he had been. He regretted the years he had wasted worrying about what other people thought. He wanted to do something, something that counted. Something that had nothing to do with proving himself to the citizens of Mainfield, but something that really mattered.
He had made up his mind to join the Union army and do what he could to shorten the bloody conflict. Chase laid the paper aside, wrote a note for Hezikiah and locked the door to the Gazette behind him.
He strode to Ira Goten’s livery to get his horse while he made plans in his head. He was sure Hezikiah would look out for his grandfather, if he asked. There was really nothing to stop him from joining the fighting. There was nobody to mourn him if he died—his grandfather would never even realize he was gone. Chase swung into the saddle and knew this was what he should have done months ago.
Chase blinked his eyes and the stark images of his past faded, but they were still lodged firmly in his memory. He touched his forehead and discovered it was covered with a sheen of clammy sweat. He did remember—all of it—every minute detail of his past.
The recollection he had just relived was so clear, the memory could have happened to him yesterday instead of two years ago. It was the world he had known, seen, touched and walked through, before war had forever altered his perceptions of the world and himself. He sat down on his cot and allowed his mind to go back to the day in May, 1862, the day Alfred Homstock died….
The big bay gelding picked his own path down the road. Chase looked up from his thoughts of joining the Northern army and found himself beside the old gristmill with the sun already setting behind him. He had been making plans to turn the operation of the Gazette over to Hezikiah and locate the nearest Union troops. The gelding stopped short and worked his ears back and forth.
“What is it, boy, a squirrel?” Chase rubbed the side of the gelding’s neck to soothe him. Then he heard the steady drone of voices. He slid out of the saddle and tied the reins to a scrub oak. Stealthily, ever aware of the danger of marauders and deserters, he crept forward through the thicket and peered through the dense foliage. Chase saw them and realized he knew each man by face and name.
It sent a shiver of shock through him when they pulled white flour sacks out of their saddlebags. Ragged holes had been cut for their eyes. They looked for all the world like a child’s interpretation of a haunt.
At first Chase intended to make himself known, but seeing them in disguise changed his mind. He kept hidden and listened to
their conversation.
Mayor Kerney pulled a long, narrow blade from his boot and used the tip to scratch in the dirt at his feet. Chase re alized he was making a map. The other men leaned over and murmured their understanding. When they were finished, Kerney scraped his boot over the spot and they moved off, single file, and mounted their horses. Then they turned and headed east toward the Louisiana border, intent on a raid Chase had heard carefully described….
The burly Confederate soldier flung open the jail door. Chase snapped his head up, suddenly wrenched from his newly remembered past. He felt disoriented, unaccustomed to knowing he had no void left in his mind. He blinked and focused on the man and pulled himself back to the present. It was silent outside, but Chase knew from sad experience it was a temporary lull.
The soldier was carrying a small metal bowl in one hand and a cup in the other. The smell of food made his empty belly growl. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed while he sat in the cell and summoned his old memories, but he was very hungry.
“Come get it, if you want it,” the soldier drawled.
Chase rose to his feet and reached between the bars for the food. For the moment he was content to postpone his search into the past, at least until his hunger was sated. He had just managed to maneuver the cup and bowl through the narrow bars, when the door opened again. An imposing Confederate officer with long side-whiskers appeared. The soldier who had delivered Chase’s meal snapped to attention and saluted sharply.
“At ease.” The Confederate colonel waved his hand carelessly at the soldier. Braided gold decorated both shoulders and he wore an elaborate saber on his hip. He viewed Chase with cold, narrowed eyes.
“So this is Major Chase Cordell,” he sneered. “I expected more.”
Chase felt a wave of something more than politics between them. The man was hostile in a way that made it seem almost personal.
“You have the advantage of me, sir.” Chase eased back down onto his cot. He balanced the bowl on one knee and took a sip of the weak, hot coffee. The liquid slid a long way down before it hit the bottom of his belly.
Linda Castle Page 22
