This Rebel Heart

by Patricia Hagan

  Undaunted by his insults, Julie pushed her way through the sneering, mumbling men, finally breaking through and stepping up on the plank beside Derek.

  "Get down, Julie," he snapped, his face contorted with anger. "You could fall—"

  Her arms went around him quickly, and she pressed the knife into his rope-bound hands. "Take it," she whispered anxiously. "Hurry!"

  His eyes widened momentarily as he felt the cold steel, but he did not hesitate to wrap his fingers deftly about it. He stared down at her, caressing her with his eyes as he murmured, "Someday, after I've mastered the winds and the tides, I'll come for you, Julie, and conquer your love."

  She stood on tiptoe, trying to touch his lips with her own, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I never got the stool, Derek. I—I still can't reach you...."

  "And I can't help you now, misty eyes." His husky voice sent chills racing through her. "But we'll meet again."

  She clung to him and was shaken by the turmoil that raged within her. Why was she aching so? Why did she feel such pain and despair? She didn't love him. She couldn't possibly....

  "Enough!" Captain Guthrie bellowed impatiently. "Get her down. We must move quickly."

  Someone yanked her away as she fought to keep her arms about him. Guthrie was drawing his sword, moving forward toward Derek. "No..." The cry came from deep inside, wrenched from her very soul. Struggling against the man who held her, she screamed, "You can't do this, you Yankee dogs! No..."

  She kicked at the shins of the man who was holding her as Guthrie moved closer to Derek, sword pointed at his back. A sudden movement at the bow made her blood freeze. She stopped struggling and stared at Derek, who was inching his way toward the end of the plank, his back to the water so the Yankees could not see the knife he held behind him.

  He turned to look at her one last time, the glow of the lanterns illuminating his face with an almost golden halo, making him appear ghostly. Was he smiling? She strained to see. A gasp escaped her as she realized that, dear God, he was smiling!

  She swayed, her eyes scanning his strong muscular body. If he could cut the ropes binding his hands, then he had a chance, at least. He was a strong swimmer, and he could make it back to shore. But until he freed himself, he'd be struggling in an awkward position, hands behind his back, beneath the water, sharks all around....

  Yet he could still face death and smile so arrogantly, she marveled, awash with respect for the man she had been so sure she despised.

  He stepped from the plank. Everyone held his breath as silence descended over the ship.

  A loud splash broke the stillness, echoing sharply through the night. The men pushed and shoved against each other as they rushed to the bow to watch, all of them screaming with excitement.

  Released and forgotten for the moment, Julie sank to her knees and gave way to hysteria.

  "Hell, I can't see him," someone yelled.

  Another cried, "He never came up."

  They were holding lanterns in their hands, leaning over the bow, stretching as far as they dared. "Not enough light. Can't see nothing."

  It was all too much. Julie felt in that moment death would have been welcome, compared to the unknown future that lay before her at the hands of Captain Guthrie. The tears came wildly, and she did not try to control them.

  A heavy fog enshrouded her, and it was only dimly that she realized someone was nearby, speaking about her.

  "You think she's gone tetched, Captain? She sure looks like a crazy woman, crying and moaning that way."

  "Could be," came Guthrie's familiar voice, cold and condemning. "And to think I actually felt sorry for her. Why, she enjoyed living like a trollop on this ship. I was even considering courting her." He snorted with self-disgust. "It just goes to show how beauty can make a man think like a fool."

  "Well, we gonna just let her lay there and cry like that?" the other man wanted to know.

  "No. Take her to our ship. We've got to move quickly and get out of this area. Once the Ariane blows, they'll be able to see the explosion from the coast. Blockade runners in port might seek retaliation, so we must be prepared to move with full steam ahead."

  Julie felt strong hands being clamped around her shoulders. She was about to scream in protest when the captain's next words stabbed at her brain, telling her to stop—to think—for here was the possible key to her escape.

  "We'll take her north with us, and then I'll have her sent to a hospital. Perhaps she has gone mad. She was probably never a stable sort anyway, or she wouldn't have allowed herself to acquire such low morals."

  A hospital! They would let her go at once, and she could return home. Lord, it was the answer, she realized joyfully. It was hard to continue sobbing when she wanted to laugh with triumphant glee. But she had to continue to make them believe she had truly lost her mind. Otherwise, there was no telling what her fate might be.

  She allowed herself to be lifted in the Yankee crewman's arms, gasping and crying and throwing her head wildly from side to side.

  "Hey, what's wrong with her?" another crewman asked as she was being carried across the deck.

  "Captain says she's gone mad," the man carrying her replied matter-of-factly. "I'm going to take her to our ship and lock her in a cabin. She's harmless enough right now, but who's to say what she might do? I'm scared of crazy folks."

  She turned her face to his shoulder to hide the smile she could not contain. Yes, she thought happily, it was the answer—let them think her insane!

  Chapter 12

  Julie sat huddled in a corner of the small room. It was quite cold there on the hard clay floor, but she had no wish to share the wooden benches with those sad, disheveled women.

  This was the hospital Captain Guthrie had had her taken to. On the outskirts of the Federal capital in Washington, it was drab and dreary, the patients herded about like mindless sheep. Julie had protested in outrage, but the attendants had shoved her along, believing that she was truly demented.

  When she refused to remove her dress to put on the gray sack-like garment that was handed to her, a big, heavy-set matron stepped forward to rip her clothes from her. "Now you can walk around naked or put this on," she said tonelessly. "It don't make no difference to me."

  So Julie dressed in the loose-fitting garment. It fell to her ankles, had long sleeves, and tied with a short string at the back of her neck. For shoes, she was given cloth booties.

  All her combs and pins were taken from her, and she had no idea what had become of her wardrobe trunks.

  "I'm not crazy," she told the matron who watched her carefully as she dressed. "I only pretended to be to get away from those men. If you'll take me to a doctor, he'll listen to me and I'll be discharged."

  The woman gave her a rough shove as she barked, "Get along with you. You sound like every other loony that's been brought here. I know the story by heart. You ain't crazy. I'm crazy. Me and everybody else in the world, right?" She threw back her head and laughed.

  "You don't understand," Julie pleaded desperately, trying to keep her voice even so the woman would see that she was in complete control of herself. "I thought they were going to take me to a regular hospital, and that's why I went along with them. I had no idea they were bringing me to a place for insane people. I'm not insane. You have to believe me. Take me to a doctor, please...."

  She was shoved down a narrow, dimly lit corridor. When they reached a heavy door with a small window at the top, the matron pulled a ring of jingling keys from the pocket of her apron. Searching through them, she found the one she wanted, then inserted it in the hole below the doorknob. She gave it a tug, and the door squeaked open.

  Julie gasped at the sight before her: dozens of women, all dressed in the same dress she wore, only theirs were soiled and filthy. Some sat in silence, heads bowed, while others shuffled around and around in a circle, babbling to themselves. Not a one had hair that was not stringy and matted.

  "Oh, no!" She tried to back away. "You're not putting me i
n there. I refuse—"

  The matron placed a beefy hand on her back, and with one quick shove, Julie was sent sprawling to the dirt floor.

  The door clanged shut behind her.

  Julie crawled to the corner, terrified. But the other women didn't seem to notice her. They were lost in their own private worlds, oblivious to everything around them.

  I could become just like them, she thought wildly. If I don't get out of here, I'm going to be just like they are.

  She realized she was not much better off than when she'd been in the hands of Captain Guthrie.

  Locked in a small cabin on the Federal cruiser, food had been brought to her on a tray; she was left alone. She had not seen Captain Guthrie again, and she was glad, for she hated him—not only for what he had done to Derek, but for what he had done to the Ariane as well. She had only to close her eyes to conjure up the terrible sight of the ship as it was blown to bits by the dynamite. One second it was there, proud and regal with sails unfurled, as bands of lavender and purple blended and streaked the sky at dawn.

  And then came the ear-shattering explosion, the blast of white smoke that quickly turned red, then black, as pieces of the ship were hurled to the heavens, then fell to the sea like a rain of death. Flames shot upward from what was left of the Ariane—then it all sank slowly from view, gone forever.

  Julie turned away from the porthole, sick at heart. Her one consolation was in knowing Derek had probably survived. Also, she believed she was on her way to a real hospital, where she would soon be released and could return to Savannah.

  Suddenly a woman screamed and fell to the floor, lacking and screaming. Julie watched in horror as two of the others leaped upon her and began clawing and beating at her. Then several more joined in, and those who did not began to shriek and moan.

  Julie pressed her hands against her ears to shut out the horrible sounds. It would not take long for her to go mad if she were forced to endure such an existence.

  Suddenly she could stand it no longer. Running to the barred window in the door, she pressed her face against the cold steel and began yelling for someone to please come and help. "They're going to kill her! Please—someone—anyone—help us!"

  A man was at the end of the corridor, carrying a mop and pail. He set them down and began walking toward her quite unhurriedly. She saw him and yelled louder. "Hurry. Please, please hurry."

  As he came closer, fumbling in his pocket for a ring of keys, he looked at her with interest. "You're new here, aren't you?" he asked above the din.

  "Yes, yes," she responded. "Hurry, please. They're going to kill that woman. They're all attacking her."

  He opened the door and stepped inside. Julie jumped back out of his way as he moved forward and began kicking at the scrapping women. Immediately, as soon as they saw him, they began to shriek with terror, crawling on their hands and knees to get away from him.

  The woman who had first screamed and fallen to the floor was crying brokenly, her face claw-marked and streaked with blood. Julie knelt down and tried to touch her, but the woman scrambled away from her, shrieking in terror. "She needs medical attention," Julie said as she got up. She turned to the man, who was watching, a bored expression on his craggy face. "Aren't you going to take her to a doctor?"

  "Naw, I can't waste my time taking every loony that gets scratched up a little bit to a doctor." His eyes roamed over her, and a smile played on his lips. "You sure don't act crazy."

  "I'm not crazy!" she replied in a firm, sure voice. Then she poured out her story to him, ending with the plea: "Can you help me? I'm going to be crazy if I don't get out of this place."

  "I ain't got the authority to let you out" He licked his lips and ran long, bony fingers through his thick mat of dark hair. "I can make things easier for you, though. I can slip you decent food, see that you get a bath once in a while. Stuff like that"

  "But why would you—" she started to inquire, but then she saw the look in his eyes and backed away quickly. "Oh, no. You can get that notion out of your head right now. I'm not about to bargain with my body for any favors from you or anyone else."

  "So be it" he snickered. "It's up to you. I can get what I want from any of these daffies, any time I want. Besides, you'll come around sooner or later. I just thought it'd be nice to have you while you're still pretty—and clean. I hate it when they start stinkin' and get all covered with lice ."

  He slapped irritably at his arm. "I'm getting out of here. Every time I walk in this place, things start crawling on me."

  He turned toward the door, and Julie cried, "Don't we ever get out of here? Even for a breath of fresh air, for God's sake?"

  "Oh, once in awhile when the good ladies from some church drop by, we'll let you out in the fenced courtyard for a walk." He stepped outside and slammed the door. Peeking at her through the bars, he said, "You get fed three times a day. Once a month you get a clean gown. That's about it I gotta go now."

  "No, wait—" she screamed at his retreating back, but he did not turn. Her fingers clutched the bars, but rattled them only a little, for they were very secure. Then she moved around slowly, surveying the sight before her once again. They were all watching her now, and needles of fear began to stab into her spine. This wasn't safe, she knew. They might attack her if she did not quiet down.

  Moving very cautiously, she picked her way back to the corner and slid down till she touched the hard, cold floor. Wrapping her arms about her knees, she dropped her head forward as though she were sleeping. After a time, the others forgot her and returned to the havens of their own demented worlds.

  There was no way Julie could keep up with the passage of time. She lost track of the days as they blended together. With no windows to the outside, she never knew when it was light or dark, and could tell it was daytime only because the trays came then.

  At first she'd refused the food, which consisted mainly of gruel and cold water. Finally she was forced to give in to the hungry rumblings of her stomach.

  Her hair became matted and dirty like the others, and her gown was soon soiled. There were four buckets in the room for the twenty women to use for their personal needs, and the odor was nauseating. In hopelessness and despair, Julie wondered how much longer she could endure this bleak existence.

  Then one day a very young girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age was brought in by the matron. She was still wearing her street clothes, and the matron yelled at her to start undressing, that she would bring her a gown.

  The girl stared around the room with wide, frightened eyes. Her lips trembled but no sound came, and she backed against the wall and stood there, hands at her side, face white and frozen with terror.

  Julie's heart went out to the girl, and she got to her feet and walked over to her. None of the others bothered even to look up. Holding out her hand, she whispered, "Hello. My name is Julie Marshal, and you've no need to be afraid of me. You may not believe me, but I'm not insane. I was brought here by mistake."

  The girl reached out to her with the desperation of one who is drowning. "Oh, thank God," she cried, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I don't know whether to believe you or not, but at least you talk normal. I shouldn't be here. My stepmother did this to me, to punish me because..." She shook her head in shame, "I'm in the family way."

  "But why would she have you sent here?" Julie asked, horrified. "Especially if you're going to have a baby."

  The girl's eyes were the color of a robin's egg, and her hair as red as the lights of dawn. She was a pretty creature, Julie thought, her heart aching at the thought of what lay before her.

  The girl told Julie that the young man responsible for her "condition" was a Union soldier, and she'd not had time to get word of her plight to him before her stepmother had her committed as insane. "My father's away fighting too, and she knows he'd never let her do this to me. She's going to tell him I ran away, and by putting me here, she says she won't have to bear the shame of my giving birth out of wedlock." She
glanced about wildly. "Oh, God, I can't have my baby here. I—I'd rather be dead!"

  Suddenly she clutched Julie's shoulders. "They're going to take my clothes. They already took my combs and jewelry out there. But they didn't get this." She reached inside the bodice of her dress and brought out a diamond brooch. "It was given to me by my father. It belonged to my real mother, who died having me. My stepmother will be wild with anger when she discovers I managed to sneak it out with me. She'll come here looking for it. Hide it for me, please."

  Julie took the brooch and stared at it as she wondered where she could put it. They were allowed no undergarments, and she certainly couldn't pin it to her gown. Finally she stooped and slid it inside her bootie just as the matron's footsteps were heard outside the door.

  "My name is Pauline Brummett," the girl told Julie once she'd been stripped, put on her gown, and the matron had departed. "I just don't know what I'm going to do. I just don't know...."

  She succumbed to tears, and Julie tried to comfort her, but the girl kept on sobbing. Soon, Julie hoped, Pauline would get some control of herself, but as time passed, she realized this was not going to happen.

  Pauline would not eat, and after what must have been several days, she stopped talking altogether. Julie tried to coax her to take nourishment, if only for the sake of her baby, but she refused. She sat in the corner, face to the wall, the look in her eyes becoming more blank and empty with each day.

  The squeaking of the door awoke Julie one morning, and she stretched as the breakfast trays of gruel were brought in. Reaching beside her to touch Pauline's shoulder, she told her to wake up. "Maybe you can eat today," she said hopefully.

  The young girl did not stir. Julie rolled her over on her back, then screamed at the sight of the unseeing eyes, the feel of her cold, marble-like skin. Pauline was dead.