This Rebel Heart

by Patricia Hagan

  After he left, she sat in her chair, fighting back tears of frustration and hopelessness. Soon she would have to go in to her mother to coax her to eat, just as she did each night. Julie would be relieved if she could get only half a bowl of broth into her, but of late, her mother would often shake her head wearily and say she had no appetite and could eat nothing.

  Sara walked in, took one look at Julie's plate and cried, "You gonna waste away just like your mama if you don't start eatin', child. Look at that. You ain't touched that chicken, and you always loved my fried chicken—"

  "I can't eat with that horrible man leering at me, Sara. He makes me sick." Julie shook her head in despair. "One of these days I know something inside of me is going to snap. God help me, but I don't know how much more I can stand."

  Sara put a plump arm around the girl's trembling shoulders. "Now you listen to me. I know it's hard. I know you feel like you can't stand it one mo' hour, but you got to remember that the good Lord don't put no mo' on his chillun than they can bear. You got to hold yo' head up and have faith."

  "I think God may have misjudged my capacity for carrying a load," Julie sighed. "Even Myles used to tell me I was a weakling."

  "Oh, he'd be right smart proud of the way you've kept from breakin' down. I know he would."

  Julie pursed her lips. "Maybe. I look back on when I was Derek's prisoner, and even when he made me so mad that at times I could have screamed, I think I could have endured it for a lifetime. I never thought of breaking down."

  "Why, Miss Julie," Sara chuckled, starting to clear the plates from the table. "Now I believe you loved that man, for sure. You get a dreamy, misty look in your eyes whenever you talks about him."

  Misty Eyes—that was what Derek had called her. And even when he was angry he would call her that, and his voice, though cold and biting, sounded strange, somehow, when he said those words.

  She shook herself and looked at Sara, who was chuckling to herself as though she knew some deep, dark secret. "I didn't love him," she snapped. "And no matter if I did. I'll never see him again. He's probably on another ship, running that infernal Yankee blockade and keeping a woman in every port."

  "I'll bet you wish he'd walk in that door right now."

  Julie let out her breath in disgust. "Can't we discuss something else?"

  "Yes'm," Sara said with a smirk, then started rattling on about how she'd seen Adelia Carrigan in town that morning. Julie bit her tongue to keep from saying she didn't want to discuss that trollop, either.

  "She says Mastah Thomas is fine and dandy. He's one of the officers at that Yankee prison camp up in Richmond. She said she'd written him you'd come home."

  Julie stood and smoothed her skirt. "If you'll prepare Mother's tray. I'll take it in to her."

  "She's yo' kinfolk, but she never comes to visit," Sara prattled on. "She knows yo' mama's sick and she always asks about her, but she never comes to call. Why, I can't remember the last time she set foot in the door."

  Julie tugged at the high neckline of her dress. It was scratchy and uncomfortable, but she never wore low necklines anymore, not around Virgil. She didn't want to do anything to entice him. Surely by summer the situation would change. Otherwise she knew she would have long since been driven truly insane.

  She went into her mother and coaxed her to drink some tea and eat a few bits of rice mixed with hot milk and sugar. Then Julie freshened her bed, sponged her mother's emaciated body, and tucked the covers up about her neck. Sitting down, she began to read to her, but after only a few lines, glanced up to see that her mother was already fast asleep.

  Sara came in and said it was a good time to sneak more things out of the house for Lionel to bury. "You can get some of yo' mama's jewelry, and I'll get some of her silver pieces she kept put back for special times. Mastah Virgil won't miss them."

  "He's going to start to sooner or later," Julie said worriedly.

  "I know. Let's just hope it ain't long...." and her voice trailed off apologetically, shamefully.

  Julie knew what she had been about to say: that perhaps it wouldn't be long before her mother died, and then they could leave. "I understand, Sara," she whispered. "Don't feel guilty. I've had the same thoughts."

  Returning to her mother's room, she went to the jewelry box and took out a diamond and ruby necklace with matching earrings, then brought them to Sara. Along with the jewels, they carried a set of heavy silver candelabra and several trays out to where Lionel was waiting behind the house. He put all the items in a large burlap sack, slung it over his shoulder, and, pick in hand, set out for the woods in the far distance.

  He had told Julie exactly where he was burying everything: in a spot at the edge of the Marshal family cemetery, not far from her father's grave. Lionel kept leaves and pine straw raked over the diggings, so no one who ventured there would notice and ask questions.

  Julie said goodnight to Sara, then retired for the night. The fire in the grate had burned down to grayish-red ashes, and she lay on her side and stared dreamily at it, almost seeing faces and images among the glowing embers. Her eyes grew heavy and she snuggled deeper beneath the quilts, trying to shut out all unpleasant thoughts. She would think of happier days, a brighter tomorrow—when all this sadness and misery would be behind her.

  A strange sound brought her out of her somnolence. Her eyes flew open. She heard it again, and realized it sounded like a pebble being thrown against the doors to the portico. She stiffened and clutched the covers tightly to her chin. Virgil wouldn't stand outside and throw rocks at her window. But who—?

  The sound was louder, and this time she feared the glass would shatter. Forcing her trembling body to move, she eased herself up and reached for her flannel wrapper which lay at the foot of the bed. As she searched for her slippers, another stone hit the window. Padding quickly across the floor, she opened the door and stepped onto the balcony just as another pebble came zinging through the air, barely missing her.

  A brisk wind was blowing, and it whipped her wrapper and gown up about her knees. Trying to hold her garments down, Julie crept toward the railing. Then, taking a deep breath and mustering all her courage, she leaned over a little ways and called softly: "Who's there? Who's there, I say!"

  "Julie... oh, God... Julie!"

  It was a dream. It could not be real. She had fallen asleep and was only dreaming that Myles's voice was actually floating to her on the night breeze. It could not be.

  "Julie... it's me—Myles... can you hear me?"

  "Myles, yes, yes..." Tears filled her eyes and she was momentarily overcome by shock. Her hands gripped the railing to support her watery knees. "It's you. It really is you—"

  "Yes, it's me," he laughed nervously. "And I'm cold and hungry. Is anyone about? Can you let me in?"

  "Wait there." She was giggling with near hysteria. "I'll be down. Oh, Myles, don't move, please—"

  Laughing and crying all at once, she hurried back inside and through her room, making her way as quickly and quietly as possible down the stairs to the first floor. The house was dark except for the fire left burning in the foyer.

  Her heart racing, she was about to fling the front doors wide open when the sound of footsteps made her freeze in sudden terror. Whipping about, she gasped with relief to see Sara emerging from the shadows of the back hallway, a softly burning candle in her hand.

  "Thank God it's only you!" she cried, her bosom heaving with the reminder of her panic.

  "Miss Julie, what you doin' up this time of night? I come to check on yo' mama, and I heard you runnin' down the stairs."

  Julie ran to clutch Sara's shoulders, unable to contain her joy any longer. "It's Myles, Sara! Myles!"

  Sara swayed slightly, her eyes widening. "What you talkin' about?"

  Julie did not take time to explain. Instead she ran to the doors, flung them open, and stepped out onto the terrace. "Myles, hurry. It's all right," she called into the night as loudly as she dared.

  And he stepped out
of the blackness to fold her in his arms, his sobs mingled with hers as they clung together.

  Finally they were able to break apart, and Sara stepped up to give him a weepy hug, then said gruffly, "Well, you two younguns step in out of that night air 'fore you catch a cold. Get on back to my kitchen and let me fix this boy a bite to eat. My, you ain't got enough meat on yo' bones for the buzzards to pick."

  Sara led the way through the dark house, holding her candle high, and Julie and Myles followed, arms about each other. Julie felt she had to keep touching him to make sure he was really there and not just a dream. She caressed his tousled hair, then his face, so lean and pale. "It is you," she whispered tremulously. "Oh, Myles, it's really you!"

  He gave her a fierce hug, then sat down at the long wooden table in the kitchen and attempted to tell her what had happened to him since he had left almost eighteen months ago. "I didn't join the Union army. I just couldn't. True, I don't hold to enslaving a man, but I'm still a southerner, and I found I just couldn't take up arms against my people. Not yet."

  "I understand," Julie murmured, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But some of them were certainly anxious to take up arms against you and still would, for that matter. Sheriff Franklin still stops by from time to time to ask questions. You'll have to stay hidden."

  Myles sighed, shoulders drooping with resignation. "I know. I don't plan to stay long anyway, Julie. I want to go west, make a new life for myself out there. I can never live here again."

  Sara set a plate of leftover fried chicken in front him, and he picked up a drumstick and began to eat ravenously. Exchanging a glance with Julie, Sara said, "I reckon yo' sister ought to tell you a few things, Mastah Myles. There's a whole lot gone on since you left. And Miss Julie, you needn't be a-makin' faces at me to hush up, 'cause we both know we got to get him fed and outta here before Mistah Oates comes home."

  "Virgil Oates?" Myles raised an eyebrow. "Is he still hanging around here? What's she talking about, Julie? I noticed the place looks kind of run down. I've been hiding in the woods since before sundown, waiting for night, so things would quiet down before I slipped in." He looked at her grimly. "Suppose you tell me everything."

  She took a deep breath, then told him everything as quickly as possible. "Virgil only wanted to marry me to get Rose Hill and now he's got it because—" She lowered her voice, choking on a sob, hating to continue but knowing she must. "Mother is dying, Myles. The doctor says she can't last much longer. He is surprised she's lived this long."

  Myles was silent for a long time. His face became redder by the minute. Angrily he bent the fork he held in his hand. It finally snapped as he roared, "I won't have it! By God, I'll run him off. Where is he?"

  He leaped to his feet, and the contents of his plate spilled to the floor. Julie rose also. Catching his arm, she cried, "Myles, no! You can't do or say anything. He'd turn you in to the sheriff. Don't you see? There's nothing you or anyone else can do."

  She told him quickly how she and Sara and Lionel were planning to leave when her mother died, how they had been slipping out valuables and burying them. "Other than that, there's nothing we can do. And you must stay hidden."

  He yanked his arm from her grasp and strode briskly to the back door. Jerking it open, he stared out at the night, breathing in deeply of the chilly night air. Fists clenched at his sides, he swore, "Dammit, this is our land, our home. I won't see a vulture just walk in and take over. There's got to be a way to stop him!"

  "There isn't." Julie rushed to his side, pressing her head against his back as her arms encircled his waist. "Myles, I've prayed nightly for your return, and now that you're here, I can't let anything happen to you. Stay hidden, please, and when Mother dies, we'll leave. We'll go west—"

  He turned and gazed into her eyes. "I want to see Mother, Julie, before she dies. Later I'll worry about how to deal with Virgil Oates. But I have to see her."

  She nodded. "Give me time to arrange it. She couldn't stand the shock of seeing you without being prepared for it. And I'll have to make her see that she can't let Virgil know about it, either. Till then, will you stay out of sight?"

  Myles nodded, but she could feel the tension rippling through him.

  Julie clung to him, wishing she could pour out her heart and tell him how the days were filled with anguish because she knew night would follow and she would be forced to submit to Virgil. And she longed to tell him about Derek, also, and the confused dreams she had almost nightly, when his face would swim before her, in the murky blue-green waters off the pink-tinged sands of Bermuda.

  But she couldn't share these thoughts, and he would never understand her feelings for Derek. No, she had to keep these things inside.

  The two clung together—brother and sister—alone against the world. Sara stood silently watching in the shadows. She could not be sure what Myles was thinking, but she could imagine what was going on in Julie's head and heart. Sara wanted to tell him all of it, but she did not dare.

  "Well make it," Myles whispered finally, patting Julie reassuringly and trying to give her a brave smile. "You'll see, little sister. We'll make it."

  I pray to God you do, Sara thought, tears streaming down her black cheeks. I pray to God that both of you make it....

  Chapter 15

  We gonna be ready to go the day yo' mama is laid to rest," Sara said one afternoon. "All we gotta do is get our clothes together, which won't take long for me and Lionel. We ain't got that much."

  "Or me," Julie said as she took a few more pieces of silver service from a velvet-lined chest. She watched Sara conceal them in the folds of her apron. "I'll be glad when I can stop worrying about Myles, too."

  "Did I hear the name of that murdering brother of yours mentioned?"

  They spun around, startled. Virgil stood in the arched doorway of the dining room, an insidious smile upon his lips. As always, he was dandily dressed, this time in a ruffled shirt and bright embroidered vest. His fingers toyed with the gold chain that stretched from his watch pocket "Well," he said, quite annoyed, "did I?"

  Julie fought for composure, darting a warning look at Sara for her to do the same. To Virgil she said, in what she hoped was a calm voice, "Yes, we were talking about Myles. We were saying we hope he comes home soon, so we can stop worrying about him."

  "I don't want his name mentioned in my house!" he bellowed. "He's a criminal—"

  "He is not a criminal!" Her ire matched his. "And I would like to remind you that this is my home, not yours, and you've no say-so about who comes here, certainly not my brother!"

  He reached out to seize her shoulders and give her a violent shake. "It is my house, you ungrateful little wench, and if Myles ever shows his face here, I'll see that he's hung, as he should be. As for you, I'll not tolerate your insolence. Do you understand me?"

  Julie knew she should not provoke him further, but she had been on the brink of losing all control for so very long that Virgil's verbal attack upon Myles pushed her over the edge. With all the strength she could muster, she raised her hand and slapped him. '"Don't you ever speak of Myles in such a way again. I just wish my mother could know what a lecherous, conniving rogue you really are—"

  He grabbed her wrist and tugged her roughly forward. "Then let's not wait any longer to tell her, my love. We'll go together, right now, to her bedside. So come along—"

  "No! You can't!" Julie yanked out of his grasp and backed toward Sara. "You know it would kill her."

  "So?" He cocked his head to one side, grinning. "I'm ready for her to die. She should go on and die and get out of the way. If you behave yourself and show me some respect, I'll make you the mistress of Rose Hill."

  "I would rather die. I hate you, Virgil. I wish you were dead. I wish I had a gun; I'd kill you here and now myself!" With such fury rushing through her veins, Julie knew at that moment that she was capable of murdering him without a second thought.

  "I'll not have you speak to me that way," he cried, leaping forward
to wrestle her arms behind her back.

  Julie was struggling, knowing her mother was probably awake at this hour, and if the yelling and screaming continued, she was sure to hear. "Let me go," she hissed, kicking out at his shins. "Let me go, Virgil. Stop this madness!"

  Sara backed away, her hands pressed to her lips as she fought to keep from screaming. Terrified, she could only stand there and watch the horrible scene before her.

  Virgil flung Julie to the floor. As she fell, she slid into a chair, sending it toppling with a loud crash. She scrambled to escape him, and he glanced about for some weapon with which to punish Julie. Spying the heavy braided bell rope which hung from the ceiling, he reached up and snatched it down.

  Suddenly Sara came out of her horrified trance. Intending to shield her mistress, she sprang forward, forgetting about the silver she had hidden in her apron. It clattered to the floor like hail striking a tin rooftop.

  Virgil turned, eyed the silver suspiciously, then shifted his gaze to Sara's petrified face. He shrieked, "You were stealing, you worthless wench! I'll have your flesh stripped to the bone—"

  "No, she wasn't stealing anything!" Julie scrambled to her feet as Sara ran from the room. "She was going to clean the silver, and she was carrying it in her apron to keep from making so many trips to the chest. You can't punish her for that."

  Silently he stared after Sara, and when she had disappeared, he looked at Julie, his eyes glittering. "I'll deal with her later. And you, as well." He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Sara, who had been watching from her hiding place behind the door, rushed in, tears streaming down her cheeks. "That man's got to die," she sobbed, gathering Julie in her plump arms. "A man that evil, he don't deserve to live. Tell Mastah Myles. Let him do what has to be done—"

  "No, we can't." Julie choked out the words. "He has to remain hidden. They would hang him if he's caught. We have to go on with our plans as they are. This doesn't change anything."