"No, hell, you can't." He spoke gruffly for the first time. "Fox is going to send you around entertaining Reb troops, you know, and it's going to be dangerous. You need somebody around to look out for you. I aim to be that somebody."
"If you truly want to help me and my friend, you'll help me find my brother so we can escape all this madness. You won't let Gordon go on with his mad scheme."
"Oh, I can't help you there," he said. Gently, he hastened to explain. "I told you, Julie, I'm a soldier. I've got a job to do. I'm going to travel with you and play the guitar while you sing. I aim to be your bodyguard, and God knows, you're going to need one. But don't ask me to help you escape. I'm in this war because I believe in the northern cause, and I'll kill a Reb as quick as I'll mash the life out of a toad. But as much as it's within my power, I'll keep you from getting hurt. And that's all I can offer you," he finished with a sigh.
There were a few moments of silence, and then Luther spoke the words that seemed to be smoldering within him. "I'm probably making a fool of myself, but I'm going to say it, Julie. You shake me up. I wanted you something fierce last night, and I'd move quicker'n a scalded dog if you asked me to climb under them covers with you right now. But I'll never touch you unless you want me to. I promise. Just let me be your friend, 'cause you're going to need one."
Shivering not only from the chill of the room, Julie wrapped the covers tightly about her; then trailing them behind her, she went to stand in front of the fireplace.
"I'll go get some more wood," Luther said quickly, noticing how she was shaking. "I'll bring you something to eat, too. I'll get the hotel cook to whip you up some hotcakes and bacon. You need something that'll stick to your ribs. The major's going to take you shopping today, get you fitted for some fine clothes, and you'll be out running around in all that snow."
"Promise me one thing, Luther," she interrupted, whipping about to face him, no longer trembling, for her bones had stiffened with the determination and fortitude that she knew instinctively she must gather if she were to survive. "Promise me that you will do everything in your power to see that my brother lives. I can pledge nothing in return, but you say you want to be my friend. I want to believe you, and if you mean what you say, then make this one promise to me."
He sucked in his cheeks, then let out his breath in a long whoosh. She was asking a lot, and besides, he wasn't about to tell her how he'd had his doubts all along that the bunch that left Richmond would stick together and take Myles to the hide-out. They had probably already shot him or left him to die, and then taken off. If she hadn't made such a scene there at the last, Fox might have made sure her brother would be protected, but he'd gotten mad and didn't give a damn. Besides that, rumor had it that the war was fixing to bust loose like all hell, and Fox had plenty of other worries—one of which was to get Julie working as quickly as possible.
Finally, after giving her a long, searching look, he nodded his head slowly. Better to lie, he reasoned, than cause her more pain. "I'll do my best, Julie."
Just then the door opened, and Gordon Fox walked in without bothering to knock, eyes narrowed and lips set grimly. "Well, what's going on in here?" he demanded.
"Julie had a restless night," Luther said tightly. "I sat with her."
"Like a mother hen." Gordon laughed sharply, then snapped his fingers in Julie's direction and told her to get dressed. "Luther will bring you some food. Then we'll be on our way to get you outfitted properly. We're going to be leaving in a few days."
There was a dressing screen in one corner of the room, and Julie stepped behind it and reached for the dress she'd worn from Richmond. It had been washed by a hotel maid, and she thought absently that it did not look too much the worse for wear.
"I've decided we won't go to Richmond," she heard Gordon tell Luther. "It would be too dangerous there. I think we can pick up valuable information around Wilmington. After all, that's the last real stronghold of the blockade. You should find many busy pilots and ship captains there. Set Julie up in one of the saloons along the waterfront and establish her as a lady of talent. Then we can start moving through the fields, visiting camps.
"I'll be talking with my commanders," he went on. "When we leave Washington, we'll have a definite plan of action. Things are truly going to be moving into high gear. From all reports, President Lincoln wants to do everything possible to bring the war to an end. He's started by naming Ulysses Simpson Grant supreme army commander, and Grant is making no bones about his plans. Attack. He says he wants to strangle the Confederacy, and he's going to order Federal forces to attack simultaneously at all points to apply constant pressure on the South. And the South is weakening. There's no doubt about that. Grant says they can't withstand a continual onslaught, which is what he is about to set in motion."
"A lot of men are going to die," Julie heard Luther murmur, and she was surprised to hear the sadness ringing in his voice.
"Be glad you probably won't be one of them," came Gordon's snappish reply. "All you have to do is play a goddamn guitar, not pick up a rifle and march into battle. You should be grateful that I chose you for this assignment."
Luther allowed as to how he was appreciative, but added, "It just seems a waste. All the killing. It's been going on three years now, and I don't see any end."
"Well, there will be an end, and people like me will help bring it to a close. Wars aren't won merely by men shooting at each other, Luther. It takes brains and strategy, like using spies to find out where the enemy will attack next, where their weak points lie."
Julie heard the door open. "But I shouldn't have to waste my time telling you all this. Come along. I'm sure Julie must be famished...." His voice trailed off as the two stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Julie was grateful to be alone with her thoughts. What lay ahead, she did not know, and she ran cold fingertips up and down her arms. Her lips trembled. No, she told herself fiercely, she was not going to cry. She had to be strong—stronger than ever before.
She thought of the past. Warm, sunny days on that isolated beach with Derek... strong arms about her... hot, seeking kisses that always led to fulfillment from his satiating penetration to the very depths of her soul. A quiver of warmth moved through her as she remembered the way he had possessed her, carrying her along on a wave of passion that made her writhe and beg and plead for him to go on and on... which he did... till she lay spent and exhausted beneath him.
Derek.
Once she had hated him.
Once she had loved him.
What she truly felt in her heart, she did not know. She was certain of but one thing. She wished she had stayed in Richmond and Derek had returned, and she could be folded in his arms and held tightly against his chest.
For on that snowy day in Washington, in March of 1863, Julie Marshal had never felt more alone and vulnerable. And her heart grieved with the knowledge that probably never again would it pound with thundering ecstasy as she was held tightly against that giant of a man... Derek Arnhardt....
Chapter 25
The ride had been extremely difficult, and several times Thomas feared that Myles had died. He had positioned Myles directly behind him on the saddle, on the horse's rump, lacing his cousin against his back with a rope. Every so often he would stop, despite the protests of the others, and maneuver himself to press a hand against the frail chest to see if Myles's heart was still beating.
"Hell, throw the bastard in the snow and be rid of him," one of the men yelled only a day after they slipped out of Richmond. "We ain't never gonna hear from Fox nohow. Who gives a shit? He's just dead weight."
Thomas knew the man who spoke only by the name of Satch, and that he was from somewhere up in Pennsylvania. He had never laid eyes on him, or the others who aided in the escape, until that night when he left Libby Prison with Myles. Thomas found Satch to be a surly sort, mean, ugly, always spoiling for a fight, constantly badgering everyone around him. And if Satch insisted on discarding Myles,
Thomas knew he would have quite a scrap on his hands.
"We have our orders, and I intend to follow them," Thomas answered quietly, hoping his voice relayed the underlying message that he was not afraid of any challenge.
"He's gonna die anyway," came Satch's snarling reply. "And he's holding us back. It's hard enough trying to get these goddamned horses through this blasted snow, without you stopping every few feet to see if the son of a bitch is still breathing."
"Well, he is still breathing, and as long as he's alive, I'm going to do everything I can to keep him that way."
That night, when they were all huddled around a small fire hidden among some rocks and snow-laden trees, Thomas gave his portion of the rations to Myles. He had to forcefully spoon the gruel between Myles's thin blue lips, coaxing him to swallow.
Suddenly he became aware that all eyes were upon him, and he turned to see Satch's mouth twisted into an evil grimace and his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "What's he to you, anyway, Carrigan? The rest of us don't give a shit if the bag o' bones dies, but you're sittin' there feedin' him right out of your own belly. You one of them funny ones what likes men?"
Thomas fought for self-control. Now was not the time for the reckoning that was sure to come. He was counting on some of the men slipping off as they moved along, until their number was so narrowed down that he and Myles would have a fighting chance. There were too many to stand up against now.
"You've got a sick sense of humor." Thomas forced a laugh. "I'm just following orders, Satch, like I said. Besides, I was a guard in that prison, remember? And I saw the way this poor bastard was treated. Seemed like every guard there, and even some of the prisoners, were doing their best to see him dead. I grew to admire him because of the way he struggled to survive. Now that he's been given a second chance, I'm not wanting to take it away from him."
"Hell, you shoulda been one of the ones wantin' him dead," one of the other men spoke up. Thomas knew him only as Kelso. "You're a southerner, ain't you?" Kelso went on. "You saw that T branded on his head, and you know he was a traitor to you Rebs. So how come you give a shit whether he lives or not? Don't make sense to me."
Thomas turned burning eyes first upon Kelso, then on Satch, and all but snarled his reply: "I'm not asking any of you to help me. I'm not asking you to share your food. So why don't you just mind your own business and let me follow orders? What the rest of you do is your affair. Leave me be."
"Well, well, I do believe our Johnny Reb is a man's man." Satch threw his head back and laughed. "He likes the old bag o' bones. Maybe they was good friends back in that prison. Maybe he's tryin' to fatten him up so they can be married...."
The others guffawed and cackled, and Thomas's hand trembled as he spooned more gruel into Myles's mouth. Despite his cousin's weakened condition, he could see the slight sparkle of anger in the watery, hollow eyes. It was a good sign. It meant that there was spirit left beneath the waxy, papery skin... spirit that would grow and become strong and help him to live, by God.
Thomas's back was to the others as he squatted before Myles. Lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, he told Myles to pretend he had heard nothing. "Don't let them know that you might be starting to regain your strength. We are outnumbered, and now isn't the time for any confrontation."
To the others he tossed the words over his shoulder, "You all go on and have your fun. When we see Major Fox again, just be sure to let him know that I'm the one who kept this man alive, the way he wanted."
The other men finally tired of making their taunts when they realized that Thomas was not going to be goaded into a fight. So they turned to talk of other things: the war, the wretched weather, how much further they had to travel. Thomas put a blanket over Myles after making him a bed of dry pine straw, which he had difficulty in finding. Only after digging beneath three feet of snow and several more layers of wet straw did he find any that was dry. By that time the others were drinking and talking about tawdry women they'd known in the past, and they were ignoring him.
Then Thomas made his own bed nearby, shivering in the freezing night air and praying he did not come down with the fever. If he died, then Myles was surely doomed also.
The next morning he awakened to hear Satch cursing because two of the men had slipped away during the night. "The yellow-bellied bastards!" he roared. "...took half our supplies, and there ain't no telling how much further we got to go with the weather like it is. Look at them clouds. It's gonna snow again today for sure."
The others exchanged uneasy glances, probably, Thomas figured, thinking about the time when they too would slip away. They were tired of the war, the fighting, wanting only to run away and hide until it was over.
"...wish I'd heard 'em," Satch went on, his face red with anger. He smashed his fist into a tree, bloodying his knuckles and causing a thick shower of snow to fall from the stark branches above. "They was the ones with the popskull, and that's why they kept pushing it at us, wantin' us to get drunk and sleep dead to the world so they could creep out. If I'd heard 'em, I'd have put a ball in their yellow backs for sure."
Suddenly he whipped around to glare at Thomas, who was standing silently watching and listening. "How come you didn't hear 'em, Carrigan? You wa'n't drinkin' nothin' last night...."
"I slept further away from you all, and I didn't hear anything that went on," Thomas answered slowly, evenly. "I was also burrowed beneath my blankets, trying to keep from freezing. The wind was up and howling, too, drowning out any sounds.
"What difference does it make?" he went on as though he were not at all concerned. "We'll pass a farmhouse sooner or later and forage for some food. Two less among us doesn't make any difference."
"We're wasting food on him!" Satch pointed a finger at Myles, who was struggling to stand, legs trembling.
"He'll share my rations." Thomas met Satch's stormy eyes without a trace of fear. "And I don't want to hear any more talk about him being dead weight. I'll look after him. You just lead us to wherever it is we're going."
As each day passed, Myles gradually grew stronger, and he and Thomas were able to talk about their predicament when the others could not hear.
"We're going to get out of this," Thomas said fiercely, more than once. "For now, we've got to play along with them, but when we get our chance, we'll take it. Then we'll find Julie, by God."
Myles wanted to know how Julie came to be in Richmond, and Thomas could only tell him what he had overheard the night of the escape, how some sort of bargain had been made between her and the secret-service man called Fox. Thomas had also managed to pick up bits and pieces of information as to how Fox had met her from the others' conversation.
"You mean she was staying in a bawdy house?" Myles yelped, and Thomas had to shush him before the others heard.
"I don't think it was that way," he explained. "There was a fellow named Arnhardt involved somehow. He left her there while he went to Wilmington for men, and for money to pay them to get you out of prison. He didn't come back, and she got tired of waiting."
"I remember Julie telling me something about a man named Arnhardt," Myles said thoughtfully, then his eyes flashed fire. "I remember now. He's the one that kidnapped her from Bermuda. Why in the hell was she with him in Richmond? Why did she go to him for help?"
"I don't know." Thomas shook his head. "We'll just have to find out."
"Damn right," Myles fumed. "I want to know the whole story."
They traveled northwest along the James River from Richmond, stopping along the way to beg or steal chickens, potatoes, hams, anything to eat from the farmhouses they passed. At the end of two weeks, they were deep into the mountains, and only four of them remained—Thomas, Myles, Satch, and Kelso. All the others had deserted.
Myles was still weak, but Thomas felt certain now that he would fully recover. All they had to do was wait for the right time to make their move, and he hoped it came before they reached their destination. There was a possibility that others would be
at the hide-out increasing the odds against their escape.
One night as they sat around a fire drinking coffee made from boiled peanuts, Thomas casually asked Satch just how much further they had to go. "Seems like we've been on the road for months."
"Tomorrow or the next day," Satch yawned, scratching at his long, matted hair and pulling out a nit, which he tossed into the fire. "I've started seeing a few signs along the way that show me we're getting close."
"Signs? You mean we're following a trail in this wilderness?"
Satch laughed. "You don't think I'm just wandering around, do you? I thought you knew we got a hide-out up here, a regular nest of men wanting to stay out of the fighting. They left a few markers along the way, notched trees, stuff like that."
"Then why did the others desert us?" Thomas persisted. "If you have a hide-out, and they knew they wouldn't be called back to the war—"
"Well, we're still in the war, in a way. We do what Fox tells us to do. He needs a place to hide somebody out, we've got it ready for him. Sometimes we bring prisoners up here and torture 'em into telling us what we want to know. You'll find a few skeletons once the snow thaws, I guarantee you. Some of 'em wouldn't talk, so we just slit their throats."
Kelso guffawed, and Thomas exchanged a nauseated glance with Myles.
"I reckon the others just wanted to run back home," Satch went on. "Or maybe they was afraid Fox would call us all back to the lines. Who gives a shit? We're almost there. And it wouldn't have taken near as long if it hadn't been for the damn snow. Shouldn't be too long till the spring thaw, though. I'd say we're well into March now. Few more weeks, and things'll go to melting."
Satch went to search for dry firewood, which Thomas knew would be no easy chore. Kelso shuffled through the snow to where the horses were tied to see if he could find a bottle of popskull that they might have forgotten about.
This Rebel Heart Page 36
