As soon as they were out of hearing range, Thomas turned frantically to Myles. "We've got to do it tonight. We've got to get away, or this time tomorrow we might be in a whole nest of Yankees and Reb deserters. Who knows? They might kill us. We've got to do it tonight, Myles. Are you up to it?"
Myles looked at him for a long time without speaking. His eyes were still sunken into his head and had deep circles beneath them. The veins were still visible beneath the yellowed skin, and his fingers had lost none of their skeletal appearance. Finally he took a deep breath, his shrunken chest heaving. "I suppose we have no choice, do we? Do you think we can find the way back?"
"We'll look for the same signs that Satch found to lead us this far. Once we make it to the James River, well just follow it back to Richmond—"
"We can't go there!" Myles cried, stunned. "They'll put both of us in jail. I'm an escaped prisoner, remember? And you helped me, so they'll be looking for you too. It isn't safe in Richmond."
He shook his head wearily, eyes sparkling with tears of frustration. "Thomas, I appreciate all you've done to help me. I swear I do, and I'll never be able to repay you, but there's no way out. We have to face it. There's nothing to do but take our chances with Satch and the men who'll be waiting at the hide-out."
"Which is no chance at all!" Thomas scoffed sardonically. "What the hell's the matter with you, Myles? What happened to the man I was proud to call my friend? Maybe they did beat you down in the goddamned prison, and you're nothing but a coward... all your fight and spunk gone. Maybe you never had a backbone after all."
His nostrils flared, chest heaving with anger as he raged on. "And what about Julie? Have you forgotten about her? She was willing to risk her life to save yours, but now there's no telling what kind of danger she's in. Aren't you willing to make an effort to try and save her, after all she did for you?"
Myles looked at him, stunned, and then he said in a croaky voice filled with shame, "All right. I guess I was starting to give up, but I owe it to both you and Julie to fight back. Just tell me what you want me to do."
So Thomas quickly outlined the plan that been churning about in his mind for the past few days. When Satch and Kelso fell asleep, he and Myles would just slip away into the night, as the others had done. "It's beginning to snow again. Our tracks will be covered. They won't come looking for us anyway. We'll head straight south, find our way into North Carolina and on to Wilmington. We should be safe there. If anyone does ask questions, we'll just say we're on leave, that you've been ill. Anyone will look at you and see that's no lie."
At the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow, they fell silent, huddling near the warmth of the fire as though too weary for conversation.
It was Kelso, and he had found his bottle of popskull. He grudgingly offered them a drink, which they declined. "My stomach's knotting from hunger," Myles said. "It would make me sicker."
Thomas mumbled that he wasn't feeling well. "I may be coming down with the fever. I'm going to try to get some sleep."
Kelso looked at Myles and sneered, "We shoulda got rid of you a long time ago." Then he threw a sarcastic glance in Thomas's direction. "As for you, Johnny Reb, you ain't much better than he is. Why don't you both curl up and die?"
"Aw, lay off of 'em," Satch bellowed, returning with an armload of scraggly branches he'd managed to find beneath some rocks. "We ain't got much further to go. Fox will be glad we got the job done, just the two of us, after the others turned into such yellow bellies."
Thomas and Myles moved back from the fire, as they did every night. Even though it was bone chilling to huddle beneath their thin blankets, away from the warmth, they had long since reasoned it was better than being around the two men they found so despicable.
Myles dozed off right away, weary as always from the day's ride. Thomas only pretended to sleep, alert to any sounds from Satch and Kelso. As usual, their talk turned to women. Finally, their voices became slurred as they got drunk and sleepy. The fire was slowly dying, and they made no attempt to keep it going.
He could hear the sound of gentle hisses, knew snow-flakes were falling to hasten the fire's death. Then the dampness began to seep through his blanket. Ordinarily he would have moved and attempted to find some sort of shelter beneath a bush or a rock, but he dared not move till he was sure the other two were asleep.
A half hour passed. Then, cautiously, Thomas pushed the cover back from over his head and looked over to where Satch and Kelso had been sitting. Faint smoke crept skyward from the smoldering ashes, and the two men were slumped together, blankets pulled about them as they slept deeply. Trying not to make a sound, Thomas reached out and shook Myles. He did not respond, so Thomas crawled closer, grasping his shoulders to jerk him harder, "It's time," he whispered quickly. "Quiet, now."
Myles was instantly awake. "Are you sure?" he asked anxiously.
"They're as dead as the fire. I listened to them for hours, getting good and soused. You stay put while I get the horses. It's starting to snow harder, and it's going to be rough going. We may have to walk and lead the horses, and you're going to need what strength you can muster."
"Thomas, I can make it," Myles said, hurt at being reminded of his weakened state.
Thomas gave his cousin's bony shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I know you can. We both can. We're Georgians, remember? And nothing can lick us!"
Myles could not see the smile in the darkness, but he knew it was there just the same and he returned it, feeling strength he had not known for a long time flowing in his veins.
Slowly, stealthily, Thomas stood up. His original plan had been to just take two horses and steal away into the night, but now he decided he had better make sure they weren't followed. Walking to the dead fire, he reached down and picked up a partially charred log that was still very heavy. With quick, chopping blows, he hit Satch, then Kelso. They made no sound as they slipped further down into the snow.
Myles heard and quickly asked, "Did you kill them?"
"No," came the reply. "I just want to make sure they don't come after us—for awhile, anyway. And I doubt they'll give chase on foot."
Once the horses were saddled, and the few remaining supplies packed, Thomas said there was no way they could ride out. "Our weight would just push the horses down deeper in the snow. I don't even know which direction we're headed. I can't see the stars with the storm overhead. We'll just have to keep plodding along till it gets light. Can you make it?"
"I can make it," Myles answered solemnly.
"Then let's move out. If you start to stumble, or you fall, for God's sake make some kind of sound so I'll stop for you. We've got a long way to go, and it's going to be rough...."
His voice shook with emotion. The task that lay ahead was formidable. There was a good chance they would not survive the elements, but they had to try. By God, they had to try, he thought with a fierceness that made him tremble.
And it was Myles's hand upon his shoulder that gave him strength, as Thomas heard him say confidently: "It's like you said, cousin. We'll make it. We're Georgians. Nothing can lick us."
Together they began to push their way through the ever-deepening snow.
Chapter 26
Luther Saxton sat on the ground outside the covered wagon. Absently he fingered the strings of the guitar he held on his lap, then stared down at it, remembering the pride he had felt when he bought the instrument. It was newer, nicer, than the one he'd taught himself to play on. And until the war broke out, music had been his life... but, like thousands of others, his world had been turned upside down.
He struck a chord dejectedly, sensed rather than heard the bitter quality of the tone. He touched the tuning pegs to bring the strings to their proper pitches.
Suddenly Julie poked her head out from between the canvas flaps at the end of the wagon. In the glow of the campfire, he could see that ever-present sadness reflected in her now lackluster green eyes. "Luther, I'm dressed now. You may come in," she called quietly.
He climbed inside. Julie was wearing a dress of blue silk, soft, flowing, with no hoops. The neckline dipped low, something Major Fox had insisted upon in each garment he bought for her, wanting her lovely breasts exposed as much as possible. As she self-consciously pulled a woven shawl tighter about her shoulders, draping it across her bosom, Luther said regretfully, "You know Veston is going to have something to say if you go out there like that, Julie. I'm sorry, but you know—"
She bit her lip and nodded as she took a deep breath of resignation. "I know. I'm quite aware of my duties. I'm to look as provocative as possible, and I'm to seek out men of rank and importance and entice them to my bed. Haven't I performed well on three occasions now?"
"Yeah. Even though Fox sent back word that the information you got was worthless, you still did what you were told to do."
Impulsively she reached out to clasp his hand. He could feel her body trembling, and he wondered if she knew just what her touch did to him... how a rage swept through him as he fought to keep from crushing her in his arms.
Dammit, he loved her. There was no denying the fact that he loved her more than he ever thought it possible to love a woman. And it wasn't just her beauty, though Lord knew she was a sight to behold. It was her gentleness, her inner strength that somehow seemed to shine through, despite the misery of her life.
He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew of his feelings. He dared not speak what was in his heart, not yet, but when this blasted war was over...
"Luther," she whispered, a sad smile on her perfect lips. "I've told you before, but I feel I must keep saying it. If it weren't for you, I don't think I could make it. I mean, those times were horrible, those men pawing my body as I teased them into telling me those things—" She shuddered with revulsion, struggling for composure and blinking back tears, her long, silky lashes fluttering. "But you were there at the last, to make sure they were properly drugged, and I didn't have to actually—you know..
Yes, he knew. "I'm not going to let it happen, Julie." His voice was husky, and he wanted desperately to kiss those precious lips. "I aim to protect you with my life, if need be."
Her eyes searched his quizzically. "But why? Why do you devote yourself to me so? You're such a friend. And you know that despite what the Confederates did to my brother, my heart is still with the South. It's killing me to know I'm betraying my own people. I'm the one who should be branded a traitor, not Myles. But you're different. You're a Yankee, and you want to see southern blood spilled... for the North to triumph in this war. Yet you befriend me, knowing how I feel."
The words were locked in his throat, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried, they were going to spill forth. He wasn't going to be able to hold them in much longer. He had to tell her what he'd kept inside—that he loved her... and his love was the reason for his unfailing devotion.
But at that precise moment, without warning, Veston pushed himself up into the wagon. He took one look at Julie and snapped, "You ain't wearing that goddamn shawl. Get it off, and let's go. They're waitin' on you out there."
Her chin lifted in familiar defiance. "It's chilly out. How can I sing if I'm trembling with cold?"
He took a step forward, pointing a finger. "Look, you ain't going out there lookin' like a pious preacher's wife straight from a church sing."
"Veston, shut up!" Luther's hands clenched about the neck of his guitar. It was a precious instrument, and he was fighting to keep from bringing it crashing down on his partner's head. "There's no call for you to talk to her like that, and I won't have it!"
"You won't have it!" Veston mimicked, sneering. "Fox was goddamn stupid to let you tag along. If I could play a guitar, you wouldn't even be here. It's plain as apple dumplin's that you're hot for her, and—"
Luther stepped closer. "I'm warning you for the last time."
He was not built as big as Veston, but there was something about his voice or expression that proved ominous, for the man stepped back, still sneering but retreating from open confrontation. "Okay, okay, I ain't gonna fight you. It'd blow the whole job we're supposed to be doing. We both know the war is bustin' wide open, and we never know when she might learn something that could prove mighty damned important."
Veston directed himself to Julie. "There's a major out there, and I've had my eye on him all afternoon. I saw him in a field tent with a colonel and some other high-ranking officers. They were bound to have been talking important doings, 'cause they had sentries posted outside and wouldn't let nobody come within fifty feet of that tent.
"I heard this major tell somebody he sure was lookin' forward to hearing you sing tonight, 'cause he'd seen you and thought you was a fine-lookin' piece o' womanflesh."
Luther ached as he saw how miserable Julie looked.
"When you finish singin'," Veston went on, "you come back here and undress with the lantern still burning. Let him get an eyeful of your silhouette, and he'll break his neck gettin' here. You let him know before you finish singing that you're interested in him. You know what I'm talkin' about—give him the eye. Smile. Flirt a bit with him."
He turned to Luther. "We'll do like always—keep a watch till she gives the signal he's sleepin' like a baby. Then you come find out what she got out of him, and if I figure it's something Major Fox would want to know, I'll head out and find him.
"All you gotta do," he grinned as he turned back to Julie, "is give him some secret come-ons, and we'll have him set up in no time flat."
"I'm sure you will," she nodded miserably. "Just like the ones before him, just like the one that will come tomorrow night, and the night after that, and—"
His hand snaked out to grasp her tiny waist and jerk her roughly against his chest. "Listen to me, you little bitch! You'll do as you're told, or that no-good brother of yours will die in agony!"
Luther forgot all about his beloved guitar as it fell to the floor of the wagon with a loud thud. He sprang forward, reaching swiftly to slide his knife easily from its hiding place in his boot. Its blade glittered ominously in the lantern's glow. Pressing the edge of it against Veston's throat, he growled, "Get your goddamn hands off her, or I'll kill you!"
Veston released her at once. She stumbled, and Luther shot out one hand to steady her, still keeping the blade pressed against Veston's flesh with the other. After a few seconds, during which he glared with hatred and venom at Veston, he pulled the knife away.
Only after he had retreated from the wagon, out of striking distance of his foe, did Veston threaten, "I'm gonna see Fox about you, Saxton. You and her got something goin', and that's why you act like such a goddamn fool over her. When he hears, You'll find yourself back on the battlefield—if he don't blow your brains out! You won't be plinkin' that guitar and makin' time with her no more, you can be sure of that!" He disappeared into the darkness.
"Thank you, Luther," Julie whispered tremulously. "I don't know why you've taken it upon yourself to watch over me, but I'm grateful."
"Julie, it's because I—" Once again he had been about to proclaim the love he felt with every beat of his heart, but just then, as though fate were stepping in to prevent such a pronouncement, the drawling voice of a Confederate soldier came to them from beyond the canvas flaps, calling out that everyone was waiting for Julie.
With a sigh, she dropped the shawl from her shoulders. "I suppose we must go now," she whispered. "You're not only my friend, Luther, but you're also an excellent accompanist. Hearing you play gives me the strength to find my voice at times when I'm sure I can't sing a note."
She slipped her tiny hand in his, and once again his heart began to pound, inflamed, thundering with emotion. God, how he loved her!
He stepped from the wagon, then propped his guitar against a wheel as he reached to clasp her about her waist and help her to the
ground, reveling in the few seconds he could actually hold her, touch her. And he slipped a protective arm about her waist as they moved through the darkness toward the burning campfires, where the soldiers were gathered and waiting.
They took their places. Julie stood on a makeshift platform, and Luther sat at her feet. A ripple went through the troops as the men ogled Julie's beauty, her body, and it was with trembling fingers that Luther touched the strings of the guitar.
He knew Julie liked to begin her performance with the song favored by all the men, "Dixie." She would encourage them to join her, which they always did, thus establishing a good atmosphere. Then she liked to sing another favorite of theirs, "When This Cruel War Is Over," before going into the soft, romantic "Annie Laurie."
By the time she sang "Juanita," which was usually her last song, the major had moved forward to stand at the front of the group, and Veston had long ago signaled to Julie that he was the one she should direct herself to. She had done so, and he was gazing up at her with eyes that were openly shining with lust.
Luther fought for control. Now was not the time to act. But soon he knew he would have to take her away from all this, for he was losing patience, could not stand to see her endure such anguish and degradation.
As always, the soldiers grumbled because the night's entertainment was over. Veston nodded to Luther, signaling it was time for them to pretend to bed down. They walked away together, but Luther glanced back to see that Julie was talking with Major Anders, smiling, flirting, doing what she had been instructed, and he knew it would not be long before she was leading him toward the wagon, inviting him to drink from the bottle that had already been laced with the drug that would make his tongue loose before it eventually put him to sleep.
And when he awoke, Julie would tell him what a wonderful lover he had been... and with her lying naked beside him, he would believe her... as the others had. And even though Luther knew that the Reb officer would not have actually possessed her body, it made him want to spit blood to know that the major would hold her warm, bare flesh in his arms, touch it with his hands, his lips, before finally passing into unconsciousness.
This Rebel Heart Page 37
