And then he spoke. And it was as though the seas had parted, and the dead were walking out from their sandy, murky bottom, their bodies dripping with clinging weeds and flotsam, bringing back the past, so long ago that it was thought to have been buried forever.
"At last we meet again, misty eyes."
"No—" the sound was a whimper. She tried to shrink away, but his hands upon her breasts kept her pinioned beneath him. "No... no... dear God, no—" She writhed and twisted, sure that this was not real. It could not really be happening.
His thumbs and forefingers pinched at her nipples painfully, as though he wanted to hurt her deliberately. "I should have known someone as devious and beguiling as you would find a way to survive the ravages of war, Julie, but this did come as a surprise."
"Derek! God, no, Derek. Anyone but you!" she cried, trying to claw her way out of the invisible net that had fallen over her, holding her imprisoned. "Please, no!"
"Embarrassed?" He laughed mockingly. "There's really no need to be. Just think of me as another customer. I paid a high price for your favors, and I intend to enjoy myself."
He moved away abruptly. "I want to look at you. I always did take special delight in seeing your body when we made love."
She had no time to protest as he quickly ignited the lamp and the room was bathed in an orange glow. She could see him—the beautiful bulk of him—but then she saw the patch over one eye and she was trying to gain control of her swirling, muddled brain to tell him what was happening. But it was as though she was having some kind of seizure and could not speak. No words could be forced from her twisting, jerking lips.
He bent over her once again, just as the door opened with a loud crash. Derek whirled around, instantly alert, but froze as he faced the two men who stepped quickly inside. One held a gun, the other, a knife.
"No!" Julie screamed shrilly. "Luther, no! It's Derek! It's Derek. You can't—"
Luther's brown eyes rolled wildly as the realization of what she said washed over him. Derek. The name she had whimpered so many nights in her sleep. The man who he'd felt all along she would love forever. Derek Arnhardt—Ironheart—the Gray Devil.
"Cut him!" Veston snapped nervously. "Quick. We don't want no noise, but I'll shoot if I have to."
Stricken, bewildered, Derek's eyes turned to Julie. "A trap! You set me up—"
"I didn't know," she babbled, terrified. "Dear God, Derek. You must believe me. I didn't know it was you they were after."
Veston gave Luther a nudge, snarling, "Get it over with, dammit, and be quick. Don't make me have to shoot him. It's too risky."
Derek stood with legs apart, fists clenched, ready for the man with the knife to advance.
Suddenly Julie was upon her knees on the bed, arms outstretched toward Luther as she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Please, Luther, don't do it. You can't. Just let him go, please—"
Veston pointed his gun at her as he hissed, "Get out of the way, damn you, or you'll get yours too!"
Without warning, Luther whipped about and sent his knife plunging into Veston's chest. Derek started forward, but Julie had leaped to her feet, blocking his path. He gave her a shove that quickly sent her sprawling to the floor at the same second that Gordon Fox burst through the doorway, gun in hand.
Derek froze, facing the weapon which was pointed straight at him.
"What the hell is going on?" Gordon looked down at Veston's body in horror. "Goddammit, Luther, what have you done?"
With surprising calmness, Luther replied tonelessly, "He was going to shoot Julie. You know I couldn't let that happen."
Gordon looked baffled, and his gun hand wavered ever so slightly. Derek leaped for him. Instantly Luther was moving also. The three men came together with almost maniacal screams.
The gun exploded.
Julie fought to cling to her sanity as she saw the three melding together. One slumped to the floor. There was a flash of steel as a knife hit its target. Another fell.
Then she saw it was Derek who was left standing, and he was holding Luther's bloodied knife. He knelt quickly, lifting Luther's head in his arms as she crawled forward, the world becoming a mist about her.
"Why did you do it?" Derek demanded of the dying man, his voice hoarse and face stricken. "You saved my life when you came here to take it. Why? Why?" With anguish, he stared down at the glazed brown eyes.
Luther's whispered words were barely audible as he choked through quivering lips, "For Julie... just love her... as I did...."
His head slumped to the side, eyes staring blankly. The caring, tender expression had been replaced forever by the empty stare of the dead.
Derek laid his head gently down, then turned to Julie and snapped, "We're getting out of here. The noise is sure to bring people running." He lifted her easily into his arms, carried her out of the room down the hallway. Leaving through a door at the end of the corridor, he hurried down narrow steps, moving into the shadows of the night.
She was sobbing quietly, head against his chest. She was drifting between two worlds: one of stark reality, filled with horror, and one that coaxed her into oblivion. She did not know where he was taking her or why, for suddenly it seemed as though she were not really alive at all, merely caught in an eternal limbo of pain and confusion.
He set her on her feet. They were in a narrow alley between two buildings, and a dim light from the street cast shadows over them. She saw the way he was looking at her with eyes of thunder.
His right hand wrapped coldly about her neck as he pressed her against the side of a building. For long moments he just stared at her, and she could feel his hatred. Then he ground out the words: "I don't know what that was all about, but I wish to God I'd never laid eyes on you. What have I ever done to you that you'd want me dead? You set me up. Dammit to hell, Julie, just what kind of conniving, cold-hearted bitch are you?"
He rushed on, giving her no chance to speak. "That man back there, the one who gave his life for me, who was he? He was supposed to kill me, yet he saved my life because at the last minute you begged him to. What was the reason behind that? Did you suddenly decide that you couldn't add murder to your list of sins? Well, you did a good job on him... twisted his heart around your finger till he was prepared to die for you. And you murdered him the same as if you'd pulled the trigger yourself."
"Listen to me, please—" She struggled as his fingers tightened about her throat, making it difficult to get the words out. "Derek, I never knew it was you. I swear. They told me they were after the Gray Devil. That's all I was told. And Luther knew I was being held against my will, and he loved me. We were running away after tonight—" He gave her head a shake, banging her painfully against the wall. "None of it makes any sense. You're a conniving little slut, and you're the one who should be dead. Hell, I could've overlooked it if you'd just turned to being a prostitute, if that's what it took to survive this goddamn war to keep from starving. I could have accepted it, but to work for the Yankees? To help kill your own people? How could you do it?"
He slapped her then, hard, and his voice spun through blurring lights and spinning stabs of pain: "Damn you to hell, woman! I ought to break your neck and end your worthless life to save other men from your devilish tricks."
"Then do it!" she screamed, suddenly boiling in a sizzling, rebellious rage. "Go on and kill me. What have I got to live for now, anyway? Everyone who ever loved me is dead. I never loved Luther, but he loved me, and he died because he knew it was you I'd always wanted. But now I hate you as I hated Gordon Fox and all the others who used me. So kill me! You'll be doing me a favor!"
He squinted as he stared down at her in the shadows. She did not flinch as his fingers moved about her throat once again. "Yes, I would be doing you a favor." He spoke in that quiet, dread tone she had heard him use so many times to intimidate his crewmen into trembling shreds of manhood. "But I don't want to do you any favors. You're going to suffer for what you've done. You're going to have to face the one per
son who believed in you."
He grabbed her arm and started jerking her along in the alley. "What are you talking about?" she cried, falling to her knees. He kept dragging her as she screamed, "Stop it! You're hurting me, Derek! Have you lost your mind? There's no one left for me. Just kill me and be done with it...." She dissolved into tears once more, hating herself for being so weak.
He stopped to lift her in his arms as she beat at him with her fists in protest, but when he spoke, her arms fell limply at her sides as she stared at him in shock. "I'm taking you to Myles. I'm going to tell him how I found you, what you've become. When he hears the truth, that will be more punishment than any I could give you."
"Myles is dead! I know he's dead. He died months ago. Gordon Fox told me—"
"No, he's not dead, but he'll wish he was when I dump you at his feet and tell him what a slut his sister is."
"This is a trick. You're only trying to hurt me, torture me...."
He ignored her and kept striding purposefully on, holding her so tightly in his arms that she found it painful.
"Derek!"
Julie froze at the sound of the voice from the grave.
"Derek, what in hell? Oh, God, you've found her—"
"Yeah, I found her." Derek all but threw her at his feet, not caring how hard her body landed upon the ground. "Here's your precious sister you've been searching for all this time. And I want to tell you where I found her."
But Myles was not listening. He was on his knees, cradling Julie in his arms, rocking her to and fro and sobbing with joy as she clung to him.
Then she heard another familiar voice and realized with shock that it was Thomas speaking. And he was calm, not at all upset or disturbed, as he said, "I'm listening to you, Derek. Where did you find her? You didn't tell us where you were going tonight. We didn't know you were out looking for her."
"It was something I had to do myself." He stared down at Julie and Myles embracing each other on the floor of the livery stable. "I heard about the beautiful woman with the sweet voice who could be had for a price. Tonight I was set up to be with her, to share her bed. She's not only a prostitute—she's a goddamn spy for the Yankees. And she had me set up to be murdered."
"She was held against her will!" Myles said tensely. "We told you that's why we had to find her."
"She was going to have me killed!" Derek cried in outrage. "There are three men back there in that hotel room dead instead of me, and one of them saved my life because he loved her so damned much he thought that's the way she wanted it. Hell, he was crazy! She's not worth living for, much less dying for!"
Turning, he slammed his fist into a post so hard that it bled. "She's all yours!" he cried. "They didn't kill me tonight, but the Gray Devil is dead just the same. I'm getting the hell out of this stinking war. I've had enough of the killing, the suffering, all of it!"
"They say it's over for the South anyway," Thomas said quietly. "I've heard Sherman is headed for Atlanta, on a march to the sea and Savannah."
Derek walked swiftly to a stall, roughly threw a saddle on a horse, and then led him out. When he was mounted, he stared down at them. "I found her for you, Myles," he said. "But God help each of you, because it would've been better if I hadn't. From what I've seen, she wasn't worth finding."
And he rode past them, the horse's hooves echoing in the stillness of the night.
Myles continued to hold Julie, rocking her gently in his arms, trying to soothe her. Thomas watched in silence for several moments, then went and saddled his horse. When he was done, he murmured, "I think it's time you two went home, Myles. Take Julie and get her out of all this."
Myles nodded, staring up at his cousin with sad eyes. "And what about you?" he asked. "Where will you go?"
"I don't know. Maybe back to the regular army, if they'll have me. I'll see the war out to the end. Maybe the South is dying, but I'll die with it, if need be. Right now, I just need time to think about all that has happened."
Julie lifted her face from Myles's shoulder. "You must believe me, Thomas. They held me against my will. And Luther made sure none of the men brought to me ever actually..." She paused to swallow, shuddering with the memories. "He made sure they were drugged—"
"I understand." He gave her a sad little smile. "It's over, Julie. Try not to think about it. God be with you both."
He rode away, and Myles held her tighter and swore, "We're going to make it, together. We'll head west. Lots of southerners are leaving, running to escape the Yankees. For now, let's just give thanks we've found each other, because we're all we've got."
The ashes of her life floated about her. Myles understood. He always had. Together they would make a new life.
But inside, she knew a part of her had died. She had found Derek, only to lose him, all in one night. And at long last, she knew that he was the only man she could ever truly love. But that love was not to be.
And there was another memory to haunt her... a deep love she had been unable to return. Tender, warm brown eyes crying in the rain, his life given for the love he had known she always yearned for, even if only in vain.
I'm sorry, Luther, her heart cried with anguish, so very, very sorry.
She closed her eyes, praying to God to forgive her transgressions and hear her plea—that one day, in the hereafter, she would once again see those brown eyes, and they would not be crying in the rain, but smiling with the knowledge that he had given his life for his love.
Somehow she felt God heard, and Luther heard, and so he had not died in vain after all.
For this much, amidst the ruins of her life, she was grateful.
Chapter 31
Hand in hand, they stood together before the once-proud mansion.
"It's like a giant tombstone, crumbling and cracked and about to fall any moment to the grave over which it towers," Julie whispered in pain. "I never knew it would be like this."
"Look at the rose bushes." Myles pointed around them. "It's hard to believe they ever grew in regal beauty, showering our world with their sweetness. They look like scrubby weeds."
"It's still our home."
"Was our home," he corrected her. "The Yankees will burn it to the ground when they come. All I want is for us to dig up the things you all buried then get out of here. I'll go look in the barn and see if I can find a shovel, but everything looks as though it's been stripped clean, and there may not be any tools left."
"I want to walk through the house." Julie began climbing the steps. "I want one last look."
"I'll go with you," he said somberly.
Wordlessly they moved through the once great rooms, wincing at the absence of the expensive tapestries, paintings, furniture. The house was completely bare. Even the windows had been stripped of draperies.
"I'd like to know what happened to everything," Myles remarked as they left the house and moved toward the barn. "Virgil probably sold off everything he could before he went back to England, and I've an idea that's where he headed as quick as he could. But it's no matter. We can't take much with us anyway. Only bare necessities."
After much searching, they found an old pitchfork in a hayloft. Then they made their way through the brambles and weeds to the cemetery. "When we dig up everything, I'll go into town and sell them for whatever price I can get. Then we'll head for Brunswick. That wagon train we heard about is due to leave within the week, and we don't have much time."
Julie pointed out the spot where the jewelry and silver had been buried. Myles nodded, then walked to their mother's grave and stood with head reverently bowed for a moment. Julie followed him, slipping her hand into his as she let the tears flow.
Myles began to dig, and in a few moments called triumphantly, "It's here! Thank God! There's enough here to get us all the way to California. We're going to make it."
She watched him scratching at the ground with the pitchfork, then stooped to help him retrieve each piece of buried treasure. When she was sure they had found it all, Myles said he would
leave immediately for Savannah.
"Are you sure it's safe?" she asked fearfully. "Someone might see you."
"Who would care now? Everyone is preparing to run from the Yankees. No one is thinking about you or me. Now you go back to the house and stay there. I'll try to get back as quickly as I can."
"Promise me you'll be careful." She gave him a hug.
He placed his fingertips on her cheeks and flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "All our worries are behind us. I'm going to buy a wagon, a team of horses, supplies. We're young, healthy, and by God, we've got plenty to be thankful for. Now how about letting me see some sparkle in those eyes before I go?"
She tried, but she knew he was not fooled. They both realized it would be a long time, if ever, before she found peace and true happiness. He had told her how she called out Derek's name in her sleep and wept over Luther's death. And he had promised to heal her wounds. She wanted to believe, to hold onto what he was saying, but she knew nothing could ever remove the deep scars upon her heart.
Myles pulled a thatch of hair down over his forehead. "I've got to keep this damn brand hidden," he sighed with bitterness. "That's all I need, for someone to spot it."
"Perhaps when we get out West we'll find some way to have it removed," she offered.
"I'm not going to wait that long. I'll burn myself, or something. I'll do anything to remove it."
Gathering everything they had retrieved, they took the treasure over to the two weary horses they'd ridden on their journey from Richmond. "I won't get a trade on these old slackers," Myles said, patting the rump of the horse that bore the bags of silver and jewelry. "They're worn out. I'll do the best I can, though. Now you get along back to the house and wait for my return. I intend to do some serious bargaining and get as much as possible for each piece."
After he had gone, Julie wandered through the house once again. It was hard to envision the gala balls and parties that had taken place there so long ago. Even more difficult was to recall herself as a child growing up within the high-ceilinged rooms. This was but a shell of a house, already dead and merely waiting to be buried.
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