Tomorrow the Glory

by Heather Graham

  They didn’t speak until Kendall had rounded the first bend in the river and found a swamp trail that would take them out of sight of the Rebel’s Pride and the quickly approaching Yankee vessel.

  “Lolly, I’m sorry,” Kendall whispered. “I thought you would be safer here. I never knew John might come. He’s so vengeful, Lolly. I don’t know what he might do,”

  “Kendall, you did what you thought best,” Lolly said placidly.

  Kendall moistened her lips and kept rowing with all her strength. “There’s a hammock up here where we should be safe. Only the Indians know it.”

  Lolly smiled. “I trust you, Kendall.”

  “Don’t trust me! I seem to precipitate disaster.”

  Again, Lolly smiled. “I met your captain, Kendall. He’s hardly a disaster! He’ll come for us; I’m sure of it.”

  By nightfall they had reached the hammock. Lolly tried to keep the toddling Eugenia from eating the leaves about them as Kendall strained to create a shelter for them. After an hour of trial and error, she was able to ignite a small fire to shield them from the coolness of the spring night.

  “I know that we risk the fire being seen, Lolly,” she told her sister, “but it will help keep away the snakes and the insects.”

  “I’m sure I’d rather a rattler than a Yankee,” Lolly murmured, “but do what you think best.”

  The baby fell asleep in Lolly’s arms, but both sisters were too tense to sleep. They talked for hours, and an extreme turnabout seemed to have occurred. Lolly was the strong one now; Kendall poured out her heart, admitting the passion for Brent that defied her will, while Lolly insisted that she was wrong to fight him.

  “You can’t change a man who is fighting for his ideals, Kendall. You can only pray that he lives.” Lolly laughed suddenly. “You must have had some reunion! Look at your dress!”

  Kendall blushed as she realized that she was still minus two buttons, and Lolly abruptly sobered. “Kendall, can’t you see? This is the end. The time is at hand for someone to claim you. Brent—or John.”

  Chills crept along Kendall’s spine at her sister’s words. She stared into her eyes, but Lolly wasn’t looking at Kendall; she was staring into the brush.

  Kendall turned to follow her gaze—and Lolly spoke again, her voice filled with horror. “There’s an Indian staring at us.”

  “Red Fox!” Kendall whispered joyously. She ran to him, throwing herself into his arms, finding a security in his strong chest.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her hoarsely.

  “The . . . the Yankees have come again,” she said, searching out his dark eyes. “And Brent—”

  “I know. He returned in the Rebel’s Pride.”

  “How do you know?” Kendall inquired, stunned.

  “Because he sought me out this afternoon. Right now he heads for the mouth of the river.”

  “Alone?” Kendall demanded in horror. He would head straight into a trap. “Oh, my God! I have to find him!”

  “You have to stay right here, Kendall,” Red Fox said firmly. “I will go for Brent.” He glanced beyond Kendall—at the gaping Lolly.

  “Who is she?”

  “My sister.”

  Red Fox nodded imperiously. “She will stay with you; I will go. Here, you will take my knife. You know how to use it.”

  “Yes,” Kendall replied, but before the echo of her word faded in the breeze, he was gone.

  “An Indian!” Lolly exclaimed, shuddering. “Oh, Kendall, how could you trust a savage?”

  “He isn’t a savage, Lolly, and that’s another long story.”

  Lolly began to shiver. “Tell it to me, Kendall. Talk to me. We have to do something to endure this waiting.”

  They talked all night. And when the baby awoke, crying in hunger, they were still talking. Sleep had eluded them both, and dawn was breaking.

  * * *

  In the afternoon, Kendall entertained little Eugenia with a pile of stones, placing them in an empty cup and allowing the toddler to dump them back on the ground. She was amazed by the little girl’s beauty. Her eyes were as blue as the clear spring sky, her hair, like her mother’s, was as gold as the sun.

  Lolly, dozing on and off as she lay listlessly staring up at the sky, opened her eyes and smiled at Kendall. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother one day.”

  Kendall shrugged and tried to answer lightly. “I . . . I don’t think I can have children, Lolly.”

  To her surprise her sister laughed. “Because you’ve had your captain upon numerous occasions during the past years and nothing has happened? Don’t be silly, Kendall. When you are together all the time, you’ll be a mother someday.”

  “If I ever see him again,” Kendall whispered.

  Lolly made no reply.

  At nightfall, Kendall decided to light another fire. Lolly and the baby were curled together, fast asleep, but she still couldn’t rest. She searched for dry twigs and set to rubbing them together. She was so involved in her task that moments passed before she realized that she had heard a twig snap—and that someone was standing quite close to her.

  Slowly, with a sense of foreboding, she looked up. Horror engulfed her. She was staring at John Moore.

  The war hadn’t changed him. He looked exactly as he had the last time she had encountered him in the swamp. He was the same man she had once come to know so very, painfully, well.

  She leapt to her feet, staring at him speechlessly, warily. Fear flooded, along with a thousand other emotions, mainly anger and hatred. Time was eclipsed. She couldn’t forget the day when he had slaughtered the innocents here in the swamp. Even now, the nightmares of that day sometimes returned to plague her. She couldn’t forget that night, how viciously he had taken his revenge on her . . .

  “Kendall!”

  He spoke her name as softly, as pleasantly, as if he had come upon her at a tea. Then he smiled very slowly. “I knew that I would find you if I searched far enough.”

  She still couldn’t speak. She backed up as he approached her, keeping her eyes fully upon him, afraid to blink.

  “It’s all come to an end!” he informed her, his voice still soft and pleasant. “Did you think that I would forget you? If so, you didn’t give me enough credit. You didn’t know me well enough, and, Kendall, I thought that you had! I thought that you knew all there was to know about me! After all, you’re my wife. And now we are reunited! What a blessed day. You are mine once again, Kendall. And you will come back with me. We’ve got so very much lost time to make up together!”

  Denial, horror, sprang to her heart. Never. Never now, never after all that she had suffered and survived.

  “Why?” she demanded hoarsely of him, shaking her head slightly. She still could not believe that he had found her, that he stood before her. The strangest thing was that he remained a handsome man, and he cut a fine figure in his navy frock coat. His handlebar mustache was dashing, the sharp blue of his eyes contrasted alluringly with his dark, wavy hair. He could have found a woman who would have loved him, and he could have perhaps been happy and—normal.

  He could have . . .

  Travis had believed that once. Travis had known John most of his life. But even Travis had turned away in the last years, appalled by the changes in John. She wanted to be sorry for him, sorry for the man who had been lost to his own wounded pride. But too much that was unforgivable lay between them, and she felt only fear now, and loathing.

  “Why?” He repeated her question, and then smiled. “I don’t know, Kendall. I knew that I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I prayed that you could cure me. I had never seen anyone so beautiful . . .” He shrugged. “I would have payed any price—and I did pay quite a sum! But it was so very obvious from the very beginning that you hated me, that you considered yourself superior. Just like all those braggarts who are now floundering in bloody defeat. The great southern soldiers! You didn’t cure me, Kendall. You just twisted a second blade into me. But, Kendall, things ha
ve changed since I saw you last. I learned that I’d suffered nerve damage from that fever. But like many a wound, time healed it.” He paused, leaning down to look at the still sleeping Lolly and her child. “The brat isn’t yours, is she?”

  “No!” Kendall assured him, shaking her head vehemently, always wary and afraid of the actions he would take against others because of her. “The baby is my sister’s. You can tell by looking at her. Her hair is platinum, like Lolly’s.”

  “You and your sister are both light,” he reminded her. “And your Rebel is light-haired as well. Or perhaps I should say that your Rebel was light . . .”

  “What are you talking about?” Kendall demanded tensely. She was desperately afraid of his answer, and yet, even as she spoke, she tried unobtrusively to glance past his shoulder and discern how he had come—and if he had come alone—but his sardonic smile deepened as he watched the movement of her eyes.

  “Ah, the spark of fear alights her glorious blue orbs!” he taunted. “It’s nice to see you frightened, Kendall. But no, I haven’t seen the notorious Captain McClain—yet. But, you see, the war is over, Kendall. Your General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Grant two days ago. Jeff Davis has fled Richmond, and Florida’s loyally-Reb-to-the-heart Governor Milton has committed suicide.” John stared at her, his features hard, allowing his information to sink into her mind. What pleasure it gave him to relay such tragedy! “It’s gone, Kendall. Your magnificent South, your paradise. It’s all ashes and dust now. And if my men don’t find McClain and kill him, I will. I can make you forget him, in time. I met a number of engaging southern belles in New Orleans when I was transferred to the Mississippi. It was amazing how willing they were to know and entertain the Union soldiers—they knew we were the ones with the cash to buy silk stockings. But you know, Kendall, even the absolute wonder of finding that I was cured, that I was still a man, it was you I wanted. You with your airs, your passion and fury, and even your hatred. You wanted nothing to do with me, you never did. But it’s all going to change, Kendall. You’re in debt to me, my love, my wife. But that’s all right now. We’ll have a lifetime in which you can surrender, and pay all your debts. Things will change now. I will make you forget.”

  “Things can never change!” she whispered sickly. “I will never forget. Dear God, John! I didn’t want to marry you, but I didn’t hate you until I found out how cruel you could be. Perhaps you’ve changed, but I can never, never forget the past. Not what you did to me—but what you did to others. It wasn’t far from here, John, that you slaughtered people I loved. Women, little children. Babies! And I will never change my heart, John. Whether we’ve lost the war or not, I love Brent McClain.”

  “Kendall, that is completely irrelevant. I have found you, and you are coming with me. Now.”

  “No!” she whispered in furious denial.

  “Kendall, there are twenty well-armed men aboard my ship. They’ll be behind me any minute. You can’t fight me, Kendall. You are my wife—and a vanquished Confederate. A Confederate spy and escaped prisoner, at that. The law is on my side.”

  The law . . .

  Never.

  Red Fox had given her his knife. And long ago, he had taught her how to fight. If she could just reach down to the strap around her calf . . .

  She smiled and sank down on her haunches, as if she were merely determined to remain right where she was. “John,” she told him softly, “I’ve been fighting for almost four years. Now is no damned different . . .”

  Kendall swiftly reached beneath her skirt and whisked out the knife. Maybe he had anticipated her action; maybe he knew the extent of her desperation. He was a step ahead. Before she could spring for him, he knelt beside her sister—his own knife in his hand, the blade at Lolly’s throat. Lolly still slept, as innocent, as vulnerable, as an angel.

  “Throw your knife at my feet. Now,” John ordered flatly.

  Kendall swallowed. “You wouldn’t stab her, John, damn you, not even you—”

  “Throw your blade down. Now!”

  She could not be certain just how far he would go and she didn’t dare take the risk of testing him now. Defeated, she threw down the blade. Tears swam in her eyes as her shoulders drooped. She had come too far! She had come too far to lose now! She thought of Brent, and of how she had finally been held in his arms after waiting so long, hoping, praying. He had come back to her. The war had kept them apart, but it had never stopped the encompassing growth of their love. She had finally touched him again . . . and run from him in anger.

  Yet she had never imagined that she would not see him again, that it could end now, after the waiting and the fighting and the hoping and the praying, like this!

  He smiled grimly and pocketed her knife, then stood and took a step toward her, his own blade gleaming in the sun. “Carving an A for ‘adulterous’ on your forehead might have an effect on your arrogance. Or perhaps I should carve it out on your cheek . . .”

  He wrenched her to her feet and placed the flat of the blade against her left cheek. She returned his stare, willing herself not to flinch. He slid the cold steel along her throat, threatening, but not quite piercing her flesh. He brought the blade lower, down the valley between her breasts, slitting a button from her dress. “But then again, there are other places where I might carve such a letter, a warning! Perhaps your breast would be the right place. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk, but then you would think twice before baring yourself to another lover . . .”

  Kendall gritted her teeth and winced as the blade pressed harder against her. She couldn’t swallow a gasp of pain as the point pressed into her, drawing a thin, sticky trickle of blood. She realized in growing panic that he was serious—and that she was defenseless against him. She was alone with him, an exhausted sleeping woman, and a little child.

  “John, no—”

  “You have to pay, Kendall. You know that. Sink to your knees like your precious, dying land. Go on, Kendall. Beg me to spare you.”

  She saw from the ice-cold hardness of his eyes that it wouldn’t matter much what she did. She had scorned him twice; once for another man, once for a Yankee prison. He did intend to make her pay.

  She remained standing. Her eyes blurred with tears she fought back valiantly. Vaguely, she saw another man approaching them from a small boat drawn up beside the one that had apparently brought John. He was in a blue uniform.

  No help for her there. His men had become as vicious as he was himself. They, too, would think that she should pay.

  John’s anger suddenly burst forth in full fury. “Kendall, so help me God, I will kill you, bitch!” He pressed the point of the blade harder against her breast and twisted it. She cried out with the pain. Her eyes met his as a plea formed on her lips, but she never uttered it. Instead of the gloating triumph she had expected to find in his cold blue eyes, there was a strange, distant gaze.

  The knife fell from his hand.

  And then John Moore slumped forward, almost knocking her over as he crashed to the ground. Stunned, Kendall followed the descent with wide eyes—and saw that a knife protruded from his shoulder. She looked up.

  The man in the uniform was coming toward her. His face was etched with torment and sorrow—and concern.

  Travis Deland paused momentarily before Kendall, ascertaining that her wound was superficial. Then he knelt beside John. She saw his shoulders heave, his fists tighten at his sides until his knuckles were white . . . and then suddenly a shattering scream rent the air. A blur swept past Kendall and hurled itself at Travis.

  “Damned Yankee! You leave my sister alone! I’ll kill you, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands!”

  “Lolly!” Kendall screamed. “Wait!”

  But it was too late. Lolly and Travis were rolling together on the ground and her golden-haired, delicate sister was putting up an admirable fight, exorcising against Travis all of her grief, hate, and anger for the entire war.

  Travis was gallantly trying not to hurt Lolly while defending himsel
f—not an easy task. “Cease, shrew!” he bellowed, catching hold of her shoulders and shaking her hard, as if he could shake sense into her.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Kendall cried, throwing herself into the brawl. “Travis! Lolly!”

  But just as suddenly as she had joined the fray, she was wrenched from it and shoved aside. She knew the touch. Rough or gentle, she would know it anywhere. Brent.

  Brent...

  Who thought that Travis had been attacking them. And he had grappled Travis from Lolly. The two men were rolling in the dirt. The fight had become deadly.

  “Thank God!” Lolly cried. “Kill him, Captain McClain, kill the Yank!”

  “No!” Kendall shrieked. She looked about her to see that Red Fox had also come, and stood by the sidelines of the fight. “Red Fox!” Kendall cried. “Stop Brent! Stop him, Travis saved me!”

  Red Fox shrugged. “They will not kill each other—”

  “Travis might have saved my life and he’s my friend!” she stated firmly, rushing toward the men herself again and shouting, “Stop! Damn you both! Stop!”

  Fists were flying, and finding their targets with sickening crunches of knuckles against flesh. Desperately Kendall rushed to the water and found a bucket in one of the rowboats. She filled it with cold swamp water, ran back to the fighting pair, and sloshed it over their heads.

  Stunned, they both sputtered and lay back, staring up at her with incredulous anger.

  “Stay out of this, Kendall!” Brent hissed. “Sweet Jesu, the man attacks you and your sister—”

  “The hell I did!” Travis protested.

  “He didn’t attack us!” Kendall insisted. “And I cannot stay out of this. Travis may have saved my life, and you’re beating him to a pulp!”

  “I beg your pardon, Kendall!” Travis exclaimed indignantly. “I can fight my own battles, madam! And he isn’t doing that damned well!”

  “That’s right, you’re doing just fine!” a sword-edged voice, coming from behind Kendall’s back, suddenly interjected. Kendall started to swing around, but discovered that she could not. A bloody hand was suddenly curved around her waist; the razor-sharp blade of a knife quivered against the flesh of her throat. She could barely swallow.