Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Especially if he’s likely to be shot in the back of the head from a dark alley,” Jake remarked.

  “Oh, I just lost my temper,” Rachel said quickly, then changed the subject. “You just be ready on time tonight. Jupe will help you with your clothes.”

  Jake grinned at her as she turned with a flounce and walked away.

  When Leighton Semmes walked up the steps of the mansion at Lindwood, he felt an exhilaration such as he hadn’t felt in years. His experience with women had jaded him, but the strong draw he felt to Rachel Franklin was something new. Oh, he had been with women who were more beautiful, but his attraction went beyond her looks, which actually were quite pleasing. What he found most fascinating about her was her resistance to him.

  The door opened as he walked up the steps, and a black servant said, “Come in, sir. The family is just getting ready.”

  Semmes faltered, not knowing exactly what to think of that, but he followed the servant out of the foyer and into a large drawing room that seemed to be rather crowded.

  “Ah, Captain Semmes! Just in time to turn around and go back to town!” Rachel’s father came to greet him, a smile on his lean face. “Do you know everyone?”

  Semmes looked around, nodding to Grant and Les, both of whom he knew slightly, but said, “All except this lady, I think.”

  “Melora, may I present Captain Leighton Semmes of Stuart’s cavalry. Captain, this is Miss Melora Yancy.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Yancy,” Semmes said with a bow. He had heard of her, as had most people in his circle. Now seeing her in a white dress that set off her dark beauty, he didn’t wonder that the Rocklin fellow had fallen for her. Just then Rachel came into the room, and he turned to her at once.

  “Well, Captain, you look very dashing,” Rachel said, admiring the gray uniform set off by a scarlet sash and a gleaming saber. “You’ll dazzle all the young ladies, I’m sure.”

  Semmes paused uncertainly, for he felt that she was laughing at him, something that had never happened before. Then her brother Les said, with a twinkle in his eye, “You won’t have a chance, sister, not against those good-looking city girls!”

  Semmes came up with a smile, saying, “Not at all true! You’ll be the belle of the ball, Miss Franklin.” His words were more than mere gallantry, too, for she was beautiful tonight. Her ball gown had delicate dove gray and rose stripes, and she had sewn clusters of pink rosebuds to gather the fullness of her billowing skirt into festoons above a silk and lace petticoat that rustled with the slightest motion. With her honey-blonde hair done up in a graceful swirl and her large blue-green eyes flashing, she was a true beauty.

  “Well, we’re all here except Vince,” Major Franklin said, but even as he spoke, Semmes turned to see a man enter on crutches. “This is my oldest son, Vincent,” the Major said to Semmes. “I don’t believe you two have met.”

  “Happy to meet you,” Semmes said. He took in the light gray suit, the ruffled shirt, and the string tie that the young man was wearing, then said, “We did meet once, at a horse race in Savannah.”

  “I don’t think I remember you, Captain,” Jake said quickly.

  “Well, let’s get to that ball,” Major Franklin said, saving Jake from any further conversation with Semmes. The Major led the way to the front of the house, where a large carriage was pulled up with Tad holding the reins. “I think there’s room for all of us,” Franklin said.

  “Oh, let’s not crowd ourselves,” Semmes remarked. “I’ll take Miss Rachel in my buggy.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Rachel said, then added innocently, “It’ll be an easier ride for you in the buggy, too, Vince. You won’t have to crowd your leg into such a small space.” If she saw the irritation on Semmes’s face, she ignored it. “Jupe, help Mr. Vince into the buggy.”

  Jake was amused at the disappointment on the face of Semmes, and also at the tactics of Rachel. However, he said, “You get in first, Rachel. I think the outside would be easier on this leg. Besides, the captain didn’t get all dressed up to sit beside me.”

  Rachel seemed to be the only one who enjoyed the ride to Richmond. The bouncing of the buggy caused Jake’s injured leg to ache, and Leighton Semmes found the presence of Rachel’s brother an impediment to his plans for the ride. Not that it would have mattered, for the large carriage filled with her relatives followed so closely that he could hear Les’s frequent inquiries of “How’s it goin’ up there, Captain?”

  Semmes put his horses to a fast pace, but when he pulled up in front of the hotel where the ball was to be held, he was disappointed to see that the black driver had kept up. Helping Rachel down, he whispered, “I thought you were a good girl! And here you foist your whole blasted family off on me!”

  She smiled, and there was a gleam of humor in her eyes as she said, “Why, Leighton, I do believe you’re put out with me!” The two of them went inside, and Les came along to give Jake a hand down.

  “You three sure did make a lovely couple,” he laughed, handing Jake his crutches. “Bet you ten dollars the captain sneaks off without you.”

  “No takers.” Jake swung across the drive on his crutches and made his way awkwardly up the three steps; then he and Les went into the main ballroom, followed by the rest of the party. Jake’s eyes, still sensitive to flashing lights, reacted as he walked inside, for the new, recently installed gaslights were much brighter than anything that had preceded them. He halted abruptly, half blinded, but Melora came to take his arm, saying, “Let’s go sit by the wall, Vincent.”

  As she led him to a line of chairs and saw him seated, he thought of how sensitive she was. “Thanks, Melora. I’m blind as a bat from those lights!” She sat down beside him with an understanding smile. Before long, his eyes had adjusted, and he looked around the ballroom with curiosity.

  Lighted prisms dangled below glass shades on the lofty ceiling, casting miniature rainbows upon the dancers who whirled and glided across the glistening parquet floor of the fabulous green and gold ballroom. Around the floor, green velvet draperies framed the scene. Intricately wrought Spanish ironwork decorated a broad staircase that led to the second floor and formed a balcony to accommodate the musicians. It was too late in the year for flowers, but banks of evergreen branches reached to each end of the glistening dance floor and into every available corner, filling the room with their pungent fragrance.

  On the bandstand nine musicians worked at sending out the music that floated over the room. Violas and violins sang like great nightingales, a harp tinkled, and flutes and oboes added a liquid accompaniment. Jake took note that there were no vulgar instruments, such as drums, accordions, or banjos.

  Shifting his gaze to the dance floor, he saw that the dominant color was the gray of the officers’ uniforms, set off by the black sheen of boots and the golden flash of brass buttons. But it was the dresses of the women that caught the eye as they flashed to the strains of a waltz, some of them startlingly décolleté, glowing in flowered and looped gowns of sapphire, yellow, pink, green, and white.

  Melora said, “Look, there’s Dent Rocklin and his Raimey!” Jake glanced at the couple who were floating by, noting the angry scar on the man’s face and remembering what had been said about the two. “I’d never believe she’s blind,” he murmured. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Very, and her spirit is beautiful, too.” She started to say something else, but she suddenly halted. Looking quickly in the direction of her glance, Jake saw another couple moving around the floor. He identified the man at once as Clay Rocklin. That must be his wife, Ellen, Jake realized. The woman Vince said was pretty loose.

  He studied the pair, saying nothing, for he remembered the rumors that Clay and Melora were in love. He saw the woman look at him, then say something to her partner, who also glanced in his direction. Then they moved across the floor toward him. Jake braced himself, knowing that they were coming to speak to him, and determined to say as little as possible.

  While Ellen and Cl
ay had been dancing, there was little pleasure in it for either of them. When Clay had come home with the Grays, he had gotten a note almost at once from regimental headquarters stating that he was to see his wife immediately, that an urgent message had come from her. When he finally had found her—not at Gracefield but at her room in Richmond—there had been no emergency except for the one in Ellen’s mind.

  She had demanded money, and when he had tried to explain that there was no money to be given, she had exploded in a rage. He had stood there listening to her raving and the curses that she laid on him, but had said only, “Ellen, it’s all I can do to pay for your expenses here in Richmond. If you’d stay at home, you’d have more money to spend on clothes.”

  His words had had no effect, and finally she had released him, but not before extracting a promise that he would take her to the regimental ball. Clay had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that Rena, their fifteen-year-old daughter, would accompany them.

  As Clay had expected, though, the evening was a failure. He spent most of the evening talking to Rena, dancing only when practically forced to. When Ellen had pulled him to the floor, both of them were well aware that it was for the sake of form. But then she had said, “Look, there’s your nephew Vince.”

  Clay had glanced toward the side of the room, saying, “I heard he was back. He must not have been hurt as badly as we heard if he’s at a dance.”

  “Come on, let’s go speak to him.”

  Clay was surprised, for Ellen had disliked his nephew for a long time. “All right,” he agreed, but when they got to where Vince was seated, he regretted it at once—for Melora was seated beside young Franklin. He shot a glance at Ellen, who wore a cruel smile as she watched his reaction.

  “Now you can see your lady friend,” she hissed, but as they came to the couple, she said brightly, “Vince Franklin, I don’t believe it!” She turned to Melora, saying, “Why—Miss Yancy, I didn’t see you sitting here.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Rocklin?” Melora said calmly. She knew Ellen Rocklin had spread vile rumors about her husband and herself, calling her the “white-trash Yancy girl,” but she only added, “See how well your nephew is doing, Mister Clay?”

  “Yes, indeed. I’m pleased to see you on your feet, Vince, but you look quite different without your beard and moustache.”

  Jake risked saying, “Well, I’m lucky to be here at all.” He knew that both of the Rocklins were surprised at his appearance, then added, “Look like a stray alley cat, don’t I?”

  “Not at all, Vincent,” Ellen said at once. “I always thought you should have gotten rid of those whiskers. You look much better without them. Now I’m going to sit here and talk to Vincent, Clay, so you must ask Miss Yancy to dance with you.”

  It was exactly the cruel sort of thing that Ellen would think of, and she was pleased to see shock run across Clay’s face. “You don’t mind, do you, Miss Yancy?” she pressed.

  Melora was placed in an impossible position by this request, for she was the one about whom tongues would wag for days. Even so, she rose gracefully, saying, “Of course not, Mrs. Rocklin.”

  Clay was left with no choice, and so he led her to the dance floor. They moved out to the sound of the music, and he said bitterly, “I’m sorry, Melora.”

  “Why, I think that’s awful—that you’re sorry to dance with me!” she said and looked up at him with a smile. “I thought you were a more gallant man than that, Mister Clay!”

  He admired her tremendously at that moment for her courage and her poise. “‘Mister Clay.’” He echoed her use of his name. “That’s what you called me when you were a little girl. I still like it. But I’m afraid this will be trouble for you.”

  “Just enjoy the dance, Mister Clay. I love the color and the music, don’t you? The dance will be over in a little while, but there will be many nights that I will lie on my bed and live this moment over again! That’s my treasure, you know.”

  “What’s that, Melora?”

  She was light in his arms, and he caught the faint odor of lilac, her favorite scent. The lights danced in her eyes, and her lips were curved in a faint smile as she said, “Memories. I keep them in a room in my mind, and when I get sad or lonely, I go there and look at them. Some people do that with paintings, but my treasures have sound and I can smell them and taste them. Do you remember the time we made ice cream and I put blackberries in it? I can still feel how cold the ice cream was on my teeth, making them ache, and how sharp the berries tasted—and how the juice ran down your chin!”

  “You still remember that?” he asked, surprised. “Why, you were no more than twelve years old! But I remember it, too. And so many other things about you.”

  She blinked suddenly and dropped her head, and at once he knew that she was sad. A heaviness came on him, and he said, “Melora, I must say something. A hard thing.”

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Clay had trouble getting the words out, but it was a thing he had to do. It had been on his mind for a long time, and though speaking the thoughts was like a knife in his side, he said, “You’ve got to say good-bye to me, Melora—you must!” He spoke quickly, cutting off her attempts to speak. “Listen to me! You’ve got so much to offer, and it’s wasted. I know you have feelings for me, and I—I have some for you, too, but we have to forget them.”

  “How do you do that, Mister Clay?”

  Her question was spoken quietly, but it hit him hard. “I know, Melora. I know what you’re saying … but I’ve been wrong about this thing. I should have broken it off long ago.”

  “What have we done that’s wrong?”

  “Nothing like what the gossip has put on us,” he said instantly, but pain pulled his mouth into a tight shape. “But I have done a wrong thing: I have kept you from having the life you deserve, a life with a family and children. Now—right now, Melora—I’m releasing you. We’ve never made any promises, but the tie is there. From this night on, you’re free.”

  “Free to do what?”

  “Free to marry, to have children—to be a wife and a mother, for that’s what you were born for, Melora.”

  She said nothing; she only finished the dance. Then as the last notes sounded, she nodded. “All right. Let it be so.”

  As soon as Clay led Melora away, Ellen began probing Jake, asking questions about the fire and about what he’d done since he’d been home. Jake answered briefly, saying at one point, “It still hurts me to talk, thanks to all that smoke I inhaled.”

  “You sound so different,” Ellen commented, and she studied his face carefully. There was a sharp quality in her eyes that disturbed Jake, for it was not a look of ordinary curiosity. He knew how to handle curiosity well enough, but there was some sort of predatory quality in her manner—something strange and unusual that made him tense and ill at ease. She asked so many questions that he finally said in desperation, “The fire seemed to do something to my thinking, too. For instance, I just can’t seem to remember some things.”

  Then she deliberately put her hand on his arm in a caressing manner and leaned forward to say, “You haven’t forgotten everything, have you?”

  Suddenly Jake understood what was happening, and he recoiled from the knowledge. There was no mistaking the way that Ellen Rocklin was touching him, nor the suggestive way she leaned forward so that the full curve of her bosom pressed against him.

  She and Vince Franklin must have been lovers! Jake’s mind reeled. He sat there almost paralyzed, unable to think at all—but he didn’t have to, for at that moment Clay and Melora appeared, and Ellen leaned back. She patted Vince’s arm maternally, saying, “Look at this poor hand, dear! It was a frightful burn!”

  “Oh, it’s much better!” Jake said quickly and attempted to pull his hand free. But Ellen was leaning down staring at it. “It looks pretty bad,” he said uncomfortably, “but the doctor said it’ll be as good as new.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Ellen said, but there was a strange gleam in her eyes as she sp
oke. Then she rose, saying, “You must come to see us at Gracefield. Good night, Miss Yancy.”

  When the two Rocklins left, Jake drew a shaky breath. He wanted to get up and run out of the ballroom but knew that he could not. “Think I’ll go get some of that punch, Melora. Want to come along?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  He got to his feet, and they made their way to the long table groaning with refreshments of all kinds. They found Semmes and Rachel there, and the four of them stood together for a time, Semmes doing most of the talking.

  Just when Jake was about to go back to his chair, he saw Rachel’s eyes widen, then narrow. “There’s Duvall,” she said quietly. She looked at Jake, obviously hoping her half brother would do something, but he wanted nothing to do with Duvall. He had long ago decided that his only hope of avoiding a duel—his only chance of not having to kill the man—was to stay away from him. Now he deliberately turned and left the ballroom, turning his back on the startled Duvall. As he swung along, he was aware that he was being watched, and he saw several men curl their lips as he left the room.

  Rachel, Semmes noted, had turned pale, but not with anger. “I guess that pretty much removes any doubt that Vince is a coward,” she said so quietly that only he heard it.

  “Well, after all, he’s crippled, Rachel,” Semmes offered.

  “Would you do such a thing, Leighton? Run from a man like that?”

  “Well, I—”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” She looked across the room as Jake passed through the door. “I wish he’d died in that fire,” she said, and there was sadness in her eyes. “Vince was never much—but he’s nothing now!”

  When Jake got outside, he found Tad, who had driven the large carriage. “Tad, help me in.”

  “But the dancin’ ain’t ovah, Marse Vince.”

  “It is for me!”