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

by Gilbert, Morris

  The room was quiet, and the two men studied each other, a smile on Vince’s lips and doubt in Jake’s eyes. Finally Jake said, “I guess you mean it, which I’m glad to hear. But I’ll go along with you to Tennessee.” A smile touched his wide mouth, and he added, “You can join up as Jake Hardin.”

  “You mean it, Jake?” Vince was obviously relieved. “I’d try it on my own, but I’d feel a lot better if you were there with me until I get back to full strength.”

  “You get out of here,” Jake said. “The troop will take the Miller Road for sure. You let us pass, then catch up with us. Tell the captain you just came in from the country.” Then he added, “A man can get killed where we’re going. You sure you want to do it?”

  “I’m not too sure of anything, Jake,” Vince said tentatively. Then he added strongly, “But I guess one thing is pretty clear—I’m not going to go back to what I was!” He got to his feet, saying, “I’d better get out of here, Jake. But I’ll see you on the road. Bring along a good, well-mannered horse for me, will you? Say you want him for a spare mount.” He didn’t wait for a reply but moved across the room and stepped through the door, closing it after him.

  Vince left as quietly as he could, but the floor squeaked loudly. When he stepped out onto the back porch, he took a deep breath and was about to let it go with relief when a voice broke the silence.

  “Stay right where you are or I’ll shoot you dead!”

  A violent jerk twisted Vince, but he held himself upright. Turning slowly, he saw Rachel standing in the moonlight. She was wearing a dark robe, and in her hand was a pistol aimed right at his stomach.

  “Go back inside,” Rachel said. “You’re going to jail.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “Shut up and go inside! I’m going to get my brother up, and if you move, well, I’m a good shot and I can’t miss at this distance. Now go inside!”

  Vince said slowly, “Put the gun down, Rachel.”

  The sound of his voice startled her, he saw, for the gun in her hand wavered. “It’s me—Vince,” he said quietly. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Rachel’s lips were dry, for she was not as free from fear as she’d tried to seem. The moonlight was bright, but his back was to it, so she could not see his face clearly. “Vince? You can’t be Vince!”

  Taking off his hat, Vince stood before her. “It’s me, all right. I know it’s a shock—but just let me explain.”

  “You can explain to my brother and to the sheriff, whoever you are!”

  Vince said, “Rachel, it’s me. I’ve lost twenty pounds and I’m hiding behind this wild beard. I’ve had to hide out, but now I’ve come back.”

  It was Vince’s voice! Rachel moved closer, looked carefully into his face, then began to tremble. She lowered the pistol, then cried, “I don’t understand!”

  At once Vince began to speak, explaining the ruse he had engineered. He told it all, leaving out only his intention to have Ellen killed, thinking that would have to come later. But he told her of his brush with death and how it had brought him to something new.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, Rachel,” he said finally, “but when I thought I was going to die, I met myself for the first time—and I didn’t like what I saw. Now I’m going to finish what Jake started. I’m going with that cavalry troop to Tennessee. I’ll either get killed or find out if there’s any good in me at all.”

  Rachel glanced upstairs, then back at Vince. “Who is that man?” she asked in a harsh voice.

  “Like I told you, his name is Jake Hardin,” Vince answered. He told her a little of how the two of them had met, then said, “He’s going with me to Tennessee.”

  “A gambler,” Rachel whispered brokenly, and there was an expression on her face that Vince didn’t understand. “A fortune hunter out to make money from us!”

  Vince started, then said, “Now wait, Rachel—I talked Jake into this!”

  “I’ll bet it wasn’t hard when you promised him money, was it?”

  She turned to go, but Vince caught her arm, asking, “Where are you going?”

  “To tell that—that charlatan to get off the place!”

  Vince held her arm, saying urgently, “Wait now, Rachel—don’t do that!”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Well, I need him, to tell the truth. I’m still pretty weak, and Jake’s a pretty tough hairpin. He’s going with me to the army. He’ll be out of the house tomorrow.” His tone assumed a pleading tone as he continued, “Rachel, you don’t think much of me, and I can’t blame you a bit. I know I don’t deserve any breaks—especially from you—but I’m asking for one.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice was as cold as the winter air itself.

  “Time. Just time. Don’t tell anyone about this. You may not believe it, but I’ve got some kind of hope that I can be the kind of son my father’s always wanted. But I need the chance to prove it—by going to the army. I’m asking you for that chance, Rachel.” Vince’s thin face was clearly outlined by the moonlight as he added, “If you call out, it’s all over before I’ve even had a chance to try. I’ll never know what sort of man I could be.”

  Rachel stood there, her lips drawn together tightly, her eyes hooded. Just when Vince had decided she would never listen to him, she started speaking so quietly that he had to lean forward to catch her words. “You’re right, I don’t believe it. All you’ve ever done was try to hurt us all. You’re a coward, a liar, and a cheat. I’m ashamed to be related to you at all!”

  As she spoke, her voice low with fury, Vince felt shame and remorse wash over him—but he held her angry gaze. He knew she was right and that there was no reason for her to give him any kind of consideration, but he hoped against hope that she would give him this one last chance.

  She stood looking at him for a moment, then said in that same low, angry voice, “All right. Get out of here.”

  “Thanks, Rachel!” Vince said, relief washing over him. He would have touched her, but she drew back sharply. “Can’t blame you,” he said instantly. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  She waited until the sound of his horse’s hooves had faded, then went back into the house. Going to her room, she put the gun in the drawer of her nightstand, then stood at the window, looking out, seeing nothing at all.

  At breakfast, there was a cheerful note, for Amy determined to send Vince away with a happy memory. Rachel said little and ate almost nothing, but no one seemed to notice.

  After breakfast, Jake went to his room, coming back with two rifles and two Colts in holsters. “Always carry two of everything,” he said, smiling, then went outside, saying, “I’ll have Tad saddle up; then I’ll come back.”

  “Have him saddle Lady,” Rachel said. “I’ll ride as far as Hardee’s store with you.”

  Jake looked at her, surprised. His mind raced for a moment, wondering how he would explain the extra horse he’d promised Vince he would bring. Then he decided they would just have to find a horse for Vince later.

  “All right,” he said.

  He left the house but was back in a few minutes. “Guess it’s time for me to go.”

  Amy went to him and drew his head down. “I’ll pray for you—and I’m very proud of you, my son!”

  Jake took her kiss, then awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Be back before you know it,” he said, smiling at her. Then he asked, “Ready, Rachel?”

  “Yes.”

  They mounted their horses, and Jake leaned down and handed some cash to Tad, saying, “Buy something real nice for everyone, Tad. Have a party on me!”

  “Yas, suh!” Tad grinned. “You watch out dem Yankees doan put nuffin’ over you, Marse Vince!”

  “Do my best!” Jake laughed, then pulled his horse around, and he and Rachel rode out of the yard. When they were out of sight of the house, Jake said, “Wish I didn’t have to go.”

  Rachel made no reply. He turned to her, noting how pale her face was. Her hair was tied back, and he t
hought she looked very tired.

  “I caught Vince going out of the house last night,” she said suddenly, her voice even, as though she were remarking on the weather.

  Her words seemed to explode in Jake’s mind, and he stopped his horse instantly. She paused, as well, and turned to stare at him, her lips a thin line.

  He looked down at his hands, squeezing the horn of his saddle. “Well, I told Vince it would never work.”

  She waited for him to continue but saw that he was silent. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Hardin,” she said bitterly. “I’m not going to turn you in.” Still he didn’t speak, and she cried out, “You must have enjoyed it a lot—making fools out of us all!”

  Jake sat in the saddle, studying the ring on his hand. A thought came to him, and he took it off. He turned to face her, saying, “You can give this to Vince when he comes back—”

  “Give it to him yourself!” Her eyes flared with shame, and she said, “I’ll never look at that comb and brush you gave me without thinking what a fool I was! And you know what? That’s good!” She threw her head back, fighting against the tears that were misting her eyes. “It’ll teach me never to trust anyone again as long as I live!” She started to turn her horse’s head, but he reached out and held her arm.

  “Just a minute—”

  She jerked her head back to look at him, fury in her eyes.

  “What for? So you can have some more fun?”

  His hand was clasped around her arm tightly, and his face was tense. “Rachel, you have a right to think the worst of me, but before I go, you’re going to listen to me, just for a moment.”

  “Of course I will. You’ve learned how to handle women, Mr. Hardin.” A bitterness hardened her lips, and she wanted to strike him. “I think you’ve proved that—the way you’ve led me around by the nose!”

  Jake saw that it was no good. He released her arm, then said, “All right, Rachel, you win.”

  She stared at him, thinking he would speak, but he did not. There was an air of fatalism about him, and she suddenly longed to be done with the whole thing. Drawing her horse’s head around, she gave Jake one last bitter look. Then as she drove her heels into Lady’s flanks, she cried out, “Never come here again! Never!”

  Jake watched her as she rode away, then turned Crow’s head toward Richmond, as certain as he had ever been of anything that he would never see Rachel Franklin again.

  And with that certainty, something inside him seemed to die.

  PART FOUR

  The Return

  CHAPTER 21

  A PERFECT TRAP

  Stephen gave his wife a look of cynical humor, saying, “Ruth, don’t get so excited. It’s only the president of the United States.” He knew, however, that it was a lost cause, for his wife had spent the last several months swimming in the huge pond that made up Washington society, and tonight the apogee of her career as a hostess had come—Abraham Lincoln and his wife were coming to her home.

  True, it was not a major function, but it was a triumph, nonetheless, and Ruth Rocklin could hardly enjoy the evening for planning how she would casually drop the information to her circle of acquaintances in days to come: “What? Oh, dear me, yes, Doris! The president did drop by for my little reception last night. Of course, he and Stephen are rather close and went off to the library to talk about the war, so I had to spend most of my time with Mary—”

  “Come away from the window, Ruth,” Stephen said, grinning at her. “It’s only the president—not the Second Coming!” He looked over her shoulder to catch sight of the tall man helping a short woman out of the carriage, then said, “Let’s go greet them. I don’t think they’ll stay long.”

  His remark offended Ruth, and she gave him an angry look but was too nervous to argue. “Come along, then,” she said, “and don’t go dragging the president off to your study to look at your old guns!”

  Stephen grinned behind her back, for he well knew that the reason Lincoln had agreed to come was to get a look at his new rifle. When he had issued the invitation, he had said, “My wife wants you to come to a reception at our house, Mr. President. It’ll be a bore, as all such things are, but I’ve got the bugs worked out of that new eight-shot musket we’ve talked about producing ….”

  Now as Stephen came forward to shake hands with the president, he smiled and received an answering smile from the tall man before him. When Lincoln had agreed to come, Rocklin had said, “Now, Mr. President, we’ll both have to endure some social life, but I’ll kidnap you as soon as possible, and we’ll go to my study.”

  An hour later, the two men were in the large study alone, the president holding a musket, speaking with great animation about its potential. Rocklin Ironworks had grown into one of the largest producers of muskets in the North, and Stephen had met with the president on matters of firearms several times. They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and when Rocklin answered it, an attractive young woman came in with a sheaf of papers.

  “Ah yes, here they are!” Rocklin said, taking the papers eagerly. “These are the drawings of the musket.” Then he said, “This is my granddaughter, Deborah Steele.”

  Lincoln smiled and put out his hand. “I met you at your uncle’s office in the War Department, didn’t I, Miss Steele?”

  Deborah was amazed at the man’s memory. “Yes, Mr.

  President,” she answered, thinking as she did so how much the president’s smile added to his homely face. She noted that he had a pair of warm brown eyes and that his mobile lips smiled easily.

  “General Scott appreciated Major Rocklin,” Lincoln said, nodding, speaking of Gideon Rocklin, Stephen’s son. “He could never find another aide to put up with his ways.” His brow wrinkled, and he asked, “Didn’t your uncle mention something about the young soldier who’s been doing some writing?”

  “Oh, that’s Noel Kojak,” Rocklin said, nodding. “He’s a private in my son’s company. Have you seen the stories that he’s been writing about army life?”

  “Yes, I have. They’re the real article!” Lincoln nodded with approval. “Most of the stories I read about army life would be better found in a romance novel—Kojak’s are so real you can almost smell the camps he describes.”

  “Private Kojak is a protégé of my granddaughter’s here,” Stephen said. “He was working in the mill, and she encouraged him to enlist. Then she found out he was a natural-born writer and introduced him to an editor.”

  “You’ve done the country a service, Miss Steele,” Lincoln said, then frowned. “Most of the country thought this war was a nice little adventure, but they need to know the truth about it—and that’s what your young man gives them, and very well.”

  Deborah said with some hesitation, “He’s been criticized for being too realistic. Some say he takes all the glory out of war.”

  “Good! The sooner we get rid of that idea, the better! War is a nasty, dirty business, as your uncle or any professional soldier will tell you. That last story I read by young Kojak, about men dying of measles—it was terrible, and not in the least romantic! And it was exactly the way it is. Tell him to keep writing, if you would, Miss Steele—and that, if he pleases no one else, he pleases his commander in chief!”

  “I’ll tell him, Mr. President,” Deborah said quickly. “He’ll be very proud.”

  “I suppose you get a love letter from him now and then?” the president inquired with a smile. “In between his more intimate remarks, does he say how things are in the area he’s stationed?”

  Deborah flushed at his teasing but said at once, “He’s very happy to be with Uncle Gideon—Major Rocklin, I mean. He says that all the men like a general called Grant because he’s a fighter and the rest are not.”

  Lincoln’s head snapped back, and a light blazed in his deep-set eyes. “Tell Kojak to put that in one of his stories for the country to read, Miss Steele! This man Grant, he’s not one of our top men, but he fights! Did you read how he attacked a Confederate force in Belmont? Got into a real fight
, had to cut his way out, but he did something!”

  “My son thinks he’s like a bulldog,” Stephen put in. “Says he doesn’t spend too much time worrying about what the enemy’s going to do to him—he’s too busy worrying about how to hurt the army in front of him.”

  Lincoln started to speak, but the door opened and Ruth Rocklin entered, a reproachful look on her face. “Now, Mr. President, I’ve given you and my husband plenty of time to look at guns. You must come out and meet my guests!”

  Lincoln asked, “Did my wife send you, Mrs. Rocklin?” He grinned at her flustered expression, adding, “I knew as soon as Miss Steele came in that Mrs. Lincoln would send for me. Would you believe as homely as I am, she’s still jealous of attractive young women?” He sighed and nodded to Deborah, saying, “Tell that young man of yours to keep writing, Miss Steele—and if Grant gives your son a chance to fight, Rocklin, tell him to pour it on! I can’t get McClellan to use the Army of the Potomac in Virginia.”

  “I heard,” Stephen said with a straight face, “that you wrote him a letter saying if he didn’t plan to use the army, you’d like to borrow it for a little while!”

  Lincoln laughed, saying as he left the room, “It sounds like something I might say, doesn’t it?”

  Ruth followed the president, but Stephen detained his granddaughter, asking her, “Are you worried about Noel?”

  Deborah smiled at him, saying, “Of course. You’re worried about Uncle Gideon, aren’t you?” Then she shook her head, adding, “I think of him a great deal—but I think of Great-Uncle Thomas’s family in the Confederate Army, too. I’m sad for all of them, Grandfather!”

  “It’s a sad time,” Rocklin agreed, his face lined with concern. “Like the hymn says, ‘We’re dwelling in a grand and awful time.’” Then he gave her a hug, and they left the study to join the others.

  Rachel and her mother had been knitting socks for the Richmond Grays when Melora came into the room. “Why, Melora,” Rachel said, “I didn’t expect to see you today.” Melora had gone back to her home after Amy’s leg had grown strong enough for her to get around, and both women had missed her. “Let me fix you something to drink.”