“I know, Mother,” Rachel said, forcing herself to be calm. She took a seat and began to knit a sock, her face pale and her lips tight. The two women sat there for only a few minutes, and finally Rachel said, “I’m going for a ride over to Melora’s, Mother.”
“Take the Yancys some of the potatoes,” Amy said. “I’m sure they’re getting low on food.”
“I will.”
Two hours later she pulled her horse up in front of the Yancy house. Buford came out, his lean form bent but his eyes bright. “Well now, Miss Rachel! Come a’callin’, did you?”
“Brought you some potatoes,” Rachel said. As he took the sack, she slipped to the ground and walked with him to the door, asking, “Have you heard from Bobby?”
“No. He ain’t much fer writing,” Buford said. Opening the door, he called out, “Melora! Company!” He tossed the potatoes on the table, saying, “Got a nice fat doe this morning. I’ll go cut a quarter off for you,” and left the room.
“It’s so good to see you, Rachel,” Melora said, coming over and kissing the younger woman. “You sit down and I’ll make some tea. Have to be sassafras, I’m afraid. Unless a ship breaks through the blockade, we’ll be drinking that for a time.”
“That’s fine, Melora.” Rachel sat at the table, listening as Melora talked and made the tea. As always, she admired Melora, thinking her one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. She was tall with raven black hair and striking green eyes. At twenty-seven she possessed a slim figure, yet was rounded by a womanly grace. Finally she sat down, and the two women began talking.
After a short time, Rachel asked bluntly, “Melora, aren’t you worried about Brother Irons?”
Melora put her slim fingers around the mug, took a sip of the tea, then nodded. “I am, a little. I wish they’d release the names of the prisoners—but they’re in no hurry for that.”
“I–I’m almost sick over Vince,” Rachel said haltingly. She hesitated, then blurted out, “I was angry with him when he went away. I said terrible things! Oh, I could cut my tongue out!”
Melora leaned forward, put her hand on Rachel’s, waiting for the girl to get control. Finally she said, “You know, Rachel, God gave each of us a spirit all our own, none of us the same. He’s like an artist, wanting to make all of His creations special. That’s part of the glory of God. Remember how some of the psalms talk about how varied His creation is, about all the kinds of birds and the wonderful creatures that are in the ocean?”
Rachel was caught up with the words—Melora had always spoken poetically, and wrote so, too, she suspected—but now she asked, “What does all that have to do with my being a beast to my brother?”
“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t a beast, Rachel!” Melora laughed. “But you’re different from other people. You’ve got powerful emotions that just won’t be still. You’re like a boiler full of steam, and you’ve got to let off some at times or explode.”
“Full of hot air, am I?” Rachel said, amused at Melora’s words.
“Full of love, full of hate, full of every kind of emotion,” Melora insisted. “I wish I had more of that in me!”
Rachel stared at the older woman. “But—I’ve always wished I was more like you!” she exclaimed. “So cool and collected, you never lose your temper!”
Melora sipped her tea, then shook her head. “I’m the way God made me—and so are you. Neither of us should complain or be unhappy with the job God did on us.”
Rachel put her chin in her hand, thinking about what Melora was saying. Finally she said, “Well, at least Brother Irons won’t have to worry about fits of temper.”
“And the man who gets you won’t have to worry about being bored!” Melora giggled surprisingly. “He’ll get his head skinned at times, I suppose, but he’ll get something else, too.”
“What will he get?”
“He’ll get a woman who’ll give him such love as men dream of, but few find.”
Rachel’s face turned scarlet, and she hid it with her hands. “Melora! You make me sound bold and wanton!”
“No, because your love will be strong in all areas: physical, emotional, and spiritual. That’s just it—you have a tremendous capacity for love in all its facets.” Melora came out of her chair to stand beside the girl. Putting her hands on her shoulders, she said, “You often remind me of Mary Magdalene. Not the early Mary—but the one who loved Jesus so much that she washed His feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. I don’t think anyone on earth ever loved Him so much. And that’s the kind of love that’s in you, Rachel. All you need is a fine man to give it to.”
The two women were still, and finally Melora went back to her chair, saying, “Let’s pray for our men. For Vince and Jeremiah. For all of them, even the poor Northern boys who are suffering.”
Rachel bowed her head, and they prayed … and before the final “Amen,” she whispered a prayer in her heart, without really understanding why she did so, that God would watch over one reckless, deceitful gambler.
A spring wind, brisk but with a hint of April warmth, brushed against Vince’s face, and he lifted his head, sniffing the breeze. He turned to Jake, who was dozing beside him in the seat. He nudged him with an elbow, saying, “Jake, wake up!”
Jake woke instantly, looked around, then spotted the buildings making a smudge against the sky down the road. “Richmond?” he questioned.
“We made it, Jake!” Vince said with excitement in his voice. “By heaven, we made it!”
Jake smiled, thinking that both of them had had doubts about getting back to Virginia. First they’d had to get permission to leave the Army of Tennessee. General Forrest had listened to Vince’s plea, then had given them extended leave to get back to Richmond.
He had waved off their thanks, giving Vince a pass and wishing them well. “Hope the preacher makes it,” he said as they left, but there was doubt in his voice, for he’d talked to his own medical officer about Irons and had received little hope.
Getting permission to leave had been relatively easy—reaching their destination was far from that. The weather had turned even worse, so they’d had to travel between icy rainstorms and frequent snow flurries. The two of them could have forced their way through, but with Irons running a fever, they’d had to hole up in whatever shelter they could get, which meant slow progress.
Now at last, they were at Richmond, and Vince turned to look at Irons, then said, “I hope we’re not too late.” Jake made no answer, for he had little hope that the minister would recover. He was convinced that Irons was hanging on to life by an act of will so that he could see his children one more time. It had been a hard time for Jake, for when Irons was conscious, he’d talked about God and had repeatedly urged both men to let Christ come into their lives. It had not been a pushy thing, which would have repelled both Vince and Jake—it was simply an outgrowth of the love in Irons that was always visible. Both men knew the minister could no more help sharing his faith than he could help breathing.
As they came into the outskirts of town, Vince said, “Jake, it’s time to make a switch.”
Jake stared at him with a puzzled look. “A switch?”
“Right. You’ve been Vince Franklin too long, my friend. Today, I step back into my own shoes! But we’ve got some adjustments to make.”
“I’d better cut out now,” Jake said. “If they see the two of us together, it’s all over.”
“Just trust your Uncle Vince!” he said with a grin.
Jake said no more, but he decided that as soon as they got the chaplain to a hospital, he was leaving. “Think I’ll go keep Jeremiah company,” he said, and Vince pulled the wagon to a stop.
Jake got in the back and sat with Irons, seeing to it that he was comfortable.
“Where are we?” the sick man whispered.
“Richmond, Jerry,” Jake said. “You’ll be with your family real soon.”
Irons looked up, his eyes glazed, but managed a smile.
“I—knew
you two—would do it!”
Jake sat beside him, not talking much. He had learned that Irons liked to have someone there when he woke up from his fitful sleep. They made their way to the camp, where they were directed to the military hospital. Less than thirty minutes later, Irons was in a bed, between white sheets, and two doctors were hovering over him.
“Looks like Irons is in good hands for now,” Vince said to Jake. He nodded.
“You’ll want to find your father—” Jake started to say, but Vince shook his head, cutting him off.
“No, not just yet. We haven’t really officially reported in, and there’s something I want to take care of before we do. Come on!”
Jake started to argue, but Vince just took his arm and urged him back out to the wagon, then headed into town. Soon Vince pulled the wagon over, saying, “I’ll be back in an hour, Jake. Then we can go on to the camp and report.” He grinned broadly, then disappeared.
Jake went around to the back of the wagon, stretching out, weary to the bone. He wondered about Vince, what sort of scheme he was up to, but was too exhausted to care. It was over as far as he was concerned. Just let me get rested and I’ll pull out, he thought.
He grew sleepy and was dozing when he felt the wagon give and heard Vince say, “Wake up there, Private! You look like a sloppy soldier to me!”
Glancing toward the sound of Vince’s voice, Jake was shocked at what he saw. Vince stood there dressed in a spotless gray uniform, and he had been carefully barbered. His beard was neat and trim, the way it’d been when Jake had first seen him, and his hair was cut in his old fashionable style.
“What do you think, old buddy? The old Vince, eh?” He grinned. “By George, it’s good to be myself again.”
Jake said with an admiring glance, “You’re some sight to behold! You look like a hero.” He got to his feet, adding, “I’ll leave you here—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” Vince said sharply, cutting him off. “I know you think you’ll be recognized, but come along and let me show you something.” Jake jumped to the ground and followed him to a store window, where Vince waved at their reflections, saying, “Take a look at yourself, Jake.”
Hardin squinted into the glass and received a shock. He’d let his beard grow since leaving Richmond, and now it was a bushy mask. He’d never been able to grow a neat beard, which was one reason he’d always shaved closely. His clothes, he saw, were in tatters—not a single garment was whole. “I look like a bum,” he said, studying his reflection. “But what do you need me for?”
“I don’t know,” Vince said honestly. “But we’ve gone through some rough times.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t have a friend in the world, Jake, except you. I need you. Isn’t that enough?”
Jake looked at Vince quickly, seeing that there was none of the old cynicism in his eyes. He thought hard, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go along, Vince.”
“Fine! Now we report to the adjutant.”
They drove to the camp again, and Vince went into the office at once, asking the sergeant, “Is Major Franklin here?”
“Sure is,” the sergeant said, nodding. “He’s over at the drill field.”
Vince turned and went back to say to Jake, “He’s at the drill field. Let’s go find him.” He got into the wagon, and when they got to the field, he said, “There he is, Jake.”
Major Franklin had seen the wagon but had turned to speak with one of the sergeants. Vince had advanced to within ten feet of him before he turned back. He took one look at Vince and his face grew pale. Vince said, “Sir, I’ve come back to report.”
Brad Franklin seemed to be frozen. He ignored Vince’s salute, his arms hanging down at his sides for a moment; then he lurched forward unsteadily, crying out, “Vince—!” He grabbed the younger man, holding him with all his might, and the soldiers who were drilling watched with amazement. Until, that is, Sergeant Clay Rocklin said, “About face, ladies! On the double, march!” Then he turned to Corporal Royston. “Pete, take care of them. I’m going to welcome my nephew home!”
Major Franklin had released Vince, but his voice was unsteady. He wiped his eyes, saying, “Well, you ought to be shot for giving an old man such a shock!”
Vince’s voice was husky, and he had to clear his throat before he could answer. “I—couldn’t get word to you, sir.” Then he handed General Forrest’s pass to him, saying, “I’m on extended leave. Chaplain Irons—he’s at the hospital. I’m afraid he’s in bad shape.”
Franklin saw Clay waiting and said, “Sergeant, come here.”
Clay came at once, his face happy. “Vince, I’m happy to see you.”
“Uncle Clay,” Vince said abruptly, “I’ve brought the chaplain home. He was wounded in the battle. I—I don’t see how he’s lived this long.”
Clay’s face clouded with sadness. “I want to see him. And someone ought to go to Melora. She can tell his children.
I believe they are staying with one of the parish families.”
Franklin said instantly, “Clay, you’re on leave. Take care of Jeremiah. Do whatever seems best. Use my name.”
“Yes, sir.” Clay moved quickly to the wagon, and Major Franklin said, “Son, go at once to the house. I can’t leave right now, but the family needs to know you’re safe.” He drew his shoulders back and said proudly, “By heaven, you’re home! Thank God!”
Vince echoed his father, saying, “Thank God!” then turned and went to the wagon. Clay, he saw, was already in the wagon, waiting. As Vince approached, Jake said, “Shall I drive you to the hospital to see the chaplain?”
Vince watched with alarm as Clay looked up at the driver, but there was not a flicker of recognition in his uncle’s face. “Yes, we’ll go there first.”
It only took a few minutes for them to reach the hospital. Vince followed Clay inside to talk with the doctors briefly and get an update on Irons’s condition before talking with Melora. Then he said, “Uncle Clay, I’ve got to get home and tell everyone I’m all right.”
“Yes, go right now. And have Rachel go with you to get Melora.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Jake was sitting on the porch but rose as Vince came out. “Come on, Jake. We’ve got chores to do.”
Jake hesitated. “Maybe I’d better stay with the chaplain.”
“No, I’ll need you. Come on.”
Jake followed him to the wagon, and the two of them drove off at a fast trot. Soon they were clear of town, yet Vince said nothing. He was thinking of the love he’d seen in his father’s eyes when he had greeted him—something he’d wanted to see all his life!
Jake, however, was thinking of Rachel, wishing that he was anywhere in the world other than on his way back to Lindwood. But he was committed to Vince, and so, as the wagon rolled along, he sat there, dreading the moment when he’d have to face her.
All he could think of was the contempt in her voice as she’d said, “Never come here again!”
Tad came stumbling into the kitchen, where Amy was helping Dee fix potato salad. His eyes were wide and he was bawling out his words so rapidly that Dee said, “You gone crazy? Whut you yellin’ about?”
“Marse Vince!” Tad finally shouted, pointing with a wavering hand. “It’s Marse Vince come home!”
“Glory to God in de highest!” Dee screamed, and the two women ran out the door. Rachel was hanging clothes out on the line in the back, and when she heard the screaming, she dropped her best nightgown in the mud and ran around the house. She stopped dead still when she saw Vince leaping off of a wagon only to be engulfed by Dee and her mother.
Suddenly Rachel couldn’t breathe, and the earth seemed to spin around, forcing her to stagger toward the house. She leaned against the wall until the dizziness passed, then walked unsteadily toward the three. Vince, seeing her coming, pulled away from his mother and Dee and turned to meet her. He seemed to be waiting for a sign, and Rachel saw in his eyes that he was uncertain. Remembering her anger when she’d sen
t him away, her heart smote her and she began to run, tears coming into her eyes. “Vince! Oh, Vince!” she cried as he caught her up in his arms.
He held her tightly, then said, “Rachel—!” His voice was choked with emotion.
She pulled back and looked at him, saying, “You’re back! You’re not dead!”
“Not a bit of it,” he said, then turned to his mother and Dee, saying, “Could a man get a bite to eat around this place?”
This was what the women needed, something to do to take the strain off of the moment. Amy came to him, hugging him again, then said, “You come in the house right now, Vince Franklin! I’m going to feed you until you pop.”
Vince stopped, then turned to the wagon and said, “Come on, Jake. I want to introduce you to my family.”
Jake, feeling like a complete fool and a total fake, wrapped the lines around the seat, stepped to the ground, and advanced reluctantly a couple of steps as Vince said easily, “This is my best friend, Jake Hardin. Jake, I want you to meet my mother, Amy, and my other mother, Dee. And this is my sister, Rachel.”
Amy smiled and came to offer her hand, saying, “I’m so glad you’ve come with Vince, Mr. Hardin!”
Jake pulled off his hat and muttered a brief thank-you, giving Amy’s hand a quick shake and nodding toward the black woman. Then he looked at Rachel. She was staring at him, her face pale. He would not have been surprised if she had denounced him on the spot. But she only glanced at Vince, then said, “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Hardin.”
Vince didn’t miss the awkward exchange, and he spoke quickly to relieve the strain. “I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid. Jeremiah Irons was wounded at Donelson. We managed to get him out—but he’s in a bad way!”
Amy said at once, “We have to tell Melora!”
“That’s what Father said,” Vince agreed, nodding. “Rachel, he thought you might go after her, take her to get the children, then go to the hospital at the camp.”
“Oh yes!” Rachel said. “I’ll go right now!” She turned to Tad, who was standing ten feet away, saying, “Tad, hitch the grays to the buggy.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 95
