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

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yas’um, Miss Rachel!”

  “Both of you come inside,” Amy insisted to the two men as Rachel ran to change clothes. “You both look so tired!” She led them into the house, and soon they were eating the best meal they’d had in weeks. Vince told the story of their escape, making little of his own part in the effort.

  Jake ate very little, but when Vince was finished with his story, he said, “Mrs. Franklin, your son is the worst storyteller I’ve ever heard. It was his doing that got us out of Donelson. If it hadn’t been for him, Chaplain Irons and I would both be in a Yankee prison right now!” He told the story again, ignoring Vince’s protests.

  When he finished, Amy said quietly, “Your father will be very proud, Vincent.”

  Vince flushed and started to protest, but Jake said, “Vince, I need to go back to camp. Could I borrow a horse?”

  “Certainly you can!” Amy nodded, then had a thought and added, “But would you go with Rachel to get Miss Yancy? It’ll be dark by the time she can get to Richmond, and I’d feel better if a man went along with her.”

  “Why—yes, Mrs. Franklin,” Jake said hesitantly, seeing no way out. At just that moment, Rachel came in wearing a dark brown dress and a coat to match.

  “I’ll stay in town with Melora and the children, Mother. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll be in tomorrow, dear,” Amy said, nodding. “Mr. Hardin’s going to town, too, so I asked him to go with you and Melora.”

  Rachel shot a strange glance at Jake but said, “That’s nice of you, though I doubt we’ll have any trouble.”

  Vince said, “I’ll have Tad saddle a good horse for you, Jake. Come along.” When they were clear of the house on the way to the barn, he said, “You’ll have to talk to Rachel, Jake. Don’t let her give us away.”

  “Nothing I can do about that.”

  “Just talk to her, and I’ll talk to her tomorrow. She’s hot-tempered, but she’s got a good heart.”

  Ten minutes later, Jake drove the buggy down the road, a fine chestnut gelding tied to the rear. Rachel didn’t say a word, nor did he—not for over a mile. Finally he said, “This wasn’t my idea, Rachel.”

  “It wasn’t mine, either.”

  Jake shifted uncomfortably on the seat, not knowing how to talk to her. Her face was stiff, and there was a rigidity in her spine as she sat beside him. Finally he said, “I can’t change what you think about me, but you shouldn’t be angry with your brother. He grew up while we were in Donelson.” Still she said nothing, and he felt his own anger rising within him. “It’s good that you’ve never made a mistake, Miss Franklin. Makes it real easy for you to come down hard on us poor mortals who have!”

  Rachel had been sitting there, trying desperately to find a way to speak to the man beside her. She had decided that he was not the rogue she’d taken him for—and she could no longer deny that his presence, even the very sight of him, did strange things to her heart. The feelings that had so confused and troubled her when she thought Jake to be her brother now came back in a flood, and she felt her face grow warm. She longed to look at him, to drink in the sight of his face, to feel again the camaraderie they had established during their time together as “brother” and sister … but her pride was too great.

  Then when he lashed out at her, her answering anger brought a fierce halt to any efforts she might have made to break through the walls that surrounded her. The buggy moved steadily down the road, both of them bound into silence. Rachel kept her head turned to one side, determined not to let Jake see on her face the mortification that she was sure was showing. She knew there was something mean about the way she was acting, something small and despicable. Here a man had come out of a death trap, a man who had, she sensed, brought her brother through a hard time—and all she could do was stare ahead, refusing to look at him or offer a word of thanks.

  The longer it went on, the worse it got for her. She longed to turn, to ask Jake about Vince, to give him a chance to explain the strange events of the past—to tell her if everything between them had been an act. Instead, memories came to taunt her, and fear told her that he’d made a fool out of her, had probably even laughed at her. Her cheeks flamed, and finally she set her lips.

  Jake Hardin might perhaps be better than she’d thought at first, she told herself, but he still was a man she’d like to see out of her life forever!

  CHAPTER 24

  AT ANY COST

  Clay and Melora brought Irons to Lindwood three days after his being admitted to the hospital in Richmond. Both of them had stayed with him constantly, taking turns sitting up at night, and the Irons children, Asa and Ann, clung to them for assurance. Irons had rallied for two days, glad to be with his children and among friends, but then the deadly fever that had racked his frame all the way from Tennessee rose. And nothing would bring it down.

  “You may as well take him home,” Dr. Evans said on the third day, his long face showing regret. “He doesn’t want to be here—and there’s nothing I can do for him.”

  “We’ll take him to Lindwood,” Amy said at once, for the parsonage used by Irons for so many years was occupied by his successor. “We have plenty of room for everyone.”

  So Clay had driven the sick man home in a closed army ambulance, commandeered in the name of Major Franklin, arriving at Lindwood late in the afternoon. Irons wanted to try to walk, but Clay said, “You’ve been bossing me around from the pulpit for years, Brother Irons. This time I’m giving the orders. You can run around all you like after we get you on your feet.”

  Irons smiled up at him, his face so thin that the skull was plainly outlined. “I’ll be running through the green pastures soon enough, my brother.”

  Clay blinked—he didn’t miss the allusion to the psalm—but turned and called to Jake and Vince, who were standing a short distance away, “You two, make yourselves useful!”

  As the two men carried the sick man inside on the stretcher, Irons said, “You two have carried me many a mile, brothers—but I guess I won’t trouble you after this trip.” He lay down with a sigh of relief, and his eyes closed when they put him into the bed. But he opened them to say, “I can’t get to a church or a pulpit—so you two will have to be my congregation.” A smile turned the corners of his lips up, and he whispered as he dropped off into a comalike sleep: “The sermon … will start when … I wake …”

  Melora came over and arranged the covers around Irons, then sat down beside him. Clay hesitated, then asked, “Will you see that the ambulance gets back to the regiment, Vince? I don’t want to leave.”

  “Sure, Uncle Clay.” Vince left the room, followed by Jake. When they were outside the house, Vince walked slowly to the wagon, biting his lip nervously. “He’s not going to make it, Jake.” Shaking his head with an angry gesture, he suddenly struck the side of the wagon with the heel of his fist, saying angrily, “After all the misery we went through getting here—to lose him now—!”

  Jake felt even lower than Vince, so low that he made no answer. He had not been hopeful from the time he had seen the wound, for he knew how rarely a man lived through such a thing. He had begun to respect Irons as a man long ago; now he had grown to reverence him as a man among men. Never once had Irons complained, and even when the pain must have been terrible, Irons’s sole concern seemed to be for the souls of his friends.

  “Guess I’ll take the wagon back,” Jake said heavily.

  “It’s too late, almost dark now. I’ll take it back. I’ve got to go to town tomorrow morning, anyway.” Vince paused, then added, “Got to go see Ellen.” When he caught the sudden look Jake laid on him, he shrugged. “Got to be done, Jake. Might as well get it over with.”

  The next morning Vince was on his way to Richmond shortly after dawn, his horse tied to the rear of the ambulance. After dropping the ambulance off at the hospital, he rode straight to Ellen’s boardinghouse. He was met by Mrs. Mulligan at the door, who said, “Mrs. Rocklin has moved.” There was a tight set to her lips, and Vinc
e was aware that she was upset.

  “Is something wrong, Mrs. Mulligan?”

  “Yes, there is—” She hesitated, then said firmly, “I had to ask Mrs. Rocklin to look for other quarters.” Her lips drew together, and she shook her head. “Times are hard, with the war and all, and I need all the boarders I can get. But to be plain with you, sir, Mrs. Rocklin isn’t a careful woman, as far as men are concerned, I mean. And I’ll ask you not to come here again.”

  “Of course. Did she leave an address?”

  “No—but you might try the Cosmopolitan Hotel. I’ve heard she was there.”

  “Thank you,” Vince said. He left at once and made his way to the hotel she had mentioned. It was located in an older section of Richmond, one that was going to seed. As he dismounted and went inside, Vince noted that the Cosmopolitan had little left of pretension. The lobby smelled rank with age and odors of the years, and the clerk, a thin young man with grimy hands and hair slicked down with grease, merely nodded when Vince asked for Mrs. Rocklin.

  “Number 206.”

  Vince ascended the stairs, took a left, and knocked on the door lightly. At first there was no answer, so he knocked louder. This time he heard a muffled voice but couldn’t make out the words. Finally the door opened a crack, and Ellen peered out. Her eyes were bleary, but they opened wide when she recognized him, and she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I have to talk to you, Ellen.”

  She hesitated, then opened the door. Vince entered, taking in the dilapidated condition of the room, but said only, “How have you been?”

  Ellen was wearing a purple robe over her nightdress, and her hair was tangled. “I heard you were back,” she said. A speculative light came into her eyes, and she asked suspiciously, “What about the money you were going to send me? I never got a dime!”

  Vince said carefully, “Ellen, I think you’d better get something straight. The last time we talked, you made all kinds of crazy accusations.”

  Ellen stiffened and started to say something, but Vince cut her off.

  “I didn’t come to argue with you,” he said evenly. He was disgusted with himself for ever having had anything to do with this woman. Now he wanted only to get his business done and get away from her. “I didn’t think too clearly after the accident, Ellen. Maybe I was confused when we talked last time. But I’m myself now, so there’ll be no money for you.”

  “And when I tell them about this—!” Ellen cried and reached out to snatch his hand with her own. “Your mother and Dee will remember the real Vince had a scar—”

  “But there is a scar,” Vince said. “Look for yourself.”

  Ellen stared at his hand, saw the heart-shaped scar, and the color fled from her florid face. She stood there speechless, then threw his hand away, crying, “You had it fixed! But there are other ways! You’re a phony, and you know it!”

  “Ellen, you’ve got a fine husband and fine children,” Vince said quietly. “Why don’t you quit all this and be a wife and a mother?”

  A wildness surged into Ellen Rocklin, and lifting her hands, she clawed for his face, but Vince caught her wrists and held her easily. She struggled but could not break free. She cursed him horribly, threatening him with everything she could think of, but finally he said, “I’m going, Ellen. Don’t go any further with this thing. You’ll only hurt yourself and humiliate your family.” Dropping her wrists, he turned and left the room.

  The sound of her cursing came through the door, and he walked swiftly away, his lips set in an expression of disgust as he left the hotel.

  Thanks to Vince’s father, Jake and Vince were granted indefinite leave. Even so, Jake would have left Lindwood despite his promise to Vince but for the fact that, twice during the next three days, Irons asked for him. He had gone at once to sit beside the dying man, and both times Irons had whispered, “Jesus loves you, my brother!” He was so weak that he could say little more, and Jake longed to give him some assurance—but had none to give.

  When he wasn’t with Irons, Jake kept to himself, riding a tall roan named Dancer over the dead fields and through the evergreen timber. He had seen Rachel five times but had not spoken to her at all. Melora was friendly, but absorbed in taking care of the sick man and comforting his children. Jake longed to talk with Amy Franklin, but she seemed preoccupied. Besides, he knew they couldn’t talk as they had before, when she had believed him to be her son ….

  It was on a Friday morning that Amy surprised him by coming to join him, sitting down with him and asking about his family as he ate a piece of bread with honey. It gave him an odd feeling, talking with her, as if he were a ghost come back from oblivion—a ghost that no one even noticed.

  He gave her the bare details of his history, leaving out the worst parts, and then she said, “Brother Irons is very fond of you.” A frown crossed her brow, and she added quietly, “I sometimes think he’s only keeping himself alive for the hope of seeing you and Vince come to God.”

  Jake felt a painful stab of regret. He looked down at his hands on the table, clasped them together, then said, “I—I wish it would happen, Mrs. Franklin.”

  She looked across the table and on impulse reached out and put her hand over his. He glanced up, startled by the gesture, and memories of the times she had talked with him came flooding back. “Vince has told me a little of how you’ve been such a help to him. Not many details, but he thinks you helped him find himself. And I’ve wanted to thank you for that.” Jake shook his head, but she refused his protest. “I won’t burden you with it, Jake, but if you would, Major Franklin and I would like it if you’d look on us as your family.”

  Jake looked up, startled—but he had no chance to respond, for just then Rachel came into the room. She stopped abruptly and stared at the two sitting there, their hands together. At once Jake rose, saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. Miss Rachel—” He nodded and left the room.

  “What a fine young man!” Amy said, sadness in her tone. “What do you make of him, Rachel?”

  “I don’t make anything of him, Mother. After all, I really don’t know him.”

  Amy looked up, surprised by the coldness in her daughter’s voice. “Why, Rachel—what’s the matter?”

  Rachel bit her lip but said only, “Nothing. I’m just upset. Brother Irons is slipping away, and there’s nothing we can do.”

  “There’s one thing,” Amy said at once. “We can pray for Vince and Jake Hardin. That’s what is on Jeremiah’s heart now. I just told Jake I believe Brother Irons is hanging on just to see the two of them saved.”

  Rachel shook her head. “People don’t find God just because somebody wants them to,” she said flatly. “If that were so, Christians wouldn’t have lost relatives, would they?”

  “Rachel, you sound cynical,” Amy said sharply. “You were taught better!” She caught herself, then came to stand beside Rachel. “I’m sorry. I suppose all of us are upset. But I believe God answers prayers—and I’ve been praying for Vince for a long time. Now I’ll pray for Jake Hardin. You’ll join me, won’t you?”

  Rachel gave her an agonized look, for she was emotionally a ruin. Ever since her clash with Jake Hardin, she had been tossed by doubt and self-loathing. Now as her mother asked her to pray for Hardin, she knew that she was empty inside; she had never felt so spiritually dry since she had become a Christian. She had tried to pray, but it was no use; the heavens were brass and God seemed so far away that she even began to doubt if she herself was a believer.

  “I—I can’t, Mother!” she said, getting the words out with difficulty. “Please don’t ask me to explain!” She turned and walked from the room just in time to hide the tears of frustration that sprang to her eyes.

  Amy spoke to Melora about what had happened. Melora said, “Rachel’s going through some sort of a crisis, Amy. She needs our prayers almost as much as Jeremiah. He’s at peace—but all you have to do is look at Rachel and see that she’s in misery.”

  The next day Jake and Vin
ce were sitting in the library when Melora came in to say, “I think he’s going. He wants to see both of you. I’m going to get the children.”

  Both men rose and went at once to the sickroom. Jake saw a dreadful pallor on Vince’s face and felt a weakness come into his own legs. When Jeremiah held up his hand, Jake took it at once. It was cold and had no strength.

  “Jake … Vince …,” Irons whispered, “want to … thank you both … for bringing me home!”

  Jake suddenly could not see, and he dashed the tears away from his eyes with his free hand. His throat was thick and it ached, but he managed to say, “Wish I could do more, Jeremiah! Lord, I wish I could!”

  Vince had gone to the other side of the bed. He had taken Irons’s other hand, and the tears were running down his face, an expression of grief contorting his features. He kept himself from sobbing only by an effort.

  Irons lay there quietly, and he seemed to be listening to something. Suddenly both Jake and Vince felt that there was a strange stillness in the room—and a presence somehow—that neither of them could understand.

  “God is here,” Irons said, and his voice was suddenly strong, not the weak whisper they had grown accustomed to. He looked up at them, his eyes clear, and as he spoke, Jake felt the cold hand tighten on his with a sudden power.

  “I’ve wondered why God brought me back here,” Irons said, speaking distinctly. “I was ready to go to Him at Donelson. All the way here, I kept asking God why He didn’t call me home. Now I know! He’s given me some things to say.”

  He lay there for a time, and Jake asked, “What is it?”

  Irons looked up and tightened his hand. “It’s you, Jake—and you, Vince. God is waiting for you. That’s why you brought me here, not just so I could tell my family good-bye, but so you both would let God find you. That’s why, boys, I’ve been telling you that Jesus loves you.”

  As Jake listened to the words, which he had heard so many times from Irons over the past days, something came to him. It was like fear, for he began to tremble—and yet it was not that exactly.