A Corner of Heaven

by Raine Cantrell

  “That’s General Jackson, Brice, and no, I’ve not been listening to him.”

  “Tart an’ snappy as the general findin’ ants in his vittles.”

  “Leave him be, Brice,” Andre said. “Colter’s made other arrangements. Being a true gentleman, he has no intention of sharing. Do you?” he asked Colter, gazing up at him.

  “If we were not friends, Andre, I would call you out for what you are implying.”

  “But you will not, mon ami, because I am right.”

  Brice quickly stepped in front of Andre. “You’re entitled to satisfaction, Colter, but—”

  “Leave off, Brice.” Colter saw the blaze of deadly challenge in Andre’s eyes, true to his quick-tempered heritage that had him ready to fight at a word or a sidelong glance. Once Colter had been the same. Wearily he shook his head. Fighting was a pastime of the South’s men. Not only the young aristocrats like Andre and Brice, but even the poor whites could be ready with pistol or knife to avenge the real or imagined affront.

  “Save your desire to have satisfaction for the battle-field, Andre,” Colter warned. “I promise you, you’ll soon have it.” With the seep of chill rain crawling down his neck, he swung his horse out into the street.

  “Never remember Colter refusing a chance to drink and whore with us, even if he’s discreet as a parson,” Brice remarked, mounting his own horse.

  Andre’s dark brooding gaze was targeted at Colter’s retreating back. “I believe the lovely widow planted a few immoral thoughts in his mind. Thoughts another woman couldn’t begin to satisfy. But she’ll bring him trouble.” With a rapid swing of mood, he turned to Brice. “My friend, it shall be up to you and me to fulfill the dreams of the Richmond belles.”

  With a laugh, Brice shrugged off Andre’s dark mood, along with Colter’s unexpected anger. But his thoughts turned to his first sight of Elizabeth Waring, standing beside Colter at the top of the steps. Innocent and seductive. He couldn’t blame Colter. He couldn’t blame any man for taking what he could. Pleasure had to be measured in hours now. Brice felt a sudden sense of desperation. The world they knew, the one they all believed in was slipping away. He turned for a last look to where Colter disappeared and hoped Andre was wrong. Colter needed someone to care for, not more trouble.

  Free from duty, Colter allowed his thoughts of Elizabeth to surface. He refused to examine Andre’s uncalled-for attack. Something was bothering his friend; he had never known Andre to provoke his temper in such a deliberate manner.

  He would have to make time for his friend. He couldn’t work with him, worrying whether or not Andre would be there when needed.

  Keeping his horse to a walk through the thronged streets, Colter fought off a bone-deep tiredness. He was in need of sleep, a peaceful few hours that would ease the weariness of weeks spent behind enemy lines.

  At the corners of Broad and Seventh streets, Colter remembered where his favorite saddler’s shop had stood along with a hotel and the Richmond Theater. Stubble was all that remained of the buildings after a fire in January.

  He waited for wagons of refugees to pass, closing his eyes briefly against the dazed looks reflected in most of their faces. He couldn’t remember the city being this crowded, but then he had been gone for weeks. An ambulance wagon lurched across the street and Colter stilled his hunter. The ambulance would be heading toward the warehouses down on Eighth. Since the summer battles had brought the fighting to the threshold of the city, a flood of wounded and their families had burdened every structure until even private homes had become hospitals.

  Colter guided his horse behind the hotel to a small private livery. He was about to dismount when he heard Hugh call out to him.

  “You found her,” Colter stated, knowing Hugh would not return unless he had. Hugh drew alongside him but didn’t dismount.

  “Just get finished?” Colter nodded, and Hugh, reading the signs of impatience, quickly gave him directions. He wiped the rain from his face and leaned closer. “The house belongs to Emily Perkins, a widow. Her servant wouldn’t tell me much. Near as I could tell, there’s no one else there. Mrs. Waring has been residing with her for almost a week.” Hugh stopped and looked away from Colter. He wasn’t quite sure how to continue. He didn’t want to admit that he had over-heard most of Colter’s conversation with the lovely Elizabeth.

  “Hugh?” Seeing the pained expression in the young captain’s eyes, Colter understood his reluctance to say more. “It’s all right. I’m sure you couldn’t help but hear us. And for whatever it’s worth, Hugh, I’m comfortable with your knowing about Elizabeth. As for—”

  “Your secret is safe with me, Colter. I’ll think of something should Andre or Brice dare to question me.”

  “There’s no need to lie. They’ve drawn their own conclusions.” Colter’s next question was burning to be asked, yet he found the words hard. “Did you by chance discover if there is a child with her?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Colter. But we’re both fools for staying in the rain. I could use a warm brandy to chase this damn chill.”

  “Go on, Hugh.” Colter stilled the restive movements of his hunter. “Here, I almost forgot this.” He pulled the safe-conduct pass from inside his coat and handed it over. “You’ve got three days’ leave. Don’t wait to take this to headquarters and get your military passes.”

  “I’ve missed Jenna so,” he uttered with a simple honesty. “How can I thank—”

  “No thanks are needed. I can’t repay you for what you did for me today.”

  Hugh reached over and clasped Colter’s hand. “Are you going after her now?”

  “I must,” Colter answered, like Hugh, speaking the simple truth.

  Perched on the edge of the mulberry silk horsehair sofa, Elizabeth sipped the mulled wine that Emily Perkins had asked Rutha to make for her. A fire was burning in the back parlor given over for her use. She shivered beneath the serviceable flannel wrapper she had changed into upon getting back from Richmond. She wished her pride would have allowed her to accept Emily’s offer to use her carriage. The sudden rain had left both her best shoes and her spirit as sodden as the earth.

  The only blessing she offered the rain was for its aid in escaping Colter.

  She rubbed her aching temples. Colter. What was she going to do about him? It was another foolish mistake to have told him the truth about Nicole. How could she have forgotten Colter’s relentless pursuit when he desired something? After their confrontation this afternoon, she had no reason to believe he had changed.

  A cold knot of fear expanded inside her. She had lost the opportunity to talk to Mr. Memminger about a job, and she didn’t have enough money to leave the city.

  And even if you did, a tiny voice nagged, where would you run to?

  She gazed at the ruby liquid in her glass and drained it quickly, praying for courage.

  She would protect her daughter and, despite Alma Waring’s claims and threats, provide for Nicole. Somehow she would find a way.

  You can begin by not making assumptions about what Colter will or will not do.

  Why should Colter care about her or Nicole, no matter what he had said? Four years had passed without his making any attempt to contact her.

  She realized that not seeing Colter all those years had been a blessing. Now there was no comfort to be had in heart or mind. He was an inescapable part of her life.

  From somewhere, she had to find the strength to deal with this. There was no one to confide in, no one to depend upon to act as a buffer. Not even James, weak as he had been under his mother’s relentless rule, could protect her from her own feelings for Colter now.

  The gloom of the day settled into the room, and it matched her mood. She had no idea how to dispel it. Sweeping her hip-length straight hair forward, she began to braid it, not caring that it was still damp.

  When she was finished, Elizabeth rose, restlessly pacing over the faded Brussels carpet. Time and again she stepped to the window and watched the raindrops roll down the
pane. She had no tears left. They had all been shed as she ran from Colter.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you leave me?” She could have asked him today, but she had been swept up in the joy and fear of seeing him.

  Lost in thought, it took several minutes before she became aware that Rutha, Emily Perkins’s cook and, now that the slaves had run off, housemaid, too, was talking to Nicole. Elizabeth ran to the hall door, casting aside her grief for what might have been, smiling to hear her daughter’s laughter.

  “Here’s your mama, chil’.” Rutha set the squirming little girl down.

  Kneeling, Elizabeth held her arms open for Nicole. Her honey blond ringlets framed a face that had begun to lose its plumpness, giving a hint of the child’s beauty to come. For a moment Elizabeth savored the baby-sweet scent of her daughter and reaffirmed the vow that no one would ever take Nicole from her again.

  “Rua gave me honey cake, Mama. I was so good.”

  “I hope you were, precious.” Above Nicole’s head, Elizabeth’s anxious gaze sought reassurance from Rutha.

  “Miz Beth, don’t be churnin’ butter what’s already done.”

  “I won’t, Rutha.” Elizabeth smiled up at her, admiring once again the woman’s majestic height and slim, stately figure. Rutha’s face, unlined and smoothly polished like the glow of rare satin wood, gave no hint of her age. Elizabeth stood and held Nicole’s small hand. “Thank you again, Rutha. I know how much you have to do without the added care of her.”

  “Hush. With Miz Emily’s misery comin’ on her bones with this rain, don’t have all that much to do. I don’t mine that chil’ none. She be a fine little lady for Rutha. An’ Mister Josh, he’s gonna have a swing for her in the garden real soon.”

  “You both spoil her.”

  “’Pears to me it’s ’bout time. An’ her mama could do with some spoilin’, too.”

  “I’m all right, Rutha. We’re safe here.” Elizabeth turned away from Rutha’s arched gaze that said she recalled opening the door to a bedraggled woman who could not catch her breath for the stitch in her side from running. “Really, I am,” she repeated, leading the way to the parlor.

  “Sure, an’ I picked cotton today,” she said coming into the room. “We’ll be needin’ the lamps lit. Don’t wanna be in the dark.”

  “I don’t like the dark, Mama.”

  “I know you dislike the dark, honey. I’m sorry I didn’t light them myself.”

  Rutha finished lighting the second lamp, replaced the glass chimney and blew out the match. Walking to the fireplace, she tossed a piece of wood onto the fire and picked up the empty wineglass. “Jus’ nice and cozy for you an’ missy. Supper’ll be ready soon.”

  “Will Miss Emily join us?”

  “Don’t rightly know. I was plannin’ on seein’ to her now that you got little missy.”

  “Tell Mister Josh I said thank-you,” Elizabeth murmured as she settled down before the fire with her daughter. She hid her face against Nicole’s hair, holding unpleasant thoughts at bay. She was thankful that she had been granted this sanctuary, the one place of refuge that Alma Waring would never think to look for her and Nicole.

  Mister Josh would protect them with his life if the need arose. He was almost sixty, a tight white cap of curls attesting to his age, but his back was ramrod straight and he moved with the agility of a much younger man. Both he and Rutha bullied and hovered protectively over Emily, and now that same caring had come to include Nicole and herself.

  A distant roll of thunder broke into Elizabeth’s thoughts. Despite the fire, the room was chilly, and she snuggled closer to Nicole. The child seemed content for the moment to be held, as she often was after a nap. Elizabeth sighed with the pleasure of having her child to herself. It was a luxury she would never take for granted again.

  “Mama, Mister Josh is gonna give me a pretty doll.”

  “Did he tell you that, Nicole? If he did, you can be sure that he will.”

  “Oh, yes,” she answered, nodding her head. “He promised.”

  Smoothing Nicole’s hair, Elizabeth asked, “Are you happy here?”

  “I like it real fine. Miss Emily said I was a good girl. She doesn’t yell at me. I don’t wanna go—”

  “Hush, love. We’ll never go back there. Mama promises you that. Never.”

  Nicole squirmed against her tight hold. Elizabeth released her and wished she could ease the tension that held her in its grip.

  Minutes later, Nicole begged a story. Elizabeth obliged, and then, to Nicole’s delighted laughter, she played out parts from her daughter’s favorite tale.

  An hour passed, an hour without fear or worry, when crawling on all fours, laughing and growling at Nicole’s pretended shrieks were all that concerned her.

  She thought she heard voices from the front hallway but could not make out whose they were. Moments later Rutha came into the room, wringing her hands in a manner so unlike her that Elizabeth immediately stood, rigid with fear.

  “Best get presentable. There’s a gentleman come to call an’ he sure don’t take no for an answer. Mister Josh seen him skulkin’ up the road afore he come here.”

  “Who, Rutha?” Elizabeth could barely get the words past the constriction in her throat.

  Chapter Three

  “He’s mighty fine—”

  “It’s Colter, isn’t it? Colonel Colter Saxton?” Without waiting for Rutha’s confirmation, Elizabeth picked up Nicole, soothing her with whispered assurances. “Honey, you be a special angel for Mama now and go with Rutha.”

  “No. I wanna stay.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, praying for patience. When she opened them, Nicole’s stubborn-set jaw and pouting mouth brought a sigh of exasperation.

  “Please, Rutha, take Nicole and keep her out of sight. I don’t think Colonel Saxton will make any trouble, but I don’t want Miss Emily upset. Nicole, please let go of Mama.” Handing her to Rutha, Elizabeth avoided the woman’s penetrating gaze. “Colonel Colter is—”

  “I ain’t blind. I know who he is.”

  “Please give me a few minutes and then Mister Josh can show him in.”

  “Mama…”

  “Hush, chil’. Rutha’s gonna…”

  Whatever Rutha promised her daughter was lost to Elizabeth as she ran into her bedroom. She sagged against the door, trying to collect herself.

  There was no time to think or question his reasons. Tossing her wrapper and night rail onto the four-poster bed, she rushed to the dresser. Her meager supply of underwear was all neatly folded and starched. Elizabeth donned a fresh camisole and cotton drawers. Most of her petticoats were still damp, as was the crinoline hoop. With every intent to make this meeting as brief as possible, she tied one petticoat in place, slipped on a black watered-silk skirt and hurriedly fastened its tapes. A matching bodice had her swearing in an unladylike fashion as she tried to secure the twenty-odd buttons up the front. The material pulled snugly across her unconfined breasts, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Rolling her braid, she quickly tucked it into a net. Her eyes watered when, in her haste, she jabbed herself repeatedly with hairpins.

  Beyond her closed door, she heard Mister Josh in the parlor and the low murmur of Colter’s voice. There was no time to put on stockings. Sliding her feet into a pair of dancing slippers, she took a deep breath and found she couldn’t move toward the door.

  What are you afraid of?

  Losing Nicole. Myself. Colter’s desire. Mine.

  Colter won’t harm Nicole or you.

  She began to breathe more easily. She was hiding in her room like a ninny. If she could face down Alma Waring and manage to escape her with Nicole, she could certainly stand up to Colter.

  Unable to rid herself entirely of tension, she eased the door open a bit.

  Colter stood opposite, his back toward her, his hands braced on the edge of the mantel. With his head bowed, he appeared to be staring into the flames. A half-filled brandy snifter rested next to the silver cand
lestick by his right hand.

  The glisten of rain had darkened his near-black, collar-length hair. Without his uniform coat, his body appeared as lithe as she remembered it, but there was a maturity to his muscular build that enhanced his pantherlike grace. His damp shirt clung to his back, delineating the straight length of his spine, and his gray wool trousers and knee-high boots revealed every line of his muscular hips and legs.

  Elizabeth was seized by a wave of longing. She tamped it down quickly, ruthlessly.

  Judging by the mud splattered on his clothes, Colter had ridden out after her directly from his meeting. But how had he found her?

  “Are you finished inspecting me, Elizabeth?” he asked, turning to face her.

  She didn’t answer, but opened the door fully and stepped into the room. “Why have you come?”

  Colter’s laugh was bitter. “Just the right tone of arrogance. Worthy of the formidable Mrs. Waring. The elder,” he clarified, making a bow.

  “You are making a mockery of my thought that you were a gentleman, Colter.”

  “Don’t count on my being a gentleman,” he warned.

  “How foolish of me. But pray tell me, why are you here? I can assure you that we harbor no Yankees within these walls. There are no horses left to conscript for the army’s use, nor is there an overabundance of food.”

  He studied her with a narrowed gaze, giving away nothing of his own thoughts. “After your damn announcement, you still need to ask why I’ve come? You ran off like a coward, Elizabeth. I want to see the child.”

  “I consider that unwise. She has been unsettled with our move. I’m sorry you have wasted your time to come out here in such foul weather and—”

  “Elizabeth,” he interrupted softly, almost too softly. “You won’t put me off. If she is my daughter, I have a right to see her.”

  “You must never say that! Never, do you hear me? She cannot be claimed as yours.”

  “Then why the devil tell me?” he demanded. “Are you now denying my paternity, Elizabeth?” he queried with barely concealed anger. “Or have you some ploy in mind? No, of course not, you’re far too honest to try that old trick upon me.” Colter rubbed the back of his neck, weary of their verbal fencing. “Madam, I am aware that women often choose a devious route to obtain their goal, but you should beware. I’ve neither the time nor the patience for it.”