A Corner of Heaven

by Raine Cantrell

  Elizabeth watched Alma retreat into the drawing room. The order lingered, replaying its insidious command in her mind like so many others before it.

  This is what you came here for, she reminded herself. Believe that Nicole is safe. Yet, she didn’t move.

  She glanced down at her hands and saw them as if from a great distance. Slowly turning them over, she viewed her red, swollen flesh, unable to stop the trembling that overtook her body.

  Coward. Coward. The litany of fear that she had often sung to herself, which had held her a prisoner here as much as the lock on the door, repeated its chanting now.

  No. She was not a coward, but she would be a fool to underestimate Alma. The woman was evil. Even as the thought came to her, Elizabeth walked forward and entered the room.

  She searched for a sign of Nicole. “Where is she, Alma?”

  “Resting. I put her in your old room.”

  She ignored Alma’s gesture to sit before the fire. Nicole was upstairs and likely locked in. Elizabeth cast off the far too familiar role of victim that Alma enjoyed seeing her play.

  “Tell me, Alma, have you truly enjoyed your little game of power? I know about James. I know how he died. A coward, they called him. Shot by his own men when he ran from battle.” Elizabeth paused. Every word she spoke filled her with a sense of power, of freedom. Her voice was firm, lashing out again at the woman who watched her, unrepentant for the destruction she had caused.

  “Lies, all of it,” she continued. “From the very first you twisted all of us—me, James, Colter and my daughter. How do you live with yourself? Did you truly grieve for your son? Or was all that a lie, too?”

  “James was not worthy of my grief.”

  “Dear Lord, you unfeeling witch! He loved you. James did everything to please you.” Elizabeth stepped nearer, staring at Alma, hoping for a sign, a small crack in the icy demeanor. There was none. “Did you really think I would allow you to mold my daughter in an image of yourself? I would die first.”

  “You may well do just that, Elizabeth.” Alma lifted the hand concealed by the drape of her skirt. She smiled, then raised the long barrel of the pistol she held. “I believe you should retire, my dear. You have had a long journey.”

  “Whose body is in the cellar, Alma?”

  “That need not concern you.”

  “Whose body is in the cellar?” Elizabeth repeated on a rising note, desperate now to keep her wits about her.

  Alma gracefully stood up and, still holding the gun, began walking toward her. Elizabeth had no choice but to back up.

  “Where are all the servants, Alma?”

  “Run off with that Yankee trash that came ’round with promises of freedom. What would they know? Freedom carries responsibilities.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right.” Elizabeth reached the hall and thought of running, but Alma quickened her pace and was right there with her.

  “You are going to be obedient, are you not, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will.”

  “Good. I am pleased to hear that.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off the pistol. She measured Alma, gauging how strong she was, and wondered if she would have a chance if she made a grab for the weapon.

  As if she had read her mind, Alma cocked the hammer. “Go upstairs, Elizabeth. I have already used this and found I am quite good. It only took three shots to finish Billings off.”

  “Billings?” Elizabeth questioned, hating the quiver of her voice. Her heel hit the bottom step, and without turning, she lifted her skirt, wincing as her hands closed over the cloth, and began to back up the stairway. For a moment she thought Alma had forgotten her. The woman’s eyes held a glazed look. With a slight shake of her head, she directed her attention to Elizabeth.

  “Billings is the man I hired to bring Nicole back where she belongs.”

  “You…you killed him?” Elizabeth knew then that Alma was insane. Not just driven to keep what she believed was hers, but truly mad.

  “He failed me, my dear. I cannot tolerate failure from anyone. It was just as well that James died. He failed me, too.”

  “James loved you, Alma. Remember how he would bring you presents when he returned from a trip? You loved his gifts. You—”

  “You were jealous.”

  The underlying hate that crackled in her voice made Elizabeth hesitate. She didn’t know if she should agree. How was she going to keep Alma stable? How was she going to get Nicole and herself away from here?

  “How did James fail you?” she asked, hoping to distract her.

  “The fool exposed himself to mumps. He recovered but lost the only useful ability he had. James could not father a child. But then, we found you. A weak, tedious, witless fool. You were so ready to believe that Colter betrayed you. But even then, I had to convince James to offer marriage. The dolt had scruples. With all that was at stake, he dared to put his friendship with Colter before me. James would have seen me cast from my home. I am glad that he is dead, do you hear me? I am glad that I will not have to rid myself of that weakling like I did his father.”

  Elizabeth was speechless.

  Alma began to laugh.

  The sound sent fingers of dread down Elizabeth’s spine. She turned and ran. She finally knew why James had lied about Colter.

  A shot splintered the wall above Elizabeth’s head.

  A shot that caused the Union captain leading his patrol to halt on the curving driveway that led to Twin Pines.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Colter rode south, passing Williams Wood and the Sturdivant’s Mill, testing the endurance of himself and the stallion he had stolen. It was dusk when he was forced to veer off the Plank Road, for the thick wet snow had left the road soft and wagons were cutting deeper ruts until they became mired in the mud.

  He tried to remain alert, cutting across the roads, passing houses with lighted windows. Warren, Avery, Gwynn, he named each family’s land, trying to stop his thoughts from wandering, trying to stop the weariness from overtaking him. Brown, Rowland, Ambree. He forced himself to recall a family’s crops, the best of their horses or the last time he had seen a family member, anything to keep himself awake.

  Veering south, he splashed through creeks and found little-used trails, letting the big stallion choose his own firm footing, guiding him around Lee’s home and then the mill. Heading across Pigeon Creek, Colter ignored the icy splash of water, giving the stallion his head up the bank and back through the forest.

  He rode with his head bowed, so that his hat brim offered some protection against the pelt of snow, and he hoped that Elizabeth was warm at Twin Pines. Of her safety, he did not dare to think.

  Between his knees he felt the muscles of his mount slide and tense and relax, and knew the animal had great strength held in careful reserve, ready at a touch to be freed.

  Colter wondered at his own strength. Did he, too, have reserves left to be drawn upon?

  Snow melted on his tiered greatcoat until its wet weight hindered his movements. It disappeared, too, as the flakes touched the sweating flanks of the horse. Still, Colter drove him.

  Questions he dared not ask himself before suddenly loomed in his mind. But he had no answer to the most important ones. Why had Elizabeth decided to confront Alma on her own? What had there been about James in the letter she read that would have driven her to risk coming down here with Nicole?

  The stallion’s snort warned him of riders coming, and he barely managed to conceal himself behind a small stand of saplings. Colter felt his head droop forward, his body heavy and tired, and he pushed himself to lean down, whispering and covering the stallion’s nose so he wouldn’t give away their presence.

  The damp velvet neck was warm against his cheek and he closed his eyes, wanting to rest. But the horse’s spirit was not nearly as downtrodden as his own and its restive moves jerked Colter awake.

  He urged him at a walk now, picking his way through the forest, damning himself for not sighting the rider
s so he would know if they were friend or enemy.

  Twin Pines would not be far ahead, he was sure. He could sleep there and be rid of the soaked cloth that burdened him.

  He wondered if the stallion had somehow read his thoughts, for his ears pricked alertly and his step was short and springy.

  “Guess you’d like warm mush and a thick bed of straw,” Colter whispered. Through the thinning trees, Colter sighted the lane, and yet something held him back from letting the stallion take the curving driveway up to Twin Pines at a full canter.

  Until he heard the shooting. Then nothing could stop him. He raced the blooded beast full out, with a demand for all he had, uncaring of the ruts, the mud, or the dark that sent him blindly into fire.

  Elizabeth and Nicole were his only thought. And Colter had an answer to his own question. He did have reserves of strength to call upon.

  “Fire!” Captain Michael Thorton ordered his small Union patrol. Their bullets raked across the lower floor of the house, shattering the windowpanes. Silence. He raised his hand slowly for his men to hold their fire.

  “These damn rebs are all crazy,” one of his soldiers muttered.

  The captain was inclined to agree. When he had heard that first shot, he ordered his men to fan out and approach the house from the woods and the cleared fields, using whatever they could find for cover. He assumed that someone had been on watch, for they had barely broken cover when they were fired upon. Yet, what struck him as truly strange, were the fires that were lit in each of the front rooms. He used his field glasses to search the lower floor, hoping to catch sight of a shadow that would alert them to where the shooter was located.

  There was no sign of anyone. He could smell the thick smoke that poured from the massive brick chimneys and thought of the shelter they had sought only to find themselves embroiled in a skirmish with another staunch rebel.

  “Think we hit him, Cap?”

  “Odds tell me we should have, but instinct warns me I’d be wrong. Take two men and circle ’round back.” He waited, thought of the warmth that his cold, tired men needed and wondered if the rebel who shot at them was at all rational. Those fires warned him, but of what he could not even begin to guess.

  And into that tense quiet came the frightened cry of a child.

  A short volley of shots came from the far right window.

  “Fire!”

  Elizabeth heard the order again and clutched Nicole tight. They were huddled in the far corner of what once had been her prison. Fleeing from Alma, Elizabeth barely had time to realize that the furniture had been stripped from the room, so she had nothing to use to bar the door, when she heard the first shots and the return fire.

  If Alma had not screamed “Yankees!” she wouldn’t know who was out there. Nor could she think of them as enemies. They were keeping Alma away from her and Nicole.

  Once again Nicole cried out, and the bullets flew, shattering what was left of the windowpanes onto the floor below. Elizabeth buried her own scream. She heard a few shots, thought they were from Alma and then there was a thick, waiting silence.

  What if Alma decided to climb up here? What if she was mad enough to fire at the Yankees from these windows?

  “Mama, I’m scared.”

  “I know, love, I know.” Elizabeth couldn’t risk her child any longer. “Listen to me. We are going to play a game that will take us away from here. Just follow me, precious, don’t talk, just move.”

  She cast aside the quilt she had wrapped around Nicole and, laying herself flat, waited until Nicole followed suit. Elizabeth felt the heat of the thick wooden floorboards against her stinging palms and cheek but paid no attention to it as she crawled along the floor.

  “That’s it, Nicole. We’ll pretend we are little snakes wiggling our way home.”

  “I don’t wanna be a snake. I’m a worm.”

  “Anything, love, be anything you want, just keep your head down.” Elizabeth ignored the sporadic shots. She was almost to the window. “Keep down and wait for Mama.” With her body prone, she raised one hand to feel along the sill. She prayed as her fingers inched across the wood, hoping she would not find the small slivers of wood that were shaved and hammered between frame and window to seal it shut.

  The Lord was not listening. Halfway across the sill she found the first one. With a sob of despair she dropped her hand. Utter defeat swamped her.

  “Hot, Mama. The floor’s hot.”

  Elizabeth dragged her head up. She smelled smoke. And heard the echo of Alma’s prideful voice. “The entire house was constructed from wood cut and cured in our forests.”

  Nicole crawled over to her and Elizabeth lifted her to her lap. The resinous heart-pine floors and walls would burn until they were consumed in the flames.

  The windows! She had to break out the window. With one hand shielding Nicole’s face against her shoulder, she crooked her elbow and slammed it against one of the small panes. The chill night air rushed in, and she turned her child’s face so she could breathe it.

  “You’ll never set foot in my home!” Alma screamed from below, torching the draperies in the drawing room.

  Flames shooting from the lower floor windows was the sight that greeted Colter as he reached the house. He sawed on the reins and the stallion reared.

  “Cap, it’s a damn reb!”

  “Hold your fire,” Thorton ordered.

  “Elizabeth!” Colter shouted, aware and uncaring of the enemy at his back.

  Hearing Colter below, Elizabeth set Nicole down. She stood before the window, and with her hand wrapped in the hem of her skirt, began to break out each of the panes of glass, calling his name.

  Captain Thorton ran in a crouch, yelling for the reb to get under cover. Shots whizzed over his head and he dove flat out for the ground.

  “Get down, you fool. There’s a crazy man inside.”

  “A woman,” Colter yelled, trying to control the near-crazed stallion. The horse reared repeatedly, his high steps and side swings making them an impossible target.

  The fire was spreading, a huge ruddy glow that lit the yard with wavering shadows. For a few minutes both men stared and then Colter turned to the Yankee.

  “Can your men give me cover? That’s my wife and child up there.”

  “Sweet Lord! And who is shooting at us?”

  “A crazy woman,” Colter snapped, looking above. “Elizabeth, kick out the window! Use something to break the wood.”

  “I can’t. There’s nothing here.”

  “Hold my horse,” Colter ordered, tossing down the reins. He whispered to the stallion, calming him with soothing pats even as he kneed the horse closer to the veranda.

  Thorton grabbed the reins and ordered his men to cover them. Crawling alongside the wicked hoofs of the stallion, he issued a warning. “You can’t hope to climb the support. There’s no purchase, reb.”

  Colter didn’t answer as he threw off his hat and rid himself of his greatcoat and tunic. Kicking his feet free of the stirrups, trying not to listen to the repeated splintering of wood that Elizabeth made above him, he braced his hands flat on the saddle.

  “Steady him good, Yank.”

  He could feel the trembling that rippled over the stallion’s body and slowly lifted his right leg until his boot found purchase on the saddle. A shot breezed by his shoulder and he crouched down, barely keeping his balance.

  “Order your men to keep up a steady barrage of fire, Yank!”

  Under other circumstances Thorton may have smiled at the imperious tone of the rebel giving him orders. But he had heard the rising cry of a child, and pity moved him to give that order. He watched as the reb once again began to raise himself to stand on the saddle and he too issued soothing commands to keep the stallion still.

  Elizabeth had no strength left. She had kicked out a small hole in the wooden frames that held forty-eight panes of glass. She knew she was as crazed as Alma for remembering how she counted each pane when the loneliness and despair of this room dro
ve her to it in days past.

  “Nicole, come here and let me lift you free. Colter is waiting for you, precious. He’ll get you down.”

  “No, Mama, no. I don’t wanna leave you.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” The smoke was getting thick. She could feel the intensity of the heat coming up through the floor, and with it, she heard Alma’s wild laughter coming closer.

  “Hurry, Nicole.” There was no time to be sure that the glass and wood wouldn’t hurt her child. She lifted and shoved her out onto the veranda.

  Elizabeth had long since closed her mind to the pain that ripped through her hands. She gripped the wood frame with both hands on one side, bowed her head and swung her shoulders against the half-shattered frames. The wood held.

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth, where are you?” Alma crooned in a singsong voice.

  Colter lost his breath, staring up at the frightened face of his daughter. His fingertips barely reached the edge of the veranda floor. Heat rose as the inferno below raged out of control. He could hear the shouts of the men in the yard and realized that more than one were holding the stallion still.

  “Can you climb over the rail, Nicole?” He heard the desperation in his voice and felt his gut clench into a twisted knot when she shook her head.

  “Hurry, Elizabeth, hurry,” he urged, as one of the soldiers yelled a warning that flames were starting to lick the underside of the second-story veranda.

  Elizabeth heaved her body again, and again, until the wood broke and she fell free.

  Snatching Nicole up, she lifted her above the rail, lowering her and tossing wild looks over her shoulder.

  She could see the flames shooting up the staircase, and within the doorway was the shadowed figure of Alma.

  “You cannot leave, Elizabeth. You will never be free, never.”

  “I’ve got her,” Colter yelled, handing Nicole down to waiting hands. “Hurry, love, come over the rail,” he begged Elizabeth.

  “It’s Alma. I can’t leave her to burn, Colter.”

  With a cry torn from his soul, Colter saw her turn away from the rail. “No! Leave her!” He listened to the snapping crackle of fire eating into wood. The whole left side of the house was blazing. “Elizabeth!”