by Julianne Lee
She draped her leg over his hip and with a heel pressed him to her. Her mouth opened with the pleasure of it, and his was on hers, sucking, licking, tasting, feeling. He moved slowly, but each thrust finished with a spasm of hip. The flesh of him was in her and all around her. His tongue, his breath, his hands, his arms. Her back arched, and as the world dimmed all she knew was Lucas, his body, his love. But more than anything, she knew his life.
Afterward, they lay together like spoons. Once Shelby had recovered her breath, she asked, “How is your leg?”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. “The broken one? It hurts like hellfire. The rest of me feels better than average, though, thank you kindly.”
She drew the blankets over them, curled up against his side, and dropped off to a deep, welcome sleep.
Chapter 21
It was a three-week trip home, riding tandem on the roan horse and dodging Yankees and bushwhackers, as well as Confederate units, the entire way. Though wounded and a long way from being fit for duty, Lucas still ran some risk of being hauled away to a Confederate jail as a deserter. One just never knew what folks would take a mind to do these days. Home would be even less safe for him, for an arrest would more than likely end in an execution.
“You’ll need to surrender yourself as a prisoner of war.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” They were traversing the road just north of Murfreesboro.
“I won’t let them hang you.”
“They won’t get their hands on me.”
“And where will you hide? How will we keep it a secret you’ve come home? Shoot, they’ll all know it just from my face when they see me.”
That brought a chuckle, and she pressed her cheek hard to his back. He said, “Think your parents could hide me in that big old house of theirs?”
“That big old house belongs to Andrew Johnson now. Or a friend of his, anyway. It’s been confiscated.” And before he could suggest her sister’s equally large house, she said, “My parents are living with the Donelsons. They can’t hide you, either.” He grunted at that, and she said, “Surrender yourself. Do it before they find you, and you’ll be ahead of the game. Ask for a parole.”
“And if they decide I need hanging like my brother?”
She had no answer for that. Amos certainly hadn’t been given the option of parole. There was a long silence, then she said, “If you don’t surrender yourself and they do find you, they certainly will hang you as a spy.”
He grunted at that, and she knew that was as close to an agreement as she was going to get. Today, anyway.
Shelby hadn’t yet told Lucas the man who held the power to parole him or execute him was his former best friend, Samuel Clarence.
As they approached the Cumberland River, Lucas began talking about the farm and what they would do once the war was done. His plan was to breed the roan mare and rebuild the line they’d nearly lost. It would be hand-to-mouth for a few years, but he was eager to make it work. Then he began asking about Matthew. How big was he? Was he talking yet? Walking? How strong was he? Healthy? Funny, but Lucas had never made such detailed inquiries before. Now that he was looking forward to seeing the boy again, he wanted to know how he was growing, what sort of personality he was developing. It was a sign of hope Shelby now saw hadn’t been there before. Lucas no longer thought he was going to die, and so was holding hope for the future. It made her heart light, and she was eager to see him hold the baby again.
They crossed the Cumberland in mid-October. Just after sunset, they descended to the ford, crossed the river, and found a trail through the heavily-forested area on the Sumner side. Lucas was able to thread his way up and down the game trails and across seemingly random pastures with a skill that came from having lived in the place his entire life. It was in the black, silent midnight they emerged from the trees at the edge of the Brosnahan truck garden.
The harvest had been taken, and Shelby wondered by whom. A great sigh escaped her when she saw the house was intact, and only then did she realize she’d hardly been breathing since they’d crossed the river, for fear the place would be gone. Lucas kicked the horse into a trot, though riding still made his leg ache horribly, and soon they were at the side door near the kitchen.
“Ruth!” Shelby called up to the dark bedroom windows and reached around from behind and placed her fingers over Lucas’s mouth. “Ruth, are you in there?” If anyone inside had heard the horse, there was no sense in frightening them by just walking in. And if there were any Yankees inside, there was even less sense in letting them know Lucas was here. Shelby slid from the roan’s back, feeling bow-legged and shaking out her stiff thighs.
A candle lit in Ruth’s bedroom above, and a shadow made a brief appearance at the window. Then the candle made its way in a hurry down the stairs to the foyer, where Ruth burst from the side door. “Mary Beth? Oh, God, it’s you!” When she saw Lucas, she gave a cry and hurried to the horse, taking Lucas’s hand, sobbing. Then Ruth flung her arms around Shelby. “It’s so good to see you both! Oh, Mary Beth, praise the Lord, it’s good to see you’re both alive!”
Lucas dismounted with care and stood with all his weight on one leg and a steadying hand on the saddle. He could walk on the bad one now, but not without a great deal of pain and a risk of re-breaking it.
“Ruth,” said Shelby, “Could you bring Father’s cane? Lucas was wounded.”
Ruth looked at Lucas, blank for a moment, then at his mended trousers and gingerly held leg, then nodded and hurried into the house.
“I’ll put the horse away.” Shelby reached for the reins.
“No, that’s for...”
“I’ll do it. It’ll take me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t bother trying to read his face in the darkness, and only took the reins and headed for the stable. There she let Clyde continue snoring on his cot, and bedded the horse down herself.
When she returned to the house, she found Lucas sitting near the dining room table talking to his father, with a very sleepy and amazed Matthew on his lap. The bad leg stretched out before him, he was perched on the chair carefully, to keep his weight off that side. Matthew straddled his good knee and giggled when his father bounced him up and down like a hobby horse. Ruth was away to the kitchen for something to eat, and Shelby stopped in the foyer for a moment, gazing through the dining room doorway to absorb the scene before her.
Three generations of Brosnahans, father, son and grandson, together and more or less healthy. The men spoke in low voices, and the baby punctuated the talk with gurgling and short bursts of babyspeak nonsense. Shelby took it all in, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of her life. All she’d been through for the past two years was made right by this moment. None of it had been in vain.
Ruth brought cornbread and milk from the kitchen, and they ate together. It seemed the remnants of the family would survive, provided Shelby could talk Samuel Clarence into signing a parole for Lucas. She gazed across the table at her husband’s ruddy face aglow with his homecoming, and her heart swelled until she thought it might burst. But it would be difficult. She would have to move quickly, before anyone in town learned Lucas had returned.
The next morning, after breakfast, Shelby put on her best dress and pinned her hair as best she could to make it seem long under her hat. It had grown well past her collar since August, so it held well enough and none slipped out. One thing about Mary Beth’s hair was that it was extremely soft and smooth. Even when long it had been difficult to pin, so now she used every pin in the house to make it stay.
“Where are you going?” Lucas had just made the climb up the stairs with the aid of his father’s cane, and stood in the bedroom doorway, a tense, white line of pain around his mouth. He wore civilian clothing, and it was a shock to see his shirt hang on his thin frame.
“I have business to attend to. I have to go to town and convince the Yankees to give you a parole.”
“Not without me.”
Hi
s tone made her turn to see his face, and she didn’t like the look in his eye. It was the same look he’d had so long ago at the Christmas party when he’d watched her dancing with Samuel Clarence. And he didn’t even know yet who she was going to see. “No,” she replied. “If they see you, they’ll only arrest you and not bother talking to us.” An uneasiness fluttered in her gut, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to tell him where she was going. She returned to her dressing.
He hobbled to the other, unused bed and lowered himself to perch on the edge. “Maybe not. Parole isn’t such an unusual thing. Might could be the marshal will be a reasonable man. He’ll see I’ve come home and wish to stay here away from the fighting.” There was an edge to his voice. Something was up, and she could tell it wasn’t good.
She found her most respectable handkerchief and tucked it into her sleeve. “Or he could be a complete ass and have you arrested and executed on the spot like he did your brother.”
Lucas flinched at mention of his brother, and color rose to his cheeks. But he drew a deep breath and said, “I wasn’t a cavalry raider. They’ll respect a regular infantryman.”
“This man won’t.” She arranged the petticoat under her skirt and avoided looking at him.
His eyes narrowed. “You sound awfully certain.”
Finally she faced him. “Lucas, the Provost Marshal is Samuel Clarence Daley.”
His expression didn’t change. “Were you going to tell me?”
Her jaw fell open. He’d known. He’d known and was testing her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re all dressed up to go out on your own, to see Samuel Clarence. Without mentioning it to me.”
“I told you where I’m going.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I told you I am going to speak to the Head Yankee In Charge in Hendersonville. That it happens to be Samuel Clarence means nothing.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me it was him?”
“Because it means nothing!” She was shocked to hear herself raise her voice, and she took a step back.
“I’m going by myself.” Lucas rose from the mattress.
“You’re not.”
“Get out of that dress. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Lucas, he’ll arrest you. He’ll find a reason to hang you, and if he can’t find one he’ll hang you anyway and apologize for it to his superiors later. Oh, too bad, so sad. But then you’ll be dead. I’m not going to let him kill you, any more than I let them kill you in Georgia.”
He steadied himself with the cane. “I can’t let you do this.”
“I can’t let you go. At all.”
“Mary Beth—”
“I can’t.”
“What is your intention, Mary Beth?”
“What? Intention?” Nausea grew in the pit of her belly.
“Why are you so adamant to go alone? What else are you keeping from me?”
“What could I possibly be keeping from you?”
“I think you know what I’m getting at. You know what he wants.”
For a moment she choked, appalled. Then she said, “Shame on you, Lucas Robert Brosnahan. Shame on you for thinking I would offer that, when I know what it would do to you. And to us.”
“I want to know—”
“Discussion is closed, Lucas.”
“No.” The edge in his voice frightened her. It felt like losing him. “I’m going with you. I won’t let you be traipsing around the countryside like a whore, not while I’m home and have something to say about it. Bad enough you cut your hair and went out in public in my clothes. But now I’m here. You won’t be going anywhere without me.”
She gaped at him, at a loss for what to say. This argument was going nowhere, for the only acceptable resolution was for her to do what she intended and Lucas’s ego be damned. This was his life at stake. She shook her head, appalled at how lightly so many men seemed to take their own lives when so much depended on them. Without another word, she hurried past him and left the room. He followed. As she picked up her skirts to descend the stairs, he grabbed her elbow but she shook him off.
“Leave me be, Lucas. I’m going to save your life even if you don’t want it saved.” She paused, then added, “And even if you don’t deserve it. My son needs you alive. So you can think what you want about me. I know you’ve never been quite sure about me, and you think I’m too independent and too...” she struggled for a word, “...mouthy. I’ve never been one to keep shut when I see something is wrong, and no man—not even you—is going to turn me into something I’m not. So hear me, Lucas Robert, I’m going into town and I’m going to convince Samuel Clarence to hand over a parole for my undeserving husband who has no faith in me.” Her throat tightened at the thought. “Then I am going to come home and we will never speak of this again.” She regained her skirts and hurried down the stairs.
“Mary Beth!” He hovered at the top of the stairs, not steady enough on his feet to risk a hurried descent. She made it to the foyer, then outside. Clyde had hitched the roan to the wagon as she’d asked, and handed her the reins.
“Would you care for me to drive, Mrs. Brosnahan?”
“No, thank you, Clyde.” Not that Clyde knew how to drive, but he liked to make the offer. She flicked the reins and the wagon moved slowly under the power of the single horse. It would be a slow ride, but still faster than walking and more respectable than throwing a leg over. Today she was going to need all the respectability she could get. She fought back tears and told herself Lucas would forgive her once she’d accomplished her mission. Surely then he would love her again. Surely he would then appreciate her.
“Mary Beth!” Lucas had made it to the front door, but she didn’t look back. Anger roared in her ears and quite drowned out the shouting. She slapped the reins and urged the roan to a brief trot.
In town, Shelby stopped the wagon and tied up outside the dry goods store, where Major Samuel Clarence Daley kept his office upstairs. She was greeted by old Pete, he of the extraordinary Adam’s apple, wiping his hands on a towel and staring out the window at the roan. Not too many folks around here had horses any more, except those who were in good with the invaders, and Pete was surely wondering how this one had slipped through the Yankees’ grasp. “Help you?”
“I need to speak to Samuel Clarence.”
“What for?”
Shelby peered toward the stairwell that led up to the office, even her casual, twenty-first century sensibilities offended by Pete’s tone. “I have business to discuss.”
“So you’re a businesswoman, then?” It was an insult more refined than usual for Pete, and surprisingly cutting. However, she bit back the equally cutting retort, for Pete was not her adversary today.
“I need to speak to him in his capacity as Provost Marshal.”
The skinny old man grunted, then said, “Go on up. He’s in his office.”
Shelby picked up her skirts and bent her hoops to climb the narrow stairs. At the top was a hallway, where the door at the end stood ajar. Shelby went to it and knocked. The windowless hall was dim, lit only by a single candle sconce that flickered in a draft that seemed to come from nowhere. A much brighter light made her blink when the office door swung wide on a room lined with south-facing windows. She found herself face to face with Samuel. A grin opened up, and it wasn’t pretty.
“I’ve come to ask a favor.” Even as those words left her mouth and a gleam lit his eyes, she knew she was in trouble. She realized she had no leverage whatsoever with this man, except for the one thing he desired of her. Lucas had been absolutely right, and she hadn’t even seen it until now.
“Come in, Mrs. Brosnahan.” He opened wide the door for her to enter, and she stepped past him.
The study was well-used, busy with paperwork and smelling of ink. Samuel was in uniform, which frightened Shelby more than she’d ever though it could. It was the uniform of the by-God United States Army, but over the past couple of years there had been so many
terrors connected to it she could hardly look at him now without trembling. He gestured to a chair and offered her the seat, but she declined and began her plea without preamble.
“My husband wishes to surrender himself to the mercy of the Federal army.”
“You mean the Army of the United States.”
Shelby withheld a sigh and nodded. Whatever it took to butter him up. “Yes. He’s seen the error of his ways and wishes to resign from the Confed...rrrebel army.”
Samuel crossed his arms and a smugness came over him. “I imagine the U.S. Army would be pleased to have him enlist.”
“He’s wounded. Badly, and for the second time. He can barely walk and is unfit for duty.”
The slickness of Samuel’s voice put Shelby on edge. “Ah. I see. Now that he’s no good for the Cause, he wishes to sit out the war in safety behind the enemy lines.” An urge to clobber him with her purse nearly overwhelmed her, the more keen because he was saying nothing more than the truth. Never mind that Lucas wanted to return to the fight. Especially she couldn’t respond with that information, for it contradicted her claim of remorse in Lucas.
Instead of hauling off with her bag, she replied smoothly, “We would all hate for Lucas to be trapped far from home, bound to a Cause he no longer supports and unable to return to his family.” She leaned forward ever so slightly for emphasis and added, “And his friends.”
A shadow crossed Samuel’s face, and for a moment he appeared saddened. But the emotion fled in the face of his anger, and he stepped close to her. “Lucas Robert should have stayed loyal to his friendships earlier on.”
“He made a mistake.”
“A fatal one, I think.”
“Surely you wouldn’t execute your best friend.”
“I have many other, and far better, friends than him.” The rage was palpable now. He stepped even closer. “I even suspect one of them might be you.”
“Me?” She backed off a step.
