After checking into a hotel and taking a hot bath, Rance changed into the fresh uniform he had carried in his saddlebag—a gray tunic with black facings and stand-up collar with tiny gold stars adorning. The trousers were dark blue, a black velvet stripe bordered in gold cording running down the outside of each leg. He pulled on scuffed ankle boots, yearning all the while for the casual dress he had always worn around the ranch. Officer’s dress, he had decided long ago, was not to his liking. He had to wear the uniform, for he did not want to be thought a nonsoldier. That would be dangerous in a town full of drunk, battle-weary men.
The streets were crowded with drunken, jostling soldiers as Rance made his way to The Bed of Roses. He looked neither right nor left as he walked briskly along. Soon he found himself in front of a two-story house set back from the street and painted fiery red. He shook his head in disbelief. The front porch and the columns supporting it were covered with climbing roses. The yard was filled with thick, flowering rose bushes. The aroma was overwhelming.
He took the steps two at a time and rapped on the front door. A moment later a woman with a heavily made-up face and wearing a bright red satin wrapper appeared. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him. “Well, hello, big boy. Welcome to The Bed of Roses,” she cooed, taking a deep breath so that her fleshy breasts would rise above the low-cut gown. “Ain’t seen you around here before. My, my, you are a handsome devil. Big, too.”
She waved him inside. “You come on in here, big boy. My name’s Paulette, and I just happen to be available for the evening. We’re going to have us a fine time.”
Rance glanced around at the entrance foyer, saw that the wallpaper was of red and pink roses. Pots of red roses were everywhere. Beyond, he could see a parlor decorated in pink and white and yellow; candlelight cast a mellow glow around everything. Despite the apparent effort at sophisticated decor, it was obviously a cheap house. Paulette, who was tugging at his sleeve, was an example of the low-quality woman employed here. He had been to some houses where the girls were actually pretty, but there was no way that he could ever make love to the fleshy blob beside him.
He took a deep breath and said, “I’m looking for Trella Haynes. I was told she works here.”
The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, she don’t,” she responded quickly, red-tinted lips turning downward. “She’s here, but she don’t work here, if you know what I mean.” She yanked the front of her wrapper together in a haughty gesture as though announcing that, if he did not intend to buy, then he would get no free looks.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He stood with legs spread wide apart, arms folded across his massive chest, eyes stormy. “Maybe you’d better explain.”
“She’s a maid.” Paulette walked over and picked up a glass of amber liquid and took a long swallow. “Helps in the kitchen, cleans the rooms, does the wash. Stuff like that. I get so damn tired of men coming here and wanting her when she thinks she’s too goddamned good for selling. I keep telling Annie she ought to get her out of here. She gets in my way.”
“Would you call her for me, please? Tell her Captain Taggart is here.”
The front door opened and a soldier lurched in, drunk. He saw Paulette and grinned broadly, opening his arms. She hurried across the rose-scrolled rug to greet him. “Paulette, baby, I was hopin’ you’d be free. I need me some of that hot lovin’—” Oblivious to Rance, the soldier jerked Paulette’s wrapper open to fill his hands with her fleshy breasts, kneading them roughly as his lips came down to devour hers.
They clung together for a moment. Then Paulette stepped back to pat his crotch with a grin and declared proudly, “I can get it up quick, can’t I, Lonnie Earl? Come on. I’ll take care of this one fast, and then we’ll have all night for more fun.”
Laughing together, they ran up the stairs and disappeared. Rance walked over to where Paulette had left her glass, lifted it, and took a sniff. Brandy. He downed the rest of it. Glancing about for a bottle, he found one, half full, on the chipped mahogany sideboard. He lifted it to his lips and finished it all in one long swallow.
Rance smiled. So, this was Trella’s ploy. And a very dangerous one. But then, Trella was not very smart. She could not bring herself to actually become a prostitute, but by working as a servant in a whorehouse, she figured that Edward would think the obvious. He was, of course, supposed to become so enraged at the thought of other men having her that he would demand she leave and marry him. But she was the one becoming angry, as Edward made no show of jealousy, allowing her to do as she pleased.
Rance walked through the entrance foyer, listening to the giggles and the moans of ecstasy audible from upstairs. He moved around the stairs to a door at the end of the narrow hallway. He did not knock. Twisting the glass knob, he swung the door open into darkness. Feeling his way along, he found a single lantern burning in a large room off to the right which served as a kitchen. In a corner of that room was another door.
He stood outside and called softly, “Trella? It’s me, Rance Taggart.”
“Oh, God!” came the pleased cry from inside. In an instant she was throwing open the door to fling herself into his arms. Whimpering with joy, she cried, “It is you. Oh, God, it is you, Rance! It’s been so long. So damned long—” She squeezed him hard, then stood back to look up at him. Her tearstained face was framed by long silky black hair.
He led her back into the tiny room, his arm about her shoulders. The furnishings were drab—a cot, a chair, a small crate serving as a table. There was a lantern on the crate, illuminating the dreary scene. She pulled him down beside her on the unmade cot and cried, “Oh, Rance, I just can’t believe it’s really you!” and threw herself into his arms once more.
He hugged her again, then pushed her gently away and stared down into her anxious eyes. “Why did you tell Edward you were working as a whore, Trella?” he demanded quietly.
She shrugged, sniffed, dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her plain muslin nightgown. Then she gave her long, raven hair a toss and said, “I want Edward to marry me. I thought he would come after me and demand that I leave this place. But he didn’t. And I found out I couldn’t…you know…do it…” Her voice trailed off, embarrassed, and she shuddered.
“Edward isn’t ready to marry you or anybody else. Besides, he’s hurt. He may lose his arm.”
She broke into fresh sobs, and he held her against him and patted her back. She cried against his chest. When she had calmed down enough to listen, he told her of Edward’s injury. “The maggots are a chance we have to take,” he explained. “He won’t let them take his arm off. But I won’t let him die. If he isn’t better soon, I’ll just tell the surgeons to knock him out and amputate.”
She pulled away from him and dabbed at her eyes once more. “Damn the war! It’s messing up everybody’s lives.”
How childlike she sounded! He cared nothing for her romantically, but he felt drawn to her in her helplessness. He asked for a drink of whiskey. She said she knew where the madam of the house kept her stock, and went to get a bottle. When she returned, he took several long, deep swallows before speaking again. “Have you any news of April? I passed the word around that there’s a reward if anyone can tell me where to find her.”
She made a face. “Are you still looking for her, Rance? Why don’t you just give up? She doesn’t love you, or she never would’ve left. A man like you, you could have your pick of women. Like me, for instance,” she added with an impish grin, but the look in her eye told of her seriousness.
He took another swallow, and knew the whiskey was hitting him fast and hard, for he hadn’t eaten all day. No matter. He liked the feeling, liked the way he was beginning to drift away from the stench of war and the cloying smell of roses. “Yes, I’m still looking for her, and it hasn’t got anything to do with love. Now that woman out there, Paulette, she said men had come here asking for you. Has anyone come with word of April? I let a few people know that they could find you in a whorehouse in Richmond.�
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She leaned back, resting against the wall behind the cot, entwining tiny fingers around his large hand. With lowered lashes, she gave him an inviting look. “You never made love to me, Rance. I let you know lots of times that you could, any time you wanted. The only reason I hung around with Edward so long was to be close to you. I’ll bet you knew that, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think about it.” He took another drink. Damn it to hell, he didn’t need this. “Just tell me if you’ve heard about April.”
“Maybe I have, and maybe I haven’t,” she whispered huskily, then demanded, “Look at me, Rance Taggart!”
He turned his head, gasping as he realized she had pulled up her gown to reveal long, bare legs, exposing a triangle of soft, dark hair at her crotch. She took his hand and placed it there, pressing hard.
“Do what I know you want to do.” She thrust herself against him, pushing his hand downward. “Take me, any way you want me. Then I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about your precious April.”
He jerked his hand back as though it were burned and got to his feet. “Stop playing games, Trella. I came here to ask about April, not to make love to my best friend’s woman.”
She stuck out her tongue petulantly and stretched her arm to place an accusing finger against the telltale bulge in his crotch. “You want me. You can’t lie about that.” She pressed against him.
“That’s a normal response. It doesn’t mean I’m going to take you up on your offer. Just tell me what you know, Trella, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Do you really want to be on your way?” She stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. Her arms wound about his neck, pulling him close. “I haven’t had a man since I left Edward, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want one. I enjoy it as much as a man, but I ain’t no whore, Rance. And God, how I’ve dreamed of doing it with you. I know you’d be good—”
He unwrapped her arms and thrust her away from him, pushing her into a sitting position on the cot. God, but it was taking every ounce of self-control to keep from taking what she was so all-fired determined to give. It had been a long time since that last night in Washington, with April.
“If you want to know what I heard about April, then you’re going to have to be nice to me. You’re going to have to be real nice, Rance Taggart. And nobody is ever going to know. Especially Edward, ’cause he’s the man I want to marry. He’ll be good to me. You’re in love with April. I know that. But that don’t mean you and me can’t have a hell of a good time together.”
He knew he should turn and get out of there—fast. But he could not be certain that she was only teasing about April. Maybe she did know something. He kept his eyes on her, trying to see inside that scheming little head, as he tipped the bottle up once more. He was feeling hazy, thick-tongued. Soon, he would be dog-assed drunk, he knew, and when he passed out, he damn sure didn’t want to be here.
But it was she who saw inside him, and she taunted, “You’re standing there wondering if I’m lying…wondering if I’ve really heard anything. And you want me. Oh, Lordy, how you want me. And there’s a battle going right inside you, ’cause you’re trying to keep from taking me, and it’s getting harder and harder.”
“Look at these!” She yanked her gown over her head and displayed her naked breasts. Cupping them in her hands, she gave them a shake. “They ain’t as big as April’s, but they’re nice, aren’t they? Don’t you want to try one? Just fasten your mouth around this—” She flicked her left nipple and giggled softly.
Rance could not tear his eyes away from the rosy red tip hardening before his eyes. Roses. Damn the roses. He could smell them everywhere. Even here in this tiny dungeon of a room. And that girl was lying there naked, playing with her breasts, opening and closing her legs to display that downy venus of joy.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” she cried suddenly, falling forward on her knees and working deft fingers on his trousers. He stood hypnotized, unable to move, gazing down to watch her release his swollen manhood.
“Oh, my heavens, just look at that!” she cried, wrapping her hands around it to stroke eagerly, squeezing ever so gently. “Why, a woman would be a fool to leave a man like you, Rance. I’m going to make you so happy.”
He closed his eyes as he felt her lips close about him. He knew it was wrong…knew he should run like hell…for a she-devil was casting a spell on him.
His knees felt weak. He lowered himself to the cot. She continued to caress him hungrily with her mouth.
Soon he could only sigh deliciously, thrusting his hips to match the movements of her lips. Later, there would be time to feel guilty. For the moment, he could apologize only for being a man.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
April felt the first hint of autumn in the air as she stepped from the cabin into the crisp morning. Gathering a woolen shawl around her, she began walking toward the chicken pen at the edge of the dense woods. Soon, she thought, looking up longingly at the swinging leaves, fall would arrive. She had always loved fall back home in Alabama.
She went into the leaning shed, picked up an empty wooden bucket, and began filling it with corn from a burlap sack. Kaid had given her the chore of tending the chickens, and while she enjoyed it, she realized that the other women resented it. At first, they had openly criticized her, assuming she was sleeping with Kaid in order to get an easier life than theirs. But they were wrong.
Since the night when Lucky and Kaid had nearly died, Kaid had not approached her except to tell her what work to do around the prison. But the others couldn’t, of course, know that. Even Selma had turned against her. “A smart one you are,” she had sneered. “Making like you’re too fine to bed down with one of the guards. Said it was sickening, you did. Then you let that ugly Blackmouth have your sweets, so’s you could stay out of the fields and keep them lily white hands nice and soft.”
April had not complained to Kaid…not when they stole food from her plate and dared her to object…not when they forced her to be the last in the bath water, after Selma. She only prayed that God would get her out of this misery soon, or let her die.
One night Kaid had called her to his cabin. The others exchanged knowing looks when Private Ellison came for her. But Kaid only wanted to show her that Lucky was completely healed, proudly displaying the skin he had sewn together, now merely a crooked scar that the dog’s fur would eventually cover.
They talked awhile. He told her about the terrible battle of Gettysburg. He offered her a cup of hot tea, which she accepted gratefully, for it had been one of those nights when someone snatched her supper.
He watched her curiously as she gulped down the tea, then offered a bit of fried corn pone, staring at her while she ate, a strange expression on his face. Then he sent her back to her bed.
When she opened the door to the cabin, Jewel confronted her, nails arched, lips turned back in a menacing snarl. “You’re using him, you bitch!” she screamed. “You damn hussy! He’s too good for the likes of you!”
Jewel pounced on her, raking her long, chipped nails down her cheeks, wrapping them in her hair to yank and pull as April shrieked in pain and terror and tried as best she could to get away. The others gathered around, gleefully clapping their hands and cheering for Jewel.
Even now April shuddered to think what might have happened had Private Ellison not been nearby and heard the commotion. He waded right into the fight and jerked Jewel away, tearing at her hair. When she did not obey his command to stop struggling, he hit her with his fist, knocking her to the floor, unconscious.
He took April, bleeding and bruised, to Kaid’s cabin.
“From now on you stay here,” he said angrily as he bathed her wounds and rubbed on camphor. “I’ll move in with the other men. I can’t let you be around them damned witches. They might kill you. Some of ’em are real hellions.”
Kaid explained their accusations. “They’re jealous of you, darlin’, because you’re a lady, something they never will b
e. And you’re also beautiful. As for you sleeping with me, we both know that just can’t happen as long as I know you feel like you do about me.”
She had protested moving into his cabin, but he reminded her firmly that she would do as he said. Since then, she saw the other women only from a distance. Kaid made sure of that. She even ate her meals in the cabin. But whenever they were within shouting distance, the other women would yell threats and obscenities until one of the guards forced them to stop.
April pushed the gate open, and the hens began to flutter and cackle around her feet. Scattering the corn upon the ground, she looked about for the rooster and smiled when she saw him. So regal and proud, he strutted among his harem, knowing they were his for the taking any time he chose. And they adored him, seemed not to mind sharing such a marvelous male.
It made her think of Rance. Yes, she thought with a deep sigh, Rance could keep many women happy, and they would be grateful for the opportunity to share his favors. Rance was cocky and proud, too, like the bright red rooster.
Where was he, she wondered sadly, as she had wondered so many times. And how was he? Did he hate her terribly for leaving? He was arrogant, yes, but he could also be so loving, so kind and tender. Wrapped in his arms, her head upon his chest…had she ever known anything more glorious? Damn, why had she been so proud? She shook her head in silent bewilderment.
She watched as the rooster selected one of the plump white hens for his morning’s delight. But, instead of allowing him to have his way, the hen shook her tail feathers and ran. The rooster followed, ignoring all the dozens of other willing mates.
Maybe, she thought with a wry smile, that kind of behavior would have taken Rance by surprise. Perhaps that was the only way a woman would ever be able to capture his heart—by refusing to be conquered.
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