Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  “Damn Grant,” Rance swore loudly, wanting to keep April’s attention. He swung his head from side to side. “When his soldiers, exhausted though they were, realized they weren’t retreating but advancing, they really got excited. Grant turned the Battle of the Wilderness almost into a victory. He wasn’t even pausing to lick his wounds. He was going to force the fighting, knowing he had Lee’s army outnumbered.

  “Next thing that happened,” he went on, “was a rolling battle at that crossroads that went on for twelve days. There was one day of nothing but hand-to-hand combat. There was no letup.”

  His voice dropped, as though he could not bear to go on, but knew he must…must keep April alert. Her eyes were growing hazy. Damn, he swore silently, where was Clark?

  “Stuart heard about Phil Sheridan, an infantry officer in charge of Grant’s cavalry corps,” he went on. “Sheridan took his cavalry off on a driving raid toward Richmond, and Jeb Stuart took us and we galloped off to meet Sheridan. We met him head on at a place called Yellow Tavern, but…” He paused, fighting for composure, but he couldn’t hide his grief. “Stuart got killed.”

  “No!” April spoke for the first time. She reached to touch his dear cheek. “How you must ache, Rance! I know how you admired and respected Jeb Stuart.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It hurt. It hurt the South, too. Jeb Stuart was one hell of a man.”

  April felt herself slipping away again—from starvation, from all that had happened. Rance gave her a gentle shake, then bent and kissed her. “Hang on,” he whispered.

  “Hey, there’s no time for that!”

  The jovial voice jolted them. Edward Clark was peering at them through the mausoleum gates, grinning. Beside him, Lucky panted happily, his tail swishing jauntily.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  He told them to stand back, then aimed his gun at the lock and fired. It burst open and he wrenched apart the gates.

  As Rance and April stumbled out, clinging together in the twilight, he told them of the scene at the house. Zeke had been shot and killed, and Vanessa had run away. “We couldn’t just shoot her in the back,” he explained, looking at them beseechingly. “I mean, she is a woman.”

  “No, I don’t want her killed,” April said quickly, and then her legs began to give way. She felt herself falling, the black shroud engulfing once again.

  Rance lifted her in his arms and Edward on one side, Lucky trotting along on the other, they made their way up the path to where their friends were waiting at the house.

  “We’ll spend the night here,” Rance decided after he had placed April on a bed. “I’m going to rummage around and find some food. She’s wasted away.”

  Edward frowned, then murmured hesitantly, “I hate to say it, Taggart, but she don’t look good. No telling how long she’s been locked in that place. She just might not make it.”

  “She’s going to make it,” Rance said fiercely, reaching to brush her hair back from her face. “I’m going to see that she makes it. We’ve been through too much to lose now.”

  “Yeah I reckon the South feels the same way, even though Sherman’s moving full steam on Atlanta.”

  Rance took a deep breath and stared down at April’s pale, thin body, so skeletal that she looked dead. Quietly, he said, “I know there’s a war going on, Clark. And I’m getting back into it just as soon as I take care of April, I swear it. We’ll leave for Cheaha as soon as she’s able. Meanwhile, I just hope that she-devil sister of hers comes back. I want to deal with her myself.”

  “If she does make it, maybe April won’t want to go live on your mountain. I mean, all she ever talked about was coming back here and claiming what was rightfully hers.”

  “That was when she hoped her father was alive.”

  “She might not like you dragging her off again.”

  Rance smiled to himself.

  “She’ll want to come with me,” he said with finality, pressing his lips against her sunken cheek. “For her, the war is over.”

  Outside, in the night, hidden in the thick underbrush around the slaves’ quarters, Vanessa crouched, staring toward the great house. The hatred flowing through her was as poisonous as snake venom.

  She could see the lighted window of April’s bedroom, knew that he had taken her there to nurse her back to health. Zeke was dead. And she still did not know where the Pinehurst ring was hidden.

  How long would they remain in her house? There were too many of them for her to fight now, especially without Zeke.

  There, crouched in the shadows, Vanessa was sure of only one thing. For her, the war was just beginning.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  While Sherman wrought hell throughout Georgia, Alabama was suffering its own hell at the hands of plundering Yankees who were waging smaller raids.

  Even as Rance settled April in at the ranch on Cheaha, a raid led by the federal officer was striking deep into the heart of Alabama, destroying important iron furnaces, cotton mills, and the railroad running from Montgomery to West Point.

  As word spread that Rance intended to “run his guts” out to get horses and supplies through to the Rebels, his band of followers grew. Most brought their families, for there were stories of women being attacked in their homes.

  It was a time of terror for Southern women. As April healed and grew stronger, she urged Rance to move them to a higher spot on the mountain. There would be weeks, perhaps even months, when he and his men would be away. The women were far too vulnerable living at the base of the mountain. He agreed, and his band, now grown to fifty-seven men, moved up the mountain and began chopping down trees and building cabins. Fall was in the air and winter would soon be upon them.

  He found a place for them on a high peak, confident that Yankee foragers would not take the trouble to climb so high.

  Just as the little mountain village was being completed, word came from one of Rance’s scouts that Atlanta had fallen to Sherman. The city was in flames.

  April was sure that Montgomery would be next. “They will burn Pinehurst. I know they will,” she cried. “Rance, what can we do? I want so desperately for us to go back there one day. I want us to live there…see our children grow up there.”

  He held her against him, his bearded chin resting on her head. “I feel the same way, sweetheart,” he told her gently. “If they burn it down, then we’ll rebuild it. We just can’t worry about that now. We have to think about our own survival. I have to leave you and find a way to help the Confederacy in any way I can. You must be strong and help the other women be strong.”

  Now that there was shelter for the women and children, he and the men would soon leave. “First, I’m going down into Talladega and find food and supplies for all of you, even if I have to steal it. Then we’ll go, and I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

  “Or even whether you ever will come back.” She fought her tears. Then, breaking the promise she had made to herself, she cried, “Rance, sign a pledge of loyalty to the Union. Let’s leave here and go home.”

  He gripped her shoulders and held her away from him so that he could stare down into her face. “April, you don’t mean that. I know your home means a lot to you, but to ask me to turn my back on the Confederacy, now, in its most desperate hour? Turn away from what Stuart and all the others fought for?”

  She asked evenly, “Would you do it for our child?”

  He blinked, not understanding.

  “Rance,” she sighed, “I’m trying to tell you that I am going to have a baby. In the spring. I want the baby to be born at Pinehurst. And I want the baby’s father to be alive when he’s born! Haven’t you given enough to the Confederacy? Haven’t I?”

  He ran his fingers through his long, thick hair, then through his beard, a slow smile touching his lips. “Well, I’ll be damned! I’m going to be a father!”

  April stamped her foot in exasperation. “Will you listen to me? I don’t want to be left here on this mountain to give birth alone. I don’t want my
baby’s father dying. Damn you, Rance.” She threw herself against his chest, sobbing. Feeling him stiffen, she pulled back to stare up into his face and see anger there.

  “I don’t want my baby’s mother to be a coward, either, April,” he said stonily. “Now grow up. Look around you. There are plenty of other women around you in the family way, and they aren’t whining to go back to some fancy mansion to have their babies. They aren’t asking their men to turn yellow, denounce everything they believe in to get out of fighting.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his fiery gaze. “What has happened to your spirit, April? I know you’ve been through all kinds of hell, but your spirit’s still there, I’m sure of that. I love you, April, but I swear I’ll die before I ever sign an oath of loyalty to the Union. You do whatever you want. I’ve got a war to fight.”

  He stalked away, leaving her there alone. She had never felt such shame. If he were not the man he was, proud, brave, believing in a cause and willing to die for it, then she could never have given him her heart. And she had never been a coward before. She wouldn’t be one now!

  “Rance, I didn’t mean it!”

  He turned, holding his arms open to catch her as she threw herself against him.

  “I’m just frightened. To have a baby. To see you leave me. But I love you, and I’ll stay, and—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, then, not caring that others were watching, he lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the cool, green forest, disappearing into the thick foliage and underbrush. Neither spoke. It was not a time for words. Everything had been said.

  When they were deep enough in the woods, far away from the others, Rance laid her gently on a bed of fragrant pine needles. Slowly, he undressed her, his eyes gazing adoringly upon her face. She trembled beneath his touch, her body already beginning to shiver with anticipation of the ecstasy to come.

  They lay side by side, naked, the sun beaming golden light through the foliage above. A bird sang his song of joy, sharing in their glory.

  His lips touched her forehead, her cheeks, finally pressing down upon her mouth. She received his tongue, arching her back to move even closer as his warm, possessive hands closed about her breasts. She sighed as he squeezed her nipples, feeling them quickly move to hard, taut, eagerness.

  He lowered his seeking tongue, trailing downward to flick teasingly about the succulent tips, then sucking each hungrily into his mouth.

  She wanted him. Heaven above knew how much she wanted him. Her hands began to explore, and she found what she was seeking, that proud flesh of manhood, erect and taut, quivering in eagerness to claim her with force and tender fury. And it was this, she thought in wonder, drawing the swollen organ toward her, thighs spreading to receive it, that had planted the seed of love within her. And it was from here, she thought, touching her own self as she guided him into her, that the product of that love would be born.

  He rocked himself in and out of her, lifting himself up on his hands, his arms straight and rigid. He wanted to see her face, delighting in the waves of joy that she did not try to hide. “Mine…” he whispered triumphantly, thrusting himself harder, faster, causing her body to move roughly against the ground. “Mine…forever…”

  They came together, and only then did he lie against her breasts, the love sweat of both their bodies mingling as they reveled in the wonder of their union.

  That afternoon, Rance left with half his men, leaving the other half to finish the cabins. It was his intent to go for supplies, for he had no way of knowing how long they would be away.

  He returned two days later, bringing a stranger, a tall thin man with kind eyes.

  “This is the Reverend Mister Fowler. He was good enough to ride up here with me. He’s going to marry us, April.” His voice was deep with emotion as he smiled at her and whispered huskily, “If I must leave you now, I want to leave you as my wife.”

  April clung to him, smiling through tears of joy, as the others gathered around to cheer their approval.

  They were married at sunrise the next morning, the sky turning from pale gray to watermelon red as dawn erupted on the mountaintop. The birds sang, the winds danced through the treetops, and it was as though God, Himself, blessed the scene.

  There was no time for lovemaking…no time to reaffirm that which had already been vowed long ago. The men hastily prepared to leave, and Rance explained, “The South is being choked to death.” His misery and worry were obvious. “Sherman is proving what he was trying to prove all along, that if the war is carried to the Southern people themselves, then the Confederacy stands a good chance of collapsing. He’s slashing through the very heart of us, April.”

  “And what do you plan to do?” she asked. “What can you do?”

  “I’m going to run horses, and I’m going to get supplies to the Confederate troops. I may not be able to do much, but I can do something.

  “I’m depending on you to keep things going here. We’ve brought hogs and chickens and flour and salt and a few other things to see you through the winter. I’ll come back when I can. I’ll send messages to you when I can. I’m leaving a dozen men here to guard you and the other women.”

  He pulled her into his arms, almost roughly. “And I make this one vow to you, blue eyes.” He sounded almost angry. “If there’s any way possible, our baby will be born at Pinehurst. I can’t promise you it will happen. I can only promise you I’ll try to make it happen.”

  The proud Stars and Bars of the Confederate flag were soon held aloft, snapping in the cool fall winds, as the men marched away down the mountain. And she was left with the memory of his kiss, tasting, as always, of warm, sweet wine.

  Fall quickly became winter. There were weeks without any news at all, and then one of the men guarding the women would sneak down the mountain and bring back whatever information he could.

  Sherman, they were told, had left Atlanta in flames in mid-November and marched for the Georgia coast. For Christmas, it was said that he had telegraphed President Lincoln,

  I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with 150 heavy guns and plenty of ammunition, and also about 25,000 bales of cotton.

  April had never met the man but wished him dead…wished all Yankees dead.

  And she prayed each night and each morning, and sometimes several times each day, that Rance was alive and would return soon. She felt their baby move beneath her heart and wondered if it would be born at home. Then she chided herself for worrying about that. There were much more important things to be considered.

  April wept when they were told about Sherman’s march to the sea. Nowhere in Georgia was there any force to give Sherman serious opposition. He and his men had laid the land to waste as they moved, making good Sherman’s prediction that a crow would starve in the path behind him.

  It was even worse to hear about the lawless stragglers, some of whom were deserters. They were on the fringe of the army, and among them were soldiers temporarily absent without leave who returned to duty later. These were marauding just for the fun of it. These hoodlums, called “bummers,” were far more dangerous than Sherman. They robbed, burned, and pillaged from Atlanta to the sea, not because they particularly hated the South, but because they had no morals.

  Anything that lay in Sherman’s path was destroyed either by him or by looters—bridges, railroads, warehouses. Barns were burned. Animals and food were taken.

  Lee’s army was starving, eating dead, rotten horses, rats, roaches, anything to battle the starvation that was taking more lives than the war itself.

  Despite the constant fears over the war, April found peace on the mountain. She walked alone in the woods, reveling in the fragrant, colorful wild flowers, the sweet song of the birds. She would stand for hours gazing at the magnificent view from the mountain peaks, her eyes scanning the sprawling Alabama countryside. Was Rance down there somewhere? Or was he in Georgia, or Virginia? Or was he even alive?

  She could no
t believe that he would not return. And it was this belief and the beautiful world about her, that gave her more peace than she had known in years. She began to regain her strength after the several ordeals of the last few years.

  The older women in their little hideaway camp calculated that her baby would be born sometime in late May. A beautiful time for birth, April thought happily, placing her hand often upon her swelling abdomen. A new season, a new life.

  In February, they heard that General Sherman was moving northward to strike through the Carolinas. There was no word from Rance. Was he alive? Then, on a Sunday morning in early April, the lookout below gave his special whippoorwill call to signal that someone was coming. April ran with the others, as fast as her heavy body would carry her. Peering down the scrub-lined narrow path, she could see them—men in tattered gray uniforms, some of them being supported, half-carried, half-dragged, by their comrades. And above them, hanging in shreds but still there, was the remnant of the Confederate flag.

  Wives and sweethearts screamed with hysterical joy as they recognized the anguished, war-weary faces of their loved ones. April’s hope dimmed. She did not see Rance. Finally, unable to see through her tears, and too frightened to ask any of the men about him, she crept away from the others, toward the woods. She sat down in the field, drinking in the sweet fragrance of the earth. The air smelled so sweet, and she drank of it, then hung her head and wept.

  “No one cries among flowers, blue eyes.”

  She could not move. This was a dream. It was not happening.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. And just then, a dirty, shaggy dog bounded forward to cover her face with eager licks.

  “No,” he murmured, kneeling beside her, staring down at her with warm eyes. “No one cries among the flowers.”

  They clung together, laughing and clutching each other as though to reassure themselves that this was real. They were together at long last.

  “For me, the war is over,” he told her, gesturing to his heavily bandaged leg. She gasped in fear, but he said, “It will heal in time. I caught a Yankee ball, and the doctors were afraid to remove it. Said it was too deep, and they might wind up having to take the leg off. I’m as stubborn as Clark was.