No Greater Glory Page 23

  Emaline stepped back. After the ordeal, she’d donned a clean work dress while Reece explained to the new arrivals what had happened with the deserters. When the men guided Tacker to the cabin, Emaline returned and trailed behind them, expounding on the heroism displayed by both men.

  “Well, if’n you quit your fidgetin’, I won’t.” Euley’s words to the old farrier brought Emaline back to the moment. She gathered up the scattering of medical supplies and slipped them into the pouch, smiling at the other two in the cabin. Euley stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Dem stitches should hold as long as you don’t go out and dance a jig.”

  “Don’t have to worry ’bout dat none,” Tacker said. “I’m done wif being a hero.”

  Emaline sidled up next to Euley, and slipped a hand over the old man’s bony shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you for helping to save me from those horrible men.”

  “Ain’t me dat saved you, Miz Emaline. Yo’ colonel be da hero.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, love for Reece filling every chamber of her heart. “But you were equally brave and I shall always be grateful.” From across the room, Euley’s voice filtered through her thoughts.

  “You spoilin’ dat ol’ man again. He’ll get used to being praised an’ glorified an’ Lord knows I ain’t got time to be fussin’ over him like you do.” She accentuated each word by waving a tallow candle toward them both before jabbing it into an empty pewter holder.

  The cabin door swung open and Reece bent his tall frame to step inside. His head nearly brushed the rough-hewed ceiling. The room seemed to collapse around him. “They’re buried,” he said, stepping sideways. His comrade entered behind him.

  “Dat’s right,” Israel confirmed. “Dey’s buried in the garbage pit where dey belong.”

  Euley handed Reece a ladle of water. Nodding his thanks, he passed the still-full metal dipper on to Israel. “Here, my friend, you did most of the work. You drink first.”

  Israel hesitated for a moment and glanced at Euley, then accepted the proffered gesture, downing the liquid in several gulps. “Thanks, Colonel.” He handed the ladle back to Euley. “I was mighty parched, at that.”

  The woman re-dipped, then offered Reece a serving. The water disappeared in three swallows. His gaze met Emaline’s over the wide metal bowl, and he winked.

  She smiled, a flush brightening her cheeks.

  Several moments later, hooves drumming against hard-packed earth pulled Reece to the window. Emaline joined him as he shoved aside the muslin curtain. The silhouettes of a half-dozen mounted soldiers filled the clearing, and the glint of well-tended brass tack and leather accoutrements testified to an organized squad of men. When one soldier dismounted and headed toward the mansion’s back veranda, a smile lifted Reece’s lips. He crossed the small shanty, and pulled open the door.

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, “Jackson! Over here!”

  Emaline sat in the rocking chair and stared across Shapinsay’s front lawn. Reece stood beside her, his foot propped on the bottom rail that ran the length of the second-floor veranda. She refused to talk to him despite his many efforts.

  His frustration grew as he stared into the darkness. “This just makes things easier,” he said, trying once again to get her to respond. Beneath his frock coat, his heart pounded against sore muscles. His healing wound throbbed and he shifted his saber into a different position alongside his thigh, then leaned on his upraised knee. The air resonated with the familiarities of summer, the sweetness of evening wafting across him to belie the anguish that coursed through his veins. He felt incredibly small, perched on the unseen shoulders of the ticking bastard called time.

  And Emaline’s silence proved damning.

  Reece dropped his foot from the banister and turned around, leaning against the railing. His arms interlocked across his chest, his fingers brushed the place where she’d mended the jacket the night he’d returned from the dead.

  A dull ache lingered, but his heart hurt worse.

  With this woman, he’d been reborn and though the seasoned soldier had once again returned on the outside, the accoutrements of war anchored into their proper place, inside Reece stood naked before his lover. The reason for returning to war had dramatically shifted, and he no longer needed the escape battle had once provided. Only the responsibility of command drew him now.

  She must understand this.

  From somewhere inside the mansion the muted clamor of milling soldiers reached out to him, their voices floating up the stairs and onto the veranda with a reminder of his enormous obligation. The clock continued to tick as his men waited to depart. The truth pressed in on him from all sides.

  Reece no longer desired to ride away from the only thing that mattered in life.

  But how could he turn his back on his men, tell them to leave him alone with his newfound happiness? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. And still…more precious moments ticked away.

  He must make her understand.

  “At least refugee to Richmond, for God sakes. Deserters are roaming everywhere now, and I don’t want a repeat of what just happened. You’ll be safer around people until this thing ends.”

  Her gaze shifted. And locked with his. “This is my home and I’m staying.”

  She was lost in torment and he agonized with her. Since stepping from the shadows of the cabin earlier this evening to reunite with his men, Reece hadn’t had a single moment alone with her…until now.

  “So, you’re leaving tonight then?” she asked glancing back into the darkness beyond the veranda.

  He nodded. “Yes, it’s a long ride to Petersburg.”

  “Well, you’d better get started then,” she quipped. “The sooner, the better.”

  “I’m so sorry about…all this.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his. “About what? You’ve done nothing I haven’t allowed you to do.”

  A heavy sigh spoke his distress. “Neither of us has done anything wrong. We’ve only followed our feelings—”

  “Our feelings?” Her words slid out in a heavy rush. “Is that what we’ll use to describe what you brought to my life?”

  The lump in his throat refused to move, his heartbreak so potent, he could almost taste it. He saw her grip tighten on the arms of the rocker, her pale knuckles straining against the chipped white wood.

  “I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago, Colonel.”

  Colonel?

  An intrusive voice beckoned him from the bottom of the main stairs. “We’re ready to ride, sir, whenever you are.”

  “Just a damn minute,” he hollered. The anxiety building inside made him more a snarling creature from hell than a mighty leader of men. They had so little time left. Reece leaned over and folded his fingers around the braid that draped Emaline’s shoulder.

  Lamplight fell across her from the open bedroom door.

  “I want you to know my life has changed forever because of you,” he said.

  “Don’t,” she begged, the single word, a sickening sob that erupted from her trembling lips. He stared down at the silken plait as soft as brown satin in the palm of his hand. He tugged on it, trying to draw her upward but she refused to budge.

  He tugged again and this time she rose, the seat of the rocker bumping against her legs. A heartbeat later, she surged toward him and Reece met her halfway. He would not repeat the mistake of riding away without telling her how he felt this time. His breath brushed her face and sent the tendrils dancing.

  Tears slipped from Emaline’s eyes and chilled her cheeks. His arms folded around her like a steel vise and he pulled her against him. “You’ve given me a reason to live again, to love again…and I do love you, Emmy. I’m begging you to give me a reason to return.”

  On her half-sob, his mouth found her lips, capturing them in a kiss fierce with love.

  Her bitter disappointment dissolved under the pressure of his questing mouth. His embrace, strongly possessive, stole her breath. His passion consumed all of her and rende
red her helpless. Her arms rose over his shoulders and she clung to him as the sorrow of his leaving inundated her in wave after heartbreaking wave.

  When he broke apart their kiss, her words tumbled out in a frantic series of broken whispers against his mouth. “I…l-love you too…without measure…f-forevermore…” He nipped her mouth in fierce little bites. She sobbed the words again, trailing his lips down her throat, then back to her lips. She arched against him in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to crawl inside his skin. “Y-Yes, please. Oh Reece, I beg you…p-please come back to me.”

  The love in his eyes poured over her. “You’re my world now.” He shook her to drive home his words. “Never forget this, Emmy. When the war’s over, I’ll come back to you. I promise this with my life.” And then he shifted sideways. He pulled her arms away. They separated, and an agonizing emptiness enveloped Emaline. She sobbed, the floor beneath her feet shifting sand. Her knees threatened to buckle, forcing her to grope outward for the railing. Shaking fingers wrapped the wood as her eyes clenched shut. Her shoulders drew forward and she closed in on herself, her breath laboring under a rapid exchange of air.

  She heard his long strides carrying him to the doorway.

  The bedroom rug muffled his crossing, his steady footfalls echoing back. He descended the main staircase. And moments later, Emaline heard the faint resonance of a slamming door.

  And then, the galloping horses.

  She crumpled to the veranda, falling prone across the wood. Only the sultry summer wind and the fireflies flickering over Shapinsay heard the prayers she sobbed as she pleaded with her heavenly father to bring her lover safely back to her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Petersburg, Virginia

  March, 1865

  The Federal infantry at Petersburg prepared for another major move. All around, the crackle of small-arms fire penetrated the rumble of thunder. The Union had strengthened its lines over the winter and now encircled the city.

  The death hold on the Confederacy had begun in earnest.

  Capturing the Southside railroad, the Northern forces cut off supplies to the starving Southern troops. The Rebels were barely hanging on, their numbers dwindling over the winter as desertion ran rampant. Under General Philip Sheridan’s leadership, the Union cavalry prepared to move westward into Dinwiddie County, their destination now the strategic crossroads of Five Forks. Torrential rain fell upon the Union encampment, drenching it under another afternoon of storms.

  Rivers of mud flowed down each Company street. Men prepared to move.

  Reece stepped into the tent just as Jackson looked up from the regimental ledger. “Got a minute?” Droplets of water fell from the wide brim of his slouch in a steady drip.

  His friend’s face brightened. “Where the hell’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in over a week.”

  “Been busy. But wanted to drop by for a minute and see how you’re doing. Besides, I’ve a proposition for you, if you’re interested.”

  “That all depends on what you’ve got in mind.” Jackson leaned back in his chair. “If you want me to take the regiment out into this sloppy mess again, then my answer’s going to be I’m busy. Go away.”

  Reece chuckled. “What I’m offering’s got nothing to do with the war.”

  Jackson shoved out the other chair with his boot. “Well, in that case, have a seat. I’ve got all afternoon.”

  The rubber-backed rain slicker Reece wore crackled as he settled into place. “You still toying with the idea of going west after all this?”

  “Absolutely. I’m riding where it’s warm and dry.”

  “Oh, it’s dry out west. And hotter than hell most days,” Reece laughed. “But, I’m not talking about the weather right now. You remember our discussions about my spread near Tucson?”

  “Dos Caballos? Yes, I remember well your fifty-thousand-acre horse ranch. God’s gift to the world, I believe you said. And one of my stopovers will be at your place, to rest and recoup and visit a few lovely señoritas.” He winked.

  Reece removed his hat and tunneled his hand through his damp hair before resettling the slouch. “You interested in buying me out?”

  Surprise creased Jackson’s face, and he stared for a moment before frowning. “What the hell you talkin’ about?”

  “It’s simple. I’m looking to sell my portion, and I want you to make me a reasonable offer. That is, if you’re interested.”

  Jackson retreated into quiet thought, his gaze rambling around the room, before he spoke again. “Why are you selling?”

  “I’m only selling my half…I’m going back to Emaline instead.”

  “Well, hell I figured that much, but…how can you forget everything—”

  Reece raised his hand to stop the flow of Jackson’s words. “I’m happiest when I’m with her, so save your breath. There’s nothing left out west for me.”

  A derisive snort filled the space between them. “There’s your sister, for one. She might have a thing or two to say about your quick decision.”

  Low rolls of thunder punctuated his words as Reece slid to the edge of the seat and leaned forward. “You, of all people, know my decision was neither quick nor easy. Callie’s a grown woman. She’ll understand.” Above them, rain thrummed upon the tent roof like a herd of stampeding horses. “I want to sell to someone who’ll take care of…my half, and I can’t think of another living soul better suited to the monumental task. You’re the only man I know who’ll be able to handle my sister’s…sweet disposition, and still do a fine job of managing the spread.” His voice dropped into a smooth whisper. “And did I mention she’s so beautiful in the moonlight, she’ll take your breath away?”

  Jackson’s brow arched. “Your sister?”

  “No, you jackal. My ranch. Look, all I’m asking is for you to think about this. You can let me know later if you’re interested. Make me a fair offer and she’s yours.”

  Jackson leaned back on two chair legs, his arms crossing his chest. Reece stared at him. His friend had changed. Hell, they’d all changed. After spending the past four years wallowing in mud and blood and killing more than their share, Reece had no doubt Jackson would never return to Philadelphia and sit behind the family desk at the Neale Savings and Loan Bank.

  An uneven smile ambled across Jackson’s lips. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Good.” Reece climbed to his feet. “Now see to it you stay alive so you can give me the answer I want to hear.” He headed toward the canvas flap that fluttered with the breeze. Water pooled on the ground around the center post, and the canvas flooring beneath his boots squished. Slipping his hand beneath the leather slicker, Reece pulled a daguerreotype from his vest pocket. “Oh, by the way,” he said, tossing the image of his little sister onto the desktop in front of his best friend. “You can make your own call about Callie.” He swept aside the flap and stepped into the rain-soaked afternoon.

  The Cincinnati Enquirer

  Major battle fought at Five Forks, Virginia

  April 2nd, 1865

  Twelve-thousand Federal cavalry under General Phillip Sheridan take critical crossroad near the Southside Railroad outside Petersburg, Virginia. Rebels fought with wild abandon but were unable to staunch the tide of Union blue. Reports state Confederate General George Picket was routed by a savage Federal charge and General Meade verifies the United States Army has dealt the Confederates a mortal blow, but at a huge cost to the Union. All reports indicate heavy casualties among the Ohio Regiments participating in the assault, and several commanders, including the colonel of the 6th Ohio Cavalry, were listed among the officers killed. More information forthcoming as soon as details become available.

  Brennen pulled up into the saddle and shoved the crumpled newsprint into his saddlebag. The colonel had been dead for almost three weeks and he had to find out from some damn Yankee newspaper?

  Sonofabitch.

  He swallowed, then wiped his shirtsleeve across his face. In the past four years, he’d seen
good men splatter their guts all over the battlegrounds of hell, but this made him purely sick. He’d faced things no man should face, but what he knew he must do now would be tougher still. He gripped the leather reins so hard, his knuckles cracked.

  I have to tell Emaline.

  His breath tripped as a shudder lanced through him. He sighed, then settled deeper into the saddle. The war was over. The monumental task of putting back together shattered lives could finally begin.

  Except for Em.

  Brennen’s throat went dry. He swallowed his anger and remade plans. He’d been stripped of all personal possessions except his revolver and horse, and the Yanks let him keep those only because he wore captain’s bars. And thanks to the bastards who’d burned his manor house in Richmond, he had no place to call home. He would stay in Virginia no longer. Out west, he could begin again. There were rumors of railroad expansion. They’d surely need help. But he’d postpone his travels for a few more days.

  Several men who’d been under his command stepped from the tavern and shouted at him. Drunk, defeated, unsure of what they would do now, they issued a shaky salute in his direction.

  Brennen nodded and raised a couple of fingers to his hat brim in response.

  His lips pulled into something he hoped resembled an amiable reply, but inside he felt like hell. The bottle of whiskey he’d consumed with them roiled in his gut.

  His smile faded with the light of day.

  Smells from the rail yard reached his nostrils. A multitude of rotting horse and mule carcasses waited to be burned and their stench fused into putrid accord with the tangy breeze off the ocean. His skin crawled with perspiration. Unexpected heat bubbled up from somewhere inside. The colonel had been the only goddamn Yank he’d ever admired.

  The only one.

  He remembered the man’s grin when he unlocked the handcuffs that night, the way his sister and the colonel looked at one another—even then their feelings deep, Emaline’s frantic efforts when the man lay wounded in her house. All the recollections tumbled together and sent waves of sorrow over Brennen.