No Greater Glory Page 24

  After all, she loved the big Yank.

  Tears threatened, and he compressed his mouth into a hard line to staunch an unforeseen sob. Chin lowered, he withdrew into the shadow cast by his hat brim. The glow of the setting sun burned over him.

  He’d had a bellyful of death.

  He jerked his reins to the right and the war-weary horse obeyed. Setting spurs, Brennen headed north before he changed his mind. Fifty miles separated him from Shapinsay, but even the two days it would take to reach his sister would not be enough to figure out what the hell he would say to her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Emaline removed the stopper from the decanter, poured the whiskey into a tumbler, and then handed Brennen the glass. His hand tightened around it. He’d been here a full day, and still couldn’t bring himself to break the news.

  I don’t want to break her heart.

  The whiskey disappeared in two swallows.

  Last night, she’d told him all about the Yank’s recovery and return to war, and skimmed the details about deserters, a near rape, and Reece’s heroic rescue. She left off the part about the colonel bedding her, but a blind man could read between the lines from the brightness in her eyes and the glow she emitted.

  He placed the empty glass on the side table, and leaned forward, clasping and unclasping his hands between his bent knees. He couldn’t put off the gut-wrenching duty any longer.

  Just tell her.

  “Sit down, Em,” he said, his words much too abrupt.

  His sister obeyed, easing into the nearby chair. Her voluminous skirt settled around her in a rustle of satin. Emaline had grown into a woman of true courage over the past four years. She would need all her fortitude to withstand what he was now about to share. Brennen offered a small smile, but he feared his eyes gave away the truth.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. The whispered words barely registered in his own ears. Had she even heard him?

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your plans to travel west. You’ve talked of little else since you arrived. You can live here. There’s plenty of room.”

  Brennen glanced at Euley, busy clearing away the empty dessert plates. He slid a hand over his face, brushing against several days’ growth of beard. His gaze skimmed back to his sister. The lamp in the room cast a soft, butter-yellow glow over her. He swallowed. Everything around Brennen reminded him of happier times, but now the furnishings, the carpet, his sister’s polished pretense, even his own skin pressed in on him.

  His heart rammed in merciless thumps against his ribcage. “No. I’m still going west.”

  “Well then, what? Are you leaving sooner? Is that it?”

  “Yes, soon. I’m headin’ out soon, but…for Christ’s sake, Em, will you let me finish what I need to say!”

  Her eyes widened and she leaned back, staring at him. Across the parlor, a fat stub of tallow burning on the mantel pushed ominous shadows up the wall. Bloody hell, this was going to be much harder than he’d expected. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the battles fought around Petersburg.”

  Emaline’s brows drew together, her forehead creased. “Not much, only from a few passersby. Why?”

  He paused to clear his throat and then straightened himself in the chair. His sister clenched her teeth and Brennen fought the bile rising in his throat. “Well…the fighting was especially hard on the Yankee cavalry over near Five Forks, Em. One regiment in particular.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “What I’m trying to say is…the regiment who took the most casualties in that campaign was the 6th Ohio.” He paused when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Brennen hesitated, knowing his sister’s world was about to fall apart. “And one of the officers killed was—” God, how can I say this to her? He softened his voice even more. “Em, I’m so sorry but…your colonel’s dead.”

  She stared at him, unblinking. One second. Two. “W-what?” she finally mumbled, her hand surging to her throat as stomach-turning horror darkened her eyes.

  He dug into his pocket and retrieved the folded newsprint. “I had this confirmed by one of General Pickett’s aides. He was there when it happened.”

  Her shaking fingers reached for the wrinkled paper. Denial blazed bright in Emaline’s eyes. “M-Maybe they’re mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t Reece.” Panic flooded her voice and her face flushed.

  She bent her head to read.

  Nausea welled inside Brennen when tears gathered behind her dark lashes. Several slipped down her cheeks, dropped onto the newsprint. His pain deepened. He leaned forward, resting his hand on the arm of her chair. “I’m so sorry, Em,” he whispered.

  Silence hung in the air between them, oppressive and heavy. The article slipped from her fingers, drifting to the floor. Euley moved behind her and laid a hand across her shoulder.

  A grimace creased her black face. “You sure ’bout this, Masta Brennen?”

  He nodded.

  Emaline’s shoulders hunched forward and tears flowed unchecked down her flushed cheeks, dropping into dark splotches on the bodice of her burgundy dinner dress. Her head moved back and forth, her anguish building. Overwhelming. Unbearable.

  She stared at him through a veil of tears. “N-no, Bren,” she sobbed. “You’re so wrong. H-he said he’d come back to me.”

  Brennen swallowed hard and slid forward to the edge of his chair. She was so pale now, so stricken he feared she might shatter into a million pieces. “I know,” he whispered, ready to catch her if she did. “And I’m so sorry, Em. He was a damn fine man. Decent and honorable.”

  She slipped forward, crumpling off the chair to collapse into a satin puddle on the carpet before him. “Noooooooo,” she cried. “No, noo, noooo.”

  Brennen dropped to his knee and slipped his arms around her. He bent his head, his words pleading. “This damn war’s destroyed everything else, don’t let it destroy you too, Em…”

  But a deep, dark chasm split Emaline’s soul in two.

  She tried to pull from his embrace, but he held firm. Crushing pain warred with a bottomless disbelief as she stared up at her brother. Her words slid out on a wail of grief. “H-he promised me.” Horror writhed up from inside. Her brother’s sympathetic face distorted behind a blur of tears.

  Brennen’s arms tightened, but she struggled again and pushed free. No…No…No…this cannot be true. Reece…Reece… Slipping sideways, Emaline crawled across the carpet only to tangle in the bands of her crinoline. She bumped against the side table. The glass toppled, then fell to the floor and shattered. Tremors reverberated down her spine and darkness threatened to drown her.

  She slumped to the floor, entangled in her dress. Her fingers dug into the carpet beside the glass slivers. And great wracking sobs poured from the bottom of her heart.

  “Don’t do this,” Brennen begged, his whispered words slipping around her wretched grief. “Euley, get the hell over here and help me lift her back into the chair. Be mindful of the glass.”

  Emaline stiffened when strong hands slid under her arms. “H—he can’t be gone, Bren. H—he can’t be.” She fought to free herself, but they managed to raise her to her knees. “Euley,” she stared into the sympathetic eyes of her dearest friend. “H—he can’t be gone.” Heart-wrenching sobs erupted again along with her wet, hiccupping words. “I…l-love him s-so much. He promised…”

  Her brother leaned over her, his head shaking. “I know, honey. But, come on, let’s just get off the floor now.” Her legs were too shaky to bear weight. She heard the harsh rattle of her breath, felt the chair beneath her, then seized up when another wave of anguish crushed her chest.

  Her need and fear escalated.

  She drifted in mind-numbing darkness. With each stuttering breath, with each tear that coursed down her face, with each ragged sob, Emaline felt her sanity slipping farther and farther away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The front door op
ened with a soft whoosh, bringing the redolence of baked bread onto the veranda. The flame inside the lamp Euley clutched in her hand flickered. She settled the container onto a table beside the rocker where Emaline huddled.

  “You can’t keep sittin’ out here like dis, honey. You’ve hardly moved since your brother left. Let’s go back inside now and get something to eat.”

  “Leave me alone,” Emaline mumbled, staring into the darkness beyond the veranda. The lamplight tossed shadows up the railing and across the weathered wood. Tear-swollen eyes squinted against the harsh brightness. Her hair lay in a tangled mess over one shoulder, hadn’t met a brush in nearly a week, and she didn’t even care.

  Euley drew a second rocker close, the curved bands that defined the chair scraping across the creaking planks. The noise speared through Emaline’s misery. A low groan slipped from the old woman as she eased onto the worn pine.

  “Now it’s been nearly a week since you heard bout the colonel, Miz Emaline, and I ain’t said nothin’ out of respect, but now we’s all gettin’ worried.” She clasped her hands in front of her, the thin fingers working around each other. “Dis ain’t like you to give up. I mean, sitting out here, day after day…you’s scarin’ us.”

  Emaline pushed aside the caring words. “Please go away.” Somewhere in the darkness, the forlorn hoot of an owl floated back on a passing breeze to mingle with the soft sobs that fell from her lips. Clouds parted. A quarter-moon spilled ivory light from its slivered end across the rutted ground that spread out before Emaline. “Th—there’s no reason to care anymore.”

  A heavy sigh met her ears.

  “Dat’s the sadness talkin’,” Euley whispered. “You’s got lots o’ reasons. We need you. And yo’ home needs you. Da colonel wouldn’t want you to forget dat, honey.” The woman reached over and smoothed a calloused fingertip over Emaline’s cheek, pushing back a tangled curl. Cold air met the tear-stained path and tingled. “‘Member when Masta Benjamin died? You didn’t let the sadness stop ya then. You got up and began again. Dat’s what you gotta do now.”

  Soft sobs coalesced into sharp sputters. Emaline buried her face in the palms of her hands. “But I—d-didn’t…care for Benjamin the way I did Reece.” The serpent of loss slithered through her, coiling and strangling all her happily-ever-after plans. “We’d b-become so…close, Euley. So…very close.” She muffled the inference of their intimacy behind shaking fingers as the roots of her despair dug deeper. The hollowness inside her burgeoned. Another keening cry spilled out and wave after wave of grief rolled into the sultry night.

  “I know, honey. Dat’s how flames burn, hot an’ full o’ passion. But if loving the colonel proved anythin’, it proved you’s got da strength to face dis grief. He’s still part of you, the golden threads dat hold together yo’ fabric of life.”

  Euley patted her shaking shoulders but Emaline’s words grated toward the woman in a bitter whisper, “But I don’t want to live without him. Don’t you all understand this?” The lamplight rippled again, pirouetting through the darkness as a cloying, rain-swollen wind tossed her unbound hair. Reece was in her every thought, in every passing breeze. Her hands gripped the arms of the rocker, seeking any way to anchor the man’s memory, to somehow make him flesh and blood and bones again. She sobbed, knowing each long night without him brought her one more day closer to madness.

  Euley’s sigh embraced her, her words barely heard. “I understand yo’ sorrow, Miz Emaline ’cause I’ve lost people too.” Her voice lowered, woven around a pain-filled whisper. “My oldest boy ripped from my arms while still young and sold away while I begged Masta Benjamin to let him stay. My arms still ache even now. And remember my baby boy Jimmy? One minute so full of life, the next he lay dead in my arms from da fever. I…I thought I’d never get through those times, like God hisself reached inside me and pulled out my heart. But ’member what you told me back then?” The servant smoothed tangled strands over Emaline’s shoulder with a gnarled hand. “You came to my upstairs room an’ drew me into yo’ arms an’ said, ‘we’ll take each day real slow’, dat’s what you said to me. A day at a time. Nothing more.”

  Emaline pressed her head against the back of the rocker and rolled it from side to side, her crying soft and steady. “I’m s-so sorry Benjamin took your firstborn from you and Israel. I begged him not to, Euley. I pleaded with him for days on end…but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “I know’d it wasn’t you, and I long ago made my peace wif God.” Euley’s comforting, caramel-colored hand slipped over Emaline’s fingers and squeezed. “Now you listen to me. Da colonel admired yo’ strength an’ courage. He told me you was da bravest woman he’d ever met. Yet here you sit growin’ weaker an’ weaker every day. How does any of dis honor the love he had for you?”

  Emaline stared out at the shadows. Five-thousand acres of land waited beyond—and a broken down woman, half-crazed from grief sat weeping at its helm.

  Minutes passed.

  They sat in silence, their hands gripped together.

  Emaline allowed Euley’s strength to flow into her. Slowly, the sobbing trailed off into ragged sniffles as Emaline turned toward her loyal friend. Age lines edged kindly ebony eyes. This incredible woman could staunch the flow of blood one moment, can turnips and green beans the next, roast a pig for the multitudes, and yet still managed to coax a brokenhearted lunatic back from the precipice of hell.

  Shame seeped past her pain. “I—I’m so sorry to frighten you all,” she whispered, wiping her other hand against the tears. “I hadn’t realized how selfish I’d become.” Just beyond the veranda, the winds swirled off the Rappahannock and sent a tide of strength as old as the Commonwealth surging through Emaline’s veins. At the river’s edge, the towering pines seemed to welcome her back with rustling, balsam-scented whispers.

  “You ain’t selfish, honey.” Euley smiled and slipped her hand free from Emaline’s grasp to pat her shoulder. “You’s just prostrate wif grief right now. Dis pain may take years to go away, but getting weaker an’ weaker won’t bring da colonel back. It’ll only take you away from us too.”

  Emaline clenched the folds of her work dress, twisting the black and cream plaid through her fingers. “The very thought of living without him is…unbearable.” Recollections of strong, warm hands skimming her bare skin, the rich warmth of his voice, the words I live for you rasped against her throat—all careened together to underscore her agonizing loss. Reece washed sunshine over the empty void that had been her life.

  Emaline shuddered, unable to voice her fear but it was there hovering between each strangled breath. Would the strength of his memories fade over time as Benjamin’s had? Would she be all alone again in the mundane routines that defined her?

  “You ain’t without him,” the old woman whispered as if reading her worried mind. They stared at each other, then Euley leaned forward and pressed a finger to the middle of Emaline’s chest. “He’ll live forever right dere. Ain’t no one gonna take dat away from you. No one. Now, come back inside. Just like we did before, we’ll start all over again.”

  Emaline slowly inhaled, nodding, then slid to the front of the rocker. She paused and reached for Euley’s hand, once more interlocking their fingers. She wouldn’t have to live without love. She was surrounded by it in a million different ways. In the wise and caring form of this proud, battered woman and the two old men, huddled in the hazy light of the entryway, waiting for her return. In the work-worn routines of the plantation, the place which again embodied her purpose in life. How had she not seen this before?

  With each stuttering breath, Emaline’s panic and fear receded. She’d always been surrounded with love, but hadn’t realized the magnitude until one man rode into her life and forced her to feel again. Until she’d loved Reece, she hadn’t known the depth of her own soul. Until she’d loved Reece, she could never have found the truth. Until she’d loved Reece, she had no inkling of the power of her own heart. She stared beyond the veranda at the multitude of flicke
ring fireflies. In silent perseverance, each tiny beacon emitted a steadfast hope for survival.

  Once more the aroma of baking bread reached out to embrace her, warm and yeasty—reminding her of the people who still remained. A faint stirring of hunger nudged aside the oppressive weight inside her chest, nipping at the edges of her sorrow. “I’ll try, Euley,” she whispered. “That’s all I can promise.” Seconds stretched into minutes. Her healing slowly began. She turned toward her dear friend, the fragile smile returning. “For all of you, I shall surely try.”

  Euley nodded, then stood and drew Emaline to her feet. “Dat’s good enough for now, child. Dat’s good enough for now.” The front door eased open and a heartbeat later, Tacker and Israel stepped out to welcome her home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Moonlight draped the man as he reined his horse to a stop beside the brick entrance posts. His breath slid out in a low sigh and he straightened in the saddle. He was dog-tired, but at least his responsibilities to everyone else had finally ended.

  He wanted peace…and he knew he would find it here.

  Slowly, he turned the horse up the winding lane. Almost a year had passed since his last visit, yet he remembered everything in precise detail. His gaze settled upon the four-columned mansion at the far end of the lane. Under the silvery wash of moonlight, the house beckoned with open arms. He reined to a stop before the wide steps and dismounted, looping the animal’s reins over the railing.

  He turned and rested his hands over the saddle, scanning the grounds. Dappled streaks of light shimmered through the trees and highlighted the area where he’d laid out his regimental streets.

  So swift does the plowshare of peace cover up, and the emerald mantle of nature conceal, the wrath and destruction of war.

  The poignant words of some unknown Washington reporter seemed quite fitting now. What had the past four years actually proved? Other than instilling a seething rage in people that would last a lifetime, they proved not a damn thing.