Alana (4 page)

Lorelei, already soaked to the skin, skittered past Alana and Rafe and went to the driver. A moment later, the carriage moved toward the rear of the house.

Inside, Alana let the water drip from her. “Dinner will be served at eight,” she told Rafe. “There’s time for a bath and a change of clothing.”

Rafe didn’t speak. He simply nodded his head, looking at her.

Alana almost shrank back from the intensity of his gaze. She drew her eyes away, searching for something. Kitty appeared just then, and with relief, she asked her to prepare Rafe’s bath.

When he was gone, she hugged herself, shivering slightly. Then she walked over to the library, now converted to Jason’s quarters, and looked in. Ben undressed Jason, who was still under the influence of his drug. Suddenly, it was too much for Alana to watch.

She closed the doors and went upstairs to her room, where she undressed and was drying herself when Lorelei appeared with two house servants, bringing enough hot water for a bath.

“You’ll catch a death of a col’ less'n you take dis bath,” Lorelei warned her, and Alana did not argue.

Once she got into the tub, she closed her eyes and tried to blot out the reality of Jason’s homecoming. But she was unsuccessful, and when she was finished with her bath and began to dress she was still thinking of the changed man she had seen.

A few minutes later, Alana stared at herself in the mirror. The distant storm sounded like war cannons to Alana’s tired ears.

In the glow of candlelight, Alana took several breaths to clear her mind. After years of waiting, her fiancé had returned. But, he was no longer the man she remembered.

He will be again, she vowed silently.
I will bring back the Jason I knew!

She looked at her dress. Five years ago, she would have worn a fine gown, accented by jewels. Tonight she wore a simple off-white dress, an old one that had been an informal dress for nights spent without company. It was one of the few dresses that had survived the war. Most of her clothing had been procured, first by the Confederacy and then by Federal troops, for bandages.

Her hands went to her hair, which was still damp from the storm, and she secured in its bun. As she lowered her hands, a low knock sounded on her door, and Lorelei stepped into the bedroom.

“Everything be ready, Miss Alana,” the housekeeper informed her.

“Thank you, Lorelei,” Alana responded, keeping her voice firmly under control.

“Let me help,” Lorelei said as she stepped close to Alana. Without another word, she adjusted the dress and fastened the three eyehooks at the back. When she stepped back, she appraised Alana with a critical eye before nodding.

“It be a long time since I see you dressed like dis. You looks very beautiful.”

Alana closed her eyes for a second. “Thank you, Lorelei,” she whispered. “How is Jason?”

“He sho don’t seem to be de same man who left.”

“But he will be, Lorelei. We have to help him become that man again.”

She saw the doubt in Lorelei’s eyes but dismissed it. She squared her shoulders. “He is in the library?”

“Yes’m.”

Suddenly realizing how much Lorelei had done in the last few hours, Alana took her housekeeper’s hand and squeezed it warmly. But she did not trust herself to speak.

When Alana left her room, she paused in the center hall to listen to the sounds coming from the guest room at the other end. For the first time in over four years, there was life in the house. She could picture Rafe Montgomery in his quarters, preparing himself for dinner as so many guests had done in the past.

Enjoying this uplifting thought, Alana descended the curved staircase. When she reached the main floor, she turned and went to the closed doors of the library.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but her nerves betrayed her in that moment and she could not. Suddenly attacked by terrible thoughts, she tried to fight them off, but they would not retreat. Her face flamed scarlet with her shame.

Turning, she rested her back against the mahogany door. After ten years of running Riverbend and devoting her life to it, did she really want to relinquish control to another? And could she possibly love the man who had come home to her?

She had seen Jason’s dull, uncaring look. It was not the first time she’d seen eyes like that. Her father’s, after her mother’s death, had been exactly the same.

Was Jason now what her father had been then?
No
! she told herself,
Jason will not be like that. He is not weak.

With that thought, Alana knocked gently on the door and waited. When no answer came, she called Jason’s name. Finally, she opened the door and went inside.

Jason
was sitting in his wheeled chair. The rough cream-colored cotton of his shirt contrasted with his pale white skin. Alana gazed at him, taking in the haggard, pinched features, and sadness spread through her like a wave. Firming her resolve, she walked toward him. In that moment, Jason opened his eyes.

“Pretty sight, aren’t I?” he asked, his voice bitter, his words slurred from laudanum.

Alana willed herself not to see him as he was but as he had once been. “You are home. You’ve come back to me, and that makes any sight of you a pretty sight.”

“Alana–” he began, but she cut him off quickly.

“Are you tired from the trip  Do you want to join us for dinner?”

“I’m tired from life,” he whispered.

Tears blurred her sight. She knelt slowly by Jason. Taking his hands in hers, she looked deeply into his haunted eyes. “So much has happened to you. You must rest, give yourself a chance, and things will improve. You are a strong man, Jason. We will survive!”

“Will we?” he asked. “Not one day passed that I didn’t think of you. I thought of what it would have been like to be with you, to ride our land together, and live out our lives happily…if this hadn’t happened to me.” Jason grimaced as a jolt of pain lanced along his back. He closed his eyes against it, and after several deep breaths, he opened them again.

“But whenever I thought of ending my life, freeing myself from this prison of a body, I saw your face before me, and I could not.”

“We will ride our land Jason, in time we will,” Alana promised, her heart aching with his sadness.

“No, we won’t.” For a few moments after he uttered those words, his eyes were vacant.

Alana did not speak; rather, she waited until he saw her again.

“Did Rafe tell you everything?” he asked in a low voice.

Hesitantly, Alana nodded. “It doesn’t matter to me, Jason.”

“It will,” Jason stated. Pulling one hand free from hers, he wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. His fingers were gentle, his eyes momentarily the same as they used to be. “It will, in time.”

Then Jason glared at her, his eyes turning into dark, burning coals. “This!” he shouted, slapping his thigh. “This is what’s important. Without legs, I am nothing!”

“You are Jason Landow.”

“I am only half a man!”

“You are Jason Landow, my fiancé, and soon to be my husband,” Alana said in a serenely calm voice.

Jason stared at her, his eyes slightly less glazed, his head cocked at an odd angle. Then he shook his head. “No, Alana, I can never be a husband to you.”

“I will not accept that,” Alana stated, ignoring the tears that welled afresh in her eyes. Her loyalty to Jason, and her deep need to repay him for all the kindness he had ever given her, helped to shore up her inner strength.

She stared directly into his eyes and then grasped his hands and raised them to her lips. She kissed each one in turn without taking her eyes from his. “You are no less a man for your injuries. We are no less betrothed now than we were at the onset of the war. And fathering children is but one small part of marriage.”

Jason tried to pull his hands from hers, but she would not let them go. Her strength grew in proportion to her determination, fueled by the guilty denial of the thoughts she had had outside the library door. “Listen to me, Jason. I have not waited all these years to be pushed aside. We will be married. We will be husband and wife. We will make a life together here at River-bend.”

“In name only!” he snapped, his anger heavy in the air.

“In the most important way: because we choose to.”

“Alana,” he said in a low voice, “I will not allow you to become my nursemaid.”

“I intend to be your wife, not your nursemaid. Jason, we have a plantation to salvage, and your shipping business must return to Charleston. We have much to do, and I cannot do it alone. I need you, Jason, I need you beside me.” No matter what her thoughts had been before this moment, Alana fully believed her words to be true, for those were the very words she had been repeating to herself through the years of his absence.

“Alana, I am dooming you to a terrible life.”

“No, Jason, it is a life of my choosing, and one that we will not allow to be terrible. Please, Jason, do not forsake me.”

Alana’s hands tightened on his. She saw the doubt in his eyes and could almost feel the pain wracking his body. He started to shake his head, but stopped. Then she felt an answering pressure on her hands.

“Dear, sweet Alana,” he whispered, “I know you are doing this out of obligation. We have known each other too long for that. There is no obligation between us. I release you from your promise.” Jason paused, his breathing loud in the silent room. His face was set in harsh, serious lines.

“Take your freedom, Alana. Dear God, take it while I still have the will to give it!”

Alana ignored his impassioned pleas. She saw something else behind his pale blue eyes, something that said the opposite of the words he had spoken aloud. “Do you think I would marry you out of obligation?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay level.

Again, silence descended in the room. Their eyes locked, and Alana’s heart beat too fast.

“Yes,” he answered.

Forcing away the truth of his words, and knowing that she owed him more than she could ever repay, she slowly shook her head. “I will be your wife, Jason, because I want to be. Now,” she said as she released his hands, “it’s time for dinner.”

Alana smiled, although she did not feel any happiness within her; then she bent and covered his mouth with hers. The kiss was gentle and lasted only a second, but when she straightened, she saw Jason had closed his eyes.

Stepping back, she said, “When you’re ready to join us in the dining room, call for Ben. He’s waiting to take you there.”

Jason opened his eyes and nodded slowly. Before Alana could leave, he spoke in a husky whisper. “I am not the same man who rode off to war with a dream in his heart. I hold no promise sacred. Free yourself, Alana.”

“I am free, Jason, free to be your wife.” With that, Alana left. When she closed the library doors, she turned and started toward the dining room.

“It’s not what you expected, is it?” came a deep voice from beside her.

Alana whirled, her hand going automatically to her throat. Tension swirled thickly in the air as she found herself once again staring at Rafe Montgomery. Just his nearness seemed to rob her of her voice.

“Is it true?” Rafe asked.

“Is what true?”

“That you’re marrying him from obligation?”

Alana stiffened, and her mouth grew into a tight line. “You were eavesdropping!” she charged.

“No,” he said truthfully, “I was on my way downstairs and heard the two of you talking.”

Alana didn’t respond; instead, she turned from him. Before she could take another step, his hand was on her bare shoulder. Heat scorched her skin. Spinning to face him, she dislodged his hand. Before she could speak, he did.

“You haven’t answered me.”

“Nor do I intend to. The matter is between Jason and myself.”

“My apologies, Miss Belfores,” Rafe said with a slight bow.

Alana, her body stiff, inclined her head to him and again started toward the dining room. Upon entering it, she glanced around. The large chandelier was missing, as were the paintings, but the long oak table still glowed with years of oiling, and the china looked as new as it had fifty years before when her grandmother had brought it to the house.

A candelabrum lit the table, and on each wall of the room several candles burned in sconces. The table was set for three: Jason’s place at the head, hers at the far end, and Rafe Montgomery’s in the center of the right-hand side.

A decanter of burgundy sat on the table; the reflection of candlelight upon its surface was like a dark flame. Rafe stood unmoving behind her. She heard footsteps and turned to see Ben pushing Jason in his wheeled chair.

A few moments later, they were seated around the table in silence. Alana forced herself to speak. Instead of addressing Jason, she turned to their guest.

“I must thank you for helping Jason to return home.”

Rafe’s gaze went from Alana to Jason. “No thanks are necessary.” His face was an unreadable mask.

Jason laughed, and Alana heard the sorrow within it. Then he looked at Alana. “Rafe had been offered transport to California. He refused it, didn’t you, Rafe?”

Rafe sat silently, wondering what senseless game Jason was now playing.

“He refused it because I asked him to come with me. I was afraid of coming home. Afraid of facing you. Afraid of what I would see on your face when you learned I am but half a man.”

Alana, gripping her crystal goblet in her hand, tried to remain calm, but every word he spoke was like a gunshot. The stem of the wineglass snapped suddenly, and a spray of red liquid spilled outward.

Before the sound of breaking glass faded in the dining room, Rafe was at Alana’s side, examining her hand to see if she had been hurt.

“Only a scratch,” she said lightly. Pulling her hand free from his, she staunched the light flow of blood with her napkin. Try as she might, she could not take her eyes from Rafe’s, nor ignore the lingering feeling of the way his hand had moved on hers while he had checked the cut.

When Rafe returned to his seat, his face was stiff, and his eyes were hard as he looked at Jason. “Are you finished playing the martyr yet?” His voice was harsh, but after two years of dealing with Jason’s black moods, he knew how to get through to the man.

Jason suddenly smiled. “For now. Alana,” he called. His voice was soft, almost gentle. “Forgive me, I am truly sorry.”

Alana nodded slowly and tried to understand Jason’s sudden shifts of mood. But Lorelei’s entrance with the meal saved her from having to speak. Tense silence soon returned to the room.

Halfway through the meal, the silence grew torturous to Alana. Glancing at Rafe, she saw that he was intently studying his plate.

“Which division of the army did you serve in, Mr. Montgomery, before your capture?”

“Rafe,” he said as he put down his fork and looked at her. His chest grew tight, his emotions heavy.

“Rafe,” she agreed.

“Treachery and misfortune were my army.”

Alana sensed a dark undertone to his words and gazed at him while she tried to puzzle out his meaning.

“It took me a long time to understand, but in the end I did.” Rafe looked absently at a sconce on the wall across from him. When his gaze settled back on Alana, she saw that his eyes were angry and haunted.

“I was a supplier during the war. It was my misfortune to be captured by the Confederate army as I was en route to deliver supplies to the Federal army.”

“You–you’re a Yankee? A profiteer?” she asked, shocked by this revelation.

Rafe’s eyes hardened. “I’m neither a Yankee nor a profiteer. I am, like Jason, the owner of a shipping company."  Rafe paused for a moment to look at Jason, whose eyes were once again vacant.

“Unlike Jason’s, my ships plied the Oriental trade routes. With the coming of the war, I had agreed to supply the Federal troops. My fees included no profit, but covered only my costs of goods and shipping. I did not believe in this war at all, but I didn’t believe in slavery either.”

“What happened?” Drawn more fully into the story than she had realized, she stared into Rafe’s eyes, the beating of her heart accelerated.

“Usually I didn’t travel with any of my ships, but I received a special request from the minister of procurement for me to come to Virginia with the ship. He had urgent matters to discuss with me, of ‘the utmost importance to the war effort.’  Because of the wording of the letter, I had no chance to refuse. We were to meet a Federal transport ship and transfer the supplies off the coast. Somehow, the Confederate navy learned of the rendezvous. While we waited for the Federal ship to take on the supplies, we were attacked. I was taken prisoner and sentenced to be hanged as a spy.”

“A spy?” Alana gasped. “But that’s not possible.”

“I found out more before I was sentenced.” Rafe’s voice turned dark; his eyes clouded for a moment.

“The date for my execution was set, but the night before, I managed to knock out my guard, steal a Confederate officer’s uniform, and begin my escape. However,” he said, shaking his head and smiling sardonically, “the camp was attacked by Federal troops just as I was escaping. In the ensuing bedlam, they thought me to be a Confederate officer. No matter how I tried to explain what had happened, the Federal soldiers refused to listen to me. I was sent to the Rockville prisoner of war camp.”

“But for two years? They never once learned the truth?”

“Two years, three months,” Rafe stated calmly. “When I finally convinced one of the officers in charge of the prison to check my name with the war department–especially with the minister of procurement–he came back to me, laughing. ‘I sent an inquiry as you asked, and I received a reply today. James Branch unequivocally states that he has proof of the death of Rafael Montgomery. The man you are impersonating was hanged as a spy by your own army!’