Read Clay Online

Authors: Ana Leigh

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

Clay (3 page)

BOOK: Clay
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“Do you, Clayton Fraser, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“Yes, I do,” Clay responded. “Can we go back to bed now, honey?”

“And do you, Rebecca Elliott, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do,” Rebecca replied.

“By the power invested in me by the sovereign State of Missouri, I pronounce you man and wife.”

Rebecca released Clay and he fell back down onto the bed.

“If you want this marriage to be legalized, your husband has to sign the marriage certificates.”

Rebecca managed to get Clay in a sitting position, and helping to guide his hand, she succeeded in getting Clay’s signature on the marriage certificates.

Judge Wilkins handed her two copies. “One’s for you and the other’s for the happy groom.” With a twinkle in his eyes, he nodded at the sleeping Clay. “I trust you will see that he gets his copy in the morning.”

“I certainly will, Judge Wilkins. It will be my pleasure.”

“And I want you to know, Ellie, Ellie with the ticklish belly, that you haven’t fooled me one bit. I can tell this isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate.”

Rebecca wanted to collapse in relief. “Oh, there’s just no fooling you, is there, Judge Wilkins? Thank you for your trouble.” She handed him a gold eagle and practically shoved him out the door.

Then she leaned back against the door and took a deep breath. It was done.

She dug out her other nightgown, a plain white muslin she was used to wearing. That fancy one she’d foolishly bought to wear on her honeymoon was ripped, anyway. She walked over to the bed and gazed down at her new husband, unable to resist the temptation of looking at his body. His shoulders were broad, his chest muscular and dusted with dark hair.

Releasing his belt, she pulled the trousers off his legs. Thank God he had on drawers; the bulge of his male organ was still hard, despite his being asleep and the alcohol he’d consumed.

Now came the hardest part, the moment she dreaded the most. But she had to do it. She had too much New England mettle to back down now.

Rebecca touched the gold band on her hand. Though Charley had been dead for four years, she had never considered removing the ring he’d slipped on her finger the day they were married. Her eyes misted as she fought back tears, and slipped the ring off her finger.

She picked up the diamond-studded band and slid it onto her finger.

Then she climbed into the bed.

3

Clay opened his eyes slowly, but the glare of sunlight caused him to snap them shut again. For a long moment he lay motionless. His head felt as if a horse had kicked him, and he couldn’t raise it from the pillow. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to lie there and die.

The previous night’s events began to bombard his mind like a cannon fusillade. Dinner. Garth leaving. Rebecca Elliott calling him into her room. Good Lord! How much had he drunk? He could never remember a headache like this before.

He finally gave it another try, and this time he managed to keep his eyes open. “First things first,” he murmured.

Raising his head, Clay realized there was another sleeping figure in the bed.

“Garth, wake up. We’ve got a lot to do.”

He reached over to shake his brother awake, and his hand encountered a shoulder considerably smaller and softer than his brother’s. He shot to his feet, then groaned and grasped his head. His brain felt as if it were slamming from one side of his head to the other. The room finally stopped spinning enough for him to focus on the sleeping figure.

Garth didn’t have long golden hair that fanned out on a pillow; Garth didn’t have a lovely face with delicate features, and wide, sensual lips that tempted a man to cover them with his own. No, Garth didn’t have any of that—but Rebecca Elliott did. He must have had a great time last night, but he couldn’t remember a single moment, dammit

He began to gather up his clothes. As he pulled on his socks, Clay realized the ring he’d bought for Ellie was gone. He had carried it throughout the whole war, and after he’d learned she’d married, he’d figured it would be a source of money if they ran out when they came west. For now they’d gotten jobs with the wagon train, but there was no telling what would happen after they caught up with Lissy.

Where in hell was the ring? Clay shook out his boot, then got down on his knees and crawled painfully around on the floor in search of it. But no luck.

Could the Elliott woman have taken it? If she thought she’d get a diamond ring for her services, she had another think coming. He riffled through her purse, then her suitcase, but there was no sign of the ring. Where in hell could she have hidden it?

He strode over to the bed and shook Rebecca’s arm.

“Where is it? Give it to me
now.”

“Wh-What are you looking for?” Rebecca asked, startled awake by the abrupt move.

“The ring. Where did you hide the ring?”

She blinked and held up her left hand. “You mean this ring?”

Shocked, he stared at the band sparkling on her finger.

“You gave it to me.” She sat up and slid out of the bed.

“I don’t remember giving you the ring—or even getting in bed with you. But whatever we did, it wasn’t worth the cost of that ring. So take it off,” Clay demanded.

She looked good in that sheer nightgown, with her hair all tousled like a vixen. Damn good—but still, not worth-a-diamond-ring good.

Rebecca picked up a piece of paper on the dresser and handed it to him. “Maybe you should read this.” She gathered up her clothes as he began to read the document. “I’m going to take a bath. We’ll discuss this when I’m through.”

As she left the room, Clay sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his aching head in his hands. The marriage license slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor.

Married! How could he have been so drunk that he’d married her? He racked his brain, but the last thing he vaguely remembered was her starting to undress him. How did it get from that to a marriage license?

Lord, what a development! Married to a woman he didn’t even know, much less love. How did he ever get into this mess? What was he even doing in Missouri?

It had all begun last month—which felt like a century ago. The war had ended and he’d returned to Fraser Keep….

Clay propped an arm on the saddle horn and leaned forward; his weary gaze swept the valley below.
Spring had rejuvenated the Virginia countryside with a fresh look of rebirth. Perhaps it was a sign that his beloved homeland would be reborn, too.

Sun gleamed off the gabled windows of the house, set upon a sprawling lawn lined with ageless oaks. Beyond the house, the James River flowed past in soothing tranquility.

Whatever the season, massive oaks, elms, dogwood, cypress, and holly offered an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color. And although a closer look might reveal that the majestic columns of the house needed a whitewash and the roof a repair, from a distance, the stately dwelling had not lost its grandeur.

Fraser Keep had been the ancestral home of his family for two centuries. Through the years two wings had been added to the original structure, rooms enlarged, and stained-glass windows had replaced wooden shutters, but its exterior walls of red bricks set in Flemish bond had not been altered since 1676.

Seven generations of Frasers had grown up within those walls, which had withstood Indian attacks, two wars with England, and now this tragic war between the States.

Located between the James and York rivers, the original three thousand acres had grown to six thousand. And within those boundaries lay some of the best bottomland in Virginia—hundreds of acres of rich cotton and tobacco fields.

Clay’s sad gaze fell on the distant fields. Only a few showed signs of recent sowing. The rest were barren. He could make out the figure of his brother Will, his
two nephews, his brothers Jedidiah and Colt, and the half dozen Negroes who had remained at Fraser Keep plowing and seeding one of the fields. Thank God Jed and Colt had returned. There was no sign of Garth, yet.

His eyes deepened with sadness. His parents and Will’s youngest child had died of cholera during the war. His brother Andrew had died at Gettysburg, and Will’s sixteen-year-old son at Sharpsburg. God grant that Garth had not perished, too, in the closing days of the war.

It had levied a costly toll on not only his family, but on the entire South. Could the South rise again, like a Phoenix from the ashes? He doubted it.

Clay straightened up in the saddle and started to descend the hill.

The joy of his arrival was increased tenfold when a weary Garth arrived home a few hours later. They all gathered around the family’s graveyard as Will lead them in a prayer of thanks for those who had been spared.

Clay glanced around at the assembled group. Like him, his younger brothers Garth, Jedidiah, and Colt were exhausted, but time would heal that condition. His sister Melissa, who had been fourteen when the war began, had now developed into a woman.

Although only thirty-four, Will appeared to have aged the most. Keeping the plantation going for the past four years while the rest of them had gone off to war had been a grueling task, and at times a hopeless
one. The heartache of the loss of both their youngest and eldest child showed on the faces of Will and his wife, Emmaline.

When they returned to the house, Will called his brothers into the library. The large room had once boasted an enormous oak desk, stuffed chairs, couches, and paneled walls lined with bookshelves; now the room was barren of all furniture, the panel stripped from the walls, and only a few scattered books remained on the shelves.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Will said, “but we’ve held on this long. When the Confederacy passed the Impressment Act two years ago, they cleaned us out of all our livestock and stored grain, along with practically anything of value worth selling. And what the Confederacy didn’t take, some of those Yankees did when they were quartered here last month.

“By the way, Clay, Captain Grange, the Yankee officer in charge, said to say hello. He said you were classmates.”

“Colin Grange?” Clay asked.

Will nodded. “He was kind enough to give us a horse when the Yankees pulled out. That’s how we were able to plow the fields.”

Clay’s carefree days at West Point now seemed a century ago. There’d been so many friendships made—and so many of those classmates had ended up on opposing sides during the war.

“We’ve got three fields of cotton planted,” Will continued, “and there’s time to get a couple more done, now that you’re all back. God willing, next year
we ought to be able to plant twice as many. I promised Dad before he died that Fraser Keep would rise again.” His eyes misted. “It sure is great to see you all back in one piece. In a couple of weeks you’ll feel as healthy as ever.”

“Will,” Clay said, “I know I’m speaking for all of us when I say we’re grateful to you for keeping our home going. We’ve all seen the destruction in the South, so we know what you’ve gone through to do it.” He slapped Will on the shoulder. “You’ve got some help now.”

“Amen, brother,” Garth said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but right now I’m beat. I’m going to bed.”

As they started to file out, Will stopped him. “Hold up a minute, Clay. I have to talk to you.”

“Okay, but make it fast. I want to ride over and see Ellie.”

Ellie, his beloved betrothed. He’d thought of nothing else for the past hour. He and Ellie had been sweethearts for five years, and as soon as the war ended they planned on getting married. The thought of her beautiful face had helped to lighten his darkest moments during the war, and he wanted to wed her as soon as possible. He was already thirty years old and it was high time he got started on a family.

Will closed the door. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.” He went to the safe and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you.” Will handed it to him and then walked over and stared into the fireplace.

Clay’s name was written in Ellie’s neat script on
the envelope. With a sense of foreboding, he opened it and read the enclosed letter. And felt as if he’d just taken a bullet in the gut.

“How could she?” he murmured, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

Will turned around, his eyes filled with compassion. “They were married two months ago.”

Clay felt numb—too numb to even be angry.

“I’m sorry, Clay. Buford had a wealthy aunt who lived in Vermont. She died and made him her heir because he hadn’t joined the Confederate army. They moved up North right after the ceremony.”

When Clay continued to remain silent, Will said, “I wish there was something I could say to comfort you, Clay. You know how Mom always said that everything happens for a reason. It’s been hard holding on to that thought for the past four years, because I don’t know what purpose all this death and devastation could serve. The issue of states’ rights and slavery could have been fought out in Congress—not on bloody battlefields.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clay said. He shook his head. “I know my loss can’t compare to yours and Emmaline’s, but Lord, Will, the thought of Ellie got me through the worst of this wretched war. And now—”

“And now the war is over, Clay, and you start building a new life.”

“Yeah. A new life,” Clay said desolately.

Later in his room, once the shock and numbness of Ellie’s betrayal wore off, anger set in. He couldn’t
understand how she could have married another man, especially one who wasn’t even willing to defend Virginia from an invading army from the North. Elias Buford had claimed he had asthma and therefore could not serve in the army—although no one, including the local doctor, had ever been aware before of his malady. Instead, the shopkeeper had remained home and gotten rich by overcharging his neighbors as much as three hundred dollars for a barrel of flour or two hundred dollars for a plain pair of shoes.

“The damn bastard should have been shot for the lowdown, sneaking spy he probably was,” Clay ranted the next day to his family.

“His wealth would have attracted Ellie easily,” Emmaline said. “She always did love pretty clothes and luxuries, Clay.”

“Yes, and she always let the rest of us know how much better hers were than the rest of ours,” Melissa declared.

Before the war, Clay had been able to lavish Ellie with expensive gifts, so smitten with her that he had overlooked her shallowness and the warnings of Will and Garth. But what young man in love ever heeded the advice of others? Wisely, neither brother reminded him of this now.

And one thing he knew for certain: He’d never trust a female again.

By the end of the week four more of the Negro families had come back, willing to work for food and
lodging. Will agreed, with the promise to pay them in the fall if the crops came in.

At least no one here would go hungry, Clay thought as he prepared to retire for the night. They had succeeded in planting two more fields of cotton and a field of vegetables.

“Come on in,” he said, in response to a light tap on the door.

Melissa entered the room. “Clay, I have to talk to you.” Her usually lively eyes were grave.

Despite the twelve-year difference in their ages, he and his sister had always been exceptionally close. From the time she’d been a dirty-faced little imp trying to keep up with her brothers, Melissa had always run to him with her bruises or hurts. He’d hold her and comfort her, then send her on her way with a hug and a kiss to the top of her mop of curly dark hair.

Now he saw what a beautiful woman she had become in his absence, and was sad that he had missed the metamorphosis.

“What’s wrong, Lissy?”

“Clay, I’m in love.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Well, don’t look so happy about it. Who’s the lucky fellow?”

“His name is Stephen Berg.”

“I don’t remember the name. Have I met him before?”

“Stephen’s not from here, Clay. His home is in Wisconsin. He was one of the Yankee soldiers quartered here.”

“Good God, Lissy! What are you thinking of? First
Ellie, and now you—did every young girl in the South become beguiled by the damn Yankee invaders?”

“I love him, Clay. And Stephen loves me. He’s asked me to marry him.”

Clay groaned. “Oh, Lissy.” What could he say to her? It was her life, but… “Honey, you know as well as I that after losing so many loved ones during the war, we could never welcome a Yankee into the family.”

Melissa began sobbing, and he took her into his arms and held her trembling body.

“We need time to heal, Lissy.”

She looked up at him, tears streaking her cheeks. “Doesn’t it matter to any of you how I feel? Aren’t I a member of this family, too?”

“Of course it matters to us.” He tipped up her chin. “They say time heals all wounds, honey. You just have to give us some time.”

“I don’t have time, Clay. You see, I’m… I’m going to have a baby.” She turned and fled from the room.

The next morning she was gone. In the letter she left behind, Melissa assured them she was not going up North to live. She and Stephen had decided that rather than make a choice between the North or the South, they would head west to California on a wagon train.

Clay told the grim-faced family about Melissa’s condition and declared his intention of going after her to bring her back home. All agreed, and with the exception of Will, his other brothers drew lots to determine who would go with him.

The following day he and Garth left Fraser Keep. Clay sold his horse and the gold watch his grandfather had given him. The money brought them river passage to Independence, Missouri, the debarkation point for wagon trains heading west on the Oregon Trail.

BOOK: Clay
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