The Rebel Wife (21 page)

Her skin twitched, more from Jack’s teasing touch than her mind filling with image of Calhoun dead. “Even so, he has my locket with Lance’s picture.”

“I doubt anyone can link it to you.”

“I can’t take that chance.” She eased out of his grasp and crossed to the open window. Lightning bugs flashed in the growing darkness, like the sparks of guilt winking on her conscience. So many people hurt because of her. Bart. Lance. Jeb, and now Calhoun. Despite Jack’s assurances, she could no longer put him or his granddaddy in danger.

The heady scent of sandalwood enveloped her. Lost in thought, she hadn’t heard him approach. “I won’t let you go by yourself, Kitty.”

Anger and frustration rose inside her. Why did he have to make this so difficult? Couldn’t he see it’s what she wanted? What
he
needed?

She turned, latching onto her anger like a lifeline. “Stop calling me Kitty. It’s over.”

“It’s not over. Not by a long shot.”

She folded her arms over her chest, closing herself off from him. If he found one crack in her blockade, she’d be done for. “Don’t do this, Jack. You have to let me go on alone.”

“No, I don’t. I care what happens to you.”

“Why?”

“Because...” His expression softened. “I have feelings for you. Feelings I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.”

Joy trilled like a songbird inside her. She plugged her ears to the noise. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“No, you don’t. But you should.” She took a step back to give herself some breathing space. His nearness made thinking, much less talking, difficult. “Earlier, I was too upset to tell you. But now that things have calmed down, it’s time.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“You deserve to know the truth.” She dropped fisted hands to her sides, holding onto her dwindling courage before it slipped away. “As I said before, my father was overseer at Spivey Point. Fannie refused to be attended by a Negro, so Papa offered my services as her maid.”

“That must’ve rankled.”

“I wasn’t happy about it. But I did what I had to. Papa depended on me.” And she’d let him down. Let everyone down. She reached behind her and gripped the window ledge, using the solidness as a brace for what was to come.

“The Lawrence sisters were mean and spiteful, always looking down their pointed little noses and calling me names. But not Bart. Not at first.”

“Bart is the owner?”

“The owner’s son. Or, he was.” She wet her dry lips and went on. “He was nice to me. Always had a kind word and even gave me small gifts from time to time. He was my only friend at the main house.” She dug her fingernails into the wood. “So I thought.”

“What happened?”

Lamplight flickered on the columns of books standing in formation like soldiers. How different would her life be if reading wasn’t her enemy? Would she have made smarter choices? Not hurt the ones she loved?

“Kitty?”

She shook off the ugly thoughts and continued. “When the fighting drew close, the Lawrences decided to tuck tail and run. Everyone was busy with the preparations, rushing here and there. It was total bedlam. Bart asked me to help him with something in the tack shed. H-he...I wasn’t expecting him to...” As the memories rushed in, shame boiled in her chest and bubbled up to burn in her face and ears.

“You weren’t expecting him to attack you,” Jack finished for her.

She ducked her head and averted her gaze, unable to bear his scorn.

He slid a finger under her chin and tenderly lifted her head. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not to blame for the actions of another.”

No matter how many times she heard those words, they still failed to cheer her. “I should’ve known better. No woman goes alone into a shed with a man. No
decent
woman.”

Jaw muscles twitched beneath his smooth skin. He was angry. At her? The thought sent an arrow zinging into her heart.

“Where is the brute now?”

“Jack—”

His voice hardened. “Where is he?”

“Dead.”

“Your doing?”

If only
. “No. Lance heard me struggling to get free and charged inside the shed.” Guilt pounded on her, a hammer striking an anvil. Her chest ached from the force. “They scuffled, and Bart fell back onto a pitchfork. My sweet, gentle brother, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, killed a man. Because of me.”

“Lance did what any civilized man would’ve done. Hell, I’d do the same if the swine was still alive.”

“But if it weren’t for my stupidity, Lance wouldn’t have needed to enlist in the Army to escape the Lawrences. Wouldn’t now be in prison, facing God-knows what tortures. And Papa...” She couldn’t go there. The pain squeezing her was so fierce, she could hardly draw a breath. “So you see...I’m soiled. In more ways than one. You deserve better than me.”

“What I deserve—”

A sharp rap on the front door interrupted his reply.

His expression blackened. “Gripes. Who could that be at this hour?”

Another knock sounded, louder and more insistent.

She nodded at the doorway. “Best see who it is before the knocking wakes Sally.”

“Fine. But don’t you go anywhere. This conversation isn’t over yet.”

Her heart thumped in tattered beats as she watched him cross the floor and disappear into the hallway. He now knew all about her past. Every ugly detail. Surely those feelings he claimed to have for her had withered.

Her knees went weak, and she had to grab the table edge for support. She’d never again feel his hand, warm and comforting, on her elbow as he guided on an exciting adventure. Or hear his deep voice as he related some fascinating tidbit. Her life would be dark and hollow—like the shed she’d died in.

The creak of hinges echoed into the study. “Private Duncan,” Jack said. “What can I do for you?”

A bluebelly. Would Jack protect her now that their pact was over? He had no reason to do so. Probably had a better reason not to. She crept to the doorway and stopped just inside the threshold to better hear the men’s conversation.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Porter,” the soldier replied. “I’ve come about Lieutenant Calhoun.”

Fear punched the breath from her. The Yankees had found Calhoun. They’d come to arrest her. She had to leave.
Now
. Before it was too late.

She craned her neck around the jamb. Jack stood at the far end of the hall, his tall form blocking her view of Private Duncan. Good. That meant the soldier couldn’t see her either. She eased out of the doorway and tiptoed toward the rear staircase.

“You sound worried,” Jack said. “Is there a problem, Private?”

Problem
? Try a disaster. And if she didn’t get out of this house, it would become a horrible tragedy.

****

Tall lamps lit the street corners but did little to brighten the dark pockets dotting the walkway. She gathered her cloak tighter around her. Unfamiliar city streets teeming with riffraff were not the place she wanted to be, especially at night. If she remembered correctly from their trip to the market, the
Federal Inn
should be somewhere in the next few blocks. The sooner she reached it, the better.

Footsteps thumped behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. A figure moved from the darkness into the light. Though a slouch hat hid his features, his blue uniform was unmistakable. The breath lodged in her throat.
Calhoun
? Couldn’t be. He’d been near death. She quickened her step anyway.

The click of boot heels kept pace, and panic galloped inside her. She couldn’t let him catch her. Not alone and unprotected.

An open door beckoned. She darted through the entrance and into a well-lit mercantile filled with a maze of shelves and bins. Perfect hidey-holes. She ducked behind a tall shelf and peeked around the edge.

Her pursuer paused in the doorway. Lamplight lit his rugged features. Not Calhoun. But that intent expression on his face suggested a threat just as great. He scanned the inside of the store, frowned, and then moved on.

She released her pent-up breath. A near miss. But what if she wasn’t so lucky the next time? She had to find lodging and get off the streets. Soon.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

She turned to find a gray-haired woman peering up at her, a welcoming smile dimpling her cheeks. “I...um...”
Drat
. She hadn’t thought beyond escaping her stalker.

A rack of ready-made dresses caught her eye. Just what she needed. “I’d like to purchase an outfit. Black if you have it.” She bowed her head and laced her tone with sorrow. “For mourning.”

Sympathy softened the woman’s expression. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

Not the kind you’re thinking, but a loss nonetheless
. She supplied a slow nod. “It happened so suddenly. My husband and I were on our way to visit relatives in New York, and...” She swallowed around the lump in her throat that was more real than contrived. Would lying about a death make it come to pass? “I-I was totally unprepared.”

“You poor dear. We were about to close shop, but we can make an exception. Considering your circumstances.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am. That’s mighty kind of you.”

“Glad to be of service. I’m Mrs. Sloan.” The shopkeeper gestured at the aproned man standing behind the far counter. “And that’s my husband. We own this shop.”

“Mrs. Porter. Kitty Porter.”

“Porter, you say? There’s an Elias Porter who lives up on Federal Hill. Any relation?”

Tarnation
. The Porter name wasn’t hers and never would be. She’d have to take better care with her identity, else she faced more trouble than she bargained for.

She flipped a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. We’ve no kin in Baltimore. Just passing through.”

“Well, Jonas and I will do whatever we can to help you.”

“You’re sweet to offer. As you can probably tell by my accent, I’m not from around here. Your kindness makes this big ol’ city seem a little less frightening.”

“I’m happy to help.” Mrs. Sloan motioned at the clothes rack. “Why don’t you look through those? I’m sure you’ll find one to suit.”

She began rummaging through the outfits. Her fingers drifted over a lovely lavender. The cottony material would hug her in a soft embrace, gently molding her figure, a welcome change from the sagging sack she currently wore. Would Jack like—

She stiffened. No. She had to stop thinking of him. He was no longer part of her life. She had to accept that. Just as she’d asked him to accept it.

She forced her fingers past the gown. It was pretty enough but not quite the grieving image she wanted to portray. She selected a plain, black muslin and held it up to her front-side. The ample dress nearly swallowed her whole.

Mrs. Sloan gave a soft cluck. “Goodness, you’re a slender one.”

Bread and broth did little to fill out a person’s bones. “Times’ve been hard. Especially with War.”

“They certainly have.” The shopkeeper patted her ample girth and chuckled. “Though you wouldn’t know it from my spreading figure.”

“More of you to love, so my nanny would say.”

“Wise woman, your nanny.” She pointed to the gown. “I can alter that if you’d like. Where are you staying?”

Too many questions for which she had too few answers. “I...um...haven’t found lodgings yet. I was on my way to the Federal Inn.”

Mrs. Sloan’s smile faded. “With the Army in town, I doubt you’ll find any available rooms there.”

Bad luck appeared to be stalking her as well. “Do you know of any other place I can try?”

“Nothing near here. Or anywhere else, I suspect.”

Louisa glanced at the darkened window, worry returning to chew at her insides. What would she do now? Going back to the Porter house was out of the question.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with us,” the shopkeeper offered. “Our apartment above the shop has a spare bedroom you can use.”

“Oh, I don’t...I couldn’t impose.” She couldn’t keep eagerness out of her voice. Staying at the mercantile would be the perfect solution. Neither Jack nor the soldiers would think to look for her here.

“It’s no imposition a’tall.”

She gave one last half-hearted try. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“You wouldn’t be putting us out. Besides, I welcome the company.” Mrs. Sloan leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Jonas is a sweet man, but he isn’t much of a talker.”

“I’d be happy to pay for the use of your spare room.”

“Heavens, no. You’ll be our guest.” She nodded at the black muslin. “Is that the one you’ve decided on?”

“Yes. This is perfect.”

“Good.” Mrs. Sloan whisked the gown into her arms. “Let’s get supper cooked, and then we can see to taking it in for you.”

She followed her savior across the floor, her heart much lighter than when she entered the store. This fortunate outcome was much more welcome than the less-than-kind cards life had dealt her so far. Would her luck hold out?

****

Thor’s hammer pounded inside his skull. His eye burned as if coated in sand. Even his teeth hurt. But he couldn’t stop. Kitty was out there somewhere. Alone and vulnerable. He had to find her. Bring her home. Much as he wanted to strangle her for leaving, he prayed he’d find her safe and unharmed.

Two heads were tucked together, one capped with fine gray hair and the other salt and pepper hued. Conspiratorial whispers carried to the doorway. The proverbial saying
thick as thieves
came to mind. If he wasn’t so damned drained, he might’ve been concerned.

Elias glanced up, caught sight of him, and jolted upright. Rather quick for a man of his age. What other secrets did he conceal?

“Master Jack,” Sally blurted, worry lines adding to the wrinkles on her face. “Did you find her?”

Jack shook his head. “Not a trace. I searched all night. Every nook and cranny in this moldering city.”

“Lord have mercy, where could that chile be?”

“I wish I knew. I thought for certain she’d go to the Federal Inn. We passed by the place on our trip to the market. She even commented on the architecture.”