The Wicked North (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 1) (31 page)

“And how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Uh huh,” the doctor said, tilting her head one way, then another, scrutinizing her.

“I’ve been having spells of feeling a bit ill,” she admitted slowly. “Lightheaded, sick to my stomach sometimes, hot and cold, but it passes.”

The doctor took her wrist and pressed against her veins, quiet for a moment. “Sit.”

She sat on the table.

“Feeling sensitive to touch or smell? Food unappealing?”

She shook her head no—a lie. She had a broken heart and frayed nerves, but she doubted there was a medicine for them.

“Your last flow?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your last flow, my dear. When was it?”

#

Jack peered out the window during the night, too on edge to sleep. The doctor had told him about Nathan but nothing about Emma. All he’d said was that she needed her rest and not to worry. Glancing back at the bed, he saw her nestled in the blanket, her brown hair mussed by sleep. It hadn’t upset the doctor when she had passed out in his office. The man had simply laughed and patted Jack on the shoulder, sauntering off to tell his wife they’d be staying for dinner.

Later, the couple had put Jack and Emma in the same room, believing them to be husband and wife. It made things even more difficult for Jack because he wanted Emma, plain and simple. He’d missed her, but he’d seen her looking at him like a wounded animal. It was probably because he had rejected her, but how else could he have protected her from her father’s wrath the last time? And now, there was no other way to keep her reputation safe than by claiming she was his wife. But he had to stay away from her despite his desire. So he sat near the window and waited for dawn.

Stuck inside the doctor’s house, in a small hilltown in Tennessee, Jack was alert to every sound and every movement outside. Come hell or high water, they were leaving at sunrise. What they’d avoided the previous day was only a prelude to a bigger battle and probably a closer one too. He didn’t have enough ammunition to fight their way out if either army descended on them.

As dawn colored the sky pink, a horse raced toward the house and stopped. The rider jumped off and pounded on the door. Jack could barely hear the doctor and the horseman talking.

Fear crept up Jack’s spine. Putting on his jacket, he went down the stairs and found Thompson packing his medical bag.

“Oh, Mr. Fontaine,” the doctor greeted. “I must go see a patient. Sorry. I gave your wife the gum-numbing tonic for your boy’s teething. As to her—” he shut his bag.

“Honey, Mr. Samson is going to wear out our porch if we don’t be movin’,” Thompson’s wife said from the doorway.

“Right,” the doctor muttered.

“What about my wife?” Jack said, grabbing the man’s arm as he tried to leave.

“She’ll be fine. Her illness is perfectly normal. Just keep her fed and rested. Safe journey,” he walked out. “Oh, and Mr. Fontaine, be careful out there.”

Jack nodded. As the doctor walked out, Jack saw cavalry, riders dressed in grey, entering the town. Hell was about to break out, and they needed to go.

When he went to the bedroom and found only Tilly asleep on the cot, he shook her awake and asked, “Where’s John Henry?”

#

John Henry woke confused and lost. It was dark and he couldn’t figure out where he was. Everything looked odd and out of place. The room had a bed and dresser with a washstand, but they weren’t his. Getting dressed, he searched his mind for an explanation and walked out the door and down the stairs, still disoriented.

As he wandered through the house, he convinced himself he was dreaming. He went out the back door, through the yard and into the woods. If he was dreaming, before long, he’d wake and all would be right.

The cold air made him feel alive, and he quickened his pace. Ahead of him was a group of horses, haltered and tied to a line. Something made him cautious and he slowed.

He heard the click of a gun behind him and he stopped.

“Who goes there?”

John Henry smiled. “Colonel John Henry Silvers of the King’s City Militia.”

“King’s City?” The gunman walked up to his right side, still aiming at him.

“Yes sir,” he answered pridefully. “Best set of rifles east of Richmond.”

The guard’s brows knitted but he didn’t lower his rifle. “Come with me.”

John Henry did as he was told and soon entered a Confederate camp, where the guard took him to a walled tent.

“Sir, I think you should see this,” the guard said, standing outside with John Henry.

A muttered curse and the sounds of someone inside tripping over things came through the canvas walls. The flaps parted and a young man, pulling on his uniform short jacket came out. “What the hell is it, private?”

“Found this man, sir, coming from town, claiming to be a colonel with the King’s City something or other.”

The officer rubbed his eyes. “Father?”

John Henry smiled. “Charles.”

“Father, what are you doing out here?” Charles asked dumbfounded.

Finally, John Henry felt like himself again. No longer lost in confusion. “Had to find you, lad.”

Charles frowned, as he stepped forward, motioning to the private to return to his post. “Really, father, there’s a war on. Why aren’t you at home? Where’s Billy? You left my sister alone at Rose Hill?”

“Charles,” he dropped his voice. “Your buddy Jack came, and because of him and his Yankee colors, he got Rose Hill burned and Billy killed. He’s a traitor.”

“What’s this I hear?” A deep voice reverberated behind Charles.

John Henry looked past his son to see a tall lanky man with a receding hairline. His face was pale, with high cheekbones and a thick dark brown goatee. His jacket displayed more silver embroidery than his son’s.

“Father, General Forrest, the ‘Wizard of the Saddle’,” Charles introduced his commander. John Henry noted his son’s obvious admiration for the man. “Gen’ral, my father, Colonel John Henry Silvers, of the former Rose Hill Plantation in Virginia.”

“Glad to meet you, sir,” John Henry extended his hand.

Forrest eyed him. “I heard you speak of a traitor to the cause?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, smiling. “A Yankee amongst us. A good ole Southern boy turned against his brothers.”

Forrest grinned and nodded to Charles. “Looks like we’ll be having company for dinner, Silvers. Why don’t you find out where this lost brother is? Time to bring him home and see if we can’t make him see the error of his ways, or at least pay for them.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles responded quickly. As Forrest left, he turned to his father, his brows furrowed.

John Henry continued to smile. It was time that Yankee Jack Fontaine paid for his crimes.

We have a great many wounded; the same old story – men mutilated in every possible way…I am sick at heart at these scenes, and there seems to be little prospect of a change.

—Kate Cumming, Nurse, Army of Tennessee, CSA, Diary Entry, June 27, 1863

Chapter Thirty

March 5, 1863, Thompson’s Station, Tennessee

Despite Emma’s protestations, Jack gave up looking for John Henry. The man had wandered too far off. Jack’s search ended when he saw what he guessed was over a thousand Confederate soldiers who had arrived at Thompson’s Station from the south side of town. Their commander had lined them up in the hills, where they extended for more than a mile. More troops gathered, most on horseback, but some who dismounted went to a fence running along the gully at the foot of the hills. Sharpshooters dispersed throughout the town to better warn their comrades of federal soldiers approaching.

The hairs on Jack’s neck stood up. Pushing Tilly into the bed of the wagon, he handed her Nathan and turned to Emma.

“Sweetheart, we need to go now,” he stressed, reaching for her.

“But my father,” she retorted. “I won’t leave without him.” She let out a scream when he grabbed her waist and lifted her up to the wagon seat.

“We can’t wait any longer, Emma.” He gestured toward the hills, sweeping his hand in the direction of the buildings nearest them. “Rebel troops. They’re getting into position. Most are on horses, Emma. Cavalry. Fast and furious. From where they’re stationed, the federals must be coming in from the North. I will not put my son in harm’s way. Do you understand me?” But she only shook her head; he could tell she was readying her argument. “Do you understand me? We leave now.”

Throwing the reins to Emma, Jack jumped onto Goliath. She glared at him but as he nudged Goliath onward, he swatted Petey’s rump, knowing Emma would avoid leaving if she could.

Jack kept an eye on the ground before them, trying to judge which way to leave town. To the left, he saw additional cavalry amassing. In addition, a battery was forming, with cannons aimed toward the north on both sides of the Columbia Turnpike at the end of town.

Jack gritted his teeth. Goliath sidestepped under the tension of his rider. Petey snorted and Emma struggled with the reins to keep him in line. They were just outside town and the only ones on the street. Jack’s frustration grew.

Emma was looking beyond him, her face paling. “Jack.”

He turned around. Riders, five of them, heading toward them fast. He reached for his revolver, even knowing it would do little good against five armed soldiers. His son and Emma were in danger already.

“Stay quiet,” he warned her and rode a few feet ahead of the wagon, where he waited.

The riders halted, except their ranking officer who approached. “Jack Fontaine.”

Jack’s spine stiffened. “Yes.”

“Captain Maury, at your service,” he replied, a sly grin on his face. “Your presence is required.”

“For?”

“To answer accusations of you being a traitor, spy, and murderer.”

Jack heard weapons being cocked and Emma’s gasp.

#

The escort took them past Confederate lines, beyond the trees to their base camp. Emma drove the wagon, at a loss about what to do. Maury had assured her she was safe in their protection from the traitor. But, he did suggest she wait till they got the federals to retreat before sending her on.

“Can’t ever trust them Yankees to be civil’zed to a lady,” he warned. He directed her to General Van Dorn’s walled tent and helped her off the wagon. As she took Nathan in her arms, she walked over to the tent and set him down, with Tilly to watch him. Bile rose in her throat and her heart beat frantically.

Two tents down, Jack slid from Goliath’s back, and a soldier tied his hands together before shoving him into the tent. When the soldier exited the tent, he was carrying Jack’s revolver and walked away. Another armed soldier stood guarding the tent.

What was she going to do? If her father was around, she was sure she could get him to intervene on Jack’s behalf. He’d done so earlier. But where was he?

In the distance, she heard guns firing, which startled Tilly. Emma turned to the slave and motioned her to be quiet, pointing to Nathan. The little boy was more interested in some of the tinware lying on the ground—plates and cups that’d been rinsed but not put away.

“Ma’am,” Maury called, pulling his horse behind him, “I need you to be stayin’ here. You’ll be safe.”

“What if you lose?” Fear gripped her; if the fighting came their way, could she get them out of there fast enough? And what about Jack?

The Confederate smiled. “Believe me, under Generals Van Dorn and Forrest, us losing ain’t goin’ t’ happen,” he drawled confidently. “I’ll leave a couple of my men here to see to your needs whilst we fight.”

He turned, gathering his reins and pulled himself onto his saddle.

“What about Jack?” she asked, panic beginning. “What will you do with him?”

“I canna say. He your husband?” He looked at her.

Emma bit her bottom lip. One voice inside her said she should say yes, but the stronger voice reminded her firmly that Jack had rejected her, had taken her body without any promise for the future. From the look of things, he truly was considered a traitor to the South. And he had betrayed her as well, with Caroline. What would prevent that from happening again? She remained silent.

“I see,” Maury said, a puzzled look on his face. “It’ll be up to the generals to decide.” He pulled the reins to the side, his horse turned and they rode off.

As he disappeared within the trees, it suddenly hit Emma what she’d done. Her indecision could cost Jack his life. Nathan giggled behind her because of some trinket he’d picked up and another pain shot through her. Because of her, Nathan might lose his only remaining parent.

#

For six hours, the battle raged. Jack could hear men yelling, gunfire, cannons roaring and the guard outside his tent pacing. He considered trying to escape, but the soldier was carrying a loaded rifle. Men like him itched to be in the battle as much as they feared it. That fear caused them to act impulsively, such as firing on anyone for little or no reason. Jack knew Emma and his son were only two tents away. The last thing he wanted was for the soldier to hurt one of them by mistake if he missed Jack.

The binding around his wrists was tight. Despite his attempt to wiggle out of it, it held strong. Because of his struggling, the hemp rope cut into his skin. He slid down the pole he was tied to and sat.

He hoped Emma still had the directions to his parents’ land. At the very least, he knew he could count on rebel officers to be gentlemen and have her and his son escorted there safely. One thing was sure, it was a southern home and his father was no doubt well immersed in Confederate politics. He spat, disgusted. If nothing else, he would make a final demand—that she and the boy be taken there. He knew what fate held in store for him. He couldn’t defend himself against the accusations with which he was charged. After all, they were true. And his punishment would be death.

Head bent in resignation, Jack was filled with remorse. It occurred to him that he never told Emma in words that he loved her. What a fool he was…

#

The battle at Thompson’s Station ended before nightfall. Union General John Coburn’s troops advanced to the center of the village, but Confederate forces were too strong and outnumbered them. General Coburn’s aide told him their ammunition had dwindled faster than expected. Coburn braced himself.

General Nathan Bedford Forrest knew exactly when to attack, and as his troops rode into the Union lines, he approached the federal commander. General Coburn surrendered. With a cocky grin, General Forrest took Coburn’s colors and arms and rode back to camp.

Van Dorn walked out of his tent as Forrest reached it and slid off his horse, laughing.

“I see you’re all ready to go celebratin’,” Forrest commented.

Van Dorn twisted the end of his mustache, still glistening from the water he’d used to clean the filth of gunsmoke off his face. “Yes, I do believe so. And, in fact, I believe we have us some entertainment, according to Lieutenant Maury.”

Forrest raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He pulled out a cigar and lit it.

Van Dorn smiled. “The traitor you were informed about.”

“Always a good time. You get yourself all gussied up for that?”

“Of course not.” Van Dorn threw his shoulders back and pulled his jacket straight. “The man was taken while holding our informer’s daughter hostage. She’s with us presently.”

Forrest laughed. “General, if you ever stop chasing the ladies, you’ll live to a ripe old age.”

“Perhaps, but what good would life be without the ladies?”

The two men walked down the lane as the camp began filling with the wounded and prisoners. Confederate cavalry cooled their horses and relaxed at their tents, unwinding from a day filled with the horrors of war.

When the two generals reached the walled tent, Van Dorn motioned at the guard to bring out the prisoner.

Forrest chomped on his cigar. “Where’s Colonel Silvers?”

“Right here, sur,” a soldier said, escorting the elder man to him.

“Colonel, appears we’ve found your southern deserter,” he drawled.

John Henry righted himself, chin in the air as he cleared his throat. “Good, good.”

“Daddy!”

They turned and Forrest snorted. So this was what Van Dorn was talking about. A woman, with coppery brown hair falling from a braid and her dress billowing, raced to the old man’s side. One thing the “Wizard” noticed was that she was wearing a Yankee officer’s frock coat, minus the obnoxious brass shoulder pieces. Probably given to her by the traitor, he smirked to himself.

“Gentlemen, my daughter, Mrs. William Bealke,” John Henry introduced.

Van Dorn bowed. “Mrs. Bealke.”

“A widow, thanks to that bastard I told you of,” the old man added.

“Father, please,” she pleaded. Forrest noticed her ivory-colored skin was drawn tight across her thin face, but her eyes were puffy and her lips pale. Had travel made her ill? No doubt being a hostage to a ruffian had taken a toll.

The guard dragged the restrained prisoner, still wearing Union blue, out of the tent.

“Jack Fontaine,” Van Dorn stated. “You’ve been accused of traitorship to the southern rights of independence. That you murdered Mrs. Bealke’s husband, destroyed southern property and are a spy for the Union, down here under false pretenses.”

The prisoner gazed at the Confederates who had gathered for the quasi-military trial and raised his chin, a posture that, to Forrest, seemed to indicate he had been falsely accused. Perhaps so, the general thought to himself, but this was war. When it came to charges such as Fontaine faced, there was no time or inclination to consider other possibilities.

The woman stared at him, her eyes widening. “Jack, say something,” she pleaded.

She turned to her father. “Daddy, you know…”

“It’s only just, my dear. He’s southern born and raised. To turn his back on his own countrymen at our time of need and to seduce my now deceased daughter, marrying her only to shun her while she carried his child is unacceptable.” Emma gasped. John Henry looked at her. “And then to take you, my darling Emma, after he killed your Billy, I shudder at your condition now.”

Emma was stunned, her embarrassment complete.

Colonel Silvers turned to Forrest and Van Dorn. “In addition, I heard him tell part of a Yankee unit who stopped us that he was on a mission to find our army’s strength and report it back to his superiors…”

“Daddy, he said that to get those men off our trail…”

“Emma, my dear little Emma, he’s so cast a spell on you,” her father said softly. “Where do you think he went before he was supposedly injured? He returned to his army, to report his findings.”

That remark prompted Van Dorn to speak up. “When might that have been, sur?”

“Just after Christmastime, north of here, near, where was that? Oh yes, Murfreesboro.”

Listening to this exchange, the soldiers around them began cursing and judging Jack. In their opinion, he was guilty and deserved to be punished.

#

Jack closed his eyes. Nothing he could say or do would help against John Henry’s accusations. He had used the excuse of spying. He had taken Emma while she was in mourning. He hadn’t reported to his side, the Union, willingly, but he wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of that. If Jack had been traveling alone, he would have tried something, although he wasn’t sure what. With his hands tied behind him and armed soldiers circling, it appeared he had no recourse.

“Well, I do believe,” General Earl Van Dorn began. Jack knew the bastard. He’d grown up not far from his family’s land across the river in Mississippi. Arrogant womanizer. And Van Dorn recognized him as well. The Fontaine family was well known in the Deep South. Van Dorn’s expression made it clear that Jack would not be released.