Patricia Rice (19 page)

Dora pretended she didn't hear.

Chapter 13

I have mark'ed

A thousand blushing apparitions start

Into her face; a thousand innocent shames

In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;

And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,

To burn the errors that these princes hold

Against her maiden truth.

~ Shakespeare,
Much Ado about Nothing

July 1864

Pace tried sitting patiently in the chair beside his mother's bed, but his gaze kept drifting toward the window, then back to the door. His arm ached, but the pain was negligible compared to the way it had been before. The reason for that was around here someplace, but she avoided him.

"You should go over and see Josie and the baby," his mother admonished. "Perhaps you could make her see how foolish it is to stay over there when this is her home now. What would Charlie say if he came home and found his wife gone?"

Pace knew his mother fretted more over the fact that Charlie hadn't written than where Josie stayed, but he didn't correct her. "I'll ride over there this evening, Mama. I'll want to see my niece before I go, anyway."

"Go?" She looked alarmed. "Where are you going? You won't go too far with that arm like it is, will you?"

Pace stretched his injured muscles. He'd removed the sling and practiced moving it, but the arm wasn't cooperating particularly well. "My arm will be fine, Mama. It just needs a little exercise. Dora did a fine job on it."

He'd avoided her question, but she didn't notice. Now that her attention had turned to Dora, his mother's thoughts drifted in that direction. "I don't know what I would do without that girl. These darkies aren't worth anything anymore. I told your father we should sell them all, but he just wouldn't listen."

Unless things had changed drastically since his last visit, Pace didn't think his mother had talked to his father in years. He assumed the conversation referred to had taken place a decade ago. He could remember his parents arguing over the servants back then. "There aren't many left to sell these days, Mama. And I don't know where we'd get hired help. Dora can't do it all on her own."

"Call her in here, will you? I want them to make dinner rolls for tonight. I'm sick to death of cornbread." Harriet Nicholls fussed absently with the covers, picking at imaginary threads and smoothing the sheets, not looking directly at her son.

"I'll tell them on the way out," he said soothingly. "There's no sense in making Dora run all the way up here just to tell her that."

"Dora always looks in on me this time of day," Harriet responded fretfully. "What can be keeping her?"

Pace had a good idea of the answer to that. Concluding his mother had had enough visiting for the day, he stood up and strode toward the door. "I'll find Dora on the way out, Mama. You just rest easy now and take care of yourself."

Her gaze momentarily diverted to him. "You're looking more and more like your granddaddy every day. Every bone in that man's body was mean," she declared.

"I know, Mama," Pace answered patiently. "You take care now."

He strode out, fuming with frustration and a nagging sense of something lacking. He'd never expected much from his mother and never received much, so he usually walked away from these visits with more of a sense of relief. He didn't know what was wrong with him now. Maybe he just felt his injury deserved a little more attention. That was plain damned foolishness, if so. He'd nearly had his head stove in before and his mother had never noticed.

Pace found Dora stirring the contents of a pot in the kitchen. He had the urge to fling something against the wall when he saw her where the slaves belonged, but he curbed the impulse. He had promised himself he would display better control around her from now on. He was a grown man, an experienced lawyer, an officer in the army. He ought to show a little discipline around this snip of a girl.

"Mama is looking for you. You'd better go on up to her now. Where's the kitchen help? She's wanting dinner rolls instead of cornbread tonight."

Dora cleaned off the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot, then laid it on an empty saucer. She wiped her hands on a towel before looking at him. "I'll take her some lemonade. I'm not too good with yeast rolls, but I'll try. Just don't complain if thou canst bounce them off the walls."

Pace shot her a look of annoyance. At times like these, he felt as if she hadn't changed in appearance since the first day he met her. She was like a tiny gray sparrow, all big eyes and ruffled feathers, nothing anyone would notice. But back then he'd seen flashes of color, moments of laughter and defiance and song. And now, somewhere under that dull plumage, he saw the body of a woman. Everything about her annoyed him.

"I didn't ask you to make rolls. We've still got some help around here, don't we? Just tell them to make the rolls. I probably won't be around to eat, so don't worry about me."

Her eyes widened with alarm. "Where wilt thou go? That arm is not strong enough to hold a horse yet. And Solly is out in the field. He can't drive thee."

Pace grimaced and headed for the door. "You're not my mother, Dora. I'll take care of myself."

He slammed the door after him. He didn't need a damned mother right now. He needed a woman. He didn't suppose Josie would be so obliging as to accommodate him. In this mood, a little adultery wouldn't bother him greatly. He didn't know anyone around here anymore. Maybe he should go up to Louisville and find a whore. Wouldn't Dora pitch a fit if she thought he meant to try that? She would have a kitten just knowing he meant to take out one of the horses.

He'd managed to get Jackson signed up with the military across the river by the simple expedient of walking him down to the fishing shacks. The fishermen had rowed him over and back. But the Andrewses lived several miles in the other direction, and Pace didn't feel inclined to walk that distance in this heat. He would have to get back on a horse if he wanted to rejoin his regiment. Today seemed as fine a day as any to do it.

He'd seen his father ride out earlier. He'd avoided taking his meals in the big house just to avoid any confrontation. He'd gleaned enough information from Jackson and Dora and his brief forays into town to know that his father despised the Union soldiers who had taken control of the state. Accustomed to living on the wrong side of his father's beliefs, Pace could shrug it off. He just didn't relish disturbing the rest of the household by meeting his father head-on.

He persuaded his arm into throwing a saddle over one of the gentle mares. He cursed his lack of mobility when he attempted buckling the girth, but with a little practice he managed it. He wouldn't complain. He could be armless by now. Or dead.

By the time Pace had the mare ready, sweat dripped down his brow, and he would rather fling himself across a bed and collapse then put himself through the hell of visiting Josie. But he wouldn't surrender to weakness. The arm was mending. The time had come to get his strength back.

He should have known Dora would be in the yard when he rode the horse out of the barn. She had the ability to know where he was and what he was doing at the worst of times. Pace hoped he looked like he had control of the mare. Restive, the horse danced sideways, as if no one had exercised it in a while. It took everything Pace possessed to pull her up one-handed at the hedge so he could speak to Dora.

"I'm going to see Josie and the babe. Is there any message I need to pass on?" The mare pulled at the bit, and Pace gritted his teeth against the pain of hanging on. He refused to show Dora any display of weakness. She'd seen the worst of him already.

"Josie won't be there," she answered, folding her hands in her apron. "She's visiting cousins in Cincinnati. I wish she hadn't left Amy and Delia with her mother, but I suppose taking Delia across the river would have been a mistake."

She may as well have hit him alongside the head with a split log. He'd gone to all this damned trouble just to see a woman who wasn't even there. Pace glared down at her. "Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"You didn't ask. Kiss Amy hello for me. I miss her." She turned around and walked back toward the house.

He would have to kill her. Sweat ran in his eyes. His arm felt as if it had been drawn out of its socket. And this damned horse was about to run away with him. And she just walked away as if it didn't matter one whit that he was killing himself.

Which was why she had done it, of course. Cursing, Pace let the mare go. As long as he'd gone to this much trouble, he might as well see his niece. He saw no sense in trying to figure out a woman like Dora. He'd told her to stay out of his business, so she had. He couldn't assign her the devious intention of making him suffer. He'd brought that on himself.

By the time he returned the horse to the stable that evening, Pace had gone beyond exhaustion. He didn't know how long it would take to recover his full strength, but he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to get back to the army where he belonged, and soon.

Sliding from the horse, he rested his head momentarily against the saddle, letting the pain of the day seep into the leather. When a soft voice spoke nearby, he didn't even jump. Somehow, he'd known Dora would be there.

"Thou must show me how to brush the mare down. Thy father has gone on to bed, and the boy who sleeps here is nowhere to be found."

Pace cursed to himself. Without raising his head, he replied, "Get out of here, Dora."

"Thou hast become quite a conversationalist," she answered, coming to stand beside him as she studied the bit in the horse's mouth. "How does this unfasten? Or do I remove the saddle first?"

If it was the last thing he did, he wouldn't let this little brat take care of his horse for him. Kneeling gingerly on legs out of the practice of riding, Pace unfastened the girth buckle. "I've arranged for someone to take me to the train station Saturday morning. I'd tell my mother good-bye, but I don't think she would comprehend it too well. Explain it to her after I've gone, will you?"

He didn't even glance at her stunned expression as she asked, "Thou meanest to return to thy practice in Frankfort?"

They both knew the train didn't go to Frankfort. Pace didn't look at her. "What practice? Our brilliant military commander is practically holding the state government hostage. Do you think any of them will even speak to a Union officer like me right now? I'm going back where I'll be useful. The army is closing in on Atlanta. We'll have the war all but won once we take that."

"Thou hast not the strength for that yet! What could a few bullets more or less matter now? It is suicide going to war like this."

He heard the fear in her voice but ignored it, even knowing Dora seldom showed her emotions. "Don't be ridiculous, Dora. Do you think the whole damned army is made of suicidal men? I'm an officer. I've left men back there who depend on me. It's not just a matter of the few bullets I can shoot. I can make a difference." Pace finally wrestled the saddle to the ground. Now he found the brush and comb and began to curry the horse.

"No, not yet," she whispered. Pace tried not to notice the haunted quality of her reply. It sent chills down his spine. She sounded as if she knew something he didn't. He refused to let her otherworldiness affect him.

"Thou canst not go yet," she protested vehemently a moment later. "Just a few days more. Surely if they have gone without thee all these weeks, they can wait a few days more."

He was too tired for this foolish argument. Dora hovered just out of his sight, but Pace could feel her as if she were attached to his side. She confused him. She ought to be laughing and singing as she had that first day he'd seen her. She shouldn't be standing here wringing her hands and worrying about a bastard like him.

But the little bluebird was long gone, replaced by this anxious woman. Anxious female. He knew she wore no scent, but he could smell the freshness of her skin. She must have just washed. The idea of it made him go up in flames. She was female and he was a randy stallion.

"I'm leaving, Dora, and that's an end to it. Now get out of here before I get riled."

"Is there anything that can make thee stay just a few days more?" she whispered. "Anything at all?"

Pace snorted. She'd walked right into that one. "Yeah, a woman. I'm in real bad need of a woman right now, and unless you're offering, you'd better get out of my sight."

He felt her backing away, and he smiled grimly. He hadn't found anyone in town, but there would be plenty back in camp. Once he had a little relief, he'd get rid of these ridiculous notions. He just had to pry this little witch out from underfoot until then.

"A w-woman shouldn't be so hard to find," she stuttered from somewhere behind him.

Damn, she was still here. Pace applied the brush more thoroughly to the mare. "I don't want any of those scrawny wenches in the quarters, if that's what you're meaning. There'll be women back in camp. Now get out, Dora. I'm not in the mood for this argument."