The Vacant Chair (13 page)
Mitch looked surprised. “And she said yes?”
“She did.”
Mitch frowned. “But she seemed so intelligent.”
He slapped his brother’s uninjured shoulder. “So how about you do your older brother a favor and distract him from his misery with a game of cards? We could even make a friendly wager.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of wager?”
“Poker. Winner gets pick of the stable when we get home.”
“And the loser?”
“The loser—that’ll be you, of course—gets Miss Stevens.”
Justin pressed a hand against his healing wound at the horrified look in Mitch’s face. The idea of his headstrong brother saddled with Laurel made him laugh, despite how much it hurt his ribs.
Mitch snorted in disdain. “Forget it. I’ll play for a different wager. Loser has to explain to Mother what happened to us.”
Both of them grimaced at the thought.
“You realize this means you’ll have to stop encouraging Laurel,” Mitch added as they strolled inside. “It wouldn’t do to string her along anymore.”
Justin shoved him toward the staircase with a chuckle and a growled, “Go to hell.”
June 13, 1864
Brianna gazed out the boxcar window at the emerald hills they passed, not really seeing anything. Her thumb toyed absently with Caleb’s wedding band, now in its new location. Though she’d felt guilty doing it, she’d removed it from her left hand and placed it on her right because it didn’t seem appropriate to keep it on her ring finger after she’d promised to wait for another man.
Justin would be almost in Washington by now. Was he all right aboard the ship? His wounds had seemed to be healing well enough, but infection or bleeding was still possible. At least they’d be home with their mother to look after them in a few days. Brianna had already sent a letter ahead to her with instructions about their conditions and special care Justin’s wound might require once they arrived.
Stepping off the train in Lexington, she took a deep breath. Confederate soldiers moved to and fro, and women towed small children about by the hand. Men in civilian clothing stood in groups smoking, discussing politics and the war. She hurried past them all and hired a carriage to take her into town. On the way through the familiar streets, memories flooded her as she passed various buildings—shops and restaurants she’d frequented, the boutique where she and her mother used to have their dresses made, the livery stables her father and brother had visited so often. Before the war had ripped everything apart.
The driver helped her out of the carriage in front of Magruder and Son, attorneys at law, and she brushed at her wrinkled skirts. How would Gavin and his father react to her visit? The last time she’d seen them had been almost three years ago, standing over Caleb’s freshly dug grave.
Squaring her shoulders, Brianna loped up the steps and opened the wooden door, the bell tinkling softly overhead. Gavin appeared in the foyer a moment later, his brown eyes widening in shock behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Bree?” He rushed over to hug her, sweeping her off the floor. She was laughing breathlessly when he set her down.
“Hello, Gavin. How have you been?”
His clean-shaven face split into a wide grin, revealing the crooked front tooth she’d always found so endearing. “Fine. Been out east somewhere all this time, have you?”
“Yes, in Virginia, near Richmond.” Close enough, anyway.
“Richmond?” He shook his head, brown eyes filled with wonder. “You look wonderful,” he gushed, taking her arm and leading her to the offices at the rear of the building. “Dad,” he called out, “you’ll never guess who just showed up!”
Phillip Magruder came around the corner, his eyes rounding when he saw her. “My God!” he whooped, swinging her off the ground as well. “The very image of her lovely mother.” A portly man somewhere in his fifties, he had graying hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. His black eyes danced with humor. “Where have you been all this time, young lady?”
“In Richmond, nursing.” She didn’t care to elaborate and admit she’d been tending Yankees, knowing what staunch secessionists they were.
Phillip made a face at that and seated her in an overstuffed chair, settling behind his massive walnut desk to beam at her. “Can I help you with anything, my dear, or is this a social call?”
Brianna glanced down at her hands in her lap. What she was about to say would hurt him. “Actually, this is a business call.” He waited expectantly for her to continue. “I recently received word that my father died of pneumonia.”
Phillip’s face grew ashen.
“I’ve come to see about his personal affairs.”
He lowered his gaze to the papers spread on his desktop. “When did he pass?”
“In May.”
He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “My condolences, sweetheart. I know things were left unsettled—Gavin, get me a brandy, will you?” He swiveled to the file cabinet behind him, rifled through one of its drawers and set the appropriate documents in front of her as Gavin placed a brandy on the desk. “He had these drawn up before he left for the front,” Phillip told her. “I’m afraid the changes he made might upset you.”
She met his dark eyes without flinching, prepared for the worst.
“In effect, he cut Morgan out of his will and left everything to you.”
Her stomach dropped. She stared at the papers in shock. “Everything?” she croaked. He had cut his only son entirely out of his life, just like that, after the incident at the house. She supposed she should have expected it.
Gavin laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He was angry. Felt he’d been betrayed.”
She could easily imagine her father storming into this office after the shooting incident in the foyer, demanding Morgan be cut off for good. She cleared her throat to remove the catch of tears before she dared to speak. “Did he say anything else?”
“Yes.” Phillip met her gaze, his own eyes moist. “He asked me to make sure you were well looked after, because he wasn’t coming back. He said to tell you goodbye.”
A chill raced down her spine as the meaning behind the words sank in.
Her father had left Lexington with every intention of dying to escape what had happened. He’d been grief-stricken, overwhelmed by guilt. She bit down on her lip, but the tears managed to slip down her cheeks nonetheless. Gavin hunkered down beside her, laying a hand over hers. She blinked fast and stared up at the ceiling in an effort to staunch the flow.
No more crying. No more tears. It doesn’t help anything.
When she was back in control, Phillip laid the papers in front of her, and she dipped a pen into the inkwell to sign her name at the required intervals. Expelling a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his. “You should know I intend to change all this. I’m going to sign everything over to Morgan when he gets back.”
“I expected as much. Do you need someone to drive you home?”
She nodded.
Home.
The mention of it made her stomach knot. It would never feel like home again.
Gavin grasped her hand. “I’ll take you, Bree. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you’ll find there.”
A pleasant surprise would be welcome right about now.
He drove them through town in his carriage and turned onto the road that led to Greenbriar. Giant oaks lined the road, and freshly painted white fences enclosed lush green pastures. Horses grazed in the hot sun, their graceful necks bowed as they nibbled at the Kentucky bluegrass. Here it was like the war had never touched the land. She reveled in the sweet scent of clover and the fresh breeze blowing over her face.
“Almost there,” Gavin said, squeezing her hand.
Her heart beat fast as the slope marking the driveway to Greenbriar appeared. Then she glimpsed the white-columned portico of the federal-style house she’d grown up in and bit her lip.
At the foot of the front steps she didn’t wait for Gavin to help her from the wagon, but jumped down and hurried up to the wide front verandah. The house was still in amazingly good condition. Her fingers fumbled in her bag for the key to the front door. She turned it with shaky fingers and entered, holding her breath.
Everything was just as she’d remembered it. The floorboards in the foyer still gleamed and smelled of wax, and the parlor still echoed with the tick of the antique grandfather clock she loved. Her eyes strayed to the upper wall, but the bullet hole was gone. Someone had patched and wallpapered the plaster in an attempt to erase that terrible event.
“Welcome home,” Gavin said.
“It looks wonderful.”
“It should. Someone’s been waiting for you to come home.”
“Well, I’ll be!”
Brianna whirled around at the familiar voice. Teela, Greenbriar’s housekeeper since Brianna was a girl, stood by the upper floor railing with her gnarled black hands on her lean hips, her thick gray curls pulled into a tidy bun at her nape. Her deep brown eyes glowed with joy.
Brianna squealed and launched herself up the stairs and into the aging woman’s open arms. Teela held her tight and Brianna squeezed back, smiling past her at her husband, Ray, who stood in the hallway.
They had stayed.
After all that had happened, Ray and Teela had chosen to stay at Greenbriar. “It’s so good to see you,” she breathed. “I thought you would leave after—”
“Now, girl, you know I’d never leave this place. Not while there’s breath in this body.”
“I’m so glad.”
Teela’s dark eyes sparkled. “How are you, chile?”
“No worse for wear.”
“You look terrible thin to me.”
“I was sick not long ago, but I’m fine now. Just glad to be home again.” Her stomach growled at the thought of Teela’s cooking.
The old woman frowned hard at her middle. “Your belly’s talking. You come with me right now. And you too, Mr. Gavin.”
They followed her swaying, bony form into the kitchen that smelled of cinnamon and molasses. Trays of freshly baked cookies cooled on the windowsill, half a row already gone.
Teela’s lips compressed into an irritated line. “I hope them cookies done burned his thievin’ fingers,” she muttered, and stalked off to find her errant husband.
Gavin’s eyes twinkled at Brianna as he cocked his head to one side and chewed a bite of cookie.
“What?”
He shrugged. “You’ve been gone for a long time and we haven’t heard much from you. Just wondered if you have anyone special in your life now. Maybe someone you met in Virginia?”
She certainly wasn’t going to tell him she’d promised herself to another Yankee. Gavin had accepted Caleb’s choice to join the Union army only because they’d been friends since childhood.
“Ah, I see. There is, but you don’t want to tell me who, is that it? Well, that’s fine, because a little mystery is welcome in this dreary town. I wonder who he might be. Hmm…a young Confederate officer, perhaps? I’ll bet he’s handsome. And charming. Am I close?”
Not at all.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”
Gavin barked out a laugh. “If that man has any sense in his head at all, he’ll come back for you. And if he doesn’t, it means he’s either dead or stupid, and so in either case, not an acceptable suitor for you. Morgan and I would both kill him if he did anything to hurt you, and you know it.”
“I do.” She smiled and dusted the crumbs off her hands, feeling better already. “Well, I suppose I should take a look around, shouldn’t I? See where we’re at if I’m going to get this place up and running again.”
He cast her a skeptical glance. “You’re really going to do this? Run the farm, I mean?”
“I want to have something for Morgan to build on when he comes home.”
“Bree, nobody’s got stock around here anymore—whatever’s left belongs to the armies. And you being a woman…” When she arched a brow, he folded his arms across his chest. “You sure you can do it?”
A fierce smile firmed her lips. After all she’d been through? “Watch me.”
Near Belle Grove in the Shenandoah Valley, VA
August 19, 1864
Dearest Justin,
The property at Greenbriar is in much better condition than I could ever have hoped for, and there is little to be done for now except to secure some of my father’s finances and purchase breeding stock. I know none will match Boy-o’s exquisite beauty, but I shall have to make do with the animals I can find and afford.
Riding at the head of his men, Justin smiled at that and reached down to pat his mount’s sturdy neck. This particular letter from Brianna was weeks old but one of his favorites because he knew he’d shocked her with his bold question in the previous note he’d sent her. He imagined her cheeks flushing wild-rose pink as she read it and wrote her reply.
In response to the question at the end of your most recent letter, yes, I have always dreamed of having children someday. I was happy to learn that you want them as well.
In truth Justin had never put much thought into it until recently, though he couldn’t deny that the thought of Brianna carrying his unborn child stirred a primal reaction in him. She was a passionate woman. Imagining being able to partake of the pleasures of the marriage bed with her left him hard and aching in his tent night after night. He could still recall the exact feel of her in his arms, the way she’d tasted and the hungry sounds she’d made as he kissed her.
This was neither the time nor place to be thinking about such things, however. With a mental shake, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into the left breast pocket of his frock coat, then pulled out the one he’d received from her that morning.
Dearest Justin,
I rec’d your letter of July 8
th
with much anticipation, and was relieved to hear that both you and your brother have been pronounced fit once again. I expect by the time you receive this note you will be back with your regiment. I pray that God will keep you both safe in His care. I think of you constantly, and fervently hope that we will be together again soon…
Lord, he prayed for that every day as well.
Justin skimmed down to re-read the way she’d closed the letter, and his heart squeezed.
Since becoming a widow I never expected to be able to give my heart to anyone again, until you. As terrible as those initial circumstances were, I thank God for bringing us together. I anxiously await your reply and pray that the war will come to a swift end. Until then, know that every night I dream of holding you in my arms again.
Ever yours,
Brianna
Boy-o snorted and tossed his head with a jingle of the bridle. Justin expelled a sigh and tucked the missive safely away. The tin of homemade cookies Brianna had sent along with it lay in his saddlebags, already half empty. Oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon were his favorites, and she’d remembered. Her thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze him. The words she wrote left him aching and anxious to see her again.
Justin focused on the terrain ahead. The steady beat of hooves on the dirt road mixed with the breeze sighing in the leafy branches above them. The column stretched in front of him as far as the eye could see, right up to where the lead element disappeared behind another hill. Receiving mail call before they’d moved out this morning had greatly boosted the men’s spirits.
Since he’d left White House Landing he and Brianna exchanged dozens of letters, and he kept hers bundled in his saddlebags so he could pull them out whenever he had a moment to himself. He’d learned so much about her through her writing, things little and small that added so much to his understanding of her. She hated snakes yet loved lightning storms. Adored lemonade and baked ham dinner, and loathed lamb. He’d laughed at the amusing stories she’d told him about her childhood, the practical jokes Morgan had played on her and how she’d managed to get even with him. He’d shared the same with her in turn, telling her of the infamous exploits he and Mitch had gotten into as boys.
War made the future uncertain, and Justin was more conscious of that than ever. Not knowing what the next battle would bring or if he’d live to see her again made it far easier to be forthright with her about his feelings, and he put his heart onto the page in each letter he wrote her.
God, he missed her. The whole time he’d been recuperating at home, he’d thought of little else but her. Much to Laurel’s bitter disappointment, he remembered with a shake of his head. She’d been just short of icy to him after she’d found out about Brianna, except for the day he and Mitch had left for the front. Then she’d cried and clung to him until her father had been forced to peel her off him.
It felt good to be on the move again. He stretched his spine and exhaled to loosen some of the lingering tightness in his chest. The healed wound in his side still ached when he was in the saddle for more than a couple of hours, but at least he was back with his regiment. The lush Virginia countryside they were traveling through was stunning. Rolling hills and hollows in every shade of green were crisscrossed with sparkling creeks flowing down from the Blue Ridge Mountains. If it hadn’t been for their orders, moving through the Shenandoah would have been an idyllic assignment.
Since the cavalry had undergone another reorganization during his convalescence, the Michigan Brigade was now under Brigadier General Wesley Merritt’s command. General “Little Phil” Sheridan had ordered the cavalry to follow Jubal Early and his forces to the death while stripping the Shenandoah of everything that might be useful to the Confederates. For the past four days, Justin and his men had seized and burned countless mills, barns, haystacks and warehouses, leaving plume after plume of black smoke hovering on the horizon.
Pushing the grim thought away, he recalled how Brianna had ended this latest letter and a smile curved his lips. She might dream of holding him in her arms again, but from other things she’d hinted at in her letters, he knew she also dreamed of more intimate things as well. Damn, he was a lucky bastard.
“You’re in a fine mood,” Williams said, riding beside him. “Got another letter from your sweetheart this morning, did you?”
“I did.” He couldn’t hold back a grin. Mail call was something they all looked forward to, and now he did more than ever.
Justin still worried about her being home, looking after her family’s property alone except for her two servants. If the damn war would end, he’d go straight there and help, but there was no end in sight yet. This campaign was supposed to hasten the Confederate’s surrender, and Justin fervently hoped it would prove true.
Raising his free hand, he wiped a sleeve over his sweaty brow. The late summer sun beat full strength on their heads and lathered the horses. The men were tired but in good spirits, always active on scouting missions, foraging or skirmishing with the enemy. Namely Mosby’s Rangers, a partisan group from this part of the valley that was proving to be a thorn in the side of the Army of the Potomac’s cavalry corps. Sheridan wanted the guerrillas dealt with at the first opportunity, but they were hard as hell to pin down.
The whole division had orders to confiscate supplies and destroy probable hideouts of the partisan troops, including the houses of five local families thought to be connected to Mosby’s command.
As the column neared the farm of Benjamin Morgan, Justin could hear Mitch chattering away behind him to another trooper. Ahead, the advance guard had reached the farm, and some sort of commotion had broken out. They kept their horses to a walk until shouts reached Justin’s ears. Senses on alert, he palmed the butt of his Colt revolver and cantered ahead with Williams. His guts clenched when he saw the spectacle awaiting them.
Major Hastings and a group of officers stood staring at eighteen blue-clad corpses, all from the Fifth Michigan. Justin recognized several of the men. The grass was saturated with blood from their bullet-riddled bodies and two of them had had their throats slashed wide open. The cloying, iron-tinged smell of it hung in the air, thick enough to choke him. Clenching his revolver, he dismounted and peered at Hastings for an explanation. The major’s clean-shaven, boyish face was a mottled red.
“Goddamn them to hell!” he spat, hands fisted at his sides.
Staring at his dead comrades, Justin understood his commander’s rage. Those men had been slaughtered without any regard for the rules of war, as if they were livestock instead of human beings. Had Mosby done this?
“Captain?”
Justin shook his head at Williams, unable to speak as he swept his gaze over the carnage. One survivor, shot in the face, held a cloth to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding as a surgeon attended him. At least they had a witness to tell them what had happened here.
Hastings followed his gaze and grunted. “He says Mosby’s men came through here disguised in Union uniforms. Shot them all in cold blood while they were on a burning detail.”
Justin clenched his jaw until it ached. Every man in the Fifth, including him, would want Mosby hunted down like a dog for this. Once it reached headquarters, news of the heinous crime would make Custer fly into a rage and demand satisfaction. Justin imagined sparks of fury flashing in those bright blue eyes as the general ordered everything in the vicinity burned to the ground.
And so be it.
Brianna’s letter pressed against his pounding heart like a weight. He could never tell her about this. Didn’t want her knowing his part of the war had turned so ugly, or to find out what he would have to do in the coming days. Because reprisal for these murders would be swift and terrible.
Oh yes, he thought as he looked at the bodies of the fallen troopers. Someone was going to pay for this. In blood.
****
September 19, 1864
Lexington, KY
My darling Brianna,
I rec’d your letters of August 15
th
and 19
th
with great eagerness. Having word from you regularly is a great comfort to me, and as always I find myself looking forward to mail call each day in the hopes that another of your letters has arrived.
You might have heard that we are under Sheridan now, and that we are conducting a difficult and unfortunate campaign in the Shenandoah Valley. The work is terrible, but the men are in fair spirits. My hope is that our effort, while hard on the civilians, will expedite the end of the war and my return to you. I loathe the thought of you shouldering all the responsibilities you have undertaken on your brother’s behalf, and regret that I cannot be there to help relieve you of the burden.
I miss you so very much and also pray that we will be together again soon. Until then, stay safe and warm, angel.
Affectionately yours,
Justin
Brianna’s eyes stung as she folded the letter and placed it in her apron pocket.
She
was safe and warm, while he was deep in enemy territory, sleeping out in the field every night while conducting a miserable task. She’d read about the atrocities committed in the Shenandoah in the papers, though this was the first time Justin had mentioned it in his letters. She missed him so much she ached, and the time apart hadn’t dulled the pain at all. Nearly every night she dreamed of him, sometimes erotic dreams that woke her with her heart pounding and her body aching for fulfillment. Other times she dreamed of death and carnage and woke with tears on her cheeks.
Rising from her chair, she stirred the fire, anticipating the moment when she could finish up for the day and soak in a hot tub. If she had the energy to haul all that water to the tub once the ledgers were finished. The return trip from her disappointing venture in Louisville had sapped whatever reserves of optimism she’d left with.
She’d known from the outset it wouldn’t be easy to replenish Greenbriar’s stock, but she’d hoped to have more success than this by now. So far, none of her father’s old sources had helped much. She’d managed to buy a couple of mares and one stallion, but they wouldn’t arrive for weeks and it was a pitiful number of animals to try and restart the business with. She braced her hands against her lower back and stretched the sore muscles with a sigh. Without Morgan’s guidance, she’d have to do the best she could. She hadn’t heard a word from or about him since leaving White House, so for now she was on her own.
As for Justin, she had a stack of letters tied with blue ribbon and many trinkets from him in the desk next to her bed. Every day she tracked his progress through the Shenandoah via the papers. What an odd courtship they had, she mused, rubbing the back of her neck. Without being able to see one another, they were forced to rely on correspondence to grow closer. And somehow, even though they were hundreds of miles apart, learning what he was thinking and feeling through his own words made her feel especially connected to him. She admired his principals and his courage, and that he was willing to lead men in the fight he believed in. With every letter she fell a little more in love with him.
She still worried about him, though, and not just about his safety. He never said it outright in his letters, but she could tell he hated what they were doing in the Shenandoah.
As far as Brianna was concerned, the end of the war couldn’t come soon enough, though she felt badly for the civilians the burning affected. She hated the thought of families and children being hungry and cold in the coming winter if the war continued. Why was it always the non-combatants who ended up suffering the most in war?