Ashes in the Wind (21 page)

Alaina gulped and her hopes shriveled into despair. Only five thousand Union dollars! At that rate and considering her salary from the hospital, she just might be able to afford the hitching post.

“This place is going on sealed bids, and the closing date is, let me see—April—April twelfth, ma’m. The results will be posted at all banks in Union-held territory around this area.”

“My goodness.” Alaina let the dismay sound in her voice. “I don’t think I can afford that. Is there anything cheaper perhaps?”

The teller’s face fell somewhat. “No, ma’m, nothing at all. The rest are to be auctioned, and you’d have to take your chances there.”

“I will have to talk this over with my uncle,” Alaina murmured as she rose on trembling limbs. She gave a weak smile. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.”

Feeling sick at heart, Alaina moved away from the man’s desk. The sum of money was so far above
her means it seemed like a dream. In fact, the only person she knew who might possibly have that much money was Cole Latimer, and she could think of no way to even broach the subject to him.

Eager to be away and think, Alaina stepped from the bank and was too engrossed in her dilemma to notice the man who moved to block her path until she was abruptly halted by his presence close in front of her. Glancing up in surprise, she found herself staring into Jacques DuBonné’s black, shining eyes.

“Mademoiselle!” He swept a low bow as he spoke, then when he straightened a smile flashed rakishly across his swarthy face. He had at last found the young widow he had been searching for. “We meet again!”

With pointed brevity, Alaina lowered her veil and stepped aside to pass on her way, but the man moved quickly into her path again.

“Your pardon, mademoiselle.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I dare not let you escape again. The last time, I find no trace of you. It was as if you drop from thees earth.”

Alaina fixed the man with a dispassionate stare. “I cannot imagine your cause in looking for me, sir, but it seems you have wasted your time. I do not know you, nor do I wish to correct that condition. Now, if you will let me pass—”

“
Ma chérie!
” Jacques was quick to argue. “Can you not guess that I am enamour with you? Now that I find you again, I be most stubborn to free you until I get the promise of your company. Perhaps this evening—”

“Don’t be absurd! Can you not see that I wear the dress of a widow? Your invitation is quite improper, sir, and if you do not let me pass, I will most definitely scream.” The boldness of this wiry, little man was beginning to wear on her temper. She tried to brush past him, but found her arm firmly seized.

“Thees is too public a place to discuss such things of delicacy,
ma chérie
. I have my carriage and my man across the street. I will take you wherever you wish to go, and we may have a bit of privacy on the way.”

Jacques lifted his hand and gestured to the black who sat atop the elaborate landau. At the Frenchman’s signal, the servant slapped the reins and began to ease nearer.

“You presume far too much, sir! I do not offer my company to strange men.” Alaina had had quite enough of the man’s obstinate impositions and was most anxious to be on her way. Several passersby had paused to stare, and if it was not unsettling to Jacques, it most definitely was to her. She jerked her arm from his grasp and fixed him with a cold, silver glare that pierced the veil. “Stand aside.”

“Come,
ma petite
. Do not be difficult,” he laughed, offhandedly dismissing her protests. Among his entourage of doxies, most had capered prettily for a few coins, and never having been associated with a lady, he had no concept of a gentleman’s way of courtship. He savagely used women for his own egotistical whims and, when he tired of them, thrust them aside in disgust. This widow whet his interest, and he was not to be denied. He slipped an arm familiarly about the slim waist and began to draw her with him
toward the carriage. “I will take you for a ride in my grand carriage, then we can—Aaaagh!”

This last was torn from his throat as the sharp, dainty heel came down full force on his instep. He jerked his pained foot away from her and caught her arm again, but only briefly. He staggered back, his ears ringing from the sharp slap carried to him by the flat of Alaina’s slender hand. He had not guessed such strength could come from one so small. But this was enough! His own rage clouded his judgment. No wench abused Jacques DuBonné! He found his balance and stepped forward to grasp her roughly, intending to repay her well for his smarting face.

In the next moment, a gasp was wrenched from the man as he was seized roughly by the scruff of the neck and lifted back with enough force to spill the hat from his head. The small man clawed for his stiletto. But the hand at the nape of his neck blocked his access to it, and Jacques suddenly felt the slim blade pressing between his own shoulder blades as the coat was twisted backward. He knew the well-honed edge and feared that the thin blade might snap or taste his blood. His toes barely brushed the sidewalk, and held rigid, he could not twist to see who it was who held him.

The huge black halted the landau and, bracing his arms to jump down, made to join the fray. But he froze as the gaping bore of a Remington .44 came around to stare with singular intensity at his broad chest. Slowly, carefully, the black resettled himself in the driver’s seat.

Cole Latimer set the gaudily garbed man to his feet with a shove. “It seems, Monsieur DuBonné,” he drawled leisurely as his blue eyes took on a flinty hue, “that I ever find you assaulting women or children.”

Jacques straightened his coat with a jerk and retrieved his hat. Dusting it off with his cuff, he fixed Cole with a baneful glare. “You have interfered with me thrice, Capitaine Docteur.” He placed his hat jauntily on his dark head. “I am not one to overlook such a debt for long.”

Cole let the hammer down easily and slid the pistol into the holster, deliberately leaving the flap open. He tipped his hat to the black-clad woman. “Are you all right, madam?”

The face was barely visible behind its heavy veil. An almost imperceptible nod answered him.

“Do you wish to press for redress from this man?”

The bonneted head slowly indicated a negative.

“Then I shall assume this affair over and done with.”

Alaina chanced a reply. “You have my undying gratitude, Captain.”

The low, velvet soft voice stirred something in Cole’s memory, but he had no time to dwell on it, for Jacques sneered, “Have a care, Capitaine Docteur, I am not used to interference. The next time, it will be different.”

Cole pressed the flap of his holster shut. “And you, Monsieur DuBonné, you take care of yourself. It has been my experience that bullet wounds are much more difficult to repair than saber cuts.”

Jacques gave a derisive snort, then glanced around. “I think, monsieur, we have both lost the cause.” He pointed down the street toward the fleeing figure of the trim widow. Cole watched her disappear around a corner and missed the quick gesture Jacques made to a tall, thin man who had emerged from a building across the street. The fellow
returned a quick nod, then hurried after the departing widow.

Casually, Jacques strolled to his waiting carriage and gazed back to the Federal officer. “Good-day, Capitaine Docteur Latimer. Another time perhaps.”

Cole touched the brim of his hat. “Perhaps.”

The carriage swung about, and Cole frowned. His moment of conversation with the widow had been far too brief. Like Jacques, he wanted to know more about her. And that voice! Something about it was like sharply pungent smoke drifting through his head, elusive as the very wind. But somewhere he had heard it before, and he would not be satisfied until it came to him just where.

Alaina slipped into the Craighugh house, unaware that she had been followed by a man who would later report to DuBonné that the widow lived in the same house where the Federal doctor was known to reside. This information was thoroughly confusing to the Cajun and thwarted any plans he might have had to seize her. But even more baffling was the fact that she was not seen leaving the house again, though the tall man spied upon it for several weeks thereafter.

Lifting her skirts, Alaina hurried up the stairs, only to be confronted at the landing by Roberta. Despite the late afternoon hour, the woman still wore a nightgown and wrapper.

“Where have you been in that garb?” the older cousin demanded sharply.

Alaina brushed past her, slipping off the bonnet. “I went to the bank to ask them about Briar Hill.”

“You what!” Roberta screeched and stormed
into the bedroom after Alaina. “You endanger us all for that pitiful farm? How dare you!”

The younger woman whirled, and her eyes darkened into pools of stormy gray. “ ‘That pitiful farm,’ darling,” she said in a low, flat tone, “was my home. It is the place my family labored to build. In its soil rest the weary bones of my mother. When you speak of it to me, it will be best to use a more reverent tone lest some terrible fate befall you.”

“You dare threaten me! Were it not for you, we’d have no cause to worry now. You ought to be careful that we don’t turn you out.”

“If not for me, darling, you’d never have wed precious Cole,” Alaina bitingly reminded her. “Isn’t that worth some danger?”

The glaring heat from the dark eyes was enough to convey that Roberta resented the harsh jarring of her memory. “Someday Cole and I will be gone from here.”

Alaina turned away and spoke over her shoulder as she pushed off a dainty slipper. “That Mrs. Mortimer who was here yesterday when I came from work—I overheard you talking to her about Washington. Is that where you’re planning to take Cole?”

Roberta smiled smugly. “You do have big ears, darling.”

“When you entertain Yankees in the house, I have to keep my ears open.” The corners of Alaina’s mouth lifted briefly in a substitute smile as she faced the woman. “Call it self-preservation.”

“Mrs. Mortimer is the wife of a Union officer,” Roberta corrected.

“As I said, a Yankee.”

“She’s going to talk to her husband about sending Cole to Washington. Perhaps he’ll even be on the President’s personal staff. He has the intelligence—”

“My! My! You sure are ambitious for him. Have you talked it over with him?”

“There’s no need right now. He’ll be informed soon enough.”

“How good of you. No doubt he’ll be forever indebted to you for helping his career along.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Roberta snapped. “I’m doing it for his own good. At least, it’s more than what you would have done for him had you been able to carry out your schemes to take him for yourself. The best you could have given him was a passel of brats to hang on to his coattails.”

“You’re right,” Alaina agreed, flinging up her hands dramatically. “As always!”

T
HE
captive city on the Mississippi reflected the fortunes of the Confederacy and, to the chagrin of the occupying troops, the misfortunes of the Union. Last September had found the city cheering when the news of the Union collapse at Chickamauga came, and October found the citizenry almost arrogant in the hope of rescue when Lee crossed the Rapidan on his way north again. November opened, and Lee went into winter quarters at the same spot he had departed a month earlier. The city grew silent and its people sullen, then Grant sent Bragg’s army fleeing south from Chattanooga, and Longstreet failed to crack the Union front at Knoxville. New Orleans gave up its dream of early reunion with the Southern cause.

Christmas and the beginning of the new year had been dreary and celebrated only in the privacy of homes, if at all. The year grew darker still in the second month as Sherman raided deep into Mississippi while the eastern armies still lay dormant. The Yankee frigate Housatonic was sunk by the small submersible Hunley, and though the deed was meager in import, it was great in heroism, and thus was seized upon for its brightness. The news of the Confederate success at Olustee, Florida, was overshadowed when the Yankees appointed, as
Governor of Louisiana, one G. Michael Hahn who, though a native, was an ardent anti-secessionist.

Now the winds of March came as if to dry the land and make it firm for the boots of marching soldiers. The fifth of the month dawned brash and breezy, and this Saturday had been chosen to embrace the inauguration of the new governor. When the ceremonies were completed in front of massed Union troops in Lafayette Square, the ensuing celebration awed the citizens of the city with its unbridled extravagance.

A chorus of a thousand men had been assembled, and their voices were raised in a full rendition of the “Anvil Chorus” with all the bands of the army in accompaniment and hundreds of cannon fired in unison by electrical devices. All the churches had been ordered to ring their bells, and the din was magnificent, if somewhat tuneless.

It was earlier in the morning when Alaina settled herself near the kitchen hearth while Dulcie prepared her a plate of grits and sausages. The bright flames danced around the bottom of a black kettle that hung over the fire, sending bubbles rolling over the surface of the water that filled it.

“Ain’t he later’n usual?” Alaina asked, nodding toward the pantry door.

Dulcie came to the table to set the plate down and confided in a low whisper. “Mistah Cole’s gotta work late tonight, and Miz Roberta ain’t hardly gib dat man a bit o’ peace since he got up. The Yankees is gettin’ demselves all duded up to celebrate dat traitor being ‘lected gov’nor, and she wants Mistah Cole to take her to dat highfalutin ball Gen’ral
Banks is givin’ tonight. Now dat she and Mistah Cole’s movin’ to Washin’ton, Miz Roberta got it in her head she’s one o’ dem Yankees. She had Jedediah fetch her over a Miz Bank’s house jes’ yestahday, while you and Mistah Cole was at de hospital. An’ she come back a-ravin’ over dat woman’s genteel manners.”

Alaina snorted in derision and stirred melting butter into the steaming grits. Dulcie set her massive arms akimbo and frowned sharply as she watched the girl sprinkle a heaping spoon of sugar over the cooked hominy. “Dat’s de way dem Yankees eat grits, chile! Doan yo’ go turnin’ yo’self inta one o’ dem critters, too!”

“Dulcie?” Cole called from the pantry where he had gone to bathe.

“Yassuh, Mistah Cole?” The black woman sauntered nearer the door.

“Ask Jedediah to bring that water in here now, if it’s hot.”

“Jedediah ain’t here, Mistah Cole. Miz Carter, down the road, was ailin’, and she ask Mistah Angus if Jedediah could fetch her to da doctor.”

“I thought I heard Al. Is he out there?”

Dulcie exchanged an apprehensive look with Alaina who had straightened in her chair with sudden alert attention.

“Yassuh,” the black servant answered slowly. “Mistah Al’s sitting right heah.”

“Then have him bring the water in. This bath is freezing.”

Alaina’s distress showed in her smudged face and widened eyes. After a brief moment, she collected
enough of her wits to call back, “Ya wants it, bluebelly, come get it yerself. I got a day o’ totin’ water ahead o’ me widout starting now.”

“Al!” Cole’s bark came with the sharp edge of anger. “Get that water in here now!”

Alaina threw down her fork and railed at the door. “I ain’t fetchin’ it, bluebelly!”

“Get it in here now!” Cole commanded in a barely subdued bellow. “Or I’ll tan that skinny rump of yours!”

“Gotta ketch me furst, Yankee!”

“I’ll catch you,” Cole warned. “And I’ll not only tan your bottom, I’ll show you what a bath is for!”

At that threat, Alaina stuttered into silence. She wouldn’t put it past the Yankee to do just that.

“Al!” The captain’s patience was wearing thin.

“All right! All right!” Alaina moaned in the petulant tones of a yielding teenager. She went to the fireplace and tested the steaming kettle with her finger. Then suddenly a glow of mischief brightened her eyes. Pouring cold water into the hot, she slipped her hand into the water. Just about right! After she was through with him, that Yankee would never ask this of her again. She dipped a bucket into the kettle, filling it full, then caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she struggled with the weight of the pail across the room.

“Al!”

“I’m coming!” she wailed in answer. “Keep yer suds up, Yankee. I’m hurryin’.”

She avoided Dulcie’s horrified stare and shuffled into the pantry, pushing the door wide. “Gotcha yer water, bluebelly.”

Before Cole had a chance to reply, Alaina emptied
the whole bucketful down his back. A hoarse gasp was torn from him at the sudden shock. It was just hot enough to be very noticeably uncomfortable. His roar of rage made Alaina drop the bucket, and as he grasped the sides of the tub to heave himself out, she quickly decided the moment was at hand for a hasty retreat. A gay torrent of laughter followed her as she fled. The enraged doctor snatched a large towel around his hips and charged after her, nearly slipping as his wet feet made puddles on the floor. The menacing look in those startling blue eyes squelched the rippling sound of gaiety the very moment Alaina shot a hurried glance over her shoulder. She did a spritely scamper across the kitchen to place Dulcie’s bulk between herself and the nearly naked and furious Yankee.

“You little whelp! I’ll blister your britches good!” Cole cried.

“Whatsa matter, Cap’n?” Alaina asked, her chuckling voice a pure shade of innocence. “Weren’t it hot enough?”

“You witless little vagabond!” Cole’s longing for vengeance was more than apparent as he began to stalk her. “It’s about time you learned what a hot bath is for!”

Alaina solved Dulcie’s dilemma by leaving that shelter and strolling across the room, carefully keeping the large cooking table between herself and the enemy.

“Jes’ ’cause ya think ye’re some kinda relative now,” Al informed him haughtily and rubbed a slim finger through some flour on the table, “don’t think ya got a right ter handle me anymo’ than befo’.”

“I’ll handle you, all right!” he warned direly and lunged around the table for her.

A moment later Cole had to duck as Al kicked a boot off, sending it flying toward him. The second boot followed on its heels, catching Cole on the bare shin. His grunt of pain brought a quick grimace from Alaina who hadn’t really meant to hit him so hard, but she had no time to pause in consideration of his injury before he charged after her. Her giggles floated back over her shoulder as she circled the table.

“What is going on here!” a shrill voice demanded, and all turned in abrupt silence to see Roberta in the doorway.

“That brat nearly scalded me again!” Cole gritted through clenched teeth. “And when I’m through with him, he’ll need a cold pack for his rear!”

“Cole! Stop it!” his wife railed as he lunged toward the dodging waif who sprinted quickly away from the kitchen table to retrieve her boots.

“Not until I teach him some manners!” Cole flung. “It’s high time somebody did!”

The man followed the laughing imp and raced toward the back door just behind the ragged form. The portal slammed closed, and in the next instant, Cole found himself facing Roberta who, fearing that her husband would follow Alaina into the yard, spread her arms across the portal, barring his escape.

“I want to talk to you!” she said sharply. “Upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

“I was taking a bath,” Cole retorted and turned toward the pantry. “And I plan to finish it, now that I’ve gotten rid of that little menace.”

“And paraded yourself naked around the
women of this household,” Roberta sneered.

Holding the towel firmly around his hips, Cole caught himself in mid stride, turned slightly and gave a brief, apologetic bow to Dulcie. “Your pardon. I did forget myself in my quest for revenge.”

Dulcie’s chuckling merriment could not be restrained as she busied herself stirring the grits. “Dat Al, he sho’ can scamper.”

“Cole!” Roberta warned him tautly. “Stay away from that boy!”

Cole arched a brow toward his wife. “Now, I can’t very well do that, my dear. It seems I brought him to the hospital as a hireling, and I have yet to find cause to dismiss him. And as you should know, my dear”—his voice was pleasant but held more than a trace of sarcasm—“that is where I work.”

“Too much!” Roberta gritted. “You could just as easily take me tonight, but you’re more devoted to that damned hospital than to me.”

Cole refused to comment on that statement. Of late, it was the only place he could escape from Roberta’s ceaseless harping. He noticed that Dulcie had quietly slipped from the kitchen, giving it over to them.

“You don’t deny it, then,” Roberta sneered. “You can’t!”

He shook his head slowly. “Don’t start that again, Roberta. Just the other night I had Major Warrington take my duty hours so I could go with you.”

“And you were miserable, weren’t you?”

“If you’ll remember, my love,” he stressed the endearment, “we went to the theatre the night before and Antoine’s afterward. My total hours of sleep were three. I was tired!”

“Anytime you go with me you’re tired!” Roberta flung petulantly. “But you can chase that—that
boy
around the kitchen!”

“Now what does that have to do with it?” Cole threw up his hand in resignation. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of that pint-sized ragamuffin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just that you never seem to find time for me, but you’re always with
him
.” She jerked her head toward the back yard.

“Don’t worry.” Cole’s sarcasm had thickened. “He won’t be going with us to Washington.”

“Huh!” Roberta tossed her dark mane over her shoulder. “You’d just as soon stay here than be attached to Mister Lincoln’s personal staff.”

Cole sighed wearily and shook his head. “Roberta—I doubt that I will be on the President’s staff. He has colonels aplenty to serve him. For your information, Washington has a large hospital which General Grant keeps well stocked with wounded. The only thing you can be sure of is that I’ll probably have more paperwork to keep up.”

“It’s still an important advancement. And if not for me, you’d have thrown away the chance. Now, as it is, you’ll probably make general, and we can live in Washington and meet all the people who surround the President. That is, of course, when the Union wins.”

“I wish Grant were as sure as you are.” Cole gave a wry, lopsided grin and considered Roberta more closely. It seemed that she had progressed quite far in her plans for them. “You should also know that after the war, I’ll be returning to my home to take up my practice again.”

“What? To be slaughtered by the Indians just like all those other poor people? Oh, I heard about all those wild savages roaming the countryside. I’ll never go there to live! Never!”

Angrily, Cole turned his back upon her and strode into the pantry, slamming the door behind him. With a curse, he threw aside the towel and got back into the tub, but Roberta was in a bit of a temper herself and followed him.

“You’ll not escape me so easily, Cole Latimer!” She marched straight to the tub. “And we still have to settle the issue about tonight. I want to go to that ball!”

Cole flung up a hand irritably. “Then go! But I’ve got work to do!”

“You wouldn’t care if some other man
did
take me!” she wailed with a sob of rage. “You’re cold! Unfeeling!”

He gave her a sidelong look of disbelief. “Madam?”

“Ice runs in your veins!” she accused tearfully.

“Well, my dear,” he drawled leisurely. “I’ve seen ice thaw quicker in a Minnesota January than you in bed.”

“What do you mean?” Roberta demanded, in outrage.

“Let’s face it, Roberta. Since our marriage you seem to have become bored with it all. If you want to know the truth of it, I liked you better the first time, after Al fished me from the river.”

For a stunned moment Roberta gaped at him, then the next instant the air cracked with the sound of her open palm meeting Cole’s cheek. “How dare you! How dare you!” she railed in high agitation.
“Just because I don’t act like some eager little trollop who falls into bed with you for a trinket, you insult me like this. I am a lady, Cole Latimer, and don’t you ever forget it! I assure you, a lady does not enjoy being pawed and petted!”

He frowned at her curiously as he passed a hand down his reddened cheek. “Strange, I seem to remember giving you a trinket for your favor. A medallion, as a matter of fact.” His gaze lightly skimmed the heaving bosom above the low décolletage of her lace dressing gown. “And sometimes, Roberta, I get the feeling there are two sides of you, each completely different. Where is that woman I held in my arms that night, Roberta? Has she retreated now that the vows have been spoken and sealed?”

Roberta straightened indignantly, gave him a scathing regard, whirled on her high heels, and stalked out of the room, taking her turn at slamming the door. Cole leaned back in the tub and listened to her heels clicking in rapid staccato across the brick floor in the kitchen. That woman, he mused, was turning his life into a living hell.