ROSEDALE IN APRIL
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Only shades of gray stretched across the mid
May southern skies appropriately reflecting the mood of Union Captain Jack
Dalton. A week had nearly passed since departing Rosedale and the Federal Cavalry
unit under his command had as of yet to reach the "almost" captured
city of Vicksburg, Mississippi. That major siege of the fateful campaign under
General Grant was concurrently in progress and total victory wouldn’t prevail
until the fourth day of July after six futile attempts to take it. However,
Confederate Lt. General John Pemberton had just been repulsed on the outskirts
of town at Champion Hill on the sixteenth of May. Consequently, Grant had
boldly decided to attack the city three days later as he waited for fresh
reinforcements from Dalton’s advancing troops to arrive.
Torrential rains and gusting winds dogged the
exhausted soldiers’ every step and although the temperatures were still warm,
the perpetual humidity and inclement weather conditions were taking their toll
on the men’s health. Several, including Private Fabrizio di Rossi, had
developed symptoms of influenza and pneumonia; however, the dreaded yellow
fever prevalent during the summer months in the mosquito infested swamps of the
deep South had seemingly eluded the platoon thus far. Thank God that summer was
yet another month away! It was a well known fact that the feared epidemic could
sweep through an area infecting hundreds thereby dropping folks like flies in
its grotesque enormity and entirety. For the first few days after crossing the
Sabine River into Louisiana, morale was low and little conversation took place.
Perhaps some were pensively lamenting as to their destiny that lay ahead in
forthcoming battles between North and South while others, particularly the
stoic Captain, grieved for what was left behind.
Miraculously, only small pockets of enemy
resistance was entailed along the route via the Jackson Road leading into
Vicksburg. Swollen and flooded rivers, creek beds and streams posed the worst
obstacles to the regiment’s final destination. Unfortunately, a few poor souls
had lost their lives to drowning; yet one had tragically suffered the worst
death of them all…to snakebite. All were unanimous in their testimonies that
nothing was quite as nightmarish as standing helplessly by and watching a man
or beast die from the injected poison that the deadly fangs of the cotton mouth
water moccasin was capable of inflicting. Few survived it…not unlike the
horrifying yellow fever plague. Like razor sharp thorns that guarded a fragile
delicate rose in a virtual Garden of Eden, venomous serpents and the yellow
fever protected the deep South from all those that invaded, threatened, or
remained ignorant of her mysteries, dangers, and secrets. For no man conquered
nature; therefore, Mother Nature granted no mercy or immunity to those that
were marked for annihilation in life’s challenging game of chance and survival.
All mankind, whether it be Northerners or Southerners alike, were just temporary
inhabitants on the Earth and Father Time had a way of being very
undiscriminating. For prophecy warns when your name was called…one’s final
journey concluded at either the pearly gates of heaven or the flaming pits of
hell! Nevertheless, thousands of lives were about to end simultaneously at
Vicksburg and further north in the small Pennsylvania town called Gettysburg.
Despite the rugged trail’s hardships, Captain
Dalton’s massive military column rode into an ongoing war zone. They formidably
marched into Grant’s Union headquarters high upon a ridge destined as Champion
Hill that had been recently captured the previous day in a harrowing campaign
that lasted nigh a full month. The battle had began at seven o’clock in the
morning on the sixteenth day of May and victory had been proclaimed late that
same evening. It was the seventeenth when Jack’s unit arrived to increase the
Federal combat strength to thirty-two thousand; therefore, preliminary plans
were underway for an immediate advancement into the city of Vicksburg, a main
Confederate stronghold high on the eastern bluff bank along the mighty
Mississippi River. This "Rock of Gibraltar" was in the midst of
becoming a historical decisive part of the War Between the States. It was
imperative and of an utmost strategic importance that it be captured thus
splitting the Confederacy in two. It would also give the North control of the
river allowing passage straight through the heart of Dixie thus enabling them
to freely transport supplies and men along its course.
The acrid smell of gunpowder and canons,
blood, and death permeated the green hilly landscape still littered with the
bloating decaying bodies of Yankees and Rebels alike as swarms of buzzards
circled overhead and feasted. How could the ground soak up so much blood? Holy
sacred land where lost souls and ghosts would roam for centuries to
come…searching…mourning…praying for an absolution that would never come. Sniper
fire from muskets made it near to impossible to retrieve the rotting bodies of
fallen soldiers for a proper burial. Not one white flag was raised by either
side…patriotic pride and fierce determination the one characteristic that kept
the South fighting to the death and the North relentlessly pursuing them to
their tragic end.
Staring at the gross atrocities laid out in
death over the rolling verdant hills of comrades and enemies alike, Captain
Jack Dalton winced before letting out a pent-up breath that he had been holding
in awestruck horror. A heartfelt disgusted sigh escaped his raw throat while
his gut twisted and lurched at the evidence the bloody conflict had reaped. It
was ironic, he seethed, just two months prior he would have experienced an all
out adrenaline rush engaged in an arm-to-arm combative contest between Blue and
Gray. The mighty Jack Dalton, one of the North’s supreme fighting warriors,
that remarkably tasted victory and had been continually rewarded for heroism
with numerous medals of valor in the face of adversity. The so-called honor now
soured in his mouth…in his soul. For that was before Rose. That was
before he had fallen in love with the South which had given birth to his heart
and his true love…and now held his unborn child in her care tucked deep in the
east Texas thicket...at Rosedale.
But alas, they had finally arrived at their
summoned assignment however with a lot less vigor to fight their estranged
brothers in this shared homeland called America. A tottering still newborn
country that was now on the verge of collapsing. Pondering the great dilemma in
every American’s heart kept ricocheting through Jack’s spiraling brain; must he
standby and allow this great fledging nation to divide or do everything in his
power to keep her united? Yet he knew before the question could be formed in
its entirety the answer…through widespread human suffering, pain, loss, and
sacrifice would he and his brethren pay the ultimate price for democracy and
freedom. Would it ever be worth the cost? One could only speculate, hope
and pray…and honorably remember those that paid with their lives. For the
States had to stand united…America could not die.
Halting outside the scarred red door of the
Champion House or "White House" as the Union troops referred to the
elevated structure, the Captain and Sergeant wiped what mud they could from
their weathered soiled boots and removed their slickers. Hundreds of bombproof
shelters surrounded its perimeters to protect the 45th Illinois
Infantry against enemy artillery fire. For some reason, Jack experienced a
tinge of nervousness because inside the two-storied white clapboard house that
served as the temporary headquarters of General Grant, resided their great
military leader to whom he would have to personally account for his last six
weeks. Therefore, what and how much should he reveal to his commander? What did
duty and honor demand that he divulge to his superior? For over the long lonely
miles into Vicksburg, it had truthfully never crossed his pining mind what
exactly to report and what he deemed necessary to confer. Notwithstanding, the
two returning officers were immediately shown inside to the masculine-appointed
study that served as Grant’s office.
"Captain Dalton!" The General
warmly greeted as he hastily arose from his chair with the inevitable cigar
still hanging from his lips. It was a well known fact that the General smoked
continuously…perhaps to tranquilize his nerves…produce calmness in a time where
peace was rare. And calmness in the face of adversity was one noble trait that
General Ulysses S. Grant possessed with an over-abundance. Never let your enemy
see your fear…not unlike the Texas branch of his extended family.
"Captain Jack Dalton and Sergeant Tommy
Ryan reporting for duty, sir!" Jack and Tommy both smartly and
respectfully saluted their great commander-in-chief.
"Let’s forgo the formalities, gentlemen.
Come have a stiff drink and tell me of Texas! I grow tired of conversations
pertaining strictly to war and destruction and have a hankering to hear more
comforting news of the better things in life." The General welcomed with
eyes that mysteriously danced with a hint of mischief as he waved his hand to
dismiss their salutes.
Still respectfully standing at attention,
Jack half smiled. "Hot, sir. Incredibly hot. And it’s only May! I can only
imagine the heat August brings!"
"Aw…that it can be, Captain.
Nevertheless, thank your lucky stars your extended stay wasn’t during the
summer months! Hot and humid as hell, let me assure you of that! Heard tales of
slaves hanging the laundry out on lines to dry and before they could get to one
end, the clothes would already be dry at the other end." Grant amicably
offered two glasses of strong liquor to Dalton and Ryan before holding his up
as if to toast the weather.
"But humor me for I grow impatient, do
you bring a personal message or perhaps a post from Rosedale penned exclusively
for me?" Grant asked with a bit of anxiousness interspersed in his tone.
So anxious in fact, that he appeared as an impatient young boy expecting that
perfect long wished for gift at Christmastime.
"Message, sir? I’m not sure I know what
you mean." Jack responded a bit dumbfounded and perplexed then took a
small sip from his glass to let the whiskey slide down his throat to warm his
chilled insides.
"From the forever gracious and
hospitable Miss Rose DeWitt Bukater." Grant jovially responded somewhat
amused at his Captain’s inscrutable words but the crow’s feet at the corners of
his dark eyes deepened in admiration for the young lady he respected and
admired more than most of the brave men that served under him.
Nevertheless, judging from the confused
countenance on the Captain’s face and the fact that the young man nearly choked
on the amber liquor, Grant astutely deducted that his sly, cunning niece hadn’t
divulged their relationship and couldn’t help but wonder as to her reasons. Of
course, knowing the little spitfire as he did, Grant reckoned that she was most
likely quite rankled by his orders at sending a Yankee regiment onto her
precious plantation for mere protection’s sake especially without her
permission or forewarning. Yet to have the audacity to punish her own uncle by
snubbing him! The little stubborn minx! But then Rose was so fiercely
independent…why was he so surprised? Never one to throw names around, she
probably figured she could take care of the whole damn Yankee Army herself!
"Tell me, Jack. How was the hospitality
at Rosedale? Hostile perhaps?" Still that mocking grin that twitched at
the lips holding onto the pungent smelling cigar before swirling the stout
whiskey around in his half full glass and gulping another swig.
"Initially, General. But over time…the
mistress of Rosedale miraculously came around."
With a huge belly laugh, Grant heartily
slapped the mahogany desk with the palm of one hand as he set the whiskey
decanter down with a bang. "I find that hard to believe, Captain. Rose
coming around? HA! If so, a miracle in the making indeed! Politely said and
very intuitive of you! Nonetheless, I see I owe you an apology, Jack.
Belatedly, I realize that I should have sent a letter of introduction for
you to deliver upon your arrival at Rosedale. Knowing a certain red headed
little vixen as I do, I should have known that Rose wouldn’t cotton to a bunch
of "damn, dirty Yankees" invading her home. Am I right?" A
devilish mischievous grin widened still as a puff of cigar smoke nearly
obscured the General’s bemused face but the dark eyes continually twinkled like
a galaxy of stars.
As Ulysses continued to stare at one of his
most respected and honored officers, he astutely noticed the pallor of Jack’s
skin unmistakably lighten. Glimpsed the Adam’s apple that bopped convulsively
and a great hesitation and wariness envelope the handsome soldier despite his
feeble attempt to mask the shocked albeit perplexed visage with a blank stare.
As if the young Captain were stunned for some reason and a dawning realization
was grasping hold of the dashing man. Glancing askance at Sergeant Ryan to
Jack’s left, an animated silly kind of I know a secret smile quirked at
the corners of the Irishman’s lips. Something was remiss, but what?…time to
go fish.
Finding his voice, Jack managed to force out
but in a wary tone of voice.
"You’re acquainted with Miss Bukater personally,
General Grant?" And Jack held his breathe in dread.
A loud guffaw erupted from the General’s gut.
A hilarious laugh that rolled on and on. "Acquainted with her? By
damned, Captain Dalton. That fiery hot headed little spitfire has my own blood
running through her veins. She’s my great niece…her mother’s side of the
family. I take it she didn’t disappoint me and gave you all a hell of a hard
time? I wouldn’t even be surprised if she took a shot at you? Am I right?"
"Y-y-yes, Sir, you can be extremely
proud. Miss Bukater gave me a heck of a…uh…uh… hum…h-h-hard time, General. As a
matter of fact…she did take a shot!" Jack nervously stammered
feeling the blood rush to his feet and the hackles rise up on the back of his
neck remembering their first encounter. Damn Rose’s impish hide…to keep such
a life-altering fact so secretive…And then Jack blanched as pale as cotton
at the possible consequences that Rose’s pregnancy could reap where his
commander was concerned. Getting the Union General’s underage niece pregnant
with child during wartime? Oh hell! He was in deep shit!
"And she missed her aim? Well…well,
Captain Dalton, you were in luck. Honestly though, I wish to thank you
for your patience and tolerance with my favorite niece. God knows she can be
quite trying and exasperating at times. To put in bluntly…she’s a pistol and
can be very hard to handle! Always has been for that matter! But let me
reiterate that I apologize for my apparent lack of insight as to Rose’s irate
behavior towards a Yankee Army regiment setting up headquarters on her
plantation during wartime."
Staring right through Jack, Grant
instinctively registered the sickly smile that momentarily tugged at his
Captain’s mouth before the bluest eyes he could ever remember seeing suddenly
slid to an inanimate object on the far wall. So…no volunteered information
thus far and not very forthcoming in details despite his attempts to draw the
young Captain out…well, let’s just fish further, Grant surmised and
continued to probe.
"Any apparent adverse effects of the war
on Rosedale, Captain?" Grant surreptitiously observed the inward battle
being fought within Jack…almost like a panic filled loss for words…an uncanny
turmoil twirling around in the man’s conscience perhaps?
"Uh…oh...um…Miss Bukater’s stepfather
was killed on his way into Richmond to join up with the Confederacy which left
her the sole heir…"
"Sterling Bukater?" Grant barked
with sudden surprise then began to pace a few steps and forcefully exhaled a
stream of smoke. Abruptly, without warning, in mid stride, the General spun
around and impaled Jack with an inquisitive intense stare that searched the
Captain’s soul for the truth…and demanded it.
"You mean you know of the details
of Rose’s parentage, Jack? How is it that you would be privy to such
intimate details regarding my niece? Especially since Rose herself was
never aware of who her true father was?" And those dark brown eyes
audaciously dared Jack Dalton to lie.
Time stood still as Jack’s heart stopped in
mid beat. The air was so thick with tension that one could slice it with a
knife. The only audible sound was the ticking from the German made
grandfather’s clock sitting on the mantle. Tick…tock…tick…tock…And
then…rap…rap…rap! Thankfully, a knock sounded at the study door that prevented
Jack’s rebuttal and gave him time to think and inwardly curse at his unwitting
blunder. He had been so addled by the fact that Rose was actually Grant’s niece
that he simply never suspected that the General would pick up on such a slight
inadvertent misuse of terms. Notwithstanding, that’s what he got for sparring
and trying to hide information from the extremely sharp and intuitive General
Ulysses S. Grant.
What seemed like hours was merely seconds
before Grant excused himself and dismissed the Captain and Sergeant for the
night. However, with one last comment that jump-started Jack’s heart pumping
again in trepidation. "Captain Dalton…we’ll continue this most intriguing
conversation in private on the morrow. Join me for breakfast early in the
morning…just you and me. Now, see to your men and those that might require medical
attention can be cared for in the field hospital set up in the Coker house and
in the overflow tents. Corporal Williams will show you the way." As Jack
and Tommy saluted and hastily turned on booted heels to leave, General Grant
regained their attention before they could clear the smoke-filled room.
"Oh, one more thing, Captain Dalton."
"Sir?"
"Thank you for guarding the welfare of
my niece. I’ll never forget it."
An uneasy silence and that choking tightness
again in Jack’s throat as if his shirt collar was suddenly tighter than normal.
"No thanks needed, General. It…it was…my
pleasure." Jack immediately spun around to leave before Grant could
hopefully discern the guilty expression plastered across his face.
Before the door shut completely behind the
two men, Grant took another drag from his cigar and squinted through the cloud
of smoke at the still vibrating door. Exhaling, he mumbled, "We shall see,
my dear boy. Maybe I’ll have better luck fishing for information in the morning
than I did today."
It had began to drizzle rain again when Jack
and Tommy disembarked from the Champion House. The kind of misting rain that
accentuated the dreariness of the foggy wooded landscape…not enough to wash
away the mud or bloodshed that still scarred the green surrounding battlefield
but actually intensified the nauseating smells of death and defeat. Inside Jack
sensed his own demise was at hand and drew a deep breath of the humid wet air
into his tight lungs.
"Shit…Jack! Are you ever in a
heap of trouble. Maybe you should pray for a stray rebel bullet, huh? Maybe
then you wouldn’t have to rot in prison whenever General Grant finds out the
truth about you and Rose! The General is gonna hit the roof when he realizes
that he sent a lion into the sheep’s den to guard his virginal lamb!"
Stopping dead in his tracks…blue shards of
steel bore into laughing eyes of green shamrocks. All of a sudden, the
ludicrous remark struck Jack as funny for some inexplicable reason. He supposed
it was the comical notion of his Rose being painted as a sacrificial lamb
because meekness was one characteristic that completely eluded her strong
personal makeup. Nonetheless, he felt like a naughty juvenile delinquent that
had just been caught with his pants down in the hayloft.
With a self-deriding chuckle, Jack jeered,
"Yeah well, Tommy. Maybe the General will let you be on the firing squad.
And if so, try aiming straight through the heart making it quick and less
painful, my friend. Because I’m not suited to prison."
"What? Don’t relish being shot below the
belt like with the notorious Major Henley?" Tommy teasingly rebuked in
obvious mirth.
"Hardly. Now cut it out and let’s help
Fabrizio and some of the others to the medics so they can be made more
comfortable at least."
"So…you’ve learned not to hold a grudge,
I see, at least where the Pup is concerned."
"Whenever it comes to holding a grudge,
Tommy, I can’t fault Fabrizio for falling for the most beautiful and
irresistible tart in the land, now can I? Besides, I never felt threatened by
the boy’s charms."
"Is that why you came charging
through the door at the saloon that night like the demons of hell were on your
heels?" Tommy teasingly snickered.
Just a self-deprecating grin curved the
corners of Jack’s mouth before he bit down on his bottom lip to try and hide
his embarrassment at the reminder of his outrageous jealous reactions of that
April night in Jefferson. Changing the subject, Jack shook his head in
amazement.
"Hellfire and damnation! I obviously
underestimated Rose! I should have suspected that she had a winning card up her
sleeve! Shit…General Grant’s niece! But I have to wonder why she never used
that ace before…uh…certain "things" transpired as they did between
us! Yet more importantly…where in the name of God is this bit of vital
incriminating information going to lead us now? And how in the hell am I going
to explain things to the General?" Jack mumbled out loud but was mostly
directed towards himself instead.
"Well, the fact that she’s the General’s
niece explains a lot. But I guess what it really means is…she really loves
you, Jack. For if she didn’t, she’d never allowed the relationship to evolve as
it did. She could’ve threatened to have you thrown in the brig anytime!
Remarkable, to say the least, that she never even mentioned that Grant was her
uncle! Damn, she knows how to play straight-faced poker with a lucky hand! You
must have done something right, Jackie Boy!" Tommy joked before
slapping his best friend on the back. "But as to how you’re going to tell
the General, well, you’re on your own there, my friend!"
"You think so, Master Philosopher?"
Jack chided but couldn’t hide the glow emulating from his face at the mention
of the great love that he had found in the arms of the enemy and the astounding
fact that he was loved in return.
"Positive, Jack. Always heard it said
that love wasn’t logical! At least that’s what Private di Rossi always
says!"
Private Fabrizio di Rossi was burning up with
fever before he was at last carried by stretcher to an appointed vacant cot at
the back of the infirmary. The very same bed that had recently became available
by the fatal passing of another soldier-at-arms. Rows upon rows of
military-issue cots were placed so close together that one could barely walk in
the tight pathway in between. In the next bed laying alongside the seriously
ill coughing boy, a dark headed patient groaned before rolling and facing
towards the on-going activity in the next bunk in surly annoyance.
"I demand some privacy here. Get that
filth out of here. I’m an officer and a gentleman…a highly ranked Major;
therefore, I require some respect and rest."
The field doctor ignored the insufferable,
obnoxious man that had continued to be a nuisance and a disgrace to the North
since his uppity insistence that he be preferentially cared for by the medical
staff of the General since incurring his injury in Natchez many weeks prior.
Major Caledon Henley demanded and expected the best that money could buy…in
every aspect of life. And currently the best physicians that the USA military
could offer was at the disposal and made exclusively available to the Union
General. Cognizant of this fact, Henley had made a repulsive spectacle of
himself and repeatedly threw the fact around that he was engaged to Grant’s
niece and would be afforded the General’s surgeons or else! Almost immediately
however, the haughty man had become like a feral mad dog in his hostility
towards his fellow soldiers and outright degrading to all that tried to attend
him. Although the patient doctor was sympathetic regarding the Major’s
humiliating wounds, he suspected the annoying man’s worsening psyche was a lot
more at risk than his physical condition.
"Major Henley, there is no room for
privacy during wartime. This man is gravely ill and is in dire need of medical
attention even more so than you right now. Now please, can I have one of
the orderlies make you more comfortable in some way?"
A vicious growling snarl was the physician’s
only answer yet the bystanders continued to ignore him…all except the Captain
who sauntered over to the bunk standing over the unruly man before casting down
a sadistic sneer intermixed with disgust, disdain, and contempt. A severe scowl
marred Jack’s stern features as blue chips of ice glared down at his most hated
nemesis and foe.
"Major Henley, I take it? We’ve never
been properly introduced but the name is Dalton…Captain Jack Dalton."
For a split second, a faint memory invaded
the dark man’s dulled brain…a mere glimpse of a resemblance to someone that he
used to know but then he instantly shook it off like one would a pesky insect
before raising a sharp inquisitive brow.
"Am I supposed to be awed or delighted,
Dalton? You’re obviously not a respectable gent or you wouldn’t be in the
company of a filthy Italian or grungy Irishman…both beneath we first class
citizens. They’re nothing but gutter rats from the bowels of hell! Not fit to
wipe my boots upon!"
"Frankly, I don’t give a damn if you’re
either delighted or offended, Henley! Although I do have a message from
your former fiancee in Texas!" As blue eyes blazed with fire into
cold black pits of evil.
"Rose? You know of my future wife?"
Cal disgustingly spat immediately displaying a marked interest now in what the
man had to say; yet, the ebony eyes still narrowed and darkened…without one
glimpse of warmth despite the mention of Rose’s name.
"Know of her?" Jack jeered with a
cocky smile encompassing the swell of full sensual lips. "I’d say we’ve
become quite personable and familiar in the last…let’s say six weeks, Henley.
I’ve even heard from a very reliable source that you received a very
disheartening letter from the lady in the last month or so." Jack’s steely
eyes gleaned with mockery…ridicule…hatred…and the utmost contempt.
A black overwhelming rage overcame the Major.
One that grew more ominous if possible than what had already consumed him since
receiving the enraging missive in April. And this…filth…this low class
Captain knew of the infuriating letter of rejection? Not only would she
pay for this degrading humiliation but the base man standing before him looking
at him…the respectable Major Caledon Henley…like he was no more than a
mere scourge of society! God they both would pay for this maiming…in the worst
possible way!
"The lady is still to become my
wife, Dalton, whether she likes it or not. No one refuses Caledon
Henley. A deal is a deal. She and her father have already accepted my most
generous proposal of marriage. Obviously, Rose has no choice in the matter for
the arrangements have already been made. Promised property. So you see…she will
become my wife…and who knows? I may even allow you a turn on her if
you’re real nice to me…maybe if you polish my boots every day. That is…after
some of my most loyal comrade-at-arms have their lusty fill for all the favors
I intend on rewarding! After all…she’s only an extremely wealthy Southern
socialite that happens to be related to our General…but if you get right down
to it…she’s basically just like all other women…a whore in bed that should
afford me with a lifetime of payoffs from bartering with cronies that desire a
good lay."
Jack flew into a murderous savage rampage
unlike no other than had ever come before. Like a poisonous snake striking its
unwary albeit evil prey, his strong lean fingers viciously dug into the Major’s
throat and squeezed. All color evaporated from Henley’s face as beady onyx eyes
nearly popped from their sockets before Tommy could break the deadly hold his
Captain had on the Major’s windpipe. Gasping for air in spurts, satanic ebony
pinpoints squinted up into simmering blue eyes of moonstones. And then they
momentarily locked onto the golden St. Mary’s medallion that had worked itself
loose from under the Captain’s dark blue uniform. That very same familiar
necklace that he had glimpsed once before around the late Sable Bukater’s
gorgeous neck…and Henley knew…and fumed. Oh sweet justice would one day
prevail…Captain Jack Dalton and that sluttish whore…Rose DeWitt Bukater would
pay for this shaming. Although he had only suspicions to base their conviction
on, Cal had memorized exactly what that fateful letter had wantonly bragged…a
woman of ravenous bodily appetites and a passionate lust for the body’s
pleasures! Stewing, Cal inwardly mused, yes, that’s exactly the repugnant
phrases the filthy slut had written as she maliciously broke off their
engagement. But he had a plan for his future wife…for nobody got the best of
Major Caledon Henley…not some low bred gutter rat Captain and certainly not his
haughty Rebel whoring fiancee! For if it was the last thing that he ever did or
with the last breath that he ever drew…sweet vengeance would be his…he swore by
all that was unholy!