ROSEDALE IN APRIL
Chapter Thirty
It was well into the month of August, the
time of year when frequent hurricanes stormed throughout the Gulf of Mexico.
And hot!…so damn incredibly humid and sultry that one could scarcely breathe.
Summertime in the deep South could be the most miserable time of year. And only
one thing was worse…being pregnant during August in Texas. As Rose DeWitt
Bukater dipped naked toes into the pond trying to cool sweat drenched skin, she
arched her damp head back and closed tired, soft green eyes. Lonely and torn,
she attempted to sort out the roller coaster emotions that had been plaguing
her for the last months. Desperately wishing the conflict to end so that Jack
could return safely for the birth of their child, she again mentally debated
the warring feelings that had gripped her and wouldn’t let go. Loyalty for the
Confederacy versus the respect and honor she harbored for her Yankee Captain.
Would she be considered a traitor for her feelings? Heartfelt emotions she had
no control over? Both sides could not win and consequently one would eventually
return in defeat and Rose grimaced at the distasteful notion. At least she
prayed that Jack would come back to her…he must for the sake of their
baby. And when and if he did…what kind of man would he be? Would the war mar
and scar her beloved? Only time would tell…then a deep forlorn sigh escaped her
throat.
Suddenly, a supernatural, creepy apprehension
overcame her consciousness to the point that it coiled like a tight knot in the
pit of her belly. A twig snapped and Rose immediately knew that she was being
secretly watched from the cover of the surrounding dark forests. Trying to
pretend unawareness, Rose softly began to hum before surreptitiously squinting
through the shadows that the tall pine trees cast over the moss and fern
covered banks. No winds and absolute silence pervaded the solitude. Just an
uncanny premonition that at least one pair of eyes were fastened on
her…deviously assessing and calculating when the right time to attack and
devour. Truthfully, Rose had never been afraid of nature and its potential
dangers, but something innate warned her that this was no ordinary predator.
Something was remiss in the woods and the hackles crawled up her neck. The
various possibilities of the identity of her stalker were endless. Mayhap,
hungry wolves or starved wild dogs out scavenging for food. Or perhaps,
dishonorable deserters from the Northern or Southern armies. For some reason
she got the distinct impression that the latter was more likely. Her heart
pounding like a marching drum, Rose inwardly cursed at her careless stupidity
at not carrying a weapon to defend herself. And the mysterious menace that lurked
nearby was quickly griping and strangling her strong will of self-preservation
causing her breath to come out in forced terrified gasps.
"R-o-s-e!"
Whirling around in the opposite direction at
the sound of a familiar voice, instantly relieved, Rose elatedly recognized the
face of her long absent father and savior…Rafael Bouvier.
"Rafael!" She gratefully exclaimed
and anxiously scrambled down from the ancient boulder poised in the middle of
the lagoon before deftly swimming for the shoreline.
As the two joyously came together to lovingly
embrace; however, their reunion was shortly and abruptly disrupted by the
distinctive echoes of horse hooves furiously galloping away through the nearby
thickets. Rafael sensed his daughter’s uncharacteristic fear and concernedly
asked, "Rose, did I interrupt anything? A beau, perhaps?" As Rafael
softly perused her lovely albeit wary visage, his keen eyes suddenly slid to
Rose’s protruding stomach enhanced now by the clinging wet cotton material.
"Of course not, Papa. I’m not quite sure
who was lurking in the shadows but I can assure you that whoever it was…was up
to no good!"
"Why, pray tell, do you say such a
thing, daughter? Has there been trouble since I’ve been away?" Rafael
worriedly probed.
"No, just a feeling I had…but I’m so
very glad to see you again. Finally, you have returned for I’ve missed you
terribly. I’ve been so worried about you and the others. You know, Bandera is
not a very safe or peaceful place to be. Such a wild and unruly cowboy
town." Rose grinned as she clasped his tanned hand and began leading him
up to the manor house intentionally casting the uneasy feelings aside.
"Well…I’m rather used to wild and
unruly, Rose. You should know that."
"I do…who else besides you would divide
their time between the French Quarters of New Orleans, the swamps of Jefferson,
and the hills of Bandera? Only you, dear Papa…only you!" Rose teasingly
chided as she desperately clung to his side afraid he might vanish at any
moment into thin air.
Mutual laughter vibrating their chests,
Rafael suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned his daughter to face him while
clutching her forearms. Staring intently into widened emerald eyes, Rafael
declared, "That Yankee Captain…he almost got the best of me that last
night in April. Lucky for me he only grazed my arm with his bullet!" As
Rafael pointed to a faint scar on his right bicep.
"Are you okay?" Rose blurted, her
voice suddenly shaking with dread.
"Of course, sweetie. It was just a
scratch." Rafael scoffed but then cautiously continued on to satisfy his
suspicions that intuitively hit dead on. "Nevertheless, I see he also left
you with a precious lifetime reminder."
"Oh, Papa, I realize you’re not aware
that we truly love each other…and truthfully, I couldn’t be happier about the
baby. If only…"
Interjecting, "If only what?"
"If only I knew if he was all right. I
haven’t heard from Jack since May. I don’t know if he’s alive, wounded, a
prisoner…I just don’t know how and where he is." Rose dejectedly reflected
struggling with doubt and worry.
"I’m sure he’s fine, my angel. Or you
would’ve heard something by now." Patronizingly, Rafael tried to make
light of her lingering fears. But realistically, he knew that the man might
quite possibly never choose to contact her again…whether he was alive or not.
"I know he’s safe, Papa…I just know it!
I’d feel it if he was…gone." Rose refused to say the word…she simply
couldn’t make herself verbalize the misgivings her lonely heart was battling.
"I’ll be here for you, Rose. Till the
end. And don’t you ever doubt it. Trust me?" Rafael solemnly promised and
gathered his daughter tight in an embrace that went on and on soaking his white
linen shirt in the process.
"I trust you."
*****
Through the cover of darkness, a pair of
satanic feral gleaming eyes witnessed the tender scene…and seethed. Patiently
waiting for the perfect opportune time to make known his presence, demonic
irrational plans began to multiply and form. For this jilted culprit had made
an evil deal with the forces of darkness, selling his soul to Lucifer for the
leavings of a Union Army Captain. But the Major hadn’t counted on yet another
wily fox in the hen house. And by the looks of things, for he was unable to
make out any of the couple’s conversation, Henley could only guess at which rooster
had plucked the coveted prize.
Venomously mumbling under his breath, "I
should have known that one man could never satisfy the slut."
As Cal’s crazed mind began to vindictively
scheme, he raged. Was the bastard child Rose now carried that of a blonde Northern
Army officer has he initially suspected or perhaps a more mature raven haired
gypsy cock? After the initial shock and disgust had began to wear off, he
secretly admitted…he might could pass off a dark featured gypsy child as his
own although the low-born class station was as distasteful as accepting that he
would never father a heir of his own. Unfortunately, if the whelp favored the
other, that arrogant gutter rat Dalton…far be it to survive! A blond headed,
blue eyed child would never be perceived as a product of his loins; therefore,
it would never be accepted as such by upper society. Cal’s male egotistical
pride could never allow himself to be thought a cuckold…not in Pittsburgh where
his social status was impeccable and untarnished…and least of all by some Rebel
whore that spread her legs for every good looking man in the country. Rose
DeWitt Bukater would pay…Satan had promised him his just rewards…and Rose was his.
And the child? Again…it was just a question of time how it’d be marked and by whom.
*****
Far away, after six harrowing attempts
Grant’s troops finally captured the coveted prize of Vicksburg. The great
Mississippi River now belonged to the Federal Army…and with it the promise of a
future Union victory in Virginia. Despite the General’s feeble attempts at
keeping his niece’s Captain as far from the action as possible, it soon became
evident that the stubborn Jack Dalton was having none of it. Remarkably, he had
audaciously flat out refused to remain behind the line of fire. Engaging in
hand-to-hand skirmishes, bayonet encounters, and mounted cavalry combat with
only minor injuries sustained thus far throughout all six engagements.
Tragically, and the last fight was to be the costliest to both sides…the final
siege of Vicksburg would go down in history as bloody hell incarnate as the
drums of Champion Hill fortuitously sounded the doom of Richmond. It was a
living nightmare—a day and a night of killing and dying…the great American
fighting spirit of the competing armies that fatefully culminated into a
virtual hill of death!
As bullets zipped from the left and right,
the smoke of cannons and musket fire was covering everything making it
impossible to see…becoming thicker and thicker with each blast. Occasionally
the blaze of guns showed exactly where the enemy stood yet they obstinately
kept their line like a wall of fire. The awful roar of battle grew more
horrific if possible. It was a wonder that anyone was left alive on either
side. Biting the ends off of a cartridge, Captain Jack Dalton filled his mouth
with gunpowder; although the thirst was intolerable. Every soldier’s face was
black as a Negro’s and, with some, blood from wounds trickled down over the
blackness, giving them a horrible frightening look. During one moment’s lull in
the howling noise; Grant rode up on his small bay horse, and glared down at
Jack in shock intermingled with immense respect. Still the inevitable cigar
stuck in his mouth yet despite Grant’s status as the commander of the Union
army, recklessly and courageously exposing himself to the Rebs.
"Dammit, Dalton! Didn’t I order you to
the rear?" General Grant exasperatedly barked.
"Is that what you said, General? I could
have sworn you said otherwise!" Jack half grinned despite the throbbing
ache in his side in which a musket ball had ripped. Surprisingly, it proved to
be only a flesh wound—the obliquely-fired bullet had struck the heavy leather
of his cartridge belt and miraculously glanced away.
Shaking his head, Grant looked at Jack and
pointed at the Greek Revival Warren County Courthouse that dominated the
Vicksburg skyline looming majestically on a high cliff bank. "Over
yonder…after this day is done…you meet me there on the portico to review our
army’s victory and the city’s surrender. And by the grace of God and for the
love of Rose…you better be there! Is this order in any way unclear,
Captain Dalton?"
"Yes, Sir, General, you can count on
it."
Glancing once again at the unyielding, young
Captain entrenched on a low ridge, Grant nodded once and silently rode away.
All too soon the bullets came faster. Zip! Zip! Zip! The canons roared
unmercifully. Now and then a boy in blue would groan, strike his hand to a
wounded limb or arm, drop his gun and fall to the ground…dead in his tracks
without uttering a single word or sound. On the edge of a low hilltop, a solid
wall of men in gray, their muskets at their shoulders blasting into Jack’s
regiment while their batteries of artillery thundered as if it were the end of
the world. Bravely they stood there. They seemed to be a little over a hundred
yards away. There was no charging further by either line. Both sides halted,
the two lines stood still and for over an hour, they loaded their guns and
killed each other as fast as they could. The firing and the noise were
appalling…deafening. The haze so thick, men blindly fired by guess and
instinct. And Jack’s only clear thought as the stupendous murderous acts
exploded around him, by him, at him, and against him was…Dear God, please
take care of Rose and our baby.
*****
While Captain Jack Dalton selflessly prayed
for Almighty God to protect the welfare of his loved ones, Major Caledon Henley
had selfishly bargained with the devil for his own. Several days before the
last engagement at Vicksburg, recuperating at the military hospital, Cal had
learned a great deal about the covert mission that Dalton and his troops had
made to Rosedale in April. The repugnant, filthy Private Fabrizio di Rossi had
been quite a storehouse of useful information regarding his former betrothed.
Although appalling when retold with all their gory details, Henley patted
himself on the back for his own cleverness at obtaining what had transpired in
his absence. Sometimes the tales had been consciously told; however, at times,
they had been deviously cajoled out of the naive boy while he suffered in the
throes of a delirious fever. The Italian scum was such a foolish idiot!
But Henley had his bait and most of his answers…and Cal made his fateful deal
with the forces of evil. He ceremoniously sealed the bargain with the innocent
blood of the unsuspicious youth as a sacrificial lamb at the stroke of
midnight. As the barracks lay quiet and with a sinisterly muttered chant to the
underworld’s ruler, with the tip of an ornate sterling silver cursed sword, Cal
viciously sliced the throat of the angelic messenger and maliciously smirked.
"Rose may be pregnant and unwed but at
least she has one less hero championing her side. The filthy whore."
With murder to add to his evil deeds, Major
Caledon Henley slithered away into the night leaving the fighting armies
behind. His destination...Texas.
*****
Rose and her father spent the ensuing weeks
meticulously tending the plantation’s business while reveling in each other’s
company in the evenings. It was a very different yet notwithstanding healing
time for both father and daughter. While Rafael had never once actually slept
in a house in his two score of years, preferring to slumber under the canvas of
a star filled night, he welcomed this change. His daughter needed him and he
vowed to never leave Rosedale as long as she desired his company. Although it
was emotionally hard, residing in Sable’s domain where she had lived with
Bukater, he knew that nothing worth having ever came easy. And having a life
with his daughter and grandchild was definitely worth all the treasures in
heaven.
Only Jack’s absence now marred Rose’s days
and nights. That and of course, the eerie feelings that still persisted at
times when she was alone. She felt it now, upstairs on the verandah outside her
room staring at the thousands of stars that appeared as flickering candles
against a velvet curtain of black. Those same stars that Jack might be looking
upon and dreaming. As she leaned against an ivory column and absentmindedly
braided her long red hair, the spooky sensation intensified to the point she
actually felt faint with fear. She couldn’t shake it…like she was on display.
No, it was more than that. It was as if she was being stalked by a hungry,
deranged animal. It must be the pregnancy, she convinced herself. For she had
revealed her unnatural reservations to Lizzie and her sister had assured Rose
that it was quite normal to have impractical feelings during this time.
Sighing, Rose put it down to an overactive imagination. With one last glance
into the surrounding mysterious blackness, Rose went back inside to the
master’s chambers…and the bed she and Jack had shared for those precious
magical weeks in the spring. And for the first time in her entire life, she
turned the key in the French doors and locked the shutters tight.
*****
Private di Rossi’s death came as a shock and
a blow to both Jack and Tommy Ryan. It marred the Union’s victory at Vicksburg
substantially. Especially the unnatural circumstances surrounding the vicious crime,
although it was very suspicious that Henley had suddenly disappeared without
even being formally discharged in the aftermath. Jack, of course, intuitively
was convinced that Cal was behind the gruesome murder…this was no
coincidence! Although he was aware that the vile bastard disliked the boy,
he couldn’t justly point fingers at an Union officer of higher rank than
himself on a mere unsubstantiated hunch. He had no hard evidence to base his
accusations upon. Just a dead soldier with his throat cut and a missing Major.
Where was the justice in this world? Would Henley get off again for his sins?
When the war was through with him, Jack made a promise to himself and the
memory of Fabrizio to find out for certain…Cal would not win this time, one way
or the other. The required notification to the young boy’s mother would be one
of the hardest tasks he’d ever done. For now that he was going to be a
father…he acknowledged the grief and sorrow the death of a child would bring to
a parent. Will this damnable war ever end?
*****
Rose DeWitt Bukater crumbled the letter into
a tight ball in her hand and forcefully threw it across the study and raged.
The Union Navy had captured the port of Galveston Island blockading her ports
and wharves. Rosedale’s cotton crop had been running through Galveston and into
Mexico’s ports in exchange for arms and supplies to support the Confederate
armies. This would mean an end to their existence as they knew it! What to
do…what to do! She must speak to Sam and the others. The men that were
willing and able had to try and reinforce General Magruder’s Rebel force to
stave off the invasion. Rosedale and all of the Texas cotton plantations
depended on it…I’m sorry, Jack, but I have to try and save our way of life!
Rosedale must survive! It’s our child’s legacy!
*****
As autumn transformed the countryside to bold
and subtle shades of scarlet, oranges, yellows, and coppers, the war raged on
while Rose impatiently awaited the birth of her baby. As the leaves first
turned golden, to bronze and then to brown, the harsh north winds blew harder
and colder. Though sleet and snow were a rarity in the deep South, this year
proved to be an exception. December brought with it the first snow that the
eastern region of Texas had experienced in five long years. Not a heavy
blizzard, but just enough to cover the landscape with a solid blanket of
glistening white crystals that sparkled like tiny diamonds. The small children
at the plantation ecstatically welcomed the glorious metamorphosis. Most had
never seen the pure powdery stuff, playing games outside until their little
fingers and toes were nigh to freezing. The excitement was contagious as even
Nanny made ice cream from buckets of the fresh clean snow. Another delightful delicacy
that was enjoyed almost as much as the holy season of Christ’s birth. And
Christmastime was one of Rose’s favorite times of the year…second, of course,
to April. And it was on one of these crispy, brisk mornings, that Rose ventured
out into the woods to gather pine cones and cedar branches for garlands to
decorate and scent the manor house. Softly humming, Rose set her large wicker
basket down to rub her back that had been annoyingly aching all day. While
Rafael was in the barn tending the livestock, the few oldest men that stayed
behind because they were unfit to fight at Galveston were busy chopping wood
nearby to supply the dozens of fireplaces and stoves for heat. Straining her
ears, the persistent sounds of axes swinging and falling trees for nature’s
fuel acted like a comforting security blanket. Moreover, the strong clean aroma
of pine rosin floated through the wind to invade her senses. It smelled
so…well…Christmasy! Rose felt safe for the first time in months being
surrounded by the jolly miraculous season shared by all. But consequently…she
shouldn’t have.
Rose felt it before she saw it. A chill of
foreboding raced up her spine yet not from the blast of freezing wind that
sliced through the clearing. A dark ominous shadow fell over her shoulder
before Rose alarmingly whirled around in surprise to come face-to-face with a
diabolical demon from hell.
"So…it is the little slut! A
whore to a gutter rat." Cold, malevolent, sinister slurs that were meant
to inflict terror and strike panic.
Instantly squelching her first reaction to
flee and scream at the top of her lungs, Rose unflinchingly met onyx beads of
hatred with flashing emerald chips of ice before forcing her voice not to
tremble.
"I’d rather be his whore than your
wife, Henley!" Rose vehemently snarled, her green eyes glowering alight
with a fire that came deep within her soul.
As soon as the jab left her mouth, a clenched
fist shot out before total darkness fell…abruptly burning out the flame…that
same fire that Jack cherished beyond all else.