Part 2
by Paula B and CJ
3 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
Neville's Landing
1900 hours
General AJ Chegwidden walked through the hospital wards in the upper stories of the Gothic Revival mansion, lost in thought. The hallways seemed to form a labyrinth of darkness, even in the light of day. Rooms with strange shapes and no windows filled the two upper floors. «Neville's Landing. A strange house with a strange name.» Here on the third floor, the rooms were tiny, with low ceilings. It was where the servants would live, if there were servants. But since slaves managed this house, these rooms stood empty except for storage, while the slaves made do with ramshackle buildings on the other side of the barn. But it left these rooms for wounded soldiers. The men lay everywhere, on beds when they could be found, on pallets on the floor when no beds were available.
The Confederates launched a campaign to "free" Kentucky and to draw Union troops away from the railhead in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Generals Braxton Bragg and Edmund Kirby Smith led the two-pronged advance to control the state. They succeeded for some time, inaugurating a Confederate governor and threatening to take the entire state. Major General Don Carlos Buell's men moved south to meet Bragg and Smith, culminating in a battle on October 8, 1962. Casualties from that day exceeded 7,500. Thousands of men lay scattered over hundreds of acres. The battle had been months ago, but the casualties from both sides continued to die every day. «Every day except Christmas Eve. Every day since early October. Perryville cost us so much.»
While the Confederates won the battle, finding a strategic defensible stronghold eluded them. At the time of the battle, the Confederate troops outnumbered Union forces, but as the battle ended, Union reinforcements turned the tables.
«If Buell hadn't raced to Louisville to protect the Union supply base from capture, Kentucky would likely belong to the Confederacy now.»
Finally, Major General AJ Chegwidden arrived, forcing a Confederate retreat. Buell allowed the Confederates to escape unmolested, leading to his replacement as Union Commander.
Chegwidden had been given the appointment. He didn't relish it. «It makes me a hospital administrator. All I have done since October is watch wounded men die.»
The wounded filled the homes, barns, and sheds of the 300 citizens of Perryville. Thousands of men convalesced in Danville, Harrodsburg, and Bardstown. Even the Shakers had filled their small community with sick and dying men. The wounded had been taken as far away as Lexington, to the medical school at Transylvania College. The numbers of the dead continued to mount with hundreds of wounded dying every week.
They buried the Union soldiers in regimental plots, leaving the burial of the Confederate dead to the townspeople. They dug two large pits and interred most of the Confederate dead, along with the huge pile of amputated arms and legs that they found near the Confederate hospital tents, in mass graves. «Thank god for the cooler weather.» AJ thought, remembering the sweltering heat of Kentucky's late summer. «How it made the dead smell. For weeks, the stench of death lingered over the battlefield.»
AJ watched as soldiers carried out more dead. «It's much more difficult to bury them now, with the ground so hard.» It saddened him, but he understood the strategic need to hold the region. While Kentucky stayed in Union hands, the Confederates could not go farther north. At the same time, the Union armies could use the land as a base for advances into southern positions. It offered an excellent base to attack the railroads so necessary for routing supplies throughout the south. «But that is in the future. For now, I am a hospital administrator.» Another glance out the window and AJ corrected himself. «Or the chief undertaker.» A cold draught blew over him. «It's a wonder more men don't take sick and die here. This house is kept so cold. Is the mistress so worried that we will use up even her firewood?»
A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts. "General Chegwidden, how much longer will your men need the use of my house? You have been here through Christmas and you show no signs of leaving. You have pushed my resources to the limit and I don't know how much longer I can sustain you and your men," Sydney Walden whined.
«And I don't know how much longer I can endure your incessant complaining.» AJ thought before he spoke. "I believe it's clear that most of these men are not ready to leave. I suspect we will remain in the area for several months, through the spring at least."
Sydney sighed impatiently. "When I can no longer provide for them, will you leave then? Leave me and mine to starve because we have wasted everything on dying men?"
"You shall not starve, Madame. My men have paid you well for the food we have eaten. Even if we were to leave you without any provisions, you would have money enough to buy whatever you need," AJ said impatiently. He wondered about the prices that the Walden woman charged him. «Would she charge the Confederates as much were they to lodge in her home?» He knew she had slaves and he didn't care for the way she treated them. «At least Mrs. Wallace treats her slaves well. Walden is as cruel as they come, and there is nothing I can do. Lincoln only freed the slaves in the states that have seceded from the Union. In Kentucky and Maryland, there are still many slaves held legally.» In response, Walden simply sniffed, then turned and walked away without another word. «Thank heaven for small blessings.»
Walden forbade her slaves any contact with the Union wounded or the soldiers caring for them. "I don't want them to get any ideas," she always said. There were other rules as well, so many that slaves were beaten every day.
«It's inhumane to treat people in such a way. At least Mrs. Wallace treats her slaves well.» AJ thought of the two women who were so different in such similar circumstances. Walden's husband had died before the war began. She had taken over the family plantation and ruled with an iron hand. She had about twenty slaves, kept them fed well enough to work but not so well as to fear they might rebel. They simply lacked the strength. Especially after Walden had them stripped and beaten, even in the dead of winter, for every minor infraction. It galled AJ to think of the things he had seen there. «Walden's son, Danny, seems to enjoy the brutality. Then there is Cordelia Wallace. Her husband, too, died before the war began. She, too, has slaves, but she is kinder to them. They are warm and well fed. I have never seen her beat them or abuse them in any way.» It troubled AJ that the Wallace woman continued to buy slaves on the market. «She has purchased three this week.» AJ shook his head.
That wasn't all that troubled AJ about Cordelia Wallace. «Perhaps I should not have made her home my headquarters. She has made us welcome, though. She does not charge us like the other homeowners and she helps us care for the sick, opening even the upper levels of her home to the troops. She reads to them and even has that slave, the one she calls Sturgis, play his harmonica to entertain the men. It cheers them a bit, at least the ones who are well enough to hear it.» He shook his head. «Too many contradictions about that woman. On one hand, I can't deny that she's beautiful. But how can I feel an attraction to someone who chooses to treat other human beings as property?»
AJ left the Walden house. The January air sent a chill up his spine. He hurried to his horse and climbed upon the chestnut stallion from the thoroughbred stables of Cordelia Wallace. She graciously allowed him the use of her horses, although she refused to sell any of them to him. «Sometimes I think she cares more about the horses than her slaves.» He appreciated the use of the animal; it allowed his horse, Poseidon, a respite.
Allowing the horse to find his way home, AJ relaxed in the saddle. Except for the temptation he felt around the mistress of the house, the Wallace plantation had been a good choice for his headquarters. AJ listed the benefits. «Mrs. Wallace feeds us well and does not charge the exorbitant fees the other farm owners charge. She allows the officers under my command use of her riding horses, again, without charge. She even allows the men who read to use her library. The location is ideal, near enough to the town for such business as we might have there, but far enough away from prying eyes so that other business might be conducted.» AJ grinned. «At least I am allowed an occasional duty that falls outside the care of the sick and the burial of the dead.»
The horse picked his way along the road between the Walden and Wallace property. It was a bleak landscape, the grass had turned brown and the trees reached, leafless, toward the sky. The only beauty was the glint of the sun in the bright blue sky, promising, deceptively, warmth that it failed to deliver. It reflected off the windows of the house, giving the Wallace mansion an ethereal glow. AJ rode up the tree-lined lane, pausing at the mounting block, a stone stair beside the road, where ladies could more easily board carriages. Beside it was a small iron statue that Mrs. Wallace called "her faithful groomsman." He was painted as one of the black slaves and carried a lantern. «Like another slave on permanent duty.» AJ grimaced at the thought. Cordelia made sure the lantern was lit each night, even when she was not expecting guests. "You never know when someone might arrive unexpectedly," she always said when AJ asked about the statue.
The brick home was a stately Greek Revival structure. Its columns rose high, supporting a porch roof that also protected a small balcony above the main door. The main part of the first floor contained four large rooms, two on either side of the large hall, which currently served as hospital wards. Toward the back, along the center of the house, was a warming kitchen. To either side of the house were small porches with swings that faced each other. In the summer-like heat of early October, these had been welcoming and cool, a place where the soldiers congregated to rest in the hottest part of the day, where Mrs. Wallace's slaves had served them tea and lemonade. The porch to the front of the house sported several cane-bottomed rocking chairs and was another spot to avoid the sweltering summer afternoons. Upstairs, the house had four large bedrooms and a smaller room opening onto the balcony. The attic turret had two more smaller bedrooms. Four chimneys loomed over the building. «Why are the top rows of the chimney painted white? It seems quite odd. I haven't noticed it on any of the other houses around here.» AJ wondered. Every room except the warming kitchen downstairs, the master bedroom and the room off the balcony upstairs had been taken over by the Union Army.
The horse knew his home and trotted directly to the stable, where AJ removed the tack and groomed the horse. Even in the barn it was cold. One of the slaves Mrs. Wallace had bought that week joined him in the barn and offered to take care of the horse, but AJ refused. He clenched his teeth. «She'd be a fine woman if it weren't for owning slaves.» He walked from the stable to the house, climbing the steps of the porch and opening the door. He stepped into the hall and found himself warmed immediately. Fires blazed in every fireplace. «Under other circumstances, this would be nice to come home to.»
Cordelia Wallace appeared through the door of the warming kitchen. She carried a pitcher of hot broth. The slave she called Bobbi followed with a tray filled with bowls and spoons. "General Chegwidden, you'll be glad to learn that the men upstairs in the back room who had the influenza seem to be feeling better. I think they may be able to hold down this broth now. There's a hearty stew for the rest of the men and a roast for the officers. It will all be ready shortly. Lucy will fix you a drink while you wait," Cordelia said. She eyed the man in her hallway and swallowed nervously. «Why does he make me feel this way, like a school girl? It would be nice, if there weren't so much at stake. And if he didn't loathe me so.» She turned to the woman behind her and spoke, "Come, Bobbi, the men upstairs are hungry."
"I can fix my own drink, ma'am," AJ said curtly as he followed them up the stairs. He watched as Cordelia and Bobbi entered the sick room. She greeted the men by name and poured them each a bowl of broth. AJ listened as the men gratefully responded. From the sound of things, they were feeling much better. He glanced in the door as he passed on his way to his bedroom. Mrs. Wallace had allowed him to bring a desk from the study upstairs, so the room served as his office, as well. He sat and began to write a report detailing information about the sick and the dead to his superiors in Washington, DC. It seemed to take forever. «I should have taken Mrs. Wallace up on that offer to have Lucy fix me a drink.» He pushed his chair away from the massive oak desk and leaned his head back, stretching. He could hear the women leave the sick room, then the rustle as Mrs. Wallace stepped into her bedroom, next to his. They were separated by a simple door, one that she kept open in the heat of the summer, closing it only when she retired to bed. He had never so much as touched the door. «I wonder if she locks it?» He sighed and chided himself. «Chegwidden, why on earth do you think such thoughts? She may not be a Confederate, but she is a slave owner. Remember that when her beauty stirs you.»
In her room, Cordelia changed for dinner. «No need to behave in an uncivilized fashion.» She heard a knock on the door to her room. Opening it a crack so she could look into the hall, she found Bobbi. "What is?" Cordelia asked.
"Miss Cori, ma'am, I needs to be talkin' to you. It be important." Bobbi looked worried.
"Come inside, Bobbi. Whatever is the matter?" Cordelia pulled the woman into her room and glanced at the door to the neighboring bedroom. She put one finger to her lips, warning Bobbi to be quiet.
Nodding to show she understood, Bobbi said, "It be Mr. Wallace, ma'am. Sturgis told me he was here today. He takes after his daddy. He was trying to force himself on that new girl, Lemuel's sister, Lydia. She be right scared, ma'am. She only jus' now tole me." Bobbi lowered her voice, "She be worried that he might recognize them. She say her master down in Mississippi used her that way and sometimes let his business associates do the same. She swears Master Daniel be one of those business associates."
Cordelia sighed and nodded. "Did my brother-in-law succeed in molesting her, Bobbi? Did she say?"
Bobbi shook her head. "One of the soldiers heard them and he scared Master Daniel way before anything happened," she said.
"Good. That's certainly one of the benefits of having the soldiers here at the house. Tomorrow, have Lydia work in the house. There are always several soldiers here to make sure the fires stay lit. Make sure she stays near them. I will not have Daniel Wallace abusing any of you. Not in that way or any other." Cordelia put her hands on her hips, "As for him recognizing Lydia, we'll need to try to avoid that. Make sure she wears her hair a different way than he might have seen it. Have her do anything to alter her appearance. It would not do for him to discover her here."
"But ma'am, wouldn't the soldiers help you?" Bobbi asked.
Casting a worried glance to the door to General Chegwidden's room, Cordelia whispered, "It is one thing to aid the slaves escaping from the Confederates. That is perfectly legal. But Bobbi, slavery is still legal here in Kentucky, and some of the slaves we help are escaping from owners in this state. We are breaking the law when we do it. If anyone knew that all of my 'new purchases' are really runaways hiding until they can travel up to Maysville and cross up north once the Ohio River freezes, we could all be arrested. It won't matter that you and Sturgis are free; we'll all be taken. The two of you would likely be killed by some irate Confederate sympathizers before you would make it to trial. Or they will just ignore that you are free and sell you south. It's too great a risk."
Bobbi nodded. «I remember what it was like before Master Braxton and Miss Cori freed us. Daniel Wallace and his daddy crawling into the girls' beds all of the time.» She shuddered. «I was only twelve when Daniel Wallace got ahold of me the first time. And Sturgis makes him so angry, them being half-brothers. But Master Braxton never did mess with the women slaves. When he and Miss Cori inherited the land and all the slaves, Sturgis was the first to be freed and Master Braxton gave him that cabin of ours and three acres of land. Offered to give him money instead, if we wanted to go away. But this is our home. Good thing we stayed, too. Miss Cori needs us with Master Braxton gone. I can't help but think these soldiers might not be quite so abrupt with Miss Cori if they knew that none of us are really slaves; that we are here by our own choice.» "Yes, ma'am," was all she said before turning to go back downstairs.
AJ heard the slave talking to her mistress. «Mrs. Wallace is genuinely concerned for the girl. I'll tell my men to watch out for her and to keep an eye out for this Daniel Wallace. Wonder where he's been? This is the first I've heard of him. Brother-in-law, huh? At least Mrs. Wallace won't let that sort of thing go on. I wonder what all that whispering was about? What are they up to?»
Part 3
by Paula B and CJ
3 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Perryville Inn
0200 hours
The Perryville Inn was one of the oldest buildings in town. Built nearly fifty years ago along the Chaplin River, the inn had served as a stopping point for many a traveler. In the early days it had been a wilder place. Now, even with the influx of Union soldiers, only the back room showed any signs of the old way of life.
The dealer was dressed all in black and grey. The grey cravat perfectly matched the deep grey diamonds in his vest hiding the white shirt. The Stetson rested high on his forehead. Clayton Webb checked out his competition. He knew the Spaniard to his left. Rumor had it that Victor Galindez had been a Spanish soldier who deserted in Mexico and traveled north. Webb didn’t care. He could usually win against Galindez but when he didn’t Webb knew that the man hadn’t cheated. Webb was a decent judge of other men’s characters and while Galindez was a sharp card player, he was honest. Webb was sure of that. Galindez was dressed in brown pants. The matching waistcoat did little to cover the frilly lace shirt and string tie.
To Webb’s right was a youngster who barely looked old enough to be out alone at night let alone sit in the back room of the Perryville Inn with the grownups. But, again, Webb didn’t mind. In fact he was taking great delight in taking Sydney Walden’s son for as much as he could. The boy had been a babe in arms when Webb was forced to sign over the deed to his parents’ farm to pay off gambling debts that Webb had incurred to Danny’s father. At the time it hadn’t bothered him much. Or at least he had tried to tell himself that. Now, as he approached 40, he found himself longing for a place of his own. But he knew he never would have one – he had travelled and seen too much.
Directly across from Webb sat a mean drunk of a player. Webb and Galindez exchanged silent looks of warning to each other. There were men like Daniel Wallace up and down the circuit. Local bullyboys who thought that, because they were big fish in small ponds they were entitled to win at everything they did. It might work locally, but men like Webb and Galindez were summarily unimpressed.
The night was still young but Wallace was already getting belligerent about his loosing streak. "You sure you’re dealing those cards from the top?" he muttered after betting wildly on a pair of queens, losing to Webb’s three treys. Webb didn’t bother to answer but his glare should have warned Wallace. Wallace was too drunk by then to notice anything, including the beauty who entered the back room.
Victor Galindez saw her first and groaned inwardly.
"Well, well, well. As I live and breathe. Hello, Clayton. Victor, I see you’re traveling with a lower class of person these days."
"Hello, Senorita Sarah. How have you been?"
"Just fine, Victor." Sarah MacKenzie waited for Webb to acknowledge her.
He had been playing high stakes poker for too many years to let even his eyes register his surprise or the way his heart beat a little faster when he saw her. "Hello, Sarah. What brings you to Perryville?"
"Why darlin’, the same thing as you. Can little ole me sit in?"
Wallace struggled to his feet. "Well, ain’t you the pretty little thing. You play cards?"
Sarah MacKenzie had grown up in the back streets of New Orleans. Her mamma was one of Del Reed’s best girls. She never knew her daddy, but Del had taken a liking to the little girl and taught her how to play cards at a young age. Sarah sometimes wondered if Del was her daddy. But, when he died, all he left her was $500 and a note. ‘Girl, I taught you all I know, take this and do what you want with it. Try not to follow in your momma’s footsteps.’ She was no virgin, but she had never taken money for her favors. She lived by her wits and was as good a card player as any man in the South. She was a damn good shot and could fight dirty when it was needed. Few men messed with her more than once, if they lived to try again. She had also learned how to fool men like Daniel Wallace. "Well now, sir. I play a little. Just to be sociable, you understand."
"You in or out, Sarah?" Webb snapped. He didn’t like the way Wallace was looking at her. Of course, he had no right to say how any man looked at Sarah MacKenzie. She had made that point perfectly clear years ago.
"Hey, now. I don’t see you need to be talkin’ to the lady like that." Danny Walden grinned evilly at the obviously loose woman. Only a loose woman would play at a man’s game. His momma had taught him early on that there were good people like them and everyone else. Only the good people mattered and everyone else could be used, as the good people deemed right. «Like them slaves Momma owns. They need to be taught what was right and what was wrong.» He licked his lips and decided that he would like to teach this loose woman what was right.
Sarah took a chair next to Galindez. She pulled out a small roll of bills and bought into the game. The dynamics changed immediately with Wallace and Walden paying even less attention to the cards in front of them as they vied for the attention of the pretty lady dressed all in black satin and lace. The long slender fingers holding the cards were encased in black lace, fingerless gloves. Her creamy throat was visible through the lace covering her bodice. Danny made little pretense in not staring and finally lost all the money he had with him.
Webb knew better than to extend the boy any credit and Daniel Wallace just laughed at the suggestion that he do so. "Go on home to your ma, boy. Ain’t no one here gonna incur Sydney’s wrath by extending you credit. Now get on home."
Sarah wasn’t particularly pleased to see Webb in Perryville. She had business here that had little to do with gambling. For reasons even she couldn’t completely understand, she had sided with the North on the whole issue of separation and had worked as a spy for the Union troops for nearly a year now. She had just arrived from handing the information she had collected to the handsome, surly Union general this afternoon. She would see him tomorrow morning to find out what she needed to do next. He hadn’t known earlier.
So, instead of sitting in her room, bored to tears, she had decided to come down and see what action there was; she never could pass up a chance at a good card game. When she saw him sitting there, she almost returned to her room, but any game with Galindez and Webb was always good. Both men treated her with respect, both at the table and on the street. Galindez had saved her life once on the Southern Belle. And Webb? Well, it wasn’t a good idea to think about Webb while they were playing cards. She won several hands, mostly taking Wallace for several hundred dollars, but she lost much of it to Webb. Galindez managed to break even.
It was 2:30 in the morning and Wallace was getting more and more belligerent. Sarah noticed that the bartender whispered something to one of the hired hands who hurried out the back door. She suspected that the sheriff of this little burg would show up soon. But when the door crashed open, she was surprised to see a barrel-chested slovenly dressed man saunter in.
"Evenin’ folks." He tipped his hat and ordered, "Whiskey!" from the bartender. His accent was strange and for a moment, Sarah couldn’t place it.
The man came over with his drink and stood between Wallace and Sarah. Webb looked up. "You playin’?"
"Me, mate. Lord, no. I know me weaknesses and the cards are one of them. Name’s Brumby."
"That’s nice." Webb snarled. He knew exactly who and what Brumby was. But he didn’t give him an opening. "Last deal for me, folks." He spared a quick glance at Sarah who cocked one delicate eyebrow at him, a small sneer curling her lip.
Wallace muttered something that no one understood and demanded, "Someone else deal. I don’t trust you, boy."
Webb merely smiled and handed the deck to Sarah. "You trust the lady?"
"Oh, yeah. Oh, darlin,’ deal me some good cards." Wallace leered at Sarah.
"Well sure nuff, sir." She grinned wickedly and carefully dealt the cards, slowly, so that there could be no issue with the way they came off the deck.
Wallace demanded three cards.
"Well, sir?" she asked Webb.
"Just one, Sarah," he said.
"Two, Sarah." Galindez called.
"Well the dealer folds, gentlemen." Sarah smiled sweetly keeping her eyes determinedly at the door where she expected the sheriff to enter any minute.
He did, just before Webb took the last pot. The tall blond-haired man sighed and started to advance. Wallace pushed back from the table ready to start a fight. But help came from a surprising source. Brumby threw down a stack of fliers on the table. "Now that your game is over, you blokes want to make some honest money? There’s some runaway slaves I'm lookin’ for."
Webb coldly met the man’s eye. "Listen to me, bounty hunter, I won’t take your money in poker if you won’t ask me to do your dirty work."
"Oh, you’re one of them…" Brumby started to throw a vile epithet, but the look in Webb’s eye and the ‘harumph’ of the sheriff stilled his comment. He hastily shoved the flyers on the table toward Wallace and left. Wallace glared down at the pictures for a moment and then pushed back from the table, falling down in the process.
"Name’s Lindsey." The sheriff introduced himself. "Y’all planning on stayin’ a spell?"
Webb collected his winnings without looking at the man. "Long as there are cards to be played, sheriff. Is there a problem?"
Lindsey studied the three professional gamblers carefully and sighed. Ever since the Union soldiers had come into town things had been quiet. General Chegwidden brooked no public drunkenness from his men, or anybody else, for that matter. There was some talk at the town council that they might not even need a sheriff for the war’s duration. Patrols had made bank robbery here a near impossibility. Last night, one of the patrols had stopped Danny Walden from molesting Miss Rice, the schoolteacher. Thankfully, they had turned the boy over to him and he was able to return the boy to his momma. But Lindsey knew that Sydney Walden’s memory was only good until the next time she needed him to do something for her. He put on his best glower. "Just you remember where you are, boy. This here is…"
Webb ignored the man and stalked out. Victor and Sarah arched eyebrows at each other but followed him with brief nods of understanding at the sheriff.
As they mounted the stairs leading to their rooms, they heard Wallace whine, "Get the hell away from me Teddy, I can manage myself."
Galindez had a room on the third floor and as he put his foot on the next stair up he looked back down at Webb. "I would be careful of that one."
Webb shrugged. "He doesn’t scare me. But, thank you for your concern…" a brief grin kissed his lips, "…and your money."
Galindez just laughed and shook his head. "Good night, sweet Sarah. I hope to see you tomorrow night."
Sarah smiled up at the Spaniard. "You never know, Victor. Good night."
One of the maids scurried past the two of them. "I put fresh water in your room, just like you asked for, Miss."
Sarah took a coin from her reticule and handed to the girl. "Thank you."
"Oh thank you, Miss."
"Good night, Sarah." Webb said as he opened the door to his room. Neither spared another glance or word as Sarah made her way to her room near the end of the hallway.
The war had dampened many a man’s spirit, including Clayton Webb’s. He stared out at the sluggish river below him and sighed. He hated coming back to Perryville. Perryville was his home, or rather had been his parents’ home. As a young man, he had felt hemmed in by the small town. After he had been to Transylvania College and saw the way real gentlemen lived he had longed to join a brighter society than he could find in this tiny little backwater Kentucky town.
Unfortunately, along the way, he had developed a taste for cards that had nearly ruined him and had almost cost him his life. That was years ago though. Life had been a tough teacher but he had learned well. Now he made a decent, if transitory living at cards, traveling from New Orleans in the south and as far north as St. Louis. Sometimes he would spend months on the massive paddle steamboats traveling the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers, but the war made that iffy. So he went where the games were, and tonight they had led him back to Perryville.
The smoke from his cheroot curled around his head. He had stripped himself of his jacket, and kicked off his boots. Other than that, he left the rest of his clothes on – in case. The lantern burned low, so he could ignore the dinginess of a room long overdue for remodeling. The current owners obviously didn’t mind the soot stains from the poorly trimmed wicks of the smoky oil lanterns. No matter, he had slept in worse places. He thought again about San Francisco and wondered why he didn’t just up and take off for the California Mecca. There was gold to be had out there – gold that didn’t have to be dug up.
The light tap, follow by the sound of the knob twisting reminded him why he remained in the south. Her scent caressed him. The whisper of her gown against the floorboards told him how far into the room she stepped.
"I wasn’t sure you would come tonight," he said to the river below him.
"I lost didn’t I?" Amusement was the only thing he heard in her voice.
Taking a deep breath he steadied himself and turned around. They played this game by her rules. Rules laid down so long ago he couldn’t remember ever wanting another woman the way he wanted Sarah MacKenzie. He wanted nothing more than to stalk over to her, grab her by the hair and pull her lips to his, kissing her until she fainted from emotion. He grunted in amusement at that thought. Before he ever reached her she would probably cold-cock him again, like she had one night in New Orleans over fifteen years ago.
Patiently, he waited for her.
"Well, Clay?" she whispered as she pulled the ribbon holding the bodice of her robe.
"Well, Sarah." He took a long pull on the cheroot and with a calm born of fifteen years surviving on his wits alone, managed to crush it out in the ashtray on the dresser without fumbling and showing her just how nervous he still got when first faced with her naked beauty.
A half smile quirked at her lips as she tugged the nightgown off. She saw the way she affected him. Knew the feelings that he had for her; perhaps he always had. It made no difference though. It made no difference that any other man she lay with since that night he had taken her virginity looked just a little like him. She would never let him know just how much his touch meant to her. She couldn’t. She knew that any permanent relationship between the two of them was doomed. She had eyes and she had seen too much since growing up in Reed’s whorehouse. This would do. This would be enough – it had to be.
Slowly, like a sleek cat, she approached him, circled around him, trailing one slender finger up his shirtsleeve until she stood directly behind him. They were nearly the same height and he could feel her hot breath on his neck. Still, he didn’t move. He let her set the pace. He couldn’t remember when this had turned into a game in her eyes, with rules as rigid as any poker game. She had ‘lost’ so she would pleasure him tonight.
Her hands snaked around his shoulders. Reaching, brushing her breasts against his back, she began to unbutton each tiny stud at his vest. When she reached the bottom, she made sure to brush her fingertips over the straining bulge of his pants before pulling off the satin. Carefully placing it on top of his coat resting on the straight back chair, she returned to her task.
"How long as it been, Clay?" she whispered before placing a kiss just below his collarbone.
Taking a steadying breath as she pulled the cravat from his throat he managed a firm, "Five months, six days and fourteen hours, Sarah."
"How nice. You keep track," she purred as she pulled his shirt from his pants. It quickly joined the vest and coat.
He tried hard not to react, but the sensation of her tongue tracking down his spine as her fingers drew circles over his chest sent tremors down his back. "I-I happened t-to find a hotel receipt from Chattanooga this morning," he lied. He had no idea how he kept track but some time, each day, he always counted how long it had been since they had been together last.
Moving around him, making sure to rub herself against him as she did, she came to stand in front of him. Dusky brown eyes met passionate hazel and they stood there for an eternity just barely touching, bare chest to bare chest, lips so close. Leaning forward, she didn’t so much kiss him as begin to brand him with her tongue. Flicking it over his lips she moved down his jaw. She sucked at a spot on his neck that seemed to have a direct nerve connection with his cock. Trailing lower she rubbed her hand over the nipple her mouth wasn’t playing with.
He could no more keep the groan from escaping that he could stop loving her. "Oh, God! Sarah."
"Now, Clayton, you naughty boy, you know God has little to do with this." She grinned up into his lust-filled eyes as she sank to her knees. Freeing his erection, she tugged his pants and underwear down. He finally had to reach out and balance his hands on her shoulders has he kicked the clothes away. Her skin was every bit as soft as he remembered from the last time. He tried to look away from her knowing smile as her tongue snaked out and licked the slit of his cock head. "My, my, Clayton. Darlin’ are you in pain?"
"Damn you, Sara…aughhhhhh." He lost all capacity for prayer or profanity as she engulfed him, running her tongue along the underside of his straining cock. His hands moved from her shoulders to her head and he fingered the heavy mane of hair. Sometimes, when he lost the last hand to her, he would insist upon brushing her hair. Particularly if her room had a dressing table and mirror. He loved to watch her sit there, naked, watching him run the brush through her tresses. There were times when just being able to touch her was enough. Now was not one of those times. Tonight he needed to possess her. Needed to bury himself deep inside of her. He felt his balls tighten and he wasn’t ready to have this end so soon. "Stop, Sarah."
She thought to ignore him but he stepped back and grasping her by the shoulders roughly pulled her to him. For a moment he looked into her eyes, looking for something. Looking for the something that she kept locked in the deepest recesses of her heart. When he didn’t see it, he brutally brought her mouth to his, bruising her with the force of his kiss. Forcing the sleek moist lips open he invaded her mouth with his tongue tasting the bitter coffee she preferred to scotch or whiskey.
She let him take his pleasure, kissing back, driving him deeper. While he still held her by her shoulders, she could do little more than flick her fingers across his ribs. But, soon he pulled her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, freeing her to caress his back and trail down to his ass. Holding him tight, she ground her mound against his cock, undulating, driving him mad.
He pushed her down across the bed and buried his lips between her breasts, alternating kisses to both crowns. Moving lower, he nipped his way down to the juncture of her thighs. Spreading her legs he stared down at her glistening sex. His growl was almost animalistic.
"Do it, Clayton. Hard." She demanded as she ran her hands down her chest until she reached his head. Grabbing him by the hair she forced him to look into her eyes. "Do it now, Clay."
He plunged into her in one stroke and for that second they saw the truth in each other’s eyes and they both had to look away. Lust took over and he began to pound into her, hard, like she demanded. Rougher, more erratic, he lost almost all control, but even in the throws of his orgasm he reached down and rubbed that spot that always made her scream in ecstasy.
Still standing, he fell forward, burying himself deeper still. Bracing his weight on his outstretched arms he tried to make her look at him. Again, for a brief moment he thought he saw what he was looking for.
Her amused laugh broke the spell. "Lord, Master Webb. Tell me again which one of us lost this time."
He let his laughter join hers and roughly pulled her forward, still buried inside of her. She once told him that he was the only man who could do that. Her randy admission of other lovers had nearly drove him to beat her that day. She must have seen it in his eyes because she had blushed with shame and never again compared him to anyone else. He kissed her long and deep until he finally fell from her. She started to push him away so she could dress and return to her room, but he held her arms, his fingers digging in. "No," he growled. "I won. You stay."
She met his gaze and sighed. "For a little while Clayton." She crawled into the narrow bed and held out her arms to him. When they were nestled together, he reached over her and turned down the lamp by the bed. The lamp against the far wall still flickered and jumped, lending an eerie quality to the room. It was the perfect backdrop to their most unusual relationship.
She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He had just celebrated his twenty-first birthday and was still in the throws of the seemingly invincibility of youth. He had been at Del Reed’s place, losing his monthly allowance when she came in and sat next to Del. He thought then that she was the most beautiful whore he had ever seen. Little did he know. She set him straight later that night when he insisted that she return to his room with him. The following morning he had been rudely awakened by a pitcher of icy water in his face. All he could do was sit there in the middle of the dirty little alley where she had left him after her uppercut to his jaw sent him reeling back. He hit his head against an iron hitching post. When he awoke fully he found himself staring up into her incredible flashing eyes. The knot on his head was the least of his embarrassment as she read him the riot act in front of an audience of the house slaves and several of the working girls.
He didn’t see her again for nearly six years. That time on the Dixie Queen he often relived in his dreams. He had already lost the house to Sydney Walden and to say he was down on his luck would have been admitting that he had any at all; good or bad. He had been standing on the deck of the paddle wheeler staring down into the dark waters of the Mississippi deciding that if he lost the rest of the meager amount he had, he would just jump overboard and kill himself.
"Well, well, well. As I live and breathe. Clayton Webb, isn’t it? Still harassing decent women?" The soft purr broke his bitter reverie. He recognized the voice even after nearly six years. He turned to snarl that he had never harassed a decent woman in his life, but the words died in his throat at the sight of her. In New Orleans, she had dressed almost childishly. He had learned a hard lesson in New Orleans. But then, he was good at learning the lessons that life taught him.
With the riverboat lights as a backdrop her bright red evening gown showed off her smooth shoulders and impossibly long neck. He just stood there, stunned by her beauty. Trying to not make an ass out of himself, he nodded, cordially he thought, "Miss Sarah. When did you come on board?"
"This morning at Natchez, sir."
"Well, that explains why I haven’t seen you before tonight. I’m sorry about Del."
Mac just shrugged. "It’s been awhile."
"What are you doing here? Who are you with?" He tried to keep the demanding tone from his voice but still she cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Why, sir. I am cut to the quick. You haven’t heard of me? I’ve been playin’ cards for a livin’ for almost a year now."
He hadn’t like the smug tone and snapped. "I’ve been in St. Louis for nearly six months. You haven’t."
She was a little taken aback by his tone but she recovered quickly. "No I haven’t. I find that gamblin’ boats suit me just fine." She strolled to the rail to stand next to him. "The captain likes me. Says I remind him of his daughter."
"Of course." His smirk was hidden in the shadows.
"Oh, you think you know everything don’t you. Well are you willing to place a little wager?"
He heard the anger and hurt in her voice. He wasn’t sure why he was egging her on. Maybe because he had been right those six years ago. Just not at that time. "Sure, Sarah. What’s the stakes?"
She was very quiet for a moment then, squaring her shoulders she turned to face him. Faster than he could deal from the bottom of the deck she leaned over and roughly kissed him. Before he could react and embrace her she pulled back and whispered. "Win tonight and you win me – for the night." As his eyes grew wide, she turned and ran through the door leading to the cabins.
It had never occurred to him that she had an ulterior motive. He learned quickly that Sarah MacKenzie seldom did anything without a plan or a goal in mind. He just had no idea that night what her goal had been.
He had played better than he ever had. A cockiness that had been beaten out of him during the previous year melded with hard-learned lessons. He beat her, but more importantly, he beat the best player on the river – Clark Palmer. It would take him another five years to realize that Palmer was a cheat and the only reason why he hadn’t cheated that night was the presence of a young Spaniard who seemed to unnerve Palmer.
He had won enough off Clark Palmer to be comfortable for the rest of the trip. He was planning on how to have fun for the first time in long time. Starting with a romp in the bed of the lovely Sarah MacKenzie.
There was no pretense that night. They left the table together. He let her lead him to her surprisingly comfortable cabin and again he thought that the captain saw the lady gambler as something more than his daughter. He learned another lesson that night: Men, whether they enjoyed her pleasures or not, seemed to naturally want to protect Sarah.
As soon as the door closed behind them he pulled her to him, kissing her forcefully. But she just stood there, still as a rabbit trying to convince the hunter it wasn’t there. He pulled back and snapped. "Is something the matter, Sarah? I did win didn’t I?"
For a moment, he thought she was going to slap him. But she stepped away from him and hung her head. "Yes, you did. And I want this. I just want you to know something before we start."
"What?" he growled. He was hard for her. Harder than he could ever remember being. He had plenty of female companionship when he wanted it. He knew every whorehouse between St. Louis and New Orleans and Natchez and Mobile. Most times the mating was furious and fast. Sometimes they stayed but most of the time he pushed them out the door with their payment. He made a point to never bed any of the ladies he occasionally met. They wanted too much from a man. As far as he was concerned there were only two kinds of ‘decent’ women. Women like his mother who would want him to settle down and stay at home and care for her and their children. And, women like Sydney Walden who would want to own and manipulate him. Whores were better. He liked whores. There was an honesty about most of them that belied their profession.
He could tell that she was suddenly nervous. She licked her lips and turned away from him to caress her fingers over the bedspread covering the comfortable looking bed. "I thought, perhaps…I mean."
"What is it Sarah?" Suspicion, but also concern, made him take a tentative step toward the door. "Look, if you really don’t want this, fine. I haven’t tried to force myself on a woman since…" He laughed softly and fingered the spot on the back of his head. "Since I was a stupid boy in New Orleans. Good night, Sarah."
He started to open the door. "Don’t please. It’s just, I haven’t ever…I mean I wanted…oh never mind."
Something in her voice captured him. He turned and walked over to where she stood next to the bed, her chin resting on her chest. Reaching out, he lifted her head, making her look at him. He studied her for a long time, his eyes growing wider with the sure knowledge of what she was admitting. Words of incredulity tried to bubble to the surface but he bit his tongue to keep them inside. "Never? With any man, not with…"
Anger snapped in her eyes and fury drew back her hand. "No, damn you. Not with Del! Not with the captain. Get out." She swung but his hand captured her wrist and he held her hip with his other hand.
"Calm down. I just needed to know for sure. Why me?" He could tell she didn’t want to tell him, but in the end he smiled ruefully. "Well, it's nice to know that my reputation with the whores of the Mississippi is so noble."
She laughed softly, trying hard not to respond to the gentle caress of his thumb against the pulse point of her wrist or the heat radiating off of him. "Oh, it’s very good indeed. You make sure that you satisfy them, pay promptly and then move on. That’s what I want – except for the pay part. I lost and I figure that was payment enough."
He studied her for a long time. He tried to remember if he had ever had a virgin before. Frankly, if he thought about, he wasn’t sure that he wanted the responsibility. But the look on her face, the fear that he might reject her overcame any doubts he might have, and he reached out for her.
At first she made no move to help him, but when his lips brushed hers she sighed and fell into his embrace. This was why she had asked him. She had kissed a few men and felt somewhat shameful for not going further. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to do. Hell, she had seen things that no good woman would ever consider doing. She just didn’t know what feelings to expect or what or when the man expected.
Webb felt her fear and hesitation and was determined to make it good for her. Carefully, slowly he began to peel the shoulders of her dress down until her breasts were free. The corset jutted them up and he pulled back to gaze upon her. "You are so incredibly pretty, Sarah."
"I’m not." She blushed.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the floor mirror. "Yes you are." He met her eyes in the reflection and stroked his fingertips across her nipples. His mouth descended on her neck and began to nibble. She groaned at the sight and feel of him.
He worked the dress over her hips and pushed the crinoline off of her. Kneeling behind her he tugged at her bloomers. Turning her around he kept his eyes off the dark bush of curls between her legs and worked the laces of her shoes. Pulling them off, he made short work of her stockings.
She gazed down at the brown hair bobbing up and down as he worked the clothes from her body. Tentatively, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He raised his head and grinned up at her. "That’s nice. I like to be touched, too."
"Show me how to touch you, Clay."
Instead of answering he leaned forward and gently licked his tongue through the hair hiding her passion. She gasped and arched into him. Holding her hips tightly he began to pleasure her. He had been told by more than one whore that few men liked doing what he did. He couldn’t understand it. He loved the smell of women. Love their scent in his nose, loved their taste on his tongue. More importantly, he loved the response he got from them when he did this.
Sarah was gasping and moaning and holding onto his head as she felt a strange, almost frightening feeling of heat spread up from his lips through her center, tightening her belly and her nipples. She let out a surprised gasp as she began to shudder and shake in his arms. He held her tightly until she could catch her breath, then slowly kissed his way up her body, sucking at her nipples for a while. Crushing her against his still fully clothed body, claiming her lips, he let her taste her own love juices. "Clean my face," he whispered huskily. When she started to pull away to get a cloth, he chuckled. "With your tongue."
She was shocked at first but bravely began to lap at his face. His groans spurred her on and she found it highly erotic.
"Now, touch me, take off my clothes," he commanded. This was nothing like what she remembered from Del’s place. She had often stumbled upon men in various states of undress. Sometimes she had seen the girls being taken through cracks in the wall. But this seemed more intimate than anything that happened there.
Webb stood there trying hard to keep his eyes open but having her touch him was too much. Even though he was still mostly clothed he could feel her heat. He wanted to possess her, to hold her tight. But he let her explore. When she knelt before him to remove his boots and pants, she imitated his early ritual. When he stood before her naked, she sat back on her haunches, staring in awe at his bobbing member. Hesitantly she leaned forward, her mouth wide open. His hand in her hair stopped her. "You ever see the girls at Del’s do this?" She nodded and pushed forward but again he pushed her back. "Well I’m going to tell you how to do it right. Close your mouth."
She snapped it shut and crimson coins appeared on her cheeks. She waited, embarrassed that she had already done it wrong.
Never taking his hand from her hair he whispered. "Kiss it first, gently. Now lick it. Yes, just like that. Now swirl your tongue around it." She was a quick learner and grasped the concept, licking and kissing down his length. "Oh, good girl." Her heart swelled at his praise. "Now touch me here." His free hand took hers and led it to the heavy ball sac just at the base of his cock. "Gently, gently, baby. Oh, so good." She felt him grow harder than before and felt his sac tighten. She was thrilled that she had done this to him. "Easy baby, don’t want this to end too soon." He led her mouth back to his tip and nudged her lips apart. "Now suck on it, like it was sugar cane." She slurped him down until he hit the back of her throat causing her to gag. "Relax darling, take it slow. Oh, yeah. So good." Gently he began to rock in her. His other hand began to caress her temple. She felt him tighten even further and began to panic. But he sensed that too. "Let go now." He commanded roughly. "We’ll save the rest for another time. Stand up."
Shakily, she got to her feet and waited. He pulled down the bedspread and pushed her back on the bed. Crawling in after her, he settled between her legs. "Look at me Sarah." Her eyes met his, her fear evident. "There’s no way for this not to hurt a little, baby, but I promise I will make it better."
"Okay, Clay." She squeezed her eyes shut but the stroke of his finger, beginning at her temple opened her eyes. She watched that finger trail down her chest, circle her nipples and continue to her belly button. By the time in reached her thatch she was arching up toward his cock quivering just outside her entrance. Taking her hips in his hands, he maneuvered her until she felt the head gently part her.
"Sorry, Sarah." He plunged home. She felt her barrier break and felt the tears course down her face. She waited for him to take his pleasure. That she had seen at the whorehouse. She soon learned just why he deserved his reputation. He stilled and waited for her tears to cease. Leaning forward, bracing his weight on his outstretched arms, he gently kissed her. "Okay?"
She gasped at the question, somehow knowing that if she asked, he would pull out. Nodding, she waited and was surprised that the pain was gone and the pleasant euphoria was beginning again. She watched his face and reached up to brush the lock of hair off his forward. Turning his head, his lightly nipped the pulse point at her wrist. He was setting a gentle pace but she noted the concentration on his face. "Take me Clay. Move a little harder." She mimicked the words she remembered impatient whores screaming in fake ecstasy.
He did speed up a little, but he also changed the angle of his thrusts and suddenly that wonderful feeling was stealing over her. She opened her eyes wide and met his self-satisfied grin. "Come for me again, Sarah."
Gasping under his gentle assault she began to soar again. Clawing at his shoulders she pulled him down on top of her until she could wrap her legs around the small of his back to hold him tightly. "Oh, God!" She cried as her second orgasm stole over her. His voice echoed in her ear as she felt him flood her tight passage, throbbing deep inside her womb.
He held her close murmuring in her ear. Looking up at him she smiled a sweet beautiful smile and fell asleep.
Now, nearly nine years later, he watched her doze next to him, knowing she would be gone in the morning. He knew why it had gone wrong. He had tried to possess her. Tried to insist she stay ashore and wait for him. She had left the paddleboat, but she hadn’t been in his small set of rooms in New Orleans when he returned. He found her three months later dealing faro in a small house in Mobile, a man, very similar to Webb in looks, right down to his green eyes, fawning over her. They hadn’t bedded again for nearly a year - in Jackson - and then it had been he who put the challenge out. "Last hand, the loser pleasures the winner?" He lost on purpose, and perhaps she knew, but he made it memorable. The following morning she met him at breakfast and laid the ground rules. He had followed them ever since. He knew she was right. This was the only way. But damn, he loved her. He knew it. He also knew if he ever declared his love she would never see him again.