The Return Of Chase Cordell

“Just like the night I met him,” Linese muttered.

Chase Cordell had come uninvited like so many other young men to the Ferrin County Presbyterian church. He had smelled of brandy and gunpowder, with a fresh wound on one hand. He had been a handsome, mysterious stranger that made the women, both married and unattached, whisper behind their fans while their pulses quickened at the very sight of him.

Linese had been one of those women. She had stood frozen to the floor as he came into the church. She had watched, mesmerized by his hard gray eyes, while he searched the room, as if he had been looking for someone. As if he had been looking for her.

When he pinned her with eyes as hard as rain-slicked granite, she had nearly swooned on the spot. He had continued to shock her by defying propriety and the codes they lived by. He had walked straight up to her and spoken boldly, without a proper introduction, without a care for the consequences. Linese’s heart had nearly hammered its way through her chest.

She had felt every eye in the room fasten on the tall man who none dared to question or oppose. He had been Lucifer fallen to earth, a beautiful archangel whose ember-hot attention had been focused on her alone.

It was the most stimulating experience Linese ever had, and it had not stopped there.

She unconsciously rubbed her ink-stained fingers against her throat and remembered the way his voice had rippled over her like a lover’s intimate caress. In those first shattering moments she had fallen completely under his spell.

But then what woman wouldn’t have? Any man with the confidence to stride across a crowded room and tell a perfect stranger she was going to be his wife was a man that few women could resist.

“Lord knows I couldn’t,” Linese whispered to herself.

She sighed and thought about it while she watched him below. Chase had simply told her that he had chosen her. He had never asked her what she wanted, he had simply told her how it would be, and she hadn’t been able to resist his will.

In the feverish two weeks that followed that meeting, as when they stood in front of the same Presbyterian minister, Linese had given her heart to him without asking for anything in return. Then, in a blur of activity, he had packed her up and moved her from Ferrin County. He had swept into her life like a blue norther.

She had waited, expecting him to tell her he felt the same way before he rode off to war. But he did not. Then she waited at her new home, Cordellane, for letters he would write home, expecting some declaration of affection, but it never came. Now as she stared down at the man who had given her his name, she began to wonder. Did Chase Cor-dell care for her at all? Had he ever, or had he simply chosen her for his wife for other reasons entirely?

She wrapped her arms around her ankles and rested her chin in the space between her knees. The fact that she was sitting in a bedroom all alone instead of sharing one with Chase, while she watched him through a cold pane of glass, was a hard truth to ignore.

While she swallowed the burning lump that constricted her throat, Chase leaned away from the tree and strode toward Cordellane. Linese listened for each of his uneven footfalls while he limped stiffly across the veranda and through the house. She heard him begin to climb the stairs, heard him pause on the landing.

Her heart quickened with hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was going to fling open the door to her room.

Maybe Chase would open the door and stride in with the same bold confidence he had displayed that night in Ferrin County. Maybe he would envelop her in his strong arms, hold her close to that glistening expanse of chest and make sweet love to her. How she yearned to have him pour his heart out, to tell her how much he had missed her while he was gone, to reveal his inner feelings to her.

But he didn’t.

She heard his steps carry him one door farther down the hall, and into the room that had been hers for the past two years. A few moments after the bedroom door shut with a heavy thud, the uneven tempo of his footsteps began again. Her aching heart matched its lonely beat to the uneven stride of his limp.

Major Chase Cordell sounded like a caged animal and Linese wondered if she had become his reluctant jailer.

Chase watched Hezikiah Hershner from under his lashes. It was damnably hard trying to observe and learn, all the while acting as though he knew everything there was to know about the complicated process of setting print and running the big awkward press.

Frustration rolled over him. Chase had only managed to remain idle today by using his recent wound as an excuse. Hershner was eager for Chase to resume his duty of getting the weekly newspaper out, almost as eager as the mayor and his cronies, but he suspected for entirely different reasons.

After the meeting in the woods, after nearly wearing the polish off the hardwood floors in his bedroom, Chase had reached a decision. He had to find out what those men were threatening him with. Bile rose in his mouth each time he thought about the secret they held over him, and the gun and gold.

Were they somehow connected? Or was he such a rogue that he’d left many terrible deeds behind when he went to war?

Chase sighed and wondered which secret would undo him first: his lost memory or the grim and unrecollected act the mayor was holding over his head. He had to find a way of learning about the Gazette and his past, and he needed to do it before the mayor and his friends grew impatient and forced him into a corner.

He got up and stretched. His hip ached from sitting, but he had hoped that just being in the newspaper office would jar some part of his mind. He had prayed that he might blink and find the last hellish weeks were no more than a nightmare.

While he massaged his leg, he moved near untidy stacks of papers in the corner. He scanned them quickly and saw random dates scattered among the unordered piles.

“These are back issues of the Gazette, yes?” he asked Hezikiah.

The older man looked up and frowned. “Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to put them in some kind of order, but I never have the time.”

Chase picked up the top paper and read the headlines. It contained news of the skirmish that had ultimately led to his wounded hip and return home. Could reading the old papers shed some light on his own personal history? Hope sprang up inside his chest at the thought.

“I’ll take them home.” Chase heard his own voice. “I’ll bring them back when I have them in order.”

Hezikiah’s head snapped up. “Well, not that I’m turn ing down the offer to clean up the office, but I thought you might be anxious to start. The Gazette was your pride and joy before you left….”

“Two years have changed me. I need a little time to get to know myself again.” Chase felt the irony and poignant truth of his own words slice through him.

Hezikiah nodded. “I understand, Major. Must be difficult coming back when the conflict is still unsettled. You were so determined when you left….” Hezikiah’s words trailed off.

Chase looked at Hezikiah and blinked. If only he could understand what kind of person he had been, what drove him and why he had left Linese to go fight. It might help him uncover the truth.

* * *

Linese stood on the steps of Cordellane and watched Chase unload string-tied bundles of newspapers from the buggy. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but his dark brows were furrowed into the distinctive slash above his eyes. If he was even aware of her there, he hid it well. Each trip he made from the buggy to the library was done in total silence. He walked past her like a man in a dream. Finally, when the last haphazard stack was removed, he walked into the library and closed the door behind him. The cold sting of once again being shut out of his life bit deeply into the raw wound of her pride. Linese sighed and stared at the library door. She had to find some way of finding her husband beneath the cold exterior of the man who had returned.

But how?

Chase stared up at the portrait on the library wall and felt a hard knot form in his belly. Vague, disjointed images floated through his mind. His pulse quickened its tempo at the notion that he might remember something.

The face he stared at in the painting was his father’s, yet it was a face so like the unfamiliar one he found staring back each morning when he shaved, it sent a shiver through him. The same dark hair and serious gray eyes stared down dispassionately from the old canvas.

Chase turned around and looked at the other paintings lining the walls between the shelves of books. A pale woman with soft brown eyes smiled at him.

It was his mother. He knew it, even though he couldn’t dredge up a single recollection of her. He. also knew, from some deep spring of hidden information, that she had died in childbirth when he was very small.

The irony of feeling some happiness, or relief, at such a melancholy memory did not escape Chase. He sighed and concentrated on each portrait.

Above the fireplace was the likeness of a young girl with raven locks and porcelain skin. Her eyes were similar to those of his father, with a youthful promise of great beauty in the childish face. Her name suddenly popped into Chase’s head as if conjured up by a magician in a snake-oil act.

Marjorie, his aunt, the apple of his grandfather’s eye. Chase had an obscure remembrance of her funeral and the madness that took his grandfather’s mind away following the somber occasion.

“Am I the next Cordell to lose his mind?” he muttered while he stared at the young girl’s gray eyes. A conflict of emotion ripped through him and a strange high-pitched ringing filled his ears. Was his grandfather’s affliction somehow responsible, or was it something else that took his memory?

He tore his gaze from the painting and slouched into a tall-backed chair in front of the cold fireplace. The sound in his ears had taken on a lower tone, but it was still evident. With a slight unsteadiness of his hand, he poured himself a large brandy from the glass decanter on the side table. The liquor blazed a hot trail down his throat toward his empty belly.

Maybe the alcohol would silence the buzz in his ears or numb the ache in his hip. He prayed it would at least dull the raw need he perceived each time he thought about Linese and how much she had lost during the past two years.

Chase returned the glass to the table and picked up the first issue of the Gazette from the mound at his feet. With a little luck, perhaps he could find a part of his missing self in the words. If nothing else, maybe he would stumble upon some clue that would unearth the mystery of what he had done before he went to war. Then, even if he was doomed to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps, he would have some tiny bit of himself, a shadow of the man he used to be. Maybe it would be enough.

Linese sat in the rocker beside Captain Cordell and watched the moon rise above the treetops just as she had done for the past two years. Funny, Chase’s return had made little difference in the day-to-day existence at Cordel-lane. Her reality was nothing like the dreams she had spun in Chase’s absence. She was still sleeping alone, still sitting with Captain Cordell in the evenings, watching the moon and the stars, while she longed for the company of her husband.

“I’ll be taking some food over to Doralee’s sporting house,” Captain Cordell said suddenly. He never looked at Linese. He just continued to stare up at the twinkling array of stars overhead.

She turned to him in amazement. It had never occurred to her that the Captain went to the local bordello. She knew that almost every other able-bodied man left in Mainfield did, but she had never even thought of the Captain that way. In truth she had never given much thought to the fact he was still a healthy man who probably had physical desires. She caught herself blushing with the thought.

When she first arrived at Cordellane, in the first lonely weeks, she had wondered if he was as out of touch as people believed. Slowly she had come to realize his condition was changeable. His mind seemed to ebb and flow like the tides. There were times, like now, when he blurted out the most outlandish statements, for instance, about going to Doralee’s house of ill repute.

“Now why would you do a thing like that, Captain?” If it had been anyone else but the dotty old Captain she was speaking to, she couldn’t have continued this conversation. The very notion was so improper her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But he was not right in the head and had no way of knowing it, poor dear, so she smiled pleasantly and waited for his answer as if they were talking about the crops or the weather.

“Melissa, one of the girls, is going to have a baby in a few weeks.” The old man squirmed a bit but he continued speaking without hesitation. “She can’t work. I never could abide seeing someone go hungry if I could prevent it.”

Linese blinked back her amazement. Only someone like Captain Cordell, who was so far removed from the re-straints of proper behavior, could get away with such an opinion. For a moment she almost envied him the freedom his mental infirmity allowed him. He could say things, do things other people would never be allowed to do.

“You’re a kind and generous man, Captain. We have a bit to spare. Is there anything else she might need?” Linese knew there were many worse off than she and the old Captain—and Chase, she reminded herself.

Captain Cordell’s face pinched into a series of wrinkles. It seemed he was putting a considerable effort into his answer. “There is some old furniture stored in the attic. might take some of it over.”

Linese’s breath froze in her chest. She stared out into the dappled shadows of the thicket and tried to blink back the hot sting behind her eyes. Chase’s cradle and his old baby clothes were in that attic. She had hoped her own children would use the treasured Cordell heirlooms.

She sat in stunned silence and argued with herself. It was selfish to deny anyone the use of anything when so many had so little. It was small and petty of her to repudiate any kindness the Captain wanted to give the unfortunate woman.

Linese swallowed hard. It hurt, but she made herself face the real reason for her distress. Linese finally formed the idea that had been taking shape in her mind for days. It was likely she was in a loveless marriage, one that would never provide her with the children she wanted so much. She feared she would never have need of the baby furniture.

She told herself it was as much her fault as it was Chase’s. She should find a way to bridge the rift between them, but when she thought about it, she felt ill-equipped to win her husband’s affection. She had been a green girl when he had married her, and even though she had grown and matured in every other aspect, when it came to matters of the heart she was still hopelessly out of her depth.

The Captain cleared his throat beside her and Linese was wrenched from her thoughts. Part of her rankled at the self-pity she was wallowing in. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the side of the Captain’s face. His long silver mustache, his only vanity, tickled her chin.

“My mama once told me a pretty girl could get anything she wanted from a man with a kiss or two.” He winked and patted Linese’s hand.

For a sobering moment Linese wondered if he were as addled as everyone believed. Then she wiped the notion from her mind. Why on earth would any man want people to think he was crazy. Still, his easily offered words made her think. Perhaps there was a way to win her husband back. Perhaps Providence had dropped the solution into her lap like a fat, ripe plum.

“If you need any help gathering up the food and such, just let me know.” She rose from the rocker and entered the house. A glimmer of hope sparked inside her chest while she walked across the entryway.

A shaft of light shone from under the library door and drew her like a moth to a candle. Linese itched to know what Chase was doing in the room all alone. She stepped up to the door and listened.

It was quiet as a tomb on the other side. She nearly knocked on the closed door, but a flare of stubborn pride prevented her from doing so. Cordellane had been her home for two years. She resented suddenly being made to feel as if certain rooms were no longer open to her. First her bedroom and now the library had been shuttered and locked in her face. She felt a small spark of emotion—not anger, but perhaps resolve. Linese opened the door and walked in without warning.

Chase was sprawled in a chair with the litter of Gazette pages scattered all around him. His long legs and booted feet were stretched out in front of him on the old hooked wool rug. He was rubbing his temples with his fingers. A half-full glass of amber liquid sat on the table beside him and the brandy decanter was three-quarters empty.

“Chase?” Linese wondered if he was too drunk to move from the chair. Could it be he had returned to her so shattered by war that he was trying to drown his memories in drink?

“Mmm.” He never looked up. He just continued to rub his fingertips against his temples in small circles.

“You’ve been in here for hours. Are you hungry?” Linese approached his chair warily, half-expecting a sharp rebuff for invading his territory.

He looked up and fastened a remarkably sober gaze on her. A single dark strand of hair rested across his thick eyebrows. His eyes were hooded and languorous, but the rough-etched contours of his face were still distant and hard.

He reminded her of a wolf—ravenous and feral. The narrowed gaze he fastened on her was a mixture of suspicion and distrust. It pulled at her heart.

“No. I am not hungry.” His speech was softly slurred from the brandy.

“Is there anything you require?”

“No.” He sighed heavily and looked away. “There is nothing that I require.” His sardonic reply held a measure of poignancy.

It intrigued her, drove her onward. She took a halting step toward him. “Chase? What is it? What is wrong?” she whispered.

“My head hurts from reading so much.” His deep, throaty explanation stopped her only inches from his leg.

She looked down at him again. Suddenly the hard lines of his face didn’t seem so harsh. In her eyes, as she wanted so desperately to believe it, he wore only the lines of strain and fatigue. He had seemed so aloof and independent before. He now displayed a vulnerability she had never seen.

A wave of compassion and love swept over Linese. She bent down and grasped his boot top at the ankle. She lifted his leg with both hands.

His head came up with a start. “What are you doing?” His eyes narrowed down to gray slits. The sole source of Linese’s courage to persist in the face of his scowling expression was her deep love for Chase.

“I’m taking off your boots.” She grabbed her skirt with one hand and shoved it out of the way, while she knelt in front of Chase to take hold of his heel and pull off the tight-fitting boot.

Chase started to protest, then Linese bent toward him in front of him. Her position allowed him a completely unobstructed view of her breasts. One golden curl hung down beside her swanlike neck. Chase tried to look away but the sight was hypnotic.

He stared at the creamy swell of her flesh and imagined what it would be like to touch her. Heat danced up his legs toward his belly while he observed her. He could almost feel her flesh in his palms, could imagine what it would be like to bury his face in her pale hair. He could practically smell the combination of soap, honeysuckle and his own passion.

His boot came off.

His foot hit the floor with a thud. Pain radiated up his leg to his damaged hip. He drew a hiss of breath between his clenched teeth and tried to master the ache in his leg—and his heart.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

The concern in her voice shamed him. He wanted her to believe he was impervious to pain and hurt. He wanted her to admire him. God forgive him, he wanted her.

“Of course not,” he growled. His mouth was sour with the taste of the lie. Another in a series of lies he kept telling her. It struck Chase that his life had become one long, bitter untruth.

He disgusted himself. And the more he wanted Linese, the more disgusted with himself he became, because she embodied truth and goodness and a past he yearned to remember.

Linese paused to look at him. Chase devoured her body with his eyes. Then she smiled and picked up the other boot and slid it off. When she was finished, she sat down on the floor beside his outstretched leg.

A tingling sensation began to burn his thigh where it was touching Linese’s back. The spiraling heat traveled up the length of his body and into every muscle and sinew. The feeling gathered and pooled in the pit of his stomach only to send fingers of desire swirling back out to his limbs, his hands, his fingers.

The top of her golden head was so close, if he flexed his fingers, he could touch her. He cursed himself for wanting her, but it did no good. He wanted her anyway.

“I’ll read to you for a while. Maybe the pain in your head will go away.”

“I don’t need to be read to.” He could not trust himself to sit here while she was so close, so appealing. She had no notion of how perilous it was to remain with him. She could not know—he did not know himself—how deep his affliction ran.

“I want to read to you, Chase.” Her soft words contained steel. She glanced up at him and he saw something new in her cool-water blue eyes. He saw determination harden within their depths. To protest further would put him at risk of exposure. He was, after all, married to her.

Married to her.

“Fine.” Chase sighed in disgruntled capitulation. He reached for the glass, tipped it up and drained it. If he got drunk enough, maybe he could ignore the way her skin looked or the softness of her lips. He would simply close his eyes and let the brandy numb his brain and his need.

Linese felt a tiny shiver of satisfaction at Chase’s grudging response. She wondered if this was how a general felt when he gained the hill or took the river. She bent her head and tried to hide her smile of pleasure. She was Chase’s wife, she should sit and read to him of the events in Main-field. She should pull off his boots and linger with him over a glass of spirits, and then maybe they would be able to find what had been lost in the two years he was gone. Linese picked up the first paper and read the date aloud.

“’June 22, 1861. The citizens of Cooke County have formed a home defense and are calling themselves the Cooke County Home Guard Cavalry.’” She glanced up at Chase. He had leaned his head back against the chair and his eyes were closed. She started to read again.

Chase listened while Linese read about Texas and the campaign to secede. Reports of the weather and the escalating war took most of the space, with an occasional tidbit about a birth or death. Her voice was pleasant and somewhat soothing to him. He found himself actually enjoying the sound of it.

After a few minutes he heard the paper crinkle and realized she had stopped reading. The room seemed empty and cold without the sound of her voice. He raised his head and looked at her.

She was neatly folding the paper away. “Do you wish for me to continue?” She tipped her head toward him and raised her eyebrows in question. The lamplight glinted off the clear azure color of her eyes.

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