Gate of His Enemies

by Gilbert Morris Narrated by Maynard Villers

Overview

The war has come, leaving in its wake a chasm between North and South, turning friends and brothers into enemies. Now, as the nation begins to understand the true meaning of civil war, so the Rocklins begin to understand the fierce and terrible pull of loyalty - to a way of life, to one's country, and to God. Deborah Steele finds herself torn between her passionate belief in the Union and her deep love for Dent Rocklin, a dashing Confederate officer. But it isn't until Deborah sets out on a daring mission to rescue a captured Union soldier that she and Dent discover how deep their true loyalties lie...and how powerful real love can be.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169812107
Publisher:	Books in Motion
Publication date:	12/15/2005
Series:	Appomatox , #2
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Part One

Washington

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Chapter One

Mr. President

Washington was dark as Deborah Steele walked slowly down the street that led to her home. The clock in the belfry of the Congregational Church her father pastored sounded out nine times, but the voice of the bronze bell seemed muffled by the darkness and the fog that enveloped the city like a thick mantle.

Deborah was tired. The news of the fall of Fort Sumter in South Carolina had brought a heaviness to her—as it had to Washington and the North. Some of her fellow abolitionists were celebrating the event, rejoicing that at last a blow could be struck that would set the slaves free. Most felt it would be an easy matter: Send a few of our fine Northern troops down and teach the Rebels a lesson! Won't take thirty days—then we'll have a land free from the awful bondage of slavery!

Somehow Deborah had sensed that the war would not be like that, and a heaviness had quenched her lively spirit. Though the April night was not cold, the dampness of the air and the thick canopy of fog sent a shudder through her. Finally she reached the walk that led to her home and paused for a moment, gazing into the darkness, remembering.

It wasn't that long ago, only a few nights, that she had come home on a night very much like this one—and a man had moved toward her out of the shadows, calling her name.

Deborah remembered how the sudden appearance of the man had sent a startling fear through her. Washington, since the fall of Sumter, had been filled with crowds drinking and celebrating the beginning of the war. Deborah knew there had been several nasty incidents.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she had demanded. The reply had astounded her.

"It's me, Deborah—Dent Rocklin!"

As she relived that moment, Deborah closed her eyes, feeling once again the shock that had rolled over her. Dent had moved toward her, telling her that he'd had to come, had to talk with her. Even in the murky darkness broken by a pale yellow gleam from the street lamp, she had been able to see the tension in his lean face. He was the best-looking man she had ever known—tall, lean, with the blackest hair possible and strongly formed features. Picturing him now, Deborah again felt the way her pulse jumped when she was near him.

That night, though, he had looked worn and tired. She had wanted so much to reach out to him ... but had known she must not.

Deborah moved restlessly. She did not want to remember any more. Passing a trembling hand over her eyes, she wished things could have been different. But it had seemed, from their very first meeting, as though Deborah and Denton had been destined to fall in love.

She remembered vividly every detail of her visit with her uncle Gideon's family, of her time in Richmond and at Gracefield, the Rocklin family home just outside of that city. She clearly recalled how startled she had been by the powerful attraction that had sparked between Dent and herself. Even the fact that Dent was a fiery advocate of slavery and secession while she had been active as an abolitionist hadn't weakened that attraction. There had been some violent arguments between them, and finally, to avoid the strong feelings that Dent was creating in her own heart, Deborah had fled back to her home in Washington.

In a scene that could still tear her to pieces, she had said, "You'll forget me, Dent—and I'll have to forget you!"

She had left then and come home. Once back with her family, surrounded by all that was familiar and safe, she had been sure that was the end of her encounter with Dent Rocklin.

Then, a few nights ago, he had shown up, right here by the gate in front of her home.

She had scolded him, telling him he should not have come.

"I know that," he had said wearily. Looking at him, Deborah had noted that he was changed somehow. He had lost his lighthearted air. Then he had spoken the words that struck her heart a fierce blow. "Deborah, I'm in the Confederate Army."

Deborah breathed deeply, struggling with the tears that suddenly threatened to overcome her. The Confederate Army. Dent was in the Confederate Army. How could she love a man who would be fighting to destroy everything she believed in?

She had sent Dent away that night, but not before he had grasped her arms and leaned down, his eyes fierce. She could still hear his words ringing in her ears.

"Now, you can tell me it'll never work. Tell me I'll probably get my head blown off. Your family would never agree. My family would never agree. Then tell me I'll be fighting against your brothers. Give me a dozen reasons why we can't have each other. Go on!"

Trembling in his grasp, Deborah had answered, "It's all true! Everything you say is true!"

"I know it is, Deborah. But I know one thing more. Something you've overlooked."

"What—"

And then he had pulled her close and kissed her, cutting off her words—and filling her with the same stirring that had shaken her back in Virginia. Despite herself, Deborah had responded to the wildness in Dent's caress, and she had added a pressure of her own to the kiss.

When he finally lifted his head, he had held her close, whispering, "That's what you've forgotten, Deborah!"

Everything within her had longed to say, "I love you, Dent! We'll make it somehow!"

But she could not. The obstacles were too overwhelming. There was more than just their love at stake. There was her family—parents, brothers and all the others—and all that she had worked for, including the freedom of the slaves.

She had told him that, told him she could never turn her back on her family, told him that there are all kinds of love ... and sometimes one kind of love works against another.

She had known Dent wanted to take her in his arms again, but he had not. Instead, he spoke to her, simply, with a great determination.

"Deborah, I love you. And I know you love me. I've got to go, but this isn't the end. When the war is over, I'll come for you."

He had whirled and walked away, pausing a few feet away, almost hidden in the fog, to say, "Don't forget me, Deborah. After it's over, I'll be coming for you!"

Then he had disappeared, swallowed up by the fog.

Deborah stood now, peering into the thick grayness where he had disappeared and struggling with the emotions sweeping over her. Then a break in the sky allowed the full moon to appear. It poured down a silver bar of light ... until a ragged cloud racing across the sky closed it off, and the darkness moved across the land as Deborah turned slowly and walked into the house.

"Amos, I'm worried about Deborah."

The Rev. Amos Steele looked at his wife over his coffee cup, startled by the abruptness of her statement. He was a tall man with a pair of piercing hazel eyes, which he fixed on his wife, Laura. "Why, what's wrong with her? Is she ill?"

Laura Steele gave him an impatient look. She was a small woman of forty-three, still well formed and in almost every way the opposite of her husband. Her round face and dark blue eyes concealed a streak of humor, and she was quick in both emotion and action.

"Amos Steele," she said with a trace of asperity, "if you'd get your head out of a theology book and look around at the world, you'd be—"

She paused so abruptly that he looked at her with surprise. "I'd be what?" he asked. Then he sighed and put his cup down. "Well, you might as well say it, Laura. I'd be a better father. And a better husband, too, I expect."

Laura jumped to her feet and ran around the table. Throwing her arms around him, she cried out, "No! That's not what I meant! You've been a good father and a fine husband!"

But Steele, shaking his head, put his arm around her and said, "I know I get too caught up in my work, Laura. But I'm not so blind that I don't know what you mean about Deborah." He rose and walked to the window, staring out at the pale sunshine that was tinging the fog with a trace of color. Without turning to look at his wife he said, "She's in love with Denton Rocklin."

Laura came to stand beside him, slightly surprised at his quickness. She knew him for a man who got so deeply involved in the work at hand that he forgot to eat. And for ten years the work at hand had been the abolitionist movement. Laura believed in the movement, too, and had worked at her husband's side, but she was aware that he had sacrificed much for the cause. Now she said in a voice edged with worry, "Yes, she is. Or she thinks she is, and that can be just as bad."

"Denton's a fine young man," Amos said slowly, "but—"

He didn't finish. He had no need to. Laura had been a Rocklin before she and Amos had married, and that family had divided into two branches. Thomas Rocklin, Denton's grandfather, had founded a dynasty at Gracefield Plantation outside Richmond. Thomas's older brother, Stephen, had left the South and founded the Rocklin Iron Works. Laura, Stephen's only daughter, along with her brother, Major Gideon Rocklin, formed the Northern branch of the Rocklin family. Stephen and Thomas had their differences, like any brothers, but these were minor compared to those that the clouds of a civil war had brought in the past few years.

The worst situation that had faced Laura and Amos was the attraction of their daughter, Deborah, to Dent Rocklin. When Deborah had accompanied her uncle Gideon and his family to Gracefield, nothing had been farther from her parents' minds than a love affair between their daughter and a staunch Southern firebrand. But it had happened. They had not spoken of it much, as though leaving the thing alone would cause it to go away. But unfortunately, it was still very much alive.

"It would be tragic for both of them," Amos said heavily. He was a stern man—or at least was possessed of a stern manner—and he knew a great deal. But the one thing he had not known was how to get close to his children. Now that they were all grown, or almost so, the minister felt a gnawing regret that he had not done more with them. He turned and put his arms around Laura in a gesture that surprised her.

"With God all things are possible," he said quietly. "We'll trust him to bring Deborah—and Denton, too—through this thing." Stepping back, he said, "I have some papers to take to Gideon. I thought it would be good if Deborah went along." He hesitated, then added, "We could talk, perhaps."

"That would be very good, Amos," Laura said and smiled. "Perhaps you'll get to see the new president. He stays very close to Gideon's commanding officer, General Scott."

"He's very busy, Gideon says. Sucked dry by office seekers." Amos shook his head, adding, "Mr. Lincoln's got a heavy load to bear. We must hold him up in prayer." Then he kissed Laura on the cheek and smiled. "You've held this family together, my dear. Don't think for a moment that I don't know that." Then, embarrassed by the scene, he gave a half laugh and left the room. "We'll be back for dinner early," he said over his shoulder.

When Amos found Deborah, he noted how tired she looked. But she was ready enough to accept his invitation. The main thoroughfare of the city was four miles long and one hundred and sixty feet wide. The Capitol, with its unfinished dome topped by a huge crane and encircled by scaffolding, blocked the straight line of Pennsylvania Avenue, which led eastward from the expanding Treasury Building and the Executive Mansion, as the White House was called.

Deborah thought of the gracious streets of Richmond as she and her father drove past the Center Market at Ninth Street, a place that was taboo for the elite because the brothels and gambling houses there operated more or less openly. As Amos drove, he kept well away from sections such as Swampoodle, Negro Hill, and the alley domains that were inhabited by rabble-rousers, thieves, and cutthroats. Fortunately they did not have to pass the iron bridges that linked the two sections of the city. He couldn't avoid, however, passing along the Old City Canal, a fetid bayou filled with floating dead cats and all kinds of putridity and reeking with pestilential odors. Cattle, swine, sheep, and geese ran at large everywhere. Only two short sewers served the entire city, and often they were so clogged that their contents backed into cellars and stores on the Avenue.

Steele drove into the open area beside the Executive Mansion, got down, secured the team, then helped Deborah down. "General Scott has a temporary office here so that he can be close to President Lincoln," he said as they walked down the broad sidewalk. "That's the War Department over there." He motioned toward a square building off to their left. "But Gideon says the president wants to know everything that's going on in the military."

He led her up the steps of the two-story building, past the massive columns of the semicircular portico. They were met by a sergeant wearing the flamboyant dress of a Zouave. As he inspected Steele's pass, the father and daughter took in the soldier's baggy blue pants held up by a crimson tasseled cord, the short, richly embroidered vest, and the tasseled fez that perched on the man's head. After he had allowed them entrance into the mansion, Deborah said, "He looked more like a music hall entertainer than a soldier, Father."

"I think so too, and so does your uncle Gideon," Steele agreed. "He's one of Commander Hawkins's Zouaves from the Ninth New York Infantry Regiment—or so Gideon told me. He says lots of outfits have gone wild over the French uniforms." He led her down several halls, up a long stairway, and came finally to a door marked Military Adjutant.

"This is General Scott's office," Amos said. "I hope Gideon is here."

The two of them entered, and a corporal sitting at a desk covered with papers asked for their pass. Then he rose, saying, "Major Rocklin is meeting with his new commanding officer, Mr. Steele, but I think he'd want to see you." He disappeared into one of the doors leading to an office, then came back at once, saying, "Go right in, Mr. Steele. And you too, ma'am."

Deborah stepped into the room, which was much plainer than she had expected. There was only a desk, four chairs, and a walnut bookcase against one wall. Two officers, one of whom was her uncle, were standing by a large map on the wall. Gideon came to Deborah at once, holding out his hands. "Well now, this is fine! My favorite niece!"

Deborah had always idolized her uncle Gideon. He was an intensely masculine man, strongly built and straight as a ramrod. A heavy-duty man with big hands and legs, Gideon was well able to overwhelm any soldier under his command. He was a fine soldier, decorated for courage in Mexico. But what was more important to Deborah was the fact that he had always been partial to his niece, spoiling her whenever he got the chance.

Taking his hands, she swiftly reached forward and kissed his cheek. "You owe me a visit." She smiled impudently. "Don't think you can get out of taking me to the next review with a little old compliment!"

"You'll have your own way, of course," Major Rocklin responded, smiling fondly. "You always do." Then he turned toward the tall officer. "I'd like you to meet my new commanding officer, Colonel Laurence Bradford. Colonel Bradford, this is my brother-in-law, Rev. Amos Steele, and his daughter, Deborah."

"I have heard of your work, Rev. Steele. It's a pleasure to meet you." Bradford shook hands with the minister, then bowed to Deborah, a smile on his lips. "And you, too, Miss Steele."

Deborah put out her hand impulsively, and he took it at once, his long fingers closing around it firmly. He was, she thought, no more than thirty-five, which was young for his rank. He had a sharp, aquiline face, with a pair of large brown eyes overshadowed by heavy brows. He was not tall, but his erect posture made him seem so. As he released her hand, he said, "Your uncle is a godsend, Miss Steele. I asked General Scott to give me a man who knew everything about the army, who was patient with new commanding officers, and who would keep me from any fatal blunders. I didn't request that he have an attractive niece, but happily Major Rocklin meets all the requirements, even that one."

"Colonel Bradford has been commissioned to raise a new regiment," Rocklin said, nodding. "I might add he is doing so out of his own pocket."

"Actually, I'm just a dowdy businessman," Bradford said with a shrug. "But I want to do my part in this war that's coming up."

"Most commendable of you, sir!" Amos Steele said warmly. "I am certain that God will bless your efforts and your battalion."

"Father may not like it so well," Gideon said with a sudden grin. "Colonel Bradford and I are going to his plant to make an appeal for volunteers to serve with the new unit. He'll hit the ceiling when we entice some of his best workers away."

"Do you think they'll volunteer?" Deborah asked. "Leaving a settled job for a chance to get killed isn't very prudent, is it?"

"It doesn't seem to work that way, Miss Steele," Colonel Bradford said. "Most men are sick of their jobs, anyway, and the chance to put on a uniform and play soldier—well, a lot of them like the idea. They'll only enlist for three months, you know. They can go to summer camp and let all the pretty girls fuss over them. Most of the men we've recruited so far are worried that the thing won't last long enough for them to see any action."

"They don't have to worry about that," Rocklin said soberly. "It won't be like that at all."

Colonel Bradford laughed and winked confidentially at Steele and Deborah. "The major is the best soldier General Scott could find, but he's also the gloomiest! Come now, Rocklin, you know what the South is like. Some of your people are there, you've told me. Now, how can a mob of half-civilized mountain rubes be made into a trained army?"

"Ask my niece," Rocklin said at once. He was taking very seriously the instructions of his commanding general that Colonel Bradford was to be humored.

"He's worth thousands, Rocklin," Scott had growled. "Gave an enormous sum to President Lincoln's campaign fund. Now he wants to play soldier. Well, sir, he's paying well for the experience—but you keep him from getting our people killed!"

Gideon Rocklin fully understood politics of this sort and had gotten on well with the new colonel.

"So, Miss Rocklin," Bradford said, fixing his large eyes on Deborah, "did you see any of the South's military?"

"No, not really." The subject was painful to Deborah, so she added only, "But they're a very determined people, Colonel. Don't underestimate them."

"Certainly not," Bradford said, smiling. "Not with Major Rocklin to keep me from doing so."

"When will your regiment be ready, Colonel?" Amos asked.

"Very soon. If we can get a good response at Mr. Rocklin's factory and a few other places, we'll have a full complement by next week." An idea came to him and he turned to face Deborah. "Miss Steele, I must call upon you as a patriot for a very important military service!"

"Sir?"

"Next Friday, you really must come to the rally at your grandfather's factory."

"Oh, Colonel, I couldn't!"

"Maybe you should, Deborah," Major Rocklin interjected. "The only man who spoils you worse than I do is my father. I'll need all the support I can get if we take his best men away. Come along and soothe him for us."

"Father? Do you approve?"

"Certainly! And, gentlemen, if you'll pardon my pride, I must point out that my daughter has been a most effective speaker at our abolition rallies. You might let her give a patriotic speech and see what happens."

"Excellent!" Colonel Bradford cried, slapping his hands together with pleasure. "It's settled then. Now if we can—"

He was interrupted as the door burst open, and the corporal on duty scurried in, excitement making his eyes large. "Sir! It's General Scott—and the president is with him!"

"Well, show them in, Corporal!" Colonel Bradford snapped at once. As the corporal disappeared, he said, "Well, Major, perhaps our little talks with the general weren't all wasted, eh?"

The door opened and Deborah recognized the two men at once. General Scott was an old man, worn from his service to his country. He had been a hero of the War of 1812 and again during the Mexican War, but time had marked him, and now he was a huge whale of a man, weighing over three hundred pounds. His face was lined and flushed with the effort of movement.

But it was the other man who drew the gaze of everyone: Abraham Lincoln, president of the United States. He was very tall, Deborah saw, and as awkward as rumor and a hostile press had stated. But he was not ugly. His face was homely as a plowed field, but there was such strength in the cadaverous cheeks and such compassion in the deep-set brown eyes that Deborah could not think of him as ugly.

"General Scott, this is Rev. Amos Steele and his daughter, Deborah." When Scott rumbled his greeting, Gideon said, "Mr. Steele, Miss Steele, the president."

Deborah put out her hand and found it swallowed in the huge hand of the president. He held it gently, his warm eyes seeking hers, then said, "Major Rocklin, you'd better have a guard for this young lady. She's much too pretty to be wandering around our rough soldiers unchaperoned."

"I'll do that myself, Mr. President," Colonel Bradford said at once. "Miss Steele has just come back from Richmond, I understand. She's going to attend our rally next Friday."

"You've been in Richmond?" Lincoln picked up on Bradford's statement. "A fine city. What was it like, Miss Steele?"

Deborah was so flustered she could hardly think. The lean face of the president was turned on her, and she knew that he was not making idle conversation. "It's a very disturbed city, Mr. President. People are ... well, they're not what they were when I was there a few years ago. It's like a fever."

"Yes, that's it," Lincoln agreed, nodding. "It's here in Washington, too. Good people, but they've lost their balance." Then he shook off the gloom that had come to his gaunt face, saying, "Tell your grandfather I will be expecting a great many rifles from him, Miss Steele. He's a fine man, strong for the Union."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell him."

Tactfully Gideon said, "Well, Mr. Steele, thanks for stopping by."

"Oh—yes!" Amos said hastily. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his inner pocket and thrust them at Gid. "Here are the papers you agreed to look over, Gideon. Now we'll be going."

"I'll be by to pick you up for the rally next Friday, Miss Steele," Colonel Bradford said quickly. "Will two o'clock be convenient?"

He was, Deborah realized, a clever man. He had caught her in a position that would have made a refusal awkward, even unpatriotic.

"Two will be fine, Colonel." She nodded, then added with a glint of humor in her eyes, "I suppose it will be all right if I bring my mother along?"

"Why—ah, yes—" Bradford stumbled over the words, and when the pair left, Lincoln gave the new officer a knowing grin.

"You were outmaneuvered that time, Colonel. You'll have to study up on your tactics."

"I propose to do so, Mr. President!"

As Amos and Deborah left the building, Deborah said thoughtfully, "He's had considerable success with women, the colonel."

"How could you know that?" Steele asked, giving her a startled glance.

"I just know it, Father."

Steele studied her, a baffled look on his face. "Well, are you going to the rally, knowing that?"

"Oh, yes. He's Uncle Gideon's commanding officer. I have to be nice to him. Besides, perhaps I really can be of help."

"Help in getting men to volunteer?"

"Yes."

"And what if you do convince a man to volunteer—and he gets killed?"

She did not answer, and he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Deborah. I shouldn't have said that." They didn't speak again until they were in the carriage, and then Steele said, "This isn't going to be just a soldiers' war, Deborah. All of us are going to be touched by it."

They drove by the Washington Monument, which was just a stubby base. Suddenly, for no reason she could think of, Deborah said, "I'll bet George Washington would have hated all of this!"

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