Nick reached for the newly filled decanter of whiskey, only to be stopped by his mother's hand on his.
"Uh uh," she scolded gently.
Nick sat back in resignation and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know, wait until the guests arrive."
Victoria made sure the crystal was arranged to her liking. "Now where are your brothers?" she wanted to know.
"Oh, last time I saw Heath, he was out in the smithy cleaning rifles and Jarrod should be back from town any minute," Nick told her.
Victoria sighed in exasperation. "Well, now, the least we can offer Mr. and Mrs. Toddman is the courtesy of our home with the entire family present."
They both turned as they heard the door open.
"George, put these away in the gun room for me," Heath instructed. He handed over two rifles to the hand that had come in with him before turning to the parlour. "Just saw a buggy drive through the gate," he told Nick and Victoria as he hung up his hat. "Reckon it's probably the Toddmans."
Once the pleasantries were out of the way, Victoria took Mrs. Toddman upstairs to freshen up and the men wandered into the parlour.
"Sit down, Matt," Heath offered their logging foreman.
Nick strode over to the small table. "Well, now, Matt," he said enthusiastically, "how about a dust-cutter after that long trip?"
"Sounds fine," the tall, lanky man agreed as he sat in one of the chairs.
"You name it, we got it."
"Oh, whiskey's fine," Toddman said affably and took the offered glass. Nick handed one to Heath before settling on the chair beside their guest.
"Okay, Matt," the rancher said, eager to find out the foreman's ideas for increasing the production in the Barkley lumber interests, "let's have it."
Toddman took a drink. "Oxen and horses take half a day to haul cut logs down to the river," he said as they got down to business. "Now a flume from the highest cutting stand will bring the logs down in less than an hour. Give me enough time and money and men and I'll give you a layout that'll make you one of the biggest lumber producers in California."
Nick and Heath exchanged glances mixed with interest and skepticism.
"What'll is cost?" Heath wanted to know.
"Fifty thousand or so," Toddman said simply. "It'll return that five times over in two years."
They heard the door and turned to see Jarrod close it behind him before removing his hat. "Sorry I'm late."
"Hey, Jarrod, come on in," Nick called, "there's someone I'd like you to meet."
Jarrod tossed his hat on the hall table and joined them in the parlour.
Nick did the introductions as their guest stood from his chair. "Matt Toddman, this is my brother, Jarrod."
Jarrod extended a hand until he saw the face of the man in front of him. His expression slowly changed from a pleasant one to a mask of pure hatred and his hand balled up in a fist. Jarrod swung and knocked Toddman across the sofa. The usually even-tempered lawyer followed up by pouncing on the downed man, only to be pulled off and flung back by his brothers.
"Get off me!" he snarled, struggling against them.
"Are you crazy?" Nick yelled.
"Jarrod, stop it!" Heath ordered.
"Let me go! I'll kill him!"
Victoria rushed down the stairs with Mrs. Toddman behind her. Mrs. Toddman ran to her husband as Victoria exclaimed in shock, "Jarrod!"
Jarrod stopped fighting and Nick and Heath let go of him, still keeping between their enraged brother and their guests.
"Jarrod, what's gotten in to you?" Nick demanded to know.
Jarrod took a deep breath and stared at Toddman with undisguised wrath. "That's Matt Bentell," he said slowly, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. His family looked from him to Toddman in shock as Jarrod continued. "Wirz of Andersonville and Matt Bentell of Carterson prison. They were two of a kind. What that animal did to us prisoners; I swore if I ever found him again, I'd kill him." Jarrod's eyes turned to cold steel and all in the room knew he meant every word.
.
Victoria showed the Toddmans to the guest room before joining her sons in the library. The atmosphere was strained as she closed the doors behind her.
"Now I'd like some explanations," she requested firmly.
Everyone was silent until Nick spoke up. "I just found out yesterday that Jarrod here was one of the men held at Carterson during the war."
Heath and Victoria looked at Jarrod in astonishment as everyone remembered the accounts of Confederate prison camps, the reports from Carterson being by far the worst.
"Jarrod," Victoria queried softly, "are you sure?"
"Am I…?" Jarrod turned abruptly to face her, his anger evident. "I spent seven months in Carterson prison. Seven months in the hell Matt Bentell made. Of course I'm sure."
Victoria watched as Jarrod paced to the desk. "Jarrod, the war has been over for years," she reminded him.
Jarrod stared down at his hands resting on the polished wood surface. "But not long enough to forget."
Nick remembered Jarrod telling him he wanted to put all that behind him, but seeing the rage on his brother's face when he confronted Bentell, Nick now wasn't so sure. "Maybe you don't want to forget."
Jarrod whirled around and strode up to Nick, eyes snapping. "Well, Nick, maybe you can tell me how to forget maggoty food and putrid water and floggings for complaining about it, or how to forget friends who died of exposure and other friends who died because medical help was refused!"
"I don't think any of us could forget, but we wouldn't be out to murder Toddman," Nick told him.
"His name is Bentell," Jarrod snarled.
"All right, Bentell!" Nick snapped back. "But what will killing him do other than get you hanged?"
"Don't stand there and defend him to me!"
"I'm not defending him, I'm protecting you!"
The men were mere inches from each other and Heath stepped in between them before they could come to blows.
Running a hand through his hair, Jarrod turned away to stare out the window. "There were seven hundred and forty of us fighting in New Mexico," he said quietly, "almost half ended up in Carterson and less than one hundred walked out when the war was over. There's not a jury in the state that would hang me."
"That's the important thing, whether you would hang for murder."
Jarrod didn't turn when Victoria spoke. "That seems to be what Nick's concern is."
She walked up and placed a hand on his arm. "Well it's not mine. I pray to God it isn't in any of my sons to commit cold, deliberate murder." Jarrod didn't respond, even at her use of the word 'son'.
"That's what it would be, Jarrod," Heath finally said, "cold, calculated, deliberate murder. Now you can put any other word to it you want, but that's what it would be. You should know that better than any of us."
Jarrod slowly faced them, anger written on his face and in his stance. "Well, for a start, how about the word justice? Wirz paid for what he did at Andersonville, he was hanged after his trial. Bentell was brought up on the same charges and cleared. How can that be justice? And how can any of you understand who didn't live through a place like Carterson?"
"We can understand," Victoria stated bluntly and Jarrod looked down at her in disbelief. "But when does the hate end?" There was fury in her normally soft grey eyes. "When your father was killed, I hated as passionately as you do right now, oh believe me, I did and for just as vivid and long lasting a reason as you." She grabbed his arm. "But I stopped hating. I don't know if I'll ever really forgive, but I stopped hating because of what it was doing to me, because I had too much around me to love to go on hating. Look around, Jarrod. Matt Bentell is upstairs in the guest room. Is it really in you to go up there and kill him?"
Jarrod pulled away and walked to the other side of the room without answering.
"You know word of his being here is going to get around mighty quick," Nick observed, "and you know what that means."
"Yes, I do." Jarrod's tone was flat. "That someone will try to balance the scales."
"Jarrod, you need to go up to the camp with him," Victoria said suddenly and everyone stared at her with an incredulous expression. Everyone except Jarrod. His face was hard and cold.
"The devil I will."
"You have to go. You were the one in Carterson. You're the one who'll recognize anyone who comes to kill him." Victoria's tone was determined as she strode over to him. "Jarrod, it's hard to hate a man once you get to know him. So you go with him, you eat with him, you work with him, you live with him and you pray to God that you rid yourself of the hate that's inside of you, because unless you do, that hate will eventually destroy you." Jarrod turned to walk away, but Victoria grabbed him and made him face her. "Jarrod, do you want to hate so? Do you want the memory of Carterson prison to gnaw at you forever? What I'm asking you to do isn't supposed to be easy! Show us what you inherited from your father; show us some of Tom Barkley's guts!"
"Show us…?" Jarrod wrenched away from her and pulled up his shirtsleeve to send the cuff button flying. He thrust his arm in front of her. "I got these in Carterson." No one could miss the raised scars that encircled his wrist. "They tied you to the post so tight, it was surprising you were able to feel your hands when they were done with the whippings." He fixed each of them in turn with a hard glare, eyes cold and unreadable. "Just be glad I leave my shirt on and you can't see my back." He turned back to Victoria. "I thought I was going to die in that hellhole, but I walked out of there when the Union army liberated the prison. I had some support from a comrade or two, but I walked out of there on my own two feet and I survived to make something of myself. I know my own worth and I have plenty of guts of my own. I don't have anything to prove to anyone, not even to you."
Jarrod stalked out of the French doors, leaving the silent room behind him. He went to the barn, quickly saddled his horse and rode out the gate at a full gallop. He wasn't sure where he was headed, he just knew he had to get away from there, away from the judgemental attitude of his new family and the man who'd caused so much pain and suffering.
Of course he hated Matt Bentell. Who wouldn't hate someone who could treat men like animals, like less than animals?
Not fair, his lawyer mind told him. The Confederate army was losing; they had no supplies for themselves, let alone their prisoners. You know from reading the trial transcripts Bentell didn't have anything to work with.
But that doesn't excuse the rest of it, he argued silently. The beatings, the humiliation, not even letting a man sleep if he was lucky enough to get the chance. He could have at least tried to treat us humanely.
Most of that was the guards, the lawyer in him reminded.
Bentell was in charge of the guards! He was in charge, he could've ordered them to leave us alone if we weren't causing trouble!
You were causing trouble, you were trying to escape.
Of course we were trying to escape! What sane man wouldn't try to escape Hell if he had the chance?
Jarrod rode on, trying to outrun the memories that he thought had been banished. He didn't slow until Jingo stumbled and he finally noticed the sweat and lather on the sorrel's neck. Pulling his horse to a slow stop, Jarrod slid from his back and rubbed Jingo behind the ears.
"Sorry, boy, let's walk a bit and cool you down."
The gelding willingly followed as Jarrod walked, and after a short while the lawyer realized he had cooled down as well. He thought back to Mrs. Barkley's accusations and the warning not to let his hate for Bentell eat him up inside.
He did hate Bentell; he didn't think anyone less than a saint wouldn't in the same situation. But on the other hand, it wasn't the all-consuming rage that his father's wife was worried about. Justice might not have been served when Carterson's former commander was cleared of the charges brought against him, but he was glad Nick and Heath had pulled him off Bentell. Victoria Barkley was right; it wasn't in him to commit cold-blooded murder. It was only the shock of seeing the man again, as a guest in their home that brought all those feelings back with a momentary vengeance. Jarrod didn't think he had it in him to forgive, but he found he was willing to put the past aside and let Matt Bentell live his life as long as he didn't have to be a part of it. Jarrod had moved on and made a good life for himself and found he couldn't begrudge the Bentells the chance to do the same.
But his new family's callous disregard for his feelings cut deeply. Having the understanding woman who accepted her husband's bastard into her home with open arms turn around and insist he work with Matt Bentell was a profound shock. Jarrod always believed that family should support and stand by each other, the way his mama always stood by him and he by her. He didn't expect compassion or understanding from a man like Bentell, but he did from people who professed to be family. Jarrod sighed. Maybe he didn't really belong after all.
The sky was starting to darken. Jarrod briefly considered returning to the house and just as quickly discarded that idea. Bentell was probably still there and he really didn't want to confront that man or the family again that night. Jarrod thought he remembered a line shack nearby and was gratified when the small wooden building came into view. He unsaddled Jingo and turned him loose in the small corral before finding a bucket and hauling some water from the nearby stream for himself and his horse. Going inside the shack, Jarrod built a fire in the small stove, found a can of beans and some coffee and tried to make himself comfortable for the night.