No excuses. Just another chapter posted sheepishly, ashamed of the delay. MaleficentKnits is the most amazing beta ever. Thank you! Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No infringement intended. All else is mine. Enjoy.

19 Sep 1862

The funeral had only finished an hour before. Mrs. Ruth Taylor had still not come to admit that she was a widow. Her husband was, in her mind, just away on business. He had trips in the past that lasted a week or two at the time. Perhaps she would feel differently with the passage of time, but for now, she was still numb with disbelief. Perhaps that was why she had sat through the entire funeral service in the same manner that she would have at a Sunday service. Her brother, Hiram Blake, a short, black-haired man who was almost as wide as he was tall, sat beside her with one arm embracing his sister in a strong, but comforting, hug.

Jasper was doing the same with Melody. The only difference was that she had already accepted reality. Over the past week she had shed what seemed to be a lifetime's worth of tears. Perhaps she had simply wept until there were none left, because she sat there, in Jasper's arms staring blankly down at her white gloved hands.

Jasper warmly caressed her shoulder as they traveled back to the Taylor House. The open-air carriage allowed them to be bathed in the warm September sun; its bright, shining beams taunting the darkness and sadness that covered their journey. They traveled without talking, but it was not a silent trip. Jasper listened to the wheels crunching on gravel and the even, rhythmic clopping of shod hoofs on the path. That combination was a soothing, if not intoxicating, combination that relaxed him.

She never told him, but his coolness helped keep Melody at ease and at peace.

Within the half hour, they had made it back to the estate and their silence had given way to the functional conversation of helping the ladies out of the carriage and up toward the house. As he neared the door, Jasper was hit with a wall of competing smells. A combination of aromas all fought for dominance: fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, a fresh pie, and something seasoned with ample amounts of pepper.

Jasper did not know if this is how it worked everywhere, but he certainly knew a southern funeral because of the copious amount of prepared foods that were brought to the grieving family. It was something he remembered very clearly after Mr. Tazewell, a neighboring farmer, died. His mother had baked a potato dish for the elderly widow because the Tazewell's attended church services with the Whitlock's. Even though they were not very close, it was what you did for a neighbor. It was as engrained as saying "sir" and "ma'am." In that brief moment, Jasper remembered watching his mother very carefully mete out just enough ingredients to bake the food they were taking over. Now, even here amongst the urban and metropolitan elite, Jasper saw that the same traditions hold true.

"Major Whitlock?" Mr. Blake spoke up.

Jasper snapped back from his momentary daze. He saw Melody's uncle holding a hand out, directly Jasper into the room on the right. He followed the suggestion and led Melody into the sitting room, where she sat down on the divan. Jasper threw protocol and caution to the wind and sat down next his girlfriend, even though there was no chaperone in the room.

Melody had taken her seat almost mechanically. Her grief and sorrow were so obvious that Jasper not only empathized, he seemed to share those very feelings as well. He looked past her, into the hallway. The door to Mr. Taylor's office was closed. That was something he had not considered before. What would become of his business? What would become of the family's income? They had not built their fortune on cotton, as so many others had. The blockade had taken its toll on their fortune, but how much longer would it hold out? He was experiencing a whole new level of concern for the Taylors.

"Sadie," Melody spoke to the slave girl in the room without looking up, "leave us be."

"Yes, miss," Sadie answered and walked obediently toward the door. Jasper watched her, wanting to mouth the words thank you to her, but Sadie left without turning her eyes back toward them.

They sat for a moment in silence before Jasper moved closer to Melody. He put his left arm around her and held her hands that were lying in her lap. She did not relax as he had expected.

"Jasper," she said with a sigh, trailing off back into silence.

"Yes, Mel?"

She turned and looked up at him.

"What happened?"

Jasper sat there not quite sure how to respond. Finally, he chose to play the ignorance card and mumbled something about not knowing what she meant.

"I hear things…," she began haltingly. "There are rumors. About the man who…"

"Shhhh…." Jasper knew this is what she had meant. He also did not want to address it.

"Jasper," she said, almost pleadingly, "I must know. Whatever… you know."

He sighed heavily and weighed the options. Telling her what he knew also made him liable to speaking with the local constabulary as well. Of course, he thought, if the rumors are there, but they have not as yet sought me, they must not give credence to said rumors.

"Please," her voice was quiet, but pleading.

He paused a moment longer, thinking about being in her position. How much would he want to know? The answer was simple; he'd want to know everything.

"There are things that I do know," Jasper spoke quietly, but with resolve. "Names, places, and the like."

Melody looked down and placed her head on his chest.

"Tell me," she spoke again in her quiet, pleading voice.

Jasper reached up and stroked her hair soothingly with his right hand. He spoke in a soft voice, as if attempting to comfort her further.

"It was Baldwyn. The same man who hunted me and threatened you."

He paused, waiting to see her reaction.

There was none.

However, the silence did not provide a sense of finality; just the opposite, in point of fact. Jasper could tell that she was simply waiting to hear more, so he continued.

"I thought he was gone, and I had chased him off for good. He stayed out of sight and played like a puppet master, pulling the strings on marionettes. His machinations were in place, but he made a mistake and I found out he was here. I knew it. I planned for him. That night, I had my own trap in place. He stepped into it perfectly. We caught him right before we received the news.

"You need to understand that even though I knew he was here, I could not have imagined or known the kind of sickness he had in mind. Such things are incomprehensible… nay… unthinkable. He exacted his evil plan before we had been able to catch him."

Jasper paused again, waiting for a reaction of any kind from Melody, or even a hint of a reaction. There was none. She continued to sit there, next to him with her head on his chest.

Without moving, she quietly asked, "What happened to him?"

He wanted to answer with a dismissive, never you mind, but he knew that would not suffice.

"The man was captured and taken out of town."

Jasper hoped that would be enough to satisfy her.

"So," Melody said slowly, "he could still return."

He had not planned for that response.

"It's quite doubtful he will return."

"You sound so confident, but you offer so little evidence. Had you not run him off before?"

Jasper swallowed hard. He did not want to tell the full story, but clearly it was going to have to come out.

"Baldwyn has been dealt with in a manner most appropriate. A couple of trustworthy men I know well held him captive for a few hours. Later they escorted him to the railroad station. They waited, of course, for the night watch to come on duty… it's much easier to sneak past that crew than the regulars. The greatest challenge was getting past the station and onto the bridge itself. Walking on the trestle-bridge is most inconvenient and tedious at best, but they took him a quarter-mile or so out onto the bridge… just far enough to be over the water." Jasper paused, not sure how to continue. The details were rather graphic, and that is not something she needed to hear. "To spare any further extraneous details, they left him hugging a rail, secured in irons so that he could not escape."

He concluded his explanation and waited. Melody said nothing, but Jasper knew that he did not need to say anything further.

After a few more moments of silence, she started crying again.

Jasper attempted to hug her, but she shook him off and stood up, still crying.

"Melody…," he began but trailed off, unsure of what to say that would not sound identical to his previous comfortings.

"Get out," she said softly.

"I understand," Jasper said standing up. "You want to be alone. I shall check on you soon."

"No."

Jasper paused.

"No, no, no," she spat through her sobs. "Never come back."

"Pardon?" Jasper was shocked, "Melody, darling, what…"

"If you can allow that, you are as evil as he is, and I cannot abide that… I cannot allow you into my life if that is what you are capable of."

Jasper knew there was no answer for that. Not at that moment. No rebuttal or explanation could have reached her in that moment. Instead, he turned and walked to the door. He saw Sadie standing just outside the door, as if she had been awaiting orders the whole time.

"Watch her closely, please," Jasper asked her. "Miss Taylor is going to need a lot of support right now."

"Yessir," Sadie said with a nod.

Jasper then saw himself out and toward the stable to collect Tex. For the duration of his journey back into Galveston he focused on the last words Melody uttered.

"…if that is what you are capable of."

It played backward and forward in his head.

What am I capable of? Jasper wondered.

He had been in the thick of the fight. He had seen the elephant. He knew what happened in combat, both the good and the bad. He had sent men to their deaths and he had saved men from certain death. Was he capable of granting life as easily as he took it? Perhaps it was a zero-sum game. On life's tally sheet, was he contributing more good in the world than bad? Was he to decide that Baldwyn's death was morally and ethically justified? Was this the same as in combat?

Questions like these swirled maddeningly around inside his head.

Jasper returned to the Gulf Star as fast as Tex could get him there. Entering his room, Jasper stripped and crawled into bed, determined to sleep these thoughts out of his head. Alas, he soon realized the thoughts hurting his head were merely a smoke screen for the pain he was feeling in his soul. The logical battle hid the emotional one.

Fortunately, Jasper knew both battles could be put on hold with enough whiskey.