Glory (11 page)

Still, Julian realized, it was what she needed, to become involved with others again, to become passionate in the fight to save lives, to see that others still lived and needed help.

“I have to get back, Julian. But I had wanted to see you as well on a separate matter, and one very important to us both, at that.”

“Is something wrong?” Julian demanded.

“Wrong?” Ian said dryly. “Yeah. Even more than the simple fact of war, and the fact that we are enemies in that war.”

“What’s happened?” Julian asked.

“Two things. First—” he began, then hesitated, and Julian realized that although his brother’s tone was light, he was very worried. “First, I’ve heard that Jerome was attacked running the Yankee gunboats just off the coast here. He eluded capture, and the Yanks believe that he put into a cove somewhere south of here. They think he sustained an injury. If so ... they’ll be bringing him to you.”

Julian let out a long breath. His cousin Jerome was known to take chances. He was a man Lee would have loved to have in the Army of Northern Virginia because he made quick decisions and moved with the speed of lightning.

“How badly injured?”

“Standing all the while, so say the sailors from the Yankee sloop. I’ve kept Risa from knowing as yet, but she’ll find out soon enough.”

“Jerome will reach me. His men know my position well enough.”

“I imagine they’ll be able to reach your camp sometime tomorrow, though you know as well that the Yanks will be looking for Jerome, and his men may have to move slowly.”

“I’ll be ready for him. Don’t worry, Ian. You know that I’ll do anything in my power for Jerome.”

“I do know that. I know you’re the best there is, and I know Jerome is as tough as a gator. But I also know that wounds fester, and that men die far too easily from infection. I’m just scared as all hell. And I hope he does reach you by tomorrow or the next day.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s the second thing I wanted to tell you. I’ve heard rumors that they’ll be pulling more boys out of the militia, sending them north to fight the major campaigns. There’s a lot of talk about you, both sides of the line. You did save U.S. General Magee’s foot, you recall. The general has maintained a keen interest in you, and he let me know that he’s heard there’s been talk on the Southern side of pulling you out of militia and giving you a regular army commission.”

Julian stared at him, his heart sinking.

Leave? There was barely anyone left here to fight, barely anyone left to heal the ones who were fighting, and they wanted to strip down the state even more.

“Thought you should know,” Ian said quietly.

Julian nodded, then grimaced. “Funny, isn’t it? My Yankee brother comes to tell me what the South is doing.”

“Told you,” Ian said, “we’re going to win this thing.”

They were both afraid, he knew.

They both just wanted it to end.

“Your Michigan or Ohio young’uns are waiting for you, Ian. Tell me, do these fellows speak English? Or have you got another group of immigrants fresh off the boats from Europe?”

Ian grinned, shaking his head as he turned and walked to his horse. “These fellows speak English,” he called over his shoulder.

“That’s right.” Julian said, following him. “Why give the foreigners the restful duty in Florida? Send those fellows right into the fray! Kill them before they get too fond of the country they’re dying for.”

Ian mounted his horse. “I’m not running the war, Julian.”

“Yeah, I know,” Julian said, patting the head of his brother’s roan. The animal was well fed, with sleek fur. He looked over at the gray mare he was riding. His horse showed more rib than flesh. Maybe he and the gray belonged together. He looked up and offered Ian his hand. “Thanks, brother. It was damned good seeing you. Take care.”

“Stay out of the line of fire, Julian, for the love of God.” He hesitated. “When Jerome reaches you, get word to Risa somehow. She’ll want to be with him.”

“Naturally, I’ll get word to his wife—and to you, through Alaina. You keep your head down, Ian.”

Ian nodded. He turned his roan and started back toward the house in the pines.

Julian leaned against the oak tree and watched his brother go. Then he turned toward the plantation house set deep in the overgrown foliage.

Maybe Rhiannon Tremaine would manage to rouse herself enough to accompany Ian and set her talents to the healing of wounded Union soldiers.

And maybe not.

She was stubborn. Pigheaded.

She might turn Ian down, determined that she was going to stay at her home.

Perhaps she really was a witch, a white witch, with the power to heal. Maybe she had the gifts of a true natural healer.

He leaned against the tree, watching the house for a long, long while ...

Maybe ...

Maybe he needed her himself. Well, fate was in her hands right now. She could go with Ian, or ...

He’d damned well go back for her himself.

B
Y THE TIME IAN
McKenzie returned to the house, Rhiannon had regained her composure. She was also prepared for his resemblance to her earlier Rebel visitor, though she still found it uncanny and unnerving.

Coffee and food were served, and she sat in the dining room with Colonel Ian McKenzie, listening to his suggestion that she either come into St. Augustine for the duration of the war, or find work with one of the hospitals.

“I tried to become a nurse when Richard was first given his commission,” she told Ian. “They wouldn’t allow me in.”

Ian grimaced. “Yes, I know, at the beginning nurses were only accepted if they were old and homely. But I assure you, things have changed. The sheer load of casualties in this war has forced changes. If you decide you want work in a hospital—even in the field, I’m sure I can arrange it.”

She nodded, watching him. “If Rachel is willing, I think I would love to work with the soldiers.”

“It’s hard work, grueling work. But sometimes a soldier makes it because enough care is given.”

“And that is surely worth the effort. To save just one life would be ... gratifying,” Rhiannon mused.

“So ... will you come back with me to St. Augustine today?”

“I ...” she faltered. She wasn’t quite ready yet. “I need a little time.”

“Time ... time to what?” Ian inquired politely.

“Oh, well ...” she said, and waved a hand in the air, then shrugged. “To pack, for one. To give instructions to Angus and Mammy Nor. To see to it that my home is secured the best I can leave it in my absence.

“That sounds reasonable. But you will come?” he persisted.

“I believe so.”

“I’ll return in a few days,” he told her. “You really must come with me then. I think that leaving this house—for now—is your only course of action. Think on this—it might be dangerous for you to remain here.”

“Why?”

“The Rebels will consider you a traitor.”

“They were not—vicious men.”

“No—but others might return.”

Rhiannon nodded after a moment. She could be in danger. She had known that before she had betrayed the Rebels.

“I’ll give the matter deep thought, sir,” she assured him. “And I will probably accompany you when you return for me. I agree that it makes sense.”

“I wish that you would come with me now.”

She smiled and said, “Honestly, I do need time. That’s all. And ... thank you.”

The Yanks departed soon after their conversation. Rhiannon watched them ride away, then fled to her room, reading Richard’s letter over and over.

She couldn’t simply have left that day.

Absolutely not. Not when he had brought her such touching words from Richard.

She had needed this time. Yet as she read, she looked around her room and felt again a great distress at not knowing what she had done in the night.

She had to do something. She couldn’t stay on here, the way she had been going. If she was now allowed to be a nurse in a Union hospital, she wanted to be one. If she could help save a soldier’s life, spare anyone this agony, it would make life itself ...

Worthwhile once again.

She set the letter on her mantel and launched into a flurry of activity. It was a good afternoon for cleaning.

She stripped her bed, telling herself that the sheets needed a good washing. The sheets, herself, her nightgown, her mourning clothing ...

Everything needed to be fresh.

She was going to start over.

After tonight.

Julian proceeded carefully, moving closer to the house but keeping a certain distance. He watched the Yankees depart, his brother riding in the lead, then watched a while longer, to make certain that the enemy had all ridden away.

Rhiannon Tremaine had not ridden with them.

He watched as Angus rolled a tub out into the back, and the household prepared for an afternoon of laundry—mainly sheets, some clothing. He wondered if she had made an agreement to leave with the Yanks at a later time.

He didn’t intend to approach the house himself until dark. He didn’t want to steal from anyone, but he needed the poppies she had grown and many of the potions she had created. And he was equally determined that he needed her. Forcing her to accompany him wouldn’t really be an act of abduction—she was simply too valuable to be left to her own devices. But old Angus was one big son of a gun, and he wanted to be careful moving around her property. He had no intention of being captured.

He spent the latter part of the afternoon resting beneath the shade of a large pine. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and was alarmed when he awoke, realizing he had dozed when he sensed someone near him. A noise had awakened him; her man, Angus, was preparing to chop wood not fifty feet from where he rested.

Julian rose quickly, scolding himself for his carelessness. He was damned lucky he hadn’t been captured.

When the tall, heavily muscled black man turned and saw him, he was standing. He hadn’t pulled his gun, having no intention of shooting the man.

Angus, staring at him, froze. “You gonna shoot me, Reb?” he asked quietly.

“Are you planning on killing me?”

Angus slowly grinned and shook his head. “So what are you doing back here, Doctor, sir?”

“I need some healing potions,” he said, staring straight into Angus’s black eyes. “And a healer.”

Angus looked back at him steadily. “Oh?”

“What do you think?”

Angus leaned back, watching him carefully. “I think Miz Rhiannon has been in some powerful poor way as of late. She set such a store by her man, she did.”

“I thought she might leave with the Yanks. Did she say anything about doing so?”

Angus shook his head. “No, sir.”

“With all the washing, I thought she might be getting ready for a long trip.

Angus shook his head once again. “Sheets, sheets, more sheets, her clothing, her room, herself. She was even scrubbing the bedroom walls before she tucked into a hot tub herself for a good hour or so.”

“Angus, I know you think I’m wrong in this war, but I need to take her with me. I won’t let any harm come to her, I give you my word. When she’s helped out with my wounded cousin, I swear I’ll give her safe passage into St. Augustine.”

Angus stared at him for so long that he wondered if he was going to have to give up his quest and ride away—or shoot and kill an innocent man to achieve his purpose.

“What do you want me to do?” Angus asked him after a minute.

Julian hadn’t known that he was holding his breath until he expelled it at Angus’s reply. “I want to ride out of here in darkness, but before it grows too late so that I can cover some fair territory before morning.”

“I’ll see that you’re all set.” Angus set his hands upon his hips then. “But you’ll have some mean convincing to do, Doctor.”

“I can persuade her.”

“If you can’t talk her into going?”

“I’ll carry her.”

She’d whirred through the afternoon with a burst of action. By early evening the bedding they had washed was sun-dried and back in place, her clothing and undergarments were washed and pressed, her hair was shampooed, and she smelled faintly of roses herself.

With new resolve, she picked up Richard’s letter one more time. She was going to get her life back in order. She would learn to live with Richard’s loss in a more responsible and mature way, no matter how painful.

No more drugs. Ever.

She left her room quickly, anxious to be alone for a few hours.

Richard was buried in the small family plot across the lawn and just up the very small roll of a Florida hill. She did love the state, and she would be loath to leave it for any length of time. So much to the far south was flat swampland, but here the land did roll—just slightly, and there were some wonderful acres of pine forest, and acres of rich red clay. Despite the summer, it was cooler here than in other places in the deep South. But home wasn’t a place to hide. It was a place to love and to cherish, and she would always do so now ... no matter what the war brought.

The sun was setting as she left the house and walked the distance to the graveyard with its wrought iron gate and fencing. Golden rays of the dying light streaked through the leaves of the oaks and pines scattered throughout the burial ground, casting a soft haze upon the dying day and giving just enough illumination so that she could clearly read the markers. Her parents were to the left, with handsome granite markers ordered from Philadelphia, along with a baby brother who had died at birth. Her father’s cousin, Hampton, was a few feet from her folks, and behind him lay a number of the men who had been employed at the salt works, and Jimmy Lake, the traveling teacher who had been killed at Shiloh. Richard was to the right of a great oak.

She drew his letter from the pocket of her skirt, and again felt tears sting her eyes. She knelt on the ground before his marker. The breeze picked up, strangely cool for summer, touching her face, her hair. Rain, she thought distractedly. It didn’t matter. She reached out and ran her fingers over the engraving of his name. She could almost see his face, his smile, hear his voice. When contemplating dying, he had thought of her, had wanted nothing but life for her.