Hearts Under Siege (Civil War Collection) (4 page)

“Thomas Munroe,” he said, praying the sentry would ask questions before shooting.

Whether a blessing or a condemnation to the depths of enemy hell, he still wore his blue Yank pants. Thank God Alexandra had his coat. She may have saved his life.

“Get down off your horse, sir,” the man demanded.

Yes, Thomas knew without a doubt he faced a Confederate soldier. He could tell by the drawl in his voice…and the politeness of his request.

As Thomas dismounted, the man’s bayonet pricked him in the back but didn’t break the skin. Thomas held his breath, his life in the balanc
e
.

They won’t kill m
e
, he told himself
.
They mustn’
t
.

“What have you got, Fred?” one of the other soldiers asked as he joined the group.

“We got ourselves a Yank.”

“Wait,” Thomas begged to explain.

“You’ll speak when spoken to, blue-belly.”

The soldier shoved his bayonet further against Thomas’s back, and pain rippled through him. Thomas grunted. Something trickled down his skin. Sweat or blood, he didn’t know, but it soaked his shirt.

The one called Fred rummaged through Thomas’s pockets while the older soldier, a burly man who smelled like a bear, held his arms. Fred’s eyes lit up when his fingers pulled out the silver locket.

“Give that back,” Thomas demanded, breaking free and grabbing hold of Fred’s arm.

The other man grazed his jaw with a fist, and Thomas lost his hold on Fred.

A third soldier joined them and between the three of them, they managed to get Thomas under control with the assistance of the prickly bayonets. The three soldiers poked, prodded, and yanked him through the woods to their camp. So much for Southern hospitality, Thomas thought wryly.

His three original captors passed his name and Yankee status along through the camp; thus, he wasn’t surprised when Fred and his men took him to the commander’s tent. Major Jerome Davis sat at his table, his hands laced behind his head, his feet propped on a desk, oddly not out of place in the tent. A thin man with a full mustache and beard, he wore a harsh expression. His eyes showed no hint of warmth or even curiosity. His complexion was clear, his features well defined.

Fred, with hesitation, laid the locket on Major Davis’s desk.

Thomas steeled himself. Though they had never met in person, he knew Major Davis by reputation and didn’t care to confront him wearing the colors of the enemy.

“So, Captain Thomas Munroe,” he said, ignoring the treasure, “you’ve come home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave us,” he said to the sentries who had been so kind to escort him in.

He turned his gaze back to Thomas. “We haven’t had any word from you for over two months,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d learned to like that blue uniform.”

Thomas winced. He wasn’t sure how Major Davis had come to know of his involvement in espionage, but apparently he should have reported in a little sooner. Davis carried a reputation for hating spies of all colors and ranks. He figured if a man will spy on one country, he’d spy on the other.

“You do realize that the whole purpose of sending you out in that uniform was to get information back, don’t you?”

Thomas didn’t answer. He knew the major neither expected nor desired an answer. Davis stood up from behind his small writing desk, came around, and sat against the front of it.

“Are you familiar with a man named Ernest Dumon?” Davis asked.

Thomas took a deep breath. “Who isn’t,” he answered casually.

Davis knew very well he did, or he wouldn’t have brought up the subject. He was up to something.

Davis smirked. “We’ve been watching you.”

Thomas braced himself. Did he know about Alexandra? Heaven help them all if Davis tried to bring her into this. Thomas wasn’t in the mood for that, superior commander or not.

“Then you should know that I was collecting information for the Confederacy,” Thomas said, crossing his arms and forcing himself to maintain a calm demeanor.

“All right,” Davis said. “Let’s have it.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“I’m sure you know what he intends to do with those dozen supply wagons he has filled and readied to move.”

“They’re supplies for our troops,” Thomas said, struggling to keep the weariness from his voice.

He didn’t know where Davis was going with this, but he could use a bath and a shave and a clean uniform—a gray uniform.

They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, Davis doubtlessly trying to intimidate him into revealing something more. Thomas couldn’t figure out the man’s motives. Neither he nor Major Davis would give up any ground.

Finally Major Davis picked up the locket and played with the delicate clasp with his thumb. “Captain Munroe, I have an assignment for you.”

****

The sun drifted behind the riverbank by the time Grand-père finished supper, retired to his study, and summoned Alexandra.

Having had no interest in food all day, sometime during the late afternoon she fell into a fitful nap and missed her grandfather’s return. Sadie’s knock brought her abruptly awake with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as the events of the past twenty-four hours returned in a rush.

As she walked down the hallway and made her way step by step down the familiar wide staircase, reality sank in with cold dread.

Approaching Grand-père’s study, she knew before she entered that he hadn’t located Jeffy. She walked in, and Grand-père looked down with haggard eyes and an unshaven face. Why did she doubt he’d do any less than she to find her brother, his grandson?

She longed to go to him and throw her arms around his neck. She’d always been able to, but then she’d never seen him angry with her before yesterday. She would wait. She wouldn’t risk further rejection. Even now he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“We found no survivors,” Grand-père stated.

Alexandra’s heart slammed against her chest. Had they found Jeffy, then, only to be too late?

“We saw no sign of your brother,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “How is the girl?” he asked, staring blankly out the window.

“She’s alive,” Alexandra said, her hands trembling with a mixture of shock, dread, and relief, “but she’ll have scars.”

“She’s fortunate to have her life.”

“Grand-père, I—” Alexandra started, unable to tolerate the tension any longer.

“Alexandra,” he interrupted, “I must leave at daybreak for Vicksburg. I must get the supplies to the troops.”

“But…”

He couldn’t. The danger was far too great, especially for a man of his age. She had been concerned enough that Jeffy had planned to take the supplies, but now with Grand-père…she couldn’t stand the thought.

“Surely someone else can take them.” Desperation she couldn’t disguise tinged her voice.

As he met her gaze, she saw the weariness there. This war took a heavy toll on him.

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It isn’t safe for men, much less a girl.”

“I can shoot and ride as well as most men. You know that. You taught me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You could never protect yourself from soldiers. They are killing people, ma chérie. The Yankees don’t care. They just kill.”

With a cry, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. How well she knew the truth of that statement. “Don’t go. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

The tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. Too much slipped away from her. Only Grand-père survived now. “Please don’t leave me.”

Ernest made quiet, soothing sounds and held her gently until the torrent of tears subsided. “I know, ma chérie. But I need you to stay here and keep things in line for me while I am gone. It isn’t really all that far, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m so afraid for you to go. And I’m so worried about Jeffy.”

“I know. We’ll keep searching and praying.”

Alexandra knew defeat. Grand-père would never allow her to go with him to Vicksburg.

“I love you so much,” she said on a sob.

“I know, Kitten. I’ll be all right. You mustn’t worry.”

In her despair, she seized the one bright spot in all of this and focused there. With Grand-père out of the way, she could search for Jeffy. That tenuous grasp of hope allowed her to maintain her sense of balance—and perhaps even sanity.

Several hours later, after the house rang with silence and everyone slept, Alexandra lit a candle and sneaked downstairs to Grand-père’s study. Searching her key ring, she located the key to the gun cabinet. She took his Colt Navy revolver out of the cabinet’s glass and wooden frame. About a foot long, the weapon weighed heavy in her hands. She hadn’t handled a gun in several months, but as she checked the chamber, confidence in her ability and years of practice guided her actions.

Running her hands along the cold metal, she pondered the enormity of what she prepared to do, and it struck her. However, despite the danger involved, she couldn’t turn back now. Whatever it took, she would find her brother.

Chapter Four

By the time the pale light of predawn appeared, a dozen wagons lined the lane in front of Chene Ruelle. They held everything from flour, rice, and molasses to candles, blankets, and ammunition. Two horses stood ready in front of each, while the drivers, some black, some white, busied themselves with last minute preparations and goodbyes to family members, among them three neighbors, older yeomen farmers who didn’t own any slaves. However, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wickers each sacrificed a son for the cause.

By the time the sun peaked above the horizon and the mist rose off the river, Ernest Dumon assembled everyone in his or her places.

Alexandra stood in the distance, near the stables, holding her horse’s reins. An hour before, she said her goodbyes to Grand-père then pleaded fatigue, disappeared to her room, and donned her pants, a white cotton shirt, and riding boots that she had taken from Jeffy’s bureau earlier.

She surveyed her appearance in the fulllength mirror, rather pleased with the outcome. With her thin frame, she could still pass as a young boy. Her chemise and baggy shirt concealed her small breasts.

Cutting her hair bothered her the most, but with the deed completed, she would give it no further thought. As a girl, she’d always just pinned it up beneath a cap, but now she risked discovery if she happened to lose her hat. Brushing her shoulders, her hair was still longer than most males, but at least it wouldn’t stand out by cascading down her back.

Roughen up your voice, Alexandra, or you’ll sound like a girl.
She smiled while thinking about it and left the house, making her way in the direction of the stables.

Riding astride the horse came naturally. Alexandra eschewed sidesaddles from the first time she mounted a horse. This morning, she’d chosen a three-year-old calm but reliable mare that she’d ridden many times before.

After the doctor verified Alexandra’s prognosis of the burned girl yesterday, Alexandra confidently left her to Sadie’s care.

Grand-père’s going off in the midst of war without her remained her biggest concern. Finally, after hours of arguing back and forth with herself, she decided it couldn’t be helped. Grand-père would have a handful of soldiers with him, and he could take care of himself. She could not leave without searching every inch of bank along the Mississippi River for her brother. She would find him.

Alexandra’s eyes picked up a movement to her left. Curious, she mounted the horse and without attracting attention, she picked her way toward Grand-père. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she imagined legions of Yankees preparing to pounce from the trees. Her hand brushed the saddlebag for the reassuring feel of the revolver.

****

Thomas tugged at the starched collar of his gray uniform, wadded up the paper in his hand, and stuffed it back into his pocket. He would need more than a piece of paper to convince Ernest Dumon to do what he prepared to ask.

Fourteen men accompanied Thomas, each one dedicated to Major Davis. Thomas supposed he, too, could claim dedication to Major Davis in a twisted sort of way. Thomas needed to prove to Davis that he could carry out orders for the Confederacy if he had a chance of retrieving Alexandra’s locket. The irony of the assignment doubtless delighted Major Davis.

Thomas raised a gloved hand and motioned for his troops to move forward. With the Confederate flag flying high, they rode in from the main road and turned down Chene Ruelle lane. One by one, the men spotted them, lifted their heads briefly and returned to their work. Fighting the bitter taste in his mouth, Thomas tried not to think of the consequences of what he geared up to do.

Ernest Dumon sat on his horse, watching the men’s activities. Thomas reined his horse in front of him and for a moment, they sat eyeing each other.

“Ernest Dumon,” he said, “my name is Captain Thomas Munroe. I am hereby ordered to place you under arrest and to seize all these supplies in your possession for the Confederate States of America.”

Ernest stared at him as though Thomas had lost his mind and Thomas, too, fought to keep that thought at bay. He did not doubt that Ernest Dumon collected these supplies for the Confederate states and intended to turn them over to the very troops that Thomas and his men claimed to be seizing them for now. Why would a man take food from the mouths of his own people only to place it willingly into the enemy’s hands? An enemy that ravaged his land and killed his friends.

“We are leaving now to take these supplies to Vicksburg. If they are needed more somewhere else, then we can take them there instead,” Ernest said, turning his horse in dismissal.

Thomas removed the slip of crumpled paper from his pocket and rode forward, pulling his mount up alongside Dumon’s. The old man should be enjoying the fruits of his life, not waging war on his own lands.

“Sir,” he said as he handed the paper to Dumon, “you are suspected of treason against the Confederate States of America. I must confess I do not see the reasoning behind the accusations, but if you’ll come with us peaceably, then I’m sure we can get this all straightened out.”

Ernest Dumon laughed. “Surely you don’t think those who sent you would believe in the innocence of a man accused of treason,” he stated.

“I can only place my trust in those in command,
sir
.”

“Well, I cannot help you, Captain. These supplies are badly needed in Vicksburg, and I haven’t the inclination to waste time justifying my convictions to you or anyone else.”

“Then, please forgive me, sir,” Thomas said, leveling his gaze at the older man. “For I too haven’t the time to argue. Disarm them,” he said, turning to the man behind him.

There would be no violence. His men knew to follow his orders. Nonetheless, the troops rushed in.

One of the soldiers grasped Dumon’s horse’s reins and led him, unresisting, away from the wagons.

Until now unnoticed, an adolescent boy nudged his horse forward to face Thomas. “I cannot allow you to take him,” the boy said, loud enough for Thomas’s ears only.

Thomas jerked his gaze to familiar green eyes and blinked. Damn. How could that face have gone unnoticed? While his gaze swept over the lad’s cotton shirt and loose trousers, his imagination filled in the curves beneath.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low.

Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, he would have gone up in flames. “I think the more pertinent question is
…
si
r
, what the hell are you doing?”

Thomas didn’t expect Alexandra to be awake this early in the morning. Although he didn’t plan to see her, any preparation on his part would have evaporated with one look into those mesmerizing eyes.

Alexandra inched her horse forward until only Thomas could hear her whisper. “Who are you? You masquerade as the enemy, yet enemy to which side? Where do your loyalties lie?”

It required all the manly self-possession he could muster to form coherent thoughts and focus his brain on the task at hand. He longed to take her into his arms and crush his lips against hers. His loins ached with the sight of her—her smooth white skin and luscious red lips. Surely she didn’t have delusions of passing herself off as a boy. Taking a deep breath, he forced a stern expression upon his face.

“For your own good and that of your grandfather’s, I suggest you cooperate,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Oh, you’ll get cooperation, all right, you bastard.” She dismounted and, after stopping to pick up Ernest’s hat that had fallen off during the scuffle, she approached the wagon where a soldier forced her grandfather to dismount.

Frowning, Thomas watched as Alexandra reached her grandfather, and the confrontation unfolded as Mr. Dumon discovered her identity.

****

“What are you doing here?” Ernest hissed as his eyes registered recognition.

Alexandra placed a pine needle in her mouth, biting down on the end. The bitter taste facilitated her hoarseness and served as a reminder to deepen her voice in the presence of others.

“Never mind that. We have to get you out of here,” she whispered, handing him his hat.

Scowling, Grand-père glanced at the soldiers watching them from a distance. She knew he would not jeopardize her disguise.

“I told your father you weren’t old enough to come along,” he pronounced, loud enough for any eavesdropping soldiers to hear.

She pulled herself up to her full height. “I’m nigh onto fourteen, sir, and ready to lick them Yanks.”

She thought she detected the whisper of a smile at the corner of Grand-père’s mouth. Her ruse seemed to have worked, at least for the time being. The soldiers lost interest in just another eager lad, too young to join the army.

“What will they do with you?” she murmured.

“I suspect they’ll just take me in for questioning and let me go. I doubt they have anything on me.”

“What do you mean? What…”

His hurt expression spoke more than words. “I do what I can to help our country.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried.” She glanced around.

“You have to go with the wagons,” he said.

“What?”

“You must go with the soldiers to Vicksburg.”

“But I can’t. I have to find Jeffy.”

A nearby soldier glanced in their direction, so Grand-père lowered his voice. “I should have known you’d be up to something, but don’t argue. There isn’t time. You must take a message to General Pemberton.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“But, Grand-père, I…” She paused as her grandfather glanced about before slipping a leather cord over his head and allowing it to fall beneath his shirt. Then, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his forehead before reaching beneath his shirt to wrap something in the hankie.

“Cough,” he demanded.

“Wh—?”

“Cough,” he repeated.

Alexandra raised her fist to her mouth and coughed. Grand-père held out the handkerchief, and she grasped it and held it to her lips. There was something firm inside the cloth.

“Put that around your neck, and get it to General Pemberton. Our lives may depend on it. Promise me.”

Their gazes met as the soldiers came and took him away. Fear and affection gripped her heart, her gaze meeting his gray eyes.

“I promise,” she mouthed, though he didn’t see.

Grand-père risked his life for this. She would not allow it to be in vain.

Her heart in her throat, she realized she was about to travel to Vicksburg.

After retrieving and mounting her horse, Alexandra placed the tube around her neck and dropped it beneath her shirt. Though lighter than the locket she normally wore, the familiar feel of something pressing against her skin granted her comfort.

Thomas stood several feet away, giving orders to the soldiers in preparation for their trip. The servants, having been replaced on the wagons by the Confederates, made their way back to their families. Alexandra mentally kicked herself for revealing her identity to Thomas. Then again, she thought as she watched her grandfather’s men being ushered from their positions, she might now have a better chance at being allowed to go now than she would have as an unknown boy.

Her heart raced at the thought of approaching him for permission to go along. Permission. The very word set her blood boiling. She didn’t need permission. She was going. Anyway, forgiveness came more easily than permission.

Nudging her horse forward, she took her place at the back of the wagons. She sat there undisturbed on her horse, watching the preparations for a full two minutes before being approached by a young, blond soldier.

“Boy, what are you doing there?” he asked.

Alexandra smiled inwardly. He was probably no older than she pretended to be.

“I have orders to go along…to represent Ernest Dumon.”

The young man looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Go on, now,” he said. “We don’t need the likes of you tagging along.”

“As I said, I’m going.”

The soldier approached her horse and grabbed at the reins. Alexandra jerked the horse’s head out of his reach.

“See here, now,” the man said, “you don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Leave me be,” Alexandra demanded.

The soldier reached up, grabbed her around the waist, and dragged her from the horse.

“Let me go,” she said, hitting his hands with all her strength.

“You’re too frail to even be on a horse. What kind of sissy are you?” the soldier said, laughing at her. “You have a lot of growing up to do before you become a man,” he said, pushing her hands away.

“Let the boy go.”

The soldier released her.

Alexandra landed on her bottom with a crash.

“Eli Cooper, this is my cousin, Sammy,” Thomas said, pulling Alexandra to her feet. “He is under my protection, and I expect you to grant him the same respect you would give to me. Is that understood?”

Eli Cooper nodded but stared, a scowl on his face, as Thomas pulled Alexandra aside.

Annoyance over the sting of her backside replaced Alexandra’s amusement at the situation. Wiping the dust from her pants, she realized that this venture might not be so simple as she once believed.