Love Held Captive

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Usually Devin didn’t put too much emphasis on their military rank at the camp. No one did, for there was no need. From the time they’d been forced to march across the ice to their prison, each of the men had come to realize his life was no longer his own. They had no power. Definitely no control of their needs or their wants. No man’s rank would ever change the fact that they were all at the mercy of their enemy.

  Because of that, usually Devin would have no reason to stay outside and listen to an argument between two other men. He figured he’d broken up enough fights during the war for a lifetime.

  But tonight? Well, Bushnell was being more of a pompous jerk than usual. And Ethan was taking greater offense to the man’s words than he usually did.

  “Once again, I will not allow it, Major,” Bushnell blustered, his voice deep and foreboding. “That private shouldn’t have even been on these grounds in the first place. I won’t allow him to be buried in the officers’ graveyard.”

  “Private Gluck was a good man. His being here was a clerical error. Nothing more, nothing less,” Ethan retorted. “And it’s not like it matters anyway. He’s dead. Everyone he’ll be buried next to is dead as well.”

  Bushnell turned to Devin. “Is that the truth, Captain?”

  Since he was forced to be involved, Devin decided to have a bit of fun at the man’s expense. “Are you speaking of Gluck’s ranking? His being here in the first place? Or are you possibly dwelling on the very fact that he’s dead and so it doesn’t matter anymore?”

  General McCoy chuckled. “I was wondering the same thing.”

  Bushnell visibly attempted to keep his temper in check. “You know what I am speaking of. Did you pull strings for Gluck to be here? Because I know you did for Baker.”

  At the mention of Baker’s name, all traces of amusement left Devin. “Baker is not at issue. He is alive and well.”

  “He is also no officer. He should be in one of the other POW camps, one for noncommissioned personnel.”

  Devin raised a brow. “Because we shouldn’t mix with the men who have been doing the majority of the fighting?”

  A vein popped out on Bushnell’s forehead. “That is not what I meant and you know it. Just answer the question. Did you sneak Gluck in here?”

  “Gluck was placed here by accident. I had nothing to do with his assignment. And that is the truth.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I wouldn’t start questioning my integrity, Colonel. I am a loyal Southerner and a gentleman.”

  Bushnell grunted. “Don’t act so surprised, Captain. You have been the champion of developing your own rules. Unlike your sergeant, for example. A sorrier soldier I’ve never had the displeasure of meeting.”

  “Baker rode behind enemy lines and put himself at great risk doing so,” General McCoy said quietly. “The South is in his debt.”

  Bushnell’s expression tightened, but he didn’t argue with generals.

  “Is this discussion done?” Ethan asked.

  “No. We still have not resolved our dilemma.”

  Devin gritted his teeth. For a moment he wished Sergeant Baker was in the vicinity. Then he could have counted on Thomas to have uttered something disparaging. Thomas called everyone pet names. Most were derogatory, but right on point. Which was why Bushnell was often referred to as Blowhard behind his back.

  As it was, Devin knew better than to be overtly disrespectful. Not only did he need to conduct himself in a way befitting his rank, but his men needed him to do that as well. That, however, didn’t stop him from sneaking a look at General McCoy.

  McCoy raised his eyebrows at Devin. Telling him everything he needed to know. The general was just as irritated by Blowhard’s insistence about poor Gluck’s burial as he was.

  Very well, then. “You are right, sir,” Devin said stiffly. “This matter of Gluck’s final resting place has not been decided. The fact is I disagree with your directive, Colonel. We may have ranks, but they were earned on the battlefield and in the company encampments. Here on Johnson’s Island, we are all Johnny Rebs in the eyes of the enemy. Because of that, we all sleep in the same barracks, eat the same food, and line up the same way. Consequently, we all are the same in death. Military ranking doesn’t signify in death.”

  Bushnell tensed, then turned to Ethan. “Are you holding firm to your decision? Or do you agree that we should bury him on the other side of the barracks?”

  The colonel wanted to bury Gluck near the latrines.

  Devin held his tongue, but only barely.

  Sitting on a boulder, Ethan crossed his legs. The major was so elegant, he somehow managed to look at ease anywhere he was. Only the look of distaste in his eyes hinted at what he thought. “It would be detrimental to our group’s morale to bury Gluck without our usual fanfare. He deserves it. He was a good man and an honorable soldier.”

  “The men here need to be reminded who is in charge,” Bushnell said. “If we start acting as though we are all equals, discord could erupt.”

  Ethan froze. “We are all equals in the eyes of God, and in this prison encampment, sir. The fact that I am a major means next to nothing here.”

  “That’s been patently obvious. After all, I’ve seen you follow Monroe’s directives without hesitation.”

  “I would be the first to admit that not every soldier’s ranking comes from merit. For example, my commissions were purchased with a respectable amount of silver and gold.”

  Bushnell sniffed. “I should have known.”

  Ethan uncrossed his legs, seeming to pause to pick off a piece of lint from his trousers’ cuff. “That reminds me of something I’ve never asked. How did you obtain your rank, Daniel? Was it through bars of silver and gold like me … or through other means?”

  General McCoy coughed.

  And Devin? He was exhausted. If they’d been back on the battlefield, he would have given in to temptation and jabbed Ethan in the ribs so he’d shut up. He settled for muttering his name under his breath. “Kelly.”

  But it was doubtful that his utterance was heard. Ethan was staring intently at Bushnell. Practically egging him on with its intensity.

  And the colonel? Well, Bushnell looked mad enough to snap in two.

  Not another second passed before he jerked to his feet. Glaring down at Kelly, he bit out, “You sound as if you feel no respect for either me or my rank.”

  “I’m saying I feel no respect for your ranking, sir.” Ethan grinned suddenly. “Though, of course, I will honor it here as much as I am able.” His voice turning cold, he said, “Unless we are discussing the dead bodies of good men.”

  Bushnell’s hands clenched. “I take offense to your words.”

  “What do you want to do, sir? Fight me at dawn?”

  “Ethan, control yourself,” Devin said.

  “And you? Sit back down and stop being such a popinjay,” General McCoy said to Bushnell.

  “Sir. You had to have heard him. We cannot allow—”

  “I can and will do whatever I please. I’m languishing on an island in the middle of a lake! Have you forgotten?”

  Bushnell sat down. “No, sir.”

  “I hope not. Now, calm yourself. This fight you have wanted to win is over and you lost. Take it like a man.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” With a groan, the general lumbered to his feet. Devin, Ethan, and Daniel Bushnell got to their feet as well. After rubbing his thigh and cursing under his breath about Yankees, stray bullets, and sawbones in battlefield tents, the general glared at the rest of them. “Gentlemen, tomorrow we will get into formation, walk to the officers’ cemetery, and dig a grave for Gluck. There will be no further discussion. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Devin said.

  “Glad to hear it. Now, Captain, you have been on this island double the time I have. Do you foresee any problems with our guards?”

  They would need to be bribed, but he knew how to take care of that. “No, sir.”

  “Good. Good nigh
t, then,” the general said as he strode away, his gait uneven and painful to see.

  With McCoy out of sight, all Devin wanted to do was seek the privacy of his cot. Well, and hope that Thomas didn’t snore too loudly for once.

  But before he could take his leave, Daniel sneered. “Look at you both, jumping to your feet even though you just explained how the lot of us are all one under the eyes of the Lord.”

  “Perhaps I simply respect him,” Ethan drawled.

  Bushnell laughed quietly. “Fool yourselves with your high and mighty words, but I know what’s really taking place. You jump to his pleasure as quickly as my mistress does when I call for her. You owe him.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a ladybird,” Ethan murmured. “Do you keep her near your wife?”

  Surprisingly, Daniel laughed. “Of course not. I’ve got her off in another town, just outside San Antone. She’s perfect. Gorgeous, even, with blue eyes and auburn hair. Real grateful for my money too.”

  After he left, Ethan sat back down and stretched his legs. “There you go, Devin.”

  “What are you speaking about?”

  “Well, I know you enjoy looking for everyone’s weaknesses. Now, next time we’re all sitting around, wishing we were somewhere else, we can think about how there’s someone in this world who’s got things a far sight tougher than we do.”

  “Bushnell’s mistress?”

  “Absolutely. Just think. Somewhere out there is a woman hidden in a little hovel, whose whole existence is dependent on the likes of Daniel Bushnell.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine a worse way of spending one’s day? Jumping to the wishes of a man like him?”

  Though Devin could imagine far worse things, he conceded that Ethan did have a point. “I hope she gets paid well.”

  “Whatever she gets paid, Captain, I’m telling you right now, it ain’t enough.”

  An hour later, lying in his cot next to Thomas, who was blissfully silent for once, Devin closed his eyes and said a prayer for that woman. Ethan had been right. War was hard. So was imprisonment. But to be imprisoned the way that woman was—dependent on a man like Bushnell for her very survival?

  That was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

  12

  Her coffee had grown cold. Yet instead of getting up and refreshing her cup with warm liquid, Lizbeth simply sipped at the cold concoction. She would much rather stay in her comfortable chair and continue to appreciate her new situation and surroundings at Harrison House than get up to refresh a drink.

  The moment was simply too sweet.

  She figured she needed this time too. Though she’d been at Harrison House for two days, she’d spent the first doing little more than sleeping. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, for she’d been both mentally and physically drained.

  Being a maid had been exhausting. Working for her cousin and feeling constantly beholden to her and her husband added another type of strain. When she added Colonel Bushnell’s scare and the subsequent interactions with Major Kelly and Aileen?

  She’d been on the verge of collapse and she hadn’t even realized it. Her body had craved rest, and she’d been more than happy to comply.

  That morning, however, she’d awoken feeling rejuvenated. Now she was gazing around her surroundings as though she were a brand-new visitor to San Antonio. Indeed, everything in the area looked rather unfamiliar.

  Sitting on a cozy wicker chair on a wide front veranda while wrapped in a lavender-scented soft afghan was to be savored.

  Unable to help herself, she stretched her legs and leaned her head against the plush cushions behind her. Took time to count her blessings. And she did, indeed, feel blessed.

  She was no longer working on her feet before dawn, racing against the clock to do Aileen and Dallas’s bidding. No longer living in dread of being in the company of strange men. No longer afraid of being approached by people she didn’t know.

  For the first time in ages she was in charge of her day. She could do whatever she wanted. It wasn’t a one-time thing either. She could very well live like a lady of leisure for quite some time. Well, at least until she ran out of funds.

  It made her giddy.

  That had been the first thing she’d thought of that morning when she awoke far later than she usually had on her days off. After lazing about under the comfortable down comforter and watching the last of the embers extinguish themselves in her room’s fireplace, she gave in to the day and got dressed. Then she ventured downstairs to the kitchen at the back of the house and poured herself a large cup of coffee.

  Next to the coffeepot on the stove had been a container of muffins and a note inviting guests to take as many as they would like. Feeling decadent, Lizbeth helped herself to two.

  She didn’t know if she would ever take such things for granted again. After living in her small room at the top of the Menger and having to follow Aileen’s directives about what she could and couldn’t do, being able to help herself to a steaming cup of coffee was a wonderful experience. Even the kitchen staff at the hotel hadn’t been allowed a beverage except at designated times of the day.

  Curling her feet onto the chair, Lizbeth continued to watch the world go by. A pair of mockingbirds squawked merrily as they signaled for their mates. A trio of squirrels played tag on the pine trees that lined the property. Their noisy chatter made her smile as they raced up and down the tree limbs. Below them was an orange tabby cat. She was lounging on the top of a wide stone fence, her tail lazily swinging like a metronome.

  No doubt these things had happened all day everyday both here at Harrison House and right outside the Menger Hotel. Maybe they happened everywhere? All she knew for sure was that she’d been too preoccupied with work and worries to appreciate them. She silently promised herself not to let that happen again.

  As the minutes passed, Lizbeth directed her sight toward the road just beyond her. Little by little, it filled with horse-drawn wagons and buggies. Men and women walked on its dusty sides. Some were striding intently, obviously hoping to finish a great many errands in a short amount of time. Others were simply strolling. They were speaking in cordial tones to each other, going about their routines. Other guests at Harrison House came up the steps and greeted her before going inside.

  As she continued to watch all those people move about, Lizbeth realized she’d been concentrating on surviving for so long that she’d forgotten to remember one very important point. She had survived. Even though she’d endured many hardships, she was still surviving. She hadn’t given up.

  And while that was good, she also knew she hadn’t been living either. Not really.

  She knew if she stopped each one of the people out for their walks and asked about the war, they would share stories filled with as much heartbreak and longing as hers were. She had not been alone in her suffering. She was not the only woman to have experienced a great many hardships at the hands of others. She was certainly not the only person to have lost her home. Others also bore scars. Men lost limbs, eyes. Their very being.

  Many women had also experienced pain at men’s hands. She knew she was not the only one to have nightmares or to fear being alone in the dark.

  So why was she still pining over the fact that her life was different than it had been before the war? Different from what she’d anticipated? Why had she not felt the need to stop often and give thanks?

  She should have.

  Nothing about that made her proud. Her grandparents would have expected more from her.

  “Lord, please forgive me,” she whispered. “I have been so blinded by my pain that I’ve neglected to realize I have so many things to be grateful for. Instead of remembering that, I took them for granted. I promise I’ll do better.”

  Closing her eyes again, she concentrated on the warmth of the sun on her face … and a new sensation. It was a feeling of completeness. As if God himself was taking time out of his busy day to reach out to her. To let her know her words had been heard.

>   She was stunned. She’d thought her faith was true. Strong. But like her daily attempts of survival, she had only seen part of the whole picture.

  Feeling stronger than she had in months, maybe years, she reached down to take another sip of her coffee. Then turned when the French doors that guarded the side entrance to the verandah swung open.

  “Good morning, Miss Barclay,” Mrs. Harrison said. “I trust you slept well last night?”

  “I did. Thank you.”

  Just as she moved to stand, Mrs. Harrison waved off the motion with a hand. “Please, don’t get up. I came to sit out here with you for a few minutes.”

  “All right.” Lizbeth smiled, but her insides began to churn. Was something wrong? Had Mrs. Harrison changed her mind about allowing her to stay there?

  She yearned to ask those questions, but she forced herself to continue to sit quietly. She swallowed the last of her cold coffee and watched her new landlady settle herself on the chair by her side. Her morning gown was especially attractive. It was a deep shade of plum and sported a wide ruffled hem that no doubt fluttered with each step.

  After folding her hands neatly on her lap, Mrs. Harrison spoke. “I hardly saw you yesterday. I was worried you were ill.”

  “I thought at first I was. But then I realized I was simply tired. The excitement of the last few days caught up with me.”

  “I imagine so. As you know, Major Kelly shared your situation. I don’t know if I found it more disturbing that you were accosted while making a bed or that your cousin blamed you for running into what you thought was an empty room to protect yourself.”

  “Both were rather difficult to deal with.” Not wanting to be seen as only a victim, she said, “However, I am better now. I plan to buy a newspaper and start combing the ads from some of the surrounding areas. I aim to get a new job by the first of the year.”

  Instead of looking relieved, however, Mrs. Harrison merely looked contemplative. “I see. Well, I am relieved you will be waiting until after Christmas to leave us. It will be nice to have you here.”

  “Thank you.” Still feeling awkward, she moved to stand. “I was just about to get another cup of coffee. Would you like one?”