One Wore Blue

by Heather Graham

  “No,” she said softly, “Jesse never forced me to do anything.”

  “Well, whatever, we will get by,” he promised her. To her surprise, he walked across the room and set his arms around her shoulders. He hugged her briefly, then left her, and she sat alone in the darkness.

  Jesse, she thought. Where was he tonight? She prayed that he was warm and safe from danger, and then she wondered what she would do if he were here right now, sitting with her.

  He was a Yankee, and he was never going to change. She certainly could not change him—at least, not his sense of right and wrong and his loyalty.

  For his part, he had never asked her to change. He had understood that she had her convictions. But she wasn’t certain anymore herself, either about right or wrong, or about their fine southern cause. All she knew was that war killed and maimed, and that it was bitter and painful, no matter what the color of the soldiers’ uniforms.

  But could she marry him now?

  Yes, she decided she could. But only if he wanted her, really wanted her. Not because of the baby, and not because of honor. Love, finally, must be enough.

  And she would marry him only if he came to her, of course. She still couldn’t quite swallow her pride enough to court a Yankee.

  She was so calm, she thought, as a slow smile curved her lip. Not so very long ago, the mere thought of her present position would have been scandalous, a horror within the society that had been hers since birth. Her situation would have made matrons whisper and pull their children aside on the sidewalk when she came by.

  Hers was the type of situation that would make those who considered themselves very righteous throw things at her, like tomatoes. It was every father’s nightmare.

  It was not simply that she was expecting a child. Surely any number of hasty marriages took place, and of course, whispering went along with them.

  But Kiernan’s scandal went beyond that. She was the widow of a fine southern soldier who had laid down his life at Manassas. She was expecting the child of a Yank, and her husband had not even been dead a year.

  But Jacob loved her, despite everything. He meant to stand by her. That was what mattered now. If she only had sure knowledge that Jesse was alive and well.

  Suddenly, she felt a fluttering deep within her abdomen. She thought that she had imagined it, but then it came again.

  Despite everything, a thrill burst through her as sweet as any she had ever known. Her baby was alive and well and moving. Her baby was real. Her baby, Jesse’s baby, their flesh and blood.

  Conceived in war …

  But conceived in love.

  “And I will love you, little one!” she vowed vehemently. “I will love you enough to make up for everything!”

  She smiled. She was suddenly glad that Jacob knew. Patricia would be all right if Jacob was all right. Both twins could help her now, and she might even begin to live with enthusiasm, with hope.

  The fluttering movement came inside her again, the quickening. She wrapped her arms tenderly over her abdomen, and she started to cry softly, tears of a curious joy.

  Daniel Cameron had been in the Shenandoah Valley, running spying and harassment raids with a crack company of horse soldiers. Now, in March 1862, his most recent orders had been to move east—Lincoln had put a General named McClellan in charge of his eastern army, and McClellan was planning a huge assault on Richmond by moving up through the peninsula—the Tidewater region.

  Daniel had been living in a state of tension ever since the orders had come. For one thing, he was certain that Jesse was with McClellan’s army. For another, this campaign was also going to bring the battle frighteningly close to home. He was anxious, damned anxious to be a part of it. If Union soldiers came anywhere close to Cameron Hall, he’d be on the doorstep waiting for them.

  It wasn’t just his home that concerned him so. Christa was there alone. And John Mackay was near, too, alone what with Kiernan caring for the Miller children in Harpers Ferry. Kiernan was doing well enough. Daniel hadn’t heard from Jesse, and he hadn’t heard from Kiernan, which was strange—they had once been such avid correspondents. But time was scarce these days; he’d barely had time to get notes off to Christa. Christa kept him advised, because Jesse wrote to her too.

  Seated at his desk in his field tent, Daniel felt his fingers tighten around his pen. War was so damned strange. All his life, he’d followed his brother, followed him to West Point, followed him to Kansas. He hadn’t attended medical school like Jesse—he’d never had Jesse’s calling for it. But otherwise, they’d been as close as brothers could be.

  But now he hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard a word from him in over a year. If he did see Jesse, he was supposed to shoot him.

  Jesse wouldn’t be riding into battle, Daniel knew. He would be taking his skill into field hospitals. Daniel knew that Jesse was trying his best to save lives in this war, but he had been a cavalry soldier for years. There was no telling that he might not mount up in the heat of things and come riding into battle himself—maybe even against orders.

  That was Daniel’s biggest fear. Not death, not capture, not loss—just meeting his brother in battle.

  He sighed, crumpling up the orders he had been writing and starting over again. Suddenly, there was a fracas outside his tent. For a moment, he thought the canvas structure was going to fall over. As he stared at the support pole in amazement, he heard his name called.

  “Captain Cameron! Captain Cameron!”

  “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded with a roar, leaping up at last.

  His aide, Corporal Beal, came through the opening, following an indignant young lad with handsome blond curls and dark eyes. Corporal Beal nearly had his hands upon the boy’s nape, but the lad seemed tough. He eluded Beal and strode to Daniel’s desk, saluting him quickly.

  “Captain Cameron,” the boy began.

  “Captain Cameron,” Beal interrupted, “this wild young pup wouldn’t listen when I said that you were busy, that we had to pull out. He ran right past me, and when I caught up to him, why, he took a swing at me and I had to take one back, but he’s a scamp, he is, wild and—”

  “It’s all right, Corporal Beal,” Daniel said. He took his seat behind his field desk, frowning as he recognized Jacob Miller. “Jacob’s an old friend of mine.”

  “I done told him we were moving out in a hurry—”

  “The Union hasn’t done anything in a hurry yet, Corporal. I think I can spare a few minutes for an old friend.” He smiled, his gaze on Jacob. “You can leave us now.”

  “He could be a spy,” Beal warned dourly.

  “Not this one. The boy is as loyal as they come. Right, Jacob?”

  To his surprise, Jacob reddened, but he replied, “Yes, sir, Captain Cameron.”

  “You can’t trust no one these days,” Beal muttered, “not no one, not no how!” Daniel grinned at Jacob, and Beal sniffed again, but he left them at last.

  “You haven’t turned Yank, have you, boy?” Daniel asked. He indicated the folding field chair opposite his desk, and Jacob took a seat.

  “No, I haven’t turned Yank.”

  “You’re not trying to join the army?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “That’s a relief,” Daniel told him. “Does Kiernan know that you’re out here?” He stiffened suddenly. He’d heard rumors that Kiernan had been giving good information to the troops in the valley. But she wouldn’t allow a child this age to engage in espionage, would she?

  Still, the war had made people do all kinds of things.

  “Did she give you a message for me?”

  “No, no!” Jacob protested. His hat was in his hands, and he twisted it between his fingers, looking down at it. “No, in fact”—he paused, looking up at Daniel—“she’d probably have my hide if she knew that I was here.”

  “Oh.” Puzzled, Daniel leaned forward. “Then …?”

  “This is a matter of the strictest confidence,” Jacob said, sitting very straight
.

  “The strictest,” Daniel agreed somberly.

  “I’d like you to get through to your brother, sir. I know he’s a Yank and you’re a Reb, and that you probably don’t talk to each other much anymore. But I want you to let him know that …”

  “That?”

  “That he’s going to be a father.”

  For a moment, Daniel was stunned. Then he said, “Oh!” very softly, and leaned back in his chair. It shouldn’t be such a surprise. Anybody who knew Jesse and Kiernan could feel the electricity in the air when they were near each other. If anyone had seen what Jesse meant to Kiernan, it was Daniel himself. And if anybody knew Jesse’s heart, well, that was Daniel, too. That the two of them had consummated those feelings, even in war, wasn’t that much of a surprise.

  He leaned forward. “Is Kiernan well?” he asked Jacob.

  “Just fine. But—but she’ll never let him know. Don’t you see?”

  “Proud, huh?”

  “Very. And, well, he’s—”

  “A Yankee.”

  “Right,” Jacob agreed miserably. He looked at Daniel anxiously once again. “Can you get a message through to him?”

  Daniel nodded. “Yes, I can.”

  “You have to be very, er …”

  “Discreet?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll write to my sister,” Daniel said, “and she’ll get through to him. No others will be involved—unless I can think of something else, equally discreet. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Good. Then you’d better be on your way. You don’t want Kiernan to start worrying about you.”

  Jacob Miller saluted him, slammed his slouch hat back down over his head, and started out. Then he looked back. “Maybe you could not mention my name? No, wait—never mind. That wouldn’t be very honorable, would it? Go ahead and use my name in this if you want. Make sure you let him know that Patricia and I are all right with this thing. Your brother is a darned good man, sir, except that he’s a Yank.”

  “I’ve felt that myself, Jacob,” Daniel assured him.

  Jacob grinned at that, and then he was really gone. Daniel sat back and drummed his fingers on his desk.

  It occurred to him that he was going to be an uncle, and he grinned.

  “Why, you little hellions!” he thought fondly of his brother and Kiernan.

  But his smile faded. This was war. He wasn’t at all sure that anybody could do the right thing by anybody else.

  He’d try, though. He’d sure as hell try.

  Twenty-One

  It was late afternoon when Thomas Donahue came riding up to Montemarte at a gallop. It was a fast pace for Thomas—he didn’t like his old bones to rattle, he had told Kiernan often enough. Seeing him come so quickly, a sweep of dread instantly wove through her.

  She raced out onto the porch. The Yankees were heading out to the house again, it was about to be burned, something horrible had happened, the war had been lost.

  “Kiernan!” Thomas wheezed as he dismounted. She ran to him, offering him support. “You’ve got to go home.”

  “Home! What’s happened?”

  “It’s your father, Kiernan.”

  “Oh, God! Oh, no!” She felt faint. Black waves washed before her eyes. “He’s not … he’s not—”

  “He’s sick, Kiernan, very sick. Christa Cameron managed to get a letter through with an employee of the railroad. She thinks you should come right home. But she’s also aware that it’s a long and dangerous journey right now. She wanted you to know that she’d be with him, that she’d take care of him. That she’d do everything in the world for him that she could.”

  “But she wouldn’t be me!” Kiernan whispered. “And if Papa is very sick …”

  No, she thought suddenly. War was awful, and it already had taken so very much from her and from everyone. She wouldn’t let it keep her away from her father too.

  She stood very straight. “I’m going home, Thomas.”

  “But there’s troops aplenty on all these roads!” Thomas warned her. “Troops in blue and troops in gray, and I don’t know which are more dangerous.”

  “I’ll be all right. Who would disturb a woman in my—er, delicate condition?”

  Thomas hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her that she was still very beautiful, and that war does strange things to good men and worse things to bad men.

  “I’ll come with you,” Thomas offered.

  “You’ll do no such thing. You hate to travel, and I’ll be moving very quickly. I’ll bring Janey and Tyne with me.” She couldn’t bring T.J.—she’d have to leave him and Jeremiah and David at Montemarte. But the twins would come with her too. She couldn’t leave them. She had promised she wouldn’t.

  “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” Thomas said.

  “No.” On her tiptoes, Kiernan gave him a kiss. Then she shooed him on his way home and hurried for the stairs, calling for Janey to help her pack. Patricia ran into her room, and Kiernan told her to hurry and pack for the trip. She was in a whirlwind of motion, getting her things together. Janey helped her, then ran to the kitchen to find Tyne and Jeremiah and see that the wagon was readied.

  When she had finished with her clothing, Kiernan hurried back down the stairs to the office and went through the medicines that Jesse had left. Her father was sick—but with what? She stared at the bottles with their neatly printed labels and decided to take them all.

  Her fingers were trembling, but she was determined to leave then and there, just as soon as the children were ready.

  She was going home.

  She touched her stomach and felt a strange excitement sweep through her. The baby could be born at home, in Tidewater Virginia.

  Suddenly she was very glad, if breathless. She pulled out the swivel chair and sat. The baby began to move vigorously inside her, as if caught up in the frenzy of her emotion.

  Home, she was going home.

  The door to the office suddenly swung open, and Jacob appeared. Kiernan looked up at him and realized that she hadn’t seen him all day.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “We’re going on a trip?” he asked incredulously.

  She nodded. “We have to. My father is ill, Jacob. I have to go home. I want you to come with me.”

  “But I just—”

  “You just what?”

  “Nothing. Of course, I’ll come with you. I’d never let you go alone,” Jacob said. He turned around. “I just hope he can find us now,” he murmured.

  “Pardon?” Kiernan called after him, trying to rise. It was becoming very hard to do. “Jacob?”

  But Jacob was gone, and an hour later, when they were ready to ride out, she didn’t remember that she had been questioning him.

  All that was on her mind was that her father was very sick.

  She was going home.

  It was nearly dawn, and the day was going to bring more fighting, Jesse knew.

  He was with George B. McClellan’s troops on the peninsula, moving toward Richmond.

  So far, the Peninsula Campaign had been a lesson in confusion.

  McClellan had taken his troops to the tip of the peninsula. There, during the first week of April, a Confederate line had stretched from the York across the peninsula to the Warwick River.

  The Union had laid siege there for a month, a slow and overly cautious siege, giving Confederate General Joseph Johnston time to join Confederate General Magruder and shore up his troops. On May 4, McClellan began a grand assault, but Johnston had already moved up the peninsula. On May 5, the Union vanguard overtook the Confederate rear guard, and action followed at Williamsburg. There had been more and more fighting. The Union took Norfolk, and the Confederate ironclad Virginia was destroyed. The James River was opened to the Union, but on May 15, at Drewry’s Bluff, seven miles outside Richmond, the Confederates were able to employ river obstructions.

  Rains washed over the Chickahominy River, and two Union corps we
re isolated near the villages of Seven Pines and Fair Oaks Station. On the Confederate side, General Johnston suffered a severe wound.

  General Robert E. Lee was put in command.

  McClellan remained cautious.

  Jesse had it on good word from scouts whom he trusted that they should never have been in their present position. There’d been only seventeen thousand Confederates on that defense line at Yorktown when they’d started their Peninsula Campaign. Now they were facing far greater numbers.

  It was ceasing to matter to Jesse. They came in, and he did the best he could to patch them up. He watched them die after he had done his best to make them live. He realized that every day more would come to him. His promotion to full colonel hadn’t changed anything. Now he was responsible for other doctors as well as for his own patients.

  Very early one morning, Jesse was bandaging the arm of the scout, a man with dark, soulful eyes, a drooping moustache, and a weary knowledge about him—Sergeant Flicker.

  “There will be action aplenty this morning, Colonel,” Flicker said.

  “Oh? I heard we were away from the main body of Confederates.”

  “Hell, no—there’s cavalry out there! Our best intelligence says there’s no Rebs out there, but our boys’ve been trading all night with fellows dressed in gray who look a whole lot like Rebs to me.”

  Jesse arched a brow at him. It was common knowledge that Union “intelligence” tended to be either exaggerated or dead-out wrong.

  But cavalry!

  His heart thudded. His brother could be out there.

  The thought had just crossed his mind when an enlisted man came running into his tent. “Colonel Cameron. Sir!”

  “Yes, what is it?” Jesse demanded.

  “Reb to see you, sir!”

  “What?” Jesse demanded.

  The soldier hesitated at his tone of voice. “Sir—”

  “For the love of God, spit it out, will you?”

  The soldier grimaced. “We were passing some fine Virginia tobacco over for a pound or two of decent coffee, sir.”

  Jesse grinned. The man shouldn’t have been admitting this to him, but trading went on all the time. Men in blue and gray often talked all night, then fired at and killed one another at daybreak.