“Short. What happened to me? This is a family of giants—even you’re tall.”
Tara sighed. “Petite, Tia, is just fine. But you’re not short, really, your height is average at the least, and among other women, you might even be considered tall. You’re only a bit smaller than I am—it’s just that your brothers and your father are so very tall—”
“And bossy.”
“—and therefore, you feel short in comparison.”
“Is that all it is?”
“You really are just about my same size.”
“Am I?”
“Just like me,” Tara said.
Tia laughed. “I’m dark as night while you’re pure sunshine.”
“All right, so you have that fabulous head full of ebony hair, and indeed, your father’s deep, dark, fathomless eyes! You are your father’s daughter!” Tara said, smiling and hugging her tightly once again. “In most things!” she murmured, then pulled away. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re home. And tonight, you will be your father’s daughter in pure diplomacy, if you don’t mind. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you did come home for Christmas, what with the boys away and even Alaina and the babies staying in St. Augustine. It really isn’t fair, you know, this war—it’s not only destroying our country, our land, and—my God—an entire generation of young men, but I’m a grandmother, and I don’t get to dote on my grandchildren, spoil them terribly, and hand them back. For that reason alone, I’m so happy I have my precious little daughter home—”
“Little! There you have it!” Tia said with a sigh.
“Sorry, dear, it’s just a manner of speech. You are the baby, and always will be.”
“Ah ... be careful there, Mother! Aunt Teela thought Sydney was her baby, and then Mary made an appearance when everyone least expected it!”
“Well, that’s true, but most likely your father and I are quite done, and that leaves you in the position of ‘baby’ and ‘little.’”
“A baby old maid!” Tia sighed.
“Through your own choice,” her mother said, somewhat sharply. Then she smiled. “But you’re here and I’m so glad—”
“And you mentioned diplomacy. Why do I have to be diplomatic? Oh, Mother, don’t tell me that Father has invited forlorn Yankee friends in the peninsula to come to Christmas dinner—”
“Your father would never do anything so foolhardy. This remains a state in rebellion, and the Yankees do not hold Tampa as they hold St. Augustine. Your father is a man of tremendous courage who does not lie about his views—but then, again, neither is he an idiot. He does not taunt the Rebel forces who control the state, and he respects the fact that the state did vote for secession.”
“So what is going on?”
“Exchange negotiations.”
“Exchange?”
“Some Florida militia boys have been taken by Northern troops, and some fresh young Yanks out of St. Augustine were seized trying to pillage a farmhouse west of the city. We’re having some officers to dinner to make arrangements to exchange the boys for Christmas.”
“What kind of officers?”
“Kind of officers?” Tara repeated. “Gentlemen, I imagine.”
“Mother! Which officers? Union men? Confederates?”
“One of each, of course.”
“Wonderful. The war will wind up being fought over the dinner table!” Tia said.
“There will be no fighting at the table.”
“Is Ian coming?” Tia asked hopefully. “Is he going to be one of the Yankee officers?”
Tara shook her head. For a moment, Tia could see the strain in her mother’s features, and yes, the war had aged even her. She never held her children back, and yet Tia saw briefly then the agony that she suffered, never knowing where they were.
“The last I heard, Ian was in Virginia again,” she said. “When he is in the state, he is seldom able to come here. Alaina is praying to see him in St. Augustine sometime soon. He sent her a long letter, but God knows when he’ll be in the state. Sometimes I pray he stays far away. It seems to me that people grow more bitter all the time, and there are plenty of fools and fanatics here who would gladly shoot a man in the back or hang him from the highest tree for his determination to fight for his own conscience.”
“Ian is a remarkable survivor, Mother,” she assured Tara. “He will come home when it’s all over.”
“Yes, of course. Well, I’ve a thousand things to do. And you needn’t worry unduly. I’m acquainted with both officers coming here tonight. So are you.”
“Oh? Who is coming?”
“Colonel Raymond Weir.”
“Hm,” Tia murmured, “Well, he is a pleasant gentleman.”
“You should think so, dear. You used to flirt outrageously with him.”
“He is attractive,” Tia agreed. Tall, blond, handsome—a planter who loved his horses, his land, a good bourbon, and the smell of leather. Sometimes, he enjoyed one too many a good bourbon, but her friend Sally Anderson had told her once that all good Southern men were supposed to have a fondness for bourbon, and if it led them to start a few fights here and there, such was the substance of life. Men, in general, she thought, did tend to overindulge occasionally, but he was never rude or abusive to her when he drank; indeed, he tended to become more wistful. Then again, few men dared bother her much—she had her father’s watchful eye and that of two powerful older brothers. If that wasn’t enough, she had her two male cousins to the south, reputed to be somewhat “savage” because of their Indian blood. Sometimes, she had felt a little too protected. Sometimes, as her mother had said, it had made her an outrageous flirt—she had dared anything.
But she had liked Raymond Weir, very much. And she had loved the attention he paid her. Naturally, too—before the war—it had been wonderfully flattering to have the attention of a man so admired by many other young women. She knew he had wanted to marry her. She had always hesitated, flirting but keeping just a bit of a distance between them. She’d had her dreams of seeing the world, and though he was wonderfully handsome, smelled just fine, and seemed to have no disgusting habits—such as chewing tobacco and having the juice running through his beard, drinking beer and whiskey and passing gas all night, and the like—she was looking for something just a bit more before settling down to plantation life. She wanted, at the least, a grand tour of Europe. What she really wanted was to see the pyramids in Egypt, the lands of the Crusades, the Parthenon! So she had held him at bay ...
And the war had come.
“It will be nice to see Raymond again.”
“And you will behave, of course?” Tara said sternly.
“Behave?”
“The poor man was madly in love with you at one time, you know. So now you must behave. Don’t tease him mercilessly.”
“Mother!”
“Tia, my darling, I pity the man who loves you. You flirt, you tease, you become interested in a man, and if it seems that he is becoming too interested in you, you throw the poor fellow right over!”
“Mother!”
“It’s true. But since Raymond is a Confederate with the loudest Rebel yell in the war, and your father has Unionist sympathies, I suggest you take great care not to create any arguments.”
“I would never cause Father trouble!” she protested.
Tara smiled. “You’ve changed, my darling, with the war. Matured. With little choice, I’m afraid. Now you sometimes behave as if you’re determined to become an eccentric spinster.”
“Easy, when so many men are dead!”
“So many are dead,” Tara agreed. “But you are young, Tia, and there will be men in your life. When you first began noticing the attention of our local swains, you changed your crushes even more quickly than President Lincoln changes generals! As soon as you had charmed them into being smitten, you brushed them off like so much dust on your boots.”
“I did no such thing. I tried to be friendly and kind to everyone, but sometimes certain people would just take kin
dness too seriously.”
“You are kind and compassionate,” Tara said softly, then grinned. “Just pure hell on those who would love you!”
“Pure hell? Mother, you told me a lady isn’t to use such a word, much less in regard to her daughter—”
“I’m sorry, dear. You’re so right. Speaking the truth can be such a burden!” Tara teased. “Anyway, be kind to Colonel Weir. But be careful.”
“I did think about marrying him, you know,” Tia admitted.
“He’s a fine man!” Tara said. There was something reserved in her tone.
“Hm ... it sounds like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“I’m not sure if he’s the right man for you.”
“I’m not sure, either,” Tia admitted. “But should I marry him just because you want me to be kind to him?”
“You should never marry for any reason but love,” Tara said gravely.
Tia smiled, swirling around her bedroom and landing back on the bed, her fingers laced behind her head. “Mother, you are completely unorthodox! Most parents tell a daughter she must marry whom they say, and you encourage romantic notions!” She rolled across the bed again, looking curiously at her mother. “Strange, since I’ve heard you married my father on the spur of the moment, all to escape a rather dastardly villain, and that it had nothing at all to do with love.”
Tara set her hands on her hips and inched up her chin. “You’re an impudent girl, Miss Tia McKenzie. I adore your father and you know it.”
“Ah, but love came!” Tia teased this time. “Naturally, since there is no finer man than my father.”
Her mother stared at her for a long moment before saying softly, “A fine man, but you and Julian have disagreed with his teachings.”
Tia sobered, sitting up Indian style, pulling her toes beneath her. “I don’t disagree with him, Mother, but the state of Florida—”
“The state of Florida is full of fanatics who cry glory again and again. Like Colonel Weir. His passion for this ‘cause’ is so dedicated he sees nothing else—that is why I’m not at all sure he’s the right man for you, whether he is still madly in love with you or not!”
“Really?” She and her mother were startled by a deep-voiced comment coming from the doorway. “I’m not sure if there is a right man out there for you, little sister. Mother, you’re absolutely right! Pity the poor fellow who loves her! She is hell on men.”
They both spun around. A man stood in the doorway. A Union soldier, yet very welcome in this Southern home. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, filling the doorway with his presence.
“Ian!” Tara cried.
Tia followed suit, echoing her older brother’s name. “Ian!”
As one, they rushed to the doorway. Tia stood back, letting her mother embrace her oldest son. Tara was shaking; there were tears in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, looking him over carefully for any sign of injury as Tia took her turn, hurtling into his arms, hugging him tightly.
“Ian, how on earth ...” Tara murmured.
“I came in by ship, Mother, south of here. We’re holding some ground by the gulf. I was hoping to reach St. Augustine and Alaina and the children but—”
“Oh, my God, Ian, I want you to be with your wife and children, but please tell me you didn’t come here just to leave immediately?”
He shook his head, blue eyes sparkling as they met his mother’s. “If Alaina received my latest dispatch, she should arrive before supper time tonight.”
“What a Christmas gift! Two of my children home ... and my grandchildren on the way!”
Ian looked over his mother’s head to his sister. “Julian?” he queried. There was just the slightest trace of anxiety in his voice.
“Julian is well, but in the north of the state,” Tia said quickly. Her brothers had met at times during the war. Never enough.
“I saw him after Gettysburg, but not since.”
“He’s very well; I left him just about a week ago. Rhiannon’s baby is due soon.” She hesitated a minute, remembering that as far as the war went, her brother was her enemy. “He had to break camp, change the position of his hospital, and he didn’t want to travel with her any more than he had to right now, so ...”
“So he won’t be home for Christmas,” Ian murmured.
“I’ll have a grandchild, and I haven’t even met his wife,” Tara said.
“Don’t worry, she’s absolutely gorgeous,” Tia said, and couldn’t help adding, “for a Yankee, that is.”
“A Florida Yankee,” Ian reminded her.
She made a face at her brother, then remembered she hadn’t really hugged him. “Oh, Ian!” she said, and threw herself at him. He caught her, embracing her, holding her very tightly for a minute, just as she held him. The family had always been close—they’d squabbled as children, but had immediately risen to one another’s defense at the least provocation. The war made time shared between them all the more precious. Would they have been this very close if they hadn’t seen that lives could be shattered in a split second with the explosive sound of gunfire or a cannon’s charge? Yes, Tia thought. They had been taught the importance of their family; they had been lucky to grow in an environment ruled by parental love. They would have always cared, but they had seen so many people die that they had learned that each time they came together might be their last.
Grinning at Tia as he set her down, Ian said, “You will love Rhiannon, Mother, quite honestly. Naturally, she shares an intelligence as yet not realized by my young sibling here, but one with which you and Father are well versed.”
Tia countered, “Ian, your own wife sees the intelligence of our belief in a loose confederation of states, in which decisions are made at far more local levels regarding the lives of those—”
“Children!” Tara chastised. “It’s Christmas, and there will be no talk of war for Christmas.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Tia corrected. “And there will be talk of war.” She made a face at her brother. “We’re hosting an exchange.”
Ian nodded. “I know. There’s to be a prisoner exchange.”
“If you’re aware of what’s going on,” Tia asked, “why are they risking another man in enemy territory when the negotiation is taking place in your father’s own house?”
“These arrangements had been requested before I knew I was coming south—by a Southern colonel, I understand,” Ian said. “Naturally, the situation proved provident for me—an added reason to be sent south.”
“And what was the other reason?” Tia asked.
He stared at his sister for a long moment. She curled her fingers into her hands. Her brother was an exceptionally impressive man with his cool blue eyes, dark hair, and towering height. Every inch a colonel. And a Unionist. “The Northern armies are keeping General Lee moving, though he had hoped to go home for Christmas as well, I was told. I’ve had few nights in a bed since the Gettysburg campaign myself, but since other men are busy in the field, I’ve at last gained a reprieve. I’m grateful for the time given me. I can see my wife, my children, my mother ... my sister.”
She was sorry to feel suspicious—but she knew there was more reason to Ian’s being there than time off for hours spent in the saddle. Many men had yet to make it home at all since the beginning of the war. Ian had probably been sent here because of the renewed conviction of the Northern powers that Florida needed to be stopped.
“Ian—” she murmured.
“I’m home for Christmas, and that is why I’m here,” he said firmly. He looked at his mother. “Who is coming for these negotiations. Anyone I know?”
“Ray Weir and Taylor Douglas.”
Ian shrugged. “Weir is all right. He’ll bait me, but I’ll be a perfect gentleman and ignore him, of course. And it will be a pleasure to see Taylor again.”
“Who’s Taylor?” Tia asked. The name seemed familiar.
“You don’t remember him?” Ian asked curiously.
“No.”
“He�
�s our cousins’ cousin,” Ian said.
“We’re our cousins’ cousins,” Tia protested.
“Other side. Uncle James’s mother’s sister’s grandson. See the connection?” Ian asked. “We played as kids, but maybe you were too young to remember. Taylor was a class ahead of me at West Point.”
“Another Yank?” she inquired tartly: She remembered now, not the man, but the fact that her cousins had talked about him often enough.
Ian arched a brow with a half-smile. “Since we know that good old Ray Weir is a righteous Rebel, then Taylor Douglas must be the Yank. We’re having negotiations, dear sister. You need one party from each side of the question to negotiate.”
“I’m merely mentioning that status quo,” Tia said sweetly.
“My darlings, I’m so delighted to have you—and yet you’re both giving me this ferocious headache,” Tara said.
“No more talk of war, Mother, I promise.
“Not until tonight, at any rate,” Ian murmured. His eyes met his sister’s, and he smiled, and she was suddenly just glad to see him, glad about Christmas, glad to be home—and blithely unaware of what the night would bring.
Cimarron.
Taylor Douglas came upon the house in the late afternoon. A slight fog lay upon the ground, just touched by the dying rays of the sun which had managed to stretch across the seasonally metallic sky. The house seemed to rise like a Greek-columned castle on a fairy-tale hill, though the best that could be said for any of the land was that it had a small roll—by Tampa Bay, there was nothing that could remotely be considered a hill. Still, the fog gave the house a strange magical cast, he thought, amazed at his own touch of whimsy. Magical indeed—it stood against the flood of passions that had ruled the foolish and the sane for so long now.
He had ridden by himself here, in full uniform. There had never been such a time when so many different companies of soldiers were roaming the state—Confederate and Federal—but it was equally true that a man could traverse miles without coming upon anyone who would care about the color of his uniform.
War was often for the rich—or those who had something to lose. Many small farmers in the state were totally uninterested. Life was always simply hand-to-mouth, and food would be sold to any man with money, especially if it was silver or gold.
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