“And so the time spent in St. Augustine will be considered a vacation by many of the soldiers,” Ian said.
“I fear the war will go on here as it has—with neither side gaining much in victory, but losing many in death,” Taylor said. He looked at Ian. “I assume you have new orders for me as well?”
Ian nodded, handing him a leather-bound, waterproofed case. Reading the paper within, Taylor looked up at Ian. “This will be like looking for a needle in a haystack!” he said.
“I know. I admit—I’m glad they gave you the duty, and not me.”
“And why do you think they have done so?”
Ian stared at him for a minute. “Because you’re Indian,” he said flatly. “They will always believe that because of your blood, you know the swamp a little better, you are a little craftier—more able to manage such a duty.”
“What is the duty?” Bryer asked curiously. “If I am allowed to know. I have served some time now with Colonel Douglas. I have served with no better man.”
Taylor glanced at Bryer, somewhat surprised by the crusty old soldier’s dedication to him. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “But I’m afraid that the mission is to be confidential. I’ll be leaving you in a few days’ time.”
“Colonel Douglas,” he began, “I know my rank and I know my work, but I am a medical man, and not prepared to lead this camp as you have done.”
“I had thought I was to be leaving this morning,” Ian said; “but a messenger arrived from St. Augustine this morning, asking us to delay bringing in so many units of cavalry along with your sorely wounded men. I will be staying here for a time before taking the companies to St. Augustine. Then I, too, will rejoin the Army of the Potomac, just a little later than I had expected.” Ian turned back to the maps again. “On the ninth of March, Lincoln put Ulysses Grant in overall command of the armies. These are the goals: Meade remains head of the army under Grant and is to attack Lee’s army, as we have attempted throughout the war. General Butler is to take his forces up the south bank of the James River from Fortress Monroe, Siger is to sweep through the Shenandoah Valley, Sherman is to attack Atlanta and Banks is to ride on and assault Mobile.”
“And it will end the war?” Ayers asked.
Taylor let out a grunt. “If it all succeeds.”
“Grant doesn’t care how many men he kills,” Bryer added.
“Ah, but we complained that too many of our generals were overly cautious! Meade should have chased Lee after Gettysburg. This fratricide might have ended by now,” Taylor said.
“But do you think we can win soon?” Bryer asked.
Taylor stared over at Ian, then shrugged and pointed to the map. “Renowned Confederate General P. T. Beauregard is in here somewhere—and he’ll do his damned best to detour anyone from Richmond. Jubal Early could catch up with the men in the Shenandoah—”
He broke off suddenly, listening. Someone was singing. A plaintive ballad, in a high, clear voice, both sweet and powerful.
“My sister,” Ian murmured.
“I know,” Taylor said, rising. He slid his despatch into the inner pocket of his frockcoat and started out of Bryer’s living quarters. The small tent was not far from the larger one where the colonel and his nurses tended to the wounded they had managed to gather. Since the day was warm, the canvas walls had been rolled up so that the breeze could cool the injured men.
Tia was seated on a camp chair in the middle of the tent. Someone had supplied her with a guitar; she strummed the chords lightly as she sang her song—one popular with both Northern and Southern soldiers, promoting neither side, but ruing the cruelty of death.
She had a rapt audience.
The soldiers with camp cots lay upon them; amputees with bandaged stumps sat on the ground or leaned against trees just outside the enclosure. Nurses and orderlies had halted in their tasks. And even Cecilia had stopped her busy fretting around “her boys” to enjoy the fact that, for once, they seemed to have forgotten their pain.
When Tia finished her song, they applauded.
“Play ‘Dixie’!” someone called to her.
Her eyes shot up with surprise as she looked for the speaker.
“Ma’am, it’s me, over here. My name’s Corporal Hutchins. I was born right smack on the Suwannee River, though I went to school up in New York. I’m still a Southerner—I just don’t cotton to the idea of breaking up the Union. So play ‘Dixie’ for me, if you will. The boys won’t mind.”
“You could play any danged thing you want, Mrs. Douglas, and we won’t mind a bit!” another man called.
And so she sang “Dixie.” Then someone asked her that since she was in a Union camp and they had all enjoyed “Dixie,” would she mind terribly doing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and she hesitated, but then she sang the song. And when she was done, she handed the guitar back to one of the men and thanked them.
“Don’t you worry none about Canby Jacobs, Mrs. Douglas!” the man who had asked for “Dixie” called out to her. “We fellows will put in money from our pay, get him properly embalmed so that he can be returned to that young wife of his!”
“Maybe he wanted to be buried on Florida soil,” she said softly.
“He loved Florida, but he loved his wife more.”
“Then that will be very kind, sir, if you can see that his body is returned to his wife. Properly put back together.”
She started walking through the tent. Taylor was still some distance from her, and he was sure she hadn’t seen him yet.
Captain Ayers, leader of the company he had sent out scouting yesterday, suddenly stepped in front of her.
“Mrs. Douglas, hello, how do you do. Excuse me for waylaying you ... but I could swear that we’ve met before.”
Taylor saw her hesitate; saw her pallor. Yes, of course, Ayers had seen her yesterday. As Godiva. Leading him from the Rebs—back to their own camp.
“My brother is with the camp here, sir. Colonel Ian McKenzie. Perhaps I bear quite a resemblance to him. He and my other brother, Julian, are so much alike they could be mistaken for one another; even the cousins in my family bear a close resemblance to each other.”
Ayers was smiling. “Ma’am, you don’t look like any man I’ve ever met; that is certain.”
“Perhaps you’ve been to my father’s home, Cimarron.”
“No, ma’am, it’s not that ...”
It had gone too far. Taylor strode through the tent of injured, reaching Tia’s side. He set an arm around her shoulders. “Ayers!”
“Sir!” Ayers saluted. He was a fine young cavalry captain, steady, brave and dependable. “Forgive me. I have this uncanny feeling that I have met your wife before.”
“Well, Captain Ayers, I agree that she resembles no man—but if you know her brothers and family as I do, it’s true, there are features they share, such as the shape of their eyes, the structure of their faces. I am kin to Colonel McKenzie’s cousin myself, and I can tell you, that even the Seminole McKenzies bear a striking resemblance to one another.”
“Perhaps that is it. Forgive me,” Ayers said again. “It’s been a pleasure. It is my understanding that you served with Rebel forces in your brother’s field hospital. It was kind of you to bring your talents here today.”
“I pity all men maimed by this war, sir,” Tia said. With his arm around her, Taylor could feel that she was shaking.
“Amen!” Ayers said.
“Captain, we’ve yet to fully discuss certain events. Tia, my love, if you’ll forgive me, I have business with Captain Ayers. I’ll not be long.”
“Taylor, you must do your duty!” she said, turning to him. Her dark eyes on his were grateful. Her hand, laid against his chest, felt oddly right.
He stared down at her. Had they reached some strange sort of truce? Brought on by the absurdity of a lie turned real?
He caught her hand, smiled, brushed a kiss on her fingertips.
There was a general call of appreciation from the men—hoots and whistles.
“That I have!” he agreed.
But smiling still, he stepped around her. And his heart seemed to squeeze. Had he won her? No, he had not really begun to do so.
His future with her, like the war, remained to be seen.
Chapter 15
WITH AN OATH OF impatience, Rhiannon ripped up the fifth letter she had tried to write, gnawed at her lip, and started again.
Dear Mrs. Davis,
My name is Rhiannon McKenzie and I am the wife of Colonel Julian McKenzie, surgeon, Florida militia. I believe that the name McKenzie is familiar to you; my brother-in-law, Ian, was well known to President Davis before the division of the states. Ian was a West Point graduate and serving in the army when President Davis was Secretary of War. Jerome McKenzie, a cousin-in-law, is with the Confederate navy and captains one of the most successful blockade runners of the war. Though I admit to grave antisecession sentiment myself, I have worked with my husband in the field saving the lives of Confederate men. I have seen the tragedies of this war, North and South, and have come to put a great value on all life, yet most of all, on the lives of our children. Madam, I have often heard of the love you bear your own. I am sometimes haunted by dreams and visions, and I fear an accident could befall one of your children. Please, I beg you, heed this warning, and do not think me insane from the depravities of war. I see a child falling from a balcony. I have found that though sometimes my dreams are cruel pictures that I can do nothing to stop, sometimes they are but warnings, and so I beg of you, take care with your children on the balcony of your beautiful house. With all prayers and best wishes for you and yours, I can only hope to understand the full burden of all that you carry with the war.
Sincerely, Rhiannon McKenzie
She looked pensively at what she had written this time. The first lady of the Confederacy might very well think that she was totally insane, and throw the note away.
It might never reach her.
She still had to try. The dream was far too haunting to ignore.
Rhiannon laid her head on the table. No, she could not prevent all the awful deaths of the war! And still, knowing that a child could needlessly die ...
Her own sentiments remained staunchly antisecessionist—and antislavery. She was comfortable in her father-in-law’s house.
Alaina, though married to a Union officer, remained a Rebel at heart.
Could either of them make a trip to Richmond?
How could she, with an infant? How could she risk her own child? And if Julian knew what she was even thinking ....
He would say that he would get the letter through. And surely, he would. But would it be enough?
Alaina could not go. She had her own two small children, and since Christmas ... well, it seemed likely that Alaina was going to have a third babe. If Alaina could get to St. Augustine where her new cousin-in-law, Risa McKenzie stayed, waiting for some word from Jerome ...
There was also Sydney, an ardent Rebel—but married now and in Washington, D.C.
That left ...
Tia. She was out there somewhere near St. Augustine. Assisting Julian in her place. If she could just reach her sister-in-law ...
Yes. Tia was perfect. The Southern sister of a Southern surgeon who had tirelessly pledged himself to the lives of so many. Captured for his Cause, in the South, fighting for life once again. Tia, the daughter of Jarrett McKenzie, respected and consulted by leaders from both sides.
Who could not be faulted for going to Richmond.
She rose suddenly, quickly. She would give her letter to Jarrett, and ask him for an escort across the state. To join Julian. She had lingered behind her husband long enough. The baby was strong, big, healthy—and she had never felt better. She was longing to see her husband; her in-laws would understand.
Yet as she swung around, she saw that Alaina was standing in the doorway.
“Rhiannon, what are you up to?”
“I’m going to find Julian.”
Alaina stared at her for a minute.
“I’m going with you. You’re not really looking for Julian, are you?”
“Of course I am. I love my husband.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t,” Alaina told her stubbornly. “I’m still going with you!”
But she paled suddenly, her palm going to her stomach. “Excuse me!” she said, and turned to flee to her private quarters.
Rhiannon got her traveling bag from the wardrobe and started to, pack.
Alaina appeared back in her doorway. “A Christmas present from your husband, I think,” Rhiannon said, flashing Alaina a smile.
“I was never so sick before.”
“You never had twins before.”
“Twins!” Alaina grabbed the door frame.
Rhiannon had to laugh. “I’m sorry; I was teasing. I don’t know. But you can’t come with me—and I have to go.”
“You’re not going to try to get to Richmond, are you?”
“No, I’m just going to find someone who can. Without causing trouble, of course.”
“Of course,” Alaina agreed. “I’ll help you pack.”
Tia was exhausted. She had meant to leave the oppression of the hospital tent, feeling as if she had done her duty. She had held Canby’s hand as he died; she had sung more songs when the other injured men had asked her to continue for them.
And in the midst of it all ...
Captain Ayers had recognized her. Thank God, he didn’t know why he had recognized her. Taylor had come to her defense. Perhaps he’d had to do so. He had his sense of honor. He had married her. She had cast him into the situation, and he had seemed very bitter, but then ...
When Taylor had left with Ayers, Cecilia came to her side. “We can use more help, if you’re willing.”
And so Tia had turned back to assist the wounded. Most were very brave, grateful for the water she brought them, the quinine with which she dosed them, the bandages and poultices she carefully applied. It was at the end of a very long day when Cecilia slipped an arm through hers and led her from the hospital tent.
“We’ll walk down to the stream. It’s cool and beautiful there. This is a wonderful place, I think! With pines and ponds and a river and little brooks everywhere! I understand why people come here. I had never thought in a hundred years I would want to come to such a new and uncivilized place as this, yet I love it!”
“Where are you from?”
“Massachusetts. And it’s very, very cold there!”
The soldiers smiled or nodded as the two women walked through the camp. Tia was so accustomed to running that she had to remind herself that no one was after her.
The pines were shadowed as the sun fell. Cecilia knew exactly where she was heading; along a well-trampled trail that must have been used often by the people in the camp. It led to one of the ponds in the pine forest, fresh spring water that was cool and delightfully fresh. She doused her face with it, drank deeply, and sat back on the embankment, feeling the cool spring air wash over her.
“It’s wonderful to have you here,” Cecilia said, leaning back beside her. “You’re so very good.”
“I admit to thinking that you are quite incredibly competent, organized, and efficient yourself!” Tia said.
“I am,” Cecilia said, laughing.
“You’re also well supplied with bandages, quinine, poultices, morphine, laudanum ...”
“Yes, we’re lucky in that.”
“Lucky in many ways,” she said. “Like my own father, yours is willing to risk himself to help others.”
“Oh, my father is wonderful. I remember, at the beginning of the war, when I wanted to help him—as I always had before!—I was given such a miserable time by some of the good society matrons. Nursing was not ladylike, so they said. I shouldn’t see the soldiers, touch the soldiers—”
“Really?” Tia asked, startled to realize that someone who seemed as serene, femin
ine, and dignified as Cecilia Ayers could have possibly faced the same censure she had known. “I thought women were persecuted only in the South.”
“No, I think we have all been vilified for wanting to be sensible and help. Even though I am a doctor’s daughter, I have had my share of criticism. Oh, it was inevitable that women would be needed to help, and when Dorothea Dix was appointed superintendent of women nurses, some women were even welcome.” She smiled, her dimples showing. “But not me! She said that I was too young and too pretty to work in a hospital in Washington, and she wouldn’t have me. Her nurses had to be thirty and plain—no young ladies with romantic notions were going to work with her! So I turned to Father, and although he really hadn’t wanted me on the field at that time, he said that no one could tell him who could or could not help him there, so I have been on the field with him ever since. I hope that by now I am good.”
“I keep hoping that I’m good, too,” Tia said. “When I started with my brother, our skirmishes were small, and we could deal with our injured. Then we had offshore battles, and bombardments, and bigger skirmishes. I’ll never forget the first time we had a large number of injured. Julian told me to wash a soldier’s face. The poor fellow was even worse than my friend Canby today—a ball had torn away part of his nose and both eyes. I thought I’d be sick. I somehow managed to clean his face, but then I needed air. Julian had had to amputate a number of limbs, and I tripped over them trying to leave the tent. I fell right into the pile of arms and legs. But I knew then that if I gave way, I’d probably panic and run and never come back. So I stood up, decided I didn’t need the air as much as the injured needed me—and I went back. There is still so much that is so painful, so melancholy, and yet now, when I see men shattered by their injuries, there is not much that I flinch from anymore. So many ‘niceties’ seem nothing more than silly to me.”
Cecilia nodded in understanding. “You can’t let petty things concern you—I learned that long ago. To be honest, in a way, I did not blame Dragon Six—that is what many of her nurses call her! Some women cannot take the horrors they see. And some do think that they will find romance—not wounds that exude pus and blood and stumps on which one must change bandages without causing arteries to bleed! Some young ladies thought they would find officers to marry—not enlisted men with wives and children poor and dying and needing real help!”
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