“Tia, I’m afraid that Ray is somewhat obsessed. You did nothing wrong. You are beautiful, polite, friendly, you considered his suit ... but you fell in love elsewhere.”
She leaned back against her father’s broad shoulder.
“We think so differently,” she murmured.
“You and Ray—or you and Taylor?”
She laughed. “Taylor and I don’t think the same at all, except ...”
“Except that you do. You value life, and your belief in what is right and wrong, and the honor in a family, no matter what someone else’s opinion may be.”
“Perhaps.”
“You did fall in love, right?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, I did,” she admitted. “Father ...” she asked, but her voice faded away.
Jarrett turned to her, lifting her chin. He always seemed so wise to her. He saw so much, and understood so much, even when he tried to let her think out her own life.
“Do I think he loves you?” he asked.
“He sent me away,” Tia admitted.
“He sent you where you wanted to be.”
She bit her lip. Not really. She wanted to be with him. “The fighting has been fast and furious, Tia,” her father said.
“You’ve heard from him?”
“From Ian. Taylor has been racing around, from Sherman to Sheridan to Grant. He’s been in very hostile territory, seldom sleeping in the same place twice. He knew what his orders were going to be. And if he couldn’t be with you, he apparently figured you should be with your family.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Father.”
“I know a little bit about rocky marital relations.”
“You?” she inquired incredulously.
“Your mother. She can keep a secret until a man is nearly insane!”
Tara was coming across the lawn. He drew a finger to his lips, and Tia laughed, and she was suddenly very happy to be where she was, and who she was. She was glad to be with her father; she loved him so very much. And it was wonderful, new and fresh, to see him with her mother. They had been very lucky. The world around them had never been easy, but they had weathered it together.
Being home was almost like old times. Except that, sitting with her parents, she could see the man in the lookout tower at the docks, and she knew that Jarrett’s men patrolled the ground constantly.
She didn’t stay as long as she wanted—only a few weeks—but returned eastward to find Julian and Rhiannon and keep busy with them in the company of the militia. She wanted to help out when the babies were born, and from Julian’s position along the river, she knew she’d hear when the time drew near. She did; Alaina sent them a message via a tobacco and coffee trade between the soldiers.
As it turned out, both babies came early. Katie Kyle McKenzie was born on the nineteenth of September. She had a headful of platinum curls, her mother’s legacy, and huge blue eyes. Tia thought she was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. But then, Allen Angus McKenzie was born on the twenty-first of September, and he was as handsome as Katie was beautiful, with a touch of red in the thick thatch of dark hair on his head, and eyes already hinting of his mother’s green. Tia was glad to be with her sisters-in-law and cousin-in-law and the whole little brood of McKenzies. She was able to fawn over the infants—and be helpful with the toddlers, who were proving to be quite wild under the circumstances.
Sean had taken it to heart that he was the eldest of this brood, a leader who was supposed to be responsible. Still, he had his moments when he wanted his mother’s full attention. Ian was due; he had written that he’d received leave to come, but the war was becoming more and more demanding as the Union determined to end it—and the Confederacy fought on to the bitter end. Atlanta had finally fallen at the end of August. Although Tia still hadn’t heard a word from Taylor herself, she. learned from Risa that he had spent several weeks riding for General Sherman, maintaining tight communications between himself and other commanders in the field, and keeping a sharp eye on Rebel movements.
It wasn’t long after she’d left Virginia that Tia began wondering if she herself was going to have a baby. The possibility was just as frightening as she’d feared it would be. She didn’t want to lose a child—if she was definitely carrying one. She definitely didn’t want to lose Taylor’s child. She wanted a baby, as perfect as Alaina’s little Katie, as sturdy and charming as Risa’s young master Allen Angus McKenzie.
Tia spent most of October in St. Augustine, enjoying the newborns and her toddling little nephews and nieces. At the end of the month, she gave up waiting to hear from Taylor and returned inland with Rhiannon. Alaina told her that Taylor might have written several times—getting letters through was growing harder and harder. That might have been true, but Alaina continued to hear from Ian.
There seemed to be a general feeling of despair that hung like a swamp miasma over the troops. Julian’s hospital camp held three soldiers with gunshot wounds from skirmishing just south of Jacksonville, two sailors with cutlass wounds from a sea battle, and another three soldiers who had been hit with shrapnel during a Yankee bombardment of a salt mine. Although all were doing well, it seemed that they were listless, and waiting. There was hope in the South that Lincoln would be defeated by McClellan in the presidential election, but soon after the election on November 7, the news came that Lincoln had been reelected. The North would not be offering terms of reconciliation and allowing the South to go. President Davis kept making optimistic speeches, some of which filtered south. He believed that Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia was invincible, but Tia could see that the fighting men thought otherwise.
In the middle of November, Julian was summoned northward to take care of several members of Dixie’s band of militia. Nearly ten men had come down with the chicken pox. With most of the men doing well and Liam there, almost as familiar now with the treating of wounds as a trained surgeon, Tia thought that she would accompany Julian and Rhiannon, but as it happened, her sister-in-law wasn’t going, and she also told Tia in no uncertain way that she wasn’t going either.
“Tia, we’re not going because it is chicken pox. And although I don’t believe that I’m expecting another babe yet, I wouldn’t want to discover later that I was wrong and that I’d exposed myself to an illness that would affect it. But if I’m not mistaken ...” Rhiannon smiled knowingly at her sister-in-law.
“Can you tell?” Tia asked.
“Only because I know you.”
Tia was quiet.
“Well?”
“I guess we’ll stay here together. With Liam, of course.”
Rhiannon was pleased. “Julian will understand; he’ll manage alone.”
Several days after Julian had left, two men who’d caught Yankee fire from the coast were brought in. It was very late at night when they arrived. Rhiannon was sleeping, and Tia decided not to wake her.
She recognized one of the men; he’d been her escort seemingly ages ago when Dixie’s men had accompanied her to Cimarron for Christmas. His name was David Huntington and he was a very thin, charming young man who had just managed to grow his first mustache. He had been a brand new recruit with Dixie when she’d first met him; now he had nearly a year of service under his belt. She smiled at him reassuringly. “Bullet in his calf; shrapnel in his thigh. No bones and no blood vessels involved,” she told Liam.
“Can you cut them out? Your brother is a day’s ride from here. I can go for him,” Liam told her.
“I can manage. Don’t worry, I would never chance it if I couldn’t. Soldier, I have some really fine whiskey for you to imbibe while I cut away! First—a little for the flesh—and then a little for the soul!”
The bullet came out easily; the shrapnel was harder. She winced each time she had to dig, and wondered if she shouldn’t have waited for Julian. But then, she fished out the last piece, put in the stitches that were necessary, and bid her tipsy patient good night. Early the next morning, as she looked over her handiwork, she felt his large, anguished g
ray eyes upon her.
“Miss Tia ...”
“Yes?”
“Lord love me, ma’am, I ain’t no traitor.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“But ...”
“But what?”
He moistened his lips. Beckoned her closer. “I heard that you’ve done more than just patch up us boys, Miss Tia. I know your brother has saved hundreds of men. And I’ve even heard that your father has done nothing more than let officers from both sides meet on his lands.”
“That’s true,” she said, smiling at the soldier to encourage him to continue.
He started talking in a rush then. “Colonel Weir is going to attack Cimarron. He met up with our camp just a few days ago. I don’t think that Captain Dixie believed him, I mean, you know what a fine man Dixie is, ma’am.”
“I do,” she said gravely. “So how do you know—”
“Weir’s got some other militia officer all fired up ... he—he thinks that your father is a traitor, and that he has to be executed for what he’s done to Florida.”
“What?” Tia gasped incredulously. “Executed! He can’t execute my father; he’s done nothing wrong—”
“Sh ... sh ... don’t want no one calling me a traitor, saying I called the whistle on the colonel. Weir thinks he can prove charges that your father is a traitor, and if he thinks he can do it, he’ll find a way. He hasn’t got any real permission from the Reb army; he’s just taking it all into his own hands.”
Weir is going to attack Cimarron? How dare he? Where does he get the nerve, the authority?
Then Tia knew. And she shouldn’t have been surprised. Weir hated her father. Hated his confidence. Hated the fact that Jarrett was so deeply dedicated to his beliefs. Her father’s courage was so strong and unfaltering. He had stood tall against the sea of difference all around him, never agreeing to what he thought was wrong just because others thought it was right.
“You’re sure about this?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, ma’am, I am.” He moistened his lips again. “He’s gathering his troops at the old Ellington place. The Ellingtons have all been gone for some time now, you know.”
“Yes, I know. They were friends; the house is close to Cimarron.”
“Yes, ma’am. Very close. A good place to meet. He’s going to attack ... let’s see ... four days from now. At dusk. The timing is really important, ’cause he’s going to coordinate an attack. Some other fellows will come down from the north while he moves up from the south in a pincer movement. Then he’ll seize the property. And ...”
“And what?”
“He intends to hang your father right there. Make him an example, he says, of what happens to Florida traitors.”
“He’s planning on hanging my father?” she said, outraged. “And my mother?” she asked sharply.
He didn’t answer at first. His eyes were shamed, downcast. “She’s ... fair game for the soldiers. I’m not sure what will happen ... when they’re done ...”
She stood back, horrified. She had to stop Weir. How? Get to him, buy time. Then what? She had to leave word right away; Liam had to get to Julian. Someone else had to get to St. Augustine right away, find Ian. Was Ian even there? Had he reached the city yet? If not, surely he had friends there, friends enough to raise a force against Weir’s men. Friends who could get to Cimarron fast and stop what was happening.
“I have four days?” she whispered. Just enough time to get across the state.
“Well, three and a half, I reckon.”
“How many men does Weir have?”
“Five companies, if I heard right. But there’s maybe only ten to twenty men left alive in each of those companies. Miss Tia, Dixie would never have just let it go if he believed what Weir was planning. Still ... he is Florida militia. And they’re getting bitter, and hanging spies lots of places.”
“Thank you, Private. Thank you so much.” Impulsively, Tia kissed his cheek, then left him. She started to run to Rhiannon, but hesitated. No, she couldn’t tell Rhiannon that she was going to Cimarron herself, that she had to. She would write Rhiannon a note. And she would write to Julian, and to Ian—oh, please, God, make it be that he had gotten to St. Augustine by now! Cimarron was his inheritance, his birthright. He would come, he would fight for it to his dying breath. Save ...
Save their father. And their mother. Oh, Lord! She had to get to Cimarron; she couldn’t risk anyone trying to stop her. She was going to have to race across the state ...
She had Blaze with her. She knew the way, knew what she was doing. She could make it. She had to reach Weir. Stall him. What then? She didn’t know. She just knew that she had to stop him somehow. And if she couldn’t stop him, she had to buy time.
She hurried to her tent, wrote her letters. When she came out, she was ready. She went for Blaze, saddled her, bridled her, and started to mount her. Liam came hurriedly limping over to her on his prosthetic leg.
“Miss Tia—”
“Get these letters out for me, Liam.”
“Now wait! What do you think that you’re doing?”
“Make sure Rhiannon sees this right away. And get to Julian for me. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Oh, God, Miss Tia, please tell me you’re not going to run and do something dangerous or decadent—”
She was already on Blaze. “Liam! For the love of God! Do as I say.”
She turned her horse and started riding hard from the camp.
No man in the whole of Grant’s army had moved harder, or faster, Taylor thought, taking the time at last to dismount from Friar, empty his canteen—and look out across the devastated landscape. Damn yes, he was moving hard—and fast. Running. As if it could keep him from thinking, worrying ...
He should have made her stay. Strange, but he couldn’t get over the longing. The passion they’d had. They’d almost been friends again. And he had let her go. Like a fool. Why?
Because, fool, idiot! he charged himself. Because you’re in love with her, and it was happening from the first time you saw her. But you’re a coward. You don’t want to face pain again ...
Well, that was it, of course. He had known how she’d felt about watching the children die, had understood her fear. And scoffed at it, and told her that she was just going to have to live, and accept the tragedy as well as the happiness in life. But when she’d been so sick, tossing and turning, whispering that she just wanted to go home ...
He hadn’t been able to deny her wish. He’d decided that he’d fight harder and harder—as if he, one man, could make the war be over any more quickly.
So ...
So now he was doing his damned best to follow the wily Confederate General Hood, who, in Sherman’s own words, could twist an army around at will.
The problem was, pretty soon Hood wouldn’t have much of anyplace left to twist it.
Sherman was destroying everything as he marched. It was said that a crow would have to pack a lunch to fly over Georgia. It was sickening, of course, what war had done there. God had seldom created such devastation with hurricanes, blizzards, tornadoes, floods, or other natural disasters. When Sherman’s troops stripped the land, they stripped it good.
Taylor had just reported to the general and, to his surprise, received a personal letter from the general’s headquarters. Chewing on a piece of hardtack, he hunkered down by Friar and perused the letter. It was from Jarrett McKenzie, a friendly missive, like one that any man might receive from his father-in-law. Jarrett congratulated him on his marriage and said that he had seen Tia. She had come straight there from Virginia. She must not have told her parents she had been ill, because Jarrett made no mention of the fact. He did, however, mention that Raymond Weir had been to Cimarron, anxiously asking about Tia. They’d argued. Weir had gone on, but Jarrett expected there would be trouble in the future.
Taylor folded the letter and slid it back into his pocket. Though there was nothing in the letter about Weir meaning anything to Tia, Weir was t
rouble—a fanatic dedicated to his goal.
He shouldn’t have sent Tia home.
Then what should he have done? He could still remember the gripping fear he’d felt when he awakened and discovered she was burning up. She was a fighter, had been a fighter from the start, and Dr. Flowers had never thought once that he was going to lose her. But two men had died from the same fever at the hospital, and that had scared him worse than he’d ever been scared since ...
Since the blood on his hands when he’d reached for Abby.
Tia had pulled through, but watching her, day after day, the beauty of her pale features, the silky sweeping length of her “Godiva” hair, he realized just how much he wanted and needed and loved his wife. He could remember telling her that only a fool would love her. He was that fool. And although he admired her passion and conviction and her fighting spirit, he was afraid for her. Afraid that he wouldn’t be there to protect her against fanatics like Weir.
“Colonel Douglas!”
Hearing himself called, he stood and turned, frowning. He didn’t know the young infantry lieutenant striding toward his position on the little hill.
“Yes, I’m Douglas.”
“Hello, sir. Lieutenant Nathan Riley.”
“Lieutenant,” he acknowledged. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir, I’m hoping I can do something for you.”
“Oh?”
“My unit was a bit south of here the other day, down closer to the border. We took some wounded militia boys from North Florida prison. I was hoping to find a way to reach Colonel McKenzie, but then I heard you were kin to him, sir, that his sister is your wife.”
“What’s this about?”
“The McKenzie property is down by Tampa Bay. Jarrett McKenzie is a Union sympathizer, so I understand.”
“Yes, he is.”
“One of the Florida boys died just a few hours ago. I took this off him.”
Lieutenant Riley passed him a creased sheet of paper. He looked at Riley curiously, then unfolded the paper and studied it. It was a map, he realized, crudely drawn. He saw Tampa Bay, the river, Cimarron. A plantation just south of Cimarron, and another one just north of it. There was a notation of “Major Hawkins” with an arrow coming from the north, and another notation, “Colonel Weir,” with an arrow sweeping up from the south. The arrows met at Cimarron. There, a hangman’s noose had been crudely drawn, and next to it, a date in November, just four days away. “Coordinated assault, must be timed to coincide from both fronts,” was written in the corner.
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