Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Well, I’ll never forget it! I lay here in this bed with you, going through hell, I wanted you so badly. There you were, all soft and sweet, with nothing between us but your gown and my nightshirt. How I ever survived, I’ll never know!”

  Lilah giggled at the thought. “So you’ve come back to have your revenge.”

  “The sweetest revenge ever,” he answered, capturing a taut nipple between his lips.

  Lilah gasped and caught her fingers in his hair to hold him to the sensitive spot. Her whole body tensed, then melted at his touch.

  Over an hour later, as the soft, spring evening closed its eyes in the iridescent twilight, Lilah and Brandon lay beside each other, holding hands. Lilah felt like a bride, but not the unhappy woman she’d been on her wedding night. Now she was whole, complete, one with this man. She’d never leave him again, she swore silently.

  “Lilah,” Brandon said in a hoarse whisper. “I have to go away from you for a time.”

  No, she thought, reusing to comprehend, I didn’t hear him correctly!

  “It’s the war, darling. I’m joining up.” He paused, but she didn’t answer. “Before I leave Savannah, I’ll try to get a lawyer to take care of that unfortunate business with the Cuban woman.”

  Lilah’s crystal bubble of happiness shattered into a million teardrops in an instant. She sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to hide her nakedness.

  “You mean, Brandon Patrick, that you haven’t done that yetT she shrilled.

  “Well, no,” he fumbled. “There’s been so much else to take care of since then, with the war and all.”

  “Get out!” she screamed. “Out of my house! Out of my life!”

  “But our baby?”

  “Not our baby!” she replied through gritted teeth. “My baby! You had no right to come to me—to use me this way! I thought—I was sure that…” Her voice broke off in sobs—wracking, painful upheavals of emotion.

  “But, Lilah, darling!”

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

  He left dejectedly. Lilah, exhausted beyond endurance, tried to give up her grief to sleep. But for the first time in months, her thoughts turned to Steele Denegal.

  Chapter 21

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  May 4, 1861

  “Dammit, Captain Brannan, I thought you said you’d closed down this scandal sheet!”

  Brevet Major William H. French, head of the United States Army’s relief force to Key West, crumpled the contraband copy of the Key of the Gulf in his beefy hands and threw it across his office.

  Steele Denegal strode over and picked it up, perusing William Ward’s editorial page, which had set fire to French’s temper.

  “These island Confederates are a staunch lot,” Steele commented, nodding his head. “I’m not making excuses, major, but Captain Brannan and I thought we had routed the worst offenders.”

  “Well, I’ve had all I’m going to take! It’s bad enough to be stuck away down here, completely cut off from the real war. I’m sick of swatting away at these Key West reb-gnats day and night!” He pointed at Steele, trembling with rage and frustration as he added, “And some of your closest associates, Captain Denegal, are the worst troublemakers—the Tifts, Crusoe, and that woman—Caroline Mallory!”

  “Miss Mallory’s no real threat, major, only hot-tempered, impetuous,” James Brannan offered.

  Major French turned a scowl of warning on his inferior. “We’ll see if she’s so full of Confederate vinegar when I put my latest plan into action!”

  “And what is that plan, sir?” Steele asked, somewhat concerned, as a few of the island’s rebellious populace had been confined at Fort Jefferson.

  French’s lips curled in a slow, malicious smile. “I’ll be happy to explain, captain. I’ve already written to the adjutant-general at headquarters. My plan is to suspend the act of habeas corpus in order to arrest any parties suspected of uttering treasonable sentiments!”

  Steele and James Brannan exchanged troubled looks on hearing this drastic measure. Key West was a hot-bed of Confederate sympathizers under Federal control. Ninety percent of the population could be arrested under such circumstances.

  “You can’t do that,” Steele argued. “The entire population is under island arrest now. Isn’t that enough? It’s staggering to think of the men involved. Surely you don’t mean to extend this order to women and children as well!”

  “Any parties, captain! Are you hard of hearing?” French chuckled. “I assure you. Miss Mallory, though one of the first on my list to be arrested, will not be manhandled, if that’s any consolation to you.”

  Steele felt his anger rising. Caroline Mallory had given him a worse time than any other Union officer in all of Key West, but to see her jailed for her beliefs…

  He turned and stamped out of the office, his fists clenched, his plan of action clear in his mind.

  Steele had not been welcome in Caroline Mallory’s home since his return. But this time he would see her for more than the secessionist’s jeer she gave at his blue uniform as they passed in the street. He’d crash the door down if he had to!

  He hurried down Division Street, a throughway cut hastily from the barracks to Fort Taylor by Brannan’s First Artillery one night in January while the citizens slept. He glanced at a rough, handmade sign, reading, “Rocky Road,” the rebels’ derisive name for the military street.

  A red-haired woman brushed past Steele, causing his thoughts to turn to Maggie and his first night back in Key West.

  He’d returned angry—furious with the whole world—be-cause of the war, because of the guilt his father had left him as a legacy, and most of all because Lilah Fitzpatrick was no longer his. He still ached just thinking of her.

  He’d sought Maggie out at Gallagher’s the moment he arrived, ready to give her his all. He also gave the barkeep enough money to allow him to drink Key West dry of everything but its precious rainwater.

  Maggie eyed him closely when they were alone in her room, then said, “Well, general, I said we’d meet in hell, but I didn’t think it would be this soon. You look like you’ve been there and back already. What’s eatin’ you, anyway?”

  Steele lay where he’d flopped on Maggie’s bed, his black curls resting on a pink satin pillow stitched with the sentiment HOME SWEET HOME. He laid aside the rum bottle he’d been nursing long enough to order, “Come to your Uncle Steele, Maggie-girl!”

  Maggie quickly stripped off her heliotrope silk gown and petticoats and stretched out beside him, looking into his trouble-clouded eyes. “Gore, they’re like thunderheads out over the Gulf!” she exclaimed.

  He ignored her remark, and asked, “Did you miss me, Maggie?” stabbing her cheek with the beard he’d decided to grow

  She pushed his prickly face away. “Who’d miss youT she teased. “Always saying, ‘Maggie, do this,’ and ‘Maggie, don’t do that! It ain’t ladylike!’ Without you always around harpin’ at me, I been havin’ myself one helluva time, and making a pretty penny at it, too! Did I miss you, Steele Denegal?” She laughed. “Hell, no!”

  She took his bottle then and planted her moist, painted lips firmly over his. When she came up for air at last, Steele hugged her and smiled. “You did miss me, Maggie. That’s sweet!”

  “Sweet ain’t got nothin’ to do with it!” she answered curtly. “You paid and I’m here with the merchandise. You wanna get started so I can handle the rest of the trade waitin’ downstairs?”

  Steele sat up, looking at Maggie through rum-fuzzed eyes. “That’s mean for you to talk to me that way, Maggie. Can’t you see I’m hurting right down to the core? My Lilah married someone else, and now you treat me like I’m just another sailor off the docks. At your prices, don’t I get a little compassion?”

  His words stung Maggie. She’d wanted him, oh, so badly. But she wasn’t the kind of woman he needed. She never could be. But there was someone….

  “I’ll give you compassion, S
teele Denegal, but it’ll cost you more,” she replied coolly.

  He roared off the bed and slammed his fist against the door jamb. “Goddammit, woman! Are you made of steel?”

  “No,” she answered quietly. “And I’m not made for Steele either. I can take that ache out of your gut for the night, but I sure ain’t gonna help what’s eatin’ at your heart. You need yourself a fine lady for that.”

  “Don’t want one!” he answered, opening another bottle and taking a long pull on it.

  “Ain’t you even gonna ask who I have in mind, Steele?”

  “Who?” he responded in a disinterested tone.

  “Caroline Mallory.”

  He turned wide eyes of amazement on her. His lips parted. “Caroline Mallory? The same one who thinks, because you told her so, that we’re lovers? The one who thinks I’m some sort of pervert? The fine lady who had not a few unladylike words for me on Duval Street today when she saw me in this uniform? Oh, yes! She’s exactly what I need!” Steele chuckled. Then the chuckle became a throaty laugh, and finally a raucous howl.

  Maggie put her arms around him, gently hushing his anguish. “Steele, listen to me. For once in your life, don’t be such a goddamn fool! Caroline’s crazy about you!”

  “Oh, of course she is, Maggie!” he said sarcastically. “That’s why she called me that name today that I won’t even repeat to you.”

  “It’s the uniform, Steele,” Maggie reasoned. “She loves you, but hates that damn Yankee get-up. And I’ve seen how you look at her from time to time. You can’t homswoggle me, Steele Denegal! I’d give my right arm to have you drool over me that way.”

  Steele cuddled Maggie in his arms and whispered her name several times. “You are an incurable romantic, love. Give us a kiss.”

  Everything in her wanted him. But she cared too much to give in. “No!” she replied firmly, pushing him away. “You’re drunk! And, besides, word’ll get around that you’ve been with me, and then Caroline’ll have good call not to see you. You move your arse now, Captain Denegal! Out with you! I mean it! You go to her!”

  After Steele left, Maggie spent the next hour sobbing into her pillow.

  In front of the Mallory house Steele looked up and cursed under his breath. An outlawed Confederate flag fluttered gaily from the cupola. He stormed the house like a rogue elephant, pounding on the door and trumpeting Caroline’s name.

  A grim-faced Roberts opened for him.

  “Where’s Miss Mallory? I have to see her at once!” Steele demanded.

  Roberts eyed the blue uniform with a disparaging gaze. “The lady ain’t to home.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Steele pushed the old butler aside more roughly than he’d intended.

  “Caroline!” Steele called out, searching the first floor. He raced upstairs, taking the second story by storm, throwing bedroom doors wide. No one! He stood for a moment, trying to think what to do next.

  “At least I can confiscate that damned flag before someone reports it to French.” He mounted the attic stairs, which led to the highest point of the house.

  The view from the roof was magnificent—a sweeping panorama of flowering trees and sparkling waters beyond. Then a noise reached him from some distance. He turned toward the sound to see a surge of people surrounding the courthouse. Blue uniforms were much in evidence. He was hauling down Caroline’s flag when the first shots rang out.

  “What in God’s name?”

  Peter Crusoe, his stocky frame lodged protectively in the front door of the courthouse, held a musket at the ready, standing off the gathering wave of Federal troops.

  “Hurry up, Caroline!” Crusoe called over his shoulder. “Run that flag up! I can handle these blue-bellies!” He fired two warning shots over the crowd.

  Several rebel yells greeted his volley. The men in blue forced the people back, then surrounded the courthouse.

  Caroline, dressed in men’s clothing, scampered up the stairs, her heart pounding a patriotic tattoo.

  “This is for you, Stephen, for all of us, and for our Cause!” she cried out as she hoisted the Stars and Bars.

  Pandemonium broke out when the natives of Key West caught sight of the red, white, and blue symbol of the Confederacy waving gaily in the salt breeze. Cheer after cheer rose from the crowd.

  Steele, out of breath from his run, arrived at that moment. He found James Brannan in the mob, and demanded, “What the hell’s going on, Jim?”

  “It’s Peter Crusoe.”

  “I can see that! But who’s with him? Who raised that damned flag?”

  Brannan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll give you three guesses—all of them female!”

  “Caroline!” Steele answered, his rage and frustration mounting.

  “Crusoe, along with Sergeant Flynn and another person—most likely, Miss Mallory in men’s clothing—broke into the magazine earlier and did some mischief. According to Major French, they ruined about two hundred 42-pounder cartridges. Flynn’s been taken into custody. The rest you can see for yourself,” Brannan explained.

  “What’s French planning to do with them?” Steele asked, watching Peter Crusoe fire again, aiming to miss.

  “Lock them all up for now. He talked about hanging at first, but I think he’s changed his mind—afraid of the furor that would arouse. He says he plans to send them all north on the Salvor when she sails next week. They’ll stand trial for treason.”

  “Oh, my God!” Steele swore.

  All day the miniature battle raged. The Key West courthouse stood symbolically as the only bastion of the Confederacy in all the islands, with Peter Crusoe, his Mediterranean eyes flashing and his musket roaring, as the keeper of the Cause.

  From time to time, Steele caught glimpses of Crusoe’s accomplice—Caroline Mallory, there could be no doubt.

  Since Crusoe guarded the one entrance to the building, the troops could only stand by and wait for his ammunition to run out. Around dusk it did.

  Steele stood at attention when Caroline Mallory was escorted into Major French’s office for interrogation. They didn’t look at each other directly, but he knew she was aware of his presence. He had to control a smile at the sight of the elegant Miss Mallory clad in a sponge fisherman’s rough trousers and ragged shirt, a knit cap hiding all but a few ringlets of her auburn hair.

  She started to sit down, but Major French barked, “The prisoner will stand during questioning!” Caroline narrowed her eyes, but other than that, Steele could detect no reaction to the brusque major.

  “Now, Miss Mallory,” French proceeded in an oily voice, “have you any idea what we do with malcontents and destroyers of government property such as yourself?”

  “I believe invading hordes—the Huns, the Union army—generally favor rape, torture, and murder! I’m prepared to die for our Cause, major! Which method have you chosen for me?” she asked with sweet venom in her tone.

  “Miss Mallory! Must you continue to heap charges upon charges this way? I’d like to be lenient with you, since you are a woman.” French eyed her lush figure through the ragged clothes.

  “Consider me neither male nor female, major. I’m a patriotic Confederate. Enough said! What I did today, I will do again tomorrow and for as long as you and your miserable army try to suppress our freedom and occupy our land! I hope you all bum in hell!” She spat her words at the major in a most unladylike fashion.

  “That will be quite enough!” he bellowed, losing all control. “I’ve warned you. Lady or no, you’ll be tried for treason! Take her away!” he ordered.

  “Major French, may I have a word with you, sir?” Steele asked.

  “Be quick about it, Captain Denegal!”

  “In private, sir?”

  “Oh, very well. But only a minute. I still have to deal with Crusoe.” To his sergeant, he ordered, “Take the prisoner out.”

  When they were alone, Steele rushed ahead with what he’d planned to say, afraid if
he didn’t drive his point home, the major would go ahead with his plans.

  “Miss Mallory and I are engaged to be married, sir,” he fabricated. “I realize she’s been a problem, but I beg you not to send her away to prison. Release her to my custody. Our marriage will take place soon. I’ll see to it that she gives you no more trouble.”

  French stared at Steele as if he were insane. “You intend to marry that foul-mouthed, rebel tro—” He cut off “trollop” in mid-word, changing it to “troublemaker.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “And you think you can control her?” French eyed Steele with some amusement.

  “You have my word on it, sir!”

  There followed a long pause. French walked around his desk and back again, fingering a copy of the oath of allegiance. “Very well, Captain Denegal, but there’s a stipulation.”

  “Sir?”

  “The marriage will take place immediately, in this office. I’ll call for the army chaplain. Agreed?”

  Steele swallowed hard, wondering what Caroline’s reaction would be, before he answered, “I agree, sir.”

  “Bring the prisoner back in,” French called.

  Steele didn’t give Caroline a chance to speak or act when she returned. He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her soundly. She struggled against him, but he held her in an iron grip, trying to make it look like a lovers’ embrace. “Hold still dammit!” he whispered. “We’re about to be married to save your lovely hide.”

  Fire danced in her eyes. She gave a half cry, which Steele smothered with his lips. The other men in the room murmured their approval of his actions. Steele forced Caroline’s lips apart with his tongue, and clutched her body to his to subdue her struggles.

  “Enough, you two,” French interrupted. “There’ll be time for that after the ceremony.”

  Steele released Caroline reluctantly, not sure what she would say or do. His eyes pleaded silently with her. She answered back with glittering hatred, but kept her peace.

  The brief ceremony went without incident, although Caroline’s answers were barely audible. Steele kept his arm about her waist the whole time, afraid she might bolt for the door at any moment.