“To whom do you write?”
Jeffrey looked up, startled by the unfamiliar voice. It was a Southern officer – a tall, sturdy man of middle-age, heavily bearded. Romeo lifted his head an inch and woofed.
“As you can see,” Jeffrey said, holding up a blank sheet of paper. “I haven’t written a word.”
“I find that curious,” the man answered.
Jeffrey felt an immediate distrust of the man. It was in the eyes – perhaps they were too small.
“Yet, you plan to pen someone.”
“It crossed my mind,” Jeffrey said, watching the man.
“To whom do you write?” he asked again.
“I don’t see that’s any of your concern.”
“I’m the commander here and I reserve the right to review all correspondence.”
“What is your name?”
“I am Colonel Bonaire.”
Colonel Bonaire. The man was well known among the confederates for being, well… an ass.
Jeffrey lowered his eyes and set the paper aside. “In that case, I’ve decided not to pen anyone.”
“Very well. In the event that you change your mind, I will know. Any mail leaving the South goes through me.” Colonel Bonaire turned, his hands behind his back, and walked away.
Jeffrey rolled his eyes.
“And.” Colonel Bonaire added, turning. “Even if you don’t pay for your actions, Claire will.” He turned back and strode off toward the soldiers.
Any mail that leaves the South, eh? Colonel Bonaire had just shown his hand. Apparently, he thought Jeffrey to be a Yankee.
Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, he would have been on the right track. Only now, Jeffrey had planned to write his sister, Alexandra Couvion, to let her know he was well.
He had been putting it off since the steamboat explosion. It was time to let her know that he lived.
Only now, that would have to wait. He didn’t want Colonel Bonaire’s eyes on anything that he wrote.
The man bore watching.
Jeffrey looked to the area where Claire worked among the injured.
And found Colonel Bonaire’s gaze on him.
Unfortunately, he had attracted the attention of the man he thought bore watching.
Claire breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention back to the shoulder she was wrapping.
What could Colonel Bonaire possibly have to say to Jeffrey? She did not want them anywhere near each other. Fortunately, they had only interacted for a couple of minutes. Surely no damage had been done in that short time.
She blew her hair out of her eyes and wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Jeremiah immediately appeared to tuck the hair that had come lose behind her ear.
“Thank you,” she said, with a quick smile for the lad.
“Claire,” he began, “when this war is over, may I call on you?”
“What?” she asked, nearly dropping the white cloth. She glanced at the man she tended, but his eyes were closed, his face contorted in a haze of pain.
“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the right time, but if I don’t ask now, I may lose the opportunity.” His words came in a rush, and his face was a bit red. “And the nerve.”
“Jeremiah,” she said, “you’re but a boy.”
“When the war is over, I’ll be much older,” he said, his expression hopeful.
She sighed and tied off the bandage. What had this war done? “As will I,” she said, softly.
“So, may I?”
Claire found her eyes drawn to where Jeffrey sat on the porch. He shouldn’t be out of bed, much less outside. The wave of guilt swept over her again. She should be tending him, not these strangers.
“Claire?”
She looked back to Jeremiah. “No,” she said, glancing again at the soldier she tended. “And we mustn’t speak of this now.”
“I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry.”
He left her then and her heart broke for the young boy.
Standing up, she arched her back, her muscles stretching, relaxing. For the moment, she had nothing urgent to do—no one who needed cleansing or bandaging or any number of unsavory tasks.
It was time do something for herself.
She made it to bottom of the porch without interruption.
“It’s nice when things are quiet,” Jeffrey said.
She nodded. “It is. It doesn’t happen very often.”
“No. I can see that.”
She climbed the porch stairs and stood next to him. “I’m surprised to see you up.”
“Can’t stay in the bed forever.”
“Do you need anything?” She asked automatically.
“Take a break. Some time for yourself.”
He had read her mind. “I thought I would.”
After putting some water on to heat, she went into her bedroom and opened her trunk. She had four dresses. The pale lilac one she never wore except on very special occasions, like weddings. There was the one she had been wearing all week. It was doubtless ruined with bloodstains, but she would scrub it out and continue to wear it. She had two other dresses, one a deep solid blue and the other a deep emerald green with both large and small checks printed in lighter shades of green. She took out the green one and laid it on her bed.
Taking her wash pitcher with her to the kitchen, she filled it with hot water and went back to her bedroom. A metal bath basin hung on the back of the house and for a moment, she considered a full bath. Maybe later. The well was taxed enough as it was with all the soldiers using water.
After peeling out of her dress, she washed herself from head to toe with the warm water. Then indulged herself by rinsing out her hair.
After towel-drying her hair and combing it out, she pulled it back and tied it with a green ribbon.
She put on her green dress, feeling clean and feminine. A sensation she had all but forgotten.
Taking her filthy, blood-stained brown dress with her, she opened her door and gasped.
Jeffrey stood on the other side.
He didn’t say anything. He gazed into her eyes, neither of them moving. He took her hand, squeezing it. Then gently walked her backwards into the bedroom.
Her heart fluttered. Her knees were weak. He put an arm around her waist, pulling her to him and held her pressed against him. Her cheek against his chest.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Placing a hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face until her eyes lifted to his again.
Then ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to press a kiss against the corner of her mouth. She sighed.
Then his lips were pressed against hers. They stood that way, neither of them moving. The seconds passed.
Their souls touched.
He pulled back, her eyes stayed closed. This was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
Her heart was lost.
The slamming of the front door pulled them back to reality and he released her, stepping back. In a daze, she picked up her basin of dirty water and hurried outside to pour it out, leaving Jeffrey standing in her bedroom.
Jeffrey’s feet were glued to the floor. Claire’s lips against his had wiped all sanity from his mind. This was much worse than he had thought.
Gramps came to the doorway. “Jeffrey? What are you doing in Claire’s room?”
“Looking for Claire,” he answered.
Gramps raised a brow. “She just went outside.”
“Right,” Jeffrey said, shaking his head.
“Are you going after her?”
“What?” He looked out the window, seeing only wounded soldiers. “No.” But he left the bedroom and went back to stand on the porch.
Claire was speaking to Jeremiah, her shadow. How could she be so unaffected by their kiss?
When she glanced in his direction, he smiled. After a moment’s hesitation, she returned the smile.
His spirits lifted. Perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected as she feigned to be.
Claire Whitman stood no chance.
He w
ould marry her.
Claire was busy the rest of the day. She had no more than stepped outside than she’d been called to help a soldier have a leg amputated. She was ashamed to admit even to herself that her tears were not just for the soldier’s loss of his limb, but also for the loss of one of her good dresses. She reminded herself that she could make a new one.
The couple of times she’d looked up toward the house, Gramps and Jeffrey had been sitting there together.
As the sun began settling into the trees, sending shadows across the pond, Gramps came and coaxed her inside for supper.
“Your dress,” he said, as they walked across the yard toward the porch.
She nodded. “I know.” The tears had been shed and she had put it behind her.
“We’ll replace it,” he assured her as they went up the porch steps.
“At least now I have two I can work in.” She made a mental note to wash the brown one that she’d worn all week.
When they went inside the kitchen, Jeffrey already sat at the table, waiting for them.
He smiled and her heart lifted.
“Your dress,” he said.
She sighed. “Yes, I know.”
“We’ll replace it,” he said.
She scowled at Gramps. The two of them were starting to sound like parrots.
“I don’t think we’ll be replacing any dresses until long after this war is over and done with.”
“I can make it happen,” Jeffrey said.
Gramps turned from the stove and studied him. “How can you do that?”
“I have… people,” Jeffrey answered. “People who can do things.”
Gramps hesitated a moment, then pulled open the oven door. “Jeffrey and I made cornbread and roast.”
“Roast?” Claire asked. “Where did you get meat?”
“Colonel Bonaire went out and shot us a deer.”
Claire’s stomach twisted and any appetite she had fled.
“We couldn’t turn it down,” Gramps said, exchanging a look with Jeffrey. He shrugged.
“We didn’t invite him to eat with us,” Jeffrey said.
“Thank you two for that,” Claire murmured, glancing between her grandfather and the man she wanted to kiss again.
As they ate supper, Gramps and Jeffrey talked about everything from cigars to wine. How did Gramps even know about such things? She had some questions to ask him later. For now, though, she enjoyed the easy camaraderie of the two men in her life.
Claire ate her cornbread, but only picked at the roast. As time went by, the more she regretted her decision to cooperate with Colonel Bonaire. She should have just packed up Gramps and took off. Had the man she’d had hidden in her makeshift cellar played a part in that decision?
Nonetheless, maybe it wasn’t too late.
With sudden inspiration, she lifted her gaze and smiled at Jeffrey, then Gramps. “We should just go,” she said.
Gramps sat down his fork. “By golly, you finally came around.”
“Go where?” Jeffrey asked.
“I don’t know. Just away from this place.”
“I’m not sure he’ll let us just walk away,” Gramps said, some of his initial excitement tamped.
“Why not? He has our home.”
“I think he wants you,” Gramps said.
Claire gasped.
“What do you mean he wants Claire?” Jeffrey interjected.
“I mean just that. Have you seen the way he watches her?”
“He threatened me today. And Claire.”
“Threatened how?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
He looked at them, one and then the other. Shrugged.
“Because,” he said, “I think he’s a blow-hard.”
There was silence, then Claire and Gramps burst out laughing. Jeffrey joined in.
It was in that moment that Claire came to the realization that it wasn’t the house that was important, it was having Gramps and Jeffrey with her—and Romeo, of course. Her shoulders lightened as though a huge weight had been lifted.
“What is the meaning of this?” Colonel Bonaire’s voice.
Claire’s stomach clenched at the sound of his now familiar arrogance. The three of them went silent. Claire felt her lips twitch with the remnants of a smile and Jeffrey winked at her.
“Well?” Bonaire persisted.
“We’re merely having our repast,” Gramps told him.
Claire snickered. Gramps had never used the term repast when describing supper.
“I fail to see the humor in that,” Bonaire insisted.
Jeffrey chuckled.
“I think perhaps you should share your humor,” he said, his gaze pointed at Jeffrey.
“No,” Jeffrey said, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Such arrogance,” Bonaire said. “I hope you know it will not go unpunished.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” Gramps said. “Nonetheless, have a good night. And don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Bonaire huffed and grumbled something about boorish bumpkins, but proceeded down the hallway toward his bedroom nonetheless.
“We’ll discuss this further tomorrow,” Gramps said.
“I agree. Can’t talk about it with him in the house,” Jeffrey said.
“Then you agree,” Claire said, relief bubbling in her throat. “We should do it.”
“Absolutely,” Jeffrey said.
“And you will go, too?” she asked Gramps.
“I’ll be right there with you.”
Claire took a bite of roast. Bonaire may have killed the deer, but Gramps had cooked it and Gramps was the best cook in the parish.
After supper, they cleared the dishes, washed them together and laughed softly so as not to disturb their unwelcome guest. Claire’s mind raced with plans. There were a hundred things to do. It would take two days, doubtlessly, to get everything ready. Perhaps they should wait until Bonaire went off again, hunting or whatever he did.
“Take a walk with me,” Jeffrey said, as they headed toward their respective bedrooms. Gramps had taken to sleeping on a blanket in the parlor. Another reason Claire was angry with Bonaire.
Claire’s eyes widened.
“Bonaire is asleep and none of the other soldiers care,” Jeffrey said.
She blew out her breathe. “You’re probably right,” she agreed. “All right.”
He took her hand in his and led her outside, down the front steps. Claire had gotten into the habit of staying inside after dark after Grandpa took to bed. It seemed a bit dangerous. And now there was the added danger of being spotted by one of the many soldiers roaming about the yard.
But now, with Jeffrey holding her hand, she felt safe and proud, even, to be with him. In fact, she wanted everyone to see them. More importantly, though, she wanted to be with him—alone.
They walked in silence toward the trees on the other side of the pond. The full moon illuminated their path. There was a chill in the air, just enough to make her wish she’d brought a shawl.
When they reached the edge of the pond, and were hidden by a stand of cypress trees, he stopped, smiled at her, and put his arms around her. She went to him and sighed. This was where she wanted to be.
They stood that way, their bodies pressed tightly together as an owl flew overhead, shouting a greeting. Crickets began to chirp, and a fish jumped in the darkness of the water.
He pulled back a little and took her chin in his hand. He lowered his lips against hers and held them there. A dog… or perhaps a wolf howled in the distance. The soldiers’ laughter came from the distance and tin plates clinked against each other.
Claire held tightly to him and he to her. They couldn’t have gotten any closer to each other if they had tried.
Ever so gently, his lips began to move against hers. She responded, parting her lips. His tongue swept inside her mouth, caressing the roof of her mouth, just behind her front teeth. Her nerves caught fire and she kissed him back, losing her bal
ance against him.
He nudged her with him to the ground until she was sitting on his lap, their lips never parting. He balanced her with one hand against her bottom and the other against her cheek.
He pulled back to gaze into her eyes, a smile curving his lips. His eyes twinkled.
She shivered.
“I should get you inside,” he said, “before you freeze.”
“No,” she said, “I’m not cold.”
“Me either,” he said, pulling her head against his shoulder and rocking her.
The night grew quiet as they sat there, holding each other.
“The first thing I’m going to do for you,” he said, “is to get you a new dress. One that doesn’t have blood on it.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”
“It’s all right,” he assured her.
“No, it’s disgusting.”
He laughed. “Very well. It’s disgusting. But I still don’t mind.”
“You’re strange,” she said.
“Probably. I’ve also probably been in this war too long.”
She raised her head to study his profile, her fingers in the silky black hair at his neck.
“It’s been bad, hasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t really so bad until I started getting shot.”
“I feel terrible about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Or Gramp’s.”
“I know, but I still feel terrible.”
“You shouldn’t feel terrible. You’re the one who nursed me back to health.”
“After Grandpa…”
He put his fingers against her lips.
“Nursed me back to health twice,” he continued.
“The war needs to go away.”
“Yes, it does. Or we just need to go away from the war.”
“That would also be acceptable.”
“I can take you away from the war.”
“How can you do that?”
“I’ll take you to my home.”
“Up North?”
He kissed her cheek. “Not exactly,” he said, moving his lips to hers.
And as he began to kiss her again, all thoughts of war and safe havens left her mind.
Here in Jeffrey’s arms was the only safe haven she needed.
Hearts Under Fire Page 8