Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Do your parents know where you are?” The man watched the youngster thoughtfully.

  “They’d turn over in their graves if’n they did.”

  “I see,” the officer said with more understanding. He glanced about until his gaze fell upon a small eating establishment located near the wharf, then he looked back to the boy. “I was about to have a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?”

  The boy raised cold, bright eyes to the tall captain. “Don’t need no handout.”

  The Yankee shrugged. “Consider it a loan if you must. You may reimburse me when your fortunes improve.”

  “My ma learnt me never to jaw with no strangers ner Yankees.”

  The officer responded with a low chuckle of amusement. “Unable to deny the latter title, I can at least present myself. Captain Cole Latimer, assigned as surgeon to the hospital.”

  Now the clear gray eyes betrayed a wide measure of distrust as they swept the officer. “I ain’ never seen no sawbones younger’n fifty, mister. Betcha you’re filling me full o’ rot.”

  “I assure you, I am a doctor, and as to my age, I’m probably old enough to be your father.”

  “Well, you sure ain’t my pa!” croaked the youth irately. “Not any damned Yankee butcher!”

  A long, lean finger was thrust into the boy’s face, almost meeting the tip of the slim, arrogant nose. “Now look, boy. There are some folks here who would not take kindly to your choice of titles. You can bet they’d use stern measures to take some of the starch out of you. I’ve fished you out of one scrape, but I have no intention of playing nursemaid to any quick-tempered little whelp. So have a care for your manners.”

  The grimy cheeks flexed with irritation. “I can take care o’ myself.”

  Captain Latimer scoffed in disbelief. “By the looks of you, somebody needs to take you in hand. When did you last wash, anyway?”

  “You’re the nosiest bluebelly I’ve ever seent!”

  “Ornery little runagate,” Cole Latimer muttered and gestured officiously. “Grab your bag and come with me.” He left the waif staring after him in dumb surprise and strode purposefully toward the eating establishment he had espied earlier. He had gone only a few paces when he sharpened his voice and, without glancing around, barked, “Hop to, boy! Don’t stand there gawking.”

  The urchin scrambled in the officer’s wake, crushing the hat tighter on his head and struggling with his heavy case. Before the entryway of the wood frame structure, Cole Latimer paused. The youngster was a quick step behind, almost treading on the heels of the shiny black boots, but halted abruptly when inquiring blue eyes turned upon him.

  “Do you have a name?”

  The lad squirmed uneasily and glanced around him.

  “You do have a name, don’t you?” Cole Latimer inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

  A brief, reluctant nod gave him an affirmative answer. “Uh—Al! Al, sir.” The nod became more vigorous.

  Throwing away his cigar, the captain arched a brow as he peered at the lad. “Is something wrong with your tongue?”

  “N-no, sir,” Al stammered.

  Skeptically eyeing the battered hat, Cole reached to push open the door. “Remember your manners, Al, and find a place for that thing besides the top of your head.”

  The boy made a sorry attempt at a smile, glared at the Yankee’s back, and glumly followed him in. The stout matron of the place paused in her work to watch the two cross the room where they settled themselves at a small table that stood before a window. Her face betrayed no emotion as she contemplated the Yankee’s crisp, neat uniform and the lad’s ill-fitting garments, but when she returned to the task of chopping vegetables, a slight frown flitted across her brow.

  Reluctantly copying Captain Latimer’s manner, Al pulled his hat off and slid into the chair indicated. In wry disbelief Cole surveyed the unevenly cropped thatch of mahogany brown hair, and his expression grew obviously pained.

  “Who cut your hair like that, boy?” he asked. He missed the bottom lip which trembled at his question and caught only the croaked answer.

  “Me.”

  Cole laughed. “Your talents must lie in other directions.”

  Silence answered him as the thin face turned to the window, and gray eyes brimmed with threatening tears. Not noting the lad’s distress, Cole beckoned the woman to their table where she stood with arms akimbo.

  “Y’all get shrimp today,” she drawled roughly. “Bisque or creole. We got beer or coffee, tea or cow’s milk. What’s your choice, suh?” she asked, stressing the last word.

  Cole ignored the satirical inflection in her voice, having grown accustomed to the disdain Southerners bore him or any soldier in blue. He had arrived in New Orleans when General Butler governed the city, and the public animosity had been worse then. The General had tried to run the town like a military garrison, issuing orders and mandates that were supposed to solve any situation. Unable to understand or cope with the stubborn pride of the citizenry, he had failed miserably. Indeed, the city had been near a state of revolt when the general was recalled. Yet the man had been equally severe with his own troops, had even hung a few who had been caught stealing from civilians. New Orleans was not an easy city to manage and certainly not by the weak-willed. Because Butler had been harsh in his measures, he had been doubly unpopular, but the Southerners would have hated any Yankee placed in the general’s position.

  “I’ll have the bisque and cool beer,” Cole decided. “And for the lad, anything he wishes with the exception of the beer.”

  When the woman left them, the captain again studied his young companion. “New Orleans seems an unlikely destination for a boy who hates Yankees as much as you do. Have you kin here, or someone else to stay with?”

  “Gotta uncle.”

  “That’s a relief. I was afraid I would have to let you share my quarters.”

  Al choked and had to cough to clear his throat. “Ain’t gonna bed down with no Yankee, that’s fer sure.”

  Sighing impatiently, the captain came back to the subject of work. “I would assume you have need of some sort of income, but most of the civilians are in a hard way themselves. The Union Army is about the only source capable of hiring you, and the hospital seems a good choice for one such as you. Unless, of course, you desire to join the sanitation crews and sweep the streets.”

  Al controlled his glare only slightly.

  “Can you write and cypher?”

  “A little.”

  “What does that mean? Can you pen your name, or can you do more?”

  The boy stared at the officer with bristling anger, and his voice was flat as he retorted, “More, if’n I gotta.”

  “We did have some blacks to clean at the hospital, but they enlisted in the army,” Cole commented. “We don’t have much of an Invalid Corps since the wounded that are capable of getting about are either returned to their units or sent back east to recover.”

  “I ain’t gonna help heal no Yankee!” the boy hotly protested. A hint of tears brightened the translucent eyes as he spoke. “Y’all killed my pa and brother and drove my ma to her grave with yer infernal thievin’.”

  Cole felt a pang of pity for the ragged lad. “I’m sorry, Al. My task is the saving of lives and the mending of men, whatever uniform they may wear.”

  “Huh. I ain’t seen a Yankee yet who wouldn’t rather ride across our lands, burning and lootin’—”

  “Just where are you from to have gained such a high opinion of us?” the captain interrupted brusquely.

  “Upriver.”

  “Upriver?” Sarcasm was bold in the captain’s tone. “Not Chancellorsville or Gettysburg? You’ve heard of those places, haven’t you?” Despite the tightening lean jaw and the lowered gaze of the other, he didn’t ease his mockery. “Why, from your answer, I could assume you were a damn bluebelly just like me and had seen some of those Johnny Rebs swarming over our lands. Just how far upriver do you mean, boy? Baton Rouge? Vicksburg? Perhaps Minnesota?”<
br />
  Stormy gray eyes flew to meet his and snapped with irate sparks. “Only a braying ass would come from Minnesotee!”

  A warning finger made a reappearance beneath the lad’s slim nose. “Didn’t I tell you to mind your manners?”

  “My manners is jes’ fine, Yankee.” Boldly he slapped the hand away. “It’s your’ns what got me riled. Ain’t yer ma ever tole you it weren’t nice to point?”

  “Be careful,” the officer cautioned almost gently. “Or I’ll take down your britches and blister your backside good.”

  With a gasp Al came half out of his chair, then crouched like a wild animal at bay. Indeed, a feral light gleamed in the lucid depths of his eyes. He jerked up his hat again and jammed it over his shabby hair. “You lay a finger on me, Yankee”—he ground the words out in a low, husky voice—“and you’ll draw back a nubbin. I ain’t taking no guff off’n no damned blueleg—”

  In the face of this dire threat Cole Latimer rose and leaned forward deliberately until blue eyes stared into gray from a little more than a hand’s breadth apart. The captain’s eyes grew hard and flintlike. Yet when it came, his voice was soft and slow. “You dare me, boy?” Before the urchin could move, the hat was snatched from the ragged head and slapped onto the table. The gray eyes grew wide in sudden distress. Cole continued, his tone unchanged. “Sit down. Shut up. Or I’ll do it here and now.”

  The lad swallowed and could find no trace of anger to bolster his flagging courage. Quickly he sat down and, with considerably more respect, cautiously watched the Yankee.

  Cole lowered himself into his chair and, studying the humbled one, spoke carefully and distinctly. “I have never been an abuser of children, nor of women—” The lad’s gaze never left the captain’s face, and he sat rigidly erect. “But if you tempt me enough, I might change my ways.”

  The suddenly uncertain boy searched for his best manners. Lowering his eyes before the man’s regard, he folded his hands in his lap and sat meekly silent.

  “That’s better.” Cole nodded his approval. “Now, how far upriver?”

  The reply was barely heard. “A few miles north o’ Baton Rouge.”

  Captain Latimer’s mouth softened into a lazy smile as the boy carefully avoided meeting his eyes. “I shall hope in the future that you will revise your opinion of me, Al.” The lad raised his gaze and appeared somewhat bemused until the officer explained. “My home is farther upriver—Minnesota.”

  Embarrassment joined confusion in a rapid play over the sprig’s face. He was rescued from his predicament when the portly matron returned to their table, skillfully balancing a huge tray on one hand. With a total lack of fanfare, she placed large steaming bowls of the spicy bisque before them. Shortly, these were joined by a plate of warm biscuits and another of cornmeal-battered catfish, deep fried to a golden brown. The woman had hardly retreated from their table before the boy began munching on a piece of fish and as rapidly spooning the rich broth into his mouth. For a long moment Cole watched in amusement until the ravenous youngling became aware of the officer’s attention. Suddenly abashed, Al laid down the fish and slowed his spooning. Captain Latimer chuckled lightly, then turned his interest to the tantalizingly delicious food.

  Though the boy had eaten heartily at first, he seemed to satisfy his hunger quickly and dallied with the remainder of his food while Cole consumed his portions more leisurely, savoring each taste fully. When he finished the meal, the captain sat back and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

  “Do you know where your uncle lives?”

  A quick nod answered him, and Cole rose, tossed down several bills, and picked up his hat. He gestured for the lad to follow. “Come on. If I still have a horse outside, we’ll see about getting you to your uncle’s.”

  The youngster readily hoisted his case and hurried out the door after the tall man. He could hardly refuse the captain, and besides, riding was infinitely better than walking. Struggling with the valise and the weight of the heavy boots, he staggered behind his guardian. The unlikely procession of unwashed ragamuffin and impeccably groomed officer made its way to where a tall, long-legged roan stood tethered in the shade. Gathering the reins, Cole turned to consider the slim lad and his burden.

  “Do you think you can stay on behind me and hold your gear?”

  “Yeah.” The boy swaggered a bit. “I been riding since I was little.”

  “Get up there then. I’ll hand you the valise.”

  Cole held the horse while the lad attempted to step into the high stirrup, but once in it he had not the span to throw his other leg over the saddle.

  “Since you were little, huh?”

  With a start of surprise, Al felt a broad hand beneath his buttocks, hoisting him up. The gray eyes widened considerably, and some distress showed in his face as he was settled on the back of the steed. Angrily he jerked around to snap at the Yankee, but the captain was already lifting the case. He set it before the youth with an offhand remark. “I would guess that you’ve had an easy life until now, Al. You’re as soft as a woman.”

  The captain placed the reins without further comment and swung onto the horse, throwing his leg over the horn of the saddle. For a moment, they adjusted things, then the captain asked over his shoulder, “All set?”

  At the answering, “Yup,” Cole reined the beast around and rode away from the dock. The roan was magnificent and well trained but unaccustomed to the extra load, slight though it was. The youth was proud but had to fight the large case in his arms, the slippery back of the animal, and a reluctance to touch the captain. His efforts made the steed more skittish. Finally Cole lost his patience and snapped curtly over his shoulder, “Al, get your butt settled and be still back there, or we’ll both end up in the street.” Reaching around, he caught the smaller hand in his and pressed it firmly against his side. “Here, grab a handful of my jacket. Now hang on with both hands and sit still.”

  Gingerly the youth took hold of the proffered garment and adjusted himself. The horse quieted some, and the ride was easier. The wicker case sat on end between them and was held in place by the boy’s arms. The lad was satisfied. At least he didn’t have to rub against that hated blue coat.

  Chapter 2

  THE city had been relatively untouched by battle. Along the river the scars of strife were visible, but as they moved away from the dock, life appeared to go on much as it had before, unhindered by the presence of Union soldiers. Shops and narrow houses, adorned with iron lace-trimmed balconies, huddled close against each other. Well-tended gardens were visible in courtyards behind exquisitely wrought iron gates, and trees grew in odd places. As the boy’s directions led them away from the Vieux Carré, the avenues grew wider, then small lawns became evident. Magnolia trees laden with large, waxy blooms mixed their heady fragrance with that of jasmine, sweet shrub, and crepe myrtle. Further on, the lawns grew wide and spacious, and great houses spread their galleries beneath towering, moss-festooned oak trees.

  Cole peered over his shoulder and spoke with some doubt. “Are you sure you know where you’re leading us, Al? This is where the wealthy live.”

  “Huh. What little wealth you Yankees leave.” The boy shrugged and pointed. “I’ve been here before. It’s just a little ways further. Down there.”

  A few moments later he gestured to a lane that led through a tall hedge behind which loomed a brick house of considerable proportions. Brick arches shaded the first floor gallery, and near one end of the porch, a curving wrought iron staircase led to an upper filigree-adorned balcony that stretched across the face of the manor. Massive live oaks shielded the whole from the hot sun, and beneath their spreading limbs, the carriage house could be seen beyond the intricate iron gate that led into the grounds.

  Cole sensed the boy’s rising eagerness as he turned his steed onto the curving brick path. Halting the animal before the wide gallery, Cole swung down and looped the reins through the iron ring of the hitching post, then reached up to take the case. As he set it down, Al bounced
to the ground and fairly flew to the front door to pull vigorously upon the bell. Like any good servant, the captain was left to heft the bag and follow behind.

  Al cast an apprehensive glance over his shoulder as Cole joined him and impatiently rang the bell again. A sound of footsteps came from within and the door was opened by a striking young woman, slightly taller than the boy. As she looked at them in confusion, Cole swept his hat from his head and tucked it beneath his arm. A Yankee officer’s presence on the gallery was bewildering, but not half as much as the pleading grimace she saw on the lad’s face.

  “Ma’m.” Cole had seen nothing that resembled recognition in the beautiful visage and began to suspect the urchin’s credibility. “This boy says he knows you. Is that true?”

  The woman returned her astonished gaze to the youth and appeared repulsed by what she saw. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Gracious me, I surely should hope n—” Suddenly she gasped. “Al—Al—”

  At the boy’s startled expression, she choked off the name but was obviously flustered. She glanced nervously toward the captain then back to the lad.

  “Al?” She tried out the name gingerly and was encouraged by the boy’s responsive smile. “Why, Al, it is you! We hadn’t—ah—expected you. My goodness! Won’t Mama be surprised. I declare, she’ll simply be aflutter when she sees you!”

  The raven-haired beauty faced Cole again and gave him a charming smile. “I hope Al hasn’t done anything too terrible, Colonel. Mama always said Al had a mind of his own. Why, there’s just no telling what he’ll do next.”

  “Captain, ma’m,” Cole corrected politely. “Captain Cole Latimer.”

  The boy threw a thumb over his shoulder and explained gruffly, “The doc, here, give me a ride from the boat.”

  The young woman’s eyes widened in amazement as she shifted her gaze from the Union officer to the roan tethered to the hitching post. “My goodness, you don’t mean to say you rode together—”