Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Now,” she leaned forward, her soft brown eyes glowing with expectant curiosity. “Will you tell me why?”

  The sun had dipped low in the sky when Alaina crossed the Craighughs’ back yard. Once she had been able to gather her wits about her, she had felt no hesitation about Mrs. Hawthorne and tirelessly recounted the tangled chain of events that had led to her present circumstance, while the woman listened with rapt attention. It was an afternoon preferable to one spent under Roberta’s heckling. That one was waiting for her in the kitchen with a smug, complacent smile.

  “Where have you been all this time, Lainie? You missed Captain Latimer’s visit.”

  “Good.” She nodded stoutly. “I’ve had enough of ol’ striped-pants for one day.”

  Roberta laughed and examined her fingernails closely. “I declare, Lainie, there just doesn’t seem to be anything at all feminine about you.”

  “If you mean I make my own bed, wash and iron my own clothes, and work for a living, you’re right. When have you ever brought a dollar into the house?”

  Roberta sniffed delicately. “Hmph, a lady has other responsibilities.”

  Dulcie rolled her eyes and, with a rattle of pots and pans, loudly busied herself.

  “Yeah,” Alaina grunted laconically. “Like being lazy and getting fat.”

  “Lazy! Fat! How dare you!” Roberta’s ample bosom contested the restraint of her bodice as she drew her shoulders back in stunned amazement. Before she could air her outrage, the pantry door slammed loudly, shutting off any further rejoinder. As Dulcie giggled over her labors, Roberta glared at the woman’s broad back and petulantly stalked out of the kitchen. She was passing the parlor door when her father looked up from his newssheet and gazed at her over his glasses.

  “Who was that?”

  Roberta paused in the doorway. “Oh, Lainie just came home.”

  Leala glanced up from her embroidery. “Sometimes I think Alaina works far too hard, Angus. Here she’s been out all day again. That poor girl.”

  “Humph!” Angus returned to his paper. “The work will do her good. Teach her some responsibility.”

  Roberta was a trifle piqued. “Maybe I should find some work, too, Daddy.”

  “Not you, my dear.” Angus favored his daughter with a doting smile. “You’re a different kind of lady.”

  Satisfied with her parent’s indulgence, Roberta leisurely retired to her bedroom to dream about life as a Yankee officer’s wife, and for several pleasurable moments, Alaina was able to savor the cleansing heat of her bath before the door swung open. She glared back over her shoulder, an angry word ready on her tongue, but when she saw it was only Dulcie with a clean towel draped over her arm, her irritation eased. The woman set a large block of homemade soap on the table beside the tub, then bustled about, humming to herself as she picked up Alaina’s cast-off clothing and smoothed the frayed nightgown the young girl would wear. Alaina puzzled at the woman’s manner but found no explanation for it until she took up the bar of soap and began to wash. From the soap wafted a scent strangely familiar, not unlike the perfume Roberta owned and jealously guarded.

  Alaina raised her gaze in amazement. “Dulcie! You didn’t!”

  “I sho’ ‘nuff did. Miz Roberta has been raisin’ such a ruckus ’bout de soap I been makin’, ah jes’ figgered she’d squall only a mite mo’ if’n ah showed her dere ain’ no difference, ‘ceptin’ a little sweet-smelling rosewater, betwixt my soap and all dem fancy bars her pa used to bring home fo’ her.”

  Regretfully Alaina laid the soap back, picking up another smaller piece. “You’d best save it for Roberta. ‘Al’ would have some tall explaining to do if the Yankees noticed he smelled like a flower garden.” It had been bad enough when Captain Latimer had caught her smelling like one.

  Dulcie grunted obstinately. “I sees it a cryin’ shame dat Miz Roberta gets all dem fancy clothes and parfums, and yo’ ain’t got nothing but de dirt and dese heah boy’s clothes. Mister Angus been skimpin’ pennies and mos’ times takin’ de money yo’ make scrubbing dem Yankee floors jes’ so he can get dat chile some cloth for a new gown.”

  “What money I give him,” Alaina murmured, “is barely enough to pay my keep.”

  “Yo’ ain’t ’round here ‘nuff to cost Mastah Angus the time o’ day,” Dulcie protested. “An’ mos’ times yo’ look like some tidewater orphan. When is yo’ gonna stop traipsin’ ’round in dem boy’s clothes and start actin’ lak a lady?”

  Alaina heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Dulcie. Sometimes I think never.”

  Alaina had left the cleaning of Cole’s apartment for Sunday, knowing the captain was scheduled for duty until the late afternoon. She sought the time away from the Craighugh house, wishing to avoid any further confrontation with Roberta. She found it necessary, however, to seek Cole out at the hospital and admit that she had misplaced his key.

  “You needn’t say what’s on yer mind,” she warned. “I can see it in yer eye.”

  “After yesterday, I’m trying to refrain from saying anything to you,” he retorted, handing over the key. “Because once I start, I might not be able to stop.”

  “You gotta chance to visit with Roberta,” she reminded him rancorously. “That should’ve made you happy.”

  “Not nearly as much as turning you across my knee would.”

  She glared at him. “You got them papers of Mrs. Hawthorne’s seen aftah yet, Yankee?”

  “If you don’t know better, the banks are closed on Sundays.”

  “Don’t get ‘nuff money to put in banks,” Al goaded. “How should I know what their hours be?”

  Cole peered down into the gray eyes, his own narrowed suspiciously. “Are you complaining again?”

  Alaina shrugged petulantly. “Jes’ stating fact.”

  “What do you do with your money, anyway? Haven’t you earned enough by now to buy yourself a change of clothes?”

  “Cain’t see doing that ‘til these wear out.” Cole opened his mouth to retort, but Al cut him off abruptly. “Gotta go now if’n I’m gonna finish yer ‘partment afore nightfall. Yo’ ain’t paying me to stand here jawing with ya.”

  “Be there to let me in,” Cole called to her back. “Or else bring the key back here.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Sometime shortly after noon, Cole paused over his meal to receive a packet of letters Sergeant Grissom brought to him. After briefly testing the perfumes of the two from Xanthia Morgan and Carolyn Darvey, he tucked them into his blouse, saving them to read at home at his leisure. He felt a mild disappointment at the absence of a correspondence from his father, then noticed the painstaking script of Oswald James, a lawyer and close acquaintance of the family. The date was nearly two weeks ago. He chose to relieve his curiosity as to the lawyer’s purpose in writing and slit open the envelope. A crushing weight descended upon him as he read the first line.

  “I regret to inform you that your father passed away during the night—”

  Roberta directed Jedediah to a halt beside Jackson Square and, after bidding the black driver to wait, continued by foot, loftily ignoring the Union soldiers who paused to stare. She had other purposes on her mind and was not bent toward petty flirtations this afternoon. She was after richer game than that. A Yankee doctor, to be exact.

  She had taken the key from Alaina’s coat, and the cool weight of it inside her glove reassured her that all would go smoothly. Even cajoling her father into allowing her to take the carriage for a Sunday afternoon outing had been relatively simple. By the time Cole Latimer reached his apartment, she would be garbed in such a manner as to eliminate any reluctance he might have. Though he had thus far betrayed none, one could never be too sure about a single man’s objection to being caught.

  The rapid tap of her sharp heels gave evidence of her haste. Now that she had laid out her strategy, she was eager to be about it. Even the repugnance of submitting herself to that undignified end by which men proved their virility did not dissuade her. Once C
ole bedded her, she could claim herself with child, and even if he proved unwilling to do the honorable thing, she knew her father would convince him.

  A prior afternoon spent discreetly questioning proprietors of nearby shops had supplied the information she needed to find her way to Cole’s door, for the man himself had been casually evasive. Indeed, the captain appeared to have a strong sense of self-preservation.

  Footsteps behind her made her hastily tuck away the key and chance a surreptitious glance askance. Her hopes were momentarily darkened as she recognized the tall, broad-shouldered form of Cole Latimer coming toward her. His brief, stiff smile as he swept off his hat was discouraging, but she plucked up her resolve and turned to face him with a coy laugh.

  “Why, Captain Latimer, would you believe that you’re just the person I was hoping to see?”

  “You’re not here to see Al?” He remembered distinctly telling her that he would be on duty all day. That he was here at all was due to the fact that the surgeon general, upon learning of his father’s demise, had ordered him to take the afternoon off since there were no duties pressing.

  “Al?” Roberta questioned apprehensively. Her plans were going astray faster than she could remedy. “Why, I thought that runty little boy had gone fishing or something.”

  “He’s here,” Cole stated and, reaching past her, turned the knob and pushed open his door. The overlarge boots stood just inside the entrance, and the bristly swish of a scrub brush could be heard from an adjoining room.

  Roberta was through the door before Cole could invite her in, and he followed, closing it behind her.

  “Al?” he called.

  A noise much like the outraged squeal of a little piglet preceded the sound of running bare feet. “I thought you had to work, Yankee!”

  Alaina came to an abrupt halt in the parlor door as she saw Roberta. Each woman stared at the other with something less than pleasure, then Al leaned cockily against the doorjamb and scratched her nose with a forefinger.

  “ ‘Pears to me you got company, Cap’n. I suppose now you’ll be wantin’ me to finish up and be on my way, is that right?”

  “No, that isn’t right.” Cole scowled at Al before stepping out onto the balcony. His eyes searched the street below until they found the carriage with Jedediah waiting in the driver’s seat. Cole returned to meet Roberta’s questioning gaze. “Not wishing to jeopardize your reputation, I’ll let Al escort you back to your carriage.” He put up a hand to plead his case as she opened her mouth to protest. “Forgive my manners, but I just received word that my father passed away and this afternoon I fear I’d be poor company at best.”

  “Your father?” Roberta asked. “Dead?” At his answering nod, her mind caught on to the fact that there was now no one who stood between Cole and all that money.

  Alaina nudged her cousin’s arm gently. “Come on, Robbie, I think the Cap’n wants to be alone.” She turned back to the man hesitantly. “I’ll come back and finish up what I started, then go home. Maybe I can do the res’ tomorrow, or maybe the next day.”

  Roberta was highly miffed at being led from the building like a naughty schoolgirl. Alaina refrained from comment and was greeted enthusiastically by the black driver.

  “Miz Al!” He chuckled. “Lawsy, I sho’ glad it was you Miz Roberta was a-comin’ to see. I been sittin’ here ponderin’ what I was gonna tell Mastah Angus should his chile come to harm by all dese here scalawag Yankees.”

  “Take her home, Jedediah, and don’t stop for anything. I’ll be along directly.”

  “Yas’m.” The black grinned broadly. “Doan stop fo’ nothin’. Yo’ hear dat, Miz Roberta?”

  “You’ll do as I say, Jedediah,” Roberta informed him sullenly. “Now take me home, and be quick about it.”

  “Yas’m. I intend to do jes’ dat, Miz Roberta.”

  Chapter 11

  WORD had filtered down to New Orleans that Grant was guffawing because Law’s command, mistaking it for a cavalry charge, had been stampeded by a bunch of frightened Federal mules in a night battle around Wauhatchie, Tennessee. But a more dignified Confederate explanation had it that the gray troops had already been driven back by Orland Smith and Tyndale when the “mule charge” took place. To the groaning chagrin of the South, however, it was the Yankees’ hearty recommendation that the mules be commissioned as horses.

  The city was quiet, almost hushed, and what faces Alaina saw as she pushed Ol’ Tar through the early morning streets were drawn and downcast with the bitter taste of another defeat. It would be a bleak Christmas season for the South this year. It was a bleak enough Monday.

  In the hospital stable, Alaina found an empty stall where she could tether Ol’ Tar and clandestinely appropriated a few handfuls of sweet clover hay from an overfilled manger nearby. Noting that Captain Latimer’s roan was present, she affected a boyish whistle and made her way into the hospital by the back door, pausing to hang her pouch and hat on a peg near the entrance before dragging out the mops, brooms, and buckets. As she backed out of the closet, her arms full of cleaning utensils, she was forced to step lively to avoid being knocked down by a rushing medical orderly whose arms were as full as her own, but with fresh bandages. He gave neither pause nor apology but hastened off down the hall to disappear into one of the surgery rooms.

  Alaina glared after him until he was out of sight, then with a few mumbled words about rude Yankees, she leaned the mops and brooms beside the closet door. With her best nonchalant air, she sauntered toward ward 5. She was early enough that she could pay Bobby Johnson a visit before setting about her day’s labors.

  The greetings of the Union soldiers were strangely reserved this morning and contained nothing of the usual coarse humor. The ward grew hushed and still as she entered. Her eyes found the empty bed, then the sheet that had been spread over a large stain in the aisle. The dull, vividly familiar color of drying blood marked the cloth where it touched the floor. Refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, Alaina spun on her heel and fled the room, struggling to defeat the haunting nightmares that threatened to invade her mind. She let the door slam behind her and ran down the hall to the surgery room in use. She knew “Al” could not enter and leaned against the wall beside the door, panting to ease the ache in her chest, then Cole’s angry voice came from inside, startling her.

  “Who was on the late duty last night?”

  “Major Magruder.” Alaina could put no face to the voice that answered.

  “I’m not going to let you blame this one on me!” The named one quickly set forth a heated defense. “I made my rounds, and everything was as it should be. Especially him!”

  Alaina raised on tiptoe to peer through a clear spot in the etched glass of the door. Cole and Doctor Brooks were working over the midsection of the man on the table while the orderly reached between them with white pads that came away bright red. She could see the patient’s chest rise and fall in shallow breathing. Near his head, the medical sergeant sat on a tall stool and let an occasional drop fall from a small, brown bottle onto a cloth mask that covered the mouth and nose of an otherwise heavily bandaged face.

  “Slower!” Doctor Brooks admonished the sergeant.

  “Why, ‘especially him’?” Cole questioned as he plied the curved needle and catgut.

  Magruder replied from his corner where he rested casually against a cabinet, making no effort to assist. “When I made my ten o’clock round he was caterwauling something about his wife and baby.”

  Cole glanced up from his work briefly, his lips twisted in an acid grin. “And what did you say to him, Major?”

  “I simply told him to shut up and try to act like a man.” Magruder paused, then continued as if he felt a need for more excuse. “He was disturbing the rest of the ward.”

  The two working doctors straightened, Doctor Brooks to watch Cole closely, and the younger man to fix Magruder with an accusative glare. Alaina could see between them for the first time and caught sight of the long, oozing wound where torn
, ragged edges gaped wide across the patient’s lower belly. Her stomach heaved, and she stumbled back to lean against the wall, steadying knees that had suddenly turned to jelly. Cole’s voice came to her as if through a long tunnel, tightly controlled, but with an undertone of savage satire.

  “Major, how can you expect a mere boy to act like a man?”

  “He is man enough to have a wife!” Magruder’s own anger, or perhaps fear, began to show. “Anyway, I told you he was a waste of time from the very beginning.”

  At that moment Alaina wanted to hear the sounds of a Yankee major being brutally beaten, but much to her disappointment, when Cole’s voice continued, it was low and almost gentle, though muffled as he bent again to his task of repair.

  “Who found him?”

  The major volunteered the information. “The sergeant, at his four o’clock check.”

  “What happened to the two o’clock check?”

  Again, it was Magruder who answered. “I checked each bay briefly and saw nothing out of order.”

  Cole’s voice came in crisp, curt tones. “One of the other men said he was awakened by someone calling out shortly after midnight. Johnson’s bed was empty then, but the man heard nothing more and went back to sleep. You missed a man lying on the floor in the middle of a ward?”

  “I tell you, I saw nothing!” Magruder protested.

  There was silence thereafter, except for an occasional command or an exchanged word as the operation continued. Strength refused to come back into Alaina’s limbs. Had she been able to find even a small measure of it, she would have fled. Then, the door beside her swung open, and Captain Latimer’s shoulder held it so.