Jenny's Passion

by Diane Wylie

  “You don’t know me. How can you care about me at all? I’m your enemy.”

  “You’re not my enemy. No one is my enemy. I may live here in Virginia, but that does not mean I will automatically hate anyone from the North. I don’t agree with this war on either side. I wish it would all just stop, and we could go back to the way things were. If we were at peace, you could meet my family. I would love to get to know you better. To me you are a man—a good, kind man. I want to know everything about you.”

  She touched her hand to his cheek, feeling his tears against her skin. He turned his head slightly, kissing her fingers.

  “Ah, my brave girl, I would like nothing better than to spend a lifetime with you getting to know each other, but I can’t. I have to go back. Don’t you see? I didn’t quit the fight and desert my men. I am not a traitor. I have men that look to me to provide them leadership. How can an officer abandon the men under his command? I simply can’t. I need to go back…tomorrow, if I can.”

  Pulling her hand away, she handed him another cup. “Drink this. It’s willow bark tea. It will help with the pain, but will not put you to sleep…unless that is what you want. I have laudanum with me.”

  “No. I cannot be unconscious and leave you defenseless!” Then he stopped and laughed bitterly. “I cannot believe I said you were defenseless. You ride after me and kill two men with two shots! Defenseless you are not, but that doesn’t mean I will leave you alone.”

  “Hmmph. My father taught me to shoot. I am very good at it.”

  He looked serious now as he sipped the tea. “Thank you, Jenny, for everything. I hope one day I can repay you for what you’ve done. You wouldn’t happen to have any whiskey would you?”

  Yes, I have whiskey.”

  Rising, she went off into the darkness to get the whiskey, her ointments, and bandages from Star’s saddlebags. A cold wind blew through the trees, making the leaves dance and rustle with a sad sound. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.

  He held the cup out and she poured a generous dollop into the tea. Closing his eyes, David rested a few minutes while Jenny knelt beside him, gently applying her soothing ointments and bandages to his injuries. When she had finished and was wiping her hands, he gulped down the brew and pushed himself to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. He looked down at her. She had never seen someone so wretched looking, yet so handsome, even with all the bruises and swelling.

  “Those bodies,” he waved a hand in their direction, “they’ll attract bears or wolves if we don’t bury them.”

  She looked at him towering above her and was amazed at his powers of endurance. Exhausted by the events of the past few days, she was ready to lie down right now. This tower of a man shouldn’t even be standing, but he was ready to do what needed to be done.

  Chapter Nine

  David extended a hand to help her to her feet. In one smooth motion he pulled her to him. The feel of her small, warm hands against his cold, bare chest sent a shudder of desire through him. It was unfamiliar, this need he felt for this woman. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. For a long moment he just hugged her fiercely, kissing her gently on the top of her head. Some of her hair had come loose, tickling his nose.

  “Jenny, I’m so sorry for everything. For making you leave your family, for involving you in all this, for the war…”

  “But—”

  “Hush.” He laid a finger on her lips. “A girl like you should not have to spend her time tracking a man and shooting his torturers. You should be pampered and coddled and treated like the lady you are.” His voice broke a little, and he struggled to control it. “I wish I could be the one to do all of that for you. I would like to buy you fancy dresses and take you to balls and restaurants to court you properly. If I could, I would give you the moon. No one has ever done so much for me. I—”

  He broke off and looked down at her face, so beautiful by the faint light of the fire. Tentatively he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, just a brief touch of soft lips. He heard her quick intake of breath. A fiery heat sprang up in his loins, the desire, passion, and sweet longing deep in his belly.

  Arching her back, she pressed her body against his. She moved her hands over his chest and splayed her fingers through his hair then groaned softly. His belly tightened at the soft sound. He was ready to explode with desire.

  A wolf howled somewhere in the darkness, reminding David of their danger. With all the resolve he could muster, he let her go and stepped away. Her face was soft with passion, her eyes wide and luminous as she stared at him. He very nearly stepped back to take her again.

  “I won’t lose control,” he said, as much for her benefit as for his. With that he turned away and limped over to Chester’s body.

  He stood and stared at the scene. Blood was splattered in a deep puddle on the ground. The side of the man’s head was blown away. Bits of brain matter stuck to his matted hair, and chunks of something created a halo of red on the ground around his head. Behind him Jenny gave a strangled cry. Turning, he saw her running in the opposite direction. She must have seen Chester, really seen him, for the first time since she had shot him.

  David heard her getting sick somewhere in the darkness behind him as he gazed unfeelingly at the corpse. Strange. He had gotten sick the first time he had seen a sight like this during his first battle. Now there was nothing.

  He had been terrified but had prayed it didn’t show. They had made him a captain immediately because of his university education. No matter that he had studied agriculture and crop rotation. He had an education; therefore, he was a captain.

  Lead the regiment into battle? Some were old enough to be his father. The only thing David knew of war was what he had read in books. Why would these men listen to him? But listen, they would. He had been honest with them when he gathered them around him an hour before their first battle together.

  The Seventeenth Pennsylvania had been a new unit, untested by the war. He had told them all that he would do his best not to let them down as their captain. He had told them he would try to learn from them and the other officers, that he valued their opinion and their thoughts. Then he had promised to give his best and had asked for theirs in return.

  Thomas Miller, blessed man that he was, had been the first to speak. “Aye, Captain Reynolds, I will serve and obey and fight the enemy as best I might,” he said in his Irish lilt.

  Then many of their heads nodded in agreement. Caps had come off and they had whooped and hollered. David had been grateful. He had led them all in a prayer for safe return, replaced his plumed hat on his head, and had issued his first battle command, “To your mounts, cavalry!”

  They had done whatever he commanded…and he had seen some of them die that day. The first man down had been only a boy, Private Riley Thompson. David had been leading the charge on the left flank when the Rebel cannons opened fire. The cannon ball had been so fast. It tore Riley’s head from his body then struck the horse behind his and ripped the front legs off it. Riley’s headless body had stayed on his panicked horse for several moments, spewing blood in a fountain before falling to the ground.

  Only through sheer force of will power had David turned away from the sight and continued the charge. Later that night, when the bloody battle had finally come to an end, he had wearily turned Napoleon to a clump of bushes, slid off, staggered to a tree, sank to his knees, and had been violently sick.

  Lieutenant Miller had found him there. The big Irishman had given him some water, offered him a hand up, and together they had walked back to the camp silently. That was the first and last time he had given in to the nausea, which hit him many times in those first months. The violence of war made him sad somewhere deep inside, where he kept it locked tightly away. A part of his humanity was lost and he wondered sometimes if it were gone forever.

  A noise penetrated the deep fog of sleep, waking her suddenly. Jenny was confused and disoriented. Why was she outdoors in the cold inst
ead of in her lovely bedroom? She was so hungry that her stomach rumbled immediately. Moving slowly to get the kinks out of her back, she sat up. What had awakened her?

  In front of her was the smoldering, blackened remains of a campfire. Horrible memories flooded back. The Confederate soldiers had captured and tortured the wounded Yankee, and Jenny had killed two of them. She remembered now. David had slept beside her, but his place on the blanket was empty. She touched the spot where he had lain. It was cold. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and a shout split the air.

  “Dismount! Take cover, men! Get those horses out of the way! Artillery coming!”

  She scrambled to her feet. That was David’s voice! The war hadn’t caught up with them, had it? No. It wasn’t possible!

  As she ran in the direction of the voice, a cool drizzle began to fall. Although it was daylight, the rolling clouds cast a gloom over everything. The air smelled of the approaching storm. Romulus came bounding toward her, barking furiously. Another boom of thunder rolled across the sky.

  “Watch your heads, lads! Hit them low!”

  Then she found him. David, still wearing just his torn uniform trousers and bandages, was crawling over the uneven ground, pulling himself along on his elbows. He was gesturing with his right hand as if urging his comrades to follow. In his left hand, a pistol was at the ready.

  He heard her approach and turned. Jenny gaped in surprise. His face glowed with a wild, fierce light. It was streaked with dirt and bruises and blood, making him a fearful sight. He was barely recognizable as the man she knew.

  “Get down, Jack! The Rebs are attacking! You’ll get your fool head blown off! Follow me! We’ve got to defend our line! Our boys are dying out there. Move! Goddammit, move!” His expression was intense, his voice harsh and commanding. Turning away, he continued to crawl toward some unseen enemy, dragging his bleeding, wounded leg behind him.

  What was wrong with him? There hadn’t been a flick of recognition in his eyes. Jenny’s heart pounded. How she wished someone else was here to help her. Crouching low, as if they were indeed under fire from artillery, she ran to his side. When she put a hand on his bare shoulder, he stopped crawling. She gasped and pulled her hand away. He was burning hot to the touch!

  He turned glazed, fever-bright green eyes in her direction. Dark shadows smudged his eyes, and his cheeks above the dark beard were flushed.

  “What is it?” he demanded angrily then grunted and grabbed his leg. “Out with it, man. I’ve got to move! My men need me! Can’t you see? They’re getting torn apart! We have to mount a defense and push them back!”

  There was so much raw passion and anguish in his words. Several of the wounds on his back had opened up again and were oozing fresh blood, but he didn’t appear to notice. If he thought she was Jack, then she would be Jack. Jenny deepened her voice.

  “David, the…uh…Colonel wants you to come with me. He needs to have a word with you immediately.” She hoped it was the right rank to use to get him to listen to her. Maybe “General” would have been better.

  “Colonel Kellogg?”

  “Yes.” She was relieved.

  “Now? All right, it must be important. Let’s make it fast.”

  The rain came suddenly and hard, drenching them both in minutes. A low roll of thunder moved across the sky. One of the horses shrieked in fear. Romulus ran up and licked David’s face. He pushed the dog away with an angry growl.

  “Jack, a battlefield is no place for a pet.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Taking his arm, she bent to help him up, but he brushed her hand off.

  “I don’t need help. I’m fine.” His face was dark, and his lips compressed tightly together.

  She backed off. He was delusional with the fever. There was no need to make things worse. He was limping badly as they headed back to camp. Jenny stayed close by ready to help. The Yankee was weakening quickly. Footing was slippery in the wet mud and leaves, and David was still barefoot. She wondered if he had taken his boots off the dead Zeke. Did he manage to bury those men last night? She had been too sick to know.

  “Damned rotten business, Jack,” he muttered when they finally returned to the campsite. The brief thunderstorm had passed, leaving the air fresh and clean. Water dripped off the leaves in a gentle patter. The sun broke through. It was going to be a cool, bright day.

  “What’s that, Captain?” she asked in her deep voice, shaking the water from her hooded cloak.

  He sat with a grunt on a log and raised his head, but he was looking right through her as if she was invisible. Water dripped down his grim face from his wet hair, making it look as though he were crying.

  “I…uh…had to bury three men last night. Damned Rebs. Butchers all…and thieves, too. One stole my boots. Got them back though. Those Confederates…they killed Riley and so many more…horribly cruel bastards…except…one girl I met. A real Southern lady.” His voice became dreamy and soft. “Jennifer Winston is her name. God, Jack, she is just wonderful, kind, and caring…beautiful, too, on the outside and the inside. The kind of woman a man could spend a lifetime loving.”

  He shook his head slowly with a look of haunted sorrow. “But not for me. This war will kill me. It has already taken my soul. She doesn’t know that. I can’t take her home. My father would never… I have no right…I have no home… No place to go.”

  Jenny pressed her hands to her face and shivered, fighting for control. What did he mean? Why did he think the war had taken his soul?

  “Jack?” his voice was low and quiet.

  She studied his solemn face. What was coming? “What is it, David?” she responded in her man’s voice.

  His face went gray. “Perhaps I’d better see the Colonel later. Not feeling too well.”

  She jumped and caught him in her arms as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he pitched sideways off the log. With straining muscles, she lowered his fevered body, keeping his head from striking the ground. He lay insensible at her feet.

  Her hands were sticky. She looked at them. Blood. Again. Despair filled her chest, and a single sob burst out. Wiping her hands on her sodden skirt, she dropped to her knees beside him and felt for his heartbeat. The rhythm was too fast, but it was strong. He was still alive.

  “Don’t die, David! Please!” she cried, but he didn’t respond to her voice.

  How much more could he stand? Jenny’s nerves were raw. How much more could she handle? Gently she brushed the dark, wet hair back from his flushed face and kissed his dirt-smeared cheek. David, how can I fight this battle for your life? I am so tired. But she knew the answer to that. She could no more leave him now than she could stop her heart from beating.

  The sun broke through the trees. Something sparkling caught her eye. It was a ring on David’s hand, a heavy gold man’s ring. He had had no ring before. She lifted his hand and looked at it closely. In the center was a red stone—a garnet—surrounded by a tiny design stamped into the gold. No, it was writing… “Rutgers College Class 1862” and the initials JJM. It was his friend Jack’s ring.

  Jenny hugged his battered limp body to her and sobbed.

  * * *

  Napoleon returned alone as Jenny was breaking camp. The big, black horse just walked into the clearing and right up to David then nudged his master in the shoulder. When there was no response, the stallion turned his head toward Jenny with question in his gentle, liquid eyes.

  She looked at the giant animal in amazement. The creature seemed to understand much more than an ordinary horse should. Laying aside the saddlebag she was packing, she went to him. Napoleon bobbed his head up and down in greeting, still looking puzzled. She stroked his velvety nose trying to reassure the animal and herself at the same time.

  “I don’t know where you’ve been all this time, Napoleon, but I sure am glad you’re back now. I need you to take David home with us. We’ll help him; don’t worry.”

  First taking the big horse to the stream to drink, she then led him bac
k to camp, strapped a feedbag on him, and continued her preparations to leave. This was a fight she could no longer handle alone. She knelt beside David. He was lying on his stomach. Testing for his temperature, she put a hand on his forehead. It was still extremely hot and dry. The fever had not broken despite her best efforts. They needed to get help.

  “David.” She had to say his name several times and shake him to get him to respond, so deep was his sleep.

  He opened his eyes. They were sunken in dark hollows and glittered fever bright, but she could see recognition in them. For that she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Jenny?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Come on, now,” she tugged at him. “You have to get up. We’re leaving. I need to get you some help.”

  He groaned, “No, you go. Just leave me here.”

  “No, I won’t leave without you.”

  “Go,” he said tonelessly, closing his eyes again. “I’m so tired. It is too late for me anyway. There is nothing anyone can do. This is a killing fever. I’ve seen it happen to other wounded soldiers…and they died.”

  She abruptly dropped his arm and stood up. “Well, I never thought a big, brave soldier like Captain David Reynolds would quit the fight and surrender so easily.” She forced sarcasm into her voice.

  He opened one eye. “What do you mean easily?” he croaked. “I’ve been shot and beaten within an inch of my life…you call that easy?”

  Dropped down to her knees once again, she held his gaze steadily. “Well, if you’re going to just lie there and die, I’d call that taking the easy way out. I shot two men for you,” she shuddered, “and I would do it again to save your life. I won’t let you give up.”

  With a speed she didn’t think possible in his condition, he pushed himself to his feet and stood in front of her, swaying precariously, holding his bandaged leg and scowling down at her. Brushing aside her offer of help, he pulled on his boots—so he had taken them off the dead thief—and mounted Napoleon. She passed him the canteen, and he drank before handing it back.