Glory by Heather Graham

“I have questions for you.”

  She shook her head. “But—”

  “You were in the Yankee camp just yesterday, young woman!”

  “Sir, I know nothing of Yankee military plans. I worked in the field hospital there.”

  “You will come with me.”

  “I’m not a prisoner here, sir.”

  “You will come with me, ma’am, or I will have you carried out of here!”

  Furious, she started walking ahead of him.

  She was startled when Josiah suddenly came before her, making a ruckus by dropping a bucket of water. When she bent to help him, he spoke to her quickly. “Don’t worry, we’ll get Dr. McKenzie!”

  She nodded, but she wondered with a sinking heart just what was going on, and just what Julian could do. This man was a colonel—which Julian had been with the militia. But he was in the regular army now, and his rank wasn’t as high as this man’s.

  Sheer was quickly at her side, taking her elbow. She jerked free from him, but he remained at her side, directing her. They came to a large tent, and he ushered her in. There was a chair beside a camp desk, and he indicated that she should sit. She did so.

  “You may cease with the hostility, madam.”

  “What do you want? I’m not in the military.”

  “But your reputation precedes you.”

  “Reputation? Whatever you might have heard, I’m not a witch.”

  “I want to know the Yankee movements. What is Meade doing now? Where will he attack next?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “I demand—”

  “It seems that Meade is just sitting there, as he has been doing!”

  She was stunned when the man slapped her across the face. Gasping, she leapt to her feet. He stood as well and pressed her back into the chair.

  “How dare you!” she gasped.

  “You will give me answers.”

  “I don’t have answers, and I’m not your prisoner.”

  “You came with your husband, but you are a Yank, and for the safety of the South, I am now making you a prisoner.”

  “You cannot.”

  “I can, and I will. You will stay here until you answer my questions. You see the future. You know what is happening. Now, Mrs. McKenzie, you are my prisoner—a traitor to the South, to your own homeland.”

  He was a fanatic—a lunatic. “Sir, you don’t understand,” Rhiannon said, fighting for patience. “I do not read the future at will! I have dreams upon occasion, flashes of insight. I cannot foretell the future like a gypsy with a crystal ball. I—”

  He was suddenly in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “Not a gypsy, a witch. You knew to tell Magee where to lead his troops. You caused the Yanks to win ground at Gettysburg.”

  “I knew nothing at Gettysburg, except fear and horror like everyone else!” she protested.

  “I repeat this—you’re a traitor to your birthright! You’re a Floridian, fighting for the Yankees. And you’ve given them an unfair advantage. You should be shot like any traitor; no, burned at the stake like any witch.”

  This man could not possibly be serious. Bad things might happen at the hands of the enemy, yes. On both sides, women alone had been molested by enemy soldiers. Robbed, raped, perhaps left for dead. Spies had been arrested. They’d faced imprisonment. But no one had been burned at the stake. And this man was a colonel—directing troops on the field!

  “Sir, I keep telling you that I couldn’t help you now if I wanted to.”

  “You deny special powers.”

  She shook off his touch and stood suddenly, swiftly moving far enough away from him so that he could not easily touch her. “Yes, I deny special powers! I am cursed, plagued, sometimes with dreams! They are nightmares, and I do not seek them.”

  “Sit down!” He stepped forward, determined. She had nowhere to go. He set his hands on her shoulders, pressing her back into the chair.

  Where was Julian? she wondered desperately. If he was still out in the field, he didn’t know that Sheer had come to take her. And when he found out what had happened? What was he going to do? Sheer outranked him! Julian had no power over a colonel who was going over the edge of sanity.

  “Let me tell you about Gettysburg, Mrs. McKenzie.”

  “You don’t need to tell me anything. I was there!” she said furiously.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “I had five sons when this war began. Proud, strapping boys. They went to war for their country, Mrs. McKenzie, this country. The Confederate States of America. Not one of them shirked his duty. I lost a boy at Sharpsburg, and then, Mrs. McKenzie, I lost four sons at Gettysburg. Four boys ...”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. For everyone the losses have been unacceptable.”

  “The North should suffer! The Northern politicians started this war of pure aggression. We asked to be left alone to live our lives and nothing more. But my sons are not going to have died for nothing, Mrs. McKenzie. We will change the tide of this war again!”

  She fought to remain calm and in control. “Perhaps you will.”

  “You will help us.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, Mrs. McKenzie. You don’t understand. I will beat you if I have to. I will burn you, torture you, I—”

  He broke off, staring into space. Then he stood. “Will you answer my questions?”

  “I have no answers to give you.”

  He violently dragged her out of the chair. His hand went flying across her face again. “If you don’t answer me, I will have you shot.”

  She tried to fight back, dodging his blows, returning them. His palm cracked against her face with such force that she came careening down to her knees in the center of the tent. He raised his fist to strike her again.

  But his hand was stayed. He was swung around and cracked in the jaw. Dazed, tears stinging her eyes, she looked up to see that Julian had returned.

  Sheer took a swing at Julian. He was a powerful man, and it was a hard blow. Julian staggered back. But then he came forward, jabbing quickly and with strength, catching Sheer on the right jaw, the left, the right. Sheer went to his knees.

  “You’ll be shot as well! Insubordination. Shot at dusk, shot with the bitch of Satan who helps the Yankees find our position even now.”

  Julian was staring down at the man incredulously. As he did so, Sheer went for the gun in the holster at his waist. Julian hit him again. Hard. Sheer went flat.

  “Oh, my God!” she cried. “Julian, Julian ...”

  His arms were around her, blue eyes dark with concern. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “But he’ll hurt you, Julian, he’s a colonel.”

  “I’ll manage. Let me get you out of here. The baby—?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine!” she whispered.

  But he swept her up and carried her from the tent. Outside, the soldiers who had gathered at the sound of the disturbance parted ways, and he walked with her back to their own tent. He had barely laid her down before officers arrived for him. To take him under arrest.

  “It will be all right,” he told her.

  But she was afraid.

  “Julian—”

  “It will be all right.”

  And he was gone.

  Several hours later, she heard a man clearing his throat. “Mrs. McKenzie!” She hurried out of the tent. Two soldiers had come for her. “General Longstreet will see you now.”

  “General Longstreet ... ?”

  “If you will come with us. Please?”

  She followed behind them. It was a long walk, but eventually they came to a small house. The soldiers opened the door, and she realized that they had come to the command quarters for Longstreet’s division of the Army of Northern Virginia.

  She followed behind the soldiers, looking anxiously for Julian. He wasn’t to be seen. She was led into a dining room converted to an office. There were maps everywhere.

  The tall, bearded man who had b
een sitting there rose. He did so slowly, as if it were an effort, as if he were very weary.

  “General Longstreet, please, I know that you’re a very busy man, and I know that I have made little secret of the fact that I am a Unionist, but ... please, where is Julian? Don’t let him suffer for this. You are supposed to be the last of the cavaliers, sir, and that man was beating me. He said that I should be shot. You’ve got to understand that Julian was only acting as a Southern gentleman, a cavalier of that lifestyle you are fighting to maintain, when he came to my defense—”

  “Mrs. McKenzie, Mrs. McKenzie ...” he murmured, taking her hands. He had a gentle touch and a kind smile for a man who had seen so much battle and loss. “Your husband is just fine.”

  “He’s under arrest.”

  “He’s receiving new orders, Mrs. McKenzie.”

  “What?”

  “May I get you a brandy or the like?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, please, just—”

  “I called you here to offer you my most heartfelt apologies. Colonel Sheer was once a good military man, a pious fellow.” Longstreet spoke with a soft, slurring Southern accent that made his words seem all the more consoling. “Mrs. McKenzie, every man and woman has the right in a war to choose his or her side, and you are most honest in your belief in the Union. God knows, I spend many a day in sorrow regarding this great division! Colonel Sheer had no right to touch you, and your husband had every right to defend you. However, there are other fanatics among our numbers, so we’re seeing to it that you and your husband are sent home as swiftly as possible.”

  “What?” she whispered. “Julian isn’t under arrest?”

  He smiled, and hiked his chin, indicating that she should look behind herself. She spun around. Julian stood there, papers in hand.

  “Everything complete, Dr. McKenzie?”

  “Yes, sir.” Julian walked across the room. Longstreet stretched out a hand to him. “Good luck, Dr. McKenzie.”

  “And to you, sir. God keep you. It has been an honor to serve under you, sir.”

  “Well, now, you’re still Confederate military, Julian. Just militia once again.” He saluted. “Colonel McKenzie!”

  Julian saluted in return. “General Longstreet, sir!”

  “Take your wife. Go home,” Longstreet told him.

  “Aye, sir!”

  They turned, and Julian led her from the house. A carriage awaited them, ready to take them down to the railroad.

  She realized that they were, in truth, going home.

  Chapter 23

  REACHING FLORIDA WAS NOT easy.

  They started out by train, but in some places the rails had been destroyed, the enemy was in close proximity, or they had to be rerouted because the enemy was literally holding the depot. They were constantly surrounded by other travelers, refugees from cities lost to the North at times, soldiers on leave, prisoners who had been paroled, orphans. It was a strange time for them; they’d both been so furious with one another, and yet things had changed after their awful experience with Colonel Sheer. There was little chance to really talk. They were so seldom alone.

  At last they reached Jacksonville. They did so by wagon; the rails there had not been taken by the enemy, but they had been taken by the Confederacy since they were desperately needed elsewhere. The city was like a ghost town. It had been invaded and abandoned so many times that most of the families had fled.

  Rhiannon was bone weary when they arrived. She’d had no sleep the night before, since they had not known they wouldn’t have transport until the last minute. They rented a room, and they should have been alone. She had been anxiously looking forward to the opportunity, but they had done no more than come into the dining room for a meal when Julian was approached by a cavalryman in a worn, muddied uniform.

  “Sir! Colonel McKenzie, sir! We’re delighted to have you back!” He offered Julian a salute and continued, “There’s news that the Yanks are planning to start a new offensive against us. They’re making their plans now. Well, of course, the skirmishing never ends, the attacks on the coast go on and on ... but now they think that we’re important—that we’re supplying just about the whole of the Confederacy with the food that’s keeping the army going. Don’t that beat all, sir—we’re in the war.”

  “We’ve been in the war, sir. Look around you,” Julian responded dryly.

  “Yes, of course, but ... there could be a really major battle here. Like the battles in Virginia and Tennessee!”

  “Half the state could perish, I imagine,” Julian murmured. “Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’ve traveled a long way, my wife is tired—”

  “Of course, my apologies. But, sir, you’re needed immediately. There was some fighting today between here and St. Augustine, on the old Indian road. I do welcome you back, sir, but I’m afraid I’m also here to remind you that you’re a colonel in the Florida militia—and that duty, sir, calls. I must have you accompany me.”

  “I am always glad to help when needed, but I’ve just arrived. My wife—”

  “We’ll arrange an escort to have her taken back to camp, sir.”

  Julian looked at Rhiannon. “You have to go,” she told him. “I will be at the camp when you reach it.”

  So he traveled on alone that night. She thought that she would never sleep, but that night she did. Dreamlessly. When she awoke in the morning, an escort awaited her that included several of the men she had known at the Rebel camp before. They greeted her warmly, and she was glad, surprised at how much of a homecoming it seemed to be.

  She was delighted to find that Rachel had heard she was coming and had left St. Augustine to meet her in the camp in the woods. Rachel was as boisterous as ever, talking a mile a minute, describing the McKenzie children, and life with Alaina and Risa in the Union-held city. “Such a place! Some of the women are so funny. They’re loyal Rebs to the core, but when the Yank doling out the food comes around, they’re suddenly waving their Union colors!”

  Rachel went on and on, but Rhiannon was glad to see her. So many of the Rebels at the camp had been conscripted into the regular army that it was almost like Jacksonville, a ghost of the place it used to be.

  She’d been back a week when she went to the little creek off the river. Liam Murphy, his one leg gone, had returned two days after she’d arrived herself, and he’d set himself up as her guardian. She was grateful. At the water’s edge, she stripped down to her shift, then plunged in. After the heat of the day, the water was amazing. She floated upon her back. Moss dripped from the trees. A crane flew overhead. A breeze picked up and rustled through the surrounding oaks. She closed her eyes. It was a scene of peace in the midst of chaos.

  When she opened her eyes, he was there.

  She sensed him, standing by the shore. Watching her. She came to her feet, ignoring the ooze of the creek bottom through her toes. She walked to a point several feet from where he stood. Dusk was coming, the sun falling. A rainbow of colors spilled across the sky, reflecting on the water. He stood tall, hard, lean, his frock coat dangling from a finger. She hesitated a minute, then walked the last few steps to him, slipping her arms around him.

  He enwrapped her against him.

  Together they came to their knees. Water soaked his uniform, but it didn’t seem to matter; the soaked material was only something to be discarded. His hands were upon her shift, and it found its way to the embankment. His fingers entwined with hers, and she was stretched across the riverbank, and as his body came over hers, it was decked in the rainbow colors of the setting sun. She touched his face, wanting to talk, too full of the things she had to say to do so. He kissed her, lips lingering upon hers, then growing insistent. His tongue invaded her mouth, ravaged. His lips broke from hers, found them again. He seemed to taste forever and ever. Each kiss ignited a greater need in her, and she felt the length of him with a longing that surpassed need. His body was fire, and the river was ice. His kiss strayed from her lips. Her teeth and tongue grazed his shoulder
s. Hands caressed the fullness of her breasts, tender now, yet aching for his subtle stroke. The air around them swirled, caressed her naked flesh, followed the touch of his kiss, the liquid fire of his tongue as he drew patterns down her torso. His fingers moved over her hips, formed around her buttocks, drew her closer to the fullness of his erection. She thought that she would die, yet he did not cease to seduce. She murmured, writhed, undulated, pressed against him, seducing in turn. Kissed his shoulders, chest, stroked him, held him, cradled, whispered, and at last, when she was nearly mindless with longing, he came into her, a stroke that filled her, awakened her, excited her, erupted ...

  The sun continued to set. A bird cried overhead. The wind rustled the trees. Fire burned between them, explosive, consuming. Twilight became dusk, and the colors were gone, and the moon began to rise against the dying day. It seemed that all life exploded in a moment of fantastic beauty. That there could be such horror and destruction and in the midst of it such sweet beauty. She savored him, held his warmth as her body cooled and the night wrapped around her. She seemed to float upon a pinnacle of wonder for a very long time, but inevitably she drifted down, yet she didn’t attempt to move. When he shifted, and his eyes met hers, she didn’t flinch from them.

  “I was afraid,” he said huskily.

  “You, afraid?” she whispered, smoothing back a dark lock of his hair.

  He nodded, a crooked smile on his lips. “Afraid that I would come back tonight, and you wouldn’t be here. You would have vanished, run to St. Augustine ... somewhere. Or if you were here, I would arrive, and ... we would be at war again.”

  “We are still at war,” she said softly.

  “Are we?” he murmured, and he leaned back upon an elbow, a frown touching his eyes as he gently drew his fingers over her arm, traced patterns against her hip. “I don’t know that I’m at war. I’m not always sure what I’m fighting for anymore, sometimes things I don’t think that I believe in. And yet ...”

  “And yet?”

  “I just keep thinking now that this is home. That I’m back here.”

  “Because of me,” she whispered apologetically.

  He shook his head, his crooked smile in place. “You’re not to blame because death sent a man over the edge.” A hard core of anger touched his voice. “He was beating you!” he said hoarsely.