Surrender (21 page)

“I shall say no more on the matter, Risa, but you must take greater care,” Angus warned her, deeply distressed.

“Ian remains my good friend.”

“If only you’d married him! I had thought that you two young people were growing so close!”

“It wasn’t to be, Father.”

She smiled, smoothing the furrow from his brow. He was wonderful. She was thankful that he was a general, because though he led troops, generals seldom rode in at the front. She knew that he would willingly risk his own life before that of his men, but warfare was a chess game. Castles were more valuable than pawns, and generals were often up on the heights—directing the fire below.

Angus cleared his throat. His eyes, so often blue fire when he commanded his men, were powder soft when he looked at her, gently touching her hair. “It’s just that I love you, daughter. The war has changed some things, but you mark my words, decent families will still require chaste wives for their sons! The scandal that has ensued from that wretched cousin of Ian’s is disastrous!”

“Father—the scandal made me a heroine, when I didn’t deserve applause in the least. They dubbed me ‘Lady Liberty.’ “

“They all wonder what that rogue did to you as well!”

“Father, I was not forced into anything,” she said carefully.

He sighed deeply, then hugged her to him. “Your
mother has been dead a long time, Risa, but there’s still so much I remember, there is so much of her alive in my heart! I lost her, but I learned what love was, and it has been a precious memory all these years. I want that for you.”

“Oh, Father! I will have it. You must see it this way, then. I will be loved for me, for what I feel and think and do, and not for my reputation!”

He sighed. “There is no arguing with you. You must do me a favor, then. The next time Ian is about, you can be friends in the company of others. Is that a fair request?”

“Indeed, Father.”

“Well, to breakfast then, shall we?”

“Yes, for my time with you is equally cherished!” she said, and arm in arm they went off to his command tent.

D
espite the threat of troop movements throughout the South, the railroads brought Jerome quickly and fairly efficiently to Richmond. There, he found that his sister, Sydney, had taken an apartment in the home of an old family friend, and that—despite the refugee situation in the Southern capital—she had use of a guest room for him.

“I can’t stay long,” he warned her.

“But you must stay a few days!” she told him, hugging him fiercely. He was glad to see her, and find that she was doing so well. Sydney was exotically beautiful with their mother’s green eyes, their father’s heavy, blue-black hair, and a hint of Seminole blood in her delicately sculpted features.

“I’m not so sure you should be living here alone,” he told her gruffly. “I’m surprised Father allows this—”

“Father allows this because I am actually living under the care of old General Payne, one of the few men he admired during the Seminole War. And I’m near Brent this way. And I’ve promised to come home by Christmas. And as long as I behave—”

“Are you behaving?”

“Am I behaving? I am an angel. I’ve been taken under the wing of none other than the First Lady herself, Varina Davis. Naturally, I met her first because they heard that I was your sister. Oh! And did you know, Jefferson Davis was quite fond of our errant Yankee cousin, Ian!”

“Davis was secretary of war when Ian was serving in Washington. They were social acquaintances, if not friends.”

“Well, I’m behaving, but what about you?” Sydney asked.

“I run the blockade—and you should belong to a bandage-rolling society!”

“Indeed? I think not! My half sister was nearly hanged as a spy, my
female
cousin is working as a nurse, my cousin-in-law has just retired from a dangerous life of espionage, and my
almost
cousin-in-law was—according to the papers!—swept away and ravished by my own brother! And I should roll bandages!”

“Sydney—”

“Did
you ravish the general’s daughter?” Sydney demanded.

“Little sister, mind your manners. Or I’ll see to it that our father comes after you!” he warned.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“It’s an older brother’s responsibility.”

“I merely seek the truth,” she said primly, then she smiled wickedly at him. “Oh, Jerome! It’s really quite grand. They call you a pirate, a cavalier! You’re incredibly popular, you know. You’ll see—we’ve a supper to go to tonight.”

He groaned. “Sydney, no socials! I came to see you—”

“We’ve been asked to the White House of the Confederacy,” she said. “Do you turn down the President and his lady?”

“No,” he said wearily. “We go to supper.”

He didn’t really mind formal occasions at the White House, which he had attended before. Tall, gaunt Jefferson Davis was not known for a warm, easy nature, but he was a hard worker who meant well, an intelligent man, if not always a reasonable one. His wife, Varina, was tall and buxom, beautiful, and very warm. The doors were most frequently open, and she loved to entertain. She was known to be gentle with servants and slaves, diplomats and generals. What Davis lacked in the social skills, Varina provided for him.

He and Sydney ran late that evening, and had scarcely been greeted in the foyer and offered a sherry before it was time to sit down to the meal—which, as it turned out, was in Jerome’s honor for the many supplies he
had brought into Charleston. Davis himself, gruff and immaculate in black, lifted his glass to the Southern Pirate of the Caribbean Sea, and Jerome was applauded and congratulated. The women in attendance were charming. One young lady, a relative of Varina’s, told him that all military men should be married—since battle threatened their lives, they should see to the business of leaving heirs behind.

A butler brought by a serving tray of summer vegetables, and as he helped himself, Jerome realized that his plate lay unevenly. He moved the plate, and was startled to see a folded note beneath it. Drawing the paper out, he discreetly opened it, and found a message addressed to him.

“Trouble, Captain?” the young lady to his right whispered, eyes aglow.

“No,” he lied. “Just a message.” But he felt again as if his blood were boiling. The cruel dishonor done Risa Magee!

Dear God, if he could but get his hands on her once again! It was startling to realize how this threat disturbed him. Yet he had to hold onto his temper, respond calmly to all accusations. He could not go completely berserk and
savage
and charge into enemy lines until he had found her.

Later, over port and cigars, he asked one of Davis’s aides how the note might have come to be under his plate.

“Sir, I don’t know. Our own Jeb Stuart manages to get notes to his father-in-law—who did not leave the Union army!—under his breakfast plate in Washington. It’s a dangerous war, sir. I can look into it. Were you threatened?”

“Yes, but I feel that I can deal with threats against myself—supposedly, half the Union navy is out to blast me to Kingdom Come. But this is a dangerous situation.
President and Mrs. Davis do not need traitors so close upon them.”

Despite his desire for an early night, it was difficult to leave as Sydney was flirting with a cavalry officer. He chastised her as they left, knew that he sounded like their father, and then realized that he was worried. He had enemies. Enemies who could get notes to him at the White House?

His sister went on to their rented carriage while he bid a cordial good night to their host and hostess. As he started down the steps and out to the street, he frowned, seeing that their carriage was rolling off without him.

A split second later he realized that his fears were being realized—someone was attempting to steal Sydney right before his eyes, in front of the White House of the Confederacy.

“The carriage!” he shouted, aware that the President’s home was surrounded by soldiers who would spring to action behind him. He was in formal attire, but his dress sword hung from his scabbard. A handsome black gelding had been left tethered by the street. He sped the few feet to the animal, leapt into the saddle, and raced after the carriage. In a matter of seconds he had caught up with the vehicle. He jumped from his mount to the driver’s seat, where he engaged in a struggle with the young, bearded driver for the reins. The driver pulled out a bowie knife, swiping at Jerome with the deadly weapon. Jerome managed to deliver a jarring blow to his opponent’s jaw, momentarily stunning him. He didn’t want to kill the man; he wanted to know why anyone would behave so recklessly. He slammed the fellow’s wrist against the carriage to force him to lose the knife. As he reined in on the runaway horse, the fellow sprang to life again, wrapping his arms around Jerome’s throat with such an impetus that the two of them pitched from the carriage to the hard earth below.

Jerome was aware of the impact of their fall and of a cracking sound—someone’s bone, he thought. His own? He was momentarily stunned, but aware he remained in danger. He rose quickly from his sprawled position by the man on the ground beside him, expecting to find the
fellow moaning from the pain of a few broken limbs—but alive.

The fellow was dead.

As he knelt down by the body, a half dozen soldiers, on foot and horseback, raced to his side in the gaslit street. “Captain?” one asked anxiously.

“I’m all right. But this man is dead. And not from the fall.” Jerome pointed to the dead man’s chest, where blood spewed over his frock coat. He’d been shot. Looking around with a frown, he demanded sharply, “Who was shooting?”

“Not my men, sir!” cried the soldier. “We were in pursuit, but with you and the man entangled … with your sister in the carriage …”

Sydney.

He leapt up, racing back to the carriage. Sydney, a bit shaken but none the worse for wear, was emerging from the carriage. “Jerome?” she said worriedly.

“I’m all right,” he said. Putting an arm around her, he helped her down, holding her tightly.

The night came alive. Everyone was distressed, stunned—and baffled. Soldiers were everywhere; Davis was demanding intelligence reports regarding the incident. That the man had attempted to kidnap Sydney when so many soldiers were nearby was pure insanity. That he had been shot and was dead seemed even more strange.

A man named Lowell Thomas who worked with the Confederate spy network arrived and spoke with Jerome and the others, but no matter how many questions were asked, no one had any answers.

“You’ve enemies, sir. A man of your abilities acquires them. You’ve put lots of men off their ships—and the North does have a network of sympathizers and spies in the South, as do we in the North,” Thomas told him respectfully.

Jerome shook his head. “There’s a Yank general after my hide—but I’m sure he isn’t the kind of man who would threaten a young woman in order to have revenge against me.”

“We will look into the matter until it is solved,” Thomas promised him.

“I want my sister guarded,” Jerome said. “I’m going to bring her home on my own ship as soon as I can, but until that time, I want her guarded.”

“Yes, Captain, naturally. It will be done.”

“She must be watched carefully—”

“Captain,” Thomas repeated. “You have my assurances. The President has ordered that your every request be honored.”

Satisfied, Jerome at last escorted Sydney home. They rode in a carriage Lowell Thomas arranged for them. Jerome determined to make Sydney understand the situation. “Sydney, you need to go home.”

Her beautiful green eyes widened. “But I work well at the hospital. I’m needed. You can’t make me—”

“Sydney, you’re in danger here. I want you back home with our mother and father.”

“No, Jerome, please, you don’t realize—”

“There’s going to be a guard watching over you until I return. When I come back after seeing Brent, I’m taking you home with me. It’s necessary. I’m afraid for you.”

“Oh! You’re a pirate, kidnapping Yankee women, ravishing them—and so I am to pay the price?”

“Sydney—” he began angrily.

She was instantly contrite. “Jerome, I’m so sorry! But—”

“God knows what might have happened to you tonight!”

She pleaded and argued, but when they reached her rented rooms, her tone changed because, in their absence, a soldier had brought a note from their father.

“Sydney, what is it?” he asked worriedly. “Is something wrong? Mother, Father—Jennifer? What’s happened?”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “Nothing is wrong—yet.”

“Then, what?”

“I—I’ll let you take me home, Jerome.”

“Sydney, damn it, tell me—”

“Mother is expecting another baby! We’re going to have another sister or brother!” she said incredulously.

He stared at his sister, stunned. His father had told
him once that there were only three McKenzie children because Teela had not had an easy labor with Sydney. He’d been afraid for his wife then. And now … so many years later …

He felt a severe tightening in his stomach. His father was a powerful man. A warrior, intelligent, wary, scarred, and strong. His mother, however, was a rock. Strong in her gentleness and pure determination. She had fallen in love with his father and no force in heaven or hell would ever change that love. She was a natural nurturer, a healer, steady as the earth, the force, perhaps, behind them all.

“She’s too old!” Sydney said.

“Don’t let Mother hear you say that,” he tried to tell his sister lightly.

“I don’t really mean that she’s so old … but her health! I’m worried, Jerome. Oh, what was Father thinking?” Sydney demanded angrily.

Jerome arched a brow, about to attempt an answer. He shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. At the very least, his sister had agreed to go home.

Yet that night, he lay awake, and he realized just how very worried he was himself—about so many things.

Three days later, Jerome found Brent working at an old plantation house near the most recent skirmishing. He came straight to his brother’s surgery. Brent, in the midst of removing a deeply embedded ball, greeted him with a dry smile.