Surrender (22 page)

“Here to help, big brother?”

“If you need me,” Jerome agreed, taking a position opposite his brother. He knew Brent, knew his mind. Where another man might not realize that his brother insisted on new sponges for each patient, Jerome could anticipate his brother’s wishes.

Surgery lasted throughout the day. It was brutal. They were running short of morphine, and toward the afternoon, Jerome discovered it was his strength that was needed most to hold and steady the men when Brent had no choice left but to remove limbs.

It was late when he at last sat with his brother in the crumbling plantation’s study, sipping brandy he had
brought from Richmond. He told Brent about the incredibly strange incident that had occurred there, assuring him that Sydney was fine. Like everyone else, Brent was completely baffled.

He told his brother the news about their mother, which worried Brent as well.

“What was Father thinking?” Brent demanded, bringing a smile to Jerome’s lips with the echo of Sydney’s words.

“The last I remember noticing,” he commented dryly, “Mother is equally fond of Father.”

“Yes, but they should have been paying much more attention to
when
they were showing their fondness!” Brent said. “But then, it’s difficult, I suppose, especially since they are growing older.” He shook his head. “I need to get home,” he said. “I am worried. Of course, many women do have children later in life. And many do so quite well. Funny, isn’t it? To look back. So many men back home were eager for this war. Now home is far away, and we’re fighting in Virginia, when Virginia wasn’t even anxious for secession to begin with! God, I’m tired. I want to go home. I want to see one of those summer days when the sky is completely blue and no matter how hot the sun is, the breeze comes in off the ocean, and it’s beautiful. Or a golden sunset when a heron is caught in silhouette against the darkening sky …” he sighed, looking down at his hands. “Perhaps I can get leave close to Mother’s confinement.”

“I think I’m due a personal favor,” Jerome said, remembering how distressed President Davis had been over the bizarre incident with the carriage. “Maybe I can arrange it.”

“Well, now you are famous. Or infamous? If you weren’t already renowned for your death-defying blockade runs, General Magee’s fury would have secured you a place in the heart of the South forever.”

“And we’re supposed to be the last of the cavaliers!” Jerome murmured dryly.

“Ah, but cavaliers are supposed to run to the adventurous, aren’t they?” Brent inquired lightly. “Still, I get the impression that something preceded the carriage incident. What happened?”

Jerome shrugged, and told him about the note he’d found under his plate at the White House.

“You think it came from General Magee?”

“No…not from what I’ve heard about him,” Jerome said slowly. “Ian always considered him to be an honorable fellow. He might be mad at me, but …”

“Oh, I assure you, Magee is madder than a hornet,” Brent advised. “Still, I agree, I don’t think that he’d threaten your family. But he is really angry.”

“So I’ve heard. But he is a general—he must understand war! I had to keep Risa with me. She knew too much. A general must understand the common sense of what I did.”

Brent arched a brow. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because I also received correspondence—for you.” Brent rose and walked around to his camp desk. Opening a top drawer, he drew a sheet of line paper from it. The writing on it was neat and clear and boldly large.

“Sounds pretty mad to me,” Brent advised lightly.

“Yet it’s different from the anonymous note.”

No, this one wasn’t like the other note, but Jerome still felt anger burn through him. Magee’s reaction to this was incredible. There was a war going on, for God’s sake!

“How did you get this letter?” he asked Brent.

“Found it under my coffee cup one morning,” Brent said.

“Sweet Jesus!”

“Let’s face it—we have Rebs in Federal uniforms,
Yanks in Reb uniforms, and civilians who blow hot and cold with the wind. It was no great feat for General Magee to get this to me. And there are plenty of spies in Richmond. So someone likes to ruin our appetites. A gourmet spy! It’s not so incredible. Do you know how close their troops are? The armies are circling one another. I can guarantee you, General Magee is no more than fifty miles from where we sit right now. I’ve heard that Risa is with him, an angel to the wounded men. The troops adore her, she is all but on a heavenly pedestal.”

Jerome stared at his brother for a long moment. Anger seared through him with a fire unlike anything he had ever felt before. Old General Magee and his besotted Yankees weren’t just threatening him, they were threatening his family, and all because a bold, beautiful, young woman had cried out to the press that she’d been ravished by a savage.

It hadn’t happened like that at all. And now, it seemed his sister was being threatened. Brent had received notes on Jerome’s behalf. He’d had enough. By God, he’d simply had enough.

Damn Risa, and damn her well-publicized lies!

“No more than fifty miles you say?” he mused aloud.

Brent arched a brow to him. “Jerome, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but don’t think. The Confederacy needs you. You’re my only hope when men are screaming in anguish and pain. You can’t get killed—”

“Brent, I’m not a fool.”

“You want to ride into Yankee territory—I can see it!”

“I’m a Rebel. And those Yankees are on Southern ground.”

“I need you alive.”

“The Confederacy needs information. Always. Lee isn’t sure right now just what McClellan and Pope are doing. He always plays a dangerous game, pitting lesser numbers, skill, and sheer bravado against the Yanks. If I take a ride into enemy territory, it will be for a reason.”

“You’re a navy man—waiting for repairs to your ship!” Brent reminded him. “Dammit, Jerome, don’t go getting yourself killed over something stupid!”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll let myself get killed, little
brother,” Jerome assured him grimly. “But I promise you this—the Yanks will not threaten me and mine. I need to set up a meeting with one of your cavalry commanders.”

“Jerome—”

“And I need a good horse. I understand that fine animals are growing scarcer.”

“Major Lance serves Jeb Stuart. He can get you a good horse, but—”

“Good.”

Brent rose unhappily, leading the way out of the tent. “Don’t you dare die on me. I don’t want to inherit the property in the swamp. I want to go home to St. Augustine when this is over, and set up a practice with Julian. Do you understand?”

“I’m not going to die. I promise you.”

Major Edward Lance had heard about the tall Reb approaching his tent. Who had not? In a world where each victory was seized upon, the sea captain had become legendary. They said that he was like a phantom, a rich man with Indian blood, raised in the South, imbued with magical qualities. He could ride as one with the swiftest horse. He could move as if invisible, in absolute silence. If McKenzie was hell-bent on discovering the movements of enemy troops, Lance would be damned if he could question motive. Captain McKenzie’s ship was in repair. If he happened to be an excellent horseman willing to ride for the cavalry—bless him.

Lance rose, saluting McKenzie, studying the man again. He was at least six feet two inches. Well muscled, his height giving him the appearance of lithe leanness. His features were powerful, cheekbones broad, flesh bronzed, hair reddish-black, queued at his nape, eyes sharp, dark blue, and calculating as he sat.

“I understand you’re interested in making a surveillance run into McClellan’s army,” Lance said. He leaned back. “Suicide mission—Stuart himself was nearly captured, trying to record troop numbers and positions.”

“Stuart rides with other men. I’ll go alone.”

Lance leaned toward him. “If you’re caught, you’ll be hanged as a spy.”

“Yes, I know.”

Lance leaned back, weighing the individual before him. Cool as ice.

“You’ve lived among the Seminole?” Lance asked.

“You harbor a grudge against Indian blood?”

Lance shook his head, smiling. “Nope. Just never met anyone like a Seminole for moving like a wraith in the night.” He stood up, throwing a map of the territory across his camp desk. “Here is where we are. Here are the last reports we’ve had of the Union army movements. Here is what we can garner simply of objectives. McClellan wanted Richmond—but Jackson was in the Valley, and McClellan is a hesitant bastard, always assuming we have more men than we do. Now they’ve got Pope in the field, but he’s one hated son of a gun, rightly so, I know the man. Lee has several objectives himself. Here—obviously, Richmond must be guarded from an assault. Jackson may need help in the Valley—and the powers that be are considering ways to move this carnage onto Yankee territory. Report back to me, no one else. Unless I’m dead. Then you go straight to Stuart or Lee. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m giving you the best horse I’ve got.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“One thing I can’t give you, sir, is time. I need your information within ten days. Also, we’ve received word that your ship can sail in a fortnight. If I don’t return you, the naval commanders will hang me from a mainmast. So get back here…quickly.”

McKenzie smiled, blue eyes a dark ice, features strong and grim. “I don’t need a great deal of time, Major. One night will do it,” he said. “One night.”

I
n mid-July Risa and the rest of the medical corps were still treating the injured from the Seven Days battles. Conditions were horrible; the heat was ungodly. Thankfully, they had an ample supply of morphine for the numerous amputations taking place that day, and an ample supply of bandages as well. She had learned that Doc Abe, as the men affectionately called him, cut no limb carelessly from a soldier’s body. But when bones were shattered, there was no alternative. Soldiers needed to be treated quickly and efficiently on the battlefield, then sent on to the nearest hospitals.

On this particular day, the sun burned down fiercely. The soldier on the table, a private who was drunk as well as drugged, sang and assured her he’d manage well enough—he wasn’t losing his third leg, the one that mattered most. “Hush, now, son! We’ve a lady attending!” Abe told him.

“Ah, ma’am, sorry, ’tis the drink, of that I’m certain, and yet…well, this war will end one day, and so many of us young men will be gone. But some poor lass will take me, since I’ve at least got that middle leg, eh?”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“There’s no lady here, Doc. Just an angel.”

Doc Abe signaled Risa to be ready with the bandages, then nodded to the two burly assistants who would hold the soldier down while Doc used the bone saw.

“Don’t mind me screamin’, ma’am. I’m not so much the coward, really,” the soldier told her bravely.

Doc Abe started the operation.

The soldier, despite his drink and morphine, screamed.

Risa wasn’t quite sure what happened next. One minute she was standing. The next she had passed out cold.

She awoke at a streambed, stretched out on pine needles, with Marny Calverton—a camp follower—by her side, washing her face with cool water. Marny was an intriguing young woman of Creole descent, with pitch-dark eyes and hair, and beautiful skin the color of ivory. She was quiet and dignified, but a woman surviving the war by following the soldiers. Under normal circumstances, Risa would never have been in a position to speak with her at all. Prostitutes and ladies did not mix, in Northern or Southern society.

But Risa wasn’t the least offended that Marny had been sent to attend to her—Doc and his orderlies were busy with men who might bleed to death. She could see the makeshift hospital some distance from them, and hear the work still going on. She sat up, still dizzy, confused that she had fallen prey to such light-headedness.

“Go slowly there, Miss Magee,” Marny told her softly, still dampening her forehead.

“I’m all right, Marny, thank you. Just embarrassed. That poor young soldier. I failed him miserably!”

“Ah, now, it’s all right, Miss Magee. Doc was there, with his men. And General Goth’s wife came over, efficient as a mother hen when you went down. You’re a fine nurse, Miss Magee. But there are others.”

“I should go back now. I’m really much better.”

“You should rest, and avoid this kind of heat. Or it will happen again.”

“Oh, surely, this was nothing more than a very peculiar incident—”

“If you say so,” Marny murmured, her brown eyes touching Risa’s. Then she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

“I’m sorry, I appreciate your concern, but I can’t begin to understand—”

“Can’t you? Really?” Marny said, staring at her again with undisguised curiosity.

Risa frowned. “No, I can’t. Please—”

“Look, Miss Risa, you’re a right decent woman. You’re good to everyone—you’re not like some of the officers’ wives who think they ought to be sitting at the
right hand of God the Father!” She paused to cross herself reverently. “I wish nothing but the best for you. I guess things in your life are a little bit complicated, and you’re in my prayers. But you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Risa tried to stand. She tottered a bit, but with Marny’s help she made it to her feet. She was better. She inhaled deeply. She was going to be all right.

“Marny, pretend what?”

“Why, you fine ladies just can’t be so stu—naive!” Marny said, smiling quickly. “Miss Magee, I’m young, and not all that knowledgeable, but I can see where you’re just as blind as a bat. And, of course, your secret is safe with me, though some folk who are just plain unkind do speculate about you sleeping with that married Colonel McKenzie.”