Surrender the Wind (23 page)

“You’re late, General.”

“Better late than never,” he said and dismounted, dragging Catherine off the saddle. Her legs buckled. Hours in the saddle had numbed her legs. She fell into John. He held her up. If the men were surprised they said nothing, seeing nothing unusual of their general with a woman.

“There’s Union Calvary in hot pursuit.” John drawled, matter of fact, as if they were taking a Sunday stroll around the block. “I believe we confused them for the time being, and without a doubt, take great pleasure if we lost them, but be sure they haven’t forgotten us.”

To Catherine’s great agitation, the men showed no alarm, treating the occasion as mundane as the rain that was beginning to fall on their heads. All the fears culminating over the last few hours exploded.

“Are you insane?” she spat.

“Keep silent,” he ordered, “Or you’ll get us all killed by Yankee bullets.”

No way was he going to tolerate her insubordination in front of his men and no way was she going to keep silent. His command unleashed all the fury she had stored up. “It will be a Yankee bullet and from my gun, General. You have kidnapped me against my will, dangled me out a three-story window, thrust me into an unspeakable establishment and have ridden me through the bowels of hell. Do you realize all night I have prayed to the higher angels to let me live, so I could murder you myself?”

“I’m warning you—”

“I’m through with your warnings and bullying. When I get done, you’ll be nothing but a social curiosity for the hawkers of Barnum and Bailey.”

“Catherine.”

She jabbed a finger in his chest. “You, Sir are a lunatic, thoroughly wise, in your ability to direct a universe of madness.”

The mounted Rebs snickered. It was the first time, the Rebels showed even hint of any emotion and she turned on them. “How dare you think it’s funny. Why I’ll take a horsewhip—”

Before she knew it, she had his gloved hand clamped on her mouth.

“General Rourke, you’re sure going to have fun with that Yankee spitfire.”

“Before you boys get any wrong ideas, this Yankee spitfire happens to be my wife and deserves all the respect that position accords her,” John snapped.

“Yes, Sir! No offense, Sir.” They saluted and sat bolt upright in their saddles. “Our apologies, ma’am. We had no idea.” Not in the least did they desire the full wrath of General Rourke on their hands.

A cavalryman rode forward, a new arrival, an officer, and one who John seemed to recognize.

“Colonel, didn’t know you were in the neighborhood.” John addressed him while the other swept his feathered plumed slouch hat into a broad graceful arc before returning it to his head.

“Did I hear something about a wife?” The Colonel edged his mount closer.

Catherine bit John’s hand then kicked him hard in his shin, gaining her freedom and a curse from the general.

She ran to the Colonel, clinging to his leg for dear life and pointed to John. “Please, Colonel. If you have any honor, please get me away from this lunatic.”

The Colonel stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I have to agree with you. He impresses me as a lunatic at times. In fact, he thrives on it. It’s his sworn commandment: Thou shalt at all times be a lunatic.”

Catherine had the distinct feeling, the Colonel was just warming up and ignored the dark looks John cast her way.

“Why I’ve heard he’s a veritable legend in lunacy, the absolute envy of every crazy man on earth. But it’s his fine practice at lunacy that gives him his name.” He leaned low, confiding in her. “Absolutely scorns any kind of deliberate sanity. Howls at a full moon, bites the dog before it bites him, and becomes thunderstruck with the notion of running naked on a storm-drenched night. Another peculiarity is—”

“Colonel.” John cut him off.

The Colonel could not be dissuaded from his reflections. “Now he is kidnapping women. That certainly is a thoughtful revelation.” The Colonel paused, more for dramatic effect. “What is most awe-inspiring about the general is his absolute humility on the subject. But it should come as no surprise.”

“So you agree to help me.” She was so happy she could wrap her arms around him.

“In all my years of knowing General Rourke, I have never known anyone who has challenged him so,
Mrs. Rourke
.” He choked. “To help you would be difficult.”

“But why?” She would not give up. She could charm the colonel.

“You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and I’m hard put not to be enchanted by you…”

Catherine turned her nose up at John’s murderous expression. The colonel was melting and he was making John jealous. Of course, he’d help her.

“I’ve been to war too long.” The colonel gave his head a shake. “I cannot help you, because, I have the deepest admiration and affection for General Rourke’s…lunacy. You see, he is my brother.”

Catherine glanced from John to the colonel. Same build, same tone of voice, and she surmised, the same colored hair and eyes. With a small cry, she let go of his leg.

He saluted her and chuckled from her horrified discovery. “Colonel Ryan Rourke, Confederate States of America at your service. It’s an honor making your acquaintance…
Mrs. Rourke.
”

“Madness must run in the family,” she said and stood back from him, crossing her arms in front of her chest, glaring at both of them. He had been joking, and she had made a complete fool of herself. “The Rourke family must populate the whole planet. It’s my penance to meet every one of them.”

“Not every one of us. Outside of us four boys, you’ll love my father and dear sweet mother. They are the exception,” Ryan offered.

“They have my pity.” Catherine said, the spirited tone of his voice incensing her more.

“My belated congratulations, General Rourke.” Ryan regarded his brother with amusement. “You’ve courted trouble all your life, now I see you’re married to it. I wish you a full and happy life together. That’s if you don’t kill each other first.”

John sighed. “It’s a long story—”

“And a tale I’ll be most interested in hearing, but for now my scouts have indicated a whole Yank Cavalry breathing down our necks. Teddy here—” He jerked his head to a soldier. “—can see easily to your needs. Since your horses are tired, leave them here to graze. I’ll make sure they’re returned to your camp. We’ll offer the Yanks a merry chase away from you.”

John saluted all the mounted men. “It’s good to see you, Ryan. And thanks.”

“No trouble at all.” He chuckled and tipped his hat to Catherine. “A pleasure,
Mrs. Rourke.
Until we meet again.”

Ryan wheeled his horse around and with a gauntleted hand raised up, shouted, “Head out boys.” They disappeared out of the woods and into the meadow where Catherine listened to the most ungodly, hellish screaming she had ever heard that rattled the nerves up her spine. “What in the world was that?”

“That, my dear wife, is the Rebel yell.”

“Lead the way, Teddy.” John ordered.

Glancing back, she glimpsed the big Goliath cradling her maid as if holding a fine china doll. It was an odd picture…a giant who could scare the hounds of Hell, and then, so solicitous over Brigid.

“We’ll have to move with speed, Sir,” Teddy warned. “Yankee infantry are moving in and out. I couldn’t really tell if the pickets are forward or farther back.”

“Lead on, Teddy.” She commanded, daring to outstrip her husband, and earning a shove forward. They travelled on an old trapper’s trail running counterpart to a small stream.

After roaming a distance of two miles in the rain and not coming into company with any Union soldiers, the adjutant spoke. “We were a mule’s kick from them Yanks, General. You know Bobby Lee wouldn’t be pleased to lose you.”

Catherine fell. Her skirts were soaked and tangled around her legs. John pulled her along. Bullets popped in the distance, lending credence that the lines were behind them. Teddy led them to the safety of Rebel pickets. Given fresh mounts they continued on their journey down the Shenandoah and soon the cold rain stopped. She sniffed then wiped at her nose. The first few stripes of dawn scattered a prismatic display of coral then daffodil yellow rays over the breast of the mountains, chasing away the dark sapphire blue of the night.

Ian’s horse had taken a stone in its shoe, so he begged leave at a neighboring farmhouse for repairs, promising to meet Rourke back at camp. It was the last Catherine saw of Brigid, clamped to Ian’s chest.

John’s silence jarred her. The iron door had swung shut, heaving its hush. Catherine had a boiler full of turmoil inside her. She would have the last word. “Allow me to congratulate you.”

John tapped his heels into his horse. The gesture banished conversation.

“So your ears do work, General. That’s good news. I suppose a leader of your rank should possess all his faculties before age, stupidity, and outright stubbornness erase them.”

Catherine whipped the dampness from her skirts. “Astounding isn’t it, how the male mind works. It can move, it can shoot, it can kill and destroy, but it can’t seem to speak—”

John said nothing, and Catherine hastened her horse to a faster canter, coming up beside him. “There’s an easy explanation for that, isn’t there, John. Your conversation is like looking at the wrong end of the kaleidoscope where everything’s a jumble. You try to form a simple sentence and like it, you consciously store it away in your mental chamber, and brick by brick you are mystified. And likely enough with the structure up and running, you feel complimented. Now see how easy it is to be a general.” She snapped her reins on the horse and trotted in front of him.

They passed the sentries, riding as the day receded and into a deep valley. She smelled the smoke of campfires first, before she saw the rutilant light. Hundreds of white tents were pitched in long rows. Soldiers conversed, sitting around campfires. A Rebel camp.

“We’re home,” John said.

After numerous hours in the saddle at a murderous pace and with no rest, her muscles screamed with the pain of dismounting. She would have collapsed except that Rourke caught her, holding her until the circulation reached into her legs, and then moved away.

“Thank you.” She swallowed a lump that lingered in her throat. What little fight Catherine had left took flight. Living in a nightmare of gigantic proportions and trying to escape was useless. From Mallory to John…had she traded one madman for another? What new misery awaited her?

A man with a beaked nose and, close set eyes stepped forward with a slow smile. “We were worried about you, General. Any word on General Early?” He took off his dusty hat and smacked his knee with it.

“Mission accomplished, Corporal Austin.” John said and then turned his attention to an elderly Rebel, his face wrinkled from the sun. “Any problems in my absence, Lieutenant Johnson?”

“None Sir. Kept a keen eye out. So far, all’s been quiet in the Valley.

“Glad to hear it. The boys need a rest. I’m proceeding onto General Lee to report.”

“Lee?” Catherine cried, weary of any imminent argument. “I can’t ride any farther, and I can’t stay here with these—” Several ragtag soldiers peered from their campfires.

“Rebels.” John lifted a brow, his tone full of contempt. “These are my men. The Army of Northern Virginia’s finest.”

“But—” She trembled not able to find words.
He was leaving her?

John reached her in two easy strides and yanked her away from earshot of his men. “There’s a war going on in case you’ve forgotten. Do not think of trying to escape. With certainty you will risk the treatment of a camp follower plying her avocation. It’s your choice.”

He dropped her arm as though to touch her disgusted him. Mounting a fresh horse, he waved his hand to his men. “This is
Mrs. Rourke
,” he drawled. Barely sparing her a disinterested glance, he spurred his horse and rode off.

Catherine stood motionless, the campfires creating eerie apparitions of the soldier’s faces. They stared with such intensity. Would they teeter head over heels?

Alone, isolated and very frightened, she raised a shaky hand, to smooth her tangled hair. What a mess she must seem, smelling like horse and sweat. Looking up at the starlit night, thinking about her unknown fate at the hands of these men, tears formed in her eyes. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and miserable, she despaired having to endure yet another trial. Like a public oddity and feeling a thousand eyes on her, she glanced at the Rebels with their long black beards, gaunt faces and dark eyes.

A lamb in front of a pack of wolves? Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, her teeth chattered. She waited for someone to do or say anything. Her throat squeezed so tight, she coughed.

En mass, the Rebels jumped from the campfire and surrounded her. She jerked back. All she had meant to do was clear her throat.
Were they going to kill her for a simple cough?

A soldier draped his ragged coat over her shoulders. “So you won’t catch a chill.”

Another thrust a cup of coffee into her hands. “To warm your innards.”

And yet another escorted to a stool and seated her by the fire. “To keep you warm, Mrs. Rourke.”

The mob was so genteel and labored so hard to give her every pleasure they had to offer, that she smothered a laugh from her initial fright. Never had she been wrapped in such demonstrative affection or warm-heartedness. Zillions of questions were thrown out, their curiosity getting the better of their gentlemanly manners.

“You really the general’s wife?”

“When you get married?”

“How come we didn’t get invited to the wedding?”

She didn’t tell them it was a forced ceremony, an irate priest condemning her and the general for an adult sin. No, she dared not tread that subject.

“It was of a sudden,” she squeaked.

“Love at first sight,” nodded a soldier with a burnished Alabama voice. “I knew the general would be that way boys. Quick and fast like lightning he always is.”

“Ain’t she the prettiest picture my eyes have ever beheld?”

One man rose to touch her hair as if it weren’t real. “Pardon me miss. I’ve never seen hair so golden. I thought I died and went to heaven.”