Surrender the Wind (25 page)

Lieutenant Johnson appeared outside her tent again. “I thought you’d like to go for a walk, Mrs. Rourke. I would provide escort.”

Checking her image in the mirror, Catherine beamed and an expression of satisfaction shown in her eyes. Straightening herself with dignity, Catherine threw open the tent flaps and stepped outside. “I would be honored, Lieutenant Johnson,” Catherine began and then noticed the look of utter astonishment upon his face.

Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” she asked feigning surprised innocence, yet enjoying her new objectivity.

“Yes ma’am. I mean no ma’am. I apologize, ma’am.” The lieutenant fought for words. “It’s just that—” He rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, looking worriedly about the camp and muttered something she barely caught.

“
General Rourke did not enlist eunuchs
.”

John saluted Major Hodge. “Request permission to see General Lee.”

Covered with dust and exhausted from his hard ride, John stood at attention. General Lee moved through his camp like Moses through the Israelites, everyone parting, and then stopped in front of his headquarters where General Benson, General Longstreet, and several other officers gathered. Lee paused as his aide de camp apprised him of General Rourke’s arrival.

General Lee pivoted, his clear blue eyes, glacial now, focused on John and bowed his head with the barest of acknowledgement.

Taken aback as to what merited his commander’s ire, John stepped forward, saluted, and made customary salutations to the other officers.

Always formal and without expression, General Lee broached the discussion first. “General Rourke, there are rumors, strong rumors surrounding your exploits in Washington—kidnapping the heir to the Fitzgerald Rifle Works? To lose a general on such a foolish escapade?” Lee’s cool blue eyes bored into him. General Lee never shouted. His words spoken with terseness defined his greater anger.

“It is a very long story. I can explain, Sir.”

Lee raised his eyes. “You have a lot of explaining to do, General Rourke, but you will remain silent until I’m finished. Kidnapping a woman, and one I might add betrothed to another man is unchivalrous, if not uncharacteristic. That is not what the Army of Northern Virginia is about. I gave express orders for General Early to invade Washington. I don’t recall ordering you to do the same.”

Normally grim and grave, General Longstreet lounged back in his chair behind General Lee and, smiling, Longstreet said, “What are we to do with him?”

No doubt, the general itched to heap coals on the fire.

General Lee turned his gaze on Longstreet who lost his smile and cast his countenance into a proper serious frown.

Leaning against a tent pole and leisurely smoothing his mustache, General Benson spoke. “This is a most serious situation, with most serious consequences. I am sure kidnapping a betrothed woman is a grievous offense,” he said, fanning the flames, to make John sweat.

John glared at him. Benson and he had been close friends at West Point and had grown up in the same county. Both had gotten into competitive skirmishes during their boyhood days as well as during their military schooling. John could beat Benson with one hand tied behind his back.

“Foolish. Very foolish.” Lee shook his head. “What kind of leadership example is this for your men?”

General Longstreet leaned his stool back on two legs, reviewing the matter. “I don’t think this has happened since the uncivilized, barbaric Romans fell upon the Sabine women,” he commented with rare humorous glee.

“What is the world coming to?” Benson added, not to be outdone by General Longstreet.

“A most hurtful embarrassment to the Confederacy,” conceded Longstreet.

“What other death defying missions can we send General Rourke on? Another ride into Washington to steal Lincoln’s dog?” Benson could not contain his mirth. John glowered down on him.

“Enough of this,” Lee said. “General, if I didn’t have such a shortage of leaders…and good leaders…I’d court-martial you here and now. But I can spare no one. Pray tell me, General Rourke, how you happened upon this activity.”

Finally able to speak, John exhaled. “Miss Fitzgerald is my wife.”

“Your wife!” All three generals echoed.

Benson gaped. Longstreet dropped his chair on all fours. Lee gazed at him, his astonishment genuine.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

“The Northern papers contend that she was engaged to Francis Mallory,” Lee apprised him. “I assume you were married just last night.”

“Not quite Sir. A little earlier than that.”

“I find it hard to believe you were married while on horseback running between lines.”

“Earlier than that, Sir. A couple of months ago.”

“This is interesting.” Longstreet stroked his beard.

“I left out a small detail, Sir, when I told you about the Yankee woman who rescued me.”

“Apparently so. Go on, General Rourke—”

A tense silence loomed between them. John stroked his throat with what he must divulge. “I was…we were…caught in her bedroom. Everything was circumspect, Sir. It was…” Glancing at Benson’s hilarious countenance, the muscles of his forearms hardened beneath his sleeves. There was no need to go into further detail. He made a mess of it.

“It was what, General?” Lee frowned, waiting.

“A shotgun wedding to the South’s most notorious bachelor!” Benson hooted.

“Is this true?” Lee exhibited greater concern.

Under Lee’s scrutiny, John sweated tenfold. He sounded like some greenhorn sapling.

“Yes, Sir. Her uncle, a priest, was present—” he cleared his throat, “—and the wedding took place immediately.”

“Did the priest use a Fitzgerald repeater rifle to consecrate the vows?” Longstreet chortled, which drew stares from across the camp.

“She must have fallen head over heels for you because she picked up another fiancé right away.” Benson slapped his knee, but stopped short when Lee’s smoldering gaze fell on him.

A vein pulsed in John’s neck. He kept a lid on his temper, mindful to push through his paper-thin veneer of respectability. “There is more to the story, General Lee, but I don’t think I need to bore you with all the facts,” John said, desiring to wring the facts out of Catherine’s neck.

“It’s been interesting,” said Lee.

“If not entertaining,” agreed Longstreet.

“Do continue,” begged General Benson, humor still plastered on his face. “It is not often we have such compelling or engaging tales to share.”

“My wife is most probably quite frightened by the ordeal. I beg to leave and get back to her and my men, Sir,” John said.

“You may, General Rourke.” General Lee tipped his head.

But Benson gloried like a kid with an early Christmas present, refusing to give it up. “Here’s a man with all the female hearts in the South aflutter…made a vow to stay away from the state of matrimony, likening it to a mountain lion. What was it you said, General? You stay away unless you want to get scratched.”

“I assume—” Lee interrupted, “—if I question Mrs. Rourke, I will find her most agreeable to this arrangement?”

“Yes,” John said, though he had no idea what type of temper she would be in upon his return.

“Very well. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, Sir.” John saluted and mounted his horse.

“One last thing.” Lee looked up to him. “I assume she can be trusted.”

“Absolutely Sir.” He spurred his horse forward, worried what he’d discover in his absence, and then wheeled his horse around, returning to the communication tent next to headquarters. He had forgotten his dispatches.

“Now look at that,” John overheard Benson comment. “See how General Rourke spurred his horse to get out of here.”

“What is your point?” Lee drawled, his vexation with General Benson evident.

“For the first time, I saw a stripe of fear run down General Rourke’s face as if he’d get back to his camp and find his wife collecting another fiancé.” Benson guffawed.

Longstreet chuckled.

“General Benson,” Lee said. “Your conversation thus far has a curious sound in my ear. To believe that such talk ever comes out of a person’s mouth was a time when time was of no value to a person. Your talk wanders all around and arrives at nowhere and thus far, has consisted only of irrelevancy.”

Chastised, and seeing John’s warning glare, Benson wisely displayed the relevancy of a remorseful countenance.

Lee’s tone was as critical as it was to praise. “General Rourke is an outstanding general, one of the best, as is present company included. Gentlemen, we should retire for we know not what tomorrow brings.”

Catherine moved to Lieutenant Johnson’s side. “I have made it my personal mission to meet every man in my husband’s camp.”

“That’s impossible. There are over four thousand men in this camp.”

“My mother always said there is always a good outcome in meeting new people and enlarging our circle of friends even though we might not have matching viewpoints regarding the war. Besides, some of the men may need my help.” Catherine frowned when he stopped to make sure all six chambers of his Colt revolver were filled with fresh balls, gunpowder and with percussion caps in place. “Why are you checking your pistols?”

The lieutenant wrinkled his beak-like nose. “General Rourke’s men are not blind. Laying eyes on you, Mrs. Rourke, will be like seeing clouds in the desert and expecting immediate rain. I’m not taking any chances.”

Nonsense. She had plenty of experience with men in New York. Exuding calm and focus, she outpaced the lieutenant to a group of men sitting around the outside of a tent. Before she could introduce herself, she met a tsunami of lecherous grins and jaw-dropping predatory hunger. How naïve she was to expect these men, hard-driven men…, and made more so by the war, to behave like the men of her drawing room acquaintance.

One soldier was bold to speak, making known his depraved thoughts. “She is pretty. I’m thinking of a deer running his tongue up a saltlick.”

The men laughed and had mistaken her for a camp follower. Heat rose from her toes to the roots of her hair. Lieutenant Johnson edged beside her, and she straightened, fortified by his presence and the two Colt revolvers on his hips.

Lieutenant Johnson sustained strong eye contact with the men that ceased any forthcoming ribald comments. “Allow me to make introductions…this is General Rourke’s wife.” He let that part of his sermon snake around them.

Smiles froze. Eyes rounded as big as silver dollars. Some choked on their food. “The general’s wife? We-we apologize, Mrs. Rourke. We had no idea. This won’t get back to the general?”

She suppressed a smile. With certainty, the status of the general’s wife brought instant acclaim and immediate respect. “I came to ask if there is anything I can help you men with.”

A haggard man with shoulders as wide as a bull buffalo’s stood. “My wife is very pregnant with our first child.”

Catherine inhaled. He should be home tending to his wife, not at war. “It is natural to have worries, especially with your first child. Does she have someone in your absence to care for her?”

“Her mother lives on our farm.” He answered with woe.

“Then you should have faith that your wife is in good hands. Why don’t you and I sit down and pen a letter to your wife that will give her comfort for the blessed event.” Catherine sat on a stool the men provided and composed a letter of love and regard to his pregnant wife. The letter was not so much for the wife, but as an opportunity to counsel the expectant father that he too, would journey through a myriad of intense emotions for one of the most miraculous of life’s experiences. As the sun poured out from behind a cloud and bathed the day in its golden rays, the men nodded their heads and gave their reassurances, clapping the soldier’s broad shoulders until he was smiling and relaxed.

“Can you write a letter to my sweetheart? To my wife? To my children? To my mother?”

She treated each and every man with concern, listening to their sufferings and sorrows and hardships. With diligence she wrote impassioned correspondence to wives, mothers, and sweethearts back home. She listened to the men who were lonely and needed to pour out their troubles, and with tenderness, she addressed them with affection like a mother would a child.

“That’s enough for the time being,” said Lieutenant Johnson and she mouthed a
thank you
for her back ached from sitting so long.

The men protested her departure. Many were illiterate and thirsted for communication to their loved ones. “I promise to return, but first I would like to meet the rest of the men.”

“This is my toughest and most dangerous duty in escorting the general’s wife,” said Lieutenant Johnson, holding a straight face, and the men moaned. He took her hand and helped her rise.

“That should be my duty.” A soldier massaged his chest.

“There are earthquakes. There are tornadoes, but…it is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on,” Lieutenant Johnson goaded.

So the lieutenant was a student of Shakespeare. She strolled beside him unable to get out of her mind the deplorable conditions of the men. “I must speak with the general about the lack of proper clothing, shoes and food when he returns. I realize the war has brought unfortunate circumstances, but we must improve the conditions of the men.”

He lifted his chin. “The general has married a saint. It would be my pleasure to escort the sweetest tempered woman in the world to tour the hospital and commissary.”

She narrowed her eyes. There was more to the request. Was it a test? “I am not faint of heart. I have assisted with surgeries at MacDougall Hospital in New York and have seen the worst.”

When Catherine entered the hospital tent her stomach churned from the stench of unwashed bodies and unattended men. “Where is the doctor?” Her voice cracked through the stillness.

“Dr. Hancock.” Lieutenant Johnson angled his head to a rotund, soiled man drunk in his cups and snoring in a chair.

She kicked him in the shin. He exploded from the chair, swinging a meaty fist. Catherine ducked. The doctor spun around and toppled over.