Triumph (27 page)

It was made a bit easier, however, by some of the things that he said to her. She was defensive against any criticism of her father.

“If you find my father a fool and me indecent, it’s amazing that you would marry me.”

“Ah!” he said softly. “But I love you. All men might not. And,” he admitted grudgingly, “I know that there are other women working with the wounded. Few of them, though, hold your place in society.”

“My father is a man who taught me to respect other men and women for what they do, and how they behave—not how much money or property they possess. Perhaps that’s because he was raised by a Seminole woman, my half-breed uncle’s mother,” she said, the words far too pleasant to convey the reproach and anger she was feeling.

“Your uncle managed to overcome his birth—”

“My uncle is proud of his birth.”

“Tia! The Seminole Wars are over, and I don’t care to fight them again with you here and now; there are other matters at hand—”

“Just think! Marry me, and you’ll be cousin-in-law to
redmen
yourself!”

“Tia, I will tolerate many things for you.”

“Tolerate,” she mused.

“I believe you have feelings for me as well. There is no need for you to die an old maid. Perhaps what you do is not quite decent, but at least you are not a whore such as that woman the men are all cheering as such a great Rebel—that—that Godiva creature Mrs. Roper was talking about. She has been everywhere, so it is said, leading dozens and dozens of Yankees to their doom.”

A gross exaggeration!
Tia thought.

She longed to slap Ray—then her anger faded.
The things he said were things that he had been taught! And there was nowhere in him where he might open his heart and mind to new thoughts, or to understanding ...

“If I do not marry, I will not consider my life a dismal waste. And I would be loathe to marry a man who did not love me under any circumstances. I appreciate your kindness, that you would love me enough to marry me despite my tarnished character. But you have your beliefs, Ray, I have mine—”

“Do they really matter between a man and a woman? Think about it! Marry me.”

“I must refuse you. The war does matter. You can see that, surely.”

“Perhaps. Yet still, I must ask each time I see you! And if ever you need me, want me ... you only need to come to me.”

“Thank you. But ... you must excuse me—I see my brother waving to me.”

She fled from him, hurrying to Julian—who had not been summoning her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I have been hearing about my indecency.”

Julian grinned. “The old biddies! What you do is good work, Tia. You save lives. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.”

“Thank you, Julian.”

“My pleasure. Are you tiring of life here in this bed of good and decent society?”

“Tonight, yes.”

“Good. I’m ready to start back for our old grounds outside of St. Augustine. I want to take some of the wounded to convalesce in better circumstances. There are too many wounded here, and not too many admirable men and women to look after them.”

“I’m definitely ready!”

God, yes, she was ready.

S
HE COULD SEE THE
child, a small child, with a quick, mischievous grin, charming, delightful. A handsome little fellow, dark-haired, with a will of his own, and a way of behaving badly in so sweet a manner that he managed to get away with quite a lot. He was playing, as children were wont to do.

The dream was murky, as if there were a fog in the bedroom where the child played. There was an open doorway, leading out to the balcony. There were other children, but she couldn’t really see them ... there was the fog, of course, but more. The little boy was the focus of the dream, and so she could see him clearly. He had a dimple ...

There was a balcony. He crawled upon the railing ...

“No! No!”

She tossed in her sleep, trying to tell him, trying to stop him. “No, don’t do it, oh, God, please, no, no ...”

And then he was falling, falling, falling ...

“Rhiannon! Rhiannon! Wake up!” She felt gentle hands on her shoulders, and looked into the concerned, beautiful blue eyes of her mother-in-law.

She jerked up, petrified, terrified. Where was she?

Julian’s house, safe in the haven of Cimarron, though Julian was far away. Despatches had already crossed the state; she knew that her husband was safe, that Tia was safe. In his personal letter to her, Julian had sounded very weary, not certain if he cared whether the South won the war anymore. The flow of injured at Olustee Station had seemed endless, almost as bad as when he had been serving with the Army of Northern Virginia, and by sheer numbers of combatants, the battles had been horror-filled from the start. But it was over, Julian was well, her sister-in-law was fine as well, and she was here, recovering as she must, away from Julian, because of their infant son, a Christmas present unlike any she might have imagined. A gift of life in the midst of so much death!

“Conar!” Rhiannon shrieked, leaping from her husband’s bed. Heedless of her concerned mother-in-law, she flew to the wicker bassinet where the baby slept. Too panicked to leave him at peace, she swept him into her arms. So brusquely awakened, he started to cry.

“Rhiannon, you’re shaking. Let me take him from you,” Tara McKenzie said softly.

Rhiannon looked from the baby in her arms to Tara, then handed the baby over and buried her face in her hands.

“It was a dream ...”

“About the baby?”

“Yes ...” she said, then hesitated. She sat on the bed, and Tara sat beside her, soothing the baby and still managing to show her concern for Rhiannon.

Rhiannon let out a long breath of relief. “No, not my baby!” she whispered. And yet the pain remained in her heart.

The boy was someone’s baby. Someone’s beloved baby.

“No, an older baby. A toddler. Not Alaina’s Sean! It didn’t happen here ... it was at a different house. A large, beautiful house, on a busy street. People are always coming and going. There’s an entry to the house with that wallpaper that is made to look like marble. There’s a child’s room with a little rocking horse—like the one in the nursery here that was Tia’s. There are dolls ... toys ...”

“But it definitely isn’t this house,” Tara said softly.

“No. I’m certain.”

“It can’t be where Alaina has been living in St. Augustine. She and Risa have just a small place together, without so many rooms, and there is certainly no grand stairway!”

Tara McKenzie had tended many a small child with her own three, nephews and nieces, and grandchildren. Conar’s little eyes were already closed again. Rhiannon was tempted to take him, crush him to her, even let him cry again, she was just so grateful to see that her own child lived. Had her dream been of Conar at some later date? No, she would know, surely ...

“It is someone else’s child. If I could only warn her ...”

“Rhiannon, perhaps the time will come when you can do so,” Tara said. She had never doubted her new daughter-in-law’s ability to see strange things through dreams. Julian had told her that Rhiannon’s predictions had saved many men from sure disaster. Even generals had paid heed to her warnings.

But Tara’s heart bled for her daughter-in-law at times.

There was a child, in danger. And she wanted so desperately to help ...

Tara set the baby back in his bassinet. She took her daughter-in-law in her arms, and rocked with her, smoothing back her long dark hair. “Rhiannon, you mustn’t be so upset. It’s a blessing to be able to help anyone the way that you have. We’ll all be very careful not to let any toddlers we know play unsupervised on a balcony. We will make a difference.”

“A difference ... my God, one day, it’s the children who will have to make a difference. The children who will have to lead us from the devastation of this war we have cast upon them!”

“Yes, they will have to make a difference.” She drew away and smiled. “In a way, I envy them. They will have to fight and struggle—and forge a new world.”

“It will be miserable for years.”

“Growth and learning are often difficult. But they are the only ways to forge a new world! Shall I get you a drink, warm some milk, perhaps.”

“No, no, thank you, I’m sorry I disturbed you. I know that I’ll be able to sleep now.”

Tara kissed her on the forehead, and left her.

Rhiannon didn’t sleep, but lay awake. In a few minutes she rose, and very gently took her precious child from his bassinet. She didn’t wake him, but laid him beside her, and she watched him throughout the night.

Tia and Julian moved southward the day after Mrs. Roper’s party. Julian warned her the journey would be long and slow.

It was indeed very tedious; a few of the men were in poor shape. Still, it felt good to be away from the constant reminders of the battle—a field that smelled more and more of decay. Towns where so many men were without limbs. They traveled with the medical supplies they needed, and the days were cool and pleasant, the nights chilly but not too cold.

Toward the end of March, Julian was summoned late at night by a rider sent by General Finegan. One of his most important aides had been wounded by a sharpshooter. “The bullet is lodged in his shoulder,” the messenger explained to Julian. “There is no man but you to perform so delicate a surgery.”

“I would very much so like to help any man,” Julian told “him. “Especially an officer the general values. But I have only one whole man among this sorry group!”

Tia, who was at her brother’s side, cleared her throat.

“Tia, I don’t like leaving you—”

“Sir, will you have some coffee?” Tia asked, addressing their visitor.

“Ma’am, with pleasure.”

His name was Arnold Bixby, and he was a Georgian. He sipped his whiskey-laced coffee with real pleasure as Tia tried to sound casual and convince Julian that she would be all right at the same time. Julian hadn’t quite seemed to have grasped the concept that he wasn’t being asked to accompany Bixby, he was being ordered to do so.

“Julian, I can manage very well.”

“Tia, I don’t like leaving you.”

“Julian, we had to split up once before in like circumstances, and I was just fine.” It was a lie, but he had never learned that she had met up with any difficulty before reaching Dixie and his men before Christmas.

“We’ve just won a major battle! The territory is safe. Liam is with me.”

“Liam has lost a leg.”

“Liam remains as fierce as a bulldog,” she insisted.

“If you can reach this point by the river here,” Bixby said, drawing a map on the dirt floor of the tent, “you’ll tie up with Dr. Lee Granger. He’s keeping camp there with more survivors from Olustee. In fact, we can ride there on our way north and let him know that your injured will be joining his.”

Julian kept staring at his sister. “I don’t like leaving you.”

“Julian, I don’t
like
being left. There’s little choice, however, and I can manage. I wouldn’t perform surgery without you, but I think that I can manage to keep bandages clean and a party on the road. I’ve done it before,” she reminded him.

“Bixby, I don’t like this. If anything happens to my sister ...”

“Julian, I’ll be fine,” Tia insisted. “If we should happen upon the enemy, it might well be men I know. Many of the officers in this war went to school with Ian or are friends with Father. Julian, no matter what, I would be in no danger.”

And she would be fine. She would take no chances. They had sorely beaten their enemy. The Yanks were like dogs with their tails between their legs now—running away from, not after, the Rebels.

“I’ll pack your things,” she told her brother.

The next morning was beautiful. Tia awoke feeling confident, washed at the stream, drank the coffee Gilly had made, and saw to it that her wounded men at least sipped some of Liam’s hardtack stew before she arranged for them to start out.

Gilly and a man who was fighting an infection were placed in the back of the wagon. The mules were docile, and a fellow who had lost his lower leg could manage them easily enough. Tia, Liam, Hank Jones, and Larry Hacker, who had lost his lower arm, would ride.

The day started off very well. They moved very slowly, careful not to jostle Gilly any more than absolutely necessary. By noon, she was proud of the distance they had covered. They could reach Dr. Granger’s camp by tomorrow morning if they kept up their pace.

Soon after she congratulated herself on her success, the wagon hit a pothole. The wheel broke; the wagon lumbered, and Gilly screamed.

Frightened, Tia looked at Liam, then hurried to the back of the wagon. Gilly’s foot—or rather his ankle—had flown up and crashed down on the planks. It was bleeding profusely.

“Help me get a tourniquet together!” she called to Liam.

Accustomed to working with Julian as well, Liam quickly found her a stick. She ripped up her skirt, and together they wound the tourniquet around the injury. The bleeding stopped. She had Gilly taken down by the water and cleaned the wound. The stump had been cauterized, but the accident had left a tear in it. Gilly fought the pain bravely, but Tia could see the tears in his eyes. “We have whiskey—let’s share it.” She took a drink first herself; Gilly came next. Liam arched a brow at her then took a long swallow. Returning to the wagon, Tia got out her needle and the surgical thread she was lucky to still have. Sometimes, she sewed wounds with horse hair.

Gilly got enough whiskey in him to pass out, right by the water. Liam set up a camp for the others with Hank Jones. When the camp was done, Liam came back to her. “I’ll stay here by the water for a while with him,” she said softly. The poor fellow remained passed out. She smiled at Liam. “I think I’m wearing half his blood. I may try to wash out some of this.”

“You want me to keep guard, Miss Tia?”

She smiled. “If you will.”

Liam watched her for a long moment. “You’re a fine leader, Miss Tia.”

“No, I’m not, but thank you.”

He left her. Gingerly she approached the cold water. She could smell the blood that covered her. She stripped her blouse over her head, shivering. She wore a corset today, but it didn’t give her any warmth. Still ... she slipped out of her skirt. She had to wash her clothing. Liam could bring her the extra set of clothing she carried in her bag. She could leave these to dry on the rocks. She had to bathe. The smell of the blood that covered her made her feel sick to her stomach. She felt as she had the night at Olustee, as if she’d never get the blood out. No matter how cool the night had become, she had stripped down completely and scrubbed until the scent of blood was gone.