Glory (10 page)

“I’ll leave you alone and return presently,” he said quietly.

He left the room. Rhiannon opened the envelope, amazed that it could have remained so clean and white throughout the long journey home.

Tears flooded her eyes.

Dearest Wife,

If you should receive this, it will mean that I have perished in this great struggle of ours for the freedom of all men and the preservation of the Union. God knows that we are right, and so I am not afraid to die, and my only regret is to leave you, when it seems you were a part of my life forever, and yet, our time together was so brief. I don’t write to sadden you, to burden you to a greater degree, but to tell you that you were always the joy of my life, determined, adventuresome, so very brave, and so full of love for life. (All right, my darling, pigheaded, willful, and so on, as well!) But through these very traits, you will survive this great agony which has rend a nation, and God grant, my lady, I will watch you from heaven and pray for your happiness. In my memory, I do beg you to live life for all that it is worth, and to seek happiness, for the greatest crime, I see, when life is so fragile, is to refuse to accept its beauty. Remember me always; cease to mourn me. With love into eternity, your devoted husband, Richard.

The last words swam before her eyes. She started to cry, great, wretched sobs that threatened to tear her apart. The letter drifted to the floor, and she leaned against the arm of the sofa, shaking and wondering anew just what wretched betrayal she might have practiced against so fine a man.

Julian kept his distance, watching the house. He saw his brother ride out, commanding the Yanks to post guard.

Certain that his brother rode alone, he moved deeper into the pine woods, coming to a copse where he dismounted and waited once again. Soon enough, he heard his brother’s horse moving slowly and carefully through the forest. Ian would never be taken by an ambush; he’d learned far too much, not just from the military, but from their father and their uncle, James. James, half Seminole, had learned bitter lessons about hiding.

“Over here, big brother,” he called dryly.

Ian turned in the blink of an eye; even hearing his brother’s voice, he took no chances. The barrel of his Colt, identical to Julian’s own—was aimed at his heart.

“I’m alone.”

“So I see.”

Ian holstered his weapon and dismounted from his horse. He approached, and Julian grinned, greeting his brother with a heartfelt embrace. Moments when they met now were rare.

He drew away from Ian, searching out his eyes. “Is there something wrong? Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be busy in a Northern campaign somewhere? Last I heard, you’d been assigned running intelligence from Lincoln himself to whichever general was trying to lead an eastern campaign against Lee.”

“Someone had to bring orders to St. Augustine, and I requested the assignment.”

“It’s convenient that your superiors allow you to visit your wife,” Julian commented.

Ian arched a brow. “I’ve been assigned here several times, and not for the convenience of my family life, but because it’s assumed I’m far more likely to be effective against Rebels like you.”

“I’m a medical man, Ian.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been involved in some shooting.”

“People shoot at me, I shoot back.”

“You’ll become fair game. The enemy will be justified in shooting you. Doctors have been killed in this war, Julian—”

“Civilians have been killed in this war, Ian. What would you have me do—stand there and take a shot?”

“No. It was just good to think that you and Brent might have survived this war, that’s all,” Ian said.

“We’ve all got to survive it,” Julian said tensely. He suddenly felt weary. The war was bitter, frightening, better not to think about. All of their lives, they’d been a close-knit family—not just Ian, he, and their sister, Tia, but their cousins Jennifer, Jerome, Brent, and Sydney as well. For the most part, the McKenzies fought for the South.

No matter how he tried to look at the situation, to their uncle, James McKenzie, the Federal government had done nothing but bring pain, suffering, exile, and death to his mother’s people, the Seminoles. Therefore, he was a Confederate. Jerome, James’s older son, had chosen to fight for his state, and Brent, James’s younger son, was a surgeon with the Army of Northern Virginia. Jennifer had tried spying for the South for a while after her husband had been killed, but she’d nearly been killed. Sydney had worked in Southern hospitals, and was now in Washington working for prisoner exchanges.

Ian had chosen the North, knowing that he’d become an outcast from his own family, but though Julian had chosen the Florida militia and Tia worked with Julian, their father, Jarrett McKenzie, remained a Unionist as well. The family was sadly split, with Jerome’s wife being the daughter of a Northern general while Ian’s remained, at heart, an ardent Confederate. Both women had taken up residence in St. Augustine, passing the time by working with a surgeon there, and they had all crossed battle lines before, determined to help one another out during times of danger, no matter what the cost. Blood could indeed be thick—thicker than any loyalty, despite the passion of their convictions and disagreements. Julian was able to see Jerome every few months—his cousin was a blockade runner who did his best to supply Julian with drugs and medicine. It was more difficult to see his only brother.

They fought on opposite sides.

“How are Alaina, Risa, and the children?” Julian asked huskily.

Julian thought that his brother hesitated, but only briefly. “They’re all very well, thank you. Have you seen Mother and Father?”

“Not in months, I’m afraid, but Tia was home a few weeks ago and said they were fine.”

“I miss them,” Ian said. He swept off his cavalry hat and dusted the trail dirt from it, gazing toward the west. “I miss going home. I miss our conversations, and our arguments, and I miss Cimarron.”

“Think it will ever end?” Julian asked.

Ian looked at him steadily. “It will end. Eventually, Northern manpower and supply will strangle the Confederacy.”

“Maybe.” Julian looked back at him just as steadily. “But perhaps Europe will step in and recognize the Confederacy and put enough pressure against the Union that the Federal government will think good riddance at last and let the South go. With elections coming up, maybe the antiwar candidate will win.”

Ian leaned against an oak tree, crossing his arms over his chest, and grinning. “Too bad we can’t just settle the argument here and now.”

“Fight it out, like when we were kids? Because you think you can take me?”

“I’m still older.”

“I think I am a little taller.”

“I’m in better shape.”

“I resent that.”

“I’ve got at least twenty pounds on you right now.”

“Careful, you well-fed Yanks will run right to fat.”

Ian laughed, setting his hat back on his head. “I imagine you did well enough last night. Mrs. Tremaine seems to be managing a well-working household.”

“Oh, yes. Entertain the Rebs and summon the Yanks!” He frowned. “How did you happen to be the one to ride out here, Ian?”

“Well, I was hoping to see you. I thought you might be in on this, and if we were going to capture some ragtag militia that might be taken as spies, I wanted to make sure someone was in charge who was in a mood to take prisoners—and not so bitter he’d want them all shot.”

“That was good of you, big brother. As you can see, though, the ragtag band has gone.”

“I’ve always given these troops credit, Julian. So do the powers that be. People know that your men are quick, disciplined, and able to wreak chaos, which makes them dangerous, no matter how small their numbers.”

Julian nodded. “We’ve got to do our best, Ian. You know that. I know that you feel you have to fight for the North; you know these boys feel they have to fight for their land.”

“I also had a message for Rhiannon Tremaine. I needed to deliver a letter found with her husband’s effects. He was with Colonel Egan at Antietam. Egan is a friend of mine and wanted the envelope hand-delivered. Which I was pleased to do, being curious to meet the lady.”

“Oh?” Julian inquired.

Ian shrugged. “She’s supposed to be a witch, you know.”

“I believe it,” Julian said blandly.

Ian arched a brow. “An interesting witch, a white witch, so goes rumor. She can make poultices to cure the deepest wounds, forecast the weather, and find lost children.”

“Rare talents indeed,” Julian murmured.

“Do you believe in them?” Ian queried him.

Julian lifted his hand in a vague motion. “I’ve known her only briefly. How could I judge?”

“You’re a doctor, she’s supposed to be a healer. Aunt Teela always had a talent with all our scrapes, cuts, bruises, and illnesses. Perhaps this Rhiannon is the same.”

“She’s quite competent in a medical situation,” Julian said noncommittally.

“So she helped patch up a Reb!” Ian said.

“She’d been told he was a Yank.”

“Ah, but she knew that you were a pack of liars, didn’t she?” Ian mused with a touch of humor. “That is, if she does have special sight. And since she sent word to the troops at St. Augustine ...”

“She knew we were lying, and she played along. What else could she do?” Julian asked, irritated that his brother seemed so curious and probing. Ian knew him too well.

“She does seem an extraordinary woman. You mean that you weren’t impressed?”

“You’re married, Ian.”

“Indeed. I am. You’re not. Well?”

“Yes, extraordinary,” Julian said impatiently. “And foolish.”

“How so?”

“The use of laudanum and other opiates—on herself.”

Ian studied his brother, lifting a brow. “She’s grieving. I was sorry I had the letter, but I had no choice but to give it to her. I’m afraid that it will cause her greater pain.”

“Other women have lost their husbands. Mothers have lost their sons. Our cousin Jennifer lost her husband—”

“And became a spy, grew careless in her bitterness, and nearly hanged for her actions,” Ian reminded him. “We tend to forget, it is also a woman’s war, and often the waiting is the worst of it, and then the knowing, and the living on, day after day, when all seems lost.”

“That’s quite a speech.”

“Alaina gave it to me,” Ian said and grinned. He shrugged. “I’ve too often been in Washington when the lists of the dead have arrived after a battle. I’ve seen the eager waiting, the hope, the dismay, the desolation, and the tears. She is in pain. Time will help heal her loss, but she’s not had enough time as yet to begin to mend. This war will leave a sea of widows, and many will grieve until their dying days.”

“Her dying day is going to be soon if she doesn’t take care,” Julian said.

“A pity. She’s enchanting.”

“So is your wife,” Julian reminded him.

Ian flashed him a quick smile. “No one ever needs remind me of that. Alaina is enchanting and gracious. I think that I should try to talk Mrs. Tremaine into moving into St. Augustine, where she will be safe from you Rebel rabble. There are those who believe she can be useful.”

“She can be useful.”

“I wish she would agree to come with me, but I doubt it. Perhaps she might be put into greater danger, since the army would surely want to explore her ‘sight.’ She is remarkably talented, I believe. And, of course, a Yankee.”

“Meaning?”

“Who knows when her very unique talents might be required?” Ian said.

Did she have a strange kind of prophetic sight? If so, the Rebs could definitely use her more. But she would never aid the Rebel troops, and Julian found himself telling his brother, “Make her come with you. Pressure her. She should not remain in that house.”

“I’ll certainly try.” Ian shook his head, and his voice held a tremor. “God, but it’s good to see you, little brother. I’ve got to talk quickly, though. I’ll be missed soon, I’m afraid. Can’t have the troops know I’m fraternizing with the enemy. Nor do I dare let the lady know the truth of the matter. She thinks that I managed to miss capturing you on purpose.”

“Did you?”

Ian hesitated. “No,” he said.

Julian smiled, certain that Ian was lying. “Thank you, brother.”

“I still think you’ve saved more lives than you’ve cost,” Ian said. “Still ...”

“You’re the one who takes too many risks, Ian,” Julian said huskily. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I always calculate my risks, you know that,” Ian told him. “And as I said, I was hoping to see you—without us having to shoot at one another, of course. I wasn’t expecting Mrs. Tremaine to be so astute—or so alarmed at the sight of me. Meeting her was an interesting experience.”

“Why, what are you talking about?”

“I walked in, and she passed out.”

“What?”

“Took one look at my face and apparently thought that you had come back into her life.”

“She thought you resembled me so closely?”

Ian sighed with mock impatience. “Julian, I’m older. You resemble me.”

“I met her first, therefore you resembled me.”

“That’s still not the way it works, but no matter. Tell me, whatever did you do, little brother, to cause the widow such distress?”

“I kept her from killing herself.”

“Oh? She didn’t appear to be contemplating suicide.”

“I took her drugs away.”

“No more than that?”

Julian hesitated. “I took them away rather forcefully,” he said after a moment. “We argued the point, and she was a bit under the influence at the time.”

“You used to have more patience, little brother.”

“I used to have more time away from torn and dying men to have patience with those who have given up, big brother. And then again—” he began, but broke off with a shrug.

“Then again—?”

“She angers me. Because she is a witch perhaps, a spellbinder, far too knowing for her own good.”

“Maybe she needs to be doing more than she is. She’d make an excellent nurse.”

“By all means.”

“I’ll make the suggestion to her.”

“Yes, do that,” he murmured, surprised that it should disturb him that Ian might give her such a suggestion. Ian could possibly entice the widow away.