Glory (25 page)

He lay on the bed, groaning. He looked at Brent with pleading eyes. Not for help. He knew that he couldn’t be helped. He wanted to be shot, put out of his misery.

“This man was let into the army?” Brent said with quiet incredulity.

“Well, you know, sir, doctors examine the men, but quite frankly, we can’t be too darned picky anymore. We’re taking boys and old folks these days—”

“But this man must have come into the army at the start of the war for this disease to have so ravaged him by now!”

“Yes, sir. He was head of a Virginia militia unit from way back before the war. He financed his company, bought horses, equipment, uniforms ... and when his troops were commissioned into the regular army, he didn’t seem to mind one bit. He just came right along. He fought bravely, gave his all ... and came here. Some time ago now.”

Yes, obviously, this man had been dying for some time. There were treatments that could control the symptoms of syphilis, and men and women could go for years bearing—and spreading—the disease before it began to wreak the final havoc upon the human mind and body.

“There’s nothing I can do for this man—except help him die with less pain.”

“That’s what we all thought here, sir. But then, they said that you were awful good with diseases.”

“I’m not a miracle worker, I’m afraid. This poor fellow needs strong doses of morphine. We’ll do everything we can to make him comfortable. I can prescribe some herbal baths that will be soothing for the sores. We’re limited here, of course. I’ve only two assistant surgeons to help with all the patient care so we’ll need a dedicated orderly or nurse with a strong stomach—”

“Oh, he has the most dedicated nurse in the world. Miss Mary is here with him,” Corporal Rugby said.

“Miss Mary?” Brent inquired.

“Ah, and here she is!” Rugby said cheerfully.

Brent turned as Rugby smiled over his shoulder. A woman was coming toward them.
One of the whores,
Brent thought.
The place was crawling with them. Old, young. Pretty, worn, sweet, nasty, and sour as turned wine.

This one was beautiful. She was small, slim, with generous breasts and a minuscule waist, exquisitely proportioned. Her hair was a golden blond, her face was a classical oval with just a touch of a heart shape, and her eyes were large and gray. Her hair was tied back simply with a ribbon, and she was dressed in a plain gray cotton day gown with no corseting beneath. The dress was chastely buttoned to her throat, with a white collar that had somehow stayed white and added a look of prim innocence to her gown. She flashed a quick smile to Corporal Rugby before turning her gaze on Brent.

She was straightforward, offering him her hand. “I’d heard you were coming. My name is—”

“Mary, yes, and you look after the captain here.”

“Yes. Can you do anything for him?”

The girl was young, perhaps eighteen. In a society where many young women became wives at fifteen and sixteen, she wasn’t so terribly young, but as a consort to the man on the bed, she was a babe. She apparently cared something for him as well, because her eyes and tone were anxious as she spoke.

“I can help him die,” Brent said quietly but bluntly.

He thought for a moment that her eyes would well with tears. She looked away. “We thought perhaps that you knew ...”

Magic. They all thought he had some kind of damned magic. He felt weary, beaten—and angry. He wondered if this girl knew that syphilis was contracted through sexual activity. A lot of them didn’t. These foolish girls! She didn’t look as if she had come from desperate poverty. She spoke well, as if she had been educated. Whatever made these young girls turn to such a life?

“I can help him die,” Brent said, “and that is all. I’m sorry.”

Her jaw tightened as she blinked back tears. “I work very hard here, helping out,” she said. “Long hours. I work with all the men, I don’t shrink from any task. All I ask is morphine for him in return—”

“He’ll be given all that I can give him.”

“If we need money—”

“No!” he snapped. “We don’t need money.” Money! She was plying her trade here, where they were busy fighting the spread of venereal disease throughout the army. “Money can’t buy what can’t be obtained at any price. What we have, we will use. I will see that he lives in the least pain possible and dies with the most dignity we can give him. I have just told Corporal Rugby that I’ll be prescribing baths to soothe his sores. Tomorrow morning, you may follow me through rounds and I’ll show you how I want him treated. You may help out with treatments, but you may not ... fraternize with the men. Am I clear?”

She pursed her lips, and her eyes flashed with anger. “Perfectly, sir,” she told him.

“Good.”

Bone tired, sick at heart, Brent turned away. He’d been harsh with her, but he had dozens of prostitutes on his hands, and they were all going to be given a few brutal lessons. Tomorrow afternoon, he thought with a wince, he’d call the female inhabitants and patients of the hospital to a meeting. The topic was condoms. English hats, as the French called them. French coats, as the English and Americans termed them. Not an easy topic, no matter what term was used.

As he walked away, he could hear Mary talking quietly with Corporal Rugby. He again felt an almost overwhelming anger. How could such a perfect young beauty turned to such a trade? Was she destined to die like her captain, bleeding, ulcerated, devastated, barely human, much less left with even the remnants of a faded beauty?

If they had contracted syphilis, most of the prostitutes would die so. It was his task to see that they didn’t bring more and more men with them to the grave ...

“Nasty bastard!” Mary said angrily. She knew that Corporal Rugby was looking at her sympathetically, and she was about to burst into tears. Of course, it had been foolish to hope for a miracle.

Rugby cleared his throat. “Not so bad, really. I think he’s overwhelmed. So many prostitutes here needing help, and then the men, the dying men, those he can help, those he’ll send back to war. Others he’ll have to furlough home ... it’s a big responsibility.”

“He’s angry that he’s been sent here,” Mary said. “He’s young and handsome and thinks he should be on a battlefield or in Richmond, dancing with the debutantes! Well, it won’t matter any. I’ll be the best nurse he’s ever had.”

“It will be all right, Miss Mary,” Rugby said somewhat helplessly.

“Yes, of course ...” Mary said. She forced herself to smile. “I’m fine here, you go on. He’ll realize you aren’t with him in a minute and bite your head off.”

“But you seem so down—”

“I’m fine. Get going.”

He nodded, hesitated, left her.

Mary watched him go. Then she turned to the captain, bent over him tenderly, touched his cheek. “My poor, poor captain!” she said, and an unbidden tear fell down her cheek, and dropped upon his. He opened his eyes. For a moment he saw her, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips, and then was gone.

General Angus Magee stared across the table at his beautiful, refined young guest.

She was slim, regal, seemed to float across the floor as she walked. She was quiet, she listened—an amazing virtue in the young, these days, he thought. There was a distance to her as well, an untouchable quality. Well, she was supposed to be a witch in a way. He knew he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She’d lost a husband to the war, he knew. Risa had made that all very clear in her letters. And she wanted to work with the injured. She would be a welcome addition. He’d been ordered into the Capitol for meetings on the field hospital procedures, and it had seemed an excellent time to come and escort the lady back to camp himself.

They sat at a nice restaurant quite near the White House. White linens covered the tables; the silver was polished to a high gleam. A violinist played. Waiters in white gloves poured their wine. Yes, she looked good here. Even in her simple black, she was elegant.

He leaned slightly across the table as she sipped her wine. “Are you sure you want to join me? The South thinks that the political climate in the North will eventually force the Union to let the Confederacy go, but it isn’t going to happen. I know Mr. Lincoln. I have never seen a man so singularly dedicated to a cause in all my life. This war isn’t going to be over soon.”

“I know that, sir,” she said with one of her pretty smiles. “Sir, if there was to be no fighting, you wouldn’t need me.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that I need you—
you in particular
?”

Her smile filled her face, touching the radiance of her eyes. “Yes, sir, you need me. I’m excellent with sick and injured men. As you know, I just came from assisting with a Southern surgery. I helped with your son-in-law.”

Magee sat back with a huff. “That boy will be the death of me!”

She lowered her lashes, still smiling. “General Magee, I can imagine how hard it is to have your daughter married to a Rebel, but ... well, sir, it’s quite obvious that the two love each other very much. I hope that is some solace.”

“It is some solace. He’s a fine man. But it’s a thorn in my side as well! So you assisted Julian McKenzie, eh?”

“Yes.”

“When the war is over, I owe that young man. If he makes it through it. He’s a damned reckless fellow—it seems to run in the family.”

“You owe Julian?” she inquired, surprised.

“I’m walking today because of Julian,” he informed her. “Risa insisted I see him. She married his Rebel cousin, you must remember. Julian had been keeping a surgery in St. Augustine until the city was taken over by the Yanks. He was slipped back in to operate on my foot. Such comings and goings are not so strange in this war as they should be, perhaps.”

He was startled by the strange play of emotions that swept over her usually so serene features.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Nothing ... I, umm. I suppose I owe Julian as well.” She smiled suddenly. “Just what I owe him, I’m not sure.”

Magee leaned back. “Were you injured in some way? Ill?”

She hesitated, then her beautiful eyes locked steadily with his. “I was addicted,” she said. “To laudanum. After my husband’s death ...” Her voice trailed, and she shrugged. “I was taking more and more. Julian pointed out the error of my ways.”

Magee lowered his head, smiling. He wasn’t sure if Mrs. Rhiannon Tremaine hated Julian McKenzie or ... felt something else. There was only one thing about which he could be completely certain. She loved him or loathed him—but whichever it was, she did so with intensity and passion.

He lifted his wineglass to her, glad that she was accompanying him. “Welcome to the Army of the Potomac, Mrs. Tremaine. Did you know, by the way, that Julian McKenzie has been moved into the regular army? He’s been seeing the action south in Virginia already.”

“Yes, I’d heard he was being sent to the regular army.”

He leaned toward her. “You know, Mrs. Tremaine, when you accompany me, we might wind up facing his troops in action one day.”

She nodded, swallowing her wine. “He’s a doctor. He’ll be with the hospital staff.”

“Field hospital, remember, the same position where you’ve asked to be on the opposite side.”

“But it’s not like infantry facing infantry—” she protested, and he saw that she was concerned. Was she afraid of seeing Julian? Or of seeing him stretched out on an operating table?

He thought she shivered slightly. And he wondered just what she saw.

Sissy seemed nervous when she joined Sydney in front of the house and mounted one of the bays.

“It’s all right, Sissy. We’ll be fine on the streets, if you’re afraid,” Sydney assured her.

“I’m fine, Miss Sydney.”

“You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.”

“No, ma’am, I’m just fine.”

“If you’re really afraid—”

“No, no, Miss Sydney, I wouldn’t have you out alone on a night like this. Wouldn’t be fittin’ for a young lady.”

Sydney wasn’t sure that she’d actually ever been a young lady. The McKenzies had held a definite social status in the state of Florida before the war, but there were those to whom her Indian blood would always make her an outcast.

“Fine, Sissy, mount up,” Sydney said.

She rode slightly ahead. Though it was night, the capital city of the Union remained alive and bustling. Couriers came and went. Soldiers marched by. Carriages clattered along the streets. It was a hot summer, and so men and women dallied on their porches, seeking whatever breezes they might find. Sydney heard snatches of conversation as they rode along, their gait slow and steady as they headed for the river.

“They should quit the fighting!” one old-timer bellowed, slamming a fist on his balustrade. “I heard tell there’s trouble in the Confederacy between Jeff Davis and his people. All those Rebs thought they were fighting for ‘States’ Rights.’ Now the Confederacy is taking more of those individual rights than the North ever did!”

“We’ve got our own problems, Father,” a woman answered him wearily. “Draft riots, generals who won’t fight.”

“We need a victory, a real victory,” a younger man said.

“There was Antietam Creek,” the old-timer protested.

“Oh, yeah, Sharpsburg. Well, both armies claimed that one.”

“All that both armies can claim with truth is that they’ve achieved incredible fratricide!” the woman said.

And Sydney thought that she was most probably right.

“Miss Sydney, do you know where you’re going?” Sissy, riding behind her, called out to her.

“Yes, of course.”

Sissy fell silent, and Sydney knew why. They were leaving the area of handsome homes for warehouses, factories, and shanty towns. But she knew about Watts Mercantile, Jeff Watts had been a spy for a long time, using his position on the river to carry information swiftly south.

“We’re nearly there.”

“If’n we make it!” Sissy grumbled.

Sydney remained silent for a moment. “Fine, we’ll hurry then.” She spurred herself. As they loped along, she was suddenly certain that she heard horses coming from behind them. She reined in, spun her mount around. The dark streets appeared empty.

“What is it?” Sissy asked, reining in behind her.