Words Heard in Silence (4 page)

The final stop was to check on the horses. Charlie’s command was light cavalry; their horses were their lives. Each man who rode, was required to carefully groom their beasts, tend to their feet, keeping them clean, trimmed and make sure that shoes were in good shape and not loose. A bad shoe could make a horse lame in a matter of hours, especially if there was a hard trip to be taken.

The land that they were currently camped on was a horse’s version of heaven. Fenced pastures and a network of small creeks running with fresh water guaranteed each animal the freedom to roam with plenty of clean water and fresh, sweet grass instead of being staked at picket lines eating rotting, moldy hay. Charlie knew that more thanks were due Miss Rebecca.

Returning to his own tent, he changed into spare uniform britches, clean shirt and vest. He considered putting on his day coat but even though it was October, it was still very warm. Redressed, Charlie stuck his head out of his tent, giving a whistle that was known to be the call for his batman.

"Aye, Colonel C?" Jackson slipped into his tent quietly and as they had done for many years, they dispensed with the formality of a salute. Other than Dr. Elizabeth Walker and her own field assistant Mr. Walt Whitman, Jackson was the only other person in the entire army who knew his secret.

Jackson and Charlie had been together since Charlie’s early days in the army, since the gruesome battle of Buena Vista that had earned him the career track as an officer and not merely as cannon fodder under the command of another. He had saved Jackson’s life during that campaign and Jackson had save his numerous times since, by safe guarding his secret.

"I borrowed our hostess’s brother’s clothing this morning, Jackson. I think I should return it without the smell of the stables. Would you handle it?"

He smiled at his commander, giving a gentle sniff to the air. "Aye, Colonel C. Seems that you ‘‘borrowed’ more than the clothes. Is that perfumed soap I smell?"

Charlie sighed. He should have known that his companion would torment him if he knew what had transpired at the house. While Jackson did not really know, he had a good idea.

"Had yourself a nice bath in a real tub did ya’?"

"I did." The Colonel hoped his short answer would placate the man.

"And would you be returning these duds to the lady yourself?"

"I would, my friend and extending her my protection as well. Let the men know, if you would, that any insult to her will be an insult to me."

"You know, Colonel, the men will cheer you on. I think your tendency to stay to yourself worries them sometimes. You know –– not manly enough. Though the good Lord knows, they have seen just what you can do on a battlefield."

Charlie laughed. Jackson regularly defended the commander’s ‘‘manhood’. Generally, it was done with his very dry and droll wit, but occasionally, when someone had the bad sense to suggest that the commander preferred the company of men to the charms of the ladies, he had been known to bust the occasional head. Given Jackson’s Irish temper, Charlie was surprised that there were not more men down on the injured list from a solid thumping from his batman.

"Well, if things work out as I hope, I will probably be moving my command up to the main house."

"Oh my. That sounds serious." He grinned at his commander. "Does she know?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I let her tend my wound. She noticed."

"Sweet Jesu, Charlie. What did you go and do that for? She could destroy you!"

"I know, Jocko. I know. But there is just something about her. I trust her."

"Dear Lord." The Irishman crossed himself. "Save me from gallant southerners and frustrated women. I thought you had more sense than that." Jackson grabbed the clothing Charlie left in a pile and started to stomp out of the tent. He turned back just at the entrance. "Well, for all of our sakes, I hope you are right, Charlie. I hope you are right."

Charlie appreciated Jocko’s concern and was grateful for his friendship, even though it often led to suspension of the traditional relationship between commanding and non-commissioned officer. He took his seat at his desk to review the morning’s dispatches and to write his own reports to General Sheridan. As he sifted through the various papers, his mind ran over the engagements his men had been in since General Grant ordered them east. They had joined Phil Sheridan’s forces after the worst battles of the year; those campaigns that would be recorded in history as the Wilderness and the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse. Charlie had joined the regiment after those, with his own experienced troops from Vicksburg used to refill the ranks of the tattered 13th Pennsylvania. Almost as a kindness, Charlie’s regiment had been sent to their current location. It was a strip of counties just east of the misty Blue Ridge that had seen more traffic during the war than any other as first one army, then the other moved through. His orders were to take control of the western supply lines and the critical rail bed that ran to Charlottesville and beyond.

Since their arrival, they had been fighting hit and run actions against Jubal Early’s forces. It was ugly –– light cavalry against light cavalry, sweeping back and forth through the foothills of Page and Warren Counties, up and down through the rolling hills of Fauquier, Culpeper, Rappahannock and Madison counties, always looking for a path south through Green and Orange Counties into Albemarle and the rail head in Charlottesville. Occasionally, they were called to serve as a lightening strike force, as they had last week. Sheridan commanded them north, across the pass toward Winchester to face Early’s forces at Cedar Creek. Fortunately, they were on the weak flank, Sheridan and Wright took the brunt of Early’s forces head on, and won the day. They were then free to return to the rail patrol.

On the way back south, there was that ugly day in Brandy Station, where the skirmishing was not with Early’s raiders, but instead with their own men, troops in the uniform of one of the New York conscription brigades. Charlie turned his back on one of them and paid for it. His men did not leave even one of the turncoats unmarked before they were sent back to Sheridan’s command post in Winchester for court martial.

Charlie was tired. He knew his troops were tired. He smiled as a thought suddenly took form.
Maybe…… maybe we can winter here
.
If I promise to care for Miss Rebecca, to make sure she is not harmed by our presence maybe she will let us remain. The land is good. We have plenty of supplies. The horses will be able to get healthy here. There are barns and stables that my boys could fix up with a little work.

And then there was Miss Rebecca……She had asked about the scars on his back. He had not thought about that day for years, but it was such a turning point in his life. He shrugged to shake off the old memories and the old pain. That was so many years ago –– what seemed like a lifetime. The day Charlotte died and Charlie was born.

--*--

R
ebecca noticed when Charlie returned for dinner that he had changed back into uniform pants, a white shirt and vest and his officers mess coat. His disguise was a good one. To look him right in the face no one could tell. His voice was deep enough that there was no question there. It was truly amazing.

He smiled as he came through the door with the clothes Rebecca had loaned him earlier. They were folded in a neat pile as he offered them to the blonde. "I had them washed." He offered with a quirk of his brow.

"You must have had them on for what two hours?"

"More like three, but I had to inspect camp and they got a little dirty."

"So did you." She crinkled her nose just a bit to indicate the odor coming from the officer. "Good thing I happen to like the smell of horse. However, after supper you are getting another bath. In the meantime at least wash your hands and arms."

"Yes Ma’am. Should I eat on the porch?"

"No, just stay down wind. What did you do, Colonel, set up the stables?"

He laughed as he washed his hands at the pump at the sink. "No, I just lent a hand where it was needed. Lots of work to prepare a camp."

"I would imagine. You seem to do it very well."

"I have been doing it since I was fifteen. I am thirty-four now. I have lots of experience." He took a cloth from the sink and dried his hands. "I know all the little tricks."

Rebecca gestured to his uniform as she finished setting the table. "You know all kinds of tricks."

"Un-huh."

"So you have been living life as a man for nineteen years?"

"Just about that, yes."

"And you have never been discovered?"

"Not yet." He sighed hard as he moved to the table to hold Rebecca’s chair for her. "I am very convincing."

"Is that so?" Rebecca smiled as her chair moved toward the table. "You mean to tell me that you can sit here through dinner and make me believe I am having supper with a gentleman."

"Well now, you are a little different because you do know, but yes I am confident. I think I could make you believe it."

"Try."

"What?"

"Try, Colonel Redmond. Try to make me believe it."

"Miss Rebecca, this is silly."

"Play the game, Colonel Redmond."

"All right, Miss Rebecca, all right."

As she settled down across the table from Rebecca, the blonde smiled. She was not sure Charlie could do it. He could see it in her face and he quirked a brow in challenge.

And so the evening began.

Their conversation ranged over many topics, from gracious comments on the land, to authors they had both read and enjoyed. Rebecca stayed away from the obvious questions of how did a Charlestonian end up in the Northern army and even more obvious, how did a girl become a colonel, a career officer in the Army. Charlie skillfully created a mood of cultured peace, of two people enjoying a time of quiet, thoughtful companionship. It was a taste of the elegance and culture that Rebecca had once enjoyed and lost with the war.

Supper was a delightful experience. For one night, Rebecca forgot the empty larder, the lost friends and family, the empty stables of her family’s once spectacular horse-breeding program. By the time the simple dessert of fresh fruit and real coffee, brought as a house gift by this enigmatic guest, was over she realized that Charlie was holding her hand, lightly brushing his……her thumb over the back of it.

"You win." Rebecca smiled from behind her coffee cup.

"Excuse me?"

"You win, you had me convinced. You win."

He smiled. "Years of practice."

Rebecca looked down and noticed that Charlie had not released her hand and that she had not moved her own.

Very gently, with a courtesy that Rebecca thought had died on that terrible day when the Army of Virginia mobilized, Charlie bowed, and raising her hand, gently caressed it with his lips. "Thank you for an evening of civilization in a very uncivilized time."

After supper, Rebecca prepared another bath. This time she provided a nightshirt and robe that belonged to her brother. As Charlie bathed and relaxed, she turned down the bed and retrieved a spare blanket and pillow from the cabinet. She was just about to slip a nightgown over her head when she heard Charlie clear her throat. She let it drop over her head and shoulders, falling to the floor around her body before turning around. "Ready for a soft bed?"

"Ah, you have no idea."

Rebecca picked up the pillow and blanket, heading for the door. "Enjoy it, Colonel. You have earned it."

"Miss Rebecca, is this your bed?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Then, very gently, "I will not take you from your bed. Give me those. A davenport is far better than an army cot."

"No, Colonel, it is all right."

"No, it is not. Now come on, Miss Rebecca, be reasonable."

"You do not know much about southern women do you, Colonel Redmond? We have been called many things. Reasonable is not generally among them."

His laughter rang over Rebecca’s head at that last comment. "Darlin’ Miss Rebecca, I know quite a bit about southern woman. And they are eminently reasonable when they want to be. Now, I will
not
take your bed."

"Well then, it will go unused this night!"

He growled a little as he tightened the belt of the robe and ran his hand through his hair. "Tell you what, it is a big bed. We can share it."

"Hmm…… how do I know this is not a ploy on your part to get me in a position so you can take advantage of me, Colonel Redmond?" Rebecca said.

All the blood drained from his face as he took a step back. "Miss Rebecca, I……I……I would not……I……."

"Colonel, I was teasing. Of course, we can share the bed. You are right. It is a big bed. Now come on in here and get into it."

"Maybe I should take the davenport." His voice seemed to be struggling to get out of his throat, a barely vocal squeak instead of his normally rich, low voice. He seems to sag against the door jam.

"Nonsense. Now come on." Rebecca gave his arm a little tug and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him.

"Miss Rebecca, you do not understand." Charlie swallowed hard, almost afraid to make the admission. He released a deep breath, gathering his courage. The worst that would happen is that she would order him from her home. "One of the reasons I play the role so well is because……because……." He dropped his head then lifted it again. "Because I prefer the company of women."

"Then come to bed, because I assure you, Colonel Redmond, I am the only woman within five hundred miles willing to share her bed with you."

"Miss Rebecca? Surely you do not……you have not……." Charlie’s eyes grew wide.

Rebecca had never seen such a confused combination of emotions in one human being before. Hope, fear, longing, an aching loneliness, shame…… all of them and much more crossed Charlie’s face in that moment.