Surrender (33 page)

“Father, woah! Wait, please. He didn’t viciously abduct me. I was in enemy territory. It was my own doing. But I did know his plans, and I am your daughter, sir, Unionist all the way. He had no choice but to take me on the ship.”

“And no choice but to…oh, God, you’re my daughter, Risa! My beloved girl, my pride, my joy. Can’t you see how it hurts me to think that any man might have done you ill?”

She knelt down by his feet, taking both of his hands in hers. “You’re my father, and I adore you. And I swear to you, sir, no one used me ill. I didn’t intend what happened myself, but you see…well, I’m not so certain that I can explain. The war is robbing us of so much, and I wondered if there would ever be a time when I…when I wanted something so much. I should have thought more, definitely, sir. But I didn’t, and here we are. And, I swear to you, no one abused me, he isn’t
a monster, merely a Rebel.” She tried to smile, to lighten the moment. “My name is McKenzie!”

He cast her a withering glare.

“Father, please, I am expecting a child, and therefore marriage was the right thing. I’m still your daughter, who loves and adores you, and who is still a Yankee.”

He touched her cheek, his eyes deeply troubled. “And your husband is still a Rebel.” He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. “Daughter, don’t you see? I’ve near to ripped my own hair out over the foolish mistakes of men such as McClellan, and any military man can see that the Southern generals have been outmaneuvering us! But they can win battle after battle, and they will still lose the war. And your reckless blockade-runner is sure to get himself killed!”

A chill swept over her. She hadn’t heard from Jerome since their wedding, and she had been cold on that occasion, a touch-me-not shrew. But no matter what she had said, she knew that she loved him, and her father’s words—not viciously but truthfully spoken—sent fear spilling through her. He did risk his life, constantly. The Yanks—many of whom would gladly put a bullet through his heart—didn’t even need to actually aim at him—his ship could be blown out of the water. He would never stop, because the Confederacy was desperate.

“Father, I pray daily that you won’t get yourself killed as well,” she said softly. “This is really the wicked job of women in this war—we pray. Brothers, fathers, husbands, lovers, sons! Oh, Father, I can promise you this—it’s far better to be among the fighting men, or nursing in the field, then waiting. I’ll never forget the times I have been in Washington when battles end, and the lists of the dead and missing are read. Mothers lose two, three, four sons in a single day! Daughters despair to hear their fathers and brothers have been killed together. But I can’t change you—nor can I change Jerome. All that I can do is pray, and wait And do my best to help patch up men on either side, believing that a Rebel woman would patch you up if need be. And then all I have is faith that God will not let this war go on forever.”

Angus stared down at her, then stroked her hair. “If the wretched Rebel McKenzie is your husband, then I
must hope he stays alive. And that the war ends. Forgive me, daughter, my anger and frustration. They come with my love for you.”

“Oh, Father, I do love you, too!” she assured him. She crawled up into his lap, as she had done as a child. He grunted. “You’re getting a little heavier there, child.”

“Want a grandson, or granddaughter?” she queried.

He groaned. “I wanted a Yankee son-in-law!”

“Too late. Grandson, or granddaughter?”

He paused, looking at her. “I want you to deliver safely a healthy baby, and no more. Now, get up, young woman. I’m off to bed. I’m an old, tired man, and you’re adding more gray to this head of mine daily.”

“Father, I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re completely gray already.”

“That would be your fault, daughter.”

“And that from a general!”

He smiled. She stood, offering him a hand to help him up. He sighed. “I’m going to try to reconcile myself to this, young woman. But it would help if you were to come home!”

She hesitated. “I love St. Augustine, Father. It’s a beautiful city.”

“Hmmph! Well, this discussion will continue.”

He started limping toward her door. Frowning, she followed him. “Father, what have you done to your foot?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

“Sit. I want to see it.”

“No, no—”

“Now!” she demanded, dragging him back to the chair.

He chastised her as she unlaced his boots. “Now, don’t do that—”

“Oh, Father!” she cried in dismay, for when his shoe was removed, she had to peel away his sock. His foot was bleeding. She dabbed at the blood, trying to find the source.

“Picked up a little shrapnel, that’s all—”

“That’s all, indeed!” Risa said worriedly. “There’s still metal caught in your foot, and there’s pus beneath the blood. You’re headed toward a serious infection, gangrene—”

“I’ll not have my foot cut off by a saw-happy surgeon!” he said adamantly.

Risa stood. “Father, a good surgeon can perhaps remove the offending metal without having to amputate. But—”

“Your Dr. Cripped looked at my foot earlier today—and his only suggestion was amputation.”

“If that is the only answer, sir, you will buck up and behave like an adult—as you would surely tell your men! But perhaps…perhaps we could find a way to save your foot. I know surgeons who would attempt it.”

“You do?”

“I’m going to clean this for you, then you go to bed, and I’ll speak with Dr. Cripped, and decide what must be done.” She was determined to send for Dr. Julian McKenzie.

“Don’t you go deciding on
my
foot without me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing so, Father.”

When he had left, Risa swept her cloak around her and hurried to the servants’ quarters behind her house, where she found Bartholomew. “Can you get someone to cross the river, find Captain McKenzie, and tell him I must see him?”

“Someone, somehow, yes,” he assured her. “Right away. You go home, now! It’s not safe in the streets, here, anywhere.”

“I’m fine, Bartholomew, but thank you.” Yet, as she hurried from the servants’ quarters back to her row house, she paused. She had the uneasy sensation she was being watched. She shivered, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

She returned to her little house. Bartholomew’s wife had been over to fill her hip tub, and leave a kettle of water heating over the fire. She added the hot water to that which had grown cold, removed her clothing, and settled into the hip bath. It felt good to bathe, and as she rubbed her abdomen, her unborn baby moved in turn. A tiny little hand or foot jutted out in a funny little arc, and she found herself smiling with pleasure. An overwhelming sense of tender, protective love swept through her, and she realized that she very much wanted her baby—just as she was very much in love with its father.

She sighed, rising, drying, and slipping into a white cotton gown. The baby’s father might be in Charleston right now—making love to his onetime financée. After all, things had been blunt and clear between them. She’d told him not to touch her—and he’d told her there were other women to touch.

She bit into her lower lip, wishing she could take back the words, and push time back to the night of their wedding. It was one thing to be alone. All across America, North and South, women were alone. But they were secure in their love, missing husbands who longed to be with them. While she…

She curled herself around her pillow. She wasn’t immense yet, but the roundness of her stomach was visible. She lay there, torn, grateful for the life growing within her, while fighting a temptation to cry. There was one definite truth regarding Jerome—the scoundrel was always leaving her. And it didn’t matter that she’d basically sent him away last time; she was being eaten alive tonight with jealousy.

Still, she must have dozed, because she awakened suddenly, certain that she’d heard something not quite right, yet not at all sure what.

She lay in bed, listening, and there was no more sound. She had imagined, or dreamed, whatever had awakened her.

Yet after a while, she rose. The house was dimly lit by the dying embers in the fireplaces. She cautiously moved from the bedroom to the parlor, walking to the front door to be certain that she had bolted it. She had.

“Risa.”

She turned around, startled, frightened, gasping at the spoken sound of her name.

And there he was.

Jerome.

He stood by the mantel, casually leaned against it as he watched her. She stared at him in amazement in return.

At least he wasn’t in Charleston.

“Jerome!” she whispered.

And he offered her a wry, half smile in return, and said mockingly, “Yes, my love. It’s me.”

“M
y God!” she breathed. She hadn’t known that he was anywhere near—she hadn’t heard of any of his exploits, or that a Southern runner might have made it along the river.

“What—what are you doing here?”

He arched a brow. “What am I doing here? You can’t be quite so surprised. You summoned me, Mrs. McKenzie.”

“I—” she began, but broke off. Summoned him? Naturally, obviously, he had made a run up the river. But she hadn’t summoned him—

Oh, God, she understood.

She had sent for Julian. Word had apparently gone across the river that she was trying to find a McKenzie, and Jerome had come.

She was incredibly glad to see him. And he was there. And she wasn’t about to tell him the truth of the matter.

He had come across the river alone, apparently. Literally, across the river. His Confederate naval jacket was hanging over a chair, she saw, drying in front of the low-burning flames.

He looked wonderful. Extraordinary. Broad, bronzed shoulders glistening in the reddish light. Handsome features caught in the dancing shadows. Blue eyes sharp as ice fire.

“Weil?” he inquired tightly.

She lowered her lashes, looking downward, breathing far too desperately. “I…”

“Yes?”

She forced herself to look up. She wasn’t a coward. “I—” she broke off. No, she definitely wasn’t going to tell him that she hadn’t summoned him. She would ask
him later if there was any way that Julian could look at her father’s foot.

Later.

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. “Yes, I’m sorry, I hoped I caused you no difficulty. I was in no distress, I had just hoped that it might be possible to see you.”

He lifted a hand. “You’re seeing me. I’m here.”

She smiled. “I sent for you—and you swam across the river because I did so?” she queried.

“It’s the easiest way to get here without causing a disturbance,” he told her dryly.

“Ah.”

“Well?”

She inhaled deeply, staring at him.

“I didn’t mean to cause you hardship—”

“You caused no hardship. What is it that you want?”

Again, she inhaled, hesitating.

“All right,” he said impatiently, “so it wasn’t exactly a hardship coming, but it is a long and possibly dangerous swim. Perhaps, since I am here, you’ll be so good as to tell me why you sent for me.”

“I’m—”

“Damn it, Risa!”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

“What?”

“I’m sorry!” she repeated, color flooding her face.

“Sorry?” He frowned, arching a brow, confused.

She shook her head. “I—I—”

“Sorry about what? That you sent for me?”

“No! I’m sorry because—I said horrible things when we parted, and I didn’t mean them.”

His brow hiked further. “Ah…well, exactly what horrible things did you say—and exactly what part didn’t you mean? I mean, an apology is nice, but it’s strange to be called from the midst of a war just to hear one.”

“I said a lot of horrible things—I said that I didn’t want you anywhere near me, touching me, because I didn’t want to marry you—”

“You made that quite evident.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Personally, I found it strange that you should
determine so late that you didn’t want to be tainted by ’red, Rebel blood,’ but then—”

“Damn you! Don’t you understand? I’m trying to explain!”

His dark lashes swept his cheeks. “Go on,” he said quietly. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t want to marry you because of my circumstances if you were in love with someone else, engaged to marry someone you really wanted to marry. Even for a child.”

He continued staring at her, blue eyes crystal hard.

She moistened her lips. “This—this isn’t an easy position for me. You know, I was raised to be very independent, and it just seemed that there was too much between us…for a relationship that…that…” her voice trailed.

“Indeed, there is a tremendous amount between us,” he agreed, a strange, dark tremor to his voice.

She looked downward again, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t want our marriage to be hateful, although I know that I certainly helped make it so. I didn’t want you to feel forced into anything. Well, I—” She broke off for a moment, breathless again, then she managed to look up at him.

“Yes?”

“You could make this a little easier.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, I couldn’t. I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

She groaned softly, staring at the flames, then back to his eyes. “I—I—”

“Quit stuttering.”

“Quit being mean!”

“What do you expect from such savage, Rebel blood?”

“A chance!” she said softly. “Damn you, I am trying very hard to apologize. To…”

He smiled suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest, and waiting expectantly. “Madam, I am eagerly listening.”

“I’m sorry I said those things, and I didn’t mean them!”

“You’re quite certain?”

She groaned with aggravation. “Indeed, I’m certain. I needed to tell you, and—and—where have you been?”

“What?”

“Where have you been since we parted?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Naturally, I’m curious. I’m asking after your welfare.”

“Oh,” he murmured politely.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Why are you
really
asking?”

“That is why I’m
really
asking!” she cried, completely aggravated.

But he was smiling again, not taking a step toward her. Yet something in his voice was changing, as well as the fire within his eyes.