Surrender (35 page)

He looked back at her. She was dead still, staring at him. Her head was high, her eyes were narrowed. It was all the more infuriating to realize how sensual and beautiful she was in her nightgown, before all these men.

“Risa…” someone said.

She turned away. He did likewise.

“Risa…you should be in the house,” he heard a soldier advise with a stutter.

He knew that she paused. And then she walked away.

He stood very still, staring straight ahead, as soldiers rushed forward to take him.

They did have shackles. He must have been considered very dangerous. They slipped the shackles around his wrists—and his ankles, as if they were afraid he would burst free and run. Even then, they seemed nervous, on edge, with his slightest movement. Fools. He could not burst free from steel.

He could only allow himself to be taken, with what dignity he could manage. He wasn’t going to give them any further trouble at this moment. He couldn’t win here—and he meant to live.

He stood in the night, trying not to shake with his fury, mocking himself. He was a fine Rebel soldier. Tall, broad, powerful—and completely powerless.

He walked forward, into captivity.

Damning her a thousand times over as he did so…

J
erome was held for a week in a cell at Fort Marion. But an alert, older officer recalled the time after the capture of the Seminole Chief Osceola, when a number of captives had escaped through the bars of the fortress and into the darkness of the night.

One of the captives had been Jerome McKenzie’s father, and the Yanks did not want to see history repeating itself.

And Fort Marion was not good for another reason.

Since August, a man sometimes called “Dixie” had been in the field. He was John Jackson Dickison—his middle name in honor of his father’s good friend, Andrew Jackson. He had formed one cavalry unit previously which had been changed to artillery, so he’d resigned and formed a new unit, which had been mustered into service on August 21st, 1862. They called him the Gray Fox, or the War Eagle, and he was a force. He could move his men almost a hundred miles in a single day, forage well off the land, and hit and run against Yank companies with lightning speed. With Dixie guiding forces already renowned for beating back twice their number—and since the Rebs were bitter that the Feds had retaken Jacksonville on October 5th—they might well try to rescue their hero, Jerome McKenzie.

So he was quickly moved northward.

Risa was not allowed to see him, though she wondered bitterly what good it would do her if she were. His fury had been apparent in his eyes, his voice, his words. He blamed her, and he was never going to forgive her.

She was no happier with her father, convinced that Angus had set her up, despite his denials. “Daughter,” he’d insisted as she burst in upon him at his officer’s
quarters with dawn breaking, “I knew nothing about it until just moments ago.”

“Father, you want him dead! You threatened him often enough, in the press, to me, to others—”

“I was furious, yes, that some fool Rebel captain had taken
my
daughter prisoner. But you’ve gone off and married the man—you’re having his baby! No, girl, I don’t want the man dead! But you mark my words, young lady. He’ll be better off a prisoner of war than a captain running an ever-tightening blockade! Think about it, Risa, if he remains a prisoner, he may live to see the end of the war!”

Her father didn’t understand that Jerome wouldn’t stay a prisoner. He would find some way to escape— risking his life in the process. And prisons—North and South—could be just as scary as battlefields. The mortality rate in prisons was chilling—up to nearly twenty-five percent.

“He could starve, or die of disease. You don’t know him. If another prisoner is weak or ill, he’ll give up his food. He’ll fight for others.”

“Risa!” Angus had protested, folding her into his fatherly arms. “I didn’t bring about his capture, I swear it. I admit, I might have done so had I known that he was in St. Augustine—both because I am a Yankee general and your father—but I didn’t know that you were entertaining your husband beneath my very nose! Yet this I can do, my dear. I can make it known that he is my son-in-law, the father of my soon-to-be-grandchild, and that I want him coming out alive.”

“Oh, Father! Can you promise to keep him alive?” Risa asked anxiously.

He shook his head. “No man can keep such promises in this war, child. No man. But I will keep a watchful eye on where he is taken. Now, as to you. I must return to Washington—and then back to battle. Naturally, now you will come with me.”

“No, Father.”

“But, Risa—”

“First, we will see to your foot. Then, when you’re healed, you can go back to Washington. I’ll join you there soon, I promise,” she told him.

He argued with her, and persisted. Which was good. Because while he was intent on arguing her future, she managed to get the officers in charge to realize his situation, and send across the river with a white flag. She
needed
to reach Julian, but wasn’t going to try to do it on her own again.

Julian entered the city in safety, with promises that he would be duly returned across the river.

As Angus lay on an operating table, watching Julian examine his foot, he said, “Son, you ought to be wearing Union blue.”

Julian smiled. The Florida troops had few actual uniforms left, and Julian was wearing homespun cotton breeches and a soft mustard shirt—neither uniform issue.

“People sometimes think, sir, that Ian and I are twins. But never let him fool you. I’m actually about a half inch taller, which quite drove Ian mad when we were very young men. Now he simply denies it.”

Keeping his eyes steadily on the man who so carefully examined his foot, Angus demanded, “Why, son, would you patch up an old Union general like me?”

Julian smiled without looking up. “I’m a doctor, General Magee. I’ve sworn an oath to heal.”

“Can you save my foot?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Angus firmly tapped Dr. Cripped, who attended the examination. “Now, see there, sir! This young Reb can save my foot.”

Thayer Cripped rolled his eyes to Risa, who shrugged. “I’m afraid he didn’t get to be a general through tenderness, tact, and diplomacy,” she informed him. “However, Julian’s skills are quite remarkable.”

Thayer nodded, and addressed Angus. “Sir, I will gladly learn what I can from the Reb.”

Despite Angus’s protest, Risa helped Thayer Cripped deliver the anesthesia as Julian ordered. Chloroform was soaked into a small sponge, which was set in the narrow end of a cone and brought closer and closer to the patient’s face as he breathed, until he fell asleep. Julian worked swiftly, talking to Thayer all the while, giving him advice as to the things he had learned that proved most effective in the treatment of illnesses and wounds.
“Anesthesia has only really been used for about twenty years,” Julian commented. “In this war, we are truly testing its use. It’s a shame we usually have nothing but whiskey for our patients to drink—and bullets for them to bite. Now, when, soaking up blood, sir, use a new sponge with each soldier, I have found this to work miracles.”

“Sometimes, that’s not expedient—”

“But it seems to lower the cases of infection dramatically, and I believe my insistence on using fresh sponges and bandages has allowed me to save many limbs—while keeping my patients alive. Many of us have come to the conclusion that fresh air and well-ventilated spaces for recuperation are tremendously important as well. Of course, I’ve heard from my cousin about conditions on the battlefields at places like Manassas and Sharpsburg, where the doctors work so fast that there isn’t time for anything but cutting. Still, I feel that when at all possible, we have to practice our craft with all the care we can.”

Thayer Cripped nodded in wonder.

When the surgery was over, while Thayer Cripped looked after Angus, Julian sat briefly with Risa in her little house, enjoying strong-brewed coffee with imported French brandy. “You do stand condemned in Southern eyes, Risa. Did you send for Jerome so that he could be captured?” he demanded.

She flushed, aware that she appeared to be guilty.

“No. I didn’t even send for Jerome; I hadn’t known that he was near here.
You
must see the truth of it. I was trying to reach you about my father’s foot.”

“How interesting. A civilian boy came saying that Mrs. McKenzie was summoning the captain. Jerome and I are both captains, but he had just arrived with supplies. We assumed you were aware that Jerome had come in, and that you needed him.”

“I swear, I didn’t arrange it. The Yankees must have known that he had come down the river, and someone must have been watching for him. Your cousin will never believe it, though.”

“Knowing my cousin, it will be difficult. Caging Jerome must be much like caging a wild Florida panther.
He will be all but crawling walls. Where is Jerome now, do you know?”

“No. They wouldn’t tell me. They wouldn’t let me see him. The Rebs are all convinced I betrayed him, but the Yanks are all equally convinced that I’d be smuggling messages in and out so he could escape if I were to see him.”

“Ah,” Julian murmured.

“What is that tone of voice? I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, you can just go straight to hell!” Risa declared angrily. “Except,” she amended more quietly, “I am grateful to you for saving my father’s foot—and possibly his life.”

Julian grinned. “I meant no special tone of voice—you are as prickly as my cousin! And you don’t need to be grateful. What I said is the truth. I’m a doctor. I’m not in this war to kill, but to heal.”

Risa nodded slowly.

He sighed, setting down his cup. “I wish I could stay longer, but I can’t. I have always loved this city, and the coffee is much better now with the Yanks in charge—but it is enemy territory to me at this time. I have to go back to our camp.”

“Julian, I need one more favor, I need your help.”

“Oh?” he inquired warily.

“I swear, I have nothing evil in mind. As I said, I don’t think that Jerome will ever forgive me, and I’m furious that he should condemn me so unfairly, but I still want to have my baby at Jerome’s family estate. No matter what either of us feels at this moment, that land is our child’s heritage, and it’s where I want to be.”

Julian hesitated. “What about your father?”

“I don’t intend to tell my father.”

Julian leaned forward. “Risa, it’s my understanding that your father ripped into your friend Finn for bringing you down to the south of the state when you went off to search for Alaina. Your father threatened him with prison—”

“Finn is fine, walking around as free as a bird. But naturally, I couldn’t ask him to help me again. I was assuming that Jerome’s men will be moving his ship?”

Julian sat back, watching her with narrowed eyes. “They will be,” he said, admitting the obvious.

“Would they be heading south?” she asked. “Please, I swear you can trust me!”

He rose. “If I can help you, Risa, I’ll contact you.”

“Thank you!” She kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him again on her father’s behalf. Julian left.

And Risa waited. Her father continued to deny knowing how Jerome had been discovered. Both Austin Sage and Finn came to commiserate with her, but neither could tell her what had happened. “Shouldn’t have married him,” Finn told her cheerfully. “And you shouldn’t have lured him here.”

“I didn’t lure him here!” she snapped. “If you’re my friend, you should be finding out what happened!”

“Oh, Risa!” he told her unhappily, setting an arm around her comfortingly. “Now, if only you’d flirted with me when I tried to catch your eye before you sailed off with the Reb, you wouldn’t be in this fix with your husband wanting to throttle you, eh?”

“Finn, I feel so much better!” she assured him. But he did make her feel better. He was there if she needed him.

A week later her father, still limping but much the better, returned to Washington with the stern warning that she was to follow soon. She promised to do so, making certain she gave him no exact time as to when she would.

Three days after her father departed, a young messenger in a greatcoat tapped on her door and briefly told her that the
Lady Varina
would be departing for Biscayne Bay the following night. She thanked him and watched him disappear into the night. She shivered and looked around herself, wondering if the night had eyes. But there was no one about.

The fighting continued at a sporadic pace as harsh winter weather swept over the land. Campaigns to be waged into the following spring were set into motion. In the western theater, a general named Grant—who was managing many victories when other Northerners were not—was setting his eyes on Vicksburg, Mississippi.

In the east, the Army of the Potomac began movements against Fredericksburg, Virginia, a healthy, prosperous town between Washington and Richmond.

Jerome had been brought to Old Capitol Prison, right in the heart of Washington, D.C., where information was readily available—even during the first weeks, when he was kept in solitary confinement.

Imprisonment, even in solitary, was not half so hard as living daily with the feeling of being a complete fool. His anger against Risa did not abate, but seethed inside of him, like a foul evil brew bubbling within a cauldron. Old Capitol was not a pleasant place. It was dilapidated and rat-infested. But it was in the heart of Washington, surrounded by not just the politicians, but numerous citizens, good Christian men and women, who would not allow cruelty toward enemies who were often also friends and relations.

Eventually, word that he was being held there seeped out, and the Yanks no longer cared that it was known. He was not badly treated. He had a cell by himself that was ten feet by ten feet and contained a bunk with a rough straw mattress and a rickety old washstand. He paced his ten feet endlessly, and was grateful that, after the initial period, he was allowed to mingle with the other Reb prisoners in a common room for several hours each day, and his meals were not taken alone. The food was standard prison fare, but many of the Rebs, though not disparaging of the Confederacy, commented that it was actually superior to their army rations. There were far worse prisons, and he knew it. People talked of a place in upstate New York where one out of every four prisoners died; but naturally, the prisoners had no proof of these rumors, and their guards often knew even less.