Surrender (39 page)

“Fine, let go of me now.”

“No.”

“No! What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no!” He shook his head, staring into her eyes. “No, I’m afraid not, and that’s it, Miss McKenzie. You’re coming with me. I just swore to your brother that I’d keep you safe.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! How—”

“Shut up, Sydney!” he snapped, and firmly shoulder-butted her in the midsection to throw her over his shoulder. “For your own good, Miss McKenzie, like it or not, you’re coming with me.”

“I won’t; I’ll call for help—”

“Scream—and I’ll tell your would-be rescuers that your brother and a group of Rebs are escaping across the river. Damn you, Sydney, hold still and shut up!”

Thus warned, teeth gritted, Sydney opted to shut up.

For the time.

R
isa hated the quiet of night. She was haunted by dreams in which she lived the events in her life over and over again. Not that she could have changed much. She was a Yankee. She believed that the power of the fledgling United States was in their unity. She believed, equally, that no man had the right to own another. God alone could own a man’s soul.

But she had never meant to betray the Confederates—not her husband, or her friends.

Sometimes, in her nightmares, she saw again the moment Jerome was taken. Saw his eyes, the way that he looked at her, when he realized they were surrounded. She relived those terrible seconds when she had feared that he would fight to the death, bringing down a number of Union soldiers, but perishing, too, before her eyes. Sometimes she saw again the way that the men of the
Lady Varina
looked at her when they realized that they were being encircled by Union ships that had to have been told of their location and destination to arrive so opportunely. She had denied any wrongdoing with fierce dignity to Hamlin, Michael, Matt, Dr. Stewart, and others, but she could still remember the quiet way they had surrendered—and the looks they had given her.

As the winter progressed and they moved toward spring, her father was in town much less frequently. And her own campaign was at long last successful. By constantly hounding a number of the right authorities, she’d managed the promise of release to the men of Florida who had been taken to Elmira—once all the proper paperwork was carried out. She’d hired a lawyer to take the case, and he had argued the injustice of imprisoning men who had released their Yankee counterparts time
and time again, with no ill done them. Yankee sailors who had received better medical attention from the
Lady Varina
’s doctor than their own wrote at her behest, and so she had managed what she had set out to do.

She was weary of the proper venues afforded to young ladies in the city of Washington as far as the war effort went. She began to feel as if she was losing her mind. There was so little for her to do to ease the torment that continually plagued her, other than stare at the facade of Old Capitol now and then, ache to see Jerome—and wonder in what ways her husband might be plotting revenge. Her father had told her that he did not wish to see her, or the baby.

So she determined to work with the soldiers again, the injured and the sick. Anything to keep her thoughts at bay.

Not that Jamie didn’t keep her busy—he did. Sometimes, when she held him, she could feel deep in her heart that nothing else in the world really mattered. She was convinced he was the most miraculous infant who had ever lived. His eyes were so bright, and ever watchful. He never lost a strand of hair—it grew in thick, a lustrous, dark auburn. He wailed more loudly than a bugle call, and smiled at a young age—and, she assured her father, no, it was not gas in the intestines!

At first, Angus was not happy when she arrived at his camp. He was afraid for her and his grandson. They faced an enemy known for its lightning-quick ability to attack, and they were on the enemy’s home ground—Virginia. But when she arrived, he didn’t have the heart to send her home, and as he yelled at her, he also rationalized to her and himself that his troops were not now on the offensive—he was leading raw young men just recruited to fill in for the thousands who had died. He worked hard with them—relentlessly drilling them to whip them into disciplined forces who would not break under pressure.

As the days went by and Risa proved herself an asset, Angus became pleased that she had joined him. She started up her duties in the field hospital once again, frequently writing letters for homesick young boys plagued by illnesses that dropped them before they
could even face enemy bullets, and reading to young men who had bandaged heads—or had simply never learned to read. Through campfire talk, she was aware that Hooker was planning a heavy cavalry movement against Lee’s army, and she knew as well that her father’s men would be moving into action soon.

But she never saw that action.

She had spent the day with Dr. Lemuel Hernandez, a man determined not only on saving lives, but maintaining the quality of life whenever possible. He had chosen today to operate with a technique known as resection or exsection, in which the damaged part of an arm or leg was removed and then the limb was reconnected. It could be a very successful operation, one that left a man limping with a shortened bone, but walking on his own leg, nonetheless. It was often impossible to perform in the midst of heavy battle when many men were seriously wounded and speed was of the essence, but whenever he could, Dr. Hernandez tried to make use of the procedure. He was a dedicated, no-nonsense man in his late fifties, and he found Risa’s calm demeanor in a field operating tent to be necessary for his concentration. He was capable of working hours on end, however, without so much as a sip of water. But he was always so grateful to her and so many soldiers were helped, she was glad to work with him. His long, brutal regime was one that she loved; she didn’t get any time at all to think. If she was going to survive the war with any sanity left her, this was surely the way to do it.

She returned to her tent after working with him one long chilly day in early April to find that Reba, a free woman of color her father had hired to look after them both, was pacing Risa’s tent with a very distraught Jamie—who was howling away angrily.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Did he hurt himself?” she asked anxiously, taking him from Reba’s arms.

Reba, a tall, slender, very capable woman, drew herself up and sniffed. “Miss Risa, this boy is hungry, and you told me you would tend to him, and I am not a wet nurse, so I’m sorry if he’s carryin’ on, but that’s the way of it! Did he hurt himself!” she objected. “Not in my care, no ma’am!”

“Reba! I’m sorry!” Risa laughed, delighted to be holding her son.

“He’s a handful that boy, and when he’s hungry … my, my, he does carry on more than most!”

Risa tugged at the dozen little buttons on her day dress until she could bring her baby to her breast. When he first rooted on to her, she felt the same little thrill of motherhood that rushed through her each and every time, and for long moments she did nothing but adore her son. “I’m sorry, Reba, there were a number of operations today.”

“Honey, you don’ owe me no apology—you just need to know your boy has got a strong will—and strong lungs, is all. Should I fetch you something to eat? Or you want me to wait a spell, till the boy is sleeping?”

“No, I’m fine—”

“You nursin’ a boy like that one, you need your strength. They had some stew tonight—one boy went out and got himself a deer. I’ll bring some, and leave you be. Wash water’s still warm, and you’ve got a nightgown there, laid out on the bed.”

“Thank you, Reba,” Risa said gratefully.

Jamie filled his stomach quickly, burped with a total lack of manners, and fell contentedly to sleep. He’d probably worn himself out, crying for his supper, but Risa was so tired, she was glad. Once he was safely sleeping, she realized that she was ravenous. She ate the stew Reba had left on the top of her trunk.

“Mrs. McKenzie, ma’am!”

The call sounded from right outside her tent. Setting down her bowl, she lifted the canvas flap and stepped outside. Major Alynn, one of her father’s officers, stood waiting for her, saluting stiffly.

She saluted in return, wondering why Alynn always greeted her so.

“Ma’am,” he said, “there’s rumor that Captain McKenzie escaped Old Capitol.”

Chills immediately raced through her body. Rumor. Had he, or hadn’t he? She prayed that he was alive, yet he was surely risking his life. He would have to cross Union lines to come South. If he was seen, would he be shot down in cold blood?

“Rumor?” she forced herself to say aloud.

Alynn looked at her, then shrugged uncomfortably. “We heard it from a few Rebs who had deserted, so we’re not sure. Your father ordered me to make certain you were aware of the situation. He wants you to plan on moving your belongings in with him tomorrow.”

“Now, Major—”

“Your father’s orders, ma’am. He’s worried about you.”

“I’m in the middle of a Yankee camp, Major. No man could possibly come to take me from here,” she said, yet she felt a strange foreboding. Jerome had come into a Yankee camp once before.

“Your father wants you moved …”

“Well, Major, thank you. Please tell my father that we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

He saluted her again. “There will be a man on guard at your tent throughout the night.”

She saluted him back, even though she wasn’t actually in the military. “Thank you, Major. Good night.”

“Don’t worry, now. You are surrounded by Yankees!”

She stepped back into her tent, shivering in earnest, and sat on her bunk. She had known that Jerome would find some way to escape. She had feared his determination all along.

Now she could only hope that he wouldn’t be like a wildcat, running recklessly. He had a long way to go through enemy territory. She was terrified for him. Should she be afraid for herself? Her father, who had seen Jerome, wanted her moved in with him. For her safety. Her own father had seen with what anger her husband condemned her.

She stood, annoyed with herself. She was safe here—in the center of a camp with thousands of soldiers. Tonight she had a guard watching her tent. He wouldn’t risk coming here; he’d remember he’d been captured in Yankee-held St. Augustine. He wouldn’t want to be captured, and sent back to prison.

She couldn’t jump at every footfall; she had to have faith in the Yankees guarding her, and pray that Jerome cherished his freedom more than he longed for revenge. She stood, washed in the now-tepid water that sat on
the rough wood camp desk in her canvas tent. Despite the fires burning about the camp, the night was chilly, and she quickly shimmied into her flannel nightgown, and settled beneath her blanket.

She still shivered. And despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep. Damn him.

She tried counting sheep, but her sheep turned into wolves, and they all had his face.

It was absurd; she had to sleep. She could not.

She must have dozed. And it was natural, after what she had heard, that she should dream.

No, not dreams. Nightmares haunted her. At first she seemed to be swirling in a mist, seeing the faces of the injured, hearing the screams of the men as they lay on the operating tables. She pitched restlessly about, wanting to waken. The mist seemed to clear, and she was at sea again, in Jerome’s cabin. She felt the sudden pitch and sway as Hamlin Douglas tried to steer the
Lady Varina
in a course to elude the Yankees on their tail. Rushing deck side, she saw Yankee ships bearing down on them from the north.

Two more ships came swiftly from the east. Two more from the south … Hamlin looked straight at her. “Someone knew where we’d be and when, Mrs. McKenzie. If your husband was here, we might outrun these bastards. But he’s not here. And I can’t risk you and the lads at so dangerous a game.”

Dr. Stewart, at Hamlin’s side, had set an arm around her. “If there’s firing, you could be in real danger. None of us would risk the babe. And …” he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re a Yank. They’ll be delighted to have you, they’ll treat you splendidly. And with our surrender, it’s likely there will be no deaths …”

“You’ll surely have friends aboard the Yank ships, won’t you, Mrs. McKenzie?” Hamlin asked her pointedly. Not a direct accusation, but … How had the Yankees known where they would be? Had someone been watching her all along? She had tried to be so careful.

“Don’t choose a course of action because of me!” she had told Hamlin angrily. “Do what you would do if I were not aboard! Gentlemen, I did not do this! I’m telling you—”

“Go back to the cabin, Risa, please. You could risk the babe here—” Dr. Stewart told her.

“I could risk the babe in the cabin just as well. And I told
no
one I was sailing on this ship. I’ll stay deck side now, no matter what occurs!”

So she stayed topside. And the first lieutenant who stepped aboard to accept the surrender greeted her like a long-lost relative, even though she’d never seen the man before in her life. As she was taken off the ship, she could feel Jerome’s men staring at her, feel the reproach, as if it burned into her back. It had been a terrible feeling—Judas must have felt much the same, but Judas had at least been guilty! Oh, the way they had looked at her! Yet not even their fury could compare to the way Jerome had looked at her that night in St. Augustine! He hadn’t given her a chance, he had condemned her without a word. He would never believe her, never forgive her. She would never forgive him, never!—for not trusting her. Yet she couldn’t forget the way his eyes had touched her, filled with pain, betrayal, and anger. As he looked at her now …

She was dreaming, of course. Of Jerome, bent over her, face darkened with soot, but eyes so blue against the blackness. He was playing Indian in this dream, dressing up in war paint. How strange. It felt as if she had tossed, turned, and awakened. She was groggy, exhausted, and yet … God, the dreams were so real. She was in her tent, in the darkness, campfires burning nearby, and he was there. He wore dark, tight breeches, and a black cotton shirt. His dark hair was long, touching his shoulders. His eyes hard, still condemning.