Glory (27 page)

“Private Lawton is a good man, surely you’ve seen that. He’s terrified about losing his foot—”

Granger lowered his voice. “I can bring you the widow, but it will have to be soon. She’s leaving for the army with General Magee in less than two days.”

Sydney sat back, hesitating. The Yankee witch widow. Not a surgeon. Yet then again, her mother was a healer, known as a woman with a special touch. If there was a way to cure Lawton’s foot ...

“Well, Miss Sydney?”

She paused, thinking it over. Risa would never have sent this woman north to work with her own father if she wasn’t a decent, capable human being.

“When can you get her here?” she asked Granger.

“Right away.”

Rhiannon was startled by the arrival of the soldier who said he had come to escort her to Old Capitol, but glad of it as well. She had packed, she was ready. She had seen something of Washington, and she didn’t like it.

War was ugly, she knew. But, being here in Washington, she knew that politics could be uglier. She was ready to go to the front, to be useful and busy—and she’d had to wait. She had nothing to do but sit or pace until it was time to go.

Or dwell on her own thoughts.

And she was afraid, uneasy. She knew what had happened. And yet, what she thought she knew was so incredible that she wouldn’t allow herself to believe
...

And so she’d counted. Days. Not that many, really, not that many.

Yes ...

And at certain times during those days she felt just as sick as a dog ...

So when the soldier came for her, telling her she was needed at Old Capitol, she was intrigued and ready to go.

A carriage brought her to the prison. She was escorted into the outer office, where she was greeted by a grizzled older man. “Sergeant Granger, how are you?” she said politely.

“Grateful that you’ve agreed to come,” he told her.

“Why am I here? Has the Union run out of surgeons?” she asked lightly.

Granger grinned and shook his head. “I’ve a special prisoner who has asked a special favor.”

“Who?”

“Come with me, will you?”

They walked through a room where she saw many ragged Confederate prisoners sitting around a table. They all watched her as she passed, every man nodding politely. Granger pushed open another door that led to a stuffy little room. A man was lying on a cot, and by his side, a woman. The woman turned to her, and she was startled at the resemblance she saw to the McKenzies.

The man on the cot groaned. Rhiannon turned quickly from the young woman to the man. His shoe was off, his pants had been ripped so that his foot was bared from the upper ankle down.

It was horrible. Swollen to twice its size, pussy, infected. Rhiannon came to the man. He was a Rebel. He might have killed her husband. But he was young. His eyes were green, earnest, pained. He was so anxious. She realized that holding on to her resentment was a lost cause. She had been among Rebels already. She had learned that they were men who fought and died and worshipped their God and loved their wives and children just the same as Yanks. She had always known it, of course. Most of her neighbors had been Rebels. The people with whom she had grown up, her father’s friends, business associates ...

She’d just had to remember.

She sat by the Rebel private, offered him a smile, and gently took the foot into her hands, setting it on her lap to study the wound.

“Oh, ma’am, you mustn’t touch it—” the soldier on the cot protested.

“Sir, I must touch it if I’m to heal it.”

“They say it’s got to be chopped off. That I’ll die.” He was afraid, and he tried so valiantly to hide it.

“Maybe,” she admitted. She studied his foot, looking up his ankle. Though the foot was horrible, it didn’t seem that the infection was spreading. Perhaps ...

She looked up at Granger. “Sergeant, I need some clean, very salty water.”

“Salt! Ma’am, are you trying to torture me?” the wounded Rebel said.

“No, I’m not, young man, honestly,” she told him, a rueful grin on her face. She felt the woman in the room watching her, and she turned, assessing her in turn. “You’re Julian McKenzie’s cousin?” she asked.

The young woman was surprised by the question. “Yes, I’m Sydney McKenzie.” She looked at the boy on the cot. “No, she’s really not trying to torture you. I should have thought of this myself—salt water is one of nature’s finest cleansers.”

Men came with a big bucket of salt water, just as Rhiannon had asked. “Can you ease up, soldier?” she asked the injured Reb.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sydney supported him. Rhiannon had him set his foot in the water. It must have stung like crazy, but he bit his lower lip, holding back any cry of pain.

Rhiannon rose. “Soldier, you have to stay there with your foot in that water. I’ve got to go out and make an ointment for you. You have to soak the foot for a full hour, at least three times every day, then bandage it with the poultice thickly spread on it.” She looked at Sydney, knowing that she would be the one caring for the man.

Sydney nodded, understanding that they were going to try to clean out the infection.

“Will I keep my foot?” he asked anxiously.

Rhiannon smiled, lessening the blow, she hoped. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But the poison from the infection hasn’t spread. You’ve had this injury some time, and it doesn’t appear to have affected the rest of your leg. We can
try
for a cure. No guarantees, but we can try.”

He grabbed her hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t saved the foot. I have to go, but I’ll be back.”

In the early evening she returned. Just one thorough soaking had made a difference. She might have imagined it, but it seemed the swelling was down some. She spread the poultice she had prepared over the foot, then bandaged it. Sydney stood at her side helping. To her surprise, the other girl didn’t blink when she had told her she had made the poultice out of moldy bread, among other ingredients. “It’s been known to work,” Rhiannon said. “Although ...”

“Although?” Sydney asked her.

“Well, to guarantee that he’ll have a chance to live, he should have the foot amputated right away.”

Sydney studied her seriously. “You’re not trying to kill him, right? Make sure that it goes so long he won’t have a chance?”

Rhiannon stared back at her. Sydney was hostile toward her—but carefully so.

“No, I’m not trying to kill him. Excuse me, but didn’t you ask that I be brought here?”

“Yes, I did—at Sergeant Granger’s suggestion. He heard that you were a witch—please don’t take offense.”

“I’m not offended. And I wish I did have magical powers. All I have is what I’ve learned through observation, mainly. And, of course, I read. And ...”

“And?”

“I’ve worked with your cousin Julian.”

“Ah,” Sydney said with a strange note.

“And what does that mean?” Rhiannon asked.

“Well, you are quite a curiosity, you know. I was told that you are connected with General Magee through my sister-in-law, Risa. Yet you came here and noted immediately that I was Julian’s cousin—rather than Ian’s cousin, or Jerome’s sister, or Risa’s in-law.”

Rhiannon wondered if her cheeks flooded red with the sudden heat she was feeling. Sydney had a point.

“I met Julian first,” she murmured vaguely.

“But you’re a Florida Unionist.”

“Yes.”

“Then how did you meet Julian?”

“You know, really, you do ask a lot of questions for a proper young woman.”

“I’m not proper, and I never claimed to be. How did you meet my cousin Julian?”

“He came to my house looking for shelter.”

“And you let him in.”

“Not by choice. One of his men claimed that they were Yanks.”

“But you knew better.”

“Yes, frankly, I did.”

“But you let them in.”

“They came in. I didn’t have the power to see them out.”

“Ah. Then how did you meet Jerome?”

Rhiannon narrowed her eyes at Miss Sydney McKenzie. “I was brought back to Julian’s camp.” She hesitated, realizing that Sydney probably hadn’t heard what had happened. “Your brother was wounded—”

“What?”

Sydney had been cool, aloof; now she was tense, her fingers clutched into fists, her eyes frightened. Despite the hostility she had shown her, Rhiannon couldn’t help but feel a moment’s empathy.

“He’s going to be fine. He had a bullet stuck in his shoulder. Julian took it out.”

“Infection?”

“He was doing well when I left.”

“What did you have to do with his injury?”

Rhiannon smiled wryly. “I didn’t shoot him, if that’s what you’re asking. I assisted in the surgery.”

“His wife, my cousin Tia, Alaina were all near—”

“Tia was there, Alaina and Risa hadn’t been able to reach the camp. They arrived after the surgery. And excuse me, but you’ve no right to demand answers from me on anything or make the least accusation. I don’t owe you any explanations. I—” Rhiannon broke off. “Why are you here, at this prison?”

Sydney’s rich, dark lashes fluttered. “I—I’m a prisoner.”

“What?”

Sydney stared at her, hard. “Don’t you dare say anything to anyone!”

“I beg your pardon—”

“Please! Don’t you understand? I’m hoping my family doesn’t discover my situation until ... well, until I’m out of it. Someone might get killed.”

Rhiannon watched her a long moment. “All right. I won’t say anything. Who would I say anything to? But, Sydney ... surely, the information that you’re here is bound to get out. Your family is certain to hear what has happened sooner or later.”

“Perhaps, but in this instance, later is better. I could be released, deported back to Virginia. Something could happen before ... something
good
could happen before something
bad
happens.”

“It could. Well,” she murmured brusquely, “I’ll be back to see Private Lawton in the morning, and then he’ll be your patient and the foot will be your call. I leave tomorrow.”

“To travel with the Army of the Potomac!” Sydney mocked.

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t worry too much. The Yank generals spend more time avoiding Lee than they do going after him. You may have a nice quiet summer.”

“I may,” Rhiannon said, turning to leave.

“Watch out for Julian!” Sydney called after her.

She spun around, meeting the other girl’s enigmatic gaze.

Sydney said, “If the Yanks do find Lee, you will find my cousin. His will be the field tent closest to the fighting.”

Rhiannon felt a strange chill, like cold fingers, curling around her heart. “I’ll watch out for him,” she murmured coolly. “You watch out for yourself.”

“They’ve yet to hang a woman here.”

“There’s always a first time,” Rhiannon warned her.

“You could try to get me out of here.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Sydney shrugged. “For Jerome’s sake, perhaps. His wife did get you here, right? And then ... if not for her ... well, then, for Julian.”

“For Julian!”

Sydney shrugged. “Help me.”

“I haven’t the power.”

“Maybe you underestimate your power.”

Rhiannon hesitated. “If you were to be free, would you go home and ...”

“Behave?” Sydney suggested, arching a brow.

It was Rhiannon’s turn to shrug.

“I would leave here, never to return,” Sydney vowed.

“If there’s anything I can do, I will do it,” Rhiannon said.

“You’re a witch. You’ll find the power,” Sydney said.

Rhiannon stared at the other woman, wondering if Sydney desperately needed her help, or if she simply enjoyed mocking her. She didn’t owe Sydney McKenzie a thing. Or did she?

She felt a sudden trembling sensation, a deep unease, and with it, the knowledge that blood would be spilled if Sydney weren’t released. She didn’t see pictures of mayhem and death in her mind’s eye, as sometimes had happened. She just felt that terrible sense of unease. Someone would die. And she didn’t know who. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

N
EAR MIDNIGHT, THE CAMP
was quiet. Thankfully, the medical tents were to the rear and off to the side of the camp, a better way to keep infection from spreading. In the midst of moving north, twenty boys had come down with the measles. Farm boys from South Carolina, they’d never been out of their own country until the war, and thus they had avoided many of the childhood diseases that many of the soldiers from areas of greater population had already survived. Julian had gotten the sick soldiers isolated, treated them, and left them in the care of an assistant surgeon.

The day was over; and they were in position.

Dan LeBlanc paced his tent. Young Liam arrived, and behind him Henry Lyle. Both of Julian’s Florida boys waited his instructions.

“It’s time,” Julian said, reaching for his hat.

“I can’t let you go,” Dan said.

Julian paused, staring at him. “How do you intend to stop us?”

Dan hesitated. He started to lift his hands in defeat, then paused, staring at the entry to the tent. Hearing a whisper of movement himself, Julian spun around.

A young man with a bearded face and long blond hair stood there, a plumed cavalry cap in his hand.

“You’re Colonel McKenzie.”

“Captain, regular army,” Julian said.

The cavalryman smiled. “Colonel, we let our fellows keep their highest ranking, brevet or militia. When it comes down to who outranks who, we argue a point then.”

“What can I do for you?” Julian asked.

“There’s a whisper out you’re interested in seeing some of the countryside.”

Julian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his camp desk. “Oh?”

“I’m Captain Elijah Henley. Know the area well. A night ride isn’t any good with too many people, but then, there might be a Yank or two out yonder. Three isn’t so fine a number. Six could be just about right.”

Julian hesitated. “What makes you think I’m going for a night ride?”

Henley smiled. “Because I rode with your brother once before the war. If it’s out there, you’re going to get it.” Henley’s smile faded. “I was at Sharpsburg, sir, in a far field, when the surgeon ran out of anesthesia first, and then whiskey. A friend of mine was on the table. He died. I think it was the shock of the pain on top of being half blown to bits. If you’re going for ether and morphine, I’d be mighty pleased to show you the way.”