Southern Fried Dragon (7 page)

“You are out of uniform, Lieutenant.”

“Beg pardon, sir, I must have left it behind.” Shaw saluted his commander, Major Anderson, who looked surprised, yet unruffled. With many things on the major’s mind, including the recent democratic assembly, Shaw hoped his superior quickly forgot about his lack of decorum.

“You must gather the men, Lieutenant, and return to Fort Moultrie.”

“Sir?”

“I fear we shall not be safe behind its low walls.”

“Have things worsened between the local slave-holders and President Lincoln?”

“You have not heard?” The major removed his hat and ran his hand over his forehead where perspiration glistened in the afternoon sun. Unaccustomed to December in the South, heat rose from the street in waves, undeterred by the light sea breeze.

“No, sir. I sense a change in the locals’ attitudes toward my soldiers, and I would be lying if I said it did not concern me,” Shaw said.

“Well, the vote has come in. The Union is dissolved.”

Shaw stared at his commanding officer
, as the truth behind his statement sank in. “We are at war? Civil war?”

Major Anderson nodded. “I want every man back to the fort. Spread the word as quickly and as quietly as possible. There is a chance word has not yet spread to the locals, but I want no chance of an incident.”

The major replaced his hat and stared out into the channel. Shaw’s training for battles between forces bent on attacking his country made him ask, “What about supplies, sir? If we are forced to defend the fort—”

“That damn place is indefensible.” Growling his displeasure, Major Anderson turned to Shaw and laid his palm on Shaw’s shoulder. “Have the men cart whatever food they can carry, but be discreet.”

“Food?” Shaw rubbed his sore hip and remembered the pallet of potatoes and flour. “Aye, sir.”

“I return to the fort, but will send several larger boats back. Be ready to load up within the hour.”

Shaw saluted his commander, and retraced his steps to the tavern. He whispered orders to the half-dozen soldiers standing at the corner. With instructions to hurry into the alley and grab as many bags as they could handle, Shaw headed through the tavern door and into the kitchen.

“May I help you, soldier?” an older woman said, her arms white with flour up to her elbows. He recognized her as Dru’s co-worker, Maggie.

“I need to speak to Miss Little.”

The woman straightened from her chore, the heavy wood rolling pin still grasped in both hands. With the sturdy worktable between them, Shaw wasn’t worried for his safety, but the anger marring the woman’s face made him hesitate.

“She’s ill. Besides, ‘tis unseemly to be calling on the lass in the middle of the day. Her employer will not allow it.”

“What is going on?” A tall, grim-faced woman strode down the back stairs and sauntered over to Shaw. She planted herself in front of him, and scowled.

“I need to speak with Miss Little.” He dare not admit he’d left his hat in her bedroom, but he needed its return. He also expected none of the soldiers would return to town for some time. The war would start very soon, and he had to say his good-byes.

He tempered his remorse for not completing their intimate encounter
, with the knowledge that he might never see her again. Rubbing his chest, he waited for the stern woman to say something more.

“I do not think—”

“What do you want, Lieutenant Stenhouse?”

Shaw turned his attention to the small back staircase. Dru stood on the bottom step, her hands behind her back, her face too pale. “Are you ill Miss Little?”

“I say, Lieutenant Stenhouse, such an intimate question is not to be tolerated,” the older woman squawked.

“Mistress Cumberland, let the man speak and then he will leave. Am I right?” Dru stared at him and slowly walked across the kitchen. When she sidled closer, the nasty woman turned and hurried out into the dining area.

The cook made a small
tsking
sound and returned to her dough. Focusing on Dru’s pale face, Shaw read the sly glint in her eye. A small smile curled her lips. She pushed the hidden hat into his hand, having carried it behind her from her bedroom. He knew relief filled his expression when she laughed.

“May we speak? In private?”

Dru stared up at him, then turned and strode toward the kitchen door. He followed and nearly slammed into her back when she stopped short.

“What—?”

Her attention locked on Shaw’s fellow soldiers. One man loaded bags onto the shoulders of the others. Shaw counted the bags taken, and placed a handful of coins into Dru’s hand. “We beg your forgiveness, Miss Little, but we need supplies.”

“So formal?” she whispered.

The words floated over him, and the glance she threw his way made his body tighten. Memories of their near-copulation shown in her face, and her fragrance wafted over him. He coughed, then placed his hat on his head.

Straightening, he peered toward the docks in the distance. The boats would land soon, as Major Anderson promised.

“Dru,” he whispered, “this will compensate your employer, but we need these supplies. War will soon begin. I will not return anytime soon.” Would she recognize the sorrow in his words? He hoped she knew that leaving her was not his choice.

“I don’t believe it. War?”

“The union is dissolved and several southern states now consider the United States Army their enemy. My men are in danger. We must leave now.” Shaw bent down and levied a quick peck on her pale cheek, hoping she could feel the longing in his heart. To sweep her back into her bed and lose himself in her soft, silky center would be a perfect end to the day.

It was not to be.

“You return to the fort?”

“Aye. I have my orders, but I find myself at odds with my commander.”

“Oh?” Dru’s eyes locked on his mouth, as if remembering their passionate kisses.

“I want to stay and finish…” He could not finish his sentence. The last soldier waited by the pallet for him. Others, weighed down with sacks, were silently retreating toward the town docks.

Retreating.

The war between his fellow countrymen had yet to start, and already his side had begun their retreat behind the walls of Fort Moultrie.

Indefensible Fort Moultrie.

He could feel Dru’s eyes boring into his back as he hefted the offered bag of potatoes, grunted to the other soldier, and headed toward the boats. Remorse flooded him, constricting his throat and sending a sharp pain across his chest. Had he fallen in love with her? Would his short life come to an end before he had the opportunity to feel this way again?

When the boats sent by the major landed at Charleston’s wharf, his men tossed their wares aboard. He’d sent one man to the other nearby taverns to spread the word. More men arrived loaded with crates of winter vegetables and bags of apples. A stiff breeze whipped across the bay, a subtle reminder of December’s possible inclement weather. Shaw forced himself not to turn to see if she watched him leave.

* * * * *

Christmas day passed in quiet, a solemn day made more so as the troops at Fort Moultrie packed up supplies and armaments. Major Anderson spread the word that they would abandon the fort, and move everything to the partially completed Fort Sumter.

Shaw worried for their safety. The newer fort, still under construction, held little in the way of supplies. Food rations consisted of whatever they would take with them. He feared many meals of potato soup filled his future.

He missed Dru, and prayed she enjoyed the peace of the holiest of days. Had she received his tiny gift? His silly gesture? He’d gathered seashells and placed them inside a canning jar. Finding a piece of pale blue ribbon that matched her eyes had been difficult, but he could not let her think he’d forgotten her.

How could I?

No woman had ever made him feel this way. Happy and in pain at the same time. Maybe the impractical gift would brighten her day. The corners of Shaw’s mouth pulled uncontrollably into a grin. Major Anderson marched to his side.

“Plans go well I assume, from the smirk on your face.”

Shaw inhaled sharply and turned to face his commanding officer. “Yes, sir. We have nearly finished filling the boats. The men have orders to be up before dawn.”

“Make sure we spike the cannons before we leave.”

“Sir?”

“We cannot leave weapons for the enemy. They would use them against us.”

“Understood.” Shaw sighed. War loomed. Back in Charleston, townspeople  he drank with would just as soon shoot him in the head, now.

“Set fire to the wooden gun carriages once most of the boats have departed. No sense signaling, and bringing attention to our transfer to Fort Sumter.”

* * * * *

After a sleepless Christmas night, a cold, dreary morning found Shaw dressed and out among the men. Men whose faces wore frowns of despair. They had disabled the cannons. Torches stood ready to lay waste to the remainder of the camp. Shaw saluted his superior when the major silently joined him at the dock.

“Lieutenant, are all the men aboard ship?”

“Aye, sir, except for a dozen standing ready to torch the carriages.”

“Send a couple of those men to chop down the flagpole.”

“Sir?”

“If a secession government plans to occupy this fort, they damn well will not hoist their secessionist excrement on my flagpole.”

* * * * *

Dru caressed the glass jar that she had received yesterday. An old fisherman had arrived at the kitchen door with a parcel from Shaw. Even with the unexpected jar of pretty seashells, the dreary day passed slowly. Today, news of the secession, as well as talk about the abandonment of Fort Moultrie, passed between the patrons.

Dru wanted to take flight and find Shaw. Was he alright? Where could he and his fellow soldiers have gone? Would she ever see him again?

She missed his kisses, but wanted him to stay safe. Her heartbeat pounded in her human chest when she dreamed of him. Her body softened when she remembered his taste, his smell, and the feel of his naked chest as he rose over her.

Why had Mistress Cumberland interrupted them? Her body had made ready for his, welcoming him. Frustration filled her nights since he kissed her cheek and returned to Sullivan Island.

Now? He’d left Fort Moultrie for places unknown.

Maggie muttered something.

Dru refilled the pitchers, then tossed pieces of Maggie’s fried chicken on a platter. The aroma made Dru’s stomach growl. “Maggie, speak up. I cannot offer my opinion if I do not know the question.”

“I am complaining, that be all. I would rather be abed. My head aches and I feel the cold, today.”

Dru smiled. The weather had turned blustery, but warmer than the winters she spent in Scotland. “Why not take to yer bed? I can handle the few men who have not the sense to keep to their homes this day.”

“Ah, you are a lovely lass. What would Mistress Cumberland say?”

“She’s off to church then to her daughter’s home for dinner.”

Maggie removed a large tray of biscuits from the oven, then wiped her hands on her apron. She sighed as she kissed Dru on the cheek, then trudged up the back stairs. The peck on the cheek, so similar to Shaw’s kiss, did not ignite her senses the way they sparked to life when Shaw drew near.  

Dru hefted the pitcher of cider, foregoing the ale. Men had no need to get in their cups tonight. Cradling a basket filled with Maggie’s biscuits, she pushed through the door separating the hot kitchen from the much cooler dining hall.

As she walked among the tables, a half a dozen men nodded. She filled their tankards and offered biscuits.  Her heightened dragon hearing caught their conversation
. The tone sounded tinged with anger, while some chuckled.

“Aye, they turned tail and ran,” one man said.

“The fort is burning. Nobody’s home, I hear.”

“Are you talking ‘bout the soldiers from Fort Moultrie?” Dru asked, biting her bottom lip for her impertinence.

“We are, woman. The soldier boys are cowards.” Laughter filled the dining hall.

Dru forced a smile, though inside she worried about Shaw. The fort was aflame? Where was he?

“Where have they gone, do ye suppose?” she asked, pouring more cider to delay her return to the kitchen. She would rather take flight, follow Shaw’s scent, and carry him to safety. Maybe, all the way back to Scotland.

“I have no idea,” one man said, before downing his cider.

“I know.”

All heads turned toward a spry old fisherman who had settled by the front window. Dru recognized him as the kind man who’d delivered Shaw’s gift. He sat alone with a cup of tea.

“What do you know, Joseph?” A large dockworker stood and tossed the man a hot biscuit. Joseph caught it on the fly without moving more than one arm.

“I’ve me sources, boys.” Joseph smiled.

Dru walked over to his table and poured him a tankard of cider. She would not return to the kitchen, even to reheat his tea, until she heard what he knew about the soldiers.