Rhiannon let out a long breath of relief. “No, not my baby!” she whispered. And yet the pain remained in her heart.
The boy was someone’s baby. Someone’s beloved baby.
“No, an older baby. A toddler. Not Alaina’s Sean! It didn’t happen here ... it was at a different house. A large, beautiful house, on a busy street. People are always coming and going. There’s an entry to the house with that wallpaper that is made to look like marble. There’s a child’s room with a little rocking horse—like the one in the nursery here that was Tia’s. There are dolls ... toys ...”
“But it definitely isn’t this house,” Tara said softly.
“No. I’m certain.”
“It can’t be where Alaina has been living in St. Augustine. She and Risa have just a small place together, without so many rooms, and there is certainly no grand stairway!”
Tara McKenzie had tended many a small child with her own three, nephews and nieces, and grandchildren. Conar’s little eyes were already closed again. Rhiannon was tempted to take him, crush him to her, even let him cry again, she was just so grateful to see that her own child lived. Had her dream been of Conar at some later date? No, she would know, surely ...
“It is someone else’s child. If I could only warn her ...”
“Rhiannon, perhaps the time will come when you can do so,” Tara said. She had never doubted her new daughter-in-law’s ability to see strange things through dreams. Julian had told her that Rhiannon’s predictions had saved many men from sure disaster. Even generals had paid heed to her warnings.
But Tara’s heart bled for her daughter-in-law at times.
There was a child, in danger. And she wanted so desperately to help ...
Tara set the baby back in his bassinet. She took her daughter-in-law in her arms, and rocked with her, smoothing back her long dark hair. “Rhiannon, you mustn’t be so upset. It’s a blessing to be able to help anyone the way that you have. We’ll all be very careful not to let any toddlers we know play unsupervised on a balcony. We will make a difference.”
“A difference ... my God, one day, it’s the children who will have to make a difference. The children who will have to lead us from the devastation of this war we have cast upon them!”
“Yes, they will have to make a difference.” She drew away and smiled. “In a way, I envy them. They will have to fight and struggle—and forge a new world.”
“It will be miserable for years.”
“Growth and learning are often difficult. But they are the only ways to forge a new world! Shall I get you a drink, warm some milk, perhaps.”
“No, no, thank you, I’m sorry I disturbed you. I know that I’ll be able to sleep now.”
Tara kissed her on the forehead, and left her.
Rhiannon didn’t sleep, but lay awake. In a few minutes she rose, and very gently took her precious child from his bassinet. She didn’t wake him, but laid him beside her, and she watched him throughout the night.
Tia and Julian moved southward the day after Mrs. Roper’s party. Julian warned her the journey would be long and slow.
It was indeed very tedious; a few of the men were in poor shape. Still, it felt good to be away from the constant reminders of the battle—a field that smelled more and more of decay. Towns where so many men were without limbs. They traveled with the medical supplies they needed, and the days were cool and pleasant, the nights chilly but not too cold.
Toward the end of March, Julian was summoned late at night by a rider sent by General Finegan. One of his most important aides had been wounded by a sharpshooter. “The bullet is lodged in his shoulder,” the messenger explained to Julian. “There is no man but you to perform so delicate a surgery.”
“I would very much so like to help any man,” Julian told “him. “Especially an officer the general values. But I have only one whole man among this sorry group!”
Tia, who was at her brother’s side, cleared her throat.
“Tia, I don’t like leaving you—”
“Sir, will you have some coffee?” Tia asked, addressing their visitor.
“Ma’am, with pleasure.”
His name was Arnold Bixby, and he was a Georgian. He sipped his whiskey-laced coffee with real pleasure as Tia tried to sound casual and convince Julian that she would be all right at the same time. Julian hadn’t quite seemed to have grasped the concept that he wasn’t being asked to accompany Bixby, he was being ordered to do so.
“Julian, I can manage very well.”
“Tia, I don’t like leaving you.”
“Julian, we had to split up once before in like circumstances, and I was just fine.” It was a lie, but he had never learned that she had met up with any difficulty before reaching Dixie and his men before Christmas.
“We’ve just won a major battle! The territory is safe. Liam is with me.”
“Liam has lost a leg.”
“Liam remains as fierce as a bulldog,” she insisted.
“If you can reach this point by the river here,” Bixby said, drawing a map on the dirt floor of the tent, “you’ll tie up with Dr. Lee Granger. He’s keeping camp there with more survivors from Olustee. In fact, we can ride there on our way north and let him know that your injured will be joining his.”
Julian kept staring at his sister. “I don’t like leaving you.”
“Julian, I don’t like being left. There’s little choice, however, and I can manage. I wouldn’t perform surgery without you, but I think that I can manage to keep bandages clean and a party on the road. I’ve done it before,” she reminded him.
“Bixby, I don’t like this. If anything happens to my sister ...”
“Julian, I’ll be fine,” Tia insisted. “If we should happen upon the enemy, it might well be men I know. Many of the officers in this war went to school with Ian or are friends with Father. Julian, no matter what, I would be in no danger.”
And she would be fine. She would take no chances. They had sorely beaten their enemy. The Yanks were like dogs with their tails between their legs now—running away from, not after, the Rebels.
“I’ll pack your things,” she told her brother.
The next morning was beautiful. Tia awoke feeling confident, washed at the stream, drank the coffee Gilly had made, and saw to it that her wounded men at least sipped some of Liam’s hardtack stew before she arranged for them to start out.
Gilly and a man who was fighting an infection were placed in the back of the wagon. The mules were docile, and a fellow who had lost his lower leg could manage them easily enough. Tia, Liam, Hank Jones, and Larry Hacker, who had lost his lower arm, would ride.
The day started off very well. They moved very slowly, careful not to jostle Gilly any more than absolutely necessary. By noon, she was proud of the distance they had covered. They could reach Dr. Granger’s camp by tomorrow morning if they kept up their pace.
Soon after she congratulated herself on her success, the wagon hit a pothole. The wheel broke; the wagon lumbered, and Gilly screamed.
Frightened, Tia looked at Liam, then hurried to the back of the wagon. Gilly’s foot—or rather his ankle—had flown up and crashed down on the planks. It was bleeding profusely.
“Help me get a tourniquet together!” she called to Liam.
Accustomed to working with Julian as well, Liam quickly found her a stick. She ripped up her skirt, and together they wound the tourniquet around the injury. The bleeding stopped. She had Gilly taken down by the water and cleaned the wound. The stump had been cauterized, but the accident had left a tear in it. Gilly fought the pain bravely, but Tia could see the tears in his eyes. “We have whiskey—let’s share it.” She took a drink first herself; Gilly came next. Liam arched a brow at her then took a long swallow. Returning to the wagon, Tia got out her needle and the surgical thread she was lucky to still have. Sometimes, she sewed wounds with horse hair.
Gilly got enough whiskey in him to pass out, right by the water. Liam set up a camp for the others with Hank
Jones. When the camp was done, Liam came back to her. “I’ll stay here by the water for a while with him,” she said softly. The poor fellow remained passed out. She smiled at Liam. “I think I’m wearing half his blood. I may try to wash out some of this.”
“You want me to keep guard, Miss Tia?”
She smiled. “If you will.”
Liam watched her for a long moment. “You’re a fine leader, Miss Tia.”
“No, I’m not, but thank you.”
He left her. Gingerly she approached the cold water. She could smell the blood that covered her. She stripped her blouse over her head, shivering. She wore a corset today, but it didn’t give her any warmth. Still ... she slipped out of her skirt. She had to wash her clothing. Liam could bring her the extra set of clothing she carried in her bag. She could leave these to dry on the rocks. She had to bathe. The smell of the blood that covered her made her feel sick to her stomach. She felt as she had the night at Olustee, as if she’d never get the blood out. No matter how cool the night had become, she had stripped down completely and scrubbed until the scent of blood was gone.
She washed her face, then sat back, thinking she could hear something.
She did, and she froze. Looking through the trees, she saw glimpses of blue uniforms. Yankees.
She was low against the riverbank. Gilly slept upon it. It was possible that the Yanks on the other side of the trees might pass by without ever noticing them.
But they were close. So close.
“Captain, can we stop here; get some water?” one asked.
“All right, but we can’t take long. They say there are Rebs here; we just have to find them.”
“What then, Captain? Can we kill them, make it a massacre like Olustee?”
“We’re not murdering men, Private Long.”
“What if they’re half-dead already?” the one named Long asked. “I heard it was nothing but Confederate wounded moving through here.”
“Any wounded Rebs we take as prisoners,” the captain said sternly.
Tia heard him moving away. Then she heard Long chuckling to a fellow soldier. “Wounded, yeah. So we can’t mow them down the way they murdered us. Hell, yes, wounded. Well, they can just happen to die on their way.”
There was a slight rustling behind her. She turned quickly to see Liam coming. She brought her finger quickly to her lips.
Liam didn’t see the soldiers, but sensed the danger. She indicated that he should drag Gilly back. He hunkered down by her, catching Gilly’s shoulders and frowning.
“Where’s Blaze?” she asked him in a hushed whisper.
“Just yonder—”
“Take Gilly. Break camp, and ride through the night. Get to Granger’s camp as quickly as you can.”
“And what are you going to do?” Liam demanded.
“Lead them astray with Blaze.”
Liam shook his head. “No. No. Absolutely no. Your brother—”
“My brother will never know.”
“Miss Tia, I’ll lead them astray—”
“No!” she said quickly. These particular Yanks were out for blood. “We can’t spare you—I can’t help Hank lift Gilly and the others; I have to be the one to create a diversion. Besides, I can just be a good local Unionist out for a ride. No harm will come to me. All I have to do is mention Ian’s name, and I’m perfectly safe with the Yanks.”
“No—”
“Liam! You have to listen to me. That is the truth. You all are in danger from the Yankees; I am not. I’ll be just fine. If there’s a Federal camp near here, I may just sashay in for dinner!”
She spoke lightly, and with assurance. But he frowned, looking at her. “Where’s your clothes, Tia McKenzie?”
“On the rock there. Go now, please, please! Get Gilly out of here. Get to Lee Granger’s camp, and don’t worry about me. I’ll deal with any situation as it arises.”
Gilly shifted suddenly, moaning.
“Get him out of here, quickly! They’ll hear him.”
Liam gave her a stern look. She frowned fiercely back. But when Gilly made a deep, moaning sound again, Liam came to life, hobbling on his one leg, but very strong despite that fact. He had barely moved Gilly before Tia saw one of the Yanks come through the trees, heading for the water.
He didn’t see her at first. He dipped his head into the cool stream, then made a cup of his hands and drank deeply. She stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.
He drank, and drank. He splashed his face.
Finally, he looked up.
He wasn’t old himself, though not as young as most of the Rebs she helped patch up these days. He had a round face, thick beard, and ruby red mouth. He was round himself, as well.
She hadn’t seen a heavy soldier in a very long time!
He stared at her; she stared at him.
He opened his mouth as if he would cry out. No sound came at first. She rose slowly. She was in her pantalettes and corset. The latter boasted the tiny pink rose centers of her breasts.
“Ah ... hello,” said the soldier.
“Hello,” she returned.
He kept staring at her. She let the seconds go by, hoping she was giving Liam enough time to get moving.
“Ca-Ca-Captain!” he cried at last.
She waited. Waited, counting the seconds. She wanted the captain to see her.
In a minute, the captain appeared. He was more the soldier she expected. Tall, slim, his lean face hardened and saddened by the years of war gone by. She had a feeling he had been in it from the beginning.
He looked across the water at her.
“Are you looking for the enemy?” she called.
“Who do you call the enemy, er-ma’am?” he called back.
“I’ll show you!”
She scampered up the embankment, through the trees. She looked to the place where they had been forced to stop.
No sign of the troops.
She whistled; Blaze came trotting to her. The mare wasn’t saddled. Tia took a running leap and careened on top of the horse. She headed back through the trees, not wanting to lose the Yankees.
She could hear them, splashing through the trees, shouting. There were at least a half-dozen of them, or maybe more, since she could hear many different voices calling out.
“Where’d she go?”
“Who is she?”
“What’s she up to?”
“Where can she lead us?”
“She’s naked—”
“Half-naked—”
“Tons of hair—”
“Godiva!”
“My God, yes! Godiva—who has led hundreds of men to their doom.”
“That’s her, yes!”
Her, yes? Hundreds of men to their doom? Dear Lord, how on earth could truth become so horribly exaggerated?
It didn’t matter how she had become such a villain. Her estimate was right—there were six or seven men after her. Seated on Blaze, she tried to count their exact number.
She didn’t want to play the wretchedly “dooming” Godiva, adding more fuel to the fire of rumor, but she had to.
She rode hard down to the embankment again.
“This way, fellows!”
She turned Blaze, and started racing first downstream. The Yankees needed to retrieve their mounts. She slowed her gait, making sure they were behind her.
She left the river embankment, heading for the road. She heard them following. She turned, making sure they could see her.
A branch slapped her in the face. Hard. She decided to give more attention to the direction in which she was going.
Ten minutes, twenty. She kept ahead of them by at least fifty lengths, trying to think of a place where she might lose them. Finally, she thought of the pine hammock to the north. The area was riddled with streams and small lakes and ponds. She could plunge into the hammock, follow around the pond, through the pine trails there, cross the stream and the pines on the other side, then head straight out to the copse.
She could hear Blaze breathing as they raced. How long had she run her horse? The Yankees would have to slow when she did, she assured herself.
She reached the hammock, then veered into it. She heard the shouts far behind her when they first followed. They had even lost one another.
She smiled, circling around the pond, at last slowing her gait.
Dismounting from Blaze, she quickly led the horse through the thicket of underbrush, heading again toward the trail of pines along the stream’s edge.
She could still hear the Yanks behind her. They remained mounted, without the least idea of where she had gone. They wandered in circles. They couldn’t run through this terrain; they didn’t seem to realize that neither could she. But she knew where she was going. Once she cleared the pines and passed through the stream, she’d be free. She’d have reached the copse, and so many ways to go it would take a bloodhound to track her. One of the trails led southward. Along that trail there were a multitude of abandoned Indian cabins where she could hide—and perhaps find clothing.
She moved quickly, running through the shallow water, swimming across where it deepened at the river, finding the slender flow of the brook again beyond the main body of the small river. She slipped into the pines, still leading Blaze, but running herself as she realized she neared the copse where she could mount up and ride again.
Yet at the fringe of the trees, she came to a dead stop, startled and dismayed.
There was a camp in front of her.
A Yankee camp.
Tents were pitched; fires burned. It was an organized camp, with pickets down the length of the pines. A large tent far to her left appeared to be a hospital. Wounded men sat about before it. Elsewhere, soldiers cleaned their weapons, cooked over the fires, smoked pipes and eased back against the trunks of trees. A few had books. Some wrote.
Pickets walked the outer circumference of the camp as well, watching the east and west trails, assuring the men who rested that no large body of men could come crashing through the pines to destroy them.
It was an excellent position; easily defended, well placed for water, food, the best of the sunlight.
She hadn’t imagined that the Yanks would know it; it was not an area that had been well mapped in the past.