The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series

by Michelle Hillstrom

  On their first stop, another familiar face boarded the ferry. Christopher Worthington greeted the Brennan brothers warmly. The three remained inseparable for the trip. Christopher was one of the men who was excited to go to war and become a hero. He began making bets with each of the men as to how many Lincoln Boys they would each kill. With others, he would make bets as to how long it would take to win the war. It began to seem that Christopher had inherited his father’s gambling problem, but his lighthearted manner towards the war appeared to help boost the morale and confidence of some of the more nervous men.

  Christopher, Thomas, and Wesley quickly became favorites and grew in favor with the other men aboard the ferry due to their friendly manners and cheerful attitudes. Christopher and the Brennans never faltered in offering to share their tobacco or other goodies that they had brought with them from home. They also were kind enough to help the less educated men with letter writing or reading.

  The first night on board the ship, after most of the men, including Thomas, were sound asleep Wesley sat up in his bed and lit a single candle. His jacket was slung over the back of a chair. He reached over to it and removed the letter that Victoria had handed to him back on the dock. He unfolded the letter and looked lovingly down on Victoria’s portrait. He placed it on the stand beside the candle ensuring that her face would be the first and last that he would see every day of the voyage. He then began to read.

  My Dearest Wesley,

  I do not know how to begin. What words can I possibly offer in such a situation as this? What words are there to keep you warm and lift your spirits in the darkest hours when you are far from home, far from your family, and far from me? I know not what I can say, but that I Love You.

  I think that I have loved you from the very first moment that we met. I could feel your hands upon me for hours after you pulled me from the street. I think that scared me more than nearly being trampled by the horses did. While Christopher and I were together I never felt anything like it, and that is what scared me. The deep, powerful passion that I had no control over, it is unlady-like and untamable.

  Now, I would not change one moment of our time together except to sooner accept my feelings for you. You challenge me and charm me every minute that we are together. Your compassion and passion for living, your ability to find the good and humor in every situation are just the beginning of a long list of things that I love about you. You are a good person and I hope that you remember these things and hold on to them through the dark and dismal times that are soon to come.

  We have spent many months now writing to each other about our hopes and dreams, about our day-to-day activities, and this is what I will continue to do until you return home to me. And I know that you will come home to me. I hope that you will write to me any chance that you get. Tell me everything, my love, just as you always have. Allow me to share in every burden, to be your partner, as we both know I one day will be, though you have not asked this of me. I can see it in your eyes, that you have been biding your time, awaiting for the opportune moment. I think I understand your reasoning for not asking me before you left. For not rushing into marriage the way that so many have done, but know that though you have not asked me to do so, I am here waiting for you. It is only for a little while after all, is it not?

  Faithfully Yours,

  Victoria De’Muerre

  With tears in his eyes, he folded the treasured letter back up, kissed it, and returned it to his pocket once more. He would return to her and make her his bride, no matter the cost. He would fight tooth and nail and kill however many Yankees it took, to keep their homes safe, to keep her safe, and to keep himself safe so that he could wed her and be the husband that she deserved.

  When they finally arrived in Monroe, each soldier was given supplies that varied determined by their rank. Since Wesley, Thomas, and Christopher were college educated, but did not have previous military experience, they were assigned the rank of Second Lieutenant. They each received two pairs of boots, a six button sack coat, four pairs of trousers, a jean cloth cap, four cotton shirts, slouch hat, six pairs of wool socks, wool overcoat, belt with gun holster, riding gloves, haversack, a percussion cap pouch and cartridge box, and a metal canteen for water. Each man brought their own handguns but also received the military issued weapons. Christopher, Thomas, and Wesley, as well as the other officers, also were issued their own horses, since all officers would ride.

  Men brought certain items from home. Razors and other hygiene gear including combs and mirrors, cards, pens or pencils, parchment, Bibles, rosaries or other religious medallions, rabbits’ feet and other lucky charms, and for those who were lucky enough, portraits of their loved ones. Personal items such as these, each man would have to carry on his person at all times. The big, bulkier items and extra supplies would be hauled by wagons as the units marched from place to place.

  After men received their supplies, they were divided into their companies and from there they would be broken into squads and platoons. As officers, the Brennans and Christopher would be in charge of assisting a Captain of a company and help to lead the men who made up the platoons within that company. As soon as all the new recruits were squared away, training would begin.

  ∞∞∞

  It was April 15, 1861, when a messenger again arrived at Mossy Oak Manor with the news that on April 12th Fort Sumter was attacked and the war had officially began as President Lincoln of the Union had made an actual Proclamation of War against the seceded states. The De’Muerre family sat together discussing what this would mean for their friends and loved ones that had enlisted. Most had volunteered for a time period ranging from one to three years, many believing that they would never actually have to fight for that long. As that night came to a close the family said their evening Rosary with the Intentions focused upon safety for all the men involved in this war between the states. When Victoria went to bed, she prayed once more for the safe return of Wesley, Thomas, Christopher and the other men that she has grown up with.

  Far across the state of Louisiana, Wesley sat just outside of his tent beside a blazing campfire. Men were finishing up their dinner of cornmeal and salted beef. Coffee was still boiling in the kettle upon the fire that Wesley sat beside, that is, if you wanted to call it coffee, it wasn’t the fine coffee Wesley was accustomed to having for breakfast back home. He had already completed the tasks that the Captain had asked of him prior to dinner. Then he made sure that his men knew who had watch throughout the night and were aware of what there morning orders were. With all of this already completed, Wesley had some free time.

  He took out a piece of parchment and his steel nib pen and ink. He also took out the picture of Victoria and began to read her letter once again as other soldiers voices began to rise up in a chorus.

  “Our Dixie forever, she’s never at a loss

  Down with the eagle and up with the cross.

  And we’ll rally ‘round the bonny flag,

  we’ll rally once again

  Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!”

  He began to write to her.

  My dearest Victoria,

  I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write to you. Training has gone well, but it is a long and tiring process. Our Captain is a good man with a lot of military experience. He leads us with confidence and a quiet authority. He has told us stories of the time he spent posted in California and Texas. They sound like strange and foreign places, still wild and untamed. I think that I might like to go to those places and see them for myself one day. What do you think, Mavourneen? Would you be up for an adventure?

  While he was posted in those places, he spent time with many of his fellow West Point graduates. He tells us great tales of the valiant and courageous ways that these men fought. Sadly, many of his comrades are Billy Yanks. I have heard him praying late at night to keep these men safe. He prays that they do not come face-to-face in battle. Luckily, for me, I do not know any Yankees. What a terrible thing it must be
to fight friends, to meet them in battle and have to decide whether or not to fight them, whether or not to shoot. Do you choose them or you? And do you wonder if they are thinking the same thing? Could you both choose not to shoot? The way he describes these men who have fought so valiantly for America, these men who have families and friends back home the same way that we do, it is hard to see them as the enemy. It makes this war seem petty and fruitless. But I will do whatever it takes to return to you, Mavourneen, I want you to know that.

  Currently, we are all well fed, well rested, and well trained, so worry not for me, my love. Morale is high and we only have a few who have battle scars to write home and brag about. I am not sure where we are headed next. We have marched and marched through wooded lands and farmlands. As we marched through one town, they had a band play and it was a very festive atmosphere as the all of the town folk came out to cheer us on. Ladies waved their handkerchiefs at us as we past. One sweet, old woman handed us a basket of fresh baked bread and sweet pies, a welcome change from the hardtack.

  I have read and reread your letter an innumerable amount of times. I am sure that you have written to me many more letters, but I have not received them yet. Unfortunately, the post is slow and unreliable. I am thankful to have the portrait that you gave me; it does my spirit well to have your sweet face to look upon. It serves to remind me of why I am here and keeps me going in the hard times. I look forward to receiving another letter from you soon. Do tell me all about life back home, about your family and any news that you may have of mine. Keep yourself well and stay tough my little Southern Belle. I love you. I am sure that I will return to you in only a little while.

  Faithfully Yours,

  Second Lieutenant Wesley Brennan

  He folded the paper and addressed it to Victoria then stood and walked over to the tent that held the rest of the letters that would be posted in the morning. The evening was growing dark; he had finished his letter with just enough light left in the day. The noises about the camp began to die down as the men prepared for the night. A few soldiers walked about the perimeter of camp. The first night shift would trade out with them soon.

  Wesley walked by his captain’s tent, and sure enough the captain was praying as he did every night. Some men, including Worthington, still sat up by the fire, gambling over a card game. He went by Thomas’s tent, but he wasn’t there. He might have been out checking on his horse, any other man, and he might have had the notion to check and see if his brother had sought company with some of the camp followers, but Wesley knew his brother better than that. As Wesley walked about the camp, he noted that it smelled of dirty men, pipe tobacco, and horses. How he longed for the heavenly smell of magnolias that always clung to Victoria’s skin.

  Wesley entered his tent and closed the flap behind him. He knelt beside his cot, took out his rosary beads. It was important to hold on to small rituals like this, small pieces of home, items that gave you hope and reminded you to keep your faith even in the darkest hours. His thumbs rubbed over the smooth, cool, familiar beads just as they had done every night since his communion. As he knelt there with the familiar prayers, he could almost hear the voices of his family join with him in prayer. When he finished the rosary ritual, he continued in prayer, this time praying for protection for himself, his fellow soldiers, and for his loved ones back home. Finally finished with his evening prayers, Wesley crawled into his cot and with a final look at Victoria’s portrait that now stood on the desk beside his bed; he extinguished the candle.

  Lively music startled Wesley, he turned to look and see where it was coming from. He was back at Caherbrennan, in the music room. Laughter rang out about, adding to the layers of music. He looked around in confusion. Suddenly he felt her hands take his. He looked up into Victoria’s exuberant smiling face as she pulled him toward her and then down to sit beside her at the piano. Peace and happiness spiraled about him and swaddled him with warmth and love as he sat beside his tough little Southern Belle in this happy and familiar place. His brother and Samantha danced to the music that Victoria played on the piano as he obediently turned the pages for her. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre and his parents sat in the corner of the room clapping to the music and looking amusedly at the antics of their children.

  Victoria began to play a song. It sounded familiar, but Wesley couldn’t place it. Then he wondered how she knew this song. It was Reveille. How was she playing it? The song grew louder and Victoria’s face grew blurry.

  Wesley sat up straight in his cot. His dream faded slowly away, but he held onto that feeling of peace and happiness. He held on to her face, the face that he loved most, the face when Victoria’s eyes shone bright with laughter and joy, and she gave him that special smile that she only smiled at him. Wesley brushed the sleep from his eyes as he swung his legs around and his feet touched the ground. He arose and prepared for another day same as the last, orders and marching his troop forward, more saddle sores from hours of riding to plague him, and always the threat of imminent danger and death. He would trudge on and keep his hope and faith alive. He would do his best to keep himself alive and continue to countdown the days until his Christmas leave, when he would be home with his family and his precious Victoria, again.

  Chapter Nine

  The months had dragged on and on for the families left at home and even more so for the soldiers, but finally December had come and Wesley and Thomas would soon be arriving home for their Christmas leave. The De’Muerre and Brennan families stood on the same dock that they had bid Thomas and Wesley farewell on nine months earlier. The two families and many others fretfully waited to spot the telltale sign of billowing smoke that would signal the coming paddleboat and the return of their loved one. Victoria paced back and forth, sat on a bench, and stood once more. Samantha couldn’t take her sister’s pacing anymore so she suggested that she and Victoria walk over and ask the harbormaster if there had been any news, anything to distract Victoria from her tireless fidgeting and pacing.

  The girls wove in and out of the gathered crowd toward the office of the harbormaster when half way to their destination, the sisters heard cheers and shouts arise from the dock. “Look, look there!” the crowd shouted. “A boat! The boat is coming!” The sisters stopped, looked at each other, then turned on their heels and ran with their skirts lifted in their hands to keep their skirts from impeding their stride. They ran until they reached the spot where their parents and the Brennans stood just slightly back from the edge of the loading dock. Everyone stood watching as the boat glided along the river slowly moving closer and closer. The paddle wheel cut through the water and splashed out its teasingly slow rhythm. Victoria’s excitement grew with each turn of the wheel; each turn brought her love that much closer to her. The sisters held hands growing giddy as the men they loved came closer and closer. Soon they could see the soldiers standing on the decks waving excitedly. No faces could be made out, but it did not matter who was waving. Everyone in the crowd waved back to the soldiers, excitedly welcoming home their boys in grey.

  The crowd grew louder as the boat came closer. The energy and excitement was tangible. Victoria and Samantha were nearly jumping up and down. The boat finally docked and the crowd surged forward each wanting to be the first to greet the soldiers, be the first to find their loved one. The returning troops began to march off the boat, one by one in single file. A hush fell over the crowd, as each individual looked earnestly on, searching for familiar faces. Shouts of praise would rise up as families were reunited.

  Man after man, boy after boy they filtered out of the boat. Then Victoria saw him. He was there walking off the boat with Thomas following close behind him. Wesley spotted her and their eyes locked. He broke rank and ran toward Victoria. He opened his arms and then she was in his grasp. Wesley lifted her off of the ground and spun her around, jubilantly. It was an otherworldly experience for them to be within each other’s grasp once more.

  Thomas and Samantha had an equally joyful reunion before the brothers tu
rned to greet their mother and father. Mrs. Brennan cried with joy as she clutched her sons tightly to her. After the heartwarming reunions, the two families navigated their way through the swarming mob of reunited kin. As they walked hand in hand to their carriages, Victoria marveled at the changes that she saw in Wesley. And he was different, and yet the same. Leaner, more muscular, and weathered. His eyes, still smoldered, but they appeared wearied. But, he was here, and in one piece, and that was all that mattered.

  The families rode in their carriages back to Mossy Oak Manor where they would feast in celebration of the return of Wesley and Thomas. Mossy Oak Manor was festively and elaborately decorated for both the Christmas holiday and the Brennan brothers’ return. Cooksey and her assistants had outdone themselves. Food was not as abundant as it had once been but she did exceptionally well with what was available. The De’Muerres and Brennans feasted upon roasted chicken, potatoes, corn bread, okra, and blackberry cobbler. Wesley and Thomas ate as if they had not been fed since they left for training. Cooksey’s cooking was far and above better than anything that they were served in camp.