Triumph

by Heather Graham

  “Magee has been keeping Friar, so your man was honorable. He’s treated him like his own child,” Jesse told Taylor. “I’ll take the horses around back.”

  Taylor was hesitating. Hands on his hips, he stared at the road. “I should report to Magee tonight.”

  “He’ll expect you in the morning,” Ian said. “He knew you were working directly for Grant before the Wilderness, and he’s anxious to see you now, glad to have you back—though he doesn’t know how long he’ll get to keep you. I imagine that he’ll move our companies into the field by tomorrow, and stage our reconnaissance from here.”

  “Well, good. Tia is unhappy enough in Federal company. I wouldn’t want her to have to be uncomfortable as well,” Taylor said pleasantly. “Shall we all go make this our new home?” He smiled at Tia.

  A smile that gave her shivers all over again.

  Hours later, they had finished an extremely palatable meal, under the circumstances. Jesse had found a ham left in the smokehouse, and there had been a few cans of fruit left in the larder. There had been some corn bread left over from the day before, and Tia had found a few dandelion greens to pull from the small vegetable garden. She was a rich man’s daughter, but as capable in a kitchen as she was in a hospital, Taylor thought, and he realized that Jarrett McKenzie had raised his children to live in the world, not believe that they ruled it.

  Tia might not have been happy in Federal company, but she loved her brother and she had no difficulty liking Jesse Halston. She was interested in Jesse, naturally—he had married her cousin. She didn’t hide her curiosity, or her assessment, and Jesse seemed to like her in return. Ian had received letters from home in the last few weeks, which Tia had not, and she was anxious to hear about her family. Seeing the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her family to Ian made Taylor feel like the odd man out.

  Leaving them to their conversation, Taylor came out to the porch with a good cigar he had found in Mary’s father’s desk. It had aged well, he mused, leaning against one of the posts to smoke it. He blew smoke rings, watching them on the air. So she wanted a divorce!

  Like hell.

  But what was he to do? This was a war. He couldn’t have her arrested, even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t give away her secret. But what recourse did that leave him? He couldn’t be with her constantly; he couldn’t force her to stay. When he’d left her the last time, she had even promised to be there when he returned. Now, she wasn’t making any promises; she was telling him that she didn’t want children and that she wanted a divorce.

  The door opened. He saw that Ian was joining him. “Have you ever seen anything as quiet as this night?” Ian asked.

  “It will change tomorrow.”

  “It will. Every house will be taken over. Troops will be camped all over those grasslands. And it will be for a long time, I think.”

  Taylor looked at him. “We’re in for a siege. Petersburg is under attack, and don’t think that Grant is going to leave until the city surrenders—no matter what the cost.”

  “What else have I missed?” Taylor asked. “I heard about the boys from the Virginia Military Institute going to war at New Market. What else?”

  “Sherman is marching hard on Georgia—destroying everything in sight, I might add we probably had a chance to capture Petersburg without a siege, but old Beauregard pushed Meade back too hard.”

  “Anything from home?”

  “Skirmishes, a few naval bombardments. A couple of babies come the fall. Alaina is expecting, and so is Risa.”

  “So Jerome managed to make it home last Christmas!” Taylor said, grinning, as he leaned back and savored his cigar. But his smile didn’t seem to touch his soul. It was a sore subject. He did want children. He hadn’t thought about it much since Abby had died. Not even when he’d found himself marrying again in a strange fury.

  “So this will be three for you,” he murmured casually.

  “Jerome’s second. Prophesied by my brother’s wife.”

  “Who sees too much, and not enough,” Taylor murmured.

  “She sees the end of this, but she says it doesn’t matter. The Rebs will never believe her until they’re beaten into the ground. My brother pays her no heed.”

  “Maybe he pays more attention than we know. What can he do—quit the army, walk away? He’s ą doctor. It doesn’t work that way, and we both know it.”

  “But people do change,” Ian said suddenly, looking at him. “Like Sydney.”

  “She claims she hasn’t changed.”

  “But that isn’t the truth, is it?”

  Taylor shrugged, stubbing out the cigar. “No. She met a really remarkable black woman who opened her eyes to slavery—although Sydney still won’t accept it as the major cause of the war.”

  “Lincoln has fought to preserve the Union, not to free the slaves,” Ian reminded him. “As good a man as he may be, he’s a politician. He used his Emancipation Proclamation just as much as any politician might.”

  “He does believe that slavery is an abomination.”

  “He does, but ...”

  “But what?”

  Taylor stared at Ian. “Your father has always, openly and honestly, been against slavery. I can understand the hatred of this uniform where James is concerned, and how Jerome and Brent might have naturally been ready to fight the Union. God knows, there were times when I was young that even I thought all white men were murdering demons—because of this uniform. Why can’t your sister realize that the South’s fight is wrong, that it would be all but sacrilege to destroy the Union, and slavery is one of the crudest and most unjust institutions ever twisted into being by man.”

  “She sees it. She’s just fought too long and hard now to admit she’s wrong.”

  “Well, then it’s onward to battle I go, Ian. It’s been one hell of a long day. Good night.”

  “Good night, Taylor. Go easy on the South, eh? We really are winning the war.”

  The house was quiet. Jesse had evidently picked a bed and gone to it. Tia had cleaned the dining room and kitchen, and she had disappeared as well. Taylor walked up the steps wearily. It was past midnight now. God knew what morning would bring.

  He entered Tia’s bedroom, feeling as if liquid fire coursed through his veins. What if she wasn’t there, what if she’d locked the door, what if ...

  He closed the door behind him. The room was cloaked in shadow, but he could see her form on the bed.

  He walked slowly over to her. She was on one side of the bed, curled away from him. A sliver of moonlight fell across her back. She only feigned sleep. The pulse at her throat gave her away.

  He silently stripped his boots and clothing, crawled onto the bed, and reached for her.

  She turned toward him, dark eyes wide, catching a spark of the moonlight. “Taylor, I—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you want,” he told her, taking her into his arms.

  She didn’t protest. And in a matter of minutes, she was everything he knew, and everything he wanted. She teased and seduced and sated his senses, and in the end, she lay curled in his arms as sweetly as a kitten, seduced and sated and exhausted as well. He held her, suddenly grateful for the night just to sleep beside her, trying not to tremble in a manner that would give away the extent of his pleasure just to be with her. To feel the way she breathed, slept, moved in the night ...

  Later, he awoke, and he wondered why for a moment. He had always awakened to the slightest noise, but ....

  There was nothing. The night was quiet, the breeze was slight. And then he knew.

  She still lay beside him, entangled in his limbs.

  But softly, almost silently ... so that he would not hear her ...

  She was crying.

  Chapter 23

  WHEN TIA AWOKE THE following morning, Taylor was gone.

  Rising and dressing, she found that he had left the house altogether, as had Jesse.

  What had been a. ghost town, however, was suddenly filled with people again. So
ldiers, servants, wives, laundresses—the inevitable camp followers. The field across from Mary’s house was filled with tents; the sound of troop commanders could be heard, along with bugles, harnesses, hoofbeats, and shouts.

  The Union had come in full force.

  Ian was still at the house, receiving despatches. He’d be leaving soon as well, but he had wanted Tia to know that there was a Private Shelby on the porch, that the house had been designated as their quarters by the proper authorities, and that General Magee had chosen the large Colonial across the street for his own headquarters. The kitchen was being stocked, Molly was the maid and cook who would be looking after them, and Horace was the handyman who would watch the chickens, stock the smokehouse, and do any general handy work they might need around the place.

  They had settled in for a long siege at Petersburg.

  “Where is Taylor?” Tia asked her brother after she had come down for breakfast.

  “Riding,” Ian said briefly.

  She was about to ask where, but she knew her brother wouldn’t tell her. She remained a Rebel, and God alone knew just what she might be capable of doing.

  Taylor did not return that night, or the next day, or the next. At first, Tia remained in the vicinity of the house. When she left, she found that Private Shelby followed her. She felt like telling her brother, who returned to the house at odd hours, that if she chose to escape from Shelby, she could do so easily. However, she managed not to make such a confession.

  On the fifth day of Taylor’s absence, she could no longer bear the idleness of sitting in the house. The Lutheran church had again been turned into a hospital, so with Shelby at her heels, she walked down to the hospital to offer her services. There were two women in the main body of the church. Pews had been stripped; beds had been brought in. Tia made her way to the side chapel, where the doctor in command was quickly looking through the papers that had come with some newly arrived men. As she passed, the women—Yankee wives, she was certain—paused from their duties to whisper.

  About her.

  She ignored them.

  She walked to the doctor’s desk. “Excuse me, but I’m an experienced nurse and I’d like to work here if I may.”

  The doctor looked up. He was a tall man of about fifty, sturdy, gray-haired, and with a calm, steady manner that inspired trust. His gaze fixed on her despite the confusion and noise around them as another load of injured men arrived.

  “And you are ... ?”

  “My name is Tia McKenzie.”

  “McKenzie Douglas, isn’t it?” he inquired, smiling. He rose, offering her a hand. “Reginald Flowers, and I know who you are. You have dark eyes, and you’re much, much lovelier, but you do bear a resemblance to your brothers.”

  “You know both my brothers?”

  “Julian was with me after Gettysburg. I wish he were with me still. And Ian is legendary with the cavalry—as is your husband, Mrs. Douglas.”

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  The two women had followed her and were staring at her from the entrance to the small chapel. She turned, staring back.

  “They think you’re a Rebel who will probably poison the injured men in the middle of the night!” Dr. Flowers said.

  “And what do you think, sir?” Tia asked.

  “I think they’re a pair of plump old biddies!” he said conspiratorially, and she had to smile. “What took you so long in coming?” he asked her.

  “Pardon?”

  “Colonel Douglas was by several days ago, said your sympathies were Southern but your inclination was to heal. If you’re Julian’s sister, I haven’t a doubt in the world that you’ll be a tremendous asset to me. If you’ll begin with the fellows who have just come in ...” he suggested.

  And so she did. She bathed wounds, sewed them, bandaged them, and found herself quickly taken in as Dr. Flower’s surgical assistant.

  The other wives, she was certain, continued to talk about her through the day. She didn’t care. Several of the orderlies with Dr. Flowers knew Ian as well—and Rhiannon. The admiration and warmth with which they regarded both her brother and her sister-in-law quickly made them her friends, and by the end of the day, she didn’t think at all about it being an enemy hospital.

  She was back at the hospital at first light the next morning. Her routine became a twelve-hour day. Private Shelby remained her constant tail, and thereby found himself working at the hospital as well. He was a bit green at first, but was a pleasant enough young man, uncertain but ready to plunge in. Tia was surprised to find him quite bearable.

  He seldom came in the house, though. He’d fashioned a hammock on the porch and slept there.

  General Magee had set up his headquarters right across the street. Even though he was the enemy, he was Risa’s father, and twice, having seen him ride home late, Tia sent messages, asking him to dinner.

  One evening, he came. He was polite, charming, and steady, and she knew why Risa was as assured and confident a young woman as she always managed to be, why she was full of warmth—and also, shrewdly intelligent. He had commanded her brother, Jesse Halston—and her husband. But he didn’t talk to her much about Taylor’s work in the cavalry, other than to say once that he was such a dead-on shot that it was chilling. Magee talked about the housing plans he had seen Taylor draw, how his real love was architecture—and his home. “He wants to build houses that catch summer breezes, that stand up to fierce storms, that capture the essence of the grass and trees, sea and sand.”

  “Maybe one day,” she told him. And in turn, she talked about Jamie, his grandson, and how well Risa was doing—and that there would be a new baby.

  “Ah, now, there’s hope, isn’t there? Thank God for the little ones. How would we endure the war if it weren’t for the hope of the children?”

  She didn’t answer him. She would have told him that children all seemed to die too.

  By the end of her first week at the hospital, she returned home to find that Ian was there before her, working on despatches at the parlor desk.

  She watched him write for several minutes before she spoke.

  “Ian, where is Taylor?”

  He hesitated, watching her. “He was at the front at Petersburg for a while. He’s cavalry, but because of his engineering background, he was working with some coal miners planning ... planning some works at the line.”

  “He was?”

  “He’s also been running despatches between Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan.”

  “Is he coming back here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he in danger?”

  Ian hesitated. “Tia, it’s a war. Everyone is in danger.” He sighed. “Tia, he’s an extraordinary horseman and a crack shot.”

  She sighed. “So I’ve been told.”

  “How was the hospital?”

  “Filled with bleeding and dying men.”

  “But you’ll be working there.”

  “Until I can go home.”

  “And what you want is to go home?” Ian said, then he smiled. “You don’t actually mean home, do you? You want to go back and work in the woods with Julian.”

  “It’s where I belong,” she agreed.

  “Has it occurred to you that you belong with your husband?”

  “But he isn’t here, is he?” Tia asked.

  “He will be soon. You know, Tia, I only want what’s best for you. I am your brother, and I love you.”

  She smiled. “And I love you, Ian—even if you are a sadly misguided individual.”

  “Ah. That means a Yank, doesn’t it?”

  “Like I said, big brother, I love you dearly, but you’re not a doctor. And this isn’t my state. Excuse me, Ian, Molly said that she’d fix me some bath water before dinner.”

  Thank God for Molly, and thank God for baths. Tia wanted to work with the soldiers; she needed to work with the soldiers. But when she came home, she couldn’t get over the feeling of being drenched not just in sweat and blood, but in the anguish of the
men. She could stay on her feet forever, help in the direst situation, deal with sick soldiers, gangrene, gut wounds, and the most horrible amputations—but she did dearly love to lie in a hot bath when the day was over. It was July, the summer heat could be stifling, and she loved to sit in the water until it turned cooler than the night air.

  That night, she lay in the tub for a very long time. She was especially tired. Molly was a wonderful cook, but Tia hadn’t been hungry. Though Ian was there with her that night, and she was glad of her brother’s company, she went to bed early. However, she lay there awake, unable to calm her mind.

  Around midnight, she heard the door to her room open. By the moonlight trickling through the thin curtains, she saw a tall figure there, heard the door close quietly. Taylor. Her heart began to thunder.

  He moved about the room like a wraith, discarding his clothing then walking to the window. He stared out at the night for a very long time. Then he came to bed.

  He didn’t say a word to her, but lay on his back. She thought that his eyes remained open, that he stared up at the ceiling. She tried to keep her own eyes closed, to pretend that she hadn’t heard him, that she lay asleep. But he knew, he always knew, when she really lay awake. And suddenly he turned on her. “What was that you said, Mrs. Douglas? How am I? Yes, alive, certainly. Well? I believe so, physically, I’m in excellent shape—no bullets lodged in me anywhere. I mean, that is the least you’d ask out of a man you don’t actually dislike, isn’t it?”

  “Taylor, I—”

  “Never mind, Tia. Never mind.”

  Startled by the tears his deep, sarcastic words brought to her eyes, she started to turn away. He drew her back. “I’m sorry, Tia. I don’t want you to turn away.”

  He made love to her that night as if a demon rode his soul. He was still drinking coffee in the kitchen when she woke the next morning, but the way his gold eyes touched hers over his cup, she thought that he had never disliked her more intensely. Her eyes downcast, she strode past him, thanking Molly as she accepted coffee from her. The coffee churned in her stomach. She sipped it anyway.