Triumph

by Heather Graham

  “Find any good Rebels to save yet at the hospital?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you may today. Goodbye, my dear,” he told her. “Molly, thank you!” he called to their servant, then he started out of the house.

  “Taylor!” she shouted, startled to find that she was following him. He stopped out on the lawn, turning to wait for her question. Friar, she noted, was at the gate. Good old Friar. He had his horse back. That had to make him happy—if having her didn’t.

  Private Shelby was leaning against one of the porch columns, waiting for her. She felt awkward, smiling a good morning to him but not wanting an audience at this moment.

  “Are you leaving again for ... for a long time? Or will you be back soon?”

  She felt the sweep of his distant, gold gaze. A slight smile curved his lips. “Did you want me back?” he inquired politely.

  Shelby was behind them. She felt her cheeks burn. “Of ... of course.”

  He walked back to her. Kissed her cheek. Whispered “Liar!” in her ear. And without giving her an answer, he strode to Friar, mounted up, and rode away.

  At the hospital, she learned what demons tormented him. The soldiers, doctors, patients, wives, nurses—everyone—talked about the horrible events at the crater. Union engineers had dug a tunnel to reach Confederate lines. Black troops had been trained to go in—but at the last minute they’d been pulled out. The generals were afraid that it would look as if they were willing to sacrifice their black soldiers.

  As it happened, explosives that had been set didn’t fire properly. Then the replacement men, too hastily trained, faltered. The Rebels counterattacked. It had been a disaster. One of the injured men, learning that Tia was Taylor’s wife, talked to her about what happened.

  “Colonel Douglas kept trying to tell them there could be a fault with men being trapped, but somebody said he was cavalry, and even if he’d had training in engineering and architecture, he wanted to build mansions, not military works.

  “Colonel Douglas was angry then, saying they shouldn’t ask him for information if they didn’t want his opinion. He was angry that they changed the troops at the last minute, and angrier still, I think, when so many men were blown to bits. He didn’t want to be right. But he was there, ma’am, right there, racing into the action, trying to get men out when it all blew up in our faces. He later asked to be sent back to General Magee and left alone as cavalry, since that was what he was.

  “They say about twenty thousand men were involved and that we flat out lost a full four thousand of them. It was one of the most horrible things I’ve seen in the war, and I’ve been in the Army of the Potomac since the beginning. You’ll see ... when the fellows start coming in today. Some of them are in pretty bad shape.”

  They were. Men came in from the siege line throughout the day.

  Rebel soldiers came as well, many of them dying, bodies maimed, limbs blown to bits in the explosion that had rocked the crater.

  Tia stayed at the hospital through the night. The next day, she almost passed out at one point; she was nearly sick at another. She ignored her weariness. At dusk, Dr. Flowers made her go home, telling her that she was suffering from exhaustion.

  When she reached the house, Taylor was there. She had been bone tired, but the news that he had preceded her home seemed like a stimulant. She was immediately awake and wary. Molly told her he was in her room—in the bathtub. She entered quietly, saw that he was indeed there, leaning back, a washcloth over his face. She started to walk back out. He didn’t move the washcloth, but he had heard her, and he knew it was her. “Don’t leave on my account.”

  Awkwardly, she moved into the room. She hesitated near the wooden hip tub. “I heard how many men were lost at the crater. I’m very sorry.”

  He pulled the washcloth from his face, studying her. “Well, I don’t know how many, but I’m afraid a number of Rebs were blown to bits as well. Unfortunately, that’s the idea with war. We kill one another. The last man standing wins.”

  “I heard that you had argued against it.”

  “I did, but I wish I’d been wrong.”

  “You were resting. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Tia said.

  “You disturb me, my love, on a daily basis.”

  She turned around, determined to leave the room. But before she could reach the door, he was up and out of the tub, water sluicing from his naked body. And when he caught her and swung her around, she was amazed at the way that just the touch of his sleek, bare flesh aroused her, at how she wanted him. “I have just come from the hospital,” she told him, feeling that she was obliged to offer some manner of protest.

  “Then you should share my bath.” He spun her around, working on buttons and ties and closures. Her shoes flew, stockings followed, cloth lay on the ground in a pool of pastel color. He picked her up, plunked her into the tub with him, and when they tried to sit, their knees knocked. They stood again, facing one another in the water, and to her amazement, she found herself laughing. “We don’t fit at all ...”

  “We don’t, do we?” he inquired, but he cupped her chin, kissed her, and then she felt the soap in his hands against her flesh, and the sleek feel of it moving against her, over her breasts, between her thighs ... she was shaking, still feeling his kiss. The soap was suddenly in her hands. She bathed his shoulders, his chest, back ... buttocks, sex. The soap slipped from her hands, splashed into the water. Droplets cascaded around them. They both ducked for more water to rinse out, crashed together, laughed. Then her eyes met his, and she saw the fire, felt as if it touched her inside. He lifted her from the tub, fell instantly upon the bed, and within seconds he was inside her. Tia wondered how she had ever lived without him.

  “You really don’t ever listen to me, do you?” she murmured.

  “I listen, but I simply refuse to agree. You’re my wife, and I will be with you. Whether or not I am a Rebel countryman, as you would have liked.”

  “I told you, I don’t dislike you.”

  “You’ll have to quit saying so with such passion. I might start thinking you actually do like me.”

  “I just wish that ... I were home.”

  “In Florida, you mean. Away from me.”

  “In Florida,” she agreed. “And I told you ... I just don’t want ...”

  “Don’t want what?”

  “Children.”

  Exhaustion then seemed to be overwhelming her. If he said something more, she didn’t hear it. Perhaps he was just as exhausted. He remained beside her. Sometime in the night, she awoke, feeling him at her back. The length of him against the length of her. Then he must have known that she had awakened, because he was touching her. His arms were around her, upon her breasts, and he was inside her, and she was soaring into the sweet warm rain of ecstasy, bursting into a field of light and stars, and drifting down into a night of velvet and blackness. “You’ll simply have to forgive me,” he whispered against her earlobe.

  “I’ll try,” she murmured.

  Yet, the next thing she knew, she was shaking. It was summer, it was hot, but she was freezing. She couldn’t get warm enough. At first, she was against him, trying to gain his body heat. It wasn’t enough. His arms were around her, she soon realized, then he was cradling her in blankets, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes.

  Cold, cold, cold ...

  So cold ... and she was dreaming. She was at Cimarron, by the pool. The sun was shining, but she was shaking.

  Someone was calling her. Urgently. The sound was coming from the house. But she could see Taylor. He was standing on the other side of the pool. He seemed very far away. She wanted to go to him. But she was so cold, and they were calling her from the house, and if she could only reach Cimarron, she would be warm again. She would see the sun shine on the river, the way the lawn swept down to the embankment, the way the grass grew so very green, and even the way the white puffs of clouds moved across the heavens.

  “I want to go home ... I have to go home ...�
��

  “Sh ... it’s all right.”

  Then he wasn’t across the freshwater spring from her anymore. He was holding her again. She was glad; she was where she wanted to be. Except that she was slipping away. She needed to say something, hold on to him. She couldn’t. She was falling ... into darkness.

  She couldn’t seem to remember, or to feel, until she realized that she hadn’t fallen; his arms were around her again. He was urging her to drink; she tasted bitter quinine. She opened her eyes, and she wondered what had happened. She was in a nightgown, and she wasn’t alone with Taylor. He was there, in full uniform, but Ian was there, too, and so was Dr. Flowers. The doctor had his hand on her forehead, and he looked grave. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Her voice seemed thick. Her throat hurt; it was hard to talk.

  “Drink more of this.”

  She did so, then closed her eyes. She wasn’t quite so cold anymore, but she was very, very tired. “You picked up a fever at the hospital, Tia,” Dr. Flowers told her gently. “But I think we’re through the worst of it. You need to sleep, to rest. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. She thought she heard them talking again—all of them. She tried to reach out. She had seen something strange in Taylor’s eyes. “Taylor ...” She managed to murmur his name. And she knew that he was beside her again, holding her hand. Then she felt blackness slipping over her once more.

  When she next awoke Taylor was gone. Ian was in the room with her, sitting in a chair by the bed, his sharp blue eyes watching her. She managed a smile and a weak “Hi.”

  “Hi, little sister. How are you doing?”

  “Better, I think.”

  He reached over, touched her forehead. He seemed satisfied. Rising, he brought her a glass of water. She took it from him, realizing she was tremendously thirsty.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to tell Molly you’re awake. She has some tea for you to start with, then you’re to go to soup and toast, I believe.”

  “Sounds good. I’m famished.”

  He started out of the room. She called him back. “Ian? Where’s Taylor? I’m not asking for the secret movements of the Union army or anything, just ... where is he?”

  “He had to leave. Jesse was ordered back to Washington. Taylor is down in Georgia.”

  “Georgia! When did he leave? When is he coming back?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s arranged passage home for you.”

  “What?” she murmured.

  “He said you wanted to be in Florida. When you’re better, General Magee will arrange an escort to the nearest safe port, and you can return to St. Augustine by ship. I’ll try to follow, since Alaina’s baby is due in September and I’d like to be there.”

  “He’s not coming back?” Tia said. “And I’m just to go?”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” Ian asked. “It’s what you told me.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. Her brother’s eyes were on her. Her own lowered.

  “Taylor stayed until he knew you were out of danger, but he said that even in your fever, all you talked about was going home.” He hesitated. “He was carrying despatches down to Sherman. Once you were on the mend, he couldn’t wait any longer.”

  She nodded. “I see.”

  Ian started out of the room again.

  “Ian?” she said, again calling him back.

  He paused. “I’d ... wait for him,” she whispered.

  “Tia, I don’t know when he’s coming back. Sherman is trying to take Atlanta. Taylor could be gone a very long time. I thought you’d be happy about going home.”

  “I am happy about going home,” she told him. And she was. But she was dismayed to realize that she was desolate about leaving Taylor. But I’m not leaving him; he’s already gone! she thought.

  “There’s a note for you in the desk.”

  Tia started to rise but fell back, dizzy. She looked at her brother ruefully, seeing that he was hurrying to her side. “I’m all right, just not quite back to normal. Would you ... ?”

  Ian opened the desk drawer, brought her back a folded piece of note paper, and left her alone to read Taylor’s words.

  They weren’t what she had hoped for.

  Tia,

  You’ve said you want to be in Florida. Under the circumstances, it seems that you should go. A Union ship will bring you to St. Augustine. I know that you can be with family members and find useful occupation there. Don’t even think about a hair-cloaked romp about the state. Take care of yourself, stay well—and stay out of trouble. How’s that for fair warning? Is this a threat? Yes, my love, it is.

  Taylor

  She wouldn’t cry—it would be so stupid! He had always made her stay with him. Now, suddenly, he was gone-—indefinitely. And though he had left a threat ...

  Did he really care what she did?

  This was what she’d wanted. No matter what she was feeling, he remained the enemy. A staunch enemy. And now, a threatening, unforgiving enemy.

  So she was going home. Back to where she’d started. She couldn’t stay in St. Augustine. She would go back with her brother. And at home, she would find the strength to begin again.

  Tia burst into tears. And then, only then, did she admit to herself that it all hurt so, so badly because she was in love with Taylor Douglas.

  It was the middle of the night.

  The door burst open.

  Sydney bolted upright in a wild panic. What had happened? Had the Rebs stormed the capital? No! She hadn’t heard a cannon or even the firing of a single gun.

  She leapt from the bed and rushed out to the parlor. In the firelight burning low at the hearth, she saw him. Jesse. In full uniform, his plumed hat upon his head, frockcoat over his snow-white shirt and doublet. Her hand flew to her throat. It had been so long since she’d seen him.

  Did he know that she had slipped her guard, left the city, defied his order? Was he here in anger, or ...

  Had he seen Taylor?

  “Jesse?” she murmured,

  He strode across the room to her. She felt his eyes, saw the lines about his handsome face. She backed away.

  “Sydney, damn you, Sydney ...”

  He reached her. She met his gaze, mouth dry, heart hammering. He was alive. Just that seemed a miracle. She was so glad to see him, wanted so much to touch him ...

  “Sydney.”

  To her amazement, he went down upon a knee, drawing her to him. His arms encircled her waist; he held her like porcelain. She hesitated, her fingers falling on the brown waves of his hair. He stood, arms around her, holding her. His eyes met hers again. He kissed her, and kissed her ...

  “Sydney ... you’re a Yankee.”

  “I am not!”

  He drew away, his smile gentle, beautiful, the smile with which she had fallen in love, from the very first.

  “You were sneaking out to smuggle slaves.”

  “You saw Taylor.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he ... did he tell you ...”

  “Particulars? No. Don’t look so relieved—you ‘re going to tell me what happened. Everything. Then, I’m going to throttle you, of course, you little fool. It’s every bit as dangerous as what you were doing, it’s more dangerous ... it’s ...”

  “Jesse?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, God!”

  He swept her up. She buried her head against his chest. Slipped her arms around his neck. He carried her back to the bedroom and they lay down together. He smoothed her hair back. “I love you, Sydney, I love you, I love you, I love you ...”

  It was many hours later when he warned her again that he was going to throttle her, and by then she simply didn’t care. She knew he didn’t mean a word of it.

  Chapter 24

  WHEN TIA ARRIVED IN Florida, she returned immediately to Cimarron to spend some precious time with her parents. Her father was pleased that she had married Taylor Douglas, which she told hers
elf was natural because her father was, at heart, a Yankee. But she knew it was more than that. Her father liked Taylor, and respected him, and for that, he was glad for his daughter. Her mother was sorry that they would never plan an elaborate wedding, but she was also pragmatic—they were living in wartime, and what was important was that they survived it. Neither of her parents seemed surprised about the marriage. “You were different with him from the beginning, my dear,” Tara said. “There was something there ... you just had to discover it. I’m so glad you did. I don’t think that Ray Weir knows you’ve married, though. He was here just last week, asking for you. You should never have played him along so, dear.”

  “I never played him along! Did you tell him that I had married?”

  “Actually, no. I never had the chance.”

  “Well, I assume he’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Yes, I imagine.” Her mother seemed unhappy then, as if she was hiding something.

  “Mother, what is it?”

  “He and your father got into another row.”

  “What happened? Oh, Mother, I wish Father would be careful with his convictions and his temper. We are a Confederate state.”

  “Tia, it was not your father’s fault.”

  “Ray came in here demanding to know where you were. Your father said that you were with Ian in Virginia, and Ray exploded, saying he had no right to send you up with the Yankees.”

  “But he didn’t send me anywhere. Ray is the most infuriating man. And to think that I did fancy I could be in love with him at one time. I’ve tried several times to make him understand that I am independent, that I try to make my own decisions, go my own way—despite Father and two older brothers and bossy cousins to boot and now Taylor. But—”

  “Tia, don’t worry about it. He came, and he left. Eventually, someone will tell him that you have married, and he will let it all go.”

  Later that day, she sat with her father by the river, and eventually she asked him, “Was I really such a horrible flirt?”

  He looked at her, arching a brow. “Horrible? You were an excellent flirt, my darling daughter.”

  He was grinning, but she flushed. “Seriously, Father. I mean, I know that I liked to have a good time, and I did tease, but ... life used to be so different.”