“Of course not,” Roberta agreed, surreptitiously glaring at Al. The captain was the most exciting person she had met since the occupation of New Orleans, and she was not about to let her cousin make a mess of her best chance since this boring war had forced her into a spinsterish existence. Indeed, she intended to use all her wiles to bring about a relationship that would be completely advantageous to herself. Dipping her dark lashes coquettishly, she turned a smile upon Cole and warmed with pleasure as he perused her in that ageless way in which a man looks at a handsome woman. He was ripe for the plucking.
A witness to this exchange, Angus stiffened and could not disguise his angry flush of color when the other man looked at him squarely. Cole smiled pleasantly. “Your daughter is very beautiful, sir. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed such gracious and fair company.”
Through Angus’s blustering discomfiture, Al snorted like an angry calf, drawing the captain’s quizzical attention. Cole could well understand the father’s displeasure, but the boy’s manner puzzled him. Their eyes held for a long moment, the gray ones cool and derisive beneath the probing orbs of blue. Almost arrogantly the slim lad turned and strode to the settee where Leala sat. The glass of sherry stood on the table beside her, and in a contemptuous salute to the captain Al raised it and, still glaring his hatred, deliberately drained the contents.
“Al—” Cole’s voice was subdued, and only the lad realized the threat in it. “You are distressing your aunt. And I’m sure it would be nice if you remembered your manners. In the presence of ladies, a gentleman should remove his hat.”
Leala wrung her hands in renewed anxiety and glanced fearfully at her husband. She appeared on the verge of hysterical tears.
“Captain, it’s quite all right,” Angus was quick to insist, but Al’s hand was already reaching toward the battered hat. Visual gray daggers pierced the Yankee before the thing was snatched off and sailed furiously across the room. Roberta gasped. Angus froze in horror before he found his voice. His bellow shook the rafters. “What in the hell have you done?”
A low moan started from his wife, rising in pitch and volume. She threw wide her hands and then clasped them tightly together as if seeking divine help. “Oh, Angus, Angus, Angus, what has she done? Ooooh!”
Angus quickly poured another glass of sherry and thrust it at his wife. “Here, Leala, drink,” he bade and, with rare presence of mind, added, “Roberta hasn’t done anything. It’s that fool boy chopping away at his hair again.”
His frown was fierce and deep as he directed it toward the youth, but he spoke aside to the captain. “Al has always been afraid someone might mistake him for a girl.”
His nephew choked and turned away, but Angus addressed him curtly, “Al, I think it’s time you had a bath. You can have your usual room. And”—he pointed to the wicker case—“take that baggage with you.”
When the boy was gone, Angus shook his head in bruised wonder. “The youth these days! I just don’t know what it’s all coming to. They have no discipline.” He raised his arms and seemed eager to vent his tirade. “They do just as they please!”
Cole meant to allay the man’s fears. “He appears to be a good lad, sir. Hardheaded, perhaps. Stubborn! Dirty! All true. Yet he should grow up to be quite a man.”
Several months would pass before Cole would come to understand the pained frown that Angus Craighugh bent on him that moment.
Chapter 3
AL placed the large wicker case on the bed and slumped wearily beside it. On the riverboat a cotton bale had doubled for a bed, and it was an everlasting mystery how a thing that began so soft could be made so hard and uncomfortable. What little sleep had come had been brief and fitful. The coolness of early morning had been the only respite, and as the day grew hotter and more sultry, it was necessary to remain alert lest an uncautious moment destroy the best of plans. The game had been well played, and even the test of Roberta was past.
Al rose and moved to gaze out the window as the door opened and Dulcie’s two daughters struggled to haul a small brass tub into the room. There was no way to determine if they had been warned, but it was best to avoid further commotion while the Yankee was still in the house. The girls could not suppress curious glances at the slim, forbidding back of the guest as they carried in water and prepared a tepid bath. But nothing was said, and after laying out towels and soap they left the room, closing the door gently behind them.
Grimy hands scooped into the bath and cupped the water, bringing it to the smudged face. A long sigh of pleasure escaped the weary lips as a flagging spirit was refreshed. With renewed attention, the gray eyes surveyed the room. A few pieces of furniture were gone, but what was left was familiar. The room seemed to welcome the wanderer like an old friend, evoking fond memories of old. They were needed to dull the stark ones of more recent origin. It was not home, but it was the best this one had sampled in a fortnight.
The slim figure slowly turned to confront the cracked mirror that stood beside the tub. A rueful smile spread over the pensive face. As if with a will of their own, hands raised and thin fingers ran through the shaggy mop of deep russet hair. The boots were kicked off with vigor, the loose trousers quickly followed, and the jacket was tossed on top of them. The shirt reached almost to the knees, and nimble fingers feverishly loosened the buttons until that, too, was discarded with the rest.
Alaina MacGaren stood before the mirror in plain, straight pantaloons and a child’s chemise, her youthful breasts bound almost flat by the snug fit of the latter. Sweat-stained and dirty, the undergarments joined the growing heap and finally, free of restraint, she enjoyed a long, deep breath. Her reflection reaffirmed the fact that the past year and its toils had made her thin to a fault. She didn’t care to be reminded how starved she looked, but she could hardly bemoan the fact. It had lent well to her disguise. Though seventeen, she had masqueraded as a stripling lad beneath the very noses of the Yankees. Captain Latimer had not even been suspicious.
Alaina, with some irritation, remembered Roberta’s warm and congenial acceptance of the captain. Her cousin’s flirtation would almost guarantee his return to the Craighugh home. Yet for Alaina, his visitations would pose definite problems. Without warning she might be called on to resume her charade.
Then, too, the subject of work had to be considered. After seeing the near poverty of the Craighughs, she could not freely accept their charity. She was determined to provide for herself, but what the captain said was true. There were few civilians who could afford to pay her a wage. Besides, what better place for a wanted woman to hide than as a lad in the Union hospital? The idea stayed with her and began to tickle her imagination.
Under closer inspection, Alaina studied her image. How long could she pose as a boy at the Yankee hospital? Was there something in her face that would betray her? The thin, pert nose that seemed almost an adjunct to her face with its sunburned brightness, and the lean, slightly squarish face with its high cheekbones could possibly pass for a boy’s features, dainty though they were. Perhaps the large and sparkling gray eyes that slanted upward beneath long, silky black lashes were not even a liability. But the mouth! It was too soft! Far too pink and delicate! Certainly not boyish!
Musingly Alaina puckered, grimaced, and tightly smiled at her reflection. There! she thought. If I just hold my lips firm—it just might work.
Alaina considered her features only for what hazard they might pose. In spite of her mother’s best efforts, she had been much of a tomboy most of her young life. Then, these last years of overwhelming responsibility, a meager diet, and hard work had all but smothered the customary changes to womanhood. In the face of this hindrance, nature, with infinite patience, bided its day. This was a time for survival, not girlish longings. With a hardness of mind born of necessity, Alaina gave her thoughts over to how best she might carry out her mummery. She entertained no concept of a day when these selfsame, though now inconvenient, features might cause a man to forget what other goals he had
in mind.
The sound of the front door opening and closing caught Alaina’s attention, and she went to peek through the louvered slats of the French doors that led onto the balcony overlooking the front lawn. Captain Latimer came into view and strode toward his horse, settling his hat on his head. Reluctantly Alaina admitted to herself that he was a splendid and somewhat exceptional figure of a man. Tall, ramrod straight, lean and muscular, he lent to the uniform a dignity and bearing that few men could. She would even concede that he was rather handsome with his crisp, clean features and vivid blue eyes. But he was a Yankee and that, in Alaina’s opinion, was an unpardonable sin. She dismissed him easily as she returned to her bath. If Roberta was infatuated with him, this cousin was most certainly not. She could accept him no better than she could that arrogant lieutenant who months ago at Brian Hill, had threatened to see her hanged for a spy. In fact, were the truth made known, Captain Latimer would probably seek the same end for her.
Lowering herself into the bath, Alaina scrubbed hard and worked the homemade soap into the snarled thatch that covered her head. Cutting her hair had been the hardest part, but the long, softly curling tresses had become a liability she could ill afford. Hiding in an old barn by the edge of the river, she had lopped it short lest a stray breeze or a brush in a crowd sweep the hat away and betray her.
How innocently it had all started. In the beginning the Confederate soldiers had only asked for food and shelter, sometimes a night or two of rest before they moved on. Her mother had dutifully taken them in, and Alaina had continued on after Glynis MacGaren’s death, hoping somewhere some woman might be as kind to her brother, Jason, now the only other survivor of the Louisiana MacGarens. Banks and his scavengers had left precious little after their occupation of Alexandria, but Alaina had persisted, sharing what she could after the Yankees ravaged Briar Hill. But then, more than a fortnight ago, a young soldier had died in her barn, leaving in her care a message for General Richard Taylor. It had seemed simple enough for her to deliver it to the Confederate camp. That deed, however, proved pure misfortune. The eldest son of her white-trash neighbors, repeatedly rebuffed by her somewhat caustic tongue, discreetly followed her to the camp and home again. Once more he had proposed that he move into the MacGaren house and set himself up as lord and master of it, offering to wed her now that she had no kin left to care for her. He had retreated quickly enough when Alaina took up her father’s pistol and drove him out of the house at gunpoint. The rejected swain had wasted no time in carrying the tale of her deed to the Yankees, receiving no doubt a goodly sum for his . . . loyalty.
Hate beat a more bitter note in Alaina’s heart as she remembered the Yankee lieutenant who had ridden up the lane to Briar Hill with his handful of black soldiers. He had sat back in his saddle to watch in glee as his men circled close about her on their mounts, frightening off the milk cow she had been leading. But when he had grown bored with her defiant stare, the lieutenant had brusquely commanded his men to search the out buildings for Confederate soldiers, then loosening the flap of his holster as a warning, he had directed her ahead of him into the house and there, after barring the door behind him, had made a proposition in such crude terms as to be grossly insulting.
Alaina had replied in curt, cool disdain that her agreement would be conditional upon it being so cold a day that a certain unlikely locale would freeze over. The gallant lieutenant had cast aside his innate gentility and tried to force himself upon her in the parlor. Her screams had brought Saul crashing through the back door, and in the face of the huge black servant’s rage, the chickenhearted coward had fled like a cur with its tail tucked between its legs, calling his men after him and vowing to see her hanged and that damned black right along with her. They would be back, the lieutenant had promised quite vocally, and with reinforcements. Then, just before he departed down the lane, he drew his pistol and shot the cow between the eyes. If his threat had not stirred enough fear, that unwarranted cruelty had brought cold terror to Alaina’s insides. Ruthlessly he had taken pettish revenge, not caring who might suffer.
The pain of leaving her home still haunted Alaina. It seemed like ages since she had thrown what she could into the aged valise, assumed her boyish identity, and scrambled up behind Saul on Briar Hill’s only remaining horse. For more than a week they had roamed the countryside, going to ground whenever Union troops were in the vicinity, only daring to return home once for food in the wee hours of morning. They were in Baton Rouge when Saul, about to cross the street to join her with their precious knapsack of food, was stopped by a shout. Glancing about, Alaina had spied the lieutenant rushing toward him and gesturing wildly for other soldiers to halt the black’s escape. There were few men who could delay the powerful man, much less hold him secure. As he fled down the street away from her, Alaina drew back into the alley and slowly measured her retreat until well assured no one gave her notice, then she clambered onto the back of the nag and lit out. That night she kept a vigil for Saul, roaming the streets and finally camping on the outskirts. No more was seen of him, and after two days of scouring the countryside for him and eating nothing but a few handfuls of raw corn found in an untended field, she had traded the horse for the fare on the riverboat and headed for New Orleans.
The memories sharpened the pang of homesickness, and Alaina actively set her mind to something less disturbing. Finishing her bath in a rush and donning a threadbare garment, she laid out her meager possessions. The black dress she had worn to her mother’s burial was her best, while the two muslin gowns she owned had been repeatedly patched. Alaina shook her head in rueful recollection. That fool soldier on the dock had nearly squashed the case open, and she had worried that it might fall from Captain Latimer’s horse when she rode behind him. A young boy would have found a valise full of women’s garments hard to explain. The captain had been so sure he had rescued an orphan lad. Instead, he had delivered to safety a young woman branded a spy by his own army and hunted like a dangerous animal.
A light rap sounded on the door and, at her call of admittance, Leala bustled into the room followed closely by Angus and Roberta.
“Alaina, child! You gave me such a start!” the older woman tenderly scolded before placing a kiss upon the girl’s brow where the short hair was beginning to dry and curl in soft, feathery wisps. “And your hair! Your beautiful hair! All gone!”
“What made you leave Briar Hill?” Angus questioned brusquely. “When we came to see your mother buried, you were determined to remain. It’s been almost a year since Glynis passed away. What happened to change your mind? Surely Jason hasn’t been—”
“No!” Alaina didn’t want to consider that her oldest brother might have perished like her other brother Gavin, and her father. “No,” she said more calmly. “It’s just that when the Yankees occupied Alexandria, they rode through our crops and tore down the sheds, enlisted our slaves in their army, slaughtered the cattle to feed their gluttony and took the horses for mounts, leaving nothing to make ends meet. Saul managed to hide one old nag from them, but I traded that to get here. Why, they even dragged away the mules, but whether to eat or to ride I’m not sure.” Pacing the floor, she continued relating the story, gesturing and at times wringing her slender hands when the memory disturbed her greatly. “There’s no way of knowing what happened to Saul. If the lieutenant caught him, he might be either dead or in jail.”
“But what do you intend now, Lainie darling?” Roberta asked with wide, innocent eyes.
Angus cleared his throat and, seeing no other choice, magnanimously yielded a declaration. “She’ll stay here with us, of course. There’s little else she can do.”
“But, Daddy,” Roberta implored. “Captain Latimer will surely come back. What is he going to think if he finds out that Al is really a girl?”
“You shouldn’t have invited him, Roberta,” her father mumbled discontentedly.
“Oh, Daddy,” Roberta smiled and affectionately pinched his cheek. “Think of all he can do for us.
Isn’t it time we started taking from the Yankees instead of giving up everything that we own? Haven’t they stolen enough from us? With butter four dollars a pound, and eggs five dollars a dozen, how can we afford to exist? Dulcie has been going to the French Market less and less, and your customers have become quite stingy with trading their foodstuffs and paying their bills. Why, I haven’t had a new gown in months, and now we have another mouth to feed.”
“Roberta!” her mother gasped.
If any lagging uncertainty remained in Alaina’s determination to find work, Roberta’s crudity strengthened her resolve. “I don’t intend to be a burden,” she announced. “Captain Latimer is looking for a boy to work at the hospital, and I’m going to accept the position—as Al.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Leala was aghast. “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous! Imagine! A young, innocent girl working for those dirty Yankees! Why, your dear mother would come back to haunt me if I consented to anything so foolish. Poor Glynis, she was so in hopes you’d learn to be a lady. And now look at you! Ma petite, what’s to become of you?” The woman dissolved into tears, unable to bear what this dreadful war had done to her niece.
“Now, Mama,” Roberta soothed, patting Leala’s shoulder. Although always rather thin and bony, Alaina had drawn, with her brightness of wit and easy charm, a covey of young men continually about her and Roberta could not bear to share the tiniest bit of masculine attention with her cousin. She could only think that Alaina, dressed as a boy, would be no competition at all. Indeed, the situation might lead to a bit of fun. Alaina always was too uppity for a country cousin, anyway. “The Yankees won’t know it’s Lainie. They’ll think it’s just a boy—Al—that’s all. And she plays the part so well, no one will ever know. What a trick to play on those nasty ol’ Yankees.”
Angus silently agreed with his wife. His sister, Glynis, had often despaired because Alaina refused to conform to a more genteel way. The girl had found far greater pleasure romping with her brothers, and Angus did not doubt in the least that she could shoot and ride about as well as most men. If anyone could pull such a farce off, Alaina was the one to do it.
Ashes in the Wind Page 4
