An Uncivilized Yankee

by V. V. Wedding

  I didn’t know that, Travis thought, staring at the young woman beside him. Stevenson’s eyes were wide behind his glasses. He didn’t know either. No wonder she’s always so exhausted. I thought it was just tiring to work Healing, like she said. But if she’s putting more of herself into it…? Then another thought hit him hard—Is that what she’s been doing for me?

  “Will….”

  “You’re killing yourself, Star, slowly but surely!”

  “And what makes my life any more valuable than theirs?” She swept her arm in the direction of the tents. “You have your way of fulfilling your duty. This is mine.”

  Her uncle growled, as if unable to give a good response to her argument.

  Just then she swayed, stumbled into Travis’ side. He caught her and tried to support her without making her feel trapped.

  The major’s lips flattened. “Enough of this. Lieutenant, take her to her tent. Get her some food and water, then make sure she rests. I don’t suppose you were able to see that last bit of lunacy?”

  Travis shook his head. “Barely, sir. But I think I can tell when she’s doing it. She gets a peculiar look about her.”

  “That’ll work—”

  Starla interrupted. “Will you two quit talking about me like I’m not here?

  Lewis ignored her. “The next time she tries to kill herself like that, you have my permission to tie her down.”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis said, and led the still fuming girl away, half supporting and half dragging.

  As soon as they were out of her uncle’s sight, she pulled away from him. “I’m fine. Let me be.”

  “Miss Anderson, I’m under the direct orders of a superior officer. I mean to fulfill them.” I would have tried even if your uncle hadn’t ordered me. Now that I know what you’ve been up to.

  She muttered something, stumbling along beside him.

  “Pardon?” he asked, not sure he had heard her correctly.

  “I said, ‘I won’t stop fighting’.” She twirled to face him, eyes alight as if with some epiphany. “You see, Travis, Death—that thief on the pale horse—he’s my worst enemy. He’s always been there, haunting my life and my dreams. He’s taken far too much from me, and I want to get back at him, to steal his victims out from under his very nose. Every life I help save out on the field or in the tents, that’s a skirmish I’ve won against Death.”

  She stopped suddenly and ducked her head in embarrassment. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me just then.”

  He stared at her. “Miss Star, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more illogical reason for doing what you do, but at the same time it makes perfect sense. If I still had my hat, I’d take it off to you.”

  They were silent for a few moments, then he asked, “Out of curiosity, does your Talent work both ways?”

  She shuddered, face twisted as if with some very bad memory.

  “You can share your strength with others. Can you also take strength?”

  Her answer was hushed. “Aye. I believe so. I can … I can give pain like I can relieve it. But I’ve never tried taking someone else’s energy. It would be almost akin to … to rape.”

  “Even if it were freely given?”

  “I don’t know.” Her tone signaled an end to the topic.

  Starla paused as she left the hospital compound, trying to gather enough strength to make her way back to her own tent. Good. No sign of Will. Or Travis for that matter. No one who could tell what she’d been doing, and yell at her for it. The doctors were too busy to notice her weakness, and with some rest she’d be fine.

  She took a few steps, then halted, a wave of heat and blackness overtaking her. Blast was the last thing that crossed her mind for a long while.

  When she came to she was cradled in Travis’ arms, a canteen held to her lips.

  “What happened?” she asked in a small voice, all too aware of his furious expression as she pushed the canteen away and struggled to sit up.

  “You fainted.” He thrust the canteen back at her. “Now drink it. All of it. And go lie down in the shade somewhere, before your uncle has my hide for letting you wear yourself down so badly. Again.”

  She drank obediently. It was awfully hot, and she was so very tired. “You’re not in the shade,” she said, a trifle petulantly. Who does he think he is anyway, ordering me around like that?

  “I also have not been using myself up Healing people in the noonday heat, along with whatever new, asinine things you’ve taken to doing. Nor, if I may be so indelicate, am I wearing layers and layers of heavy fabric,” he replied with some exasperation, helping her to her feet.

  She looked him over, up and down, as she wobbled against him. His light linen shirt was open at the neck, sleeves rolled up over muscled forearms. He was sweating, but nowhere near as much as she. “Fine. I’ll go lie down.”

  That didn’t seem to be good enough for him, because he guided her to a tree on the far side of the camp. Lovely tree, she thought through a hazy mind. Nice broad branches, lots of leaves. I bet it’d be great fun to climb. Maybe later. She curled up under it and was asleep before he had even left.

  She woke with a start, sweating heavily. The echoes of a nightmare flitted around her mind. Oh no, please, not again. Don’t let them be starting again. She couldn’t recall it clearly, but knew her cousin had been there, and that was enough in itself. She stood up, still dizzy, and looked about her.

  Move, her jangling nerves told her. Have to move around.

  Wandering aimlessly, she tried to pin down the feeling of approaching doom, of danger, that the dream had left her with. Combined with the heat, it made her feel helpless and angry, ready to strike out at anyone or anything that crossed her.

  Ahead of her paraded a bevy of visiting ladies, twirling parasols and giggling at their escort, a junior officer with an overly elaborate uniform. Starla’s mouth twisted in disgust. Bah. Pretty painted birds. Thoroughly useless. She could imagine the comments they would make about her. “Oh, darling, your skin! It’s so brown! And that dress is just too unfashionable!” She mocked their shrill tones in her head. I could use a good fight, was the next sour thought. But not a catfight. Never could win those with Leah.

  She stayed well behind them, but couldn’t help overhearing the inane comments made. Then the officer’s next words brought her to a sudden halt.

  “Careful now, ladies. Let’s not go that way. He’s likely dangerous,” he said, pointing towards Travis, who was currying Iris and Vulcan in the shade of a nearby grove.

  “Dangerous? That handsome young man? Ooo, sounds intriguing,” one of the girls commented with a titter.

  Travis? Handsome? Sleep fuzzed and overheated, her brain didn’t shy away from the subject as quickly as it usually did. Well, I suppose he is rather good looking, now that I think about it. Guess I was always too focused on his injuries to really notice. But the officer’s response drove all such thoughts from her mind.

  “He’s a Yankee, miss. Technically, he is a prisoner of war. But instead of sending the no-good rascal to Libby Prison where he belongs, the general, for reasons none of us fully understand, has allowed him to wander free. He’s supposed to act as a nursemaid and keep Major Lewis’ niece out of more trouble. Personally, I don’t trust him in the slightest.”

  Starla blinked. Nursemaid? Travis? She scarcely heard the gasps of the ladies. It just made far too much sense. How could I have missed that? Her uncle and that arrogant…. Obviously, the two of them thought she was nothing but a helpless babe, always in trouble. Her jaw began to jut out angrily. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell both of them. She stalked towards the unsuspecting Travis, gray skirts bristling like an enraged cat.

  “So, I need a nursemaid, do I?” She spat the words out.

  He swung around, currycomb in hand, a confused look on his face. “What? Where did that come from? I never said anything like that.”

  “No, indeed,” she retorted, hands on hips. “But that’s why you’re still here, isn’t i
t? Keep an eye on that little eejit Starla, so she doesn’t get herself into any more trouble.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and his lips tightened. “Now listen here, Miss Anderson. None of this was my idea. You want answers, go talk to your beloved uncle. My choice was simple: you or Richmond. And I almost chose Richmond, but I felt somewhat sorry for you, seeing how you’ve had such a rough time and all.”

  “Sorry for me? Sorry for me?” Her voice was almost a screech. “I want no pity from anyone!”

  “You deserve no pity, that much is for certain. I can see now how wrong I was.”

  “You certainly were. I don’t need some pea brained Yankee watching over me. I can take care of myself.”

  He laughed, a cold, almost cruel sound. “You can take care of yourself. Oh, that’s rich. Quite rich. Think about that one real hard, Starla Anderson. You would be dead, or worse, if not for me, and you know it.”

  She froze. Blast the man, but he was right. Some of her anger fled; she started to form an apology in her mind, but he kept talking, growling at her.

  “That’s the problem with you Southern women. You’re all so thoroughly spoiled and helpless. Maybe if you’d grown up with some responsibilities, instead of being waited on hand and foot by some poor slave, you’d know how to care for yourselves some.”

  “My family has never owned slaves,” she interrupted with a toss of her head, all thoughts of apologies evaporating in the heat of her temper.

  He stopped for a minute, startled, but merely shrugged. “Fine, so you’re just a fool in your own right.”

  “And you’re an ignorant, arrogant Yankee, so full of yourself. I wish I never had to see you again,” she hissed, fists clenched into small brown balls.

  “I can arrange that,” he shot back. “Right now, in fact. I’ll just go right on over to Major Lewis and tell him ‘Sorry, sir, but you’ll have to find some other damned idiot to watch over that poison tongued niece of yours. Just send this ignorant Yankee on to Richmond where he belongs. I’ve spent long enough fraternizing with the enemy.’”

  “Good riddance!”

  He threw the currycomb down, picked up his crutch, and thumped away.

  Starla watched him go, her illogical rage draining with every lurching step he took. She kicked despondently at the fallen currycomb, then bent down and picked it up, staring at it intently, as if it held the solutions to all her problems. She started to curry Iris half heartedly, tears threatening behind her eyes. Dropping the comb, she climbed up onto the broad back, buried her head in the warm shoulder. Iris nuzzled her gently.

  “Oh, Iris. I really have been an ass, haven’t I?”

  “No. An ass is much smarter than you’ve just been,” the mare returned with a stamp of her foot.

  “But it wasn’t all my fault,” Star argued. “He yelled at me too. About the Negroes, of all things. Just like a Yankee, to think all Southerners own hundreds of slaves.”

  “He wouldn’t have lost his temper if you hadn’t attacked him,” Iris answered. “Merely for trying to help you. You know, Star, you really should do something about that pride of yours. Not everyone’s out to get you. Especially not him. I like him.”

  But perhaps it’s just as well he wants nothing more to do with me, Star thought in a wave of self pity. I’m not the safest girl to be friends with.

  “I suppose you’re right. As usual.” She lay there for some time, breathing in the comforting smell of horse and leather, that warm, living scent she would forever associate with Papa.

  When she looked up again, the sun was drifting into evening. She sat up abruptly. Where had the afternoon gone? And where was Travis? She slid off Iris’ back, gave her a quick pat, and headed back into the center of camp, eyes flicking left and right, looking for the tall figure with the limp. Nothing. And no one she asked had seen him either, not for several hours. His parting words tore at her conscience.

  A giant shadow loomed over her—Major von Borcke, the Prussian. General Stuart must have returned sooner than expected. He looked down at her. “Do you need something, Fraulein?”

  “Have you seen Travis?”

  “Entschuldigung … pardon?”

  “Have you seen the Yankee?”

  “Ach, of course. Lieutenant Black. Ja, some time ago. He was speaking with Major Lewis. Very angry, upset, he was.”

  “Oh no,” she whispered. He couldn’t really leave, could he? Will wouldn’t let him go, not yet. But what if he left on his own…? What if he were captured? Would they think him a spy? They hang spies….

  She turned and raced for the opposite end of the camp, calling out his name frantically. Just as she started to become desperate, he appeared around the corner of the house being used as headquarters.

  “Travis!”

  She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless. He glared down at her, gray eyes flat, face without expression, except for tiny pain lines around his mouth and eyes.

  Oh my, she thought suddenly, seeing him as if for the first time. He was handsome. And with those broad shoulders, and the strong arms she knew from experience could lift her with ease…. She flushed a deep rose, shocked that she could even begin to think that way, and stared at her feet.

  “I didn’t mean what I said, Travis. I don’t know what got into me. Honestly. Please, forgive my hasty tongue?” Her face was downcast, both to hide from his eyes and her thoughts.

  He let out a long, whistling sigh. “Why does it bother you so, Miss Anderson, to know that people care about you?”

  She drew in the dirt with her boot, tracing random doodles, refusing to look up. “I don’t know,” she said softly, if not quite truthfully. Then she met his gaze bravely. “But I really do not want you to leave, not yet. And certainly not in anger.”

  Emotions flashed across his face: anger, pity, and a piercing look she did not recognize, but one that did odd things to her insides.

  “I warned you I have a bit of a temper too,” he admitted, “so I should also say ‘I’m sorry’.” Then he chuckled quietly, countenance softening. “Good thing we came to this conclusion on our own, because your uncle wouldn’t hear of me leaving. I told him I thought some of the officers were getting more than a little uncomfortable with my presence.” He looked bemused. “He just looked at me and said, ‘No, you had a fight with Star. And I can’t send you back right now anyway.’”

  “That truth sensing ability of his is rather annoying at times, isn’t it?” she replied, trying to find a way out of the awkwardness she felt. “But where were you? I got rather worried when I couldn’t find you.” And that’s putting it mildly, she thought. I was only running about the camp screaming your name. People are going to wonder about my sanity.

  That strange expression appeared again, but disappeared in a wince of pain. “I was chopping wood. A favorite remedy of my da’s whenever Rob and I would have a falling out.” He turned his head to look at his arm. There was a thin line of blood seeping through the linen. “Unfortunately, I had forgotten about this, or maybe I was just too angry to care. I’m not sure which.”

  A light laugh. “Isn’t that just like an uncivilized Yankee.” Without thinking, she reached out and took him by the hand, tugging gently on him. “Come along now, and I’ll fix that up.”

  He didn’t move, attention focused on his hand. Her eyes got very big. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it imprisoned for a moment. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed it lightly.

  “As you wish, Miss Star,” he said softly, releasing her hand.

  She decided it wasn’t bleeding enough to warrant the amount of energy she would have to expend to Heal it. She doubted he would allow her to do so anyway. He’d been right stubborn about allowing her to Heal him, ever since Will’s outburst.

  As she wound a fresh bandage around his arm, Travis asked, “Miss Star, satisfy my curiosity. Did you say your family has never owned slaves?”

  She nodded, pleased she could say that. “And all those on the Bancroft si
de, on Great great grandpapa’s farm on Long Island, were freed before the Revolution. His father in law did have a large plantation up in Narragansett, and lots of slaves to run it, but Grandpapa Bancroft freed them too, afterwards. Despite losing his land and most of his stock during the war, he wouldn’t sell them to get funds. Supposedly he once said if he wanted to play lord of the manor he’d’ve stayed in England.”

  “Interesting. What kind of stock?”

  “Horses, mainly. He had some other business interests also, but horses are still what our family is known for.”

  He cast an envious look at the graceful forms of Iris and Vulcan. “Those two?”

  “Aye. And Venus too. She’s Iris’ half sister. Actually,” she said, pride in her voice, “I helped breed Iris. Chose the dam and sire myself, I did.”

  He seemed to be impressed. “Excellent job, Miss Anderson.”

  Her voice wavered slightly. “Papa gave her to me for my eleventh birthday. After … after my folks were, … after the Bancrofts moved in, I spent more time with her than I did with humans. She’s more than just my horse. She’s my best friend.”

  He was silent. Starla felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Why did I tell him that? He reached out, patted her hand, but thankfully made no comment.

  Then his expression brightened. “Ah, now I understand why those three have mythological names. They came from the same line. I was wondering about that coincidence.”

  She twisted the ends of the bandage and tied them in a knot, glad the awkward moment had passed. “No coincidence. Great grandpapa McKinley started that line with a little gray stallion he imported—well, actually, smuggled—out of Barbary. They’re very protective of their horses over there. He named him Aeolus, after the god of the winds. It only seemed fitting to continue the tradition.”

  With a satisfied smile, he suddenly changed the subject. “Long Island? Narragansett? You also said that you have relatives in Boston, correct?”