No Greater Glory Page 13

  “But surely you can get some. I mean, after all we’ve…I mean, since we’ve…” She searched frantically for words. “He’s my brother, Reece.”

  Her words nestled deep and the bewildering jealousy drifted away from Reece like a column of smoke on the wind. Reality, however, reared its insufferable head once more to shove aside the short-lived comfort of her presence.

  Any noble thoughts he’d harbored—wanting to seek her out and explain his fears of love, his uncertainties about keeping her safe, his desire to return to her after the war and asking her to wait for him—everything dissolved beneath the ragged breath rattling from the man in the bed.

  Truth’s wicked blade carved apart his dreams to remind him of his foolishness. The war severed them far more than his silence ever could. Her brother pledged allegiance to the South and Reece had been killing these traitorous sonsofbitches by the hundreds. He buried his sorrow beneath a mask of stone as his gaze met hers.

  “Please Reece,” she begged. “He’s the only family I have left. Can’t you do something to help him?”

  “I sympathize with you, but there’s not much I can do tonight.” His fingers wrapped the bedpost in a tight grip, his knuckles straining white against the wood. He refused to allow the torment coursing through his veins to reach his face.

  Emaline’s anguished words spilled from her lips in a desperate plea. “You could bring Doc back here.”

  Reece struggled to ignore the pain clouding her eyes.

  She rounded the bed and gripped his sleeve, her fingers digging into his arm. “Please let him come. I’ll go fetch him myself and that way you can continue on your journey to Falmouth.”

  “It’s too dangerous for you to go out in this weather.”

  A heart-wrenching plea slipped from her lips. “But I’ll be fine. I know right where Doc is…I could find him easily. We could be back here in less than three or four hours.”

  Reece shook his head. “The regiment will have moved farther south by now. If you should even be able to find him, he’ll be up to his elbows with wounded soldiers. He won’t leave them to come back here.”

  Reece scanned her face, her body. The braid draping her shoulder still trapped a pine needle and the reminder pierced his heart.

  Her chin lifted and she stepped closer, her tear-swollen eyes narrowing. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his forearm. “I’m begging you. I’ve spent this entire day wading through rivers of Yankee blood to help Doc heal my enemy. And now I need him so very much to heal one of yours.”

  The fire’s glow illuminated her tormented features and his anguish deepened.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. But my hands are tied. I’ve no medicines with me and Doc isn’t available, and I’ve got orders to report to Falmouth.” He paused, and leaned against the bedside table. “You’re asking me for something I’m unable to provide right now.”

  Despair radiated from her eyes as she released her grip on his frockcoat and staggered back several steps. Her hands lowered to the sides of her dress, crumpling the bloodstained material beneath her shaking fingers. “I don’t care about your orders. All I care about is my brother.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emaline, but I can’t allow Doc to come here to treat a lone Reb.” The remorse in his voice finally slipped out. “And if I did and one of my men should die in his absence? I can’t let that happen either.” He stepped closer, throwing shadows across her face. You understand this, don’t you?” He reached out, but she shuffled backward another step.

  “What I understand is the unfairness of this war.”

  “Yes, it is unfair.” He took a deep breath and then exhaled on a long sigh “What I can do is take your brother with me and turn him over to one of our brigade doctors—if you want me too that is.”

  “H-He can’t leave. He would surely die in this weather.” She stalked to the hearth, pacing before the fire. “I cannot believe this madness.” She speared him with a burning glare. “The very least I was hoping for was your help. I mean after everything you’ve taken from me. My food, my livestock…the kisses.” Her jaw tensed. A small vein in her neck pulsed.

  Caught between frustration and pain, Reece traversed the room and stared down into her widened eyes. Her lips trembled and he pulled his into a taut line. Knowing he was about to break her heart forever. He had no choice. “You’re right about the food stores and your land’s riches. I did take those things and I paid you double their worth.” His heartbeat rattled in a rapid volley high in his throat. “But, if I recall correctly, it was you who begged for my lips.”

  “How dare you treat me this way!” Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks now.

  The damning goad, as he expected, had irrevocably broken their bond.

  She pointed a shaking finger toward the bedroom door. “Leave my house this instant.”

  “I am sorry about your brother’s injuries and I do hope he lives.” He turned on his boot heel and strode to the door, stopping one last time to look at her. “And for what it’s worth, Emaline, I’ll guarantee his freedom as long as he remains in this house.”

  With her finger still pointing, she shrieked, “Get out!”

  The depths of his heartbreak nearly caused him to stumble as he surged past the doorframe and enter the darkened hallway.

  Emaline jerked when, moments later, the slam of the mansion’s front door rattled the glass panes in the bedroom. She darted to the window and shoved aside the curtains. Snow swirled in wicked white streaks, but in the eerie light, she watched Reece pull up into the saddle. He paused and looked back. Despair painted a clear picture across his features. As quickly as she saw the regret, Reece set spurs to his horse and faded from sight.

  She turned around and faced the room, her right hand still clutching the lace panel. Like an ebony apparition, Euley shimmered into view. Emaline’s left hand rose to cover trembling lips.

  The old woman heard every one of their damning words.

  Emaline dropped to her knees as wracking sobs bunched her shoulders. “Oh, Euley, what do we do now?”

  The servant stepped from Brennen’s bedside and shuffled across the room. Defying a lifetime of social division, she lowered to the floor beside Emaline and pulled her into a tight embrace. The fire’s glow fell over them as the old woman rocked her in an age-old and comforting sway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Twelve hours later, a loud pounding on the mansion’s front door forced Emaline from Brennen’s bedside. Leaden feet carried her down the stairs. She eased open the heavy barrier to encounter a blinding, snow-white dawn.

  A half-dozen Federal soldiers stood before her on the veranda.

  One man pointed to six mules ground-tied at the bottom of the steps. “We’ve been ordered to bring these animals to this plantation and give them to a widow McDaniels. Is that you, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I’m Mrs. McDaniels.” Emaline squinted against the whiteness of the new day. Her gaze darted from the men to the pack-mules, their pewter-gray backs burdened under massive crates.

  Her attention returned to the young courier. “What’s all this about?” she snapped, the blistering wind penetrating her work dress. She opened the door and stepped onto the veranda, wrapping her arms across her chest in an attempt to ward off the chill.

  “Compliments of the United States Army, 6th Ohio Regiment, and Colonel Reece Cutteridge, ma’am. He thanks you for your heroic endeavors in aiding his wounded during the engagement at United States Ford.” He paused briefly to withdraw a printed form and a pencil from under his greatcoat. He handed the items to her and shaking fingers accepted them. “I’ll just need your signature, ma’am, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  Murmurs in the hallway caused Emaline to glance over her shoulder. Euley, Israel, a wide-eyed Tacker and Moses filled the door’s opening. She turned to the soldier again and scrawled her name across the document before handing the items back with a mumbled thank-you. The men tromped off the veranda, remounted, and rode ou
t of sight.

  Tacker and Moses surged past her and descended the steps. Her gaze followed them as her lips pulled tight.

  He’s trying to compensate for his appalling behavior. She snorted. A little too late, Colonel.

  The man was nothing but a contradiction. Last night he spewed such despicable words. And this morning he delivers the goods? Emaline stared in bewilderment.

  In less than five minutes, the men had stacked all the wooden crates inside the empty parlor.

  “I’ll go stable da mules and be right back,” Tacker said. “Come on, Moses. You can help me.”

  Euley started a fire to chase away the nip in the air. A few minutes later, an odd silence permeated the room as they all stared at the box collection.

  “Well, somebody should open one, I suppose,” Emaline quipped. She crossed her arms and stared at the bare floor, anger toward Reece still percolating inside her despite his gifts.

  Euley unbuckled the straps on the largest crate and then pushed aside the lid. Her gasp filled the room as her hands clapped in front of her. A moment later, she reached inside the container. “Will you look at dis,” she said, lifting out a heavy cloth sack, the word BEANS stamped in black ink across the muslin.

  Another bag stamped RICE followed.

  “And look…” Israel scooted over to join her, pulling out several more canvas-wrapped packages to reveal bacon and hams. They mounded them on the floor beside Emaline’s feet and Euley glanced up, smiling. “He’s given us back our food.”

  “And mo’ besides,” Israel added.

  Emaline swallowed. She was thankful Reece had done the right thing in replacing the supplies, but she nonetheless could not forgive him for his reprehensible behavior regarding her brother who still hovered near death upstairs.

  I deserve an apology, if nothing more.

  Dozens of potatoes, both sweet and white, and carrots, some still with their tops dried in place, piled up around her. She finally unfolded her arms and peered into the box. A veritable bounty still filled the interior. And this was just the first container. What did the others hold? Emaline nudged aside the vegetables near her feet and sunk to the floor to help.

  Together, they removed muslin bags stuffed full of coffee and stacked them into swaying towers beside the vegetables. Sacks held flour, sugar and several bundles of fresh bread. Each one carefully wrapped in cotton toweling, piled alongside everything else. Chunks of salt-pork, preserved for the winter, mounded into another pile beside the spuds. Jars of preserves and meats reflected the fire’s light.

  A half-hour of discoveries later, all the crates were empty.

  “What’s dis?” Euley asked, pulling out a large portmanteau from the bottom of the last one.

  Dropping a ham to the floor, Emaline scooted over beside the woman and took the leather chest. Settling it across her lap, she opened the latch. A letter rested atop a collection of amber bottles.

  She broke the wax seal on the envelope and withdrew the letter. Her stomach wobbled as bold handwriting swirled before her eyes.

  She began to read:

  My Dearest Emaline,

  Please forgive me for my behavior last night. I am so sorry I hurt you. You did not deserve such callous treatment. I know you don’t understand the responsibilities that I face, and unfortunately, they far outweigh any personal feelings or desires I possess. I hope one day you will come to understand this and find it in your heart to forgive me. Inside the case is a collection of medical supplies, including several potent drugs. Doc has assured me these will help your brother regain his strength. And contrary to what you now believe, I do hope he recovers.

  I will never forget you or the courage you have displayed. The brief time we spent together will forever remain in my heart.

  I am eternally in your debt,

  Reece

  The tears blurred beneath Emaline’s lashes and plopped onto her hand. She swiped them away with a dash of her fingers, then refolded the letter.

  “Well? What’d he say?” Euley asked, peering into her face.

  “H-he sent medicines for Brennen. And…” She paused, then whispered, “He also says he’s sorry.”

  “Well he oughta be,” she snapped. “Here, let me take a look at what’s in there.” She pulled the case off Emaline’s lap. “It sure is a fancy kit,” she said, touching the bottles as if they were pure gold. “Here’s chloroform, and laudanum, and morphine.” She reverently skimmed over each one. “And look. Here’s some quinine and fresh bandages too.” She smiled up at Emaline. “Yo’ brother might just have a fightin’ chance, now.”

  “Yes.” Emaline nodded, clutching the letter against her chest. “Yes, he might.”

  The old woman clucked her tongue. “Da colonel still cares ‘bout you, Miz Emaline. Why else would he—”

  Emaline climbed to her feet. “This is the last time I want his name mentioned in this house,” she announced, shoving the letter into her apron pocket. “Now hand me the case, and you all start putting away these things.”

  With the cumbersome medical kit secure in her arms, Emaline headed toward the hallway. As she passed the men kneeling near the crate of grain for the mules and her mare she asked, “And will one of you please bring me a fresh pot of water?”

  She disappeared up the stairs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  January 24, 1863

  “Mud March”…three miles west of Falmouth, Virginia

  Temporary Regimental Headquarters

  Reece glared into the ashen face of Major General Ambrose Burnside. “With all due respect, sir, I refuse to send another man or animal into that wallow.” A roll of thunder nearly drowned out his words.

  “I concur with Colonel Cutteridge,” added General John Cochrane, his thin mustache pulling taut over his lips. “Surely you realize the foolishness of continuing this course in these conditions, General.”

  The bushy facial hair that swept both sides of Burnside’s countenance twitched as he leaned over the maps spread out on the table. “We’ve just gotten rid of McClellan and his foolish failure to pursue General Lee after Antietam, gentlemen.” His reluctance to lead reflected in his voice. “Even though I’m inclined to agree this is not the same engagement we faced a month ago, this shift around our enemy’s flanks is vitally important to break the stalemate. It is in our best interest to continue despite the weather. We certainly don’t want to lose our momentum.”

  “What momentum?” Reece grumbled. “There’s no way we can move in closer.” He cut his gaze to the Cavalry commander, George Bayard, a friend who’d requested Reece’s attendance at this meeting.

  General Bayard nodded. “I agree with Cutteridge, as well. The rain is relentless and the mud is too deep. We’ve lost our element of surprise. Hell, we can’t even shift around Fredericksburg—”

  “The damn Rebs know our plans anyway. This is all a waste of time,” Reece interjected.

  Burnside shot him a pointed glare, and snapped, “What’s he doing here? This meeting is only for my generals.”

  “I asked him to attend because he’s already inspected the route you’re suggesting,” Bayard said. “And he knows what he’s talking about, General, so I recommend you listen to him.”

  Burnside grumbled, stubbed his cigar into the ground near his boot, then returned to the maps. “I refuse to allow this type of insubordination. When I assumed command, I promised President Lincoln we could accomplish his request to capture Richmond. Since we can’t go through Fredericksburg, by God, we will go around it. I’m honor-bound to try.”

  Reece mumbled under his breath. “Honor-bound, my ass.” He turned back toward the group. “Look, my scouts report Lee is already shifting troops along the river to parallel our every move. We’ll be cut off again, and more men will needlessly die.” Reece scowled at his immediate superior. “This is all bullshit, George, every bit of it.”

  Reece spun on his boot heel and moved to the entrance of the large tent. He stared out at the pouring rain. His
frustrated thoughts retraced the fiasco of the past three days.

  The first morning, General Burnside proclaimed to his troops that the auspicious moment had arrived to strike the mortal blow to the rebellion. Under cloudy skies, he ordered the Army of the Potomac into massive columns. In majestic pageantry, he sent infantry, artillery and cavalry up the river from Falmouth in order to flank Fredericksburg. The campaign began with high hopes, the soldiers enthusiastic and eager to thwart the enemy and avenge their fallen comrades of a month before.

  By late afternoon, however, fog rolled in from the Rappahannock.

  By nightfall, the torrential rain began, soaking more than a hundred-thousand soldiers in a matter of seconds. As the night progressed, the Army of the Potomac resembled little more than a suffused and shivering mass of Union blue. Soldiers feverishly pitched tents that evening in an attempt to seek some type of shelter from the drenching onslaught. The biting sleet that followed brought the already-weary infantrymen to their knees. Relentless claps of thunder split the night as the deluge continued. By dawn of the second day, the roads had deteriorated into mud bogs.

  A slamming fist to the table behind him drew Reece’s glare.

  “There’s got to be a way around these bastards,” the Major General snarled, intending to push his weary soldiers onward.

  Reece sighed and shook his head again. Burnside simply followed in the wake of a half-dozen other generals who had failed to perform to the high expectations as Commander of the Army of the Potomac. And this morning, he began the offensive again. The first regiments of infantry finally slogged their way through the mud and muck to reach the river. Their incredible endeavor, however, proved short-lived. The pontoon and artillery trains, which would have given them access across the waterway, had been ensnared within a two-mile-long quandary and their wagons sank in mud up to their wheel hubs. Cannons mired so deep that neither twelve-horse teams nor groups of men hauling on ropes could move them. Wranglers watched as teams of mules sank deeper and deeper in a vain attempt to extricate the wagons.