No Greater Glory Page 14

  Throughout the appalling afternoon, dozens of horses and mules died of exhaustion. Soldiers hooked heavy chains around the necks of leading mules to try to free them, but the unbearable suction of mud pulled the life from each animal. Instead of freeing the teams, the wranglers only succeeded in breaking the necks of the stalwart beasts.

  Spirits plummeted, as did the confidence of the junior officers toward their commanding general. Infantrymen fell by the thousands into the mucky chaos, their shoes literally sucked off their feet by the quagmire.

  Reece turned to face the ongoing argument again.

  His voice carried above the din. “This whole damn thing has been a disgrace from the start. We haven’t had a victory since Antietam, nor have my men been paid in six months. And now, you’re asking them to continue in this demoralizing muck, not to mention risk more good mounts we can’t afford to lose. And for what?” He glanced at his commander. “I’m calling my men out, George.” His words echoed above the driving rain that pounded the tent.

  General Burnside lifted bushy eyebrows and stared at Reece. “Are you disobeying my direct order, Colonel Cutteridge?”

  “Call it what you want, sir. Frankly, at this point, I don’t care.” Reece slapped his gloves against his thigh and jerked his gaze away in frustration. Another clap of thunder rocked the encampment. The general issued a deep sigh and paced the room.

  General Sumner, commander of the Right Grand Division, shouted above the noise. “They already know our plans, Ambrose. Cutteridge is right about that. Let’s just wait until the rain eases up a bit. Then we can try again farther downriver.”

  Burnside smacked his hand against his thigh, his lips compressing. The air around the men vibrated under the tumult. “Well, apparently even God is behind all of you.” Rain dripped from the canvas ceiling into a puddle in the center of the map, underscoring his words. “Fine. I’ll halt the advancement and leave for Washington in the morning to share my report with the President. In the meantime, gather your men and bivouac where you can until you receive further orders from me.”

  With barely a salute to their commander, the officers dispersed into the rain-soaked afternoon to begin the monumental task of collecting their mud-covered troops.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shapinsay Plantation

  February 25th, 1863

  Brennen narrowed his eyes and ground his words toward Emaline. “Don’t you understand? I’ve got to go back.” His injury had left a gruff tone to his voice along with a persistent niggling cough.

  She shoved her chair backward and surged to her feet. “Two and a half months ago you nearly died. And it was just three days ago that you finally stood without help.”

  “I can’t sit around here when my boys need me. Every day, more Yanks ride by. If I’m to go, it’s got to be soon.”

  “I refuse to listen to any more of this nonsense.” She gathered up the empty dinner dishes and crossed to the swinging doorway. A carefully placed hip shoved it open, and she entered the kitchen. Using a cane for support, Brennen trailed behind her.

  “It’s a matter of honor, Em,” he said, the wooden tip thumping against the floor in cadence with his shuffling footfalls.

  “Honor, my eye. There’s no honor in dying for a lost cause.”

  “We’ve not lost yet, not by a goddamn long shot. And as long as Jeb Stuart rides, I too shall fight.”

  “Don’t curse in front of me.” Emaline knew her brother would clamor to rejoin the war as soon as he could walk unaided. She just didn’t expect his fervor to return this soon.

  I’ll guarantee his freedom as long as he remains in this house.

  As if he had spoken the words only yesterday, Reece’s statement blistered into recall. She knew he’d referred only to Brennen’s healing time at Shapinsay.

  Emaline had lost so much already. The thought of losing her brother now drove a knife through her heart. “Haven’t you had enough of this ridiculous war? Just look at you. You can barely walk without a cane.”

  Brennen leaned against the table and draped his arm over her shoulder. “I know you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “No, I don’t understand any of this.” She sidestepped away from him. “I don’t understand why men butcher one another, or why they think something will be solved in the doing of it.” Scenes of wounded men, dying men, men who’d never see their loved ones again surged into her mind.

  Brennen folded his hand around her braid as he’d done those many years ago in their youth. Only two years separated them in age. “Sometimes I still see you as my baby sister, chubby cheeks and all.” Soft chuckles gave way to another coughing bout. Emaline reached for a chair and carefully lowered him onto the seat. She splashed water from the pitcher into a cup.

  He gasped for air, the ordeal over.

  “Here drink this, you silly goose,” she said, raising the glass to his lips.

  He swallowed and then leaned his head back against the chair. “Well, I thought I was getting better.” A shallow smile tugged at his lips.

  When she saw the grin, Emaline’s expression softened and she gently batted his arm.

  Then they heard hooves pounding the hard-packed earth.

  Horses.

  Emaline rushed to the window and raked back the curtain. At least twenty Union soldiers appeared between the veranda and the shanties. Several already had dismounted and were striding toward the door.

  “Yankees!” she hissed.

  Whirling, she pulled Brennen toward the servant stairway beside the back door, and shoved him onto the small landing just as one cavalryman banged a fist against the wood. The window glass rattled under the blow.

  “Open this damn door!” a gruff voice bellowed on the opposite side.

  “Hurry,” she whispered against Brennen’s ear. “Get inside Euley’s trundle bed.” They’d hidden him the same way twice before in recent weeks.

  Just when her brother began his assent, another wracking cough doubled him over. He slumped against Emaline, pulling her down onto the darkened landing with him. She glanced over her shoulder to the back door. Less than five feet separated them from the Yankees.

  Scrambling to her feet, Emaline stood over Brennen’s tormented form and tugged on his good shoulder. “Get up,” she pleaded. “They’re going to break down the door.”

  He didn’t budge.

  A rifle butt exploded glass and Emaline’s fear along with it. Late-afternoon sun silhouetted a hulking shape as crystalline shards glinted in the rays of light that split around him. Emaline dropped her hold on her brother and stretched sideways. Shaking hands rose to hold the door’s safety bolt in place. Boots thumping on a hardwood floor echoed from the dining room as more soldiers entered by way of the front door.

  Pounding footfalls moved closer and closer.

  Emaline’s frantic heartbeat resonated in her ears, nearly drowning out Brennen’s ceaseless coughing. An agonizing second later, the dining room door swung open as the enemy spilled into her kitchen.

  Her grip fell from the bolt. Straightening, she swept the hem of her work dress over Brennen’s huddled form. Several soldiers advanced toward the landing, knocking over a chair near the table in the process.

  They loomed over her, their faces blurring into sneering demons.

  Emaline’s fears multiplied into a harsh shriek when a Yankee reached for her arm. Her hands rose and she raked her fingernails across his face.

  A hell-spawned yelp met her ears. “Sonofabitch.” The man snared her wrist and hauled her toward him. “This bitch is wilder than a goddamned hornet…”

  The sentence disappeared under the ensuing scuffle as the man jerked Emaline away from the landing. Responding to her cries, Brennen managed to reach out for her ankle, but another bout of coughing seized him and he lost his hold. A hand snaked in through the slivered opening on the backdoor to search for and unlock the bolt.

  “She’s a damn hellcat. Somebody get over here and get her off
me!” Several soldiers sprang forward and a half-dozen pairs of hands pulled her away, their fingers digging into the muscles of her upper arms. Emaline twisted in a futile attempt to flee their hold. Dying sunlight poured into the kitchen from the fractured doorway and outlined five more Yankees.

  They loomed over Brennen’s stricken form.

  “Well, lookie what we’ve found.” One burley soldier, his face covered with scrubby whiskers, poked Brennen with his rifle barrel. “Do you think we’ve got us a real live Johnny here?”

  Another quickly added, “Kill the sonofabitch.”

  “Noooooo, please don’t.” Emaline’s pleas ricocheted around the room.

  A lanky soldier squatted near Brennen. Grabbing the back of his shirt, he flipped him over. “Maybe he’s a deserter. Wounded too.” He dragged Brennen from the landing, past the back door, and deposited him in the center of the room. The scrape of glass against wood rode with him.

  Emaline frantically scanned the soldiers for the man in charge. Three yellow slash marks on the coat sleeve of a barrel-chested man told her she faced a sergeant. She glared up at him. “Please leave him alone.”

  “He’s hurt. Bleedin’ too.” Lanky pointed his carbine to the slow spread of blood permeating Brennen’s shirt near his shoulder. An infection that just wouldn’t heal had caused the wound to reopen more than once. A trickle of red also glistened near the corner of her brother’s slack mouth.

  Emaline broke free and rushed to him. She bent to assist him in sitting up. Her rage became a ruthless inferno. “How dare you burst into my home.”

  Burley cocked his head to the side and peered at her. “Well pardon me all to hell. I guess no one told you there’s a war goin’ on out yonder?”

  “You have no right to barge in here like this!”

  He rolled back on his boot heels and laughed. “Well, now, my cap’n gave me the right, ma’am.” He glanced at his comrades and they nodded in agreement, grins etching their faces. “Ain’t that right, boys? The cap’n gave us permission to just barge right on in here like this, didn’t he?”

  Burley grabbed Emaline’s arm, righted the chair, and then shoved her into it. Behind her, four soldiers pulled open the pantry and ransacked the small area.

  “What do you want?” she snarled.

  A smile broke the bushy beard in two as Burley revealed a row of large teeth. “We’re on a foraging mission, ma’am.”

  “You Yankees have been here before. There’s nothing left!”

  All eyes stared down at Brennen sprawled across the floor near her feet. “Well, it appears them last ones must’ve forgotten about him.”

  “He’s hurt.” Fear spiked her voice. “Surely, you can see that.”

  Bending down, Burley peered into her eyes as he reached sideways to pat Brennen on his head like a child. Her brother attempted to slap the calloused hand away. “You know, these Johnnies have a remarkable way of gettin’ better and healin’ up. That causes us some concern because we can’t kill them fast enough.” Behind him, the other soldiers resumed rummaging through the cabinets.

  “He’s a far cry from being healed up and in fighting form,” Emaline snarled.

  Burley pointed a finger in her face, his dirty nail grazing the bridge of her nose. His eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m in charge here, lady, so why don’t you let me make them decisions, all right?”

  Brennen struggled to rise. Emaline pushed away Burley’s hand and bent to help her brother, angling him over to the chair beside hers.

  Fortifying himself against another bout of coughing, Brennen pierced the sergeant with a steely glare. “There is no need for you to taunt my sister.”

  All eyes swerved toward him.

  Lanky sucked in a deep breath. “Ooohweee, will you just listen to that perfect Virginny drawl, boys. Ain’t no doubt this here’s a real-live Reb.” He waved his carbine in the air around Brennen’s head.

  Desperate to end the ever-increasing nightmare, Emaline stood and pointed her finger toward the pantry. “Take whatever you want and leave.”

  “Well now, it looks like we’ve found what we need right here.” Lanky motioned to Brennen who slumped sideways in the chair. The rifle poked him in the shoulder just beneath the ever-widening pool of blood. “We’ll just be takin’ him off your hands now, missy.” He nodded toward the group, then reached down and jerked Brennen up.

  Emaline’s intake of breath burned all the way to her stomach. Sharp words rang through the room to halt their steps. “Colonel Reece Cutteridge of the 6th Ohio Cavalry has guaranteed my brother’s safety while he is under the roof of this house.” The soldiers gawped at one another and Emaline could tell from their puzzled expressions that they weighed the veracity of her words. “That’s right,” she said, her chin sharply rising. “Colonel Cutteridge declared his safety since I lent aid to his regiment during a military engagement back in December. I helped their doctor, and in so doing gained my brother’s freedom while he recuperated inside this house.”

  Burly inhaled and then nodded over to Lanky, a lopsided grin lifting his lips. “Well this must be our lucky day, ma’am. You see, Colonel Cutteridge, ain’t our commanding officer.”

  Lanky dragged Brennen toward the shattered door.

  Emaline launched herself at the man in an attempt to stop him, but he shoved her aside. She banged into the table and crumpled into the chair. It toppled, carrying her to the floor. Blazing pain radiated down the side of her face from her cheek’s impact with the hard wood.

  With reckless speed, the remaining Yankees cleared the house of supplies. They swung the canvas sacks over their shoulders, and with faces wreathed in wide smiles, tossed several mocking thank yous in her direction.

  The men followed Lanky out the door and back to their waiting horses. Several others joined in pulling Brennen down the back steps and across the yard. Unceremoniously, they plopped him face down over a horse. He frantically pushed against the animal in an effort to slide from it, but a blow to his back from a rifle’s butt put a stop to his struggles.

  Emaline staggered down the steps after them, her sobs hysterical.

  She wrapped her fingers around the horse’s bridle to prevent its departure, but Lanky placed his dirty boot against her shoulder. With a quick shove, he propelled her to the ground and then set spurs to his horse.

  Seconds later, Brennen disappeared from sight around the corner of the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Headquarters of the 6th Ohio

  Falmouth, Virginia

  February 28th, 1863

  “Colonel, you in there?”

  Reece tossed the map on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, come in.”

  Lieutenant Glave pushed open the canvas flap and peered inside. “Someone’s here askin’ for you, sir.”

  The aide-de-camp stepped aside to allow the visitor to enter the tent.

  Reece raked a hand through his disheveled hair and waited while the cloaked guest stepped into his quarters. The young lieutenant dropped the flap into place and disappeared from view.

  “What can I do for you?” Reece asked, remaining seated. He scanned the petite form. A woman lurked somewhere beneath the voluminous folds of a full-length Kinsale cloak.

  He exhaled sharply. Sonofabitch. Obviously, his men thought a prostitute might be just the thing to cheer their sullen commander. He’d pay her and send her on her way. He started to reach into his pocket to retrieve a coin, when something stopped him. He leaned forward, his brows pulling together.

  No prostitute on earth owned such an expensive garment.

  His stomach muscles tightened.

  An olive-green leather glove lifted to push the deep-ruffled hood backward and moments later, the cape swirled from the woman’s body to the chair. Blistering heat speared Reece when a thick, coffee-colored braid tumbled down her back.

  He shoved upward, his chair toppling backward as he rammed to his feet.

  Emaline turned to face him.

&nbs
p; “I’m in need of your help,” she said, her voice shallow and strained. An ugly bruise rode across her left cheekbone, the edges a disturbing shade of violet.

  “Good God, Emaline—what happened?” Her incredible reappearance into his life pierced the chambers of Reece’s empty heart with a stabbing thrust.

  “I had Yankee visitors. They helped themselves to my provisions.”

  He rounded the desk, knocking sideways a stack of papers in his haste. “You shouldn’t have fought them.” Even as he said them, he realized the significance of the words. She’d fought him, hadn’t she? Of course, she’d fight anyone else.

  “Yes. But this time, they took my brother.”

  An immediate recollection of the wounded man and the night of his discovery flooded through Reece. The strangled question fell from his mouth. “He recovered, then?”

  “Yes, but he’s still weak. The ailment lingers in his lungs.”

  “Here. Sit down.” He jerked around a spindle-back chair beside his desk and angled the seat toward her. Emaline settled onto the wood, pulling her cape and scarf across her lap. Reece pushed aside the papers, then reached for the whiskey bottle sitting on the table. He pulled the cork, his gaze never leaving hers. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.” Reaching into a nearby portable cabinet, he produced a small tumbler, sloshed the amber liquid into the cut crystal, and then handed it to her. “Drink this.”

  She studied the glass, then took it from his hand. Where their fingers touched, an instant burn sizzled. In one long swig, she downed the potent liquid. A soft cough fell from her mouth as the whiskey settled.

  How in God’s name had she even found him? How many soldiers had she asked before locating his camp? A hundred? A thousand? The entirety of Spotsylvania County crawled with Federal troops, and yet, miraculously, here she sat.

  She placed the glass upon the desk and speared him with a pointed glare. “I’ve come to collect upon your promise.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “My promise?”

  “Yes, Colonel, the ill-gotten promise I received in regards to my brother. Surely, you haven’t forgotten our time together so soon, have you?” She didn’t move, yet any fool could have seen the fury that coiled inside her by the color washing over her face.