Surrender (42 page)

“Thanks,” she said, taking the flask. “Is this due to the fact that I managed not to kill any Rebs today? How could you trust me in that field hospital?”

She took a sip of the brandy, choked and coughed as it went down. He took the flask back and drank deeply. He recapped the flask and squinted out at the setting sun.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt defenseless men.”

“Oh?” she said, her heart hammering with hope.

“There are thousands of Rebs surrounding you here. You wouldn’t have had a chance,” he said.

She rose, and started to walk away from him, but he was on his feet as well, and before she had taken two steps, he had caught her arm, swinging her back around to face him. She was certain he meant to offer an apology.

He didn’t.

“We leave first thing in the morning,” he told her.

“Where are we going?”

“Richmond,” he said, and he walked away.

Anthony, Ricky, and Robert remained with the army, rejoining their units. Anthony came to say good-bye to her as she was pouring herself coffee from a campfire the next morning, telling her that he’d be given leave after the next engagement to go home for a month. He’d been in the war since the first bitter fighting, and he was due a furlough. She told him that she was glad, and impulsively, she hugged him good-bye before he left, realizing only after he was gone that Jerome was leaned against a tree, chewing a blade of grass, watching her. He didn’t say a word, but straightened, and moved away.

Indeed, he had very little to say to her, riding the
large black gelding alone as a wagon brought her the rest of the way into Richmond, where he was apparently scheduled to discuss his position with secretary of the navy, Mallory. But again, as they neared Richmond, she found herself deeply irritated to discover that her husband was a hero—crowds gathered around as he rode, while reporters plied him with questions about Old Capitol, his escape, and his days as a successful blockade-runner. He was a good spokesman, she granted him grudgingly, polite and modest in all his replies, and especially charming to young children.

Once they arrived, Jerome took his leave of her, saying that the soldiers would see to her welfare while he attended to military matters. An older soldier, a man with steel-gray hair and wise brown eyes, was her escort. She had a feeling he was far more than an escort—and that he had been duly warned to guard her carefully. His name was Alfred More, and he took her and Jamie to a handsome boardinghouse near the White House of the Confederacy. Jerome would be busy for quite some time, she was warned. He had garnered a great deal of information during his captivity and ride south.

Risa found herself left alone with a man always posted at her door. She paced restlessly. A meal was brought to her, and later Lieutenant More asked her if she’d like a hip bath brought. The concept of a bath sounded wonderful, and she agreed. She lingered in the water until it grew cold. Though it was late, she was too restless to go to bed.

With her windows open to the spring air, she could hear the sounds of music coming from somewhere. It seemed incongruous at first. Beautiful music playing, when the war was so painful. The lovely waltz ended, followed by a jig. Eventually, “Dixie” was played, and after it, “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” She listened to the music, leaning out the window, tapping her feet on the floor. She wondered where it was coming from. Looking down the street, she saw the White House of the Confederacy, and the many carriages that waited outside. She started when she saw her husband, standing outside the open entry door on the porch, engaged in conversation
with a short man in civilian clothing, a slightly taller man in uniform—and a woman.

Her first reaction was sheer, unreasoning anger. He was at a party—flirting!—while he’d left her to cool her heels, trapped in this room, alone in the capital city of her enemies.

She hesitated, then quietly opened the door to her room. Lieutenant More was not outside; the young private who had accompanied him earlier was there. He was seated on a chair against the wall, his head leaned back. He dozed.

She carefully closed the door.

She had packed at the plantation for travel, not parties. She had nothing elegant or dressy. Still, one of the gowns had a lace border over the breasts, and by quickly ripping away the high-topped bodice above the lace, she acquired a somewhat daring “after dusk” décolletage. Since she was nursing, her cleavage was admirable, to say the least. She quickly swept up her hair, pinning it loosely so that fiery tendrils escaped to touch her throat and shoulders. Stepping back from the mirror atop the dresser, she pinched her cheeks, and took a long look at her image.

She was lacking a decent petticoat, but they were in the midst of a war—few women would be completely in fashion. Being too fashionable at this point would surely be in poor taste, here in the South. She would do, she determined.

Then she decided she was mad. She was going to walk down to the house, uninvited, to the Rebel’s party?

She couldn’t …

She had to. Jerome seemed to know the brunette hanging on his arm far too well. And she was a general’s daughter. Generals’ daughters commanded respect from both sides in a war.

Scooping up Jamie, she tiptoed back to the door, opening it quietly, barely breathing for fear her son would awaken. But Jamie seemed to feel the sense of adventure—or stupidity!—that had seized her, and he was silent and angelic as she quickly moved down the stairway, and out the front door.

The house was perhaps two blocks down the street.
She walked the distance quickly, but when she arrived, Jerome was no longer on the porch. As she stood there undecidedly, a tall, buxom, dark-haired woman with flashing eyes and a handsome face approached her from the house. “Hello, my dear, you’re looking so woeful and uncertain! Can I help you?”

Risa started to reply, but then her words froze, and she all but panicked. There was no backing out now.

She knew the woman. She knew her well, because Jefferson Davis, now President of the Confederate States of America, had recently been the secretary of war, and her father had often met with him in years gone by.

“Why, Risa!” the woman exclaimed. “Risa Magee! McKenzie, now, isn’t it? And, of course, your captain is inside! Come along, let me bring you in!”

“Mrs. Davis, I …” she began, ready now to turn and run. She’d been insane. What was she doing here?

“Call me Varina, dear. You used to do so, you know. I must introduce you around. I can’t imagine your husband losing you so carelessly—in fact, I can’t imagine any man letting you stray too far. Your first little one?” she said, indicating Jamie. She reached for him. “May I?”

“Of course!” Varina adored her own children, and children in general. She and her husband had lost their firstborn, Risa knew, deepening her appreciation for babies. “But I’m so afraid he may … er, drool on your beautiful gown.”

“Ah, my dear! As if that would disturb me! Now, come—”

Risa hesitated, shaking her head. “I think I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. Jerome is very popular, and I believe that we’ve created a tremendous stir of gossip, first with my father raging against him, and then … well, all these accusations that I brought about his imprisonment and saw to it that his ship was captured!”

Varina laughed softly. “Well, your father is an old tyrant, dear. A good man, but an old tyrant. Would that he were with us! But, my dear, this is the truth of it. Some people will always talk, but I have known you
only to be honorable. And so if you say that you’re innocent …”

Varina’s dark eyes sparkled.

“Well, I’m not completely innocent.”

“Oh?”

“I am a Yankee.”

Varina shrugged. “It’s better to invite in a known enemy, than trust the friends with daggers at your back. Come. It is my party, dear, and you are invited.”

She turned and started into the house, with Jamie in her arms.

Risa had no choice but to follow.

A
small entry with false marble floor led into the main rooms of the house. The musicians were to the right, in the parlor behind the dining area. Furniture had been moved aside for dancing, and the house was filled with people. The ladies might be suffering through the shortages caused by the war, but they were, for the most part, beautifully dressed.

Many were in black.

Risa immediately felt curious stares as she moved through the house with Varina. She was grateful to be with the First Lady; no one would dare accost her under the circumstances, though she could see that many were wondering who she was, while others surely knew. Naturally, as Varina began to introduce her to people, word spread. She could feel the whispers and the gossip rippling through the room.

But they were in Varina’s home, and decency would be maintained. She introduced her each time as Mrs. McKenzie, “wife of our death-defying hero!” and showed Jamie off as if he were her own. To cinch the matter of Risa’s right to be there, she brought her to the President himself. Tall and gaunt, his cheeks far leaner and his eyes more haunted than Risa had remembered, Jefferson Davis recognized her after the first few seconds of concentrated staring. “Ah!” he said, taking both her hands. “Dear Varina, do you see how she has grown? Well, how is the old bugger, your father? I miss him, that I do. Sorry he’s on the wrong side of this war, but then he’s a born Yank, and that’s that. Came from old New York Irish stock, and that’s hard to change. He must still be spitting fire regarding your marriage to a Rebel, my dear.”

“Well, he’d have preferred a Yankee, sir, no doubt.”

“But he must be proud of his grandson!”

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he, dear?” Varina said.

As they spoke, one of the officers in the crowd approached the President. Varina stepped between them, sweetly speaking to the man. “We’ve the daughter of an old friend with us tonight—and the wife of a true Confederate hero. Excuse my husband for just a few moments to dance with the child, won’t you, General?” she inquired. “I do swear, I hear a waltz coming up from those fiddles.”

Startled, Risa found herself dancing with the stiff, black-clad President. She smiled. “That was very kind of your wife. Your guests will have to be nice to me now, won’t they?”

He grinned, and she knew he had a sense of humor, though his political enemies denied the fact.

“Varina is the jewel of my life. She was not just being kind to you. Everyone knows that the general and I fight at every opportunity. She stepped in to make sure that we don’t get into an argument tonight.”

It was as she danced with the President that she saw Jerome again. He was still in the company of the very lovely brunette, but now he was staring at her. And for once, he was truly astounded. When she caught his eye, she felt a fierce chill.

He didn’t cut in on the dance. He kept watching her, and she saw the blue fire slowly but surely build in his eyes. When the dance ended, Davis bowed to her. When he straightened, Jerome was beside them.

“Sir, I hadn’t realized that you knew my wife.”

“Since she was a little girl, Captain. So many people do forget my years in Washington, and the pain with which I said good-bye to many friendships there. Ah, well. I shall turn your lady over to you now, sir. And if you’re lucky, I suppose, my wife will return your baby before too long. We’re blessed with our own family, but Varina will never have enough children around her.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jerome said.

“No, Captain. My thanks to you. Men such as yourself prove the impossible can be done. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

He walked away, and was immediately besieged. Risa felt her cheeks coloring as Jerome stared at her, but she met his eyes squarely.

“What are you doing here?”

“You brought me here, remember?”

“No, I did not bring you here.”

“You brought me to Richmond. And I do hate to miss a party,” she said sweetly.

“Well, you’re going to miss this one,” he muttered darkly, his hand on her arm. “Next thing you know, my dear, you’ll be bringing about the fall of the entire Confederacy.”

“I wish I had that power!” she told him in a low but heated voice. “I wish I had the power to end the bloodshed!” she continued passionately.

He still meant to lead her swiftly out, she was certain. But before he could say any more, there were a number of men at their side, bringing champagne for both of them, and greeting Jerome with affectionate approval. “Here’s to you, Captain. And to Mrs. McKenzie!”

Jerome introduced Risa to the soldiers surrounding them. More people came around. The men, then the women. She didn’t know what they were thinking; she was polite in return, gracious, admitting that she was a Yankee—but that her husband was a Southerner, and therefore, it seemed, they were moving southward. There was a great deal of laughter. One young, dark-haired lieutenant said cheerfully, “We were wondering when you were going to arrive, considering that this get-together is in honor of your husband’s return to the Confederacy. We’re anxious for him to return to the seas—and supply us anew.”

Startled, she stared at Jerome, fighting another wave of red fury. The party had been given for him.

And he hadn’t intended to tell her, and he certainly hadn’t intended to bring her.

The musicians started playing again, and the lieutenant asked Jerome for his permission to dance with her. Jerome bowed, mockingly acknowledging the request. She tried to demure, saying that she must retrieve her son, only to discover that Jamie had been taken upstairs to the Davis nursery, and was being cared for there.

She began to dance, and found herself swirling around on the floor again and again. She lost track of Jerome, seeing him occasionally as he flew by, each time with a different lady of Richmond.

Including the very attractive brunette, who eyed Risa with such knowing amusement that she was tempted to stop in the middle of the music and scratch the woman’s eyes out.

Naturally, she would never behave so outrageously. She wasn’t about to give these people any cause to fault Yankee women.

She did, however, finally get her chance to meet her rival. She stood in the center of the parlor, waiting for a middle-aged major to bring her a glass of punch.