Surrender (44 page)

Varina sent her a basket of food to take on her trip, warning her that decent meals might be hard to come by. The First Lady’s letter was slightly distracted; there had been a cavalry clash with a number of wounded, and the capital city was buzzing with soldiers and dispatches, medical personnel, and ambulances. Risa wished her well.

It occurred to Risa that she could possibly escape her
“escort”—since she had done so quite easily once already. But despite her deep-rooted anger—or perhaps, because of it—she was willing to go southward.

One more time. Just once. She would meet him on his terms.

There were soldiers everywhere, guarding the railroad as they traveled. The trains had become the link for people, messages, troops, and goods. The Confederates were desperate to keep their lines of communications open.

The cars were filled with soldiers going from place to place. They were likewise filled with refugees. Displaced mothers, fathers, and children. People who had lost their homes.

Risa talked with one woman from Northern Virginia who did not care who won the war. The woman was gaunt to the point of starvation; her cheeks were pale and pinched, and she did her best to soothe her two- and three-year-old babes. She owned land. Even on her own, she could make a go with some farming. Her husband had been killed when a shell had exploded while he’d been trying to save some of their livestock.

The livestock were all gone, consumed by soldiers, Yank and Reb. Her house had burned down. She was trying to reach her sister in Georgia.

Risa arched a brow to Lieutenant More, who did not mind when Risa gave their food to the woman. The smile on the woman’s face, the light in her eyes, when she received the simple gift was worth whatever discomfort they might endure.

Six days into traveling—the trains stopped continually, and they had to get off once or twice to allow for troop movements—they came to Georgia, and it was possible to buy food again. Along the way, Risa had acquired a real liking for Lieutenant More. He reminded her of her father, and she missed her father and prayed for him.

The railroad took them into the northernmost area of Florida, but to come down the western side of the St. Johns to reach the Rebel camp inland, they had to ride. The terrain was rugged, and they could not take a carriage; the best was a poor wagon, and Risa asked if they might just ride.

The horses they found to purchase were sad bony creatures. They had more heart than they showed, for despite the baby and the grueling journey, the Creek man who hired on as their guide managed to move them thirty-five miles the first day, and by the middle of the third day, they reached the Confederate camp. Julian and Tia were there, but Risa was both saddened and angered when they both greeted her coldly. After all, Julian was the one who had made arrangements for her to sail aboard Jerome’s ship before it had been seized.

It was late when they arrived. Risa was exhausted and Jamie was cranky, so she did little at first except meet with Julian, Tia, and a Major Vail, who was currently in charge of the forces at the camp. Like everyone else, Major Vail was wary of her, warning her that she was to have no communication whatsoever across the river with the Yanks. As the wife of a true Confederate hero, she was naturally welcome in their camp; but there were rules, and she would adhere to them.

She was brought to Tia’s tent. During her time in the camp among the pines, Tia had done much to make her living arrangements pleasant. Her camp beds were nothing more than cots, but she had trunks, a mirror, a desk, and even artwork decorating the small area—pictures done by the injured men, many of them very good. Risa lay on the cot and fed Jamie, and dozed herself.

She awoke to find Tia staring at her with watchful, angry eyes. She sat up, adjusting her gown, and taking care not to disturb Jamie. She glared back at Tia and snapped, “I did not betray Jerome!”

Tia arched a cool brow without replying. “Have you seen my brother Ian?”

“Not in a while. But the last I heard, he was in excellent health.”

Tia began pacing the small space.

“There has been another major battle in Virginia. Chancellorsville. A terrible battle. They say that it was Lee’s most brilliant victory, and yet the losses … thousands dead. Union and Southern.”

Risa rose, staring at Tia.

“The Army of the Potomac—”

“And the Army of Northern Virginia. So many dead
and injured. Among them, Stonewall Jackson.” She winced. “Shot by his own men! They took him for a Yankee!”

She spat out the last word.

Risa hesitated. Stonewall Jackson, injured. The legendary man. Religious, harder on himself than he could ever be on his own men, adored by them all. Honored by Lee. If he died …

The South could not afford to lose him, she thought. Yet it was hard to mourn the injury of a Southern general when her own father might be among the dead.

“Tia, please, if you know anything about my father—”

“They send us lists of the Southern dead, not the Northern,” Tia told her coldly, then relented. “We would have heard had your father been injured; he’s a well-known man. News travels, North and South.”

Risa exhaled on a long breath. Please, God, let it be true!

“Tia?” Julian called from outside the tent.

“Come in, Julian,” his sister said.

He entered and stared at Risa. He didn’t have to say anything. She clenched her fists behind her back. “Damn you, Julian, I didn’t do it. I didn’t tell anyone I was boarding that ship. I didn’t tell anyone that Jerome was coming to see me—you know that I had sent for you, not him! I am not guilty of all this! Yes, I do want the South to lose the war, and quickly. But I wouldn’t have risked the life of the father of my own child—”

“You knew he’d be imprisoned!” Tia said.

She stared at Tia. “He’s your cousin—you’ve known him all his life! How could I know that—his temper and arrogance are such that he’d take on a dozen armed men. To capture him is to risk killing him.”

Tia glanced at Julian, maybe, just maybe, believing Risa.

Julian shook his head slowly.

“Someone must have been watching you.”

“Anyone could have been watching me. St. Augustine is a Yankee-held city.”

“Yes, but there have been other things …”

“Like?”

“A note from your father threatening Jerome … and our family,” Julian said.

“My father honestly confronted Jerome! He never threatened your family. I never betrayed anyone; I am tired to death of these accusations, and I tell you, someone else is guilty!”

“Too much is known far too easily,” Tia murmured. She glanced at her brother.

“I agree,” Julian said.

“I’m telling you—” Risa began.

“Don’t tell me anything,” Julian said. “Just be a good wife to Jerome, Unionist or not, and stay here without contacting any of your Yank friends. Are you willing to do that?”

“Obviously, I’m willing,” she said. “My instructions were to come here to meet Jerome. I came.”

“By way of army escort,” Tia commented.

Risa swung on her. “Do you think that I would be here now—escort or no—if I hadn’t made the decision to come?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Julian asked.

He left the tent. Tia followed him.

Risa lay back down with her son. She thanked God that she was so tired. She slept.

Most of Jerome’s old crew awaited him in at the harbor in North Carolina. They were like boys, greeting one another. Michael, Matt, Hamlin Douglas, Dr. David Stewart, Jeremiah, and others. Their ship was called the
Bodkin
, and she didn’t compare with the
Lady Varina
. They sailed her out of North Carolina at dusk without being pursued by Yankee runners. She was painted blue-gray; even her canvas sails were gray, and her camouflage was her greatest asset. Her draft was nowhere near as shallow as the
Lady Varina
’s, which was a serious detriment to Jerome. But after they first cleared the harbor and took to the open sea, Jerome met with his officers, and they agreed that first action would be to take back the
Lady Varina
.

In the captain’s cabin that night, Jerome met with David and Hamlin, and demanded to know what had
happened when the ship was captured. He’d been burning to know.

Old Hamlin Douglas hedged. “Captain, looking back, it’s hard to tell. We were at sea. Ships came out of the horizon—enough of them so that we couldn’t run or fight. Perhaps if you had been with us …” He looked away.

“So many Union ships—they
must
have had information about when you were sailing and where.”

David cleared his throat. Hamlin looked at Jerome again unhappily. “Yes, the Yanks knew all right.”

Jerome sat back, feeling as if a dark cloud enwrapped him. He could almost understand if Risa had wanted him captured. But not his ship. Too many lives might have been at stake. “Where was my wife during the seizure?” he queried.

“On deck. We ordered her below, but she refused to leave the deck,” Hamlin said.

“What was her reaction to the Yanks?”

Hamlin shrugged. “She was told to go with them, she did.”

“They greeted her warmly,” David added quickly, “but she never appeared to be glad of them, and she certainly didn’t greet any one of the Yanks as an old friend.”

Jerome smiled. “I’m surprised you can defend her. She sent you to Elmira, of all rotten, infested places—”

“She got us out of Elmira as well. Hired a lawyer, and got us out, and I know that to be the truth,” Hamlin said. “The Yank lawyer was there when we were released, and he escorted us through the North. He was a fine, decent fellow, and he said that no matter what rights Lincoln might try to suspend in a war, there were still enough good folks around to see that the law was followed. Not that it was really so much a legal matter—the lawyer said he used Mrs. McKenzie’s argument that you and the crew of the
Lady Varina
had never caused a moment’s undue hardship to men from the ships taken in battle, and that Yank soldiers had even been given the first medical attention when they were hard hit.”

“Maybe she just wanted the ship taken, and us let loose,” Hamlin said. “Maybe she thought—”

Jerome lifted a hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, doesn’t it?” David said.

Jerome looked at him. “She was on board with you when you were surrounded by Yankee ships. Do you have another explanation for that many Yanks ambushing you?”

The men were silent.

Jerome smiled grimly. “Gentlemen, it is time to retake what is ours.”

In mid-May, word reached the Rebel camp in the pines that Stonewall Jackson had died on the tenth. He had survived the amputation of his arm, but pneumonia had set in. Despite Robert E. Lee’s message to him that although he had lost his left arm, it was as if Lee had lost his right arm without him. The great man answered God’s call, and departed the cares of this life. His wife was at his side; his death created a wave of mourning across the whole of the South. His body was taken to be viewed at the capital in Richmond, where those who did and did not know him grieved. Ironically, one of the North’s greatest strategical enemies had been slain accidentally by his own men. All losses were tragic; it was said that Lee found this one unendurable.

Though she understood the pain felt for Jackson, and could not help but admire the man, Risa was far more devastated to hear of another loss.

Anthony Hawkins was now listed among the missing, assumed to have been killed in action during some skirmishing that followed Chancellorsville. He had never taken his leave; he had never seen his wife or children again. When she heard the news, she went to the tent she shared with Tia, held Jamie in her arms, and cried.

Tia burst in upon her there, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “How dare you, how dare you cry over a Southern soldier? How can you mock our pain this way?”

Risa stood, staring at her. “If Ian were slain, and you cried, would you be mocking
our
pain?” she demanded tensely.

“Ian is my brother! Anthony Hawkins—”

“Was a friend, and a special man, and I cared about
him. And if you haven’t realized that this war has no clean lines between friends and enemies by this point, you need to get out of your sheltered little pine forest, and see what the hell is really going on!”

Tia stepped back, startled. “I know what’s going on!” she protested. “My brother is a Yankee, my father is a Unionist. My mother cries in secret all the time because she’s afraid we may all be killed. My sister-in-law might have been hanged, my cousin was hanged, and she only survived because my brother cut her down. Sydney remains in Washington, and no one understands why—my uncle will probably get himself killed going after her. Brent may well be killed when a cannonball hits Rebel positions, and Jerome is very likely to be blown out of the water. I understand it all!” she shouted, and she sank down on her own bunk, burying her face in her hands.

Risa stared at her, feeling helpless, wishing she hadn’t lashed back at Tia with such fury. She hesitantly approached her, wondering if Tia would accept her sympathy—or strike her with a right hook for the offer.

She decided to take a chance.

She sat down on the bunk beside Tia, speaking softly.

“Tia, I’m sorry, really sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that we’re all caught in this nightmare, and you should have met Anthony. He was solid, gentle, moral, courageous, all manner of wonderful things, and it doesn’t matter who he was fighting for. I’m grieving for his widow, because she must be devastated, and I’m grieving for his children, because they’ll never know what a wonderful man he was. I swear to you, I’m not mocking anyone.”

To her surprise Tia nodded her bowed head. “I’m sorry, too, you can’t help the fact that your father’s a Yankee general and that you grew up in the North.”

“I suppose I can’t,” Risa murmured lightly.

“It’s just that they say Chancellorsville was such a great victory, one of Lee’s most shining moments, but we lost thousands of men … so many people are dying. And,” she added softly, “the state is collapsing,
Florida
is collapsing, and there’s never enough food or medicine. The world has changed; it will never be the same. It wasn’t long ago at all that everything seemed so wonder-
ful, and I intended to graduate from finishing school and do a great tour of the Continent … and instead, I work with Julian, watching men die, and watching little boys and old graybeards try to hold on to the center of the state … and if I think about the past, I feel selfish, but sometimes, I just want it all to be over.”