Triumph

“Not in my house,” her father said firmly. “Then there is the matter of danger to you.”

  “I’m in no danger here.”

  “I’ve held on to this plantation, Tia, because I’ve held on with an iron fist. Everyone knows that my employees include Seminoles who are familiar with war—they fought the government long enough to become excellent soldiers. My men also include immigrants I supported from their first step on this soil, ex-gunfighters, Highlanders, fighting Irish, and more. But my scope extends only so far. The war has grown bitter. Bad things happen, Tia. Rapes, burnings, murders. Bodies are never found; criminals don’t find justice, but blame the war for every deprivation. God knows, a disgruntled commander could come after this house one day—he would simply need a small army to take it. But outside the boundaries of the house ... Tia, you are in danger.”

  “Father—you know that I intend to return to Julian’s field hospital.”

  “Yes, with Julian or his very loyal men accompanying you at all times.”

  She didn’t protest that statement. Let her father think that she was always under heavy guard.

  “I won’t ride into the woods again,” she promised.

  “Go and get your sherry,” her father told her. “I’ll take a brandy, I think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She walked to the table to pour him a drink.

  “Taylor came after you?” her father asked.

  “Yes,” she said, turning back to Jarrett as she poured the liquor.

  “You apologized to him, I hope.”

  “Apologized?” She almost spilled the brandy.

  “You baited him with that song, Tia.”

  “Oh ... I, yes, of course, I apologized.”

  She suddenly felt as if they were not alone. She turned to the doorway. Ian and Taylor were just entering the office. Had they heard her words? She damned herself for flushing so easily. She tried not to betray her feelings.

  “Ian ... Colonel Douglas. May I pour you a drink?”

  “What are you having, Father?” Ian asked, doffing his plumed hat on his father’s desk and taking a seat in the leather chair. “This is a magnificently comfortable piece of furniture!” he applauded.

  “Yes, it is,” Jarrett agreed. “I’m having brandy. Your sister has acquired a taste for sherry.”

  “We seldom drink in the surgery, and nothing so refined as this,” she told her father.

  “I’ll have a brandy with you, Father.”

  “Taylor, what can my daughter get for you?” Jarrett asked.

  “I’ll join you gentlemen for a brandy, sir. Then I’ll be on my way,” Taylor said.

  Tia poured the brandies, keeping her eyes downcast as she delivered the drinks to her father, brother, and Taylor. Her fingers brushed his as he took the glass. Even that brief contact seemed to cause a rush of blood to her veins. She wanted to throw something at him—or quite simply, tie him up and beat him to a pulp.

  “Which way are you going, Taylor? How are you headed out?”

  He was silent for a minute, taking the wingback chair opposite Jarrett, too near the occasional table where Tia stood again.

  Then she realized that he was looking at her. “I’d rather not say, sir.”

  “My daughter is not a combatant, Taylor,” Jarrett said.

  Taylor’s eyes were riveted on her father’s. “No, sir. But she is friends with many.”

  “Well, there’s an exit line if I’ve ever heard one!” Tia said with false cheer. “You Yankees just discuss away. I’ll remove myself.”

  “Tia ...” Jarrett said, frowning.

  “It’s quite all right, Father!” She returned to him, kissed his cheek, and fled, closing the office door behind her.

  She wondered where her mother, sister-in-law, and the children had gotten to. The house itself seemed quiet. Pushing away from the office door, she exited the house by the river side again, thinking they might have gone out on the lawn. She didn’t see the children.

  She walked down to the docks. Rutger, in charge of the docks and much more in her father’s life, waved a hand to her from the bow of one of her father’s ships. She waved in turn, and then watched as the men worked along the dock, loading the ship with beef, the Florida beef they raised, that fed so much of the Confederacy. She sat on the dock, watching for a while. It seemed that life went on here as it always had. Men worked the fields. Horses ran free in the paddocks. Crops grew. It was a good life, a sweet life, and it might have been the same as ever except that she could see armed men at the storehouse windows.

  And her father, brother, and Taylor Douglas were discussing Yankee plans in her father’s den. Or were they still? She had left sometime ago. Christmas day was fading to dusk.

  She rose suddenly, thinking that her mother or Alaina might be around the side of the property. As she walked across the expanse of the lawn, she suddenly found herself drawn to the fence that enclosed the family cemetery. She reached the gate. Strange, it was open. She slipped into the little private plot and thought that, in the dying light, the graves were somehow beautiful.

  Before the war, her mother had come here once a week to decorate the graves with flowers. She came more often now, telling Tia that she was grateful every day that none of their family had died in the war, and that the graves were now growing old.

  Her father’s first wife lay within the cemetery, a grave that was very carefully tended by Tara, who always had a special sympathy for her predecessor. Lisa Marie McKenzie’s gravestone was a beautiful sculpture, centermost in the graveyard. There were a number of Seminole graves in the little cemetery as well—most of them relatives of her Uncle James.

  Like Taylor Douglas.

  She cursed silently to herself. Even coming here, she was reminded of the wretched man.

  “Tia.”

  She turned quickly.

  Raymond Weir had followed her. “Raymond,” she said.

  “I’m glad to find you alone,” he told her.

  He looked very handsome, in his full dress gray and butternut uniform, his plumed hat in place over his long golden curls.

  “Why? What is it, Raymond?”

  “I believe they’re discussing plans in your father’s study.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Raymond, surely not. You are a guest here just the same as Taylor Douglas. If you were to go to the study—”

  “No, Tia,” he said. Then he looked at her and asked, “I was wondering if you had been in the study.”

  She inhaled sharply. “I was, and I left. You know, I am passionate myself in the Southern Cause, and I am willing to do a great deal for it, but surely, Ray, you’re not suggesting that I spy on my father in his own house?”

  “Tia, not only that. I am suggesting that you do something about your father while there is still time.”

  “Time?”

  Raymond shook his head impatiently. “Tia, your father has always been a maverick. When the whites fought desperately to survive during the Seminole Wars, he stayed neutral to foster his half-brother’s cause—the Seminole cause.”

  “Take care where you tread, Ray!” she warned softly. “I love my uncle, and my father prevented untold bloodshed during the Seminole Wars. And, I might add, my uncle’s sons have served the Confederacy with sacrifice and honor.”

  “And I admire your cousins, as you know,” he said. “But men such as your father have fostered a line of half-breeds like Douglas—a man who would better himself by joining with the enemy. God knows, most of the Indians have the sense to realize that it was men in Union uniforms who massacred them.”

  “And those who changed uniforms with secession? Are they different men in different uniforms?” she heard herself asking.

  “They have the sense to fight for their state, for a new way of life.”

  If the South won the war, she didn’t think that most white politicians would worry more about the Indians who had helped them.

  “Douglas may be half-Seminole or half-savage, Ray, but I belie
ve he went to West Point, and was with the military before the outbreak of war,” she said evenly.

  “The point is, Tia, that he knows the state. He was bred to the land. He is a dangerous man as an enemy. He knows the swamps, the hammocks, the pine country, the red hill region ... If you were to know what was happening ... if we were able to stop Douglas now ... well, it might be a very good thing.”

  “I don’t think that now would be a good time to attempt to stop Douglas!”

  Tia jumped back, dismayed to see that Taylor Douglas was in the cemetery, leaning against a tall oak in the far corner. He must have been there for some time.

  He must have heard every word spoken.

  Just what had she said? She’d definitely suggested that he was half-savage.

  He pushed away from the tree, coming forward.

  Ray drew his cavalry sword, ready to face Taylor.

  “Put your weapon away, sir,” Taylor said contemptuously.

  “We’ll fight—”

  “No, Ray!” she cried. “Please, Ray, no, not here.”

  She started to run toward him. She was stunned when Taylor caught hold her arm before she could reach Ray.

  “No, Tia!” he snapped angrily. “This is not your fight.”

  “It’s my father’s house!”

  “Draw your weapon, man!” Ray demanded.

  “No please!” Tia said. Taylor had a hand on her arm. She placed a hand on his, pleadingly. His eyes, glittering gold, touched hers.

  “Coward!” Ray accused.

  “This is my father’s house!” Tia repeated. “Taylor—”

  “Be that as it may, you’ll not stand between us!” Taylor said. His grip upon her was fierce.

  “Let her go!” Ray bellowed. “You let her go. Others in this house may be traitors, but she is not, sir, and you will cease to be so familiar with this Southern lady.”

  “This lady you so cherish—you would suggest she engage in spying?” Taylor demanded.

  “Taylor, let go—” she began.

  “I will run you through, Douglas!” Ray insisted.

  “Yes, well, I will keep you from running her through in your stupid, irresponsible passion!” Taylor returned, but as yet, he held Tia. He had not drawn a weapon.

  She dreaded him doing so. The tension in the air was palpable. Ray was determined that blood would be shed there.

  In the graveyard.

  She was very afraid that if they fought, he would be the one to die!

  “Both of you, please ...” Tia tried. But she didn’t need to go further.

  Her father had seen them all. He was coming across the lawn to the cemetery. Ian was behind him.

  “My God, stop! What is going on here?” Jarrett demanded, swinging the white picket gate open again with such a fury that it nearly snapped on its hinges.

  For a moment, no one answered. The squeaking of the gate as it banged shut again was all they heard.

  “I repeat, what is going on?” he demanded. “Colonel, why is your sword bared on my property?”

  “Because there is war,” he said, staring at Taylor Douglas. He looked at Jarrett. “There is a war, sir, and this property is in the state of Florida, and we are at war with the Union! Colonel Douglas should not have been hiding in the cemetery, intent upon spying on your daughter and me—”

  “I came to visit a great-great-uncle,” Taylor interrupted dryly. “Tia happened upon the cemetery after me, sir—you made the assumption that she was alone.”

  “You did not make your presence known, Colonel!” Weir snapped. He spun on Jarrett. “This man is a threat to your daughter, sir! See how he holds her? You must order him from your property!”

  Jarrett looked at Taylor, a brow arched. Taylor lifted his hands, releasing Tia.

  “Colonel Weir!” Jarrett said impatiently, turning from Taylor to Ray. “I agreed to use my home for your negotiations. I was assured you would both be proper gentlemen—”

  Ray was incensed. He interrupted, barking out a command like a drill sergeant. “Order him from your home!”

  “I will not!” Jarrett snapped back indignantly.

  “Because you are a Yankee, sir!”

  “Take care, Raymond!” Ian said, speaking for the first time. He had meant to defer to their father here, Tia knew.

  “As your son is a Yankee.”

  “Colonel Weir, Taylor Douglas is a guest, as you are yourself.”

  “You refuse to take appropriate measures here?” Weir demanded.

  Tia had seldom seen her father so angry. “I repeat, you are a guest in my house, as is Colonel Douglas, and I made a promise to your government, Raymond, that I would host these negotiations and keep the peace. If you wish to do battle, I implore you, return to your battlefield.”

  “Sir, there is something you continually forget—this is a Southern state. A Confederate state. You are against all that your own land stands for, you—”

  “There is no one more dedicated to this state than I am, Colonel Weir. I built what I have out of dreams. I know this land as you never will. I know the people, who grow weary of the conflict, who desire again to build in our paradise, rather than destroy. Don’t tell me about my state, sir; I know it as well as any man.”

  “Then surely you realize you could find yourself under fire—”

  “Sir!” Jarrett countered. “Look around you. Look carefully, and well. Down to the river, at points by the pines. My home is defended.”

  Weir knew the truth of that statement. He sheathed his sword slowly, then stood stiffly, staring long and hard at Jarrett. “Sir, you will deeply regret this day. I will take my leave, and you will have no further threat of trouble here from me this Christmas. Colonel Taylor! I pray for the honor of killing you in battle. Look for me. I always ride at the front of my troops!” He started to walk away, then turned back. Sweeping his hat from his head, he bowed to Tia.

  Then he continued on toward the stables.

  “I, too, shall take my leave, Jarrett,” Taylor said, causing them all to cease watching the departing Weir and turn to face him.

  “There is no need,” Jarrett protested.

  “Oh, but there is, sir!” Taylor told him. “I’d not have it said that I lingered when you argued with a Southern colonel, and that you fraternized with the enemy.”

  “It is still Christmas day,” Jarrett said. “Raymond will say what he will, and there is no way to silence him. But there is no need for you to leave.”

  “Thank you. However, it is time I moved on.”

  “Then we’ll not hold you,” Jarrett said.

  Tall, dark, an imposing figure in his navy frockcoat, Taylor Douglas also departed the cemetery, leaving Tia alone with her father and brother.

  Her brother, she knew, was puzzled.

  Her father was staring at her.

  “And what, daughter, caused this near disaster?”

  She opened her mouth to explain. Did she tell him that Ray Weir had been suggesting that she spy? Or that she had been surprised by the presence of Taylor Douglas in the cemetery? Did she try to tell him what had happened?

  She shook her head, suddenly angry. “Men!” she exclaimed. “Men! They are always harping on women, Father. We’re to be careful, we’re to be ladies, we’re to guard life! Well, men are all fools. They swagger with their swords. They fight like little toddlers in the dirt. Don’t look at me so, Father. I did not cause this, I swear it!”

  He walked over to her. She bit into her lip, forcing herself to meet his angry dark eyes. “You’ll stay out of this war!” he told her harshly. He swung around then, heading back to the house with long strides.

  She looked at her brother. “Ian, honestly—”

  “You heard him!” her brother interrupted sternly. Blue eyes seemed to bite into her as if she were a child.

  “Ian! I didn’t do this! Father has a right to his beliefs, and Raymond has been a complete fool, but the state is Confederate! Weir and Douglas have been like a pair of pit bulls sin
ce they met. They are, I repeat, like little boys, far too ready to go to war!”

  “Raymond is living with some ridiculous ideal of what the South should be,” Ian told her, “but Taylor Douglas has seen enough death to last a lifetime. You are baiting a weary man.”

  He, too, turned and started for the house.

  She ran after him. “Ian, wait.”

  He swung around on her. “Tia! Life is no longer a barbecue or a ball. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Of course I understand that! How can you say that to me, Ian? You know that I’ve been with Julian throughout all of this. I’ve seen the fevers, the saber wounds, the shrapnel, the stumps, the shattered limbs ... and I’ve seen my share of death, too!”

  He touched her cheek, shaking his head, and she knew that although he understood that she had been as involved as anyone else, he was, after all, the far superior older brother—and a male of the species.

  “Then be careful what men you tease, little sister. I would die in your defense, but I would hope not to do so because you played some childish game.”

  “Ian, I ... I’m not playing any games. I’m grown up, Ian.”

  “That’s what’s so scary.”

  He kissed her forehead, and started for the house again.

  She watched him go. Then, feeling a sudden chill settle over her, she left the graveyard, closing the gate behind her. She strode to the house, torn and in a tempest, sincerely hoping that both their Northern and Southern guests were gone.

  The breezeway was empty. She went to her father’s study. Alaina was there. Sean was on her lap as she read a book.

  “Our guests are gone?” Alaina queried.

  “I hope so. I hope that Ray goes and sits in a swamp and that Colonel Douglas—that Colonel Douglas returns to his wife and finds out that she’s turned into a real shrew who thinks he’s a savage. When he walks into their house in the middle of the night and surprises her, I hope she scalps him for safety’s sake alone!”

  She felt Alaina staring at her, and she looked at her sister-in-law, puzzled.

  “Tia, Abby Douglas is dead.”

  “What?”

  “Taylor’s wife is dead. She was shot down by accident at the beginning of the war.”

  Tia gasped. A strange knot was forming in her stomach.