“Good morning, Ian,” Teddy returned gravely. Ian held Theodore McMann in very high regard. He’d been perhaps ten years old when he had first met Teddy McMann, when the botanist had bought his little islet in the far southeastern corridor of the state. Teddy had been impressed with Ian’s knowledge of the area, and though Ian had been a boy, Teddy had always listened to him seriously. In turn, Ian had learned about the properties of plants from Teddy, and he’d learned to appreciate with a greater fervor the unique environs of semitropical Florida. He’d visited frequently over the years. Except—apparently—not frequently enough as of late. Not frequently enough to see that Teddy’s little nymph of a daughter had grown into a siren.
“Teddy…” Ian began, then hesitated just briefly. “Forgive me; I meant you no disrespect. I’m sorry, truly sorry. I wish I could explain in some way—”
Teddy, soft blue eyes filled with sadness, raised a hand to him. “Ian McKenzie, were it not for one thing, I’d think you the finest spouse in the country for my daughter.”
Startled, Ian arched a brow. “Sir, I assure you that although the circumstances were strained—”
“Ian, it’s not the circumstances; it’s the future.”
“The future?” Ian queried carefully.
“Don’t sound so surprised—Major. You’re an intelligent man who has had a clear view of all that is happening lately. I know you’re acquainted with many of the main players in the drama unfolding before us.”
“Teddy—”
“There will be war, Ian.”
Ian inhaled deeply, then shrugged. “I’d rather thought myself the only person who believed the present circumstances would lead to war. Most Southerners think that each state that wants to can just choose to secede—and that will be that.”
“Ah, yes, and a confederacy of Southern—cotton—states can be made. A quiet, glorious revolution, provided for in the Constitution—as just and heroic as our founding fathers splitting from the old tyrant, England.
That’s what they think. Many think it will never go so far,” Teddy said wearily. “Compromise has been met before. Great statesmen have worked long and hard on that road, but Ian, you’ve seen a lot. And you could have said a lot more to that arrogant buffoon Ripply yesterday. It was before your time, but I can remember when South Carolina nearly seceded with the Nullification Crises over the tariffs the state didn’t want.”
“But Andy Jackson threatened that the United States government would take forceful action if the state attempted such a thing,” Ian reminded him.
“But compromise was actually achieved by the statesmen arriving at a solution to the tariff argument,” Teddy finished, shaking his head and adding, “Can’t happen this time. You’ve got to remember—whether Old Hickory was a bastard to the Indians or not, as your uncle is fond of reminding me, he was a national hero. Martin Van Buren has already determined not to act like a president—the election is still to come and the man has apparently all but washed his hands of the calamity to come—and I don’t think there’s a man out there who can come into office now with a chance of stopping certain cotton states from seceding, and I know you feel the same way.”
“Our very heroism and progress has all but damned us,” Ian murmured.
“What?”
Ian shrugged. “I was invited to a barbecue just outside the Capital my last trip. Colonel Robert Lee was there—he was my math teacher when I started out at West Point—and we spent some time talking. He personally thinks that a lot of the politicians in what they’re calling the Deep South are hotheads. But he pointed out that our very growth has made the situation all the more grave. He was in Mexico, you know, fighting with Winfield Scott when we achieved victory there. And when Santa Ana was beaten, all the property that became ours just made the question of slavery all the more combustible. Look at the Missouri Compromise—and by God, I’m telling you, you can’t imagine the violence and horror already occurring in Missouri and Kansas! In the dark of night, men murdering other men in front of their families in support of ideals—and I defend no side for such slaughter! Still, many people are praying that it will never come to war.”
“And what will prayers do? Whose side will God be on? More importantly, Ian, whose side will you be on?”
“I am one of those men, sir, who pray that there will never be two sides between which I must choose,” he said determinedly.
“Whose side, Ian?”
“We don’t even know just what Florida will do as yet—”
“Florida is a cotton state. She will follow other cotton states. In fact, Florida leaders have long been outspoken on matters of economy, slavery, and the power or local government.”
“Frankly, sir, I don’t know exactly what I feel right now, or what I will do if I’m forced to take a stand.”
“You’re in the military.”
Ian smiled. “A great many Southern men are, sir. And many of us are aware that decisions may have to be made in the future. I assure you, it isn’t something we take lightly. You are talking about men who studied together, teachers and students, soldiers who have saved one another upon different battlefields. I have good friends among the Northerners. I know Philadelphians who sympathize with the Deep South, and I know Southerners, as well, sir, who call anyone against the Union a traitor. Teddy, think about Richard Keith Call, who served as our governor at one time—”
“And as head of the army efforts against the Seminoles during the war in the thirties,” Teddy reminded him dryly.
Ian grinned; Teddy was determinedly going to remind him that Call hadn’t always been a friend of the McKenzies.
“The point, Teddy, is that old Richard Keith Call is very much a Southerner—no one could love Florida more—and yet, he is pro-Union. Most men are against the concept of the federal government making decisions on slavery for the slave states—Americans don’t like to be told what to do, and perhaps Southerners even more so than most. God knows, perhaps it is the fact that our economy is so based on slave labor that it allows people to believe that God himself must condone commerce in human beings. Men have to convince themselves that the Bible assures us it is moral to keep men in bondage—and to sell their wives and children from the auction block at St. Augustine. Still, many of the men who will shout the loudest that Abraham kept slaves, according to the Bible, will be the first to believe in the American union of states.”
“Warmongering abolitionists do believe that slavery is unconscionably wrong.”
“Indeed,” Ian agreed.
“The McKenzies believe this to be the truth.”
“Teddy, you know how I feel; my beliefs on that matter are no secret. I have never failed to be truthful.”
“And there’s my point,” Teddy said.
“What, sir, does that mean?” Ian demanded, growing aggravated.
Teddy shook his head. “I fear, Major McKenzie, that you may eventually lose your precious Cimarron. But the election is still to come. Perhaps there will be a miracle and reason will prevail throughout the land. Somehow I doubt it. And still, whatever the future brings, you have married my daughter. So, what are your plans? What are your orders when you leave here?”
“Actually, I’m to go to Washington. I have maps with me to be recorded in the Capital.”
“What do you intend to do with your wife?” Teddy asked bluntly.
“To—er, do with her, sir?”
“Where will she live?”
“Well, sir, I—”
“Hadn’t thought of that as yet? Because you don’t really have a home for her, since you hadn’t really planned on marriage.”
“I’d always planned to marry, sir—”
“But not my daughter.”
Teddy McMann’s flat determination on the truth defied pretense. “Sir,” Ian said simply, “Cimarron is one of the finest plantations in the whole of the state, and it is my home.”
“But you’ll not be in it. Nor do you know where you’ll be for any length of time.”
&nb
sp; “To this day, the government is still attempting to make sense of the Florida wilderness. I imagine I’ll be coming back and forth from the Everglades for the next several months at least.” He hesitated. “Unless things change quickly.”
“Ian, under those circumstances, I’d like to take my daughter home with me.”
“I do assure you, sir, that the marriage is legal—”
“Which is not the point. You have married; she is your wife, and I don’t contest that. I’m not making demands; I’m asking to bring her home with me when your leave has come to an end until you are given a more permanent command.”
Ian hesitated, feeling uneasy, and not at all sure why. Teddy’s area of the state—near where Ian’s aunt and uncle and cousins resided—remained, in truth, a very savage land. He loved the area himself; his father owned numerous untamed acres down in the south, but hadn’t chosen to live there, as James had. Still, Ian had loved his extended trips down to his uncle’s home all his life. The region hadn’t been entirely ignored by men and women of vision, but events had somewhat conspired to keep growth to a minimum over the last twenty years.
During the Second Seminole War, the Indians had retreated deep into the Everglades. Before the arrival of the Seminoles, in the great age of Spanish exploration, missionaries had come to the area to attempt to bring the Church to the earlier Indians, the Calusa, the Tequesta, and others. But the Indians had died out over the centuries and been absorbed by the Seminoles; the Spanish missionaries had died out, been murdered, or recalled as well. Eventually the Everglades became a Seminole refuge.
But the Florida Keys and the southeast coast were also havens for wreckers and salvagers—as they had been since white men had first come with valuables in their ships. Men of less than desirable character often frequented the ruins.
Ian never would have thought to worry about his uncle’s family, living as close to the abandoned fort as they did. James had wanted the isolation of the far south. James had fought many a battle; he could take care of himself, and he had taught his sons and daughters to do the same. And he was a half-breed who had defended his mother’s people fervently throughout the conflict. The Indians would never harm him or his family. James McKenzie was safe in the Everglades. Against white trash, and— frequently justified—red fury.
But for others…
“What is it, Ian?” Teddy demanded.
Ian shrugged. “Well, I was just a child at the time, but I’m afraid to admit that I was thinking of what happened to Dr. Perrine.” Dr. Henry Perrine had been a medical doctor, and something of a diplomat-turned-botanist, just like Teddy. He’d been murdered by Indians on the morning of August 7, 1840. Ian had been a young child then, but he could still remember his parents talking about the affair.
Teddy’s lip curled into a half-smile. “Ian, Perrine was killed in the last years of the Second Seminole War. The war is over.”
“Violence flared again just two years ago—”
“And my property was fine.”
“Teddy, you moved in with my uncle. I remember my father saying so.”
“Your uncle’s family remain nearby, and I’m not a fool. And I’m a good man who has always been friends with the Seminoles. Most of my workers are Indians or blacks or mixed-breed men and women.”
“Teddy, Dr. Henry Perrine was a good man. But—”
“Perrine was living on Indian Key—where that detestable lout Housman had been king of his salvage and wrecking empire, I wager!—when the Indians attacked. Housman had himself a little empire going there with his Tropical Hotel for visitors and his own mansion. Housman had suggested that the United States government pay him two hundred dollars a head for every Seminole he could murder. I imagine the Seminole war party that killed Perrine meant to slay Housman. And that was long ago.”
“Ironic justice,” Ian said. “Housman and his wife escaped, and though Perrine managed to hide his family, the good man was the one who was killed.”.
“I don’t understand your fears, Ian. Alaina has lived all her life on our little islet. I’m no fool, and at any threat of danger, I would turn to your own kin.”
Ian bowed his head. “I don’t understand my unease, either, sir, to be quite frank. I just know how difficult communications can be.”
“For other people. Not you, Ian. Let her come with me.”
“Sir, I must agree. Since I do not have a home prepared for her to be with me, your request sounds reasonable.”
Teddy appeared greatly relieved. “I won’t say anything to Alaina; I’d like to let that decision come from you, if you don’t mind, unless she chooses to do otherwise. And we’ll see to the future from there,” Teddy told him. He hesitated. “Son, I tell you, my fear is this: My daughter is a great deal like the South. She doesn’t like to be told what to do. And everyone wants to be right. Yet when it comes to battles, right and wrong seldom matter; all that counts is greater power.”
“I’ve no intent to hurt your daughter.”
“And she will have no intent to hurt you, I imagine,” he replied, sounding so sorrowful that Ian was startled by a momentary chill. “Well, with the months ahead of us settled … Have I told you about my new lime trees?”
Ian smiled, shaking his head. “No, sir, you have not.”
“Sit down, don’t let me keep you from breakfast. I’ll tell you about my work.”
Teddy excitedly began to tell him about his citrus groves and his aloe plants. Ian helped himself to bacon, eggs, fish, and fresh-baked bread, and listened. Teddy had always been exceptionally close to Ian’s Aunt Teela, who had assisted an army surgeon at one time and now used many of Teddy’s plants for salves and herbal remedies. Ian believed that Teela’s and Teddy’s interests had influenced his brother and cousin in their pursuit of medical careers. Listening to the man who was now his father-in-law, Ian was startled by how quickly time passed by, and he’d yet to speak with his own father.
He excused himself and went in search of Jarrett. He entered his father’s den and thought at first that he had come upon his father, only to realize, when the man turned, that he had found his uncle instead.
“Ian,” James said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
“Uncle James, I was looking for my father.”
“I was, too. Jeeves has told me that he is out riding with your mother. Strange, isn’t it? Your mother has thrown this party for your father every year since she came here. He gave up protesting two decades ago. It has always been one of the finest social events in the state. I was anxious to be here this year. I wanted to remember what it was like.”
Watching the uncle with whom he had been almost as close as his own parents since childhood, Ian felt the strangest unease settle over him. “Sir, my mother will continue to hold my father’s birthday sacred until the day she dies.”
“So I imagine,” James said lightly. “Can you fathom this, though, Ian? I feel the oddest sense of dread. And not of the things one might usually fear—I’m not afraid of fighting, I spent so long doing it. I’m merely afraid of what is happening to a world in which we all managed to hold fast to one another, no matter what outside forces tore at us.”
“You think it will come to war?”
“I know so. We have been heading toward it many years now.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “Do you know, Ian, that I despise the uniform you so customarily wear?”
Ian arched a brow, taken aback by the vehemence in his uncle’s words. He knew full well the history of his state, and that his uncle had, at times, fought against the U.S. army during the Second Seminole War. But James had also remained close friends with many men who had been in the army. Ian’s father’s mother had been a very proper white woman from a Charleston family with impeccable lineage; but James’s mother had been Seminole, his first wife had been a half-breed as he was himself, his oldest daughter’s bloodlines were at least half Seminole, and even his children by Teela were definitely influenced by their Indian blood. James’s ties to the Se
minole and Mikasuki Indians in the state were close—and there was no way out of the fact that the Florida Indians had suffered terribly at the hands of the United States army.
“Uncle James, you know that I—”
“I know, Ian, that your father couldn’t have raised a more honorable man—and that you’d die yourself before allowing violence against any of your kin. I love you like my own, Ian, but I do despise the uniform, and I am afraid of the future before us.”
Ian was quiet for a minute. “There is a chance that the situation will die down. It has happened before. There have been compromises—”
“Oh, indeed. And weren’t you the one telling me about the bloodshed in Kansas that came out of those compromises?”
“Yes.”
James studied him a moment, then shrugged, a slow smile curling his lips. “Well, I’ve got you looking incredibly grave when you’re a bridegroom. My apologies on such a day. So you’ve married Teddy’s daughter, the little hellion. I wish you happiness—and strength.”
“You disapprove?” Ian asked.
James shook his head. “I live in an area scarcely populated. Your wife practically grew up with my children, as you well know. My God, Ian, she followed you all about when she was just a little girl.”
“I remember,” Ian murmured, adding softly to himself, “I remember now.”
“I love Alaina dearly. But I know her well. And actually, come to think of it, I think the two of you deserve one another.”
“I’ve heard that before. Do you compliment us, Uncle, or offend?”
“I leave my statement as it stands.” James walked across the room, setting an arm around Ian’s shoulders. “I think I’ll take a ride around Cimarron myself. Brent has decided to leave tomorrow for South Carolina, and your cousin Sydney, Aunt Teela and I are going to go with him for perhaps a month as well, and leave Jerome to see to the far southern homestead. Brent has been asked to serve at the new hospital near your cousin’s old family home, and he’s going to take up residence there.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He probably didn’t have time to tell you; you’ve been quite active since your return.”