Rebel

  Now he was dead.

  Killed at Bull Run. His bullet-riddled body had been brought back by his admiring men.

  Jennifer’s letter wasn’t just filled with grief, it was consumed with hatred. For Private Doby, who wrote Jennifer with the bad news, told her that the Federals behaved in a most despicable fashion—a hundred of them gunning down her poor husband even as he gave the order for his men to retreat! “May all those wretched Federal bastards rot and die in this war!” Jennifer wrote. “I tell you, Alaina, from this day forth, I will do my very best to see that they are brought low. I will risk anything, for there is no life without Lawrence.”

  Alone that night, Alaina grieved for Lawrence, handsome, dashing, always kind. He and Jennifer had been her best friends. Jennifer had grieved with her, and now Jennifer was alone. Not alone, of course. Her brother was near, her father, her stepmother. She had precious little Anthony. She had her aunt and uncle, and her cousins, Tia, Julian… Ian.

  Ian, the Union soldier. The enemy.

  It was only at Rose’s, when Alaina saw Risa, that she felt a twinge of guilt once again for helping the South. Risa talked to her with the greatest sorrow; she’d gone to the hospital to help care for the wounded Union men. “I heard about Captain Malloy. I never met any of Ian’s family, but I know they were close. I’m very sorry.”

  Alaina thanked her. “Jennifer is… devastated.”

  “And Ian?”

  Alaina shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. I don’t know where he is. Do you?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I know nothing at all,” Alaina told Risa nervously. “Can’t your father—”

  “Ian has been reassigned. My father is no longer his commanding officer. Everything is shifting. My father led men at Manassas—without Ian,” she said softly. “I’m just grateful my father survived. And I’m afraid he knows nothing about Ian.”

  Alaina thanked her, wishing that she could hear something from Ian.

  Anything.

  He could pause, and listen, and imagine the world like it always was. It was summer, hot, the sun beating down relentlessly, only the deep green foliage of the Everglades sheltering men and beasts and all manner of swamp creatures from the deadly heat. Closing his eyes, listening, he could hear the flight of a great blue heron from the nearby water, the rustle of leaves with the slight breeze. When he listened the way his uncle had taught him, he could even hear the slither of a snake within the grass.

  Once upon a time, it had been a playground for them all. Now it was no longer play.

  “Well, Major, what do you think?”

  Ian opened his eyes and turned around. Jake Chicoppee stood just a few feet away from him, waiting.

  Jake was a half-breed Seminole, a man happily living with his wife’s family in one of the hammocks deep in the swamp. He and Ian had known each other since they were boys.

  Jake hadn’t entered the Union army—he wasn’t going to go quite so far against an organization his people had so recently fought. But he couldn’t support the South either because he did not believe in slavery.

  Ian wished that his uncle saw the war that way, but James did not. Hunkering down to survey the terrain around him, Ian felt as if fingers clamped around his heart and held tight. He’d heard about Lawrence’s death at Manassas. It was only when he was deep in the swamp, as he was now, that he missed communications. Usually he heard what was happening quite quickly, because he was using Key West as his main base, and ships came and went with a fair frequency, bearing both news and supplies. Now, though, he’d been isolated in the swamp for several days. With Jake, he’d established a makeshift encampment in the midst of enemy territory— so sheltered by what most people saw as the deadly misery of the swamp that it would never be found. It was a high hammock, filled with pines and surrounded by water on three sides, its one entry naturally guarded by thick rows of trees. It was near enough to the water; it was large enough to accommodate several cabins and a barn for horses. Ian had to have horses here, if he was to be effective moving throughout the peninsula.

  “Well?” Jake inquired again.

  Ian looked around him once more. The trees were so dense, they could even hide buildings—and he just wanted a few cabins. The terrain would be extremely treacherous for anyone not familiar with it.

  He nodded, looking at Jake. “It’s perfect. I’ll bring my men the day after tomorrow, and we’ll start building.”

  “Why not tomorrow?”

  Ian shrugged. “I’ve a few personal matters.” That night, under cover of darkness, he left the mangrove shoreline in a small rowboat. He left alone. He was stripped down to just his breeches, barefoot and bare chested, not because he wanted to discard his uniform, but because of the heat.

  He made his way to Belamar. Even as he came near the beach, he heard a furious female voice call out to him.

  “Stop!”

  He frowned and kept coming.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot your bloody head off!”

  It was Jen’s voice.

  “Jen, it’s Ian.”

  His rowboat grounded against the beach. He saw her standing there in the moonlight, a shotgun aimed at his heart. Pity seized him. She was still beautiful, but she was thinner and pinched, and her eyes had a wild look about them. She wasn’t wearing a dress, but an old pair of men’s breeches, tied up with rope, and a man’s shirt and boots. A mangled slouch hat was pulled low over her forehead.

  “Jen, it’s Ian!”

  “You bloody, despicable Yank!” she shouted at him.

  “I came to see you because I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  His cousin’s hazel eyes glinted in the darkness. “Go away, Ian.”

  “Now, come on. This is my wife’s property—”

  “And your wife can come here whenever she wants. Go away or I’ll shoot you. You’re a Yankee. I hate Yankees.”

  “Jen, I’m your cousin Ian!”

  She kept the gun pointed at his heart. Ian chose to ignore it. He stepped into the wet sand from his rowboat.

  “Ian, damn you, I’ll shoot!” she cried out.

  He caught her eyes, her beautiful, red-rimmed hazel eyes. He thought of her gentleness, the way she had been with him when he’d been just a babe, and he thought of her tenderness when she had comforted Alaina at Teddy’s death. He kept walking toward her.

  The rifle butted against his chest.

  “I’ll shoot you, Ian.”

  He paused just another second. Then he pushed the rifle aside. “No, you won’t shoot me, you won’t because I love you, Jen, and I’m sorry, so very, very sorry.”

  She allowed the rifle to fall as he took her into his arms. And she sobbed.

  Soon more people spilled from the house.

  “Jen!” his aunt Teela’s voice, filled with concern.

  “Jennifer!” James, calling to his daughter.

  “Jen!” Jerome, coming behind him.

  And then all of them, staring at Ian.

  After a long while, his uncle sighed deeply. “You’ve got to go now, Ian. You’re the enemy here, you know.”

  He felt Jennifer clinging blindly to him, and he hugged her tightly in return.

  “He’s not the enemy, he’s my nephew!” Teela said stubbornly.

  “Mother,” Jerome informed her quietly, “Ian is an enemy soldier.” Jerome’s eyes, as darkly cobalt as his own, pinned Ian. “Ian knows that he has to go. Sweet Jesus, there are Rebs all about in these waters now…. Ian, you fool, you’re in danger here!”

  “He’s safe enough tonight in this house,” Teela in- sisted. She spun on her husband, tears in her eyes. “He’s safe enough,” she repeated.

  James exhaled on a long note. He looked at his daughter, still sobbing in Ian’s arms. He lifted a hand helplessly. “You’ve got to be out of here by morning’s light, Ian. I’ll be damned if I’ll see my brother’s oldest son gunned down on his own property. And I’ll be damned if I’ll help the Union, you und
erstand?”

  “Yes,” Ian said, and with his arm still around Jennifer, he walked to the house with his kin.

  After Teela gave him a bowl of her rich conch chowder, she told Ian what she knew about his folks. Tia and Julian were living life like usual at Cimarron, though there had been some talk that Cimarron could be confiscated.

  “What?” Ian demanded hotly.

  “It’s not going to happen; we still have laws in this state,” James said.

  “It was just talk,” Jerome agreed firmly.

  “Talk,” Teela said quietly, and hesitated just a moment, “instigated by an old acquaintance.”

  “Who?” Ian demanded harshly.

  “Teela, it isn’t going to help him to know,” James said, aggravated with his wife.

  “I’m sorry, James,” Teela said, “but he should know. It’s that Peter O’Neill, who is naturally still bitter about the fact that you married Alaina.”

  “Why? He married Elsie Fitch, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course, but… he’s an arrogant young fool, and always has been, and he’s taken his father’s money and made himself captain of a cavalry unit.”

  “So Peter is out to destroy Cimarron—to somehow even a score!” Ian exclaimed angrily, slamming a fist on the table.

  “Nothing is going to happen to Cimarron,” James said firmly. “With Julian McKenzie officially attached to Southern forces, no one would touch Cimarron. Julian is already acquiring quite a reputation—as a magician, as well as a doctor. They had a measles outbreak and all his patients survived. And he hasn’t lost a man to injury yet—” Looking at Ian, his uncle sighed with exasperation. “We shouldn’t have told you.”

  Ian smiled wryly. “I don’t mind taking a few chances, Uncle James, but I think I’d be certifiably insane if I went riding off through the interior to find Peter O’Neill and call him out for a private duel. Damn him, though! The man is such an idiot!”

  “Ian,” Jerome said, “Peter O’Neill isn’t worth your anger. Nothing is going to happen. We’ve still got laws in this state!” Jerome faced Ian squarely, and Ian saw a countenance very much like his own. Jerome was darker, his complexion more bronze, and in the light, his hair carried a hint of his mother’s red. But even the contours of their faces were similar, and in facing Jerome, Ian felt that he faced other forces within himself.

  “If they took Cimarron, my father would—”

  “Don’t underestimate your father,” Teela interrupted. “No matter what happens, he’s a strong man.”

  “My mother—”

  “May even be stronger,” James mused with a touch of humor. “Hell, it’s war. It’s bloody war. And there’s not a damned thing you can do here, Ian, fighting for the Union the way you are.” James stood and paused before Ian. “I’ll pray for you.” He left the kitchen. Teela rose, paused, kissed Ian on the head, and followed her husband.

  Jerome picked up a brandy bottle, indicating the porch. “I’ve got some good Cuban cigars,” he said.

  Outside they sat, passing the brandy bottle back and forth. “We’ve all known our feelings for a long time,” Ian began. “Your family has known I would stay with the Union, even if trouble came. Yet tonight, somehow…”

  “There’s blood between the North and the South now, and that changes things,” Jerome reminded him.

  “Yeah, I suppose. Jesus, Jerome, don’t let that bastard O’Neill get to Cimarron.”

  “O’Neill won’t get to Cimarron. He may have bought himself a captaincy in the state militia, but he’s still a braggart, and most men will pay him no heed. And trust in this: Your brother is as much a part of Cimarron as you are. And there are too many men who respect your father too much to threaten him. Cimarron will be safe. But there’s something else I should tell you.” Jerome exhaled after a long moment, then stared at Ian again. “I’ve accepted a commission into the Confederate navy.”

  “As…”

  “Captain of the Mercy.”

  “The Mercy… the schooner you designed that was built out of Richmond.”

  “That would be the ship,” Jerome said lightly. He puffed on the cigar, watching the smoke rise in the night. “I pray to God that we don’t meet in battle,” he said simply.

  “Pray to God!” Ian concurred, lifting the brandy bottle. He consumed a long swallow and passed it to his cousin.

  They drank until it was late.

  That night, Ian slept in Alaina’s bed. He remembered holding her, stroking her, and he missed her…

  Ached for her. Longed for her.

  Prayed for her.

  For his family.

  And for himself.

  He left Belamar at the first hint of light, embracing each member of his family.

  In the days that followed, he built his camp. He’d selected eight men as his company, and he was pleased with each of them, especially a man named Sam Jones, who had served at Key West a very long time and was familiar with both Florida history and terrain.

  They constructed their cabins well off the ground, a lesson learned from the Indians, to discourage snakes and other predators. They used pine that matched the trees hiding the camp.

  “No one will ever find you here,” Jake said admiringly when the camp was half finished. “Hell, Osceola couldn’t have found this place!”

  Ian, staring at his camp, silently agreed. He hunched down, plucking out a blade of grass to gnaw on. “There’s only one person who could possibly stalk me here,” he murmured quietly.

  “Who?”

  He looked up at Jake with a rueful smile. “My cousin Jerome McKenzie. But then, he doesn’t know yet that he should be looking for me. Maybe we can avoid one another for the duration of this war.”

  * * *

  As they passed through August, Alaina grew alarmed when Captain Lewes began to make more frequent visits to her oak tree. She was still committed to helping the South win the war as quickly as possible, but she also wanted to do it with her marriage intact—if that was humanly possible.

  “My husband could return,” she informed the captain.

  “Well, no one ever said there is no danger in being a spy.” He smiled. “But Mrs. McKenzie, I don’t think you need fear anything. Surely you could charm your way out of any situation.”

  Alaina refrained from telling him that he obviously didn’t know her husband.

  “Just like a snake!” he added admiringly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Alaina said indignantly.

  “A moccasin!” he told her. “A Southern moccasin, so very beautiful and yet so deadly.” With a strange smile he turned and left her.

  Two nights later, Alaina was awakened by the sound of stones crashing against her window again. She leaped up, expecting to see Captain Lewes. She gasped to see that Risa Magee, dressed in black, was standing by the oak, motioning to her wildly.

  Alaina rushed down the stairs and outside as quickly as she possibly could. “Risa, my God, what—”

  “You have to get out of here.”

  “But what—”

  “They’ve arrested Mrs. Greenhow. They’re searching through her house and papers now.”

  “Why—why have you come here?” Alaina asked, feeling a tightening in her throat.

  “Oh, Alaina, I’m not an idiot! I’ve suspected both of you for quite some time—”

  “Did you turn Rose in?” Alaina demanded.

  “Alaina, Allan Pinkerton, the detective Lincoln hired, has been on her trail nearly from the beginning. Men can be such idiots! A few of Lincoln’s own Cabinet members were giving her information, along with Scott’s own staff! They are still so appalled to take action against ladies!” Risa said scornfully, then added, “No, Alaina, I never did anything about any of my suspicions. If I had, I might have prevented the deaths of some of our men who died at Manassas.”

  “Risa, you’ve got to understand,” Alaina said, suddenly anxious that Risa should see things from her point of view. “You might have prevented Union deaths, but
thousands more Southern soldiers would have died. Risa, I can’t change what I am, or the way that I believe. People have the right to self-government. I am a Southerner. My country is foreign to me now.”

  “You’ve got to get out of here, Alaina, before they associate you with Rose and come to arrest you. I pray to God they won’t do anything but just hold women and try to keep them from dangerous activities, but… there has been discussion that spies should be hanged. Even female spies. For the love of God, Alaina, pay attention to me tonight. Hurry. Get yourself and the babe dressed and ready. I have a friend—Captain Murdock—who is sailing down the Potomac tonight. He has just recently resigned his commission and has a pass through the Union lines. You and Sean can go with him as his wife and child.”

  Stunned, Alaina hesitated. She’d never been a fool; she had known what she risked. She had believed deeply in the Cause of the South, and she still did. But the very thought of hanging…

  “My God—Ian…” she murmured.

  “Alaina,” Risa told her bluntly, “if they decide to hang you, there won’t be a damned thing Ian will be able to do—assuming that he got the news before the deed was done!” Then she added softly, “If I see Ian before you do, I’ll explain to him that I urged you to leave. Any friendship with Rose is cause for concern right now; Ian will understand that. And you can’t be faulted for befriending her; Ian has known and liked Rose for years.”

  Alaina lowered her head, wincing. She believed that Risa would actually defend her to Ian. But still, neither was Ian a fool, and when he found out about her activities…

  He would think that anything she had ever said to him was a lie, that she had come to him, seduced him, only for information. Which was true… and not true. It was such a fine line there! And it didn’t matter. When Ian discovered what she had been doing, he might well want to hang her himself.

  Risa threw up her hands. “Alaina, for the love of God, I didn’t want to tell you this, but if it will cause you to hurry, then it’s news you must know. Captain Lewes is dead.”