One Wore Blue (33 page)

The second Rebel, a younger man, had also dismounted from his horse and was inspecting the dead. He spat out a stream of juice from his chewing tobacco, and his voice was laced with disgust when he spoke. “These boys ain’t no regular troops. There ain’t been none of this regiment around here in months. Looks like a group of deserters tome. Not even guerrillas—just plain old deserters.”

He looked from his commander to Kiernan and started to spit again. “Oh, pardon me, ma’am.”

Kiernan lifted her arms in a gesture that said he must make himself comfortable.

What was a little tobacco spit after the blood and … the blood and innards of a man still warm upon her lawn. The Reb was telling her something very serious. Kiernan looked curiously to him, trying to understand.

“Yanks is still men for the most part, Mrs. Miller,” he told her. “My youngest son is bearing arms up there for the 47th Maryland artillery corps, and I can tell you that he may be a ferocious fighter and he may be waving a flag for Abe Lincoln, but if he needed food or to use someone’s home—in the South or in the North—he’d be wiping his boots clean before he entered and he’d be saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ all the while. He was raised right, and so were most of them northern boys. But on both sides you got no-good-no-accounts, too, and that’s what you had here, young lady. Them’s what you got to watch out for.”

“Then I do thank you, indeed, for coming along at the right time,” Kiernan told him. “I don’t even know your
names to thank you properly.” She paused. “But you know me.”

“Course, we do, ma’am.” He lifted his hat to her. “You’re old Andrew’s daughter-in-law, Anthony’s wife. And your rifle works are keeping a lot of boys in good supply. Whatever we can do for you, we’ll always be glad to do. My name is Geary, Sergeant Angus Geary. This here is T.J. Castleman, one of the finest sharpshooters you ever will meet.”

“Are you stationed near here?” Kiernan asked. “Is a Rebel army moving back in?”

“Well, now, ma’am, we’re not exactly moving back in, but we’re not exactly moving out either. We’ve got ourselves an intriguing job, it seems, harassing Union forces in the Shenandoah Valley. We’re up and down it seems, sometimes in the mountains, sometimes down low.”

“We’re with Stonewall—General Thomas Jackson, that is. The finest commander ever drew breath this or any other side of the border.”

“Well,” Kiernan told Sergeant Geary, flashing a quick glance to his sharpshooting companion, “since you did a great deal to improve my day, I’d very much like to do something for yours. Can we offer you gentlemen a home-cooked meal?” She realized, even as the words left her mouth, that she was inviting them to dinner over three corpses. “Oh,” she murmured, certain that she herself could not eat, “perhaps we could—er, get these men onto a wagon, and I could have Jeremiah drive them into town, and they could be sent back—”

“No ma’am, I don’t think that that would be a right good idea,” T.J. Castleman told her. “Don’t you worry none. Sarge and I will see to these Yanks.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound left it. Angus spoke to her again. “You see, Mrs. Miller, if we send them back, the Yanks will know we caught up with them, and they’ll know just whereabout we caught up with them too. As far as Yanks go, we need them to think that you’re just living over here somewhere on the Rebel side just as sweet and quiet as can be. Like as not, sooner or later, someone might decide that this fine house shouldn’t stand no more. But till
that day comes—” He broke off and shrugged. “You got any weapons in the house?”

Jacob grinned and replied for her. “What do you think, Sarge? Sure, we got a gun in the house. We got a cabinet full of some of my pa’s best, and I’ve got my very own rifle, handmade for me. And I got a fine supply of shells too.”

“Well, that’s good, boy, that’s real good. ’Cause if you ever see a few stragglers like this again, you shoot, and you shoot to kill. But mark my next words just the same—if you see a whole army heading your way, you stand aside. If the army comes, they won’t come to hurt you. They’ll just rip up the place a bit. ’Course if you shoot at them, they’ll have to shoot at you. And even if one Reb is worth ten Yanks”—he winked at Kiernan—“there just isn’t any way for one Reb to take on a whole company or a brigade. You understand, Mrs. Miller?”

“Yes,” Kiernan said, studying the man’s fine gray eyes. She understood completely. She wouldn’t let Jacob foolishly kill himself taking on a regular unit.

She understood, too, that there were deserters and some less-than-honorable guerrillas from both sides who might just come by. And if they came by, then they might as well shoot, because if they didn’t, there was a good chance that they would die anyway.

“Sarge, I’ll take care of the bluebellies,” T.J. said. He spat out a wad of tobacco juice, then looked at Kiernan guiltily again. She shook her head, almost smiling.

“Please, sir, you must be comfortable here. We’re very grateful.”

He grinned to her in turn. She thought that he had the good rugged sense of a mountain man, and that, along with the Virginia gentry who knew so much about horses and guns and riding and the terrain, the fine solid citizens like T.J. were the ones who were going to win the war.

“That meal sounds real fine to me,” he told her.

She didn’t dare look at the corpses again. She took Janey by the elbow. “Let’s go on in and see if Jeremiah has gotten hold of one of those chickens yet. Then we’ll get something on the table mighty quick.”

*  *  *

Kiernan never asked what they did with the Yank bodies—she didn’t really want to know. She was certain, though, that they had seen to it that the bodies were well away from the house.

Certain that the two men didn’t have much time, Kiernan saw to it that they ate within the hour. She was excited at this prospect of company. Not that she’d really been deprived or lonely. Thomas and Lacey had been up to see her several times, and she’d been into town often enough. The foreman of the rifleworks in the valley had been up to see her, and she had sat through her first business meeting with him.

But this was different. She knew almost nothing about the rifleworks, and Thomas was as worthy a partner as her own father, so she had done more listening than anything else, and she had asked them both to assure her that the majority of their sales were to either the Confederate government or to private concerns wishing to equip military companies they were raising on their own.

Bull Run, the first major engagement of the war, had shown everyone that Virginia—so slow to pull away from the old government—was going to pay for her alliance with the new. Their land, it already seemed to be apparent, was going to be the major battlefield.

Having Sergeant Angus and T.J. in the house was the first time she herself was involved in the war effort. She suddenly deeply and desperately wanted to be involved. It seemed to be the only way to survive it all.

She thought about it during the meal. She couldn’t eat a thing herself, but she was glad that T.J. and Angus seemed to enjoy every single mouthful as well as the house, and the snowy table linen, and the silverware.

Janey had been against the use of the good family silverware. To convince her that they must put it on the table tonight, Kiernan promised her they would bury it very soon, what with rogue Rebels and rogue Yanks in the area.

She trusted both T.J. and Angus implicitly. She was glad that she did, for T.J.—much more evidently than the world-worn
Angus—showed his awe and pleasure at the beauty of the simple things within the house—the fine lace drapes, the beautifully hewn English furniture, the crystal sconces, and the elegant tableware. When the meal was finished, she played old Irish ballads and lively Virginia reels for them on the spinet. Jacob danced with his sister, and then sweet Patricia politely urged T.J. to be her partner. To teach T.J., Kiernan bowed low to Angus and became his partner.

Then it seemed that Angus became serious very quickly, realizing that they had been gone a long time.

He thanked Kiernan and the family, and he promised them that he’d guard them whenever he could.

“We’re often near, in the valley,” he said, looking directly at her. “In fact, if you’ve ever a need for us that you might be knowing in advance, you might want to look in that ancient old oak back by the ruins of the old Chagall estate. Do you know where that is?” he asked Kiernan.

She nodded, meeting his eyes. “I rode there once, long ago, with Anthony.”

“Well, you keep us in mind,” Angus said.

When the two Rebs departed, Kiernan was delighted to see that Angus had left his hat. With a brief word to the twins and Janey, she went flying after him. She found Angus just about to dismount from his horse—evidently, the grinning T.J. had waited to inform him that he was hatless until he was about to ride away.

“Ah, Mrs. Miller, I’ll be thanking you again!” he told her.

Kiernan handed him his hat and stepped back, smiling, shielding her eyes from the sun that was slipping into the earth.

“I owe you the thanks, sir,” she reminded him. She stepped forward again. It wasn’t necessary to whisper—the twins couldn’t possibly hear her—but she felt compelled to speak as softly as she could and get as close to the gentleman as she could be. “I’d like to do something that I might be really thanked for myself,” she said. Angus stared at her, sternly. “Did I misunderstand something?” she demanded. “Didn’t you tell me about the oak because I might be able to bring you information?”

T.J. and Angus exchanged a quick glance. Angus looked down at his hands, then at her. “Yes,” he admitted. “Not that I had any right to do so, ma’am. You’ve already given far and above the call of duty, what with a brave young lad of a husband dead and in the ground. And with the rifleworks.”

“I’d like to be a spy,” she said frankly.

Angus winced. “Spying is a dangerous trade, Mrs. Miller.”

Dangerous, yes. But the mere thought of it made her feel alive.

Male spies, if caught, were hanged, she reminded herself.

She gritted her teeth. Not even Yankees hanged women.

Not yet.

She had no intention of getting caught. She wasn’t even sure what she could do.

She smiled at Angus, for he looked very concerned. “Angus, I’m probably a prime target because of the rifleworks anyway. I won’t do anything horrible—I don’t think that I’d be able to do anything horrible, I don’t know any Yankees that well. What I can do is make sure that anything I hear gets to that old oak as soon as possible.”

Angus looked to T.J., and T.J. shrugged. “We need her, Sarge,” T.J. drawled. “There’s too many folks in these woods who are for the Yanks, and too many folks who just don’t really show what they’re feeling deep inside. Mrs. Miller, ma’am, don’t you risk nothing, but if you hear tell of anything that you think we should know, why, exercise one of those fine horses of yours down by that old oak. I think that would serve us well enough, don’t you, Sarge?”

Angus swept his hat up on his head. “Mrs. Miller, we would be forever and deeply indebted.”

Kiernan smiled, and she waved as they rode away.

It wasn’t long before she made her first trip out to the old oak at the ruins of the Chagall estate.

It wasn’t that she had learned anything that was a major secret. It was just that she had some early information on something that everyone would soon know about. And that
was because Thomas had been learning things from one of the railroad employees.

The mill on Virginius Island had been partially destroyed by a Union colonel to prevent the Confederates from making use of it. The proprietor of the mill, Mr. Herr, had long been suspected of very heavy Federal leanings. There was quite a quantity of grain within the mill, and Herr had offered it to the Federal officials in Maryland.

Thomas told Kiernan that men from the 3rd Wisconsin regiment would be “supervising” the able-bodied men left in Harpers Ferry as they loaded the grain onto ships, since currently no bridge was left over the Potomac. Supposedly, citizens would receive recompense for their efforts. Thomas said that it was most unlikely that anyone would ever be recompensed for any of these activities.

Thomas had been glum generally. Bullet holes extended over the length and breadth of his house because Union troops shot at anything that moved or seemed to move from their point on Maryland Heights. The once-vibrant town of Harpers Ferry was becoming a ghost town where nothing dared appear by night. As winter approached, the early darkness decreed that some lights must be lit against the early shadows of the evening—which could endanger them all. Kiernan realized that Thomas had loved his town more than either government, and that in his eyes, there could be no winners or losers—his town was dying.

She did her best to cheer him up, then rode home. She wasn’t sure why, but she took a roundabout trail. It was a beautiful way to ride. October was new, and the mountains were covered in their most beautiful foliage. The rivers, dangerous for the unwary, were nevertheless beautiful too. The water was high at this time of year, but in places the rushing water still danced over the rocks in a cool white fury, and leaves still fell upon the water, adding a spray of muted, lulling color.

Before she knew it, she had come to a halt before the trail that led down to the fishing shack on the water. She almost allowed her horse to carry her down that trail, for she was
feeling very nostalgic. It had been almost two years since John Brown had raided Harpers Ferry.

And almost two years since she had led Jesse here.

She bit hard into her lip. She hadn’t thought much about Jesse lately—or maybe she had never really stopped thinking about him, maybe she’d just forced him into the back of her mind. But suddenly everything came rushing back to her. She remembered how upset he had been that day, how the events had seemed to cast his very soul to the devil …

And how he had come to her because of it.

He had known, she thought. Somehow, Jesse had known that their world would come to this.

A house divided.

Not even love could change what had come. Angus had spoken proudly of his Yankee son. Harpers Ferry was split in two. Virginia herself was split. What southern mother wouldn’t love her northern child? Daniel had not ceased to love his brother.