* * *
Ruta looked at the fresh grave. The mound of raw earth was the final resting place of Nurse Ethel Carmody. Her shattered and nearly headless body had been recovered during a truce and quickly buried. She was the first of the volunteer nurses to die. With the exception of Nurse Atkins who had lost her arm, none of the others had even been wounded. Bumps, cuts and bruises, yes, but nothing serious had occurred to them.
“Doctor Desmond gave a wonderful eulogy for her, didn’t he?” commented Ruta. Desmond had moved from the head of the bay to Mount Haney. It was a clear indication that a major Spanish move was likely.
“Too bad so much of what he said wasn’t true,” said Sarah.
Ruta agreed. “I know. He said she was a marvelous nurse, which she wasn’t, and a gentle, loving human being who was cherished by everyone, which she also wasn’t. Too bad I couldn’t believe a word of what he said. Carmody was a wretched person.”
“Never speak ill of the dead,” said Sarah. “No matter how miserable they were in their lifetimes, they were always faithful husbands and wives, loving brothers and sisters, and devoted friends. Eulogies are never about the truth.”
Ruta laughed bitterly. “My father beat us with his fists and a cane he kept for that purpose, and his brother tried to rape me. I told my father about his brother and dear father said I must be lying. He beat me again for slandering his dear brother. I hope both of them are dead and burning in hell. That would be my eulogy.”
“I had an uncle who kept trying to run his hands up my dress,” said Sarah. “I told my father and he beat him up very badly. It slowed him down but didn’t stop him. I just learned to be more agile. He died a couple of years ago. Everyone cried and said what a saint he’d been in life. I felt like desecrating his grave. I was going to go to his grave at night and urinate on it. I couldn’t because I was afraid of cemeteries in the night.”
Ruta agreed. “I think we all have eulogies we’d like to give, but won’t. Carmody wasn’t perfect, but she was here and she was trying her best.”
Sarah agreed. “On the other hand, Nurse Carmody didn’t deserve to die like she did. There’s going to be at least one more battle and it’s entirely possible that some of us might fall. Martin says there’s no way the Spanish can make any guarantees about our safety. We are all jammed in so close here that there is no real safety. We’ve dug caves and bunkers and all that means is that we might be buried alive during a bombardment.”
Ruta sighed. “You are so cheerful today. You and Martin need to be alone for a few minutes to calm yourselves down like Haney and I have been.”
Sarah was astonished. “Have you really managed to be alone with your beloved sergeant up here on this wretched hill? Where on earth did you ever find the time and space for such an encounter?”
Ruta grinned wickedly. “If you have the time you can always find the space. And it doesn’t have to take all that much time. And we’d better get used to not having much space. When the relief army gets here, our forces will almost double. As they say, one should make hay while the sun shines.”
Sarah laughed and made a note to seek out Martin. There was a pause in the fighting as the two sides shifted and jockeyed for advantage. Perhaps they could find a few moments to be alone before Matanzas was even more jammed with American soldiers.
But then she had a thought and she recalled what Martin had said. He had wondered aloud just why everyone thought the relief army was coming to Matanzas.
* * *
General Weyler rode down the line to meet with his senior field officers and made the dramatic announcement that the American reinforcements were on their way. “Our future is spelled out for us. If Cuba is to remain Spanish, then the American force at Matanzas must be expelled. We must defeat the Americans before their reinforcements can land and the two groups unite. We will attack in overwhelming force and ferocity and destroy them.”
He paused dramatically and looked at the assembly. “For King and Spain,” he yelled dramatically. “For King and Spain,” several score voices echoed. It did not escape Weyler’s notice that not everyone had cheered and some of those had been lacking in enthusiasm and lustiness. They were clearly horrified at the thought of again attacking the wire and the machine guns. The guns and the wire had neutralized Spain’s advantage in numbers.
Weyler departed and the group disbanded to return to their units and inspire them to make the ultimate sacrifice required in storming the American fortifications. Gilberto Salazar, however, had that and other things on his mind. Clearly, the two men he’d sent to kill Juana and Kendrick had failed. Either that or they’d taken the money he’d given them in advance and disappeared, which he considered unlikely. He hadn’t given them all that much money. The bulk of the cash was to be their reward when they were successful. Therefore, they had lost in an encounter with whoever was protecting the slut and her lover, and he assumed that it had been Mercedes tame bear of a man named Hector Rojas.
It infuriated him that, with the Americans approaching the horizon, there wouldn’t be another opportunity to kill them until the battle and perhaps the war was decided. The bitch would continue to live and spread her skinny legs for Kendrick. Sometimes he recalled that he had started the farce, but he dismissed it. No wife of his would have taken him seriously when he told her to sleep with another man. No, he had been betrayed by her and her lover.
Gilberto had a most pleasant thought. When he was victorious and a hero, he would kill Kendrick with his bare hands and then turn Juana over to his troops and the hell with her uncle the bishop. He was going to burn in hell for all he’d done so what did offending a prince of the church matter?
* * *
George Armstrong Custer took a last sad look at the bottle of rum. There was about an inch in the bottom and instead of swallowing it, he poured it out a window and onto some flowers, belatedly wondering if the alcohol would kill the flowers. In a way he was grateful nobody had been able to get him any bourbon. It would have been wasted. The decision to stop drinking might have been even more difficult.
The imprisoned President of the United States had had an epiphany. The army was going to free him and it didn’t matter if Winfield Scott Hancock was its commander or not. He was going to be rescued and he didn’t want to be a drunken, dirty, sot when it happened. He’d also been having that dream where the Sioux killed him. He’d been waking up in a soaking sweat and a couple of time he’d thought he’d screamed out loud. If he stopped drinking himself into a stupor, perhaps the dream would go away.
“I’m done feeling sorry for myself,” he said to his British host.
“I was wondering when that would happen,” Redford Dunfield said with a smile. “And trust me, I didn’t begrudge you one bit for wondering just what the devil had happened to put you in such a predicament.”
“I want to be ready and armed when Hancock arrives with his army. We can at least meet as equals.” Well, almost, he thought. “I am greatly concerned that the Spanish will attempt to move me when that time comes and hold me hostage elsewhere. I cannot permit that to happen, at least not without a hell of a fight; hence, the need for at least one weapon, several if you have them.”
“And some clean clothes,” Dunfield said drily. “Quite honestly, you look like hell and you stink to high heaven.”
Custer flushed. He’d already taken stock of himself in a mirror. “Indeed, and I’d like the use of either a razor or the services of a barber if you won’t trust me with anything sharp. And yes, I would like to take a bath as well.”