"Sergeant Jackson, Ma’am." He offered her a smile and a little salute. "Colonel Redmond has asked that I deliver this to you." He offered her the folded note.
She stepped toward him, taking the letter from his hand, smiling like a schoolgirl. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she read the note.
"Colonel Redmond requested that I wait for an answer, Ma’am."
Rebecca cleared her throat gently, refolding the letter, and then she looked to the sergeant. "You may tell Colonel Redmond I would be delighted to dine with him tonight."
"Thank you Ma’am." Jackson returned his hat to his head, stood at attention and turned on his heal to return to camp. Eyes as green as Irish clover. No wonder our Colonel is so smitten by her. The lady is charming and very easy on the eyes.
Rebecca smiled to herself as she watched the sergeant walk away. She chewed the inside of her lip, realizing she would have to find something to wear that would be appropriate for dinner with the good Colonel.
Returning to the house, she headed straight for her bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, she looked at what remained of her clothes. They were very out of style, but in reasonable condition. She considered a green dress that had been her brother’s favorite. He always said it set off the color of her eyes. Then her attention turned to a rose colored dress. It was two tones of deep pink and the cut was off the shoulder. It was a little daring, but she pulled the dress from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed.
She looked at the bed. The bed she had been sharing with the Colonel in the nights before. It had been years since she had slept so soundly. When she had awakened that first morning, she had been a touch disappointed to find the Colonel gone. She was more surprised however to find that she was firmly ensconced around the pillow Charlie’s head had rested on. She found a great deal of comfort from holding it and learning the scent that had been left behind. Cuddling Charlie’s pillow had become a morning habit in the past few days.
She shook herself for just a moment, realizing that her thoughts of the Colonel were not exactly proper. He was a Yankee officer, serving with the enemy, and one with a very dangerous secret. A secret that Rebecca would keep, but also one that should keep her from thinking these things about Charlie.
What Rebecca could not understand, was why she was arguing with herself over this issue. She could enjoy the Colonel’s company while the troops camped on her land, but anything more would go against everything she had been taught was proper. Still, she could not help but smile, feeling butterflies in her stomach when her minds eye pictured those piercing blue eyes and that very charming smile.
Oh God!
--*--
Charlie saw Jocko waking toward his tent through the open flap. He had a strange look on his face, one Charlie had never seen before. He looked almost reverent.
"Colonel C?"
"Yes, Jocko."
"I am sorry. I was wrong. She is a true lady."
"Yes, she is, Jocko. So?"
Jocko smiled at the look of anxiety on the Colonel’s face. "Oh, and yes, she would be honored to join you for supper. I will get your dress uniform ready, Colonel. You need a bath."
Charlie thought wistfully of the lovely bathing room, the tub and hot water up at the main house. But for this evening, he must be the Colonel, as right and proper as he knew how to be. For this lady deserved to be treated with dignity and respect. He might sleep with her in his arms tonight. Please God, let me hold her tonight. The thought came unbidden to his mind and startled him just a bit with its intensity. But she still deserved all the grace he could give her in the midst of this hell.
Jocko gathered Charlie’s kit and stumped off to clear the bathing area for him. They made it out as an officer’s privilege for privacy. Little did they know. Charlie gave Jocko a few minutes to prepare then he followed.
As Charlie bathed, Jocko set up to shave him again, a soothing ritual and a kindness from Jocko in their little conspiracy of deceit.
Seeing Jocko set up his shaving gear set Charlie off again as he bathed carefully in the cold, clean water of the stream. He realized that he wanted to do more than just ask this woman to shelter them this winter; he wanted to woo her, to charm her. Yet, who was he to woo a woman? A soldier from the enemy side. Eventually, orders would come and he would go off to where he was told, to fight whomever he was told.
I am just a weapon, to be aimed at the enemy, blindly, not seeing the humanity, the blood, the mothers and fathers and lovers who will mourn when I am successful. I am a soldier who no one will mourn if I fail. Indeed, a soldier who will be castigated and stricken from the rolls of the regiment when I die and what I am is discovered. I am no man to be her champion, to give her children and a home. Who am I to woo her?
And who was she, who in a matter of a few days had his body, which had always been obedient to his mind, crying and aching for her touch? He was satisfied. The Army was his home. This was his fate, his future and most of his past. He did not want anything else. Now he was a five foot eleven inch vessel of barely restrained hunger and want.
How could she do this to me? In that first night of innocent seeking, looking for warmth and protection from someone she trusted? I should not do this. I should not offer her the form without the substance. For I will have to leave, and what kind of hurt will I inflict when I do? But I cannot not woo her. My head says no, but everything else compels me to.
The cynic, that pragmatic voice in his head that had helped him to survive undiscovered all these years told him that it was just a dream. He had been at war for too long and now before him was the Eden everyone dreamed of –– beautiful home, beautiful land, beautiful woman.
Be gentle with her. Take what she offers freely. Leave with no regrets and no ties. The worst is yet to come and no one knows where, and how, they will die, not even Lucky Charlie.
Chapter 3
Wednesday, November 2, 1864
Charlie returned to his command tent to dress. Jocko had laid out his dress uniform, carefully brushed and pressed. Boots, belt and leather straps were polished to a gleam, and each metal fitting and buckle was burnished.
"Well, Jocko’s done his best to make me look good. Now, if only I can maintain the image as well." Over the years of being alone, Charlie had developed the habit of talking aloud, often to just relieve the quiet of the solitude of his life. He kept his voice to a low murmur, so that others could not overhear him. It was still a somewhat distracting habit for those who worked around the Colonel.
With care, he donned the uniform. The tight moleskin britches with the broad red stripes down the sides tucked into his dress boots. A crisp linen dress shirt was topped with a carefully tied waterfall cravat. The tight weskit with the yellow facings that spoke of a master horseman went over that, and was topped with the blue frock coat with the red facings and the silver eagles embroidered on the shoulders that announced Charlie’s position as regimental Colonel. On top of that went the one piece of non-standard issue material, a rich red silk sash, wrapped twice around his waist, and tied so that the fringe brushed the top of his left boot. The wide belt that held his dress sword went over that. He tucked the fine kid gloves into his belt and slipped his hat under his arm. Using the small mirror that hung on his tent pole, he checked his hair, brushing it into place.
"Ah, the image of the perfect officer and gentleman. A shame that is all it is –– an image." With a suddenly bleak look in his eyes, Charlie squared his shoulders and walked up to the main house, his hat, and to be honest, his heart and hopes in his hands.