Chapter Eleven
Her sleep was clouded with nightmares, and in her dream world she heard the voices again and again. Her voice. Shrill and strident. And then Travis’s . . . gentle, calming, pleading.
“I swear to you, Kendall, I’ll think of something. Listen, John has been assigned to the Mississippi area. He’s not coming back again for a long time.”
“I can’t stay here, Travis, I can’t! Not after what happened.”
“Kendall, I cannot let you walk out of here. I know John hurt you; that’s why I came. But if you give me time, I’ll come up with something. Give me time to work on Brannen. Right now he believes he’s harboring a Confederate spy in his midst.”
“I am a Confederate! I’ve never denied it! And it’s not what happened to me that upsets me, Travis. It was the Indians. He ordered that slaughter! Oh, Travis, I’ll never be able to forget what happened! Never, as long as I live. And I’ll hate the Yankees—”
“Kendall?” Very quietly. “Kendall, I’m a Yankee. Do you hate me?”
“Oh, Travis, no! of course not. You know I care for you! But please, Travis, understand. I can’t help being what I am and I’ll never forget what John did in the name of the Union.”
“That isn’t fair, Kendall.”
“And the men here, Travis! They all act as if I should be hanged! I can’t bear it.”
“Kendall, we’re at war! They know you were with one of the greatest enemies the Union Navy will ever know. Oh, Kendall! I do understand. My men didn’t behave like that. You have more friends than you know, Kendall. You just won’t give them a chance.”
“I can’t give them a chance. John thinks he’s getting well. And I couldn’t stand it, Travis! I would always feel as if he touched me with blood on his hands, I would hear the screams . . .”
Kendall tossed in her sleep because the dream was so real, so vivid. She could see Travis, all his love and care and concern in his eyes, holding her close. “Kendall, give me time to find a way to get you out. And to find a place where you’ll be safe.”
That was when she had stared at the open door beyond him. And as he had gently whispered promises, she had grasped the heavy blue water pitcher on the bedside table and cracked it over his head with all her strength.
Forgive me, Travis!
Kendall moaned softly and thrashed about. Something cool was placed on her forehead, and she was no longer in the barracks, but in a small fishing shack on the western shore of the island.
“God go with you, young lady. God go with you.”
The woman who spoke looked old, but she wasn’t so very old. She had lost her oldest son at the First Battle of Manassas. And she had lost her second son at Second Manassas. They had chosen different sides. One died in blue; one in gray. The woman was forty, she told Kendall. She looked sixty.
But the journey had been harder than Kendall had expected it to be. So quickly she ran out of water! And the heat of the day, and the water chill at night. Things had begun to blur . . .
Kendall woke up with a start, amazed to awaken in such soft comfort. She lay on cool sheets, and her throat no longer felt parched and dry.
She opened her eyes to see that she faced a window with the shutters thrown wide open. Dazzling sunlight streamed in on her. Glorious green vines curled around the frame of the window, and just outside she could see beautiful purple flowers. Orchids.
“Back with us, are you, dearie?”
Kendall turned to see a buxom woman with iron-gray hair twisted into a neat chignon and bright blue eyes that twinkled like diamonds sitting in an upright chair beside the bed. She was dressed quite simply in homespun cotton, but she sat straight like a perfect lady, and her voice was soft and cultured. Kendall smiled shyly, confusion riddling her mind.
“I’m Amy Armstrong, young lady. You washed up on shore last night. Harry says you’re Kendall Moore, a friend of Brent’s.”
Kendall nodded. Her nightmare had been a reality past. Past. It was over. She had escaped. She had found a safe harbor. Harold Armstrong really and truly existed, and as Brent had told her, she had been able to come to him for help . . .
“I did find the right place, then,” Kendall murmured with a sigh.
“That you did, young lady!” Amy Armstrong said cheerfully, rising from her chair to plump Kendall’s pillow and straighten the sheets about her. “Now you just sit tight, and I’ll bring you something to eat. You must be half starved. How you survived in that dinghy I’ll never know, much less how you managed to navigate. You must be quite a competent sailor, Kendall Moore!”
Was she? Kendall wondered. She had tried to follow the islands and then the sun, and then the stars. Travis had taught her so much about the sea. And then Red Fox had taught her to read the skies and the breezes.
But she had barely made it. If she hadn’t reached the river when she had, and if Harry Armstrong hadn’t been there, she would have died.
“I’m not a great sailor, Mrs. Armstrong,” she said softly. “I was just very desperate.” She bit her lip and then offered the friendly matron a strong smile. “I want to thank you, Mrs. Armstrong. You and your husband, of course. I don’t know anything about you—I’m not even sure exactly where I am—but I bless you for helping me, and I don’t want you getting me anything. I’ll get up and help you with whatever I can.”
“Don’t be silly now, girl!” Amy Armstrong protested, her buxom body moving crisply toward the door. “You stay right there in bed! You suffered some severe exposure. You may not want to admit it, but believe me, missy, your body is weak. Any friend of Brent’s—”
“I’m not sure I’m really his friend, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Of course you are, dearie!” Amy Armstrong proclaimed, continuing on to the door. She gripped the handle and turned back to Kendall with a grimace. “We know exactly who you are, young lady. And we know just about everything that’s happened. If that Seminole Red Fox thinks you’re worth dying for—that’s good enough for me. And Brent—well, he’s half crazy worried about you! I don’t mind saying that I love Brent McClain, and seein’ how he feels about you—well, it just seems natural that I’m going to love you, too! So don’t think a thing about your situation. This isn’t Charleston, I’m afraid. It’s not even Jacksonville. The old guard just isn’t around to watch our morality!” She shook her head sadly. “I’m wondering if there is an old guard anymore.”
A sigh escaped her, but then she sternly shook away her melancholy. “Today, young lady, you’re going to stay in bed. Tomorrow I’ll let you up.”
“Oh, wait, please!” Kendall begged, kneeling on the bed to stop the woman. “Did you say Brent—”
“You won’t get another word out of me, young lady, until you eat well and get some rest!”
Amy Armstrong walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
And no matter how Kendall pleaded when she returned with a full tray of food, Amy staunchly refused to talk. “When you wake up in the morning, Kendall, we’ll talk.”
“But I just woke up!”
“And you’re as weak as a newborn foal! Now get some more sleep, and tomorrow you’ll have a nice bath in steamy hot water and a walk in the garden.”
“The garden?”
“Oh, yes! We have a beautiful garden. Harry is a horticulturalist. Or he was before the war. I work with the plants now, and Harry keeps himself busy scouting for information to pass on to stray Rebs. Now you settle down for a nap.”
“I’ll never sleep!” Kendall protested.
But she did, and her sleep was long and restful, undisturbed by dreams. And in the morning she helped Amy carry huge pots of hot water to a big iron tub and she sank into the oblivion of a steamy bath. She closed her eyes with the luxury, and therefore didn’t see the horror or fury in those of her hostess when they lit upon the welts that still marred the smooth cream of her back.
But Amy pursed her lips and kept her silence.
“Julie Smith, one of the local girls, gave me a lovely gown for you. I think it will just fit. You’re both tall and slender. You’re a little thinner, which will be just fine since we don’t have an extra corset for you.”
The gown was beautiful. Kendall hadn’t worn anything like it in months. It was pale peach with a white center bodice, and Amy even produced a peach ribbon to tie about her throat. “Petticoats! You must have a crinoline for that skirt. I’ve one in the trunk.”
Kendall laughed. “Mrs. Armstrong, you are so very kind! I feel as if I ought to be attending a ball with a barbecue and fiddlers and dancing into the night!”
“Amy, dearie! Call me Amy. And, oh, yes, I do remember being as young as you. We’re Charlestonians too, Kendall, did I tell you that? Originally, I mean. We’ve been living here for almost twenty years now.”
“All alone?”
“Oh, no. There are about a hundred of us sprawled along the coastline. And it is a beautiful place. Hot, of course. But so very beautiful. Orchids grow divinely! Come, I’ll show you!”
The cabin stood in a fairy-tale setting. It was secluded on three sides by a wall of high pines. A vegetable garden grew in the rear, but the boardwalk in front was surrounded by colorful flowers. Hibiscus, orchids, and more exotic flowers that Amy named as they passed them. “Down that little trail is the barn. We have two cows, two mules, and three pretty little thoroughbred fillies. You’re welcome to ride, of course, but only around the paddock. It’s easy to get lost around here unless you know where you’re going!”
Kendall smiled, then frowned and caught Amy’s arm. “Amy, please—now will you tell me about Brent? Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?”
Amy hesitated unhappily, then forced her cheerful smile back to her worn but lovely features. “Why, I suspect he should be back any time now.”
“But you do know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Where, Amy? Oh, please, tell me!”
Amy sighed. “All right, Kendall. He went to look for you.”
“Oh, no!” Kendall gasped. “He’ll be caught. He’ll be killed!”
“Now, stop that!” Amy ordered firmly. “Brent is no fool. He won’t rush in without knowing what he’s doing. He’s planning on searching out a man named Travis.”
“Oh, no!” Kendall gasped again. Brent and Travis. She loved them both, and they were both so full of honor and pride. A loyal Unionist, and a loyal Confederate. Both so stubborn and loyal to their causes. They’d wind up killing each other, and it would be her fault just as the massacre at the camp had been her fault . . .
“Get ahold of yourself, my girl!” Amy commanded staunchly. “Red Fox and Brent are together, and I don’t think the whole Union Army would be a match for those two. You’ll see. And rest time is over. We’ve no slaves around here, Kendall. You can come and help me in the garden. And walk the chicken feed through the trail out back. I hate the creatures too close to the house. They get loose and wreck everything in sight. And Harry will come home mighty hungry tonight because he’s busy helping a privateer do some repairs on his sloop. Let us get going now.”
Kendall mechanically followed Amy. She was more than happy to fill her hands with work. But no matter how Amy chattered, she couldn’t busy her mind.
She was crazy with fear. Brent—and Travis. What would happen when they met? Travis had the forces. Brent had his sheer strength and indomitable willpower. And he would have rage and revenge in his heart because he obviously knew what had happened . . .
And then there was Red Fox. He would be insane with anger and pain. He would kill anyone who wore Union blue. Red Fox . . . How would she ever face him again? He had given her so very much, and she had cost him everything.
She didn’t think she could bear any more loss. Not on her behalf. It would have been better had John Moore killed her.
* * *
The Yankees, Brent decided, squinting beneath the sun, seemed perpetually determined to act like fools. It was frightening the way they let things slip by them. If he didn’t watch himself, he would grow careless simply because they were so damned unalert!
If the Rebel armies had as many men as the Yanks did, and if there had been some cannon factories south of the Mason-Dixon Line, the war might have ended in a matter of months, he thought.
Brent had learned from Harry’s informant that Lieutenant Moore was not at Fort Taylor; he had been sent north up the Gulf Coast to serve with the fleet under Admiral Farragut.
And Brent had learned that Commander Travis Deland would be heading a routine scouting party out around the lower Keys on his ship, the Lady Blue, a schooner with six guns.
Brent had sailed the Jenni-Lyn beneath the Lady Blue’s nose, then run hard before the wind on a run through the reefs to hide behind the growth of a tiny mangrove island too small to appear on the charts of any but the most meticulous cartographers.
All he had to do now was wait. The Lady Blue was following him at full speed. It seemed that no matter how long the Unionists had been stationed in the Keys, they hadn’t learned the dangers of the reefs. At her present direction and speed, the Federal schooner would pile up on the coral rocks at any minute. Then the Jenni-Lyn would only need to sweep by and pluck the Yankees from the water. He’d have his hands on Travis Deland.
“Captain,” Charlie, standing beside him on deck, said uneasily. “Look at her. She’s veering. That’s one damn Federal that’s gonna clear the rocks!”
Brent’s brow furrowed as he saw that the Lady Blue was indeed veering. She was maintaining her speed smoothly, but maneuvering to the starboard. Her captain was aware of the reefs.
“We can’t afford to receive a shot, Captain. Or to welcome a boarding party. That Federal is probably carrying a crew of forty, and we’re only twenty.”
“Twenty-five,” Brent corrected. “Red Fox and four of his braves are aboard, Charlie. But I don’t want to get shot up. We’re in Federal waters; we can’t afford to limp through here. We’re going to have to give the Lady Blue a shot. Charlie, get Lloyd to rouse the gunners to the ready. Fast!”
“Battle stations! Now!”
The deck of the Jenni-Lyn resounded with the clatter of running feet.
“Load cannon number one.”
“Load one!”
“Take her with a single shot,” Brent commanded. “One clean shot dead on her bow as soon as we move the Jenni into position!”
Charlie, at the wheel, steered them clear of their island cover just as the Federal schooner completely cleared the reefs and raced toward them in swift pursuit.
“Fire!” Brent ordered.
The cannon boomed. A second later the schooner staggered and heeled hard to starboard, her bow a wall of flames. The chaotic ruckus aboard could be heard across the water. “Get me the glass, Charlie,” Brent ordered.
He stared ahead at the wounded schooner, through the spyglass. Men were running about the burning deck. Some were plunging into the sea. Suddenly a shout rang out, and the panic subsided. Sailors raced to the bow to fight the blaze.
“Move in before her gunners have a chance to get into action,” Brent ordered quietly.
The Jenni-Lyn glided smoothly to the scene of the struggling vessel. But before they came in too close, Brent sent a signal man to the mast to ask for the Federal’s surrender.
Any officer should capitulate, Brent knew. The schooner couldn’t take another shot, especially at this close range. A ship’s captain would be consigning his men to hell were he to refuse terms.
As Brent stared at the Lady Blue, a white flag was hoisted up her mast.
The Jenni-Lyn went about to meet with the Federal, her grim-faced crew ready to hurl their grappling hooks. Brent saw a tall man in a commander’s crisp uniform standing rigidly on deck to meet him, two line officers at his sides.
Brent started suddenly as he stared at the young commander with the intelligent brown eyes and the strong, gaunt features.
He had known Travis Deland all along. The Union officer he faced was the man who had pulled him from death in Charleston harbor.
“We meet again, Yankee,” Brent said quietly.
“Yes, we meet again.”
“Don’t make it a slaughter, Commander. Order your men to hold all fire.”
“Terms of surrender, Captain McClain?” Deland inquired crisply.
“I want a moment of your time, Commander,” Brent replied dryly. He turned his head slightly as he heard Red Fox move quietly to take a place behind him. “And I want whoever aboard your ship took part in the massacre in the swamp. Give me those men—for a fair fight with the Indians whose homes and families they destroyed. The rest of you will go free. The southern prison camps are getting mean, Commander. No malicious intent—some of our armies are fighting on the same rations already.”
The men aboard the Federal ship were silent for a moment. Then Travis Deland spoke up.
“My men were not in on that raid, Captain McClain. I give you my word as a gentleman, that I would not have taken part in such a massacre of the innocent.”
“I do not accuse you, Commander Deland. But you carry more than your company aboard your ship. I feel it safe to assume that you have men beneath you now who did do murder under the auspices of the Union Navy and Lieutenant John Moore.”
A man suddenly broke from the Federals’ rank, ripping a shot packet open with his teeth. “Storm the Rebs, Commander! Storm them! We’ve got the numbers!”
A shot rang out from the Jenni-Lyn just as the Yankee raised his loaded rifle. Brent didn’t need to turn to know that Chris—a crack shot—had picked off the seaman from the crow’s nest atop the mainmast.
Travis Deland watched the man fall without betraying emotion. He stared at Brent. “I can’t turn my men over to you to be tortured and executed.”
“No one will be tortured or executed. They will engage in fair fights. Your brave gallants in blue were happy to draw Indian blood before. Why not now?”
Travis didn’t take his eyes from Brent’s. “Seamen Crocker, Haines, Dunphrey, and Holmes. Front and center!”
“No! Commander, those savages will—” a man began to protest.
“Coward!” Travis bellowed. He spun on the three seamen. “You made the war with the Indians. Now you will fight it—and fight it with courage!”
“A man for a man,” Brent said softly, his voice still carrying to the deck of the Lady Blue. He nodded toward Red Fox. The Indian and three of his braves bolted over the rails with swift agility and boarded the Lady Blue to face their Union counterparts.
“All other small arms overboard!” Brent ordered.
Travis didn’t blink. “Small arms overboard!”
“There will be no interference on either side,” Brent said smoothly. He pointed toward the crow’s nest. “Chris will pick off the first man to move against an Indian—or a Yank. A fair fight.”
Travis Deland nodded his agreement.
A savage war whoop sounded, and Red Fox jumped for one of the men in Union blue. The sailors responded to the frenzy of the fight, drawing the very weapons they had used against the women and children of the Seminole encampment.
It was a fair fight, but quickly terminated. Red Fox and his men fought with vengeance. They saw their slain wives and bloodied infants in their minds as they charged.
All four of the Yankees died swiftly. Silence reigned again. Travis moved a hand, and his crew moved to enshroud the bodies of the dead.
“Now, Commander, if you’ll be so good as to step aboard the Jenni-Lyn for a few moments, we’ll shortly part company.”
“Don’t do it, Commander!” a gunner sang out. “It’s a Rebel trick!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Travis answered tiredly. “It’s no trick. He could have blown us to kingdom come had he wished.”
Without a flicker of expression, Travis smoothly boarded the Jenni-Lyn.
Brent inclined his head slightly. “My cabin, if you will, Commander. I believe you know the way.”
“Sit, Commander,” Brent said shortly after they had entered the captain’s cabin and Travis stood rigidly at attention. Brent slipped a slender cheroot from a teakwood stand atop his desk and lit it, inhaling deeply. He perched on a corner of his desk, then offered the stand of cigars to the Yankee. A knot of jealousy encircled his heart. John Moore might be a hell-sent bastard, but if Brent was any judge of people, Travis Deland was a man of strong and noble character. He apparently knew Kendall well—and loved her, according to the dying words of Jimmy Emathla. What did Kendall think of Deland? What did she feel for him?
Travis accepted a cigar, and the match Brent offered. “You want Kendall, don’t you, Captain?” Travis inquired softly.
Brent nodded. “I can’t attack the fort, Commander. I haven’t the weapons or the men—and it’s hardly likely the Confederacy would spare them to me. I’m afraid we’ve other objectives more important than taking Fort Taylor.” Brent hesitated a moment and then continued. “The Indians at the encampment weren’t all dead. One of the survivors witnessed a scene between you and Moore—and Kendall. And then he heard some things that passed between Kendall and her . . . husband. Deland, that man means to kill her. The Indian said that you were a man of honor. Commander Deland, I want you to help me. I do want Kendall. But I can’t free her without your assistance.”
Travis Deland exhaled a long sigh. Then his dark eyes fell steadily on Brent. “It should seem strange to me, Captain, that the famous Night Hawk has taken time out from his war to seek a woman in the Florida Keys. But it doesn’t seem strange at all, because you see, I love Kendall very much myself. But I can’t help you. Kendall has already escaped.”
“What?” Brent’s body stiffened like a mast.
Travis hesitated, and Brent saw pain darken the man’s eyes. “Kendall was with me when the Indians abducted her. That brave with you today led the party. I thought she was being held by savages against her will, so I did follow John into the Glades, but I caught up with him too late. Too late I realized that Kendall was happy there. Anyway, soon after we returned to the barracks, we found out that a suspected alliance between the Rebs and certain Seminoles was fact. John knew that Kendall had been with you.” He paused again, his facial muscles showing the strain of his tale.
“I heard her screaming the night we returned to the fort. I heard her halfway across the barracks. No one would do anything about it, Captain. You must surely understand that Yanks aren’t going to feel a lot of pity for a woman who has not only cuckolded her husband, but has done so with a Reb naval captain. Don’t think too badly of them, McClain. They all think John taught her a little lesson—and that he’ll forgive her now and go on as before. But I . . . I know John. As soon as he left, I went to see her. I promised her I’d get her out somehow. But she was hysterical. Said something about John getting better and she wasn’t going to wait. She pretended to listen to me for a while. Then she cracked me over the head with a water pitcher. When I came to, I discovered she had escaped from the fort on foot. I went into town and at last found out that she had sailed off in a little dinghy. She’s already gone, Captain. Been gone a couple of days.”
So where the hell was she now? The question shrieked in Brent’s mind, but he stood silently and walked to the cabin door. “You’re free to go, Commander Deland.”
Travis stood awkwardly and moved toward the door.
“Maybe you should know, though, Deland,” Brent said softly, “that I intend to find John Moore one day. And when I do, I’m going to kill him.”
Travis hesitated, curling his cap in his fingers. “There may come a day, Captain, when I kill him myself.”
He moved past Brent and then paused a moment longer. “In case you haven’t heard, Captain, New Orleans fell to Admiral Farragut yesterday.”
A shudder of doom gripped Brent’s gut. New Orleans. The largest city in the South . . .
“Thank you for telling me. Good day, Commander. I hope we meet again when this war is over.”
“So do I,” Travis muttered, “so do I . . . Captain?”
“Yes?”
“Look for her. Search for Kendall until you find her. She’s a fair sailor, but she’s alone. The only advantage she has is that John is in New Orleans right now. But I don’t know where she was headed. Find her.”
“I will find her.”
The words were quiet. Low. In the steel-gray eyes that observed him astutely, Travis could find no reason to doubt their intensity.
“And tell her for me . . . tell her that I love her.”
McClain didn’t reply. He saluted sardonically. “Good day, Commander Deland.”
“Good day, Captain.”
* * *
The men of the Jenni-Lyn removed the grappling hooks as soon as the Yankee commander had boarded his own ship.
They were sailing back around the tip of the island when Brent reappeared on deck, striding toward Charlie at the wheel.
“I’m going to spend half this damned war in the pursuit of one fool female!” he thundered. “Keep her headed north, Charlie. Follow the chain. Double the man in the crow’s nest, and keep a spyglass on the islands. We’re looking for . . . anything that sails. Fool female!” he spat out again, pounding on the wheel with a fury.
Charlie wasn’t fooled for a second. He knew that Brent was worried sick. But he couldn’t worry about Brent for long because Lloyd was suddenly shouting from the crow’s nest, “Sloop ahead, Captain. Starboard side!”
“What flag is she flying?” Brent demanded tensely.
“No flag, sir. Should I lower our colors?”
The Stars and Bars flew proudly from the Jenni-Lyn’s mast. Brent shook his head and then called out, “No, leave them flying. We should be a match for any sloop. Keep your eyes trained for a flag.”
“They’re raising one, sir. It’s the Stars and Bars, sir! She’s a Confederate. And she’s signaling for a rendezvous.”
“We’ll meet aside her then, sailor. But get the men to battle stations just in case. We’re still in Yankee waters.”
But they needn’t have worried. The sloop was a privateer out of Richmond, heading for the Bahamas. The young captain told Brent he hadn’t dared raise his own colors until he had seen Brent’s.
“But I was hoping to catch ya, Captain McClain,” the young runner told him. “We pulled into Biscayne real carefully, ’cause we’d heard the Rebs had a man there to kind of help us along, you know. I had some repairs to make on the hull—caught a cannonball a few days ago. Anyway this old man—Harold Armstrong, he said his name was—said I might catch up with you out here. Said to tell you that he’s got the woman. Didn’t say anything else, Captain, just that.”
Brent silently exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Thanks, Captain. You’ve just saved us a hell of a lot of time.”
“You’ve heard about New Orleans?” the privateer asked quietly.
“Yeah, I just heard.”
“‘Damn the torpedoes—full speed ahead.’”
“What?”
“Oh, just something that Union Admiral Farragut said when he swept past the forts. The Yanks are quoting him all over the place. The Union is piling on more and more ships. We just don’t seem to be able to keep up.”
“No, we don’t,” Brent said. “Well, thanks again. And watch out—you’re in Yankee territory here, as you know. The blockade gets tight as hell a little farther south. They know we’re pulling in supplies from the Bahamas.”
“I’ll be careful. Oh—and thank you, sir.”
“For what?”
“Never thought I’d get to meet the Night Hawk. You have quite a number of admirers up Richmond way, sir. And, I might add, quite a few enemies up Washington way.”
“I know. But that’s war, sir.” He saluted the privateer captain then turned to Charlie. “Charlie, we’ve one stop to make, and then we’ll return to the damned war!”
He shook his head with aggravation and turned away from Charlie. “I’m going to catch up on a little sleep. Tell Red Fox that Kendall is with Harry. Damn woman!” he muttered. “Thinks she can take on not only the Yanks, but the whole damn sea. She’s driving me crazy. I’m going to kill her!”