"What is wrong, Charlie? Please tell me."
He looked down at her hand, so small and delicate in his own. Damn. I do not even have a ring. "Rebecca." He drew a deep breath. "When I return after this war is over, would you... would you consider doing me the honor..." His throat closed for a moment.
Rebecca looked at him expectantly. She did not want to assume what he was going to say but that giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach was back. "Yes?"
"Would you consider doing me the honor of being my wife? I know that someday a real man may come along that will meet your needs, but until then, please. I would do whatever you want, be whatever you ask of me, whether that be friend or lover. Please?" There. It was out. The scariest thing he had ever done was over. And the nasty little voice had stayed quiet. Now all he had to do was wait.
She smiled, cupping his face in her hands; she leaned forward, placing a kiss to his lips. "Yes. Yes, Charlie, I would be honored to marry you, but on one condition."
He looked at her, waiting to learn her condition. She had seen that expression on his face once before - the look of a child who did not know if they were going to be hit or hugged. Yet, for all of that, there was hope in his face.
"That you never speak of stepping down again. I love you, Charlie. I want you. There will be no other."
A look of wonder dawned on his face as her words slowly seeped into his brain. He caught both of her hands, pressed them together and covered them with light kisses. "Thank you. I love you so, my dear, dear Rebecca." He turned the palms of her hands up, and placed reverent kisses in each one. "I love you."
He pulled the small garnet ring from his little finger, the only thing he had of his mother and gently placed it on her finger. "I am sorry, but I have not had time to go to a jewelers to get you a ring. This was my mother's; would you wear it until I can get something more appropriate?"
Her hand covered her mouth as she gasped. "Oh, Charlie, I love you, so very much, but I cannot take a ring that belonged to your mother."
"Why not? When we marry, everything that is mine will be yours. And you already own my heart and soul."
"Charlie, that ring belonged to your mother. You should keep it close to your heart."
Charlie smiled at that. "Rebecca, if it is on your finger, it will be closer to my heart than it could ever be on my hand."
Rebecca was beyond words. Very gently, he leaned forward and gathered her into his arms. They stayed like that for long moments, his kneeling form embracing her gently. Finally, the awkwardness of the position forced them to shift. But the tenderness remained. It was a night of tender caresses and softly whispered words of love.
--*--
Monday, November 28, 1864
Charlie rose early, as was his habit. The illness that had plagued him had also kept him from his regular routine of exercise, something that was critical to maintaining his public deception. The work uniform that he habitually wore for running in was clean, much to his relief. He disliked taking any chances.
He ran the longer version of his circuit, behind the stables, around the small pond, up Gaines Run, back down the other side of the pond and back across the stream. It was roughly ten miles, across sometimes rough country. It felt spectacular, with the cool air keeping him from overheating too badly, but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. He missed the morning officer’s mess, because of the duration of his run. As he approached his office thinking that perhaps Beulah could bring him something from Sarah’s now fully functional kitchen, he was quite startled to notice the Reverend William’s carriage approaching not the main entrance to the house, but the side entrance to his office.
He stood, waiting for the carriage to stop, flushed, sweaty, hair disordered by the wind, wearing the tight britches and short tunic that were his regular clothes for running. He forgot that the britches showed every detail of his anatomy, including the padding he used to sustain his masculine image. To the two women in the carriage, he was indeed the image of a stalwart man in that moment.
Mrs. Williams sniffed. "He just stands and waits, in all of his dirt."
Grace Cooper was much more realistic, "What would you expect him to do, see us coming and run to get a bath and clean clothes?" To herself she thought, my, my Rebecca, I do see what you mean. He is absolutely delicious looking.
Charlie stepped to the side of the carriage, and offered a hand to the ladies. "Good morning, ladies. If you care to come into the office, I will send for some tea. To what do we owe this early morning visit?"
Mrs. Williams ignored Charlie’s hand and his offer. "Colonel, we will not stay. I just wanted to let you know that we are starting to get an influx of refugees from your war. What are you going to do about it? We have no resources to take care of these…… these waifs."
"Refugees? How many, ma’am?"
Mrs. Cooper cut in, fully aware of how little information Mrs. Williams could convey when she was on one of her righteous streaks. "Colonel Redmond, in the past twenty-four hours, we have seen seven groups of refugees, mostly women and children, come to the steps of the church looking for sustenance and shelter. We have given them soup and a roof in the form of the church, but with winter coming on, we cannot care for these people. Since you so generously offered to help, we hoped you would be able to do something."
"Of course, Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Williams. We will do whatever we can. Can you tell me if there are any buildings available that could be turned into refugee quarters?"
Mrs. Williams sniffed. "I do not know about such things. You would have to ask my husband or the other gentlemen in town. And furthermore, these people are your responsibility, not ours."
Charlie looked down for a moment. Something about this woman just plain irritated him. "Well, then, ma’am. We will find a way to take care of them. I will have my quartermaster attend to it as soon as possible."
"See to it, Colonel. See to it." Without further comment, Mrs. Williams urged the horses on, leaving Charlie standing at the side of the road. He shook his head and walked into his office.
Refugees meant more people, more people meant more cots, more blankets, more shoes –– damned shoes, more medicine, more food, more clothing, more space, more firewood, more of everything. He was having enough problems with getting supplies for his own men. But he had promised.
A long letter went out that morning to General Sheridan, explaining the situation. Food he could do at least some things about, such as organizing hunting expeditions into the great forest on the lower slopes of the Blue Ridge. But the rest of the things he would need to care for these people would have to come from supply. Charlie had the mess deliver lunch to his office, and the meeting with his officers was long and querulous that day, as they wrestled with the problems that this would present to their already stretched resources.
By the time late afternoon arrived, Charlie was tired of the demands of command. A quick trip over to the infirmary confirmed that Montgomery was not yet conscious, but was slowly showing signs of returning to the world of the living. Charlie and Elizabeth spoke briefly, both concerned that at the rate of recover, Monty would suffer one of the common ailments of hospitalized people, pneumonia or pleurisy and succumb to that before his head had time to heal sufficiently for him to return to consciousness.
Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, and still dressed in the uniform he had worn to run in so many hours before, Charlie decided to quit early. Anyway, there was nothing more he could do until he heard back from Sheridan.
--*--
Charlie entered the parlor where Rebecca and Lizbet were going through the chests Rebecca had recently gotten out of storage.