"That was the quatrain that came to mind."
"Colonel, I presume, but I think I know your heart. For did I not capture it when I wrote
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself;
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
Every kind for itself and its own——for me mine, male and female;
For me those that have been boys, and that love women;
For me the man that is proud, and feels how it stings to be slighted;
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid——for me mothers, and the mothers of mothers;
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears;
For me children, and the begetters of children."
Charlie stood, restless and angry with himself and the world. Another brandy was poured and consumed. "Yes, indeed. And there is the crux of the matter. For I am one who has been a boy and who loves women. And for me, I can never be the begetter of children. But she, she deserves to have that; she deserves the family and the ability to leave a legacy that I can never give her. And what is the reason for intimacy but to beget a legacy."
Whitman looked at the brooding Colonel. While his senses were slightly numbed by the alcohol, the pain of the figure standing before him was obvious. "Colonel, there are more reasons than just children for two people to come together. What you are describing is intimacy, when two people come together because their hearts call them together. You know that children do not require intimacy, only the physical act. And you know the physical act without intimacy is nothing more than release. But when intimacy is involved, then the heart and the soul are involved, then physical pleasure is unlike anything you have ever experienced."
Whitman paused, considering the nature of the woman in question. From the little he knew of her, Rebecca seemed to him to be a careful, clear thinking woman who would go to any length to please her Colonel. "Your lady will come to realize that, Colonel. Just as you will come to realize that there are more ways to build a family and leave a legacy of love than through the begetting of children."
With that, Whitman finished his brandy. "I leave you, Colonel, to consider the nature of love. It is broader and more varied than most believe." Quietly, Whitman donned his own cloak and slipped out of the office, leaving Charlie standing and brooding before the fire.
With a deep sigh, Charlie finished his last brandy and banked the fire. He walked upstairs to the main floor, and pulled his boots off before mounting the stairs. Stopping in the small sitting room outside of their bedroom door, Charlie slipped off the rest of his clothes. Naked, he slid into the room he shared with Rebecca. She was lying, half turned toward where he usually slept, hugging his nightshirt to her. Her face was relaxed, her breathing even and slow. The fire in his belly that plagued him almost non-stop now flared again. More of Whitman’s words came to mind.
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale, nor discarded;
I see through the broadcloth and gingham, whether or no;
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
Charlie looked at Rebecca’s face, at the lovely form hidden only by the light flannel of her nightgown. Yes, I am around, tenacious. To me you are not guilty. You are not stale, nor discarded. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Oh, Rebecca, I ache for you. I burn for your touch. I hunger for your passion. She slid into bed beside Rebecca, and looked at her, illuminated in the soft moonlight from the window and the faint glow of the banked embers in the fireplace. As she looked at her, her hands slowly began stroking her own body. One hand played with her nipples, the other caressed the nexus of nerves at her center. She gazed on her face, imagining it was Rebecca’s hands and not her own that were toying with her body. In a matter of minutes, she arched into her own hand, and softly cried Rebecca’s name. With the most urgent of the flames eased for at least a moment, the brandy took over. Sliding her arm around Rebecca’s sleeping form, Charlie fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
--*--
Thursday, December 1, 1864
Charlie awoke early and went for his usual morning run. As was becoming his habit, Jocko prepared a hot bath in the bathing room and was enjoying a cup of coffee while waiting for the Colonel to return.
Charlie slammed into the bathing area, sweating and limping slightly. He had fallen over a root and slammed his knee into the ground. Coupled with a mild hangover the run had not managed to clear completely, he was not in the best of humors.
"Good morning, Jocko." Charlie growled his greeting, barely civil in his current mood.
"Morning, Colonel C." Jocko knew better than to get in Charlie’s way when he was in this kind of a mood.
Charlie stripped off his work clothes, and threw the trousers out to Jocko. "See if you can fix them."
Jocko looked them over. One knee was shredded and slightly bloodstained. They would have to be replaced. Jocko sighed. Sometimes Charlie was hard on clothes.
Charlie emerged a few minutes later, clad in shirt, britches, socks and weskit. Shaving was performed in silence. When Jocko was finished, Charlie turned to him. "Do you have any commitments today?"
"Just the normal, Sir."
"Good. Get Black Jack saddled up, get yourself a horse and a note pad, and meet me out front in a half hour. Send Polk to me before you get the horses."
"Yes, sir, Colonel, Sir." Jocko was not inclined to be Charlie’s whipping boy when the universe had served up the normal reaction to an overdose of the grape.
"Being a little overbearing this morning, am I?"
"A bit, sir."
Charlie laughed, a wry and rather self-deprecating chuckle.
"Well, I will tone it down. Thanks for the warning."
"Oh, by the way, sir, why Black Jack? Lately, you have been riding Shannon."
"I am leaving Shannon for Miss Rebecca. I believe she and Duncan will go into town today to collect up the other refugees."
"Oh, aye. I did hear tell of that. A little admirer of yours gave it away."
"Enough of that, Sergeant." Charlie softened the admonition with a grin.
"So what do I need a horse and notepad for, Colonel"
"You and I are going to tour the county and try and figure out just how badly off these people are."
"You and I alone?"
"Yes, you and I alone."
"Charlie –– you have lost your mind. You will be the biggest target these folks have had in ages. What if somebody recognizes you? They are as likely to shoot you as speak to you."
"I know that. But we will never get anywhere if we go with an armed entourage. We ride alone. Sidearm only."
Jocko shook his head. He loved Charlie like a brother, was unfailingly loyal to him. But sometimes he knew his boss was just plain crazy.
Jocko turned to leave.
"And Jocko?"
The batman turned to look inquiringly at Charlie.
"Do not dawdle. We need to get a move on. I will be in my office."
--*--
Charlie finished dressing quickly. He wanted to be out of the house and on his way before Rebecca made her way down for breakfast. In fact, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between them this morning. Maybe if he pushed himself hard enough and limited their encounters, he could, somehow, manage, a little, to control the effect she had on his libido. Maybe.
While waiting for Polk and Jocko, Charlie prepared his orders for the day. Polk would handle the transfer of the refugees and the daily staff meeting. He had briefed Polk on the plans for work details to support the civilian population the day before. The company commanders would have to manage a great many details to implement his wishes. His meticulous mind made Polk a good second. He was outstanding at patiently handling these kinds of administrative details.