A look of such pain and longing flickered through those sky blue eyes, and then the stern, determined colonel was before her again. "Good night, Miss Rebecca."
--*--
Charlie woke in the middle of the night, a warm and unfamiliar weight against his shoulder. Rebecca had curled herself around him in her sleep, using his body as a warm and safe pillow.
Oh, Lord, help me. She is so beautiful and so trusting. I would wake her, but I fear that our current position would embarrass her immensely.
Charlie was careful to stay very still, holding her gently as she slept. He wanted to believe that perhaps this the first time that she had slept soundly, and more importantly, safely, for a long time. Who was he to take that from her?
Be honest with yourself, Charlie Redmond. How long has it been since you have held a beautiful woman in your arms? How easy is it to imagine that such a lovely woman would find you attractive, that you could have the love of someone like this? You know better, but for the moment, where it hurts no one, it is so lovely to imagine.
--*--
Saturday, October 29, 1864
Charlie rose with the first gray light of pre-dawn, carefully sliding his body from beneath hers, and slipping his still warm pillow into her arms to replace the warm shoulder she had been using as the resting place for her head. He had always made a habit of rising before the troops, to be there as they faced the day, and let them know he worked by the same standards he expected from them.
He returned to his command tent, which was a brisk mile walk through the early morning air, and began his morning ritual. It started with a careful and thorough shave. When he first started, it seemed so ridiculous. Why should a woman shave? But it did make a difference. He realized a long time ago that women do have facial hair –– very fine and light, but it is there. So he started shaving; it would not do to have a 35-year-old colonel with peach fuzz on his cheeks. Today, it soothed him, reminded him of his role, put him back into the day-to-day activities of his life that he had followed for the past nineteen years.
Every day, rain or shine, he reviewed and drilled with the boys. In part, he believed it kept them in line –– and in part, it was important to holding command. He had found that regimental commanders who were not connected to their troops had higher casualties than those who were. But that was just the argument he gave the public. It grounded him, reminded him of who he had become and the role he must play every day.
She had shaken his world. Those little traditions helped him return to reality.
--*--
Wednesday, November 2, 1864.
He reviewed his morning dispatches. General Sheridan had ordered him to find secure winter quarters for his troops, near the rail lines. It was an order he had been expecting for several days. While it was still warm, winter was drawing near. His men had been driven hard. In March, they were ordered east to join with the remnants of the 13th Pennsylvania. Since then, they had faced Jubal Early’s forces several times, as well as engaged in a number of minor skirmishes. It was time to hunker down for the winter and try to recover their strength. He finished the dispatches and orders and then called for Jackson.
"Jocko, I need to do something special for Mrs. Gaines."
"By God, Colonel Charlie! You spend a few nights with the wench and you need to do something special?
"JOCKO!"
"Sir?" Jackson was the picture of military appropriateness, standing at attention.
"I wish to ask Mrs. Gaines for permission to winter over on her property. When I do, I want to show her that the regiment will take care of her while we are here. From the looks of things, it has been extremely hard for her.
"Yes, sir." Jackson maintained his faççade of perfect military demeanor.
Charlie looked at him with no small irritation. He needed Jocko’s help. He was, after all the expert in charming women.
"At ease, Master Sergeant." He could hear the irritation in his Colonel’s voice.
"Sir."
"Jocko, are you going to help me here or do I flap in the breeze all by my self."
"Sir, I am not sure what you mean, Sir."
He sat back in his camp chair and regarded his batman for a long, speculative moment. "Fine. If this is how it must be, then so be it. Sergeant Jackson, would you lay out my dress uniform? I expect your presence in dress uniform this evening to serve us at supper. Please request the mess chief to join me. When you have conveyed the message to Mess Sergeant Jamison, return here. Day dress, ready to deliver an invitation. Dismissed."
"Sir, Yes, Sir." Jackson snapped a crisp salute.
"And Sergeant. When you are ready to talk, send Jocko in."
That did not go as he expected. I swear you could cut the disapproval in here with a dull butter knife.
He searched his field desk for the finest piece of paper he had for a simple note, an invitation to dinner. In his best hand, the copperplate that was drilled into Charlotte at Mistress Amelia’s School for Girls, he carefully penned the invitation.
Col. Chas. Redmond requests the pleasure of your company for an al fresco supper, at dusk this evening, beside the pond.
Chas. Redmond
At the foot of the back lawn was a lovely pond, complete with willow and small seating area. It was the perfect place for a picnic. Having a regiment of Yankee soldiers take up residence in your home for the winter was not typically a welcome request, so he would have to do what he could to make it more palatable.
As he finished folding and sealing his little note, Mess Sergeant Jamison tapped at the tent pole, requesting entry. Jackson was behind him, still stiff as a board, but clean and fresh to deliver his invitation.
"Come in, Jamison, Jackson. Have a seat, Sergeant." He waved Jamison to the small campstool opposite his desk. Then he turned to Jackson. "Deliver this to Mrs. Gaines, Jackson, and wait for a reply, please." Jocko took the note and set off, still displaying his disapproval by his exacting manners.
Charlie could only shake his head as he returned his attention to Jamison. "I know it is short notice, but I want to prepare a special dinner for Mrs. Gaines; something with a little elegance, to be served outdoors down by the pond. What can you do for me?"
"Well, Colonel. Most of what I have is normal mess food –– beans, rice, salt pork. But one of the men likes to fish. Let me see if he and I can come up with something –– some bass or trout. The streams and ponds around here ought to have something."
"Sounds good to me, you know I like fish. Just do the best you can, Sergeant. And some of my special coffee? A bottle of brandy? Maybe some fresh greens or fruit?"
"I will do the best I can, Colonel."
"Thank you, Sergeant. I have every faith in you."
Charlie spent the time waiting for Jackson to return worrying.
Worrying that Rebecca would not want to see him after last night, when he was almost certain she had awakened in his arms.
Concerned that she would want more than he could give.
Anxious that she would betray him to the men.
Afraid that she would hate him for wanting to winter here.
Apprehensive that she might think he was just using her to give his men a safe haven.
Fretful that she would send him away.
Mostly alarmed about what he would say to her tonight if she accepted his invitation.
--*--
Rebecca watched as the soldier walked purposefully across the main yard, toward the house. He was a compact, redheaded man, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache and long sideburns. He stopped, squaring his shoulders, then removing his hat and gloves.