Words Heard In Silence / Xena Uber Read online

  So, instead of creating the lovely pileau she wanted for Charlie, Rebecca put a pot of soup on to cook. When he finally did manage to make it to shelter, he would need it.

  Chapter 7

  Monday, November 14, 1864

  Charlie had returned Rebecca to the main house, escorting her to the door, and then hurried off to the camp. He had hoped the weather would hold for a few more days; he had not been so lucky. The rain pounded down and the wind howled out of the northeast, ripping at the canvas of the tents that had not yet been reinforced for the winter. Anything that was not securely tied down was either snapping in the near gale force wind or had disappeared already.

  He turned Shannon and the little trap over to one of Tarent’s troopers, and stomped into the officer’s mess that also served as the situation room for his senior staff. Polk was there, along with Jocko and Major Swallow of Company A. The rain that had hit like a sledgehammer had soaked all four men as they gathered to coordinate activities.

  "A quick run down gentlemen. Swallow, how are we doing with getting the injured and sick into the stone barn?"

  "Colonel, we had not completed preparing the space, but I have men working already in transporting the wounded and sick in the infirmary tent over to the barn. We have rigged a sort of enclosed sledge to take them one at a time, bed and all, over there. I also have men stationed around the infirmary tent to make sure it does not blow down."

  "All right, Swallow. I assume you need something or you would not be here. What is it?"

  "Well, sir, if we could have a couple of the mules, I think we will be able to go forward more quickly."

  "You really think that you could get mules to cooperate in this weather?"

  "Well, sir, we could try."

  "Jocko, get MacFarlane and see what you two can do to help with this. And, Swallow? Do not sacrifice what works for this scheme. Use another carrier with the mules. I do not want a bolting mule to destroy the sledge you are using now."

  Swallow nodded his agreement and hurried out.

  "Aye, Colonel C. I brought you your mucking clothes. Figured you would be here."

  "Thanks, Jocko."

  Jocko followed Swallow out of the tent. The Colonel had always made it clear that the most important issue was the welfare of the men. They were on the front line of that command.

  Turning to Polk, Charlie addressed the next most pressing issues, the condition of the horses and the supplies.

  "Well, Polk, how bad is it likely to be?"

  "Sir, Tarent and some of the boys from Company D have gotten the injured animals into the old stables. Company B is out trying to make sure that the horses in the paddocks and fields are all sheltered and that there are no fence breaks."

  "Well, that is a relief. Small blessings that this place is already designed for horses. Did Hoffstader’s boys manage to finish walking the fence perimeters before the storm broke?"

  "I honestly do not know. They were out in the field all day and Hoffstader was with them. They have not yet reported."

  "Have you sent anyone out to check on Hoffstader and give him a hand if he needs it?"

  "Not yet."

  "We will get to that as soon as we can, then. How are the men’s quarters fairing? Anybody on battening down the tents?"

  "Major Andrews commandeered Company F and H, as well as his own boys, to try and secure the troops quarters. He is looking pretty harried."

  "Good man, Andrews. What about the supplies? Did you get the new shipment under safe cover?"

  "Mostly. Jamison and his boys have the worst job. If those beans, the rice, or the salt pork get wet, we will have a real problem. I have put all of the rest of the men available on getting the supplies stowed in the various buildings around the farm, and trying to protect whatever is left that they cannot stow."

  "Well, lets split our efforts, my friend. You want the infirmary or the mess tents?"

  "Take the infirmary, Colonel. Some of the original boys from the 13th still do not know you. It will help. Anyway, I am used to heaving sacks of supplies –– its what I do every time I go back to headquarters to harangue the quartermaster’s boys."

  Polk hurried out, and Charlie tied off the tent flap, to gain a few minutes of quick privacy to change. He pulled on the heavy woolen britches and tunic, belting them tightly to at least somewhat protect himself from the wind and rain. He traded his plumed hat for a beat up old forage cap and set out to help move the wounded men to shelter.

  The afternoon merged into a night of cold rain and high winds. Once the injured men were settled, Charlie set out to check on the horses. Two had broken through an old, rotten section of fence, trying to find shelter from the wind in the stand of trees on the other side. Working with Hoffstader’s men, Charlie helped to calm the injured beasts. Tarent did the best he could for the animals, with Charlie’s assistance, but for much of those four miserable, cold wet hours, Charlie could be heard cursing under his breath about the loss of the veterinary surgeon.

  The next near disaster could have been much worse. The regiment had not been on location long enough to establish a pattern of drainage ditches. The mess area was inundated with a constant wash of muddy water across the floor, first under the tents’ ground cloths and then over the top. Anything on or near the floor was in danger of being soaked. The men worked desperately to get the sacks of beans and rice, flour and oats up above the water. In the end, the only casualties were one sack of flour and a number of pairs of boots. The uncured leather that had been used to make them had started to shrink as soon as they got wet.

  The night went on with similar problems cropping up. One row of tents was flattened when the first one was caught by the ripping wind and took the rest of the tents around it down in an ugly domino effect of tent pegs and poles, guy ropes and ripped canvas.

  At Charlie’s orders, Jamison took over the summer kitchen, providing a secure place where fires could be lit and maintained. Through the night, the cooks kept kettles of soup and cauldrons of coffee going, to give the men something warm to keep them going through the bitter night.

  --*--

  Rebecca spent most of the rest of the day, cleaning and putting things away. She knew she needed to get the house presentable before Dr. Walker and Mr. Whitman arrived. She had to admit she was very excited about meeting Dr. Walker. The idea of a woman doctor astounded her. She had so many things she wanted to ask her, it would be nice to have someone to talk to who might understand some of the things that she had begun feeling recently.

  She also was quick to prepare soup for the evening. Charlie would need it when he came in. She listened to the storm picking up. The temperature had dropped and the rain had started. She knew it was an early winter storm settling in for several hours. Living in the area all her life she knew how nasty the storms could get.

  After making sure she had fires started to keep the chill out of the house as much as possible, she returned to the kitchen to find the leak in the roof had returned and was relentlessly letting rain pour into the room. She found a large tub and placed it as best she could under the leak, now hoping the rain would let up before the kitchen flooded.

  Then it happened. She sat down in the chair at the table and started totaling everything up in her head. She had a regiment of Union troops on her land. She had agreed to let them stay for the winter. She was sharing her bed with their commander, who had quite the secret to hide. More staff was expected and they would need to be housed in a residence that most certainly was not ready to receive guests. The damn roof was still leaking and she was not entirely positive but she was pretty sure she was falling in love with Charlie Redmond.

  She put her face in her hands and just sat there, not quite able to understand all that had happened in the last few days. I have to pull myself together and just do what needs to be done. I cannot let myself think like that. There are so many reasons I cannot feel that way.

  She stood, moving to the window to watch the troopers running in the rai
n and performing their duties. She sighed and her heart and mind laughed at her, she too found herself fighting her own demons. Then there are a few good reasons why you should. But Colonel Redmond, most certainly would not be interested in a widowed woman. A woman who was never much of a wife to a man who lost his life fighting in the war. You are a woman who could not even properly mourn him. You did not love a real man, how could you consider loving this atrocity of nature.

  "Stop!" Rebecca growled out loud, shaking her head to clear it. She took a deep breath, then returned to the soup she was preparing for Charlie.

  --*--

  It became clear as afternoon became evening and evening became night that Colonel Redmond would not be returning to the house. Rebecca kept checking at the windows for any sign of him. She paced incessantly back and forth and room to room, trying to find something to occupy her mind so she would not needlessly worry about him. Soon she realized how futile the effort was. She was simple going to worry about him and there was nothing to be done about it.

  To try and calm her frazzled nerves she fixed a cup of mint tea and took a book into the rear parlor. She settled near the fire and began reading, but soon realized that over the course of the last few nights, she and Charlie had done the same thing in this very room and it only made her miss and worry for him more.

  Finally, she decided to go to bed, but once she was settled there, the overpowering essence of Charlie lingering in the bedcovers made rest difficult and sleep impossible. She rose from the bed; taking a warm quilt, she moved to the rocking chair next to the window and watched the shadows of movement from the camp where Charlie was working on this horrible night.

  --*--

  Tuesday, November 15, 1864

  Around dawn, Polk and Charlie met over a quick cup of coffee that looked more like thick ink. At least it was warm and there was no grit or mud in it.

  "How bad is it from your point of view, Richard?"

  "Not anywhere near as bad as it could be, Charlie. I think your luck is holding, at least somewhat. We lost one wagon –– broken axel –– but managed to save the supplies in it. I have a bunch of boys with sprains and turned ankles. And the damned boots they sent us are a real problem."

  "From my end, the sick and wounded are safe and dry, at least, which is more than I can say for the rest of us. We lost a few tents, and those troopers’ personal effects are all soaked, but it could have been worse. We also have a few injured horses."

  "Well, it is a good thing that Dr. Walker was delayed by the weather. We certainly would not have been ready to greet her properly."

  Charlie raised his eyebrow at that comment, and grunted noncommittally. Which one of us would have had to ‘‘prepare’ to greet Elizabeth? I wonder what is going on there. The two men stood together, silent, contemplating the work that would have to be done to repair the damage. At least the wind had fallen and the rain was now just a steady, soaking rain. Cold, gray morning was illuminating a scene of mixed mayhem and mud.

  "Well, guess we better go start fixing the damage."

  "Yes, sir, boss, sir." Polk grinned through his mud-spattered beard and they went back out into the muck.

  The day proceeded with methodical misery. Every foot of fencing in all of the paddocks and fields was checked and several critical sections were repaired. Each horse had to have his feet cleaned of the mud and debris that packed into their hooves, lest they have to deal with hoof rot and bruises from small stones trapped in the mud. Racks were built to keep all foodstuffs above water level, and the men were set to work building a series of berms and drainage ditches around the camp to try to keep the ground at least somewhat dryer and firmer.

  As the sun set, Charlie finally took himself up to the main house to check on Rebecca and hopefully catch a quick bath and a few hours of sleep. The colonel had been up since before dawn of the previous day, and soaked continuously in icy mud for a full day. It was time.

  --*--

  Charlie came around to the back of the house, and knocked on the door of the winter kitchen, hoping that someone –– Rebecca or Duncan or one of the new servants –– was there to let him in. He was muddy and wet, so did not want to tramp the filth through the main house.

  Rebecca was there, just sitting in a rocking chair beside the open fire. A pot of soup was set on a spider at the edge of the glowing coals; a kettle was simmering, ready for tea. The soft knock on the door roused her from her thoughts and she rose quickly and opened the door, hoping that it was Charlie.

  "Colonel Redmond. Come in. My Lord, you are soaked. Here, let me help you." She threw a woolen blanket around his shoulders and led him to the chair beside the fire. "I have been so worried about you. When you did not come in last night, I …… I thought perhaps you had been hurt." As she spoke, she bustled around the room, catching a mug and filling it with the broth from the soup kettle. She thrust the hot cup into his hands. "Drink up, you need the warmth. I hope at least you got a little sleep last night, Colonel. My lord, you cannot stay in those wet things, you will catch your death of cold."

  Charlie just sat there as she bustled around and chattered away like a mother hen. Every part of him felt frigid, sore, battered and stiff. Sitting in a warm place, with the cup of hot broth cradled between his hands and warming his frozen fingers helped some. He knew he needed to get clean and dry, but, at the moment, moving was beyond him.

  Rebecca stopped and looked at him closely. "Colonel. Colonel?" He looked up at her. "I have a hot bath ready to be filled for you, and then a warm bed. Let me help you." He nodded in tired agreement. The idea of her helping him undress made Charlie uncomfortable. Hell, the idea of anyone helping him undress made Charlie uncomfortable. Usually Jocko pulled his boots off for him, and then left him to his own devices. But he had sent Jocko to bed hours ago, and right now, there were no other alternatives.

  Rebecca pulled the small tub in front of the fire and half filled it with water from the boiler, topping it with cool water from the cistern pump until it was warm but not hot. She knew that, given how cold Charlie’s skin was to her touch, that a bath that was too hot would be painful.

  She then carefully eased the blanket from his shoulders. Kneeling in front of him with her back to him, she lifted one booted foot and gave it a hard tug, pulling the mud-encrusted leather from his foot. The other boot was more stubborn, and Charlie had to brace his sock clad foot against her back to give her enough leverage to pull it off.

  She turned to him expectantly. Charlie silently drained the mug of broth. "Thank you, Miss Rebecca. I can handle the rest myself."

  "I do not think so, Colonel. Let me help. You still have stitches in your shoulder, you are cold and wet and muddy, and I doubt if you have the energy to take care of yourself properly." She stepped close to him and began efficiently unbuttoning the heavy wool tunic he was wearing. Embarrassed, Charlie looked down at her hands working the buttons through the stiff cloth, then signed and unbuckled his belt. The tunic came off quickly, then the sodden cotton shirt under it. She was just as efficient with the bindings that were so much a part of Charlie’s life.

  Rebecca stepped back from the tall figure standing before her, dressed only in britches and socks. The contrast was startling. In one moment, Charlie went from being a tall, lean, well-built man to being one of the most elegant and unusual creatures Rebecca had ever seen. There were muscles in Charlie’s arms and chest similar to a man’s but more fluid, more graceful. Her breasts were small and firm, with the nipples erect in the cool air. She could see the muscles around Charlie’s ribcage and those of her belly, each muscle defined. The skin under her shirt was pale, almost translucent and lightly marked with blue veins. For a moment, it was as if she were looking at a beautiful carving, done in the finest marble, of an ancient Amazon warrior. Rebecca forgot to breath for a moment. Charlie slowly turned the most remarkable shade of red, starting with his ears and working its way down his body to disappear into his britches.

  She shook herself. "Turn
around and sit on this stool. I need to look at that shoulder." Carefully, Rebecca examined the injury. It was healing cleanly, with no sign of the infection that had been there when she first treated it. While the scar would always be there, it was now a healthy pink, not the angry red it had been when she first treated it. "I think I can take the stitches out." She fetched her embroidery scissors from her sewing basket and used them to snip the stitches, pulling each one out carefully.

  "There. Now you can soak your whole body in the tub without having to worry about keeping the stitches dry. In you go, Colonel."

  Charlie turned his back to her and quickly slipped out of his britches and socks and into the tub. The warm water against his cold skin prickled and burned for a few minutes until his body started warming up. He relaxed, sliding down and curling into a ball, allowing him to sink into the water up to his neck. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the edge of the tin bath. The wonder of the woman who had done this for him made his heart beat a little faster, and kept him awake when sleep should have already claimed him. A silent prayer of thanks went up from Charlie’s soul to the God that at times had been his only confidant and companion. She waited for me, made me soup, made a safe place for me to get clean. And she was worried about me.

  About me! Oh, Lord, thank you for giving me this time with her. Thank you for letting her look at the real me and not turn away in disgust.

  Charlie shivered in sudden shock. Rebecca had taken a soapy washcloth and stroked his shoulders and neck with it before dropping it over his shoulder. "Here, my dear Colonel. You still look like a mud puppy."

  Charlie sat up in the tub and began to scrub himself clean. Rebecca could not resist watching those limber muscles move under the surprisingly alabaster skin. Her eyes fell again on the old scars crisscrossing Charlie’s back. Who could have done such a thing to him. To her. Oh, Lord. I have got to figure this out.

  "Tilt your head back, Colonel." Rebecca eased her confusion by doing what she had always done. By going to work on the thing at hand that most needed care; and hoping the rest of the situation would sort itself out eventually. Right now, getting the mud out of Charlie’s hair was the most obvious thing that needed to be done.