Words Heard in Silence (54 page)

"You play, my love? I do enjoy listening to piano music. It is so soothing. What happened to your mother's piano?"

"I do play. I am afraid we had to sell it, when things got difficult. Mr. Cooper gave a very fair price for it in a time when he most certainly did not have to do so."

"He is a very generous man. I wish that things were different; I could see him being highly successful if the situation were more benign. You know that General Grant commented that this was the most devastated section of Virginia when he was encamped here last spring?"

"I know. But now that the war is going to be over soon, we can start rebuilding. You have given us an excellent start."

"I mean to give it everything I have once I muster out. This is your home, my dear. I cannot help but want to return it to prosperity, if for no other reason than to make you happy."

As he spoke the words, Charlie’s mind was spinning at a rapid rate. Perhaps Cooper still had the instrument, or knew where it was. If he could get the actual piano back, it would be delightful. He made a note to talk with Cooper personally on the following day. If not in time for Christmas, perhaps the piano could be his bride gift.

"With you at my side, I shall always be happy, Charlie."

T
he gymkhana was just a few days away. Charlie decided it was time for him to check in with the men, and remind them that whoever won the competition; they were all his men and all under his eye and his care.

He told Rebecca he would be eating with the men that night and set out, dressed in his simple tunic, britches and boots, without the normal markings of his rank, to measure the pulse of his regiment.

As dusk fell, he walked into the compound that Montgomery’s boys had built. Their tents were all shored up with rough planking; berms and ditches controlled the flow of water around the little enclave, and there were cheerful fires burning in the small squares that defined the clusters of tents. A group of men was gathered around one such fire, carefully roasting a brace of rabbits that a troopers had brought down with a sling. A small barrel of ale was being tapped and shared.

Charlie joined the men, sharing a mug of the ale and chatting with them. He askedwhat they had received in the mail shipment that had come in the day before, and congratulating one of them on the birth of his first son. With friendly joking, Charlie moved on to visit more clusters of men throughout the encampment. He would share a joke, a story, congratulations or commiserations as appropriate, and with each stop, he encouraged and challenged the men to do their best in the competition. There was not a soldier in the regiment who did not want to win the honor of bearing the colors. It was the most dangerous position in the entire regiment, and the most glorious and desired. Charlie made it clear that the only way to earn that coveted position was through teamwork and excellence.

By the time he had finished his rounds, he was exhilarated. It was clear that the efforts to unify these two very disparate forces were starting to work. The men were excited. They were functioning as teams, with each company working together to field the best, most competitive team they could in the upcoming games. He was also a little more relaxed than usual, as he had shared a glass of beer, even though a small one, with just about every group of men he had visited.

He slipped into the house quietly, as many of the inhabitants were already abed, and pulled his boots off at the foot of the stairs. Carrying them in one hand, and using the other to grasp the balustrade, as his balance was a little impaired, he made his way up to Rebecca’s room.

She was sitting before the fire, dressed in her nightgown and a robe, brushing her long hair that glowed red in the fire’s flickering light. To Charlie, she looked like an angel, with a halo of red-gold light around her. His hands itched to touch her, his heart hammered in his chest.

She turned to see him enter the room on less than steady on his feet. She stood and slowly walked toward him. "Charlie, are you all right?"

"Absolutely, my dear. I simply shared a glass or two with the men as I chatted with them." In a softer voice, he added. "You are utterly bewitching tonight, my love."

She took a step back from him after getting a good whiff of the beer he had been drinking with his men. Her stomach rolled and she felt dizzy. "I am glad you had a good time." She tried not to sound as upset as she felt, but visions of Gaines' drunken fumbling came flooding back to her.

Charlie watched Rebecca backing away from him in confusion. The expression on her face was one that he normally associated with an unpleasant smell.
D
o I have something on me? I took my boots off, but did I sit in horse droppings?
He looked down at himself, a little befuddled. No, there was nothing untoward on his uniform. "Rebecca? Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head, remaining silent but turned back to her table and took her seat as she tried to keep her tears from falling. "Of course not." She choked, trying desperately to keep the emotion from her voice but failing miserably.

Charlie shook himself, trying to clear his head. This was not what he expected. The evening had been highly successful. His men were in good cheer and they were coming together as a team. Christmas was ahead of them and he and Rebecca were about to celebrate it together for the first time. By all accounts, everything should be fine. But the evidence in front of him said something was not fine.

Moving very slowly and speaking very gently, he approached Rebecca. "Darling, tell me what is wrong. You know if I can, I will fix it. If I cannot fix it, at least we will share it and by doing so, halve the pain." By the time he finished his little speech, he was standing behind her, softly caressing her shoulder.

She swallowed hard and tried not to flinch at his touch. She realized there was no reason to have such a reaction; as always, his touch was kind and tender. "Beer," she whispered quietly.

Beer?
It made no sense to him. Of course he had been drinking beer. That is what his men drank at night. Well, it did have a strong smell. While he had not had that much to drink, and had certainly come to bed more inebriated from his evenings of chatting with Whitman or Polk over a few glasses of brandy, he probably did smell of it. "You have a problem with beer?" Judiciously, he backed away from her. Perhaps the smell offended her. She might not like the smell of beer, but he still could not figure out why it should make her cry. Charlie backed up to the door, and stood there looking for the world like a child being sent to his room and not knowing why. "Please tell me what is wrong, dear."

Keeping her head down and her eyes on the hands in her lap, she turned and offered the only explanation she could. "He drank beer."

"Darling, I am sorry. I had no idea……" Charlie trailed off, at a loss as to what to do or say to make things different. He had climbed the stairs wanting Rebecca with every fiber in his body. Yet in the matter of a moment, somehow, he knew he was no better than Gaines. "I will leave you until I no longer smell of something that reminds you of so much pain."

Charlie turned to leave, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed with shame and pain. A few beers, a night with the men and he had turned into that which he most detested. He had turned into the same kind of man his father was, as Gaines was.

The voice in his head was back in force.
See
.
It is in you, too, like a poison, like an insidious evil that you can never escape. You do not deserve this woman, and you know it. Especially now, if the first thing you think of after a couple of beers is to come and bed her, regardless of her feelings, regardless of what has been done to her in the past.

Rebecca rose from her table and moved to the bed. Every single ghost that haunted her told her to let Charlie go and sleep off his drunk elsewhere. But her heart made different demands. She got up and went to the door, peering around to see if Charlie was still upstairs. He was standing at the top of the steps, looking down them as if he were trying to decide if he could manage them.

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Rebecca?" He responded without turning around. If he had, she would have seen the tears in his eyes that blurred the stairs before him.

"Please, please come back. I am sorry. I did not mean to..." She stopped, not sure what she wanted to say. "Please come to bed."

He took a deep breath. "So am I, dear. I did not know. Let me get cleaned up and I will join you."

"No. Please come now. You are not him. I should know that. I should know that what was wrong with him will not be wrong with you. You have never been anything but kind and loving to me, Charlie. Please, just come back."

Charlie sat abruptly on the top step of the stairs. In a low voice, made rough by suppressed tears, he started to confess. "No, dear. You do not understand. I am exactly like him. I had a few beers with my men and all I wanted to do was take you to bed. I had no more thought of what you wanted and needed than I did of what Shannon or Black Jack wants when I put them out to breed." In a much smaller, broken voice he added, "I have become what I tried to escape. I am so sorry."

Rebecca took a few tentative steps toward Charlie. Some sense of fear remained that his temper would snap and she would be slapped back. But her soul told her to move forward, to offer support and comfort to its other half. Slowly she sat down next to him, wrapping the hem of her nightgown around her feet to keep them warm and resting her chin on her knees. "I love you, Charlie."

"I love you, Rebecca. I would give anything to have not hurt you tonight. I promise, I will not drink beer any more, since it bothers you, darling." Charlie was babbling and Rebecca knew it. Every so often, he simply turned into a scared, miserable child, trying so hard to please and so afraid of failing.

She reached over and took his hand, bringing it back and holding it tight in her lap. "I never loved him, Charlie. I have never been in love before," she smiled at him and brushed the hair back from his forehead with her free hand, "until now. I know you did not mean to hurt me and, to be honest, I had never realized what the smell of beer would do to me. I did not know I would react that way."

Charlie did not say anything. He sat very still. As she caressed his forehead, his eyes closed, and he leaned into her hand. She could feel his pulse pounding in his wrist and see it in the veins at his temples.

"Now let us go back to our room and get ready for bed. Everything is fine, my love."

Charlie stood and followed Rebecca back into the bedroom. He went immediately to his side of the room, stripped his clothing off and bundled it into a tight wad, which he carried back into the sitting room and left by the door for Lizbet or Jocko to pick up in the morning. Rebecca grew a bit concerned, as Charlie’s bedtime washing seemed to go on for longer than usual. When she finally did climb into the bed, the smell of mint was quite strong. Charlie lay still, remaining on the far side of the bed and facing away. "Good night, love. Sleep well," she said, in the same subdued voice from the stairs.

Rebecca sighed and rolled over to Charlie's side of the bed. She draped her arm over her waist and kissed the back of her neck. "I love you, Charlie. Good night, my love."

R
eg was carefully polishing the woodwork in the front hall. Preparing the house for Christmas was a tradition that Beulah was strict about. The house had to look perfect for the callers who would inevitably troop through to see how much Miss Rebecca was benefiting from the Union Army's presence. A loud rapping on the front door startled him out of the trance he had settled into as he carefully rubbed bees’ wax into the balustrade.

He hastily stuffed the rag he was using into his pocket, smoothed his hair as best he could and opened the door. Before him stood a short, wiry man with close-cropped beard and hair, dressed in a very dusty Yankee uniform. There were three stars on the man's shoulder.

"Colonel Redmond, please."

Reg closed his jaw with a snap. "Yes, Sir. Come in, Sir. Can I get you something, Sir? Who shall I tell him is calling, Sir?" Reg knew he was babbling, but the sight of those stars, plus the brass on the shoulders of the small group of men behind this little man had put him into a panic.

"You may tell him General Philip Sheridan is calling."

"Yes, Sir, General, Sir. Would you step into the parlor, Sir, and let me build a fire for you and your men? Are you sure I cannot get you or your men something, Sir? Some tea, or maybe a brandy or..." Reg trailed off, realizing that he could not open the door to the parlor, bow, pull on his forelock and look like a rational, properly trained house servant all at the same time.

"Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, Sir. Right away, Sir. I will just go and get him, Sir."

At that moment, the door from the small family dining room at the back of the hall opened and Charlie entered, carrying young Em. He had just finished feeding her lunch, a significant amount of which had found its way onto the front of his blue frock coat.

Charlie looked into Phil Sheridan’s eyes and nearly panicked. A slow blush worked it way from Charlie’s ears across his face. "Good day, General. I was not expecting you, sir."

The General did an extremely good job of hiding his amusement at seeing one of his finest officers covered in unrecognizable mush. He took a deep breath, "Apparently not, Colonel Redmond."