One Wore Blue Read online

  She could still feel the warmth of his mouth where he had kissed her. She could taste and breathe the sensation, and hunger for more, hunger to explore everything that had always been forbidden.

  But he hadn’t offered her anything. All he had said was that she shouldn’t marry Anthony if he couldn’t kiss her like that. What did Jesse himself want?

  And why had it seemed that he was in pain? Talking about love and war, then telling her what scared him.

  Why should all of it scare him? Nothing had ever seemed to frighten Jesse before. He had stayed with the cavalry, and he had fought Indians out in the new territories in the West. If war came, and if Virginia seceded, she’d stand behind him. She’d agonize when he rode away, but they were both Tidewater Virginians—fierce, independent, and loyal, passionate lovers of their land and the Tidewater region.

  Maybe he wanted to know if she was in love with Anthony. Maybe he himself wasn’t ready to settle down.

  But maybe he didn’t really care a whit for her. After all, she was a young woman to taunt and tease and practice seduction upon. Maybe she had only dreamed that he was waiting for her to grow up.

  She knew through rumor that he’d had his share of affairs. Jesse had a way about him. There was something in his eyes. Even if he was as silent about his personal life as a man could be, one could sense things.

  “What will poor Anthony say?”

  For Lacey, it was almost as if his name were Poor Anthony.

  “Say about what, Lacey?” Kiernan asked with a weary sigh.

  “Everything that has happened. He’ll be so upset that you were threatened by those horrible men. And he’ll be very upset that he wasn’t here to rescue you. And he’d be very upset if he knew—”

  “But Lacey, poor Anthony won’t know anything,” Kiernan said. “Jesse will ride away with the troops tomorrow, and by the time Anthony and the other men return, this will all be history. We won’t tell them that I was threatened.”

  “But Kiernan, Anthony has a right to know. And everyone in town will know what happened here!” She waved a handkerchief before her. “And your father—”

  “Lacey, please. There’s no reason to worry Papa needlessly. They’ll know what happened here, but they will also know that we’re fine. And I’m not engaged to Anthony. I haven’t figured out what I want to do yet.” She smiled at Lacey.

  “But your father has to know! You were nearly taken a hostage because—”

  “Because my father is a wealthy man.”

  “A slaveowner,” Lacey corrected.

  “Like many Virginians!” Kiernan protested.

  “Like most wealthy Virginians. Why, you know as well as I do that very few of the poorer farmers own even one slave, young lady. And not all wealthy Virginians are slaveowners, at least not in the western counties,” Lacey stated. Lacey opposed slavery, Kiernan knew. Not violently, not the way that John Brown did. But in her own quiet way, she was very much against the institution.

  “Lacey, please, there’s no reason for Papa to know anything. I’m fine. Nothing happened to me in the end.”

  “Because of Jesse Cameron’s timely arrival.”

  “Yes, because of his timely arrival,” Kiernan admitted. She smiled, and began to clear their dishes. Lacey decided to let it be—for the moment. But several hours later, as they sat in the parlor together, she began anew.

  “Kiernan, I just worry so.”

  “And you really shouldn’t. In fact, you absolutely mustn’t. I think I’ll take a little walk,” Kiernan said suddenly. She would go out and find out what was going on. She couldn’t bear to sit and wait any longer.

  “But you can’t go out there! You promised Captain Cameron you wouldn’t go!”

  “I didn’t promise anybody anything, and I don’t owe Captain Cameron any allegiance!” she said firmly.

  “But Kiernan—”

  “I have Jesse’s Colt, Lacey, and I know how to use it. I can’t stand it anymore, not knowing what’s going on out there.” She leaped up and squeezed Lacey’s cheeks together with her thumb and forefinger. Lacey’s mouth made a big round O and a sound escaped her, but she couldn’t protest further as Kiernan planted a kiss upon her forehead. “Don’t worry! I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful, and I know how to shoot. And I have real live ammunition in the gun—which is apparently much more than anyone else has.”

  She hurried from the kitchen to the parlor. Lacey called after her, but she moved quickly, finding the Colt on the mantel. She felt a twinge of guilt about defying Lacey, but that couldn’t be helped. Momentous things were happening, and she had to understand what they were.

  “I’ll be back soon!” she called, then she hurried out to the street. She looked up and saw that the sun was already beginning its descent. In another few hours, darkness would fall over them again.

  There was no one before the house, but down the street to her left, a crowd had gathered before the firehouse—out of range of shot, it seemed. Militiamen were surrounding the firehouse, she realized, and the citizens of Harpers Ferry were surrounding the militia.

  Things seemed fairly quiet and subdued, but still, an air of electric tension seemed to have settled upon the town.

  People were talking about how the townfolk had battled John Brown until he’d had no choice but to take refuge in the firehouse.

  Kiernan hurried down the street. When a hand fell upon her shoulder, she nearly jumped sky-high and swung around. Dr. Bruce Whelan, white-haired with a drooping moustache, stared at her sternly with a pair of clear, dove-gray eyes.

  “Doc Whelan—”

  “I was told to look out for you, young lady,” he said gruffly.

  “What?”

  “Captain Cameron came through to help with the wounded.” He waved a hand in the air. “People were all kind of cut up, what with firing shotguns filled with whatever debris they came across. There’s been a heap of death today, young lady. A heap of death.”

  “Jesse doesn’t have the right—” she began.

  “Yes, Jesse does. He said that he come upon you in a bit of trouble, Kiernan Mackay.”

  Her heart sank. If Doc Whelan knew about last night, her father would know. He’d be loath to leave her alone ever again. Anthony and his father would be loath to leave her, but she really did love her independence.

  “Nothing catastrophic happened—”

  “You might be in grave danger at this very moment!” he corrected her. “Jesse said you managed a good fight on your own, but hell, girl! Not even a man can stand up against a bullet. And now John Brown has his hostages holed up with him in the firehouse. Colonel Lewis Washington is in there, girl! They’re saying that Brown wanted to have the sword Frederick the Great gave to George Washington and the pistol Lafayette gave him, and so they’ve taken that fine brave gentleman. And Mr. Allstadt, his neighbor, and his young son. You could have been among them!”

  She gritted her teeth. Jesse must have described her flight from her pursuer with full dramatic license, she thought.

  “But I am all right.”

  “And you should be off the streets.”

  “Doc Whelan, the whole town is on the streets!”

  “The whole town is out here, right. But the things happening to the whole town haven’t been good! Kiernan, Mr. Beckham has been killed.”

  She gasped, thinking of the kindly mayor. He had been such a gentle man!

  “And young lady, when Mayor Beckham was killed, a lynch mob broke into the Wager Hotel and seized one of the raiders who had been taken prisoner. They dragged him on out to the bridge and shot him up on either side of the head. Half the maniacs in this town are still pumping bullets into the body.”

  “My Lord,” Kiernan breathed.

  “Go home, Kiernan.”

  “I will, soon. I promise.”

  “There’s more, young lady. There was shooting all around, what with the various militias coming in. Seems like there were about twenty raiders to begin with. Some of them were wou
nded and killed. Some were shot trying to escape across the river. It just isn’t a good day to be out, and I do mean it.”

  “I know, Doc Whelan. Really, I do.”

  He tried to look stern, but then he shrugged. “Don’t imagine I could get you to go home if I talked myself blue in the face. So be careful, and head back in by nightfall. Hell, some assistance could still come this way before we get federal troops in here to deal with this.” He stared at her for a moment. “Too bad Captain Cameron isn’t around. I reckon he’d get you back inside.” He grinned, then laughed out loud. “He’d pick you right up over his shoulder and see you back to the house.” He grinned again and started on his way. He paused to laugh again—no, to cackle—then he started down the street once more.

  The shooting was over for the moment, Kiernan realized. She hurried onward.

  Jesse wasn’t about, but she wasn’t going to be told what she could and couldn’t do.

  * * *

  Jesse Cameron was a lot closer than Kiernan thought.

  Colonel Baylor of one of the militia companies had taken matters under control as best he could. Negotiations hadn’t gone very well between the townsfolk and the raiders holed up in the firehouse. Two of Brown’s men had been shot under a white flag of surrender. One had crawled back into the firehouse, and one had been killed, his body mutilated by the people.

  But someone had asked for a doctor, and Jesse was regular army. He was sent in with one of Baylor’s militiamen, a man called Sinn.

  The firehouse was a brick structure, about thirty-five by thirty feet. The doors were heavy wood, and they were soundly battened down. Under a white flag of truce, Jesse and Sinn approached the firehouse. The doors opened briefly, and they were let in.

  Jesse had been with the cavalry in Kansas, and he’d heard about the doings of old “Ossawatomie” Brown for years, but he’d never met the man.

  When he did now, he was startled, physically moved, by the fires burning in the old man’s eyes. He’d never seen anything like it. Brown’s face was haggard, aged, and lined. It was full of character, with a long beard and thick bushy brows. But that blaze in his eyes was arresting. He was a murderer, a cold-blooded one, Jesse was convinced.

  But he was also convinced that he had never before seen a man who so truly believed that he committed murder for God’s own cause.

  “The cavalry is here,” Brown commented.

  Jesse shook his head. “I’m a doctor. I’ve come to see to your wounded.”

  “Then take a look at the boy.”

  The boy was on the ground, to the far left of the entrance and the old fire engines. Jesse nodded and strode over to his side.

  He was a handsome young man, no more than twenty. As soon as Jesse stooped down beside him, he knew that that the boy was going to die. He was gut-shot, and badly. There wasn’t a thing that any man could do to save him.

  Sinn was getting ready to address Brown with terms from Colonel Baylor, but Brown, with his fire-edged eyes, was watching Jesse. “He’s my son, Oliver.”

  Jesse nodded again. The young man’s pain-filled eyes touched his father’s. “It hurts, Pa. Can’t you shoot me?”

  “You’ll get over it,” Brown said.

  Jesse stiffened. He could swear that despite this abrupt answer, the old man cared deeply for the boy.

  He opened his surgical bag and found bandaging to bind up what he could of the fatal wound. The lad’s eyes were on him now. He pulled out a syringe and a bottle of morphine. At least he could ease the lad’s pain. He set the needle just beneath the boy’s skin and administered the drug.

  “Thanks, mister,” he breathed. There were tears in his eyes.

  His eyes closed, and he moaned again. “If you must die,” Brown suddenly thundered, “die like a man!”

  Jesse’s gaze snapped to the old man’s. For a long moment they stared at each other. Brown saw the condemnation in Jesse’s gaze.

  He seemed sorry for his harsh words, but that blaze was still about his eyes. He didn’t mind offering up his own life for his cause, nor his own flesh and blood.

  Sinn told John Brown that he’d murdered Mayor Beckham when the man had been unarmed.

  Brown gave his attention to Sinn. “That, sir, was regrettable.”

  Jesse had done all that he could. He saw that the hostages and the other wounded were gathered in the rear of the firehouse.

  He recognized Colonel Washington immediately. Washington nodded his way, tall and straight. Jesse saluted him, and Washington returned the salute.

  “We’ll see you soon, sir,” Jesse said to him.

  Washington offered him a half grin. “Either that, or in hell, Captain!”

  Brown and Sinn broke off in their negotiations. “Captain!” Sinn said to him. “Are you ready, sir?”

  “A moment.”

  Jesse saw to the others, though he could do little for them under the circumstances. He bandaged what he could and set a few limbs on splints, removed a nail from an arm muscle, and gave some advice for staying still until real medical help could be given.

  “A man doesn’t need to be in good health to hang,” one of the raiders said dryly.

  “Hang?” the lean young farmer Jesse had been helping said.

  “Sure, for treason,” he was told.

  His eyes went wide, and he searched out old John Brown.

  “Was this treason, sir?”

  “Sure was,” John Brown answered.

  “Heck, I didn’t want to be guilty of treason,” the young farmer said. “I just wanted to free the slaves.” He gripped Jesse’s arm. “I just wanted to free the slaves. We didn’t mean nothing else.”

  Jesse nodded, thinking the man might not live to hang anyway. “I understand exactly what you meant.” He could have told him that innocent people had been killed, but he decided not to. He was a doctor, not a judge, and if John Brown thought he knew what God intended, Jesse sure as hell didn’t.

  “Captain?” Sinn called to him.

  He closed his bag with a snap, straightened, and joined Sinn at the door. The two men exited the firehouse.

  Jesse felt the searing eyes of old John Brown boring into him. He turned back.

  Indeed, the man was watching him with his blazing gaze.

  A coldness crept along Jesse’s spine. He wasn’t afraid of John Brown, he knew that. He was afraid that John Brown foretold some kind of doom.

  The heavy doors closed behind them, and he and Sinn went back to report to Baylor.

  Then he was free once again to ride through a town gone mad.

  * * *

  Kiernan saw Eban at the edge of the crowd and circled around until she could reach him.

  “Eban, what’s happening?” she demanded.

  “Some of the hostages have escaped,” he told her.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed. Then she asked softly, “Has anyone else been—”

  “No more of the hostages have been killed,” Eban told her. “But you should have seen what they did to Daingerfield Newby.”

  “Who?”

  “He was a free black man. I hear tell he joined up with John Brown because no matter how he tried to earn the money to buy his wife and family, her master kept raising her price. The poor man was shot down with anything you could imagine and left there in the alley.” He pointed up the hill a little way. “I hear they let the hogs get ahold of him then.”

  “Oh!” Kiernan gasped. She felt ill. Yet something drew her to the spot—maybe she couldn’t quite believe that people she knew so well had been driven to such violence. But she walked uphill toward the alley, then paused with horror.

  Blood still stained the alley. It was on the ground, and splashed against the wall.

  Hogs were still rooting around the alley. She backed away, feeling ill.

  Daingerfield Newby would never buy his wife and children.

  “Miss Mackay!” Eban stood behind her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Pieces of burned nails lay
at her feet, and she bent down and picked one up. The citizens had fired these at the poor man. She stared at Eban, and he was instantly on the defensive. “For pity’s sake, Miss Mackay. John Brown’s men killed Mr. Turner, just ’cause he owned slaves. They meant to rouse all the slaves in the area against us. They meant to have us murdered in our beds! But we stopped them. We fought back with nothing, and we holed them up in that firehouse. We’re going to get them. But it’s too late for Turner. They put a gun right up to his head and pulled the trigger and killed him. And they killed Hayward! They’re supposed to be so good and kind and all-loving to the black men, but they come in here and shoot down a free black man themselves. It’s frightening, Miss Mackay, darned frightening. We fought back, that’s all we done. We fought back.”

  Kiernan nodded again. Who was to be condemned in this madness? John Brown? But John Brown seemed to believe that God whispered in his ear and gave him his orders.

  “Is Brown still in the firehouse?” Kiernan asked.

  “He is, Miss Mackay.” Eban tilted his hat to her. “And he’s still got hostages. No one knows what he intends to do. The militia have been talking with him. If they rush him, he might kill the captives. We’re at a standstill now, waiting on Washington, D.C., and the federal military.”

  A chill rushed through her, and she was suddenly very afraid. Many militia units had been called in, it seemed. People were grouped in the streets. She could still hear shots and wild cries.

  And in that awful alley the blood still lingered.

  She was afraid, with the kind of fear that Jesse had been talking about himself feeling.

  We didn’t start this tragedy, she thought, trying not to imagine the mutilated, body of the black freeman. John Brown had ridden into town and awakened the terror of a peaceful people. But John Brown hadn’t started the debate on slavery. She couldn’t blame him for that.

  She could blame him for bringing it and all this horror and bloodshed to Virginia.