Ashes in the Wind (2 page)

Gradually the captain’s stern visage softened as he stared at the raggedy urchin. When a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, he quelled it as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry, boy. These men are a long way from home. I fear their manners need as much improvement as their judgment.”

The youngster was overwhelmed by the presence of a Federal officer and could muster no reply. He glanced away as the man’s gaze ranged upward from his oversize boots.

“And you, boy. Are you waiting for someone?” the captain inquired. “Or running away from home?”

The youth fidgeted beneath the other’s close inspection but remained mute, pointedly ignoring the questions as he stared off into the distance. His ragged, ill-fitting garb and turned-up boots suggested a serious lack of coin, prompting the man to draw his own conclusions.

“If you’re looking for work, we can use an extra hand at the hospital.”

The youth wiped his nose on the back of a dirty sleeve and let his eyes roam derisively over the dark blue uniform. “I don’t fancy workin’ fer no Yankee.”

The officer smiled leisurely. “We won’t demand that you shoot anyone.”

The translucent gray eyes narrowed with hatred. “I ain’t no lackey to wipe some Yankee’s boots. Go find you someone else, mister.”

“If you insist.” The man casually produced a long cheroot and took his time lighting it before continuing. “But I wonder if all that pride of yours keeps your belly full.”

The youngster lowered his gaze, too aware of the painful gnawing in his stomach to make any denials.

“When was the last time you ate?” the captain queried.

The urchin’s retort came sharply on the heels of a piercing glare. “Cain’t see it’s any of your business, blueleg.”

“Do your parents know where you are?” The man watched the youngster thoughtfully.

“They’d turn over in their graves if’n they did.”

“I see,” the officer said with more understanding. He glanced about until his gaze fell upon a small eating establishment located near the wharf,
then he looked back to the boy. “I was about to have a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?”

The boy raised cold, bright eyes to the tall captain. “Don’t need no handout.”

The Yankee shrugged. “Consider it a loan if you must. You may reimburse me when your fortunes improve.”

“My ma learnt me never to jaw with no strangers ner Yankees.”

The officer responded with a low chuckle of amusement. “Unable to deny the latter title, I can at least present myself. Captain Cole Latimer, assigned as surgeon to the hospital.”

Now the clear gray eyes betrayed a wide measure of distrust as they swept the officer. “I ain’ never seen no sawbones younger’n fifty, mister. Betcha you’re filling me full o’ rot.”

“I assure you, I am a doctor, and as to my age, I’m probably old enough to be your father.”

“Well, you sure ain’t
my
pa!” croaked the youth irately. “Not any damned Yankee butcher!”

A long, lean finger was thrust into the boy’s face, almost meeting the tip of the slim, arrogant nose. “Now look, boy. There are some folks here who would not take kindly to your choice of titles. You can bet they’d use stern measures to take some of the starch out of you. I’ve fished you out of one scrape, but I have no intention of playing nursemaid to any quick-tempered little whelp. So have a care for your manners.”

The grimy cheeks flexed with irritation. “I can take care o’ myself.”

Captain Latimer scoffed in disbelief. “By the
looks of you, somebody needs to take you in hand. When did you last wash, anyway?”

“You’re the nosiest bluebelly I’ve ever seent!”

“Ornery little runagate,” Cole Latimer muttered and gestured officiously. “Grab your bag and come with me.” He left the waif staring after him in dumb surprise and strode purposefully toward the eating establishment he had espied earlier. He had gone only a few paces when he sharpened his voice and, without glancing around, barked, “Hop to, boy! Don’t stand there gawking.”

The urchin scrambled in the officer’s wake, crushing the hat tighter on his head and struggling with his heavy case. Before the entryway of the wood frame structure, Cole Latimer paused. The youngster was a quick step behind, almost treading on the heels of the shiny black boots, but halted abruptly when inquiring blue eyes turned upon him.

“Do you have a name?”

The lad squirmed uneasily and glanced around him.

“You do have a name, don’t you?” Cole Latimer inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

A brief, reluctant nod gave him an affirmative answer. “Uh—Al! Al, sir.” The nod became more vigorous.

Throwing away his cigar, the captain arched a brow as he peered at the lad. “Is something wrong with your tongue?”

“N-no, sir,” Al stammered.

Skeptically eyeing the battered hat, Cole reached to push open the door. “Remember your manners, Al, and find a place for that thing besides the top of your head.”

The boy made a sorry attempt at a smile, glared at the Yankee’s back, and glumly followed him in. The stout matron of the place paused in her work to watch the two cross the room where they settled themselves at a small table that stood before a window. Her face betrayed no emotion as she contemplated the Yankee’s crisp, neat uniform and the lad’s ill-fitting garments, but when she returned to the task of chopping vegetables, a slight frown flitted across her brow.

Reluctantly copying Captain Latimer’s manner, Al pulled his hat off and slid into the chair indicated. In wry disbelief Cole surveyed the unevenly cropped thatch of mahogany brown hair, and his expression grew obviously pained.

“Who cut your hair like that, boy?” he asked. He missed the bottom lip which trembled at his question and caught only the croaked answer.

“Me.”

Cole laughed. “Your talents must lie in other directions.”

Silence answered him as the thin face turned to the window, and gray eyes brimmed with threatening tears. Not noting the lad’s distress, Cole beckoned the woman to their table where she stood with arms akimbo.

“Y’all get shrimp today,” she drawled roughly. “Bisque or creole. We got beer or coffee, tea or cow’s milk. What’s your choice, suh?” she asked, stressing the last word.

Cole ignored the satirical inflection in her voice, having grown accustomed to the disdain Southerners bore him or any soldier in blue. He had
arrived in New Orleans when General Butler governed the city, and the public animosity had been worse then. The General had tried to run the town like a military garrison, issuing orders and mandates that were supposed to solve any situation. Unable to understand or cope with the stubborn pride of the citizenry, he had failed miserably. Indeed, the city had been near a state of revolt when the general was recalled. Yet the man had been equally severe with his own troops, had even hung a few who had been caught stealing from civilians. New Orleans was not an easy city to manage and certainly not by the weak-willed. Because Butler had been harsh in his measures, he had been doubly unpopular, but the Southerners would have hated any Yankee placed in the general’s position.

“I’ll have the bisque and cool beer,” Cole decided. “And for the lad, anything he wishes with the exception of the beer.”

When the woman left them, the captain again studied his young companion. “New Orleans seems an unlikely destination for a boy who hates Yankees as much as you do. Have you kin here, or someone else to stay with?”

“Gotta uncle.”

“That’s a relief. I was afraid I would have to let you share my quarters.”

Al choked and had to cough to clear his throat. “Ain’t gonna bed down with no Yankee, that’s fer sure.”

Sighing impatiently, the captain came back to the subject of work. “I would assume you have need of some sort of income, but most of the civilians are in a hard way themselves. The Union Army is about
the only source capable of hiring you, and the hospital seems a good choice for one such as you. Unless, of course, you desire to join the sanitation crews and sweep the streets.”

Al controlled his glare only slightly.

“Can you write and cypher?”

“A little.”

“What does that mean? Can you pen your name, or can you do more?”

The boy stared at the officer with bristling anger, and his voice was flat as he retorted, “More, if’n I gotta.”

“We did have some blacks to clean at the hospital, but they enlisted in the army,” Cole commented. “We don’t have much of an Invalid Corps since the wounded that are capable of getting about are either returned to their units or sent back east to recover.”

“I ain’t gonna help heal no Yankee!” the boy hotly protested. A hint of tears brightened the translucent eyes as he spoke. “Y’all killed my pa and brother and drove my ma to her grave with yer infernal thievin’.”

Cole felt a pang of pity for the ragged lad. “I’m sorry, Al. My task is the saving of lives and the mending of men, whatever uniform they may wear.”

“Huh. I ain’t seen a Yankee yet who wouldn’t rather ride across our lands, burning and lootin’—”

“Just where are you from to have gained such a high opinion of us?” the captain interrupted brusquely.

“Upriver.”

“Upriver?” Sarcasm was bold in the captain’s tone. “Not Chancellorsville or Gettysburg? You’ve
heard of those places, haven’t you?” Despite the tightening lean jaw and the lowered gaze of the other, he didn’t ease his mockery. “Why, from your answer, I could assume you were a damn bluebelly just like me and had seen some of those Johnny Rebs swarming over our lands. Just how far upriver do you mean, boy? Baton Rouge? Vicksburg? Perhaps Minnesota?”

Stormy gray eyes flew to meet his and snapped with irate sparks. “Only a braying ass would come from Minnesotee!”

A warning finger made a reappearance beneath the lad’s slim nose. “Didn’t I tell you to mind your manners?”

“My manners is jes’ fine, Yankee.” Boldly he slapped the hand away. “It’s your’ns what got me riled. Ain’t yer ma ever tole you it weren’t nice to point?”

“Be careful,” the officer cautioned almost gently. “Or I’ll take down your britches and blister your backside good.”

With a gasp Al came half out of his chair, then crouched like a wild animal at bay. Indeed, a feral light gleamed in the lucid depths of his eyes. He jerked up his hat again and jammed it over his shabby hair. “You lay a finger on me, Yankee”—he ground the words out in a low, husky voice—“and you’ll draw back a nubbin. I ain’t taking no guff off’n no damned blueleg—”

In the face of this dire threat Cole Latimer rose and leaned forward deliberately until blue eyes stared into gray from a little more than a hand’s breadth apart. The captain’s eyes grew hard and flintlike. Yet when it came, his voice was soft and
slow. “You dare me, boy?” Before the urchin could move, the hat was snatched from the ragged head and slapped onto the table. The gray eyes grew wide in sudden distress. Cole continued, his tone unchanged. “Sit down. Shut up. Or I’ll do it here and now.”

The lad swallowed and could find no trace of anger to bolster his flagging courage. Quickly he sat down and, with considerably more respect, cautiously watched the Yankee.

Cole lowered himself into his chair and, studying the humbled one, spoke carefully and distinctly. “I have never been an abuser of children, nor of women—” The lad’s gaze never left the captain’s face, and he sat rigidly erect. “But if you tempt me enough, I might change my ways.”

The suddenly uncertain boy searched for his best manners. Lowering his eyes before the man’s regard, he folded his hands in his lap and sat meekly silent.

“That’s better.” Cole nodded his approval. “Now, how far upriver?”

The reply was barely heard. “A few miles north o’ Baton Rouge.”

Captain Latimer’s mouth softened into a lazy smile as the boy carefully avoided meeting his eyes. “I shall hope in the future that you will revise your opinion of me, Al.” The lad raised his gaze and appeared somewhat bemused until the officer explained. “My home is farther upriver—Minnesota.”

Embarrassment joined confusion in a rapid play over the sprig’s face. He was rescued from his predicament when the portly matron returned to their
table, skillfully balancing a huge tray on one hand. With a total lack of fanfare, she placed large steaming bowls of the spicy bisque before them. Shortly, these were joined by a plate of warm biscuits and another of cornmeal-battered catfish, deep fried to a golden brown. The woman had hardly retreated from their table before the boy began munching on a piece of fish and as rapidly spooning the rich broth into his mouth. For a long moment Cole watched in amusement until the ravenous youngling became aware of the officer’s attention. Suddenly abashed, Al laid down the fish and slowed his spooning. Captain Latimer chuckled lightly, then turned his interest to the tantalizingly delicious food.

Though the boy had eaten heartily at first, he seemed to satisfy his hunger quickly and dallied with the remainder of his food while Cole consumed his portions more leisurely, savoring each taste fully. When he finished the meal, the captain sat back and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“Do you know where your uncle lives?”

A quick nod answered him, and Cole rose, tossed down several bills, and picked up his hat. He gestured for the lad to follow. “Come on. If I still have a horse outside, we’ll see about getting you to your uncle’s.”

The youngster readily hoisted his case and hurried out the door after the tall man. He could hardly refuse the captain, and besides, riding was infinitely better than walking. Struggling with the valise and the weight of the heavy boots, he staggered behind his guardian. The unlikely procession of unwashed ragamuffin and impeccably groomed officer made
its way to where a tall, long-legged roan stood tethered in the shade. Gathering the reins, Cole turned to consider the slim lad and his burden.

“Do you think you can stay on behind me and hold your gear?”

“Yeah.” The boy swaggered a bit. “I been riding since I was little.”

“Get up there then. I’ll hand you the valise.”

Cole held the horse while the lad attempted to step into the high stirrup, but once in it he had not the span to throw his other leg over the saddle.