1882: Custer in Chains (34 page)

Sarah sagged and Ruta caught her eye. The two of them shrugged and the others nodded. “Well,” Ruta said with a forced smile, “I always wanted to see Havana.”

* * *

Even though there was a Red Cross flying from a flagpole outside the Spanish hospital, it bore little resemblance to the conditions in the American army. The hospital personnel they saw were poorly trained and there was little appearance of hygiene. It was as if the concept had not yet been introduced in the Spanish army.

Following their capture, the five nurses had been taken by wagon to see Governor-General Vlas Villate. They were frightened but tried not to show it. His reputation for cruelty and harshness was well known. Before being given over to Villate, Sarah had asked the captain if he really would have permitted his men to strip and display them. He’d laughed hugely, “Of course not. Spaniards are not barbarians.”

Villate smiled when they were taken to his office. “You ladies are an unintended bonus. And since you are Red Cross personnel and not any part of the U.S. Army, you will be treated with utmost respect. Until and if arrangements are made for your return, you will work as you did, but in a Spanish hospital and treating Spanish wounded. I trust you will not decline the honor.”

The young captain might have been making a cruel joke about mistreating them, but Villate was a monster. They would not take any chances.

Sarah forced a smile. “Then we will not consider declining. We would appreciate it if you could somehow arrange for us to receive better clothing, since we left in such a hurry.”

Villate had been trying to eye their bodies through their nightgowns and whatever else they had thrown on. “You’ve made an excellent decision. One of the good sisters at the cathedral will see to it that you are properly dressed. Although I sincerely doubt that any of you are virgins, I believe you will make most fetching nuns.”

Only a few hours later, they found themselves working under the stern supervision of one Sister Maria Magdalena, a very large woman who called herself a nurse but who knew little about the craft, and a very young Doctor Pedro Juarez. The doctor had been trying hard, but was overwhelmed by the number of wounded. His assistants were few and mostly incompetent. Thus, he welcomed the five Americans and promised them good treatment in return for good work. The nurses thought that was fair. He also said they would sleep in the convent near the cathedral for the time being.

Sister Maria, on the other hand, made it clear that she despised them. Not only were they not Catholic, but they were Americans, a nation she hated because it was filled with heretics. She made it known that she would have them whipped if they offended her, and the American women believed her.

“This is better than being kept in a dungeon,” Ruta muttered and the others concurred as they dressed in religious garments. “I’m not too sure I like being dressed like a postulant or a novice nun, but this will work.”

Because of language issues, they were assigned to work as a group and under Doctor Juarez. His English was basic at best and they decided to try to use Spanish as much as possible. After their time in Cuba, Sarah’s Spanish had become fairly decent, and Ruta seemed to have a flair for languages. Despite their dislike for their current condition, they determined to do their best to help the hundreds of wounded who looked at them beseechingly. Their first job would be to sweep the filth off the floors and try to get the men fresh bandages and bedding. Sarah wondered what Sister Magdalena would be doing and the doctor had shaken his head and said that the real nun would be watching them.

“These are the enlisted men,” Doctor Juarez said with a tinge of bitterness. “The officers have their own hospital and doctors and, yes, the best of Spanish nurses. Please do not be offended, but the officers have kept the best for themselves and left these men with the dregs.”

“We are not offended,” said Sarah. “And we will do our best to help these men. I can only hope, however, that none of them is returned to duty to fight against my countrymen.”

“You know I cannot control that.”

Ruta smiled sweetly. “Then perhaps you can grant us one other favor. Would you be able to have Sister Mary Dragon transferred elsewhere?”

Juarez smiled and rolled his eyes. “I will do my best, but there is a rumor that her far lovelier cousin is General Villate’s mistress.”

* * *

Fire and shells from the American guns had damaged Diego Salazar’s estate, the place where Kendrick and Juana had cuckolded him. It enraged him. The structure was largely intact, but his home had been profaned. He would not live there again. Not only was it the place where his faithless wife had betrayed him, but it was also the place where his mistress, Helga, had plundered much of his wealth before disappearing.

He had arrived to find his two remaining servants cowering in the basement. Helga had arrived a few days earlier with several Cuban women and had taken all of his cash and anything else of value they could carry off. The servants said they had tried to stop her but that she had cursed them, threatened them, and beaten them badly. Salazar doubted their story. For one thing, there were no bruises on them and, for another, the two were consummate cowards and liars.

Helga had somehow managed to get from Salazar’s quarters at Matanzas to Havana ahead of the routed army. Loaded with their loot, they had then left Havana where he was told by an informer that she’d found a way to take a ship to Mexico with her child. Well, that part of his life was over. When Spain was victorious, he would find another aristocratic woman to service him. In the meantime, one of the servants would do. They wouldn’t like it, but they would not protest overmuch. They would cooperate and be rewarded or defy him and be terribly hurt.

What he would really like to do was gather his reconstituted legion and storm the estate of the British Consul, Redford Dunfield. Once in the villa, he would castrate Kendrick with his sword and turn Juana over to his men to enjoy while he watched. If Kendrick had not bled to death, he would hack him to pieces. The fanatic monsignor from Rome might disapprove, but he would also understand. The woman was a sinner. She had to be punished. Besides, Salazar thought with a hint of whimsy, he could always go to Confession from Monsignor Bernardi and beg forgiveness. Bernardi would hate it, but would comply.

Salazar started as he realized that the annoying priest was beside him. “What are you thinking of, Colonel?” the priest asked.

“I’m thinking of a beautiful picture. In it, my whore of a wife is burning at the stake while her shit of a lover is being drawn and quartered.”

Bernardi laughed nervously. He never knew when his partner was kidding or not. “Your hatred of her for her sins is compelling. However and as before, now is not the time for the luxury of a personal vendetta. First we must find ways to help Spain defend Havana and defeat the Americans. Then you can see to the painful destruction of your faithless wife and her heretic lover.”

* * *

Sarah and the other American nurses had just taken up mops, brooms, and anything they could use as a weapon to wield against a furious and steadily advancing Sister Magdalena, when the door to their ward opened. To their astonishment, Governor-General Villate stood there. Beside him was a very nervous Doctor Juarez and what appeared to be a bald American man in his late thirties. He looked amused at the scenario, while Villate appeared outraged. Juarez looked like he would pass out from fear caused by being so close to the dreaded and thoroughly angry Villate.

“What the devil is going on?” Villate demanded.

Ruta stepped forward. “Do you see this bruise on my face?” she said angrily. There was indeed a red blotch on her cheek and it was turning purple. It fairly well matched one on Sister Magdalena’s chin. “We are nurses, General, not cattle to be whipped and beaten. This vile creature decided we weren’t working hard enough and started hitting us with her broom, and I think it’s the same one she rides around on.”

“You are lazy American whores and swine,” snarled the nun. She turned to Villate. “This creature struck me. I am a woman of God and I demand that she be flogged within an inch of her heretical life.”

Sarah laughed mockingly. “A woman of God? I can’t think of a god that would have you.”

When Sister Magdalena started to charge like an enraged bear, the other American nurses formed a phalanx and she paused. This gave Villate a moment to put himself between them. When he did, he looked around at the scores of wounded soldiers on their cots. They were looking at him with expressions of fear and hatred, and it dawned on him that if many of them could move, they would rise up and tear him to bloody pieces. He then wondered if they had been searched for weapons—might some of them have knives hidden in their rags? He put his hand on his pearl-handled revolver and signaled for his bodyguards to come into the ward.

Villate sighed. “The gringo who is enjoying this insane debacle is Mr. James Kendrick, an American reporter. It has been an open secret that he’s been in Havana at the home of the British Consul and periodically spying on us while writing articles about your foolish President Custer. It has been decided that he will write an article about how you American nurses are caring for Spanish soldiers and becoming beloved by them and all the time being treated well by us.” Sister Magdalena gasped and turned away on hearing the comments.

Kendrick? Sarah quickly recognized the name from her conversations with Martin. And this Kendrick was staying with Custer with the British Consul? How very interesting, she thought. Might she and the others manage to finesse their way into the consulate where they would be relatively safe when the battle started? But that would mean abandoning the wounded men they now thought of as their own. She would have to think on that. These poor creatures were not her enemy.

Sarah smiled warmly. “We would all be thrilled to be interviewed by the esteemed Mr. Kendrick, but not here. We would also appreciate it if he was allowed to send some personal messages to our families regarding our situation.”

“Everyone in the United States is aware of your situation,” Kendrick said. “But I will see to it that each of you is allowed to send personal messages to loved ones.”

“But any interviews will take place here,” said Villate.

“Then there will be no interviews,” snapped Sarah.

“And why not?” asked a bewildered Villate.

“Because we are sick and tired of being pushed around and being treated as property instead of human beings,” Ruta answered. “We were stolen like cattle, treated barbarically, and now, after our working hard to save the lives of your soldiers, you won’t grant us that one little favor?”

Villate looked away. It was clear that he didn’t give a damn about the lives of the Cuban peasant soldiers in the ward. He took a deep breath and turned back. “I will graciously concede. The interviews will take place in Mr. Dunfield’s residence. There you will have the privacy to tell Mr. Kendrick anything you desire without having to worry about being overheard or misinterpreted.”

“I will watch out for them and make sure that they say nothing that would slander Spain,” said Sister Magdalena.

Before Villate could respond, Kendrick interjected. “You will do no such thing. Mr. Dunfield will not permit you to enter the consulate. Besides,” he continued, “General Villate will be given copies of everything I’ve written before it is sent. If there are mistakes, I’m certain he will, ah, correct them.”

Even Villate smiled at the blatant falsehood. By the time he read Kendrick’s writings, the text would be well on its way to Washington.

* * *

Mercedes de Milan had not been feeling well. Her stomach ached and she was having trouble keeping food down, which made her crabby and irritable. One of her friends told her that her problems signaled the approach of old age. She hated the thought of aging. Just that morning she had looked in her mirror and seen new wrinkles and a few more strands of gray hair. The hair she could dye, but the wrinkles were there forever. She could hide some of them with heavy makeup, but she had seen older women using too much and ending up looking like clowns. She hated growing old and it made her short-tempered.

Even though she was uncomfortable having Diego Salazar in her house, she could think of no reason to deny him entrance or even be concerned about it. Yes, he was a monster who murdered his enemies, but he was also a Spanish gentleman and, yes, he had what some people considered deviant sexual appetites, but they were appetites shared and enjoyed by so many other men. And, she smiled to herself, some women as well.

She received him in her parlor. She did not sit down and she did not invite him to do so either. “To what do I owe this honor, Colonel?” she said sarcastically. Her stomach had just started cramping. “I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to show yourself here since the abortive attack on this house.”

Salazar smiled nervously. “That was an unfortunate mistake. Yes, I wanted to take back my wife and yes, I wanted to punish her lover, but there was never any intent to harm anyone. My men misunderstood. They were overzealous and they have been disciplined.”

Disciplined? Mercedes had seen their dead bodies. Rojas had taken her out to the place where they’d been dumped. “Then why did they carry knives and guns, Colonel?”

“Why, to protect themselves against Kendrick and your guardian, Rojas. By the way, where is the very large Hector Rojas?”

She smiled tightly. Why did he want to know? Mercedes wondered. “He is running a brief errand for me. He will return momentarily.”

Salazar’s eyes suddenly blazed with fury and she realized she shouldn’t have admitted that Rojas had gone at all. “Why did you protect my whore of a wife?” he snarled. “I deserve to know.”

Mercedes was not easily intimidated, and the pain in her stomach overwhelmed her caution, “To protect her from a pig like you.”

Salazar screamed his fury and punched her with all his might in the middle of her frail chest. She staggered backwards and then fell to the floor. She gasped and lay on her back with her arms outstretched. Salazar watched in grim fascination as her eyes rolled back in her head and her arms and legs twitched uncontrollably.