Captive (15 page)

“Oh, excuse me, you did want me out of your room, didn’t you, Miss Warren? Well, then, I must behave like a civilized being, and remember that I am half white.”

His hands fell from her. He bent low in a mocking, graceful bow.

Then he spun on bare feet and strode firmly toward the balcony doors. He paused briefly to snatch up the discarded sheet from the chair.

Then he disappeared into the bright glare of the morning sunlight.

“I
could swear I said good-bye to you last night,” Jarrett told James, joining him in the library.

James, in a white shirt and dark breeches, sat behind his brother’s desk, only the doeskin boots he wore a departure from the latest European fashion. His legs were extended atop the desk, ankles crossed. He leaned back, a brandy snifter in his hand, amber liquid swirling within it, a somber expression on his face.

Before he could reply, Jarrett told him hastily, “Not that I am not glad to see you here. Every time you ride out these days, my heart seems to jam in my throat again for fear I’ll never see you again.”

James smiled, lifting his glass to his brother. “Thank you for that sentiment, Jarrett. You are a damned good brother.”

Jarrett took a seat on the edge of the desk. “Why the brooding?”

James shook his head, paused, seeking an answer in his own mind. “There are times when I feel that I can function, that I can play my part in all this, follow my conscience, and come out perhaps not only alive but sane. But I was just thinking now how easy my life is at this moment. I come here and eat good food. My revenue from the lands we share keeps me well clothed. But I have run with warrior bands when they have been forced to move their villages, their old, their women, and their children. I have watched children grow skeletal for lack of food, and I haven’t the power to feed them all. Now I sit in your fine leather chair, and there is no
threat to my back when I look out at the beauty of your lawn and the river. I have had the luxury of giving you my daughter. But then again, I cannot simply stay here. I cannot forget Mary, the ways I was taught as a boy.”

“There is not a minute that I do not worry about Mary in all this,” Jarrett said tensely.

“I know that you worry, that you are every bit as good a son to her as I am. But you can’t change the fact that you are all white. I can’t change the fact that I am not. I can’t forget my friends, my people. When the white soldiers threaten the villages, I find myself in the fight. I’ve tried so damned hard never to deny anything that I am … and as I have said, sometimes I function. I can carry on a conversation with any of your dinner guests, I can be the intriguing oddity at your socials. I can join the parleys with the American generals and agents, and I can, better than most, translate the truth of all the words and the falsehoods of the promises to both the whites and the Seminoles. But there are days when I feel that it will soon cost me my soul.”

Jarrett stared at him a moment. “I think I need a brandy, too,” he told his brother, and walked to the small table where the crystal decanter and snifters were kept. He poured himself a small portion, paused, doubled it. He leaned against his desk again, facing James. “It’s got to end soon.”

James shook his head. “No. Think on it, Jarrett, before it all began. You tried to warn the white brass what was coming. Hell, all the Indians were trading their otter pelts for gunpowder. Lots of warriors were planning this. You yourself said that the treaty of Moultrie Creek was an abomination, but it was supposed to have stood for another nine years. It wasn’t to be. Too many Indian lands just looked too damn good. Wiley Thompson chained Osceola, Osceola murdered Thompson, and Dade and his men were massacred. Now we have General Thomas Sydney Jesup. He scares me the most. Jesup has come in with the determination to remove all red men from Tampa Bay to the Withlacoochee. He has
realized what kind of a fight he has on his hand—that he must find the manpower to hold his forts and depots and still have enough soldiers left to pursue his enemy into the swampland. He’s doing one hell of a job of it. He keeps his men in the field. I know his problems with the volunteers and militia who have poured in from the southern states. I’ve heard how some of them came with such bold courage and raw nerve and lost it when the owls hooted in the night and the wolves bayed at the moon. But Jesup is damned good at moving himself. He is a sharp, intelligent man. I understand he and Winfield Scott are now all but bitter enemies over his movement in the Creek War, but from the viewpoint of an enemy, Jesup’s speed and preparedness far surpass Scott’s!” He lifted his hands. “Many of the warriors signed the truce this spring—believing that they did so in Micanopy’s name. It was then that
your
newspapers so viciously attacked the man because he stipulated that the Indians
and their allies
would be free in the west, the
allies
being the Negros who are free men here or who have become slaves of the Indians here. Too many white men were too damned determined to have their blacks returned to them.”

“There are black bands among the Seminoles,” Jarrett reminded him. “Many people were afraid that their former slaves would be attacking them in their towns and cities.”

“I know,” James said softly. “But can you blame the former slaves who have found freedom? What man will willingly give it up after he has tasted it?”

“No man,” Jarrett said. “I have said these things to friends in politics and in the military. Jesup has told me, though, that the orders regarding escaped slaves come straight from Washington.”

“Ah, yes. Secretary of War Poinsett! Under President Martin Van Buren. Protege of past president Andy Jackson Well, now, he has never hidden any of his feelings for the red man, has he?”

“No one in Washington seems to have much choice
with the current mood of the country. There is a growing voice among the abolitionists, but I don’t think it will grow loud enough to help matters down here anytime soon. It is a volatile issue on Capitol Hill.”

“It has always been. Thomas Jefferson knew it was going to be a viper’s nest when he drafted the Declaration of Independence.”

Jarrett grimaced. “You did study your American history.”

“I always did intend to survive. Know your enemy and all that.”

“Well, I’m American, and I’m not your enemy. I’m your brother.”

James lifted his glass again. “And a damned good one, as we’ve both agreed!”

“Here, here!” Jarrett said, lifting his snifter as well. “Are you going to stay awhile then? I’d be delighted.”

“No, I can’t stay. Perhaps just a little longer … but I’ve got to get to those who’ve agreed to come into Fort Brooke and make sure they understand the provisions. I need to find Osceola—”

“Who surely will keep this war going on forever and ever,” Jarrett interrupted.

James hesitated. He stared into his snifter and then looked at his brother. “I don’t know. He’s not well.”

“Sick?”

James shrugged. “He has suffered from fever. He has not looked strong since.” He hesitated again. “I even wonder if some of his power is not fading.”

“Trust me, his name is spoken with dread among the white soldiers.”

“Osceola is a strange man. Fascinating, charismatic—and as much feared by some of the Seminole chiefs as he is by the whites. Some honor him, some wish to honor more traditional leaders. I do admit that I admire him greatly, yet I feel that I know him better than others. I also feel he has been wrong at times. But I have to return to him, ride with him. And when he is anxious to parley, I am anxious to do the talking for him. I pray
daily, to Mary’s Supreme Spirit and our father’s God, that this will end. But, Jarrett, it will not. No matter how far south or how deep into the swamp we are pushed, warriors will fight. Fight and run. Oh, many will agree to go west. Anything at all will look better than the life they are forced to lead here. Even barren desert out in no man’s land with the Creeks! And hundreds will die. The blood that streams from us all is red, and will cover the landscape like rivers. I can see it, and I hate it, but I cannot stop it. I can only let it take me where it will.”

“James, no man can do more than you have done, try harder than you have tried. You have been true to your heritage—to all of your heritage. We can only do the best we can in the windstorm that sweeps us. I hate to say this because I fear for you, because I wish I could make you safe from army guns, but you must do as you said before—follow the dictates of your conscience. Then, my brother, no matter what else happens, you will save your soul.”

James rolled his glass in his hand, then looked at Jarrett, smiled and shrugged. “You’re not just a damned good brother, Jarrett. You are a wise and damned good man.”

“Thank you. I strive for perfection.”

“Is Tara aware of that?” James teased.

“I’m trying to convince her.”

“To Tara!” James lifted his glass. He shook his head again. “Damned fine brandy. The comfort of being here, though, does cause me shades of guilt. To feel so filled, so warmed, to sleep in such … comfort,” he said, strangling out the last a little.

Jarrett frowned at him.

“I’m growing too fond of the brandy.” He set his snifter down and rose. He strode to the window. “Jesup is supposed to clear good land of all the red men. But there are a lot of bands out there in that region. Osceola is near, Philip, Alligator. Jesup will have to march his men hard through the jungle and swamp. But I believe
Jesup will do it. I hate it, Jarrett!” he said suddenly, passionately. “I hate knowing that it will go on and on and that I am tangled within it, straddling a precarious fence, having to fight when I don’t want to fight, speaking out desperately and knowing half the time my words are barely heard. I hate repeating lies. I hate praying that it might end … I pray for a future. For Jennifer. For myself. For a different time, a different life.”

“I know,” Jarrett said quietly. “Dear God, I know.”

“I wish …” James began again, but then he paused, the slightest smile curving his lip as he stared out the glass pane to the sweep of lawn beyond. “There’s Tara, riding. Your wife is really quite exceptional, you know.”

“Yes, I think so,” Jarrett agreed.

James frowned to his brother. “She is careful how far she rides these days?” He had first met his sister-in-law when his own band had still lived close, and Tara had ridden a little too far and recklessly into the interior. Jarrett had determined that she’d learned her lesson that way, but James worried that she didn’t realize thing had only grown worse since the beginning of the war.

“She is very careful. She never leaves the property,” Jarrett assured him.

“She is riding with Warren’s daughter,” James murmured.

“Mmm,” Jarrett said with some annoyance.

James sighed. “I have apologized to you for my rudeness to her at your party.”

“But have you apologized to her?”

“I believe I have explained myself to her,” James said, his voice just a little tense.

“If you’re staying at all, perhaps we could join them. And you could be polite—just on my account.”

“I will be polite,” James said flatly.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Jarrett, we’re grown men!”

“Cross your heart. Even Mary used to make you do that, remember?”

“I resent your doubting my word.”

“Your word will always be good with me,” Jarrett assured him. “Especially when you cross your heart,” he added.

James sighed loudly to show his brother his impatience. “Cross my heart.” He made the motion with a vast show of exaggeration. “Now, did you want to join your wife before she’s old and gray?”

“Ready when you are,” Jarrett said, sweeping an arm toward the door and bowing politely.

“Too much white blood in you,” James said, shaking his head. But he grinned as he walked past his brother.

The McKenzie property was vast and beautiful, Teela quickly realized. She loved it. She loved the oaks that dripped with moss over the creeks, and she loved the manicured lawn and the slope to the river. Tara had shown her numerous trees and plants, otters scurrying into the water, colorful birds soaring from the surface of it into the incredible blue sky. They had ridden through grazing fields and farmlands. She had pointed the way to Robert Trent’s, their nearest neighbor’s home, and she had pointed out to Teela the trail that had led to her brother-in-law’s village. “Of course, there is little there anymore. Some of the cabins still stand, but James has moved his people, those who did not die with the fever or in the conflict.”

“He was close?”

“Very close.”

“His wife … ?” Teela inquired, then gasped softly. “She wasn’t killed by soldiers, was she, Tara?”

Tara shook her head, eyes narrowing at Teela. “The yellow fever took her. He has grieved for her terribly. Sometimes I think that is why he is able to ride so recklessly, going from the war chiefs to the white officers, heedless of bullets or arrows that might stop him. He loved her very deeply, and I don’t think he has accepted
her death. He had another daughter, a little older than Jennifer, as sweet and adorable and innocent as you could possibly imagine. She died with her mother. If Jennifer had not survived, I might wonder whether James would care about his own life at all. Of course, he and Jarrett are closer than most full brothers. Their bond is tight; life has made it so.”

Teela stared down the overgrown trail, feeling her heart pound painfully again. James had deeply loved his wife; he mourned her still. Perhaps the whites had not killed her, but she had died in the midst of this awful war. She felt slightly faint, remembering both his touch and his angry words. What had she expected? He had come into her room because she had come into his. She had teased; he had taken. There was nowhere for them to go. He was sorry only that he had defiled a woman he considered to be a friend’s fiancée. There was nothing there. No emotion other than passion, no force other than basic human need.

What
had
she expected, what had she wanted? He was a half-breed living most of his days in a savage swamp, inviting bullets. He was contemptuous of her, wanted nothing more from her than what he had taken.