Chapter Twenty
Lucas had slept so soundly that he’d not heard the guard come in the night to notify Rachel that her note with the signature“S”had received General Grant’s attention. Rachel gazed out the window as she dressed, the North Star appearing as a brilliant point of light against the velvet night. The waxing moon, soft and smooth as a silvery disc, slanted light over Lucas’ sleeping form.
Later, she’d pen a letter to Lucas, but it did little to assuage the thickness in her throat. He’d be furious. He’d hate her.
Lucas had told her she was his, and she’d cherish that thought until her last days. He gave her many things. He was the first man who really understood her. The first man to whom she bared her soul. He understood her mulish independent streak. Intelligent and noble, he plied her with challenges yielding nothing but his consideration of her. Despite the reckless risks she took, he had saved her many times. But falling in love with Lucas was something she had never imagined.
No. She should never have become involved with him. The attachment complicated her life too much.
Yet she’d never give up one moment of the time she spent with him. She was young with Lucas, almost carefree. She had fallen in love. She had learned what it meant to give herself completely, body and soul, to another. Each moment she cherished, and set fire to memory, so they’d be forever imprinted on her mind, as warm and real as they had been when they were first made.
But if anyone would chance to see her face now, they’d never guess the misery beneath, or her shattered heart for without a doubt, Rachel knew Lucas would never admit that he needed her help. She knew the danger he was in. The only way to help him was to meet with General Grant, go to Washington unhindered and figure out who was behind the Copperhead plot.
She moved silently to the bed. Lucas slept, a contented smile on his lips and so appealing in repose. They had made love several times, the last with such ferocity, it humbled her. Rachel smoothed back his hair shimmering in the moonlight, and kissed him one last time.
God help me. She tasted the saltiness of her own tears. In his sleep, Lucas mumbled something about loving her. As the cold thinning light heralded the approach of dawn, Rachel’s heart broke in two.
* * *
“You’re a woman!” General Grant boomed like two cannons.
She had been informed that the Commander of the Union Army was calm and staid, but the idea of the Saint being a female had not occurred to him. Rachel smiled. She expected nothing less. “None of your officers must know I’m the Saint. No one. It is imperative more than ever that no one knows.”
Several of his attending generals, officers and clerks had been called upon and now crowded around a large table inside a large home that had been confiscated. Rachel divulged all the pertinent information stored in her head. She pored over maps, wrote down names, drew descriptions of places and Southern movements of lines. The torrent of information amazed those sitting around her as they nodded nods heads in approval and wide-eyed amazement. General Grant frowned at times as he bit thoughtfully on his cigar. She did not reveal Colonel Ryan Rourke’s encampment. He had helped them escape, and she owed him.
The questioning rose like a wild tsunami. Rachel tried to keep up with the torturous changes in rapid-fire conversation. She had always passed on information through her network, never coming in personal contact with Union officials. How odd to be discussing matters of war with generals. She shrugged. It was really no different than sitting in a parlor discussing the weather.
With her knuckles, she kneaded a growing ache in her lower back, and then remembered the gesture to be unladylike. “As you see—” She stifled a yawn and she worked to keep her weary mind focused. Her lovemaking with Lucas all night long had taken its toll.
In no mood to agree, General Grant sighed irritably and motioned to one of his aides. “Get Miss Pierce a chair and pour us some coffee.” Rubbing his wrists, he added, “I hate the advent of winter. The cold and dampness makes my joints ache.”
After hours of uninterrupted deliberation, she completed everything she knew.
“Oh, and one more thing—” She looked to General Grant for permission to continue.
“We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
“Colonel Lucas Rourke is in camp.” Rachel explained how he’d been kidnapped from Washington, brutally tortured yet never divulged any information. “He came to my rescue several times during our escape. He is a true hero and should receive recognition and promotion.”
She stared at every man present to make sure there would be no misconstruing of Lucas’ disappearance. If assumptions caught fire with alleged desertion, he could face demotion, court-martial or hanging if they believed he worked as a spy for the Confederacy.
“A hero?” Grant paused, lit his cigar. The fragrance of rich tobacco wafted over them.
“He saved me several times. Without him, I’d not be standing here telling you of this plot.”
She impressed everyone.
A general standing next to General Grant interrupted. “Excuse me, did you say Colonel Rourke?”
“Yes. Is there something pressing?” Rachel asked, ready to defend if necessary.
“I’m General Webster. He nodded to her. “My daughter, Susan, will be delighted with the news. You see, they are very much in love and to be wed.”
“Wed?” A coldness hit at her core. Everyone’s faces blurred. She placed her palms on the table to steady herself.
You’ve lost him.A hysterical voice roared in her head, but another voice, a pitiful, more heartbreaking one, said,you never had him.
“My daughter’s been inconsolable since Colonel Rourke’s disappearance,” said General Webster.
