“Yes.”
“Thank you for warming me.”
“Get some sleep,” he said, and she fell silent again. Lucas saw a star flash brightly, and briefly across the sky, before burning out over the horizon.
“Did you see it?”
“Uhm-m.” He rested his chin on her head, breathing in roses and horses.
“Chief Standing Bear said a shooting star was an influence of past conditions affecting the present and the future, similar to waves hitting the bow of a canoe. Such a prophetic sign indicated a portent of change, such as a storm, or poor harvest, or a healthy child to be born.”
Lucas chuckled. “Ah, the mechanisms of omens…if you say ‘money’ three times before the star burns out, you will be yanked from poverty. Or like an adolescent, placing a rag over his face and wishing away his pimples.”
“I like Standing Bear’s philosophy better.”
Her long ago friendship with the Indians made her unique, unlike the majority of people who made it a point to hate the unfamiliar. Rachel embraced them and gathered values and wisdom from their way of life. Her underlying sensitivity touched his heart.
“What are your opinions on Lincoln?” she said.
Lucas smiled. “The man has many credits which are inherent in his character. I respect his ironclad will in preserving the Union. It’s been a long, aggrieved war, yet he has never become bitter. His unyielding faith in victory, I believe, will yield triumph in the end. He is honest, sincere and his ambitions are directed to a higher purpose.”
Rachel turned, offhandedly amused. “Your adulation of President Lincoln sounds unwavering.”
“I’ve met the man a few times, but I believe he has great nobility of character that lends itself to his selflessness and kindly spirit.”
“He received less than forty percent of the popular vote. He is tall, awkward and some say, apelike.” She waited for some goading, some crossing of swords.
He raised his brows. “Your perspective on our President seems to fall short of the mark.”
“Not at all,” she said, silently pleased at his defensive stance of the President. “I am curious of your thoughts about meetings with the man. He has affected you.”
“Most definitely, and who knows, maybe someday, I’ll arrange for you to have the opportunity of meeting him.”
“Perhaps,” she said smugly and snuggled warmer into his greatcoat. Seeing the falling star made her think about her family and, suddenly, she wanted to know about Lucas’ family. “Now, Colonel Rourke,” she teased, “I know little about you. Tell me about your family and yourself. It is only fair.” She could almost feel the heat radiating from his chest as he took a shine to the topic.
“Even though I came from a very well-respected Virginia family, privilege came with demands. There remained an expectation of hard work, both of physical and mental nature. We labored as hard as anyone else on the land we owned in the Shenandoah. Education was paramount as well. The atmosphere in our home was proper yet energized with discussions where we boys were required to lead debates on any chosen topic. I grew quick to pounce on any failure of fact or logic. And I can say, discussion ended afterward with many fights behind the barn.”
Rachel considered Lucas. From one of Virginia’s foremost families, he would seem the unlikely champion of the Union especially with two brothers high up in the Southern military. In the seat of wealth, he’d grown as the second son of a plantation owner.
“Despite the philosophy of slaveholders, my father and brothers decided long before the war to free the slaves. Rachel, you and your father helping to free slaves belonging to other plantations is honorable and has struck a chord—history will remain the judge of war.”
To think Lucas was an abolitionist. Never would she have guessed, and his admonition raised him a notch in her esteem.
“With this conflict, I couldn’t straddle the fence. I chose the Union regardless of going up against my family.”
His arms tensed, and her heart ached for him. “I’m sure it was a difficult decision for you,” she offered. The division of North and South cut deeply, dividing families and not surprisingly the Rourkes faced the same difficulty.
“I’ve known the tragedy of Manassas, suffered battle wounds at Antietam. Worked for General McClellan under the approved formation of a new company of scouts to find out what the Confederates were doing. The familiar Virginia countryside being my backyard and the easy drawl of my accent lent credence to my creditability of being there. Through a developed slave network and dedicated Northern sympathizers, I was able to secure information for the North and promoted upward.”
Accustomed to horses and hunting, the usual nuances of a country boy, he’d worked his way up the hard way, earning his significant post. In contrast, men of southern gentility presented a less worldly figure, cunning bred out of them by the impotence of leisure and wealth. Lucas cut a fine figure, far removed from southern aristocracy.
He remained silent for a while. He’d tell her what was bothering him in his own good time.
“I dream of reuniting with my family, of the warm summer days and cold nights of the Shenandoah. My home. But that is all changed.” He paused in reflection.
“Still, I like to remember the good times we shared growing up. There are four of us. My older brother, John, who as you know is a general, and I expect what I’m about to tell you will remain confidential?”
“Of course.”
