::  A Civil War Story  ::

Chapter Four

The light slashed across his face and Skinner groaned. Already, the heat enveloped him. He swatted a fly as he got out of bed and padded over to the bowl and pitcher. Quickly shaving, he donned his uniform. God, how he had come to hate blue wool. He silently vowed he would retire as soon as the war was over and when he did he would never again wear wool.

Strapping on his sword, he grabbed his hat and flung open the door. His foot connected with Langley’s body and Skinner nearly went sprawling across the hallway. "What the hell!" he roared as the private yelped and stumbled to attention. Skinner stared at him and growled, "What time did you get off guard duty, private?"

Bleary eyed and barely awake, even after his scare, Langley peered at his surroundings, as if looking for the answer. "'Bout dawn, I think, sir."

Glancing at his pocket watch, Skinner muttered, "That was only two hours ago."

"If you say so, sir."

Sighing, Skinner pointed to the bedroom. "Pull your blanket in there and get some sleep. You’re on your own though when Frohike comes looking for you."

Langley couldn’t even stifle a yawn. "Yes, sir. Thank you, General, sir."

Skinner wanted, no, needed coffee. He hastily made his way down the staircase, avoiding even looking at the door leading to the room where they had found him last night. He had just entered the dining room when Doggett came through the front door. "Morning, General."

"Morning, John. The men finish laying out the camp?" Skinner grabbed a cup from the sideboard, filled it from the chipped China coffee pot and sat down, just as a private came in with a plate and placed it in front of him. Skinner eyed the food in surprise and snapped. "Where did you get the eggs?"

The private quailed at the harsh question, "Sir?"

Skinner stood up and glowered. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear. You were not to touch Mrs. Mulder’s fields or provisions."

Doggett cleared his throat. "Sir, they didn’t. We…ah…Everything is from the Spender place."

Skinner sighed. "John, I appreciate it, I don’t remember the last egg I ate. But, what of the people on Spender’s land? They need to eat too."

Doggett studied the pattern on the coffee cup he had picked up. "They’re gone, sir."

"Gone? All of them?"

"Yes, sir."

His voice dropped to a deadly quiet level. "Major, how many slaves were working on that plantation?"

Doggett considered for a moment. "From what the colonel told me, sir, at least a hundred including the women and kids."

Taking a deep breath, Skinner demanded, "One hundred! Where? Where the hell could they go? And most importantly, why didn’t we know about it? If over one hundred former slaves can just walk out of the area, then how many rebel spies can sneak in!"

Doggett shrugged. "We don’t know, sir. Last evening, Colonel Farrell sent a detachment to guard against looting and when they got there everybody was gone, even that fellow who saved the colonel’s life. Funny thing, the smokehouse and the cellar under the house were full and wide open. The cellar looks like the senator was hoarding quite a bit. Stone just left to start an inventory."

Skinner sat back down and ate the eggs as well as the biscuits and gravy that accompanied them. But, something nagged at him. He pushed his plate away and finished his coffee. Chewing on his lower lip he looked over at Doggett who was busily wolfing down his own breakfast. "Send out the word to all the pickets and outriders. If they find any of those field hands wandering around out there, I want to talk to them."

Doggett rose to carry out his orders, but Skinner stopped him. "Hold on a minute. Go find that butler of Mrs. Mulder."

Doggett gulped the last of his coffee. "Yes, sir."

Moments later the burly black man came in and stood just inside the dining room door. Skinner took the measure of the man and instead of asking him to sit, which probably would have made him uncomfortable, chose to stand himself. Walking back to the sideboard and refilling his cup he asked in a deceptively gentle tone. "What’s your name?"

"Alvin, sir."

Skinner shook his head and pursed his lips. "Alvin? Kind of an unusual name for a freedman, isn’t it?"

The man returned his gaze. "Is it, sir? I wouldn’t know."

Skinner harrumphed and continued. "What do you know about what happened at the Senator’s place?"

The butler quirked an eyebrow. Skinner recognized the gesture; it was the one that Mrs. Mulder had used several times yesterday. "I’m afraid, I have no idea, General. I was here and I haven’t heard anything about that except what your men are talking about."

Taking a sip from his cup Skinner considered his next question carefully. "Who is Joe?"

Alvin’s face gave away nothing. Skinner was good at reading people, but this man had spent his life hiding his thoughts and emotions from white men and not even his eyes flickered when he answered. "One of the Senator’s hands, sir."

"That’s it?" Skinner snapped. Something was just slightly off and he tried to put his finger on it. "Mrs. Mulder offered her condolences when she realized…wait a minute. Why was Mrs. Mulder so sure that it was this Joe that was killed? Were the Senator’s other slaves so short in stature that the mere description of a ‘large slave’ was enough to identify him?"

The butler didn’t even blink. "I wouldn’t know, General. You’d have to ask Mrs. Mulder, sir."

Skinner gritted his teeth. "That will be all, Alvin." The butler turned to leave but Skinner asked one more question. "Tell me something."

Pausing at the door, but not turning at once the man replied. "Yes, sir."

"Why are you staying? You’re a free man, you know."

"Yes, sir. I know." And without answering he continued out of the room.

Skinner stared at the retreating back. He finished his coffee and slammed the cup down so hard he rattled china. He looked around the room and felt his temper flare. He was a General in the Union Army, by God, and he was used to having his questions answered. He was NOT used to servants, white or black, standing up to him. He was NOT used to prisoners of war or whatever category Mrs. Mulder fell into giving ultimatums. And, he shuddered; he never had nightmares, certainly not of the magnitude of last night’s.

He started to storm out the door when a small child entered. Dressed in blue and while gingham, her feet bare, her hair tied up in little pigtails all over her head. Skinner spared a moment to wonder if the late Captain Mulder was the girl’s father. Her skin was the color of cream-lightened coffee. She stared up at him, a look of awe on her face.

Skinner would never admit it to anyone, but he had a soft spot in his heart for children. All children. Perhaps because he and Sharon never had any. He looked down at her and gruffly asked. "What’s your name, child?"

Her gaze never wavered and a strange feeling washing over him. "Sookie, sir."

"Ah, you help Mrs. Mulder, don’t you?"

She didn’t answer, but kept her eyes locked on his. He began to feel disconcerted by his reaction to her. He squatted down, his sword scraping along the oak floor. Even so he still towered over her. "What do you want, Sookie?"

The girl’s face worked under the strain of an inner struggle. He could see when she came to her decision. "You heared him las' night." It wasn’t a question.

Skinner stared in amazement, unsure how she had known what he had heard. He started to reach for her but a stern voice called out. "Sookie! Girl, you git away from 'dere. Right now, you hear."

The maid, Ellie, came into view and Skinner started to protest, but the child suddenly broke away and ran down the hallway to the back of the house. As he rose, he heard the back door slam.

Skinner stared hard at the maid and realized that, except for the coloring, this woman was spitting image of the child, grown up. Only not grown up completely. Ellie was just barely out of her teens herself. A cold chill went through him. <<<What kind of man would force himself on a child?>>> The woman must have thought his scowl was for her because she pleaded. "Sorry, sir. Forgive 'da chile, she be tetched. Always be hearin' thangs 'dat ain’t 'dere. She don’ mean nothin' by it, sir." With that the woman turned quickly away and ran up the stairs.

Skinner stood there shaking his head. He turned as the front door opened and allowed the scowl to deepen as Dr. Graves came into the hallway. It was barely 8:00 am but the odor of cheap whiskey clouded around the small man. Beady eyes looked out from puffy cheeks, the sparse hair plastered to his face by sweat. Skinner had no liking and less patience with the man. "Here to check on the Senator, Graves?" He refused to call the man doctor.

Horace Graves muttered as he walked past Skinner. "I’m the doctor, Skinner. I check on my patients."

Skinner followed him into the parlor and nearly gagged. "Sweet Jesus, Samuels, open the windows for God sakes."

Graves winced at the muffled roar. "I felt it best that we keep as many flies off of him as possible. There’s no way to hang netting around the man and the darkies refused to fan away the flies."

Skinner came to stand over the gray-faced man. "Regardless, doctor, the stifling heat and the smell will surely kill him; if his wounds don’t." He refrained from saying that if the man had survived Graves’ ministrations then a few flies weren’t going to hurt. A tortured groan rose from coach. Graves bent over his patient and pronounced. "Well, he’s still breathing. That’s something."

Skinner growled. "Can he be moved?"

Graves looked over his shoulder. "You mean upstairs to a bedroom?"

"I mean out to the barn where you’ve set up the hospital." Skinner snapped.

Graves straightened. "Really, sir. He’s an important man, you can’t put him out there with…"

Skinner put his hands on his hips. "He is a prisoner of the Union, Captain Graves. If that barn is good enough for Union injured then it's good enough for a rebel senator."

Graves huffed. "Well it will be on your head then, General." The little man moved around Skinner and pausing at the door advised, "I’ll have a cot made up for him and send two men to fetch him then."

Skinner started to turn when a clammy hand gripped his. Looking down he saw that Spender was awake, sweat pooling in the deep wrinkles. Crouching down to hear better he waited for the man to speak. The voice was ragged and hoarse. "Don’t let them near me. I want your word as an officer and a gentleman. You won’t let them near me."

Fear, loathing and a look of terror were apparent in the man’s face. Skinner tried to remove his hand, but the claw held on with surprising strength. Finally prying the fingers open, Skinner backed away a step and asked firmly, "Who don’t you want near you, Spender?"

Lips moved, but no words escaped, only a shuddering sigh. Skinner had a pretty good idea who it was that the man didn’t want near him. He had heard the guards talking when he came in last night. None of Mrs. Mulder’s servants would go anywhere near the room and anything that was needed had to be fetched by his soldiers. He had been too tired to deal with the issue last night and after the incident in the room above this one, he decided to wait before confronting the house servants instead he walked to the front of the house and out onto the porch.

Overnight a dirty white canvas city had been erected, filling both halves of the wide lawn. Closest to the house were the larger tents of his officers. Further back, smaller tents were pitched, many beneath the huge oaks and sugar maples. Far off in the distance, he could hear the occasional rifle shot and rowdy whoops of glee. Squads marched to and from the house and men who for weeks on end had wondered if they were going to die in the next charge sat outside in small groups talking and laughing, cooking and washing out socks in small pots over fires.

A rider galloped up the lane. Sergeant Byers didn’t reign in his horse until he was nearly upon Skinner. He dismounted, saluted and reached into his pouch all in one fluid motion. He handed Skinner a sheaf of papers. "General Hooker’s compliments, sir."

Skinner returned the salute and told the dusty tired man, "get yourself some food, Sergeant. I assume the General will want a response."

"No, sir. The General’s all ready on the march, sir. He said to expect him in two days time."

"How many men is he bringing with him, sergeant?"

Byers’ voice rose in excitement. "Why, everybody, sir. The other three regiments."

Skinner kept his curse to himself. <<<Where the hell am I going to put 5,000 men?>>> "Very well, sergeant. Come to the house when you’ve eaten."

"Yes, sir."

As Byers led his horse away, Dogget came to join him on the porch. Skinner scanned the already crowded field. "Where’s Farrell?"

"Right here, General." Skinner turned and saw Farrell buttoning his uniform tunic as he walked out the door. "Sorry, sir. I was up late, making sure…"

Skinner held up his hand. "Don’t apologize, Farrell." Grimacing at the thought of spending all day in the oppressive heat of the house he sighed and pointed toward the interior. "Gentlemen, we have much to discuss."

They walked past the largest of the two drawing rooms where Skinner’s men were moving furniture around so that General Hooker could set up his planning room. Instead, he led them down the hall to the small library just behind the staircase. This side of the building was shaded and the large windows let in what little cool was available. Tossing his hat down, he sat behind the large oak desk. Perching his glasses on the end of his nose, he studied the papers, raised his eyebrow and then looked at Doggett. "John, post men outside all the doors and windows of this room, please." Doggett nodded and called out to the duty sergeant to set up the guards.

They spent the rest of the morning going over plans, calling in various subordinates and sending out riders. After a brief lunch they drew up rosters and laid out maps of the area and Skinner sent Farrell with two detachments to ready the Spender plantation. They would need all the land and then some. Skinner ordered heavier patrols set up and several carrels built for the horses. When Captain Stone returned from taking stock of the Spender plantation provisions Skinner ordered one of the privates to fetch him some lunch.

Thomas Stone was an Ohio man. A store clerk before the war, he had proved valuable as a provisions officer. Tall, very slight and he seemed never to sweat. He picked at the food set before him and gave his report. Taking careful note of the report, Skinner picked up his glass of mint tea. Taking a long thirsty drink before asking, "And you saw no signs of looting?"

Stone shook his head. "None sir. We checked the slave quarters and there was no evidence that there were even the smallest of gardens. Usually we find that the slaves worked small communal gardens for their vegetables, but it doesn’t seem that way on the Spender place. In fact, the big house’s garden was pretty small, I can’t for the life of me figure out what they ate."

"Very little, Captain."

The three men jumped up from their chairs as Mrs. Mulder entered the room. Her red hair pulled back in a tight bun, the apron of her dress soiled. "You’ll forgive me gentlemen. I was just going upstairs to change." Her hand fluttered behind her, "Normally I would change down here, but your men’s presence necessitates that I go to my room. That’s why I overheard what you were saying."

Skinner cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe with her standing there. The sheen of sweat tracked down her neck and he found himself staring at the open collar of her camp dress. "Ah…come in Mrs. Mulder. Can I pour you a glass of tea? You…ah…look…I mean…ah…I would like to talk to you for a moment.

Stone stared at his CO and Dogget decided that the design in the ceiling high above suddenly rather interesting. Dana Mulder looked at Skinner, a small smile nudging at her lips. "Forgive me, General, but I have a plantation to run."

Skinner snapped, "What of your overseer, ma’am?"

A shadow crossed her face. "Alex is in the fields with the hands. I have other things to see to. Now if you will excuse, me."

She turned to leave, but Skinner insisted. "After you have had a chance to freshen up, madam, I would appreciate a moment." The tone of his voice and the look on his face belied the informality of the request.

She studied him for a long moment. "Very well, General, a moment." She turned and regally proceeded up the stairs.

They worked until nearly 3:00 and when a huge drop of sweat splattered down on the last of the reports, Skinner pulled a large cotton handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to wipe his brow. The thing was already sodden. "Gentlemen, you have your orders. I’m going to check on the process in the barn."

Doggett left to find Byers and Stone followed him out. Skinner stood, stretched and longed for the more casual tunics they had worn out west. He paused in the hallway and listened to the eerie silence of the house; even the noise of the 500 men so nearby was muffled by the stifling heat. He wandered to the parlor and saw they had moved Spender <<<Son of a bitch would have died for sure had we left him here.>>>

A scrape and a thump overhead reminded him that Mrs. Mulder had not returned for their talk. "Damn the woman," he muttered under his breath and stomped back to the front of the house and glared up the staircase.

Just as he put his foot on the first tread, Sookie appeared from the back of the house with a tall glass. Holding it out to him she lowered her eyes. "Mammy said to give you 'dis." Diverted for a moment, Skinner took the glass and drank the cooling beverage. He saw Sookie starting to edge back down the hallway for the cooler climes outdoors. He weighed his options of either confronting Mrs. Mulder upstairs in the sweltering heat or questioning the small child outside, perhaps under a large oak tree. He turned and followed the girl into the large workroom in the back of the house. Just as they reached the back door another sound from upstairs drew their attention. Skinner caught the look of fear on the child’s face just before she darted out the doorway.

Curiosity and another more nebulous feeling now seized Skinner. He saw the entry way for the back stairs and started up. He reached the landing and as he turned he finally made out the far off murmuring of voices. It only took him three stairs before he could see the bright open hallway above. He still couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, though he could tell one was female and the other male. The words of Mrs. Mulder’s letter came back to him and he almost turned around when the male menacingly vowed. "No! You belong to me now."

Without realizing it, Skinner finished his assent and found himself in an odd little room. It had six sides and no windows and for some reason he was reminded of a coffin, but there were doors in each of the walls. One was ajar and he could see that it led into the main hallway. He could see the door to his bedroom through it. Three other doors were closed and a heavy feeling descended upon him. He knew which door opened to the room where he had felt the cold and seen the apparition in last night. A wave of nausea struck him and he started for the main corridor when he finally heard her voice. It was coming from the open doorway behind him. He turned as saw that the door led outside to a small balcony. He was moving toward it when he heard her shuddered response. "Never again! Do you hear me Alex. You can no longer hurt me. There is no one to tell."

Skinner paused outside the door, blatantly eavesdropping now. He caught a flash of movement as a pale arm jerked out. Skinner moved so he could see the scene more clearly. Mrs. Mulder was trying to get as far away from the plantation’s overseer as she could. The man, his hair plastered to his head, looks of intense rage and desire warred with each other on his face. "Damn you, Dana. I can still go to Spender. I saw him today. He is going to live, the old devil, and he had powerful friends and not just in the Confederacy either. I can still ruin you." His voice dropped and Skinner had to strain to hear the rest. "You came to my bed once. I made you…"

The rest of the proclamation was cut off by a resounding slap. Dana Mulder flew into the little room and straight into the arms of Skinner. He held her by the shoulders to steady her and a look of outraged anger hardened his features. He saw the embarrassed blush flood her face, tears formed in her eyes. She put her small hands on his chest and tried to push away. He held her for just a moment and realized that anger had suddenly turned to passion. Their eyes locked for just a moment when he heard the derisive snort behind her. Tearing his gaze from her he looked into the smirk of the overseers face. Dropping his hands from her shoulders he growled. "I thought you were coming down to discuss that matter with me, Mrs. Mulder?"

The embarrassment changed to confusion as she tried to reign in her emotions. "What? Oh, yes. I’ll be down in a minute." Seeing that he wanted to say more, she softly begged. "Please, I’ll be down in just a moment." With that she turned and fled into the main hallway.

Alex came in from the balcony, but Skinner blocked his advance. "You’ll excuse me, General."

Skinner didn’t budge but stared fiercely at the man, his growl had sent dread through the hearts of his men. "What are you doing up here, Mr.?"

Alex smirked and studied the angry man and in an insolent tone responded. "Krycek. Alex Krycek. I take care of Mrs. Mulder….and her place."

As angry and disgusted as he was by what he had heard, a wave of protectiveness surged in him and Skinner grabbed the overseer by the collar of his shirt. "I suggest you go see to the fields and the hands, boy. If I catch you back in the house, then I’ll lock you in chains." He sent the man flying down the back stairs, not caring if he fell or not.

Turning back he made his way to his room and sat on the bed, not bothering to close the door. The heat up here, even with every available window and door open was overpowering. He stripped off his tunic and undershirt and went to the pitcher and bowl. The water was actually hot. He went to the window and looked down on the scene below him. "Frohike!"

The corporal looked up from where he was gesturing wildly to Sergeant Byers and Private Langley. "Yes, sir, General."

"Bring me up some fresh water. And bring Langley with you. Now, Frohike!"

Skinner turned back from the window and found himself staring into the eyes of Mrs. Mulder who had just put her hand on the stair rail. He saw her eyes widen at the view of his naked, sweaty chest and he had to force himself not to cover his chest. Instead he stared her down and she gulped before running down the stairs.

After she was gone, he found a towel and began to wipe off the sweat from his chest, drying the matted hair there. He heard the stomping up the stairs and Frohike appeared in the doorway, Langley lugging a large bucket. "Here you go, General, sir. I’ll fetch you a clean shirt, sir." Skinner washed directly from the bucket, splashing the cool well water on his face, praying the red flush would go away.

As he dressed he studied the two men. They had been with him for nearly ten months and two more different men he had never met, but they worked well together and he knew he could count on them to do what he needed and to keep it to themselves. "Gentlemen, I am concerned about Mrs. Mulder. I want you to make sure that the overseer, Krycek, stays away from her. You understand me?"

Skinner saw the confused look pass between the two men, but Frohike shrugged. "Yes, sir. But…uhm…General. If Miz Mulder needs to talk to him?"

"Then, Corporal, you will stand right there and make sure that he doesn’t get within touching distance."

"Yes, sir."

Skinner clomped down the stairs and found that she was waiting for him in the library, staring out through the oak trunks toward the fields beyond. Emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time warred within his breast and he realized that he couldn’t talk to her now. He cleared his throat and she turned to face him, but she was having trouble meeting his stern gaze. Working his jaw, he finally commanded. "Madam, I find I have to inspect the progress the men are making. I will see you at dinner, tonight."

Her eyes widened. "I had plans to eat in my room again, sir."

"Regardless, madam. I will see you at dinner. We will dine at 8:00." Not allowing any further protest, he turned on his heel and went outside.

::  Part 5  ::

Men who had served with him for three years took one look at Skinner’s face and suddenly found work to keep themselves busy. Even newer recruits, most of them under 18, were reminded of Evangelical preachers back home, damning sinners to fire and brimstone.

Skinner threw the entire encampment into an uproar. The few that escaped his scathing critique of their tent/camp site/work detail were the lucky few on extended picket or had been detailed to the Spender plantation.

By the time he reached the barn, he had the cooks sweating from more than the heat, the horse masters swearing under their breath as they completely rebuilt a corral and Captain Stone bawling out his quartermaster detail to better secure the supply tents. Stepping just inside the huge doors, Skinner bellowed. "Captain Graves!"

Graves poked his head out of a stall that had fine netting enclosing it. As he came into view Skinner noted Graves’ uniform coat hung open and dark splotches of sweat and God-knew-what-else stained his undershirt.

Skinner looked over the rest of the barn and his rage grew tenfold. There were still animals in the stalls and stray chickens clucked and pecked in one corner. The floors were still corrupted by scattered filthy straw, the droppings grounded into the dirt. He stalked to the netting, peered inside and then turned to face the doctor who was hastily and incorrectly buttoning up his jacket.

Icy righteousness banked the fiery fury. Skinner let the netting fall back and quietly, coldly asked. "Tell me, Captain Graves, when did the army start issuing iron bedsteads as hospital cots?"

A tremor that Skinner could see across the room shook Graves. "Ah…uhm…. well."

Icicles dropped and shattered with each word from Skinner’s rigid lips. "Where. Did. The. Bed. Come. From?"

Graves was shaking so badly his ill-fitting dentures rattled in the silence. "Ah… well…th-th-that m-m-man…"

"WHAT MAN!" Skinner’s roar brought fine shafts of hay floating down from the hayrack above.

Doggett, who had wisely occupied himself as far away from Skinner as he could, materialized at the barn entrance. "Sir?"

Keeping his eyes locked on Graves Skinner asked, almost conversationally, "Major Doggett, tell me."

"Tell you what, general?"

"When was Captain Graves told to ready the barn as a temporary hospital?"

"Last night, general."

Graves’ indignant squeak was almost humorous. Almost. "I was o-o-operating on the Senator last night; most of the night in fact. I t-t-told the men to start b-b-but…"

Skinner held up his finger to silence the doctor. "Well, major?"

Doggett came to stand next to Skinner. "Sir, I personally saw men working around and coming to and from the barn every time I glanced out this way. I wanted to make sure that they were carrying out their duties. I have no idea why this place still looks like it does."

Skinner pointed to the one net covered stall. "Oh, they were very busy, Major."

Doggett pulled back the netting and turned wide-eyed. "Sweet Jehosiphat! Where’d they get all that stuff?"

"Well, captain?" Skinner asked pleasantly.

Feeling temporarily righteous, Graves squared his shoulders. I told you…sir." Letting a slight sneer creep into his voice. "That man, the overseer, came in to see the Senator while we were arranging his cot. The next thing I know he, Krycek?, was ordering my men to follow him and they spent the whole day fixing up the room. After all, he is a senator and," Graves added reverently, "he is a personal friend of General Blevins."

Skinner studied Graves for a long moment. Scott Blevins had been a congressman from Pennsylvania when the war broke out. In what appeared to many to be an act of supreme patriotism, he had given up his House seat – to his brother-in-law - and joined the army. And while he was listed as being at Shiloh and Gettysburg, he served with little or no distinction as far as Skinner could tell. However, through his contacts and friendships, Blevins had steadily been promoted to major general and now served on the general staff. Skinner had long suspected that certain members of the general staff held friendships and loyalties that crossed the Mason-Dixon Line. There was little he could do about it, but he was damned if it would interfere with his command. A genial smile lit Skinner’s face. "Captain Graves, if one wounded Union soldier is brought into this place with it looking like this, smelling like this, I will bust you down to private and send you to the front lines with a musket. I will then write my friend at "The Boston Age" and let him know that while Union soldiers lay on filthy hay, a Confederate senator, and close personal friend of General Blevins, lay on a feather bed surrounded by all the comforts of home." Skinner cocked his head. "I’m sorry, Captain. Did you say something?" Graves shook his head.

Doggett cleared his throat. "Don’t worry, general. I’ll personally make sure that the men finish the barn before they sleep tonight." Looking around he asked gruffly. "Where are they, Captain?"

All the bravado left Graves’ voice as he whined. "Th-th-they worked hard on the senator’s room. I-I-I g-g-gave them the rest of the afternoon off. I th-th-thought …"

Doggett sighed. "You thought you’d be a nice guy right, doc? Well by the time they’re done tonight, they’re gonna love you."

Skinner turned on his heel, anger throbbing at his temples. Doggett followed him out. "John, find out where that bed and other provisions came from."

Doggett looked toward the slave quarters and sighed. "Yes, sir."

Skinner knew he had to get control of his emotions. His men had done a decent job and his nitpicking had been uncalled for, though the store tents were not well protected and the barn…Lord, if he thought about the barn he would think about Krycek and what he had said to Mrs. Mulder. "You came to my bed once. I made you…" Skinner forced himself to walk toward the bluff that overlooked the river. He could see the landing nearly a half mile south and west, the brown of a long winding cart path flickering through the stands of pine trees.

He looked across the river and saw the rich silt of flood plain peeking between the rows of green growth. His thoughts wandered to her, her lush red hair and fiery blue eyes. He wondered how she had found this place. How her Yankee sensitivities had dealt with the owning of another human being.

His father, though they had lived in Maryland, never owned slaves, even though his neighbors did. Instead, Thomas Skinner had paid his hands, white and black, a fair wage. But then Thomas Skinner had an eye and a feel for the land and had realized early on that by planting different crops each year, even leaving part of the land fallow from year to year, he got hardier, more plentiful crop yields. Thus, he had prospered while his neighbors sometimes failed. "The land gets tired, Walt. Remember that. It has to rest." Young Walter had loved his father and mother but hated the life they led. Thankfully, his younger brother, Albert had loved farming and now prospered on the land that their father had left him. Nor had Thomas Skinner held a grudge against Walter’s distaste for farming. When he found out that his oldest son was thinking of running off to join the army, the elder Skinner called in some favors and got their senator to nominate Walter to West Point. Nearly twenty years of service to his country had left Walter with a hankering to do something else, but he couldn’t picture himself here. He shook himself <<<Well why would you picture yourself here, you old fool?>>>

A rumbling off to the southwest interrupted his reverie and he finally noticed the dark clouds approaching, jagged flashes of lighting skittered across the deepening dusk. He could almost taste the bitter change in the atmosphere. He checked his watch. 6:15 pm. He sighed and made his way back to the house. As he approached the barn he caught snatches of Doggett’s shouted lecture. "What the hell were you thinking?" Clanks and thuds were interspersed with "I didn’t know you men had joined the Confederacy." A private, his arms full of tackle, ran past Skinner, barely acknowledging the General’s presence with a raspy "Sir," before continuing on to a smaller outbuilding. Doggett’s bellow followed him, "If I ever catch you obeying anyone’s orders but an officer…"

Just as Skinner was about to enter the house, the butler, Alvin, came out carrying a huge stack of bedding; Mrs. Mulder right behind him, her small breathless voice carrying after the overburdened man. "Make sure she has plenty of straw underneath." The two stopped as Skinner came up to them. A flash of anger and loathing crossed her face. "General Skinner." She said it like a curse.

Skinner snapped back, "is there a particular problem, Mrs. Mulder?"

"Problem?" Her small hands went to her hips, her perfect jaw jutted out. "You aren’t content to take over my house, force my hands to leave the fields to erect shelters for my livestock because you have commandeered my barn. No! Your men steal from the most helpless of my people, steal her very bed!"

Skinner jerked his head, first toward the slave quarters then back at the butler, who was eyeing both of them warily. Skinner immediately figured that Alvin had reported seeing the soldiers carrying the furnishing. A clap of approaching thunder punctuated his look of fury.

Dana Mulder stepped up to him and jabbed her finger into his chest, looking up at him angrily. "Don’t you dare think it was him. I saw them. I saw them taking the bed that I gave Ellie last winter." She stamped her foot in frustration and poked him again. "I told you I wouldn’t have him in my house!" She jabbed again. "You knew I wouldn’t permit you to take…"

As she started to jab him again, Skinner grabbed her wrist in his and lowered his head to meet her furious stare. Grinding out each word, his lips were so close she could have kissed him. "If you saw, madam. Then you saw your overseer, directing my men. Ordering them to take the furnishings. Now that I know where they came from I will have the bed returned. I have dealt with my men, it is up to you to deal with your overseer."

Dana stepped back in horror. She brought her free hand to her lips and looked over at Alvin who was standing there, an odd look on his face. Before either of them continued, he stepped closer and, keeping his voice low, calmed her. "Miss Dana, let me get these over to Ellie. General Skinner…sir." Skinner could tell that the ‘sir’ cost him something and was vaguely surprised by that. "Sir, please. Just leave it be. If you are correct." He spared another look at Mrs. Mulder. "I’m sure you are correct, then please. Do nothing. Returning the bed will only bring Mr. Krycek’s wrath down on Ellie and her child." A look of despair crossed his features. "I’ll take the bedding tonight. Tomorrow, after it rains, I will check the attic rooms to see if there is anything she can use until the…the…the senator is better."

Skinner glared at the man and nodded. As the butler hurried across the yard toward the slave shacks, Skinner realized that he still had Mrs. Mulder’s wrist in his hand. Dropping it as if it burned he set his lips in a stern line. He saw the she wasn’t looking at him but at the butler’s retreating back, a look of concern and fear on her face. His eyes widened in disbelieve and shook his head. <<<Surely not.>>> He looked again as the butler entered one of cabins and then back at the ‘lady of the plantation.’ The deep blue eyes met his dead on. "If you will excuse me, General Skinner, I need to get ready for dinner."

He stomped up the staircase and entered his room, only to stop in surprise. "Langley!"

The corporal came out of the funny little hallway. "Yes, sir?"

"Where’d the tub come from?"

"Mrs. Mulder suggested you might want to use it, sir. Me and a couple of the boys brought up the water. I knowed you din want us ta use none o’Mizz Mulder’s slaves, sir."

Skinner sighed and let a small chuckle erupt. "I must smell like my horse. Do I have a clean uniform?"

Langley moved to the huge wardrobe off in the corner. "Yes, sir. If you give me the one you have on, I’ll see what I can do with it."

Skinner stripped and lay back in the lukewarm water. The sigh of contentment echoed around the room. Through the window he could see lightening coming closer. He knew his men would be battening down and he felt a twinge of guilt over the men working in the barn. Doggett wouldn’t let a little thing like a thunderstorm interrupt his lesson. He pondered the situation with the senator and allowed his thoughts to finally return to his dream of last night. Surely, it had been a dream. But, why? He had met men like Spender before; rich, arrogant men who were hated by their employees and subordinates. He had met slave owners before too. He hated slavery as much as his father had, but he had seen that most of slaves were treated, if not fairly then at least as valuable property, not be abused. He had heard of harsh discipline and cringed at it. What was it about this man that had evoked such loathing and hatred, not just by the slaves themselves, but by a refined white woman, a white slave-owning woman, like Mrs. Mulder?"

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he jerked his head to the door. Sookie was standing there, staring in at him. Even though he knew he was completely hidden by the huge tin tub, he still blushed. He started to sink further under the water as she came in, holding out the tall, icy glass. "Langley!"

"Mr. Dickie be downstairs, eatin’, sir." She stepped closer.

He finally reached for the glass. "Thank you, Sookie, now run along. Go find your ma."

"Ma be fixin’ up 'da beddin’ now. I tole Mister Alvin 'dat Mister Alex come and took 'da bed and 'da soldiers din' wanna. He jess tole me ta hush." She cocked her little head gravely, "Micah be comin' back ta’night."

Curiosity won over modesty and after taking a long quenching drink from the cool glass he studied her. "Who’s Micah?"

She kicked her foot along the oak flooring. "You know. You heard him lass night."

Biting his upper lip, Skinner carefully considered his next question. "Why was Micah crying, Sookie?"

"Oh, it not be Micah 'dat cries, sir. 'Dat be Sally, sir."

Keeping his temper firming under control, Skinner demanded. "Who are Sally and Micah?"

Just as she was about to answer a huge thunderclap shook the house and, eyes wide with terror, Sookie turned and ran down the steps.

"Son-of-a-"

"Is there a particular problem, General Skinner?" Dana Mulder stood at the open doorway, her hand filled with sheets and towels. Her eyebrow quirked at his discomfort.

"Madam, kindly shut the door." The request was several octaves higher than he preferred.

"Now, general. I’m going into my room. If we shut the door then it cuts off all the air flow into the rest of the house and it is a cooling breeze that is rising out there." He could see laughter tugging at her eyes and was momentarily lost in her beauty.

Harumphing, he sat straighter and thought he saw her eyes widen just a bit as the water cascaded off his shoulders. "Regardless, madam, I need to get out now, and…"

She turned and called over her shoulder. "Then get out, general." As he started to stand she turned suddenly, causing him to plop back down into the tub, sending a small wave of water over the sides. "Oh, I forgot, here." The thick towel came sailing through the air and Skinner had to reach up to snag it. He swore he heard an appreciative, "Oh my."

The dining room windows had been lowered but the wind still whipped the lacy curtains. Tall hurricane glass protected the candles, placed throughout the room, but several petals from the flowered centerpiece scattered. The storm raged outside and the outer doors were shut tightly. Rain splattered the glass on the west side of the house and Skinner knew there would be hell to pay tomorrow, but now soldiers would be huddled in their small cramped tents, boredom unrelieved. Most didn’t have lanterns to shed light to write by. A thousand concerns and worries occupying his mind suddenly vanished as she walked into the room. The soft candlelight shimmered off the midnight blue of her dress. Her hair was done up and curls hung down off to one side. Skinner took a shuddering breath and pulled his eyes away from the smooth creamy skin above her very low neckline, only to find himself lost in the depths of her incredible blue eyes.

Gulping, he held the chair for her. As she lowered herself and he pushed the chair in, he had to fight the urge to cover her neck in kisses.

He managed to make his way around to his side of the table and shakily picked up his glass.

He noticed the reddened eyes and realized she had been crying. For whom, he wondered? He tried to harden his heart, but her small, sad smile nearly undid him. "You must forgive me, general. I have no proper black for mourning. My husband hated black, hated the hypocrisy of mourning."

Skinner waited as Pendrell, followed closely by Ellie, brought in the first course. "Then why bother at all? Of course, the dress is quite becoming." <<<As is the woman wearing it.>>>

She toyed with the chilled soup. "Emotions aren’t so easily controlled, general." She pinned his soul with her eyes. "As Fox finally discovered."

"But not with you." He had meant to draw blood. Why? He couldn’t have answered himself. But, the resulting sigh caused him more pain than his words caused her.

She put her spoon down. "No, general. In that way, not with me. But, finally with someone. You never answered my question."

Guilty, Skinner studied a rose petal as it danced across the table. "What question?"

"Was she there?"

Choosing his words carefully, Skinner nodded. "Tall, for a woman? Dark long hair? Grey eyes?"

"Yes, that is Melissa. What did she do, say, when she found his body? No doubt she will make an effort to come and tell me his is finally at rest; no longer tortured by his betrayal." Her tone was calm and even, but Skinner caught a flash in her eyes.

"She’s dead." He told her, flatly.

Horror, shame and grief all skittered across her features. "How? Please tell me she didn’t kill herself."

"No, ma’am. In her grief, she pulled Captain Mulder’s gun and aimed it at me. Do…one of my men was forced to shoot her." As Ellie cleared the barely touched soup, Pendrell placed the plates of thick sliced ham before them. Skinner forced himself to eat a little, but it tasted of ash.

Wearily he asked. "Why have you been crying? Surely, now you are free of a man who loved someone else. You are free, after a decent mourning period, to have the man you could not give up."

This time his words drew blood. She must be bleeding for her face and shoulders were devoid of any color. Bright red blotches appeared on her cheeks. She picked her napkin and slammed it on the table as she hissed. "You read my letter!"

Skinner stood and glared down at her. "It wasn’t even in an envelope. I-I-I needed to establish his identify. To discover if there was anyone to notify."

She stood too. "Is that why you chose my plantation? So you could torment me. To make sure that I suffered for my sins." She stalked to the long buffet cabinet against the wall and reached down and opened one of the doors. She pulled out a decanter of amber liquid and reached back for two glasses. Pouring a long measure into one she took a drink and grimaced. Pointing to the bottle she snarled, "Help yourself, general." She plopped back down in her seat and he stared at her. "Well, sir. You consider me little more than a whore, I might as well drink too!"

The logic of her statement eluded him, but he too went and poured a drink. The bourbon was smooth and went down easily. He finally turned to face her. "Mrs. Mulder, I came here because this was the best site. We’ve been over this." Taking a deep drink he continued. "I’m sorry I read your letter. Your personal situation is none of my business. I…."

"You have no idea the bond I shared with my husband. It was love; and companionship; and friendship, a deep abiding friendship. And it would have been enough." She stared into the dark amber, lit like fire by the candlelight. He had to walk to her side of the table to hear the whisper. "Fox was a passionate man about many things. Stubborn and prideful, I suppose. He loved the land, he loved this house and he loved the South. He was a good Master, kind and generous. The slaves loved him. But…"

"But?"

She stood up and found him so close she could feel his passion. "I can’t. I’m sorry, general, I think I could trust you. But…" She fled the room and as she reached the landing Skinner heard her sob.

Part 6 - 7

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