Black Knights of the Hudson Book III: Changing of the Guard

By Beverly C Gray

Changing of the Guard is the third book in the story of the MacKendrick Army family; who live by West Point’s motto of Duty, Honor, Country. With the Indian Wars tapering down, the attention of the young nation turns to flexing its muscles. The MacKendricks are involved thoroughly with the changes facing their country and their vivid family.

Randolph follows his father to West Point but finds the Academy much changed from its early days. Instead of producing the brilliant engineers, soldiers, and statesmen of previous decades, West Point has become an iron-bound institution that seems content to churn out little tin soldiers. Philip, a maverick like his mother, has little interest in pursuing a military career but turns to a path that will take him to the depths of a collapsing coal mine and the heights of San Juan. Young Jackson Lee and Fitzjames yearn to follow in the footsteps of their fathers and yield to the call of the bugle when it sounds for Cuba long before they are old enough to even enter West Point.

In Changing of the Guard, the MacKendricks eagerly embrace destiny as their country spreads its arms beyond the continental shelves. From the political games of Washington to the jungles of Cuba with ‘Fighting’ Joe Wheeler and Theodore Roosevelt, the MacKendrick men and women turn their faces to the wind and endure tragedy and triumph with all flags flying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverly C Gray
• Release date: Jan 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465826190

Beverly C Gray

Beverly Gray is the youngest child of a career Army officer and his wife. Born in Paris, raised in Hawaii, she received her degrees in History from Western Washington University; with a concentration in U.S. and British cultural history, military history, and the history of technology. After a brief stint as a teacher, she has earned her livelihood as a technical writer for most of her adult career.

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Black Knights of the Hudson

Book III: Changing of the Guard

by Beverly C. Gray

Published by Beverly C. Gray at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Beverly C. Gray

This eBook is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author’s Note: This work of historical fiction is intended for mature audiences and contains adult language, graphic scenes of battle, and adult situations.

For Andy and Marilyn

Chapter 1

Washington, November 1885

Gwyneth O’Donnell MacKendrick pulled the brush through her flaming hair. A few fine lines creased the outer corners of her dark green eyes. Although she was a year shy of thirty, she welcomed these mute testaments of maturity for they gave distance to the girl she had once been; something that was necessary in the new life begun when she arrived in the Capital. Three years after the death of her husband, Lieutenant James MacKendrick, no one would have guessed that Gwyneth was the daughter of an Army sergeant and an Irish one at that. A slight lilt was all that remained of her parents’ mother tongue for she worked hard at distancing herself from her heritage. Only when she was excited or tired or relaxed in the intimacy of close friends did the Irish get away from her. Her ready acceptance into the heady society of the Capital was a direct result of the MacKendrick family’s connections with some of the oldest families from the South: the Randolphs and Lees of Virginia, and the Rochards and Rutledges in South Carolina. Members of the old guard in Washington Society, whose social positions went back to the Colonies, had taken General Timothy MacKendrick’s widowed sister-in-law under their wings. With these old dragons behind her, no door was closed in Gwyneth’s face and no function denied her. Somewhere in those three years, the girl from the Army’s enlisted ranks acquired ambition; although not for her own sake. Gwyneth had ceased to care what happened to her on the day that James was brought home across the back of his mount; killed in an Apache raid. Like many an Irish widow before her, Gwyneth lavished all of her hopes, all of her dreams on the small head of her only child. She was determined that Jackson Lee would have everything his father had lost when James followed other Virginians to the Confederacy; even a general’s star if she could swing it. For that goal, no effort to ingratiate herself in the powerful ruling elite was too great.

Gwyneth overcame her shyness of the upper classes, as well as her personal loathing for the kind of hypocrisy she found in Washington, in order to pave Jack’s way for him. Money, she had been surprised to learn that first anguished summer after James died, was the least of her worries. Her husband had shared in his uncle Lafayette Randolph’s healthy bequest; a goodly fortune which was divided equally between himself and his brother, Timothy. James had never mentioned it to her for they had not needed it during his years at western Army posts. The inheritance had sat quietly in the bank; managed by Timothy’s careful hands. Then, there was the mansion in Georgetown that had also belonged to Lafayette Randolph. From the first night in it, even in her grieving numbness, the gracious house had seemed like a true sanctuary and her greatest fear had been that Timothy would want it for himself. However, Timothy’s wife Adria seemed disinclined to leave New York, where she had lived for much of her marriage, and Timothy made no mention of his own preferences. After three years, Gwyneth was secure enough to call the house her own.

Mama, Mama! a small boy danced into her bedroom and hugged her ecstatically. Company is here!

Gwyneth embraced the warm little body and glanced past Jack’s head to where the butler stood in the door. More than anything, it had been hard for her to become accustomed to servants; especially black servants. Michael Rozelle had come with the house. He had inherited the duty of butler from his father, Gerome. His surname was a variation of Rose Hill, the Randolph family estate in Virginia. Gwyneth had stopped being afraid of him when she had witnessed his easy give and take with Timothy. Michael was almost like a member of the family and did not limit his advice to only household matters. She had found him an intelligent, observant man and, when in doubt about etiquette or other social matters, had no hesitation in asking his advice. Marianne, the cook, was his wife. Although she had been born a slave in Alabama, rather than free like four generations of the Rozelles, Marianne was far from servile but carried herself with the dignity of a queen.

Jack says there is company, Michael?

An officer is downstairs, Miss Gwyneth, says he is an old friend.

Did this old friend tell you his name?

No, he said he wanted to surprise you.

Now, I wonder who it can be. Shall we see, Jack?

Jack nodded vigorously; his near sable hair glinting in the gas light and his gray eyes wide.

Mother and son descended the wide staircase hand in hand. The man who stood in the hall wore the bars of a first lieutenant. It’s been a long time, Gwyneth.

Bill? Bill Brown! Whatever are you doing here in Washington?

Passing through on my way to Carlisle Barracks.

How grand it is to see you, Bill, she stood on the lowest step; her hand extended to him like the gracious lady she had become.

Brown held her proffered hand far longer than was necessary. You’ve changed, Gwyneth. I don’t see much of the girl that I once loved.

Now, Bill, Gwyneth chided, as his fingers chafed her knuckles.

Forgive me, Gwyneth, you quite take my breath away.

Now, you aren’t going to start that nonsense again, are you? she freed her fingers and tried to look stern although her genuine pleasure in seeing her old chum softened the expression considerably.

It wasn’t nonsense to love you, Gwyneth, we grew up together.

Yes, which means we know all about each other’s faults. You are my oldest friend, Bill, but I could never look upon you as anything else.

Sure? his teeth showed under the full mustache he now sported.

I am quite sure.

A man had to try. You look radiant, Gwyneth.

It comes of keeping up with Jack, so it does, anxious to steer him to safer topics, Gwyneth presented her son to her friend.

To Jack’s obvious disgust, Bill patted the little boy on the head. Accustomed to manly handshakes from his Uncle Timothy and such notables as General of the Army, Philip Sheridan, Jack viewed the stranger with disapproval.

Have you eaten, Bill?

I’ll get something at the hotel.

I’ll not have it. You’re staying for dinner and that way you can catch me up on the news.

I have quite a bit at that. Your parents send their love and your brother Sean is getting married.

Is he now? Mother didn’t mention it in her last letter.

She probably didn’t know herself. He popped the question just before I left the Post.

Gwyneth led her guest into the dining room where Bill proceeded to fill her in on all the doings out at Jefferson Barracks where her parents and two of her brothers were stationed. One of the prices she had paid for her new social standing was a growing restraint between herself and her family. They did not approve of her campaign to turn herself into a Washington Society leader and her increasing distance hurt her father especially. Gwyneth minded that aspect of her metamorphoses more than she cared to admit but, in spite of it, was determined to proceed along the course she believed would best serve Jack. Her parents’ greatest criticism came when they learned that the boy was being raised in his father’s Episcopalian church rather than in his mother’s Catholic faith.

As the evening wore on and Bill continued to enlighten her about the family doings, Gwyneth realized with a shock that she had grown even farther away than she had supposed. She could not muster more than a polite interest in the wedding plans; almost as if she was hearing about some nice young soldier she had once met instead of her own brother.

I figured you’d be married again by now, Gwyneth, Bill helped himself from the platter of roast chicken that Michael presented. I think we’re set here, boy. You can come back to clear later.

Michael placed the platter in the center of the table and took his customary post near the lowboy.

Michael is not a waiter in a hotel, Bill. It’s the custom to have the butler remain in the dining room.

Brown scowled slightly. I’m not accustomed to having nig...servants listen to my intimate conversations.

Never mind that. You were saying?

Oh, yes. I’m surprised you haven’t remarried.

I’ll never remarry, Gwyneth said. Jimmy is the only husband I ever want.

Brown shrugged. Well, if you prefer a dead husband to a living man, Gwyneth, that’s your look out.

Yes, it is, what is wrong with Bill. I didn’t expect him to grow into such an unpleasant man. He was rude to Michael for no reason that I can see.

Look, does he have to be here? Bill nodded at Jack who sat beside Gwyneth. He was perched on a fat dictionary to raise him closer to the level of the adults.

He always attends informal dinners. He’s the man of the house, aren’t you, Jack?

Jack nodded vigorously, his mouth full of fluffy biscuit.

It’s not as if the kid can understand adult conversation, Gwyneth.

Dinner proceeded uncomfortably after that remark. At the end, Gwyneth rose and smiled at Rozelle. We’ll have coffee in the small drawing room, Michael.

Yes, Miss Gwyneth.

Coffee arrived and conversation sputtered in fits and starts. Gwyneth glanced at Brown just as he raised his hand to stifle a yawn. It was a shame about the Vice President.

What Vice President?

Vice President Hendricks.

What about him?

Why he died a few days ago in Indianapolis. Didn’t you know, Bill?

Can’t say I did, but then, I never pay any attention to politics.

Since living in the Capital, Gwyneth inhaled politics as a matter of course. President Cleveland isn’t very popular. There was so much excitement about him at first since he’s the first Democratic president we’ve had since Buchanan. Unfortunately, he’s made so many enemies by vetoing all the pension bills, trying to stop the free coinage of silver, and being rude to the Press. For some reason, the journalists don’t mind so much when General Sheridan is uncooperative but when the President makes snippy replies to their questions, they react with snide stories about him.

Bill made no effort to hide his second yawn. My, it is getting late. I’d better leave so that you can get that splendid young fellow to bed.

Jack’s all right. He often naps in my lap when I have guests.

I’ll wager the Diplomatic Corps loves that.

Gwyneth flinched at the sarcastic tone. Naturally, I don’t keep Jack up when it’s a large dinner party or a formal gathering.

Brown got to his feet.

Why, he’s got a paunch on him. He’s not aging very gracefully and, since he’s still a first lieutenant, I suppose he won’t advance much beyond captain. Certainly not with such a mean spirit that he showed tonight.

It was nice to see you, Gwyneth. Boy, get my hat.

As the door closed behind him, Gwyneth turned to her impassive butler. I am so sorry, Michael. I don’t understand why Lieutenant Brown was so rude to you.

Don’t worry, Miss Gwyneth. It’s not the first time someone has been rude to me. It won’t be the last either, Michael looked down at Jack. Would you like me to take him up for you?

No, thank you, Michael. I’ll take him myself, now what does he mean by that? Ah well, sometimes Michael is a bit of a mystery to me. I suppose it’s because Bill treated him like a waiter.

Have I really changed so much? she whispered to her sleepy little boy as she carried him up the stairs.

Jack’s response was to put his arms around her neck and kiss her drowsily.

Ah well, what if I have? I love your grandparents but I don’t want to spend my life as Sergeant O’Donnell’s widowed daughter. I want your playmates to be the sons of congressmen, ambassadors, and generals. Maybe I am being a cold-blooded society harpy about this but I have no choice. You will have what your Father was denied!

She had just tucked her son into bed and was turning down the gas when a shadow loomed in the door. Startled, she whirled to defend the sleeping child from whatever threatened. Timothy! Sure and you scared me to death.

Her tall brother-in-law threw her an unrepentant grin and crossed to look down on his nephew. I swear he’s doubled in size, Gwyneth.

He’s growing but not that fast. Don’t wake him, Silly Mman; I’ve just gotten him to bed.

Timothy satisfied his paternal yen with a tweak of the little boy’s bedclothes. Then he offered his arm to Gwyneth. She glanced up into his clean-shaven face and sighed with gratitude at the brotherly bulwark of his arm. The light picked out dark gold highlights in his light brown hair and reflected in his sparkling gray eyes. I have Little Phil downstairs. He needs settling.

Settling is it? Why on...oh, no. Timothy, you didn’t take the poor man to the White House tonight after all?

He took me and I don’t think he cares much for Democratic presidents.

I’ll get the whiskey.

This late night call was something of a tradition that had begun upon Philip Sheridan’s arrival in Washington. While the feisty general loathed Timothy’s Boston-bred wife, he was utterly smitten by Timothy’s lovely sister-in-law. At least twice a week, he and Timothy wandered into Georgetown to visit Gwyneth and relax over her generous supply of food and beverage. Quite often other gentlemen would drop in as well. Without really planning for it to happen, Gwyneth’s home became something of a private club. The guests were just as apt to make high-level governmental decisions as they were to talk about baseball or play poker. The various wives did not mind when their husbands turned up in the wee hours after spending the evening at the gracious house in Georgetown. As long as their mates were under Gwyneth’s careful eye, the ladies were confident that things remained respectable. Gwyneth never allowed the men to overdo their libations and she had been known to stop a card game that had become too serious.

This night, Gwyneth was thankful to see that Sheridan was the only other guest. She was a little rattled by Bill’s obvious disapproval and was not up to coping with one of the livelier sessions.

Sheridan was not really irate and, in one of his more mellow moods, he chose to view most of the President’s more obtuse remarks with uncharacteristic charity. Man just doesn’t understand the need for pensions. It isn’t right for a soldier to risk life and limb and not be able to get the financial support of the government for himself and his family if those sacrifices are indeed demanded. While there are many things a man with one leg can do, if he’s a laborer, he has a harder time of it without two good legs under him. Oh, bother. I don’t want to get wound up on this tonight. We saw a carriage leaving as we drove up. Anyone we know?

Gwyneth frowned a little and asked her own question. General Sheridan, do you think that Jack might be a bit spoiled?

Phil scowled over the rim of his glass. Jack is a splendid little boy. He isn’t the slightest bit spoiled.

Then, it isn’t strange that I let him sit up with my guests?

Timothy, who sat beside her on the sofa, covered one of her hands in reassurance. You’re just following family precedent. Aunt Dolly and Uncle Lafe permitted James and me to sit in when they had guests as soon as we stopped dribbling. Has someone been complaining about Jack?

Bill was here tonight and he didn’t approve of Jack joining us at dinner, Gwyneth freed her hand so that she could place the tray of cookies in Sheridan’s reach.

Bill?

Lieutenant Bill Brown. We grew up together. At one time everyone at Fort Bowie assumed we were going to get married for all that I was a sergeant’s daughter and his father was an officer.

They must have paired you in the cradle. You were only a girl when you married James.

Seventeen, Gwyneth sighed.

What about this Bill? Sheridan leaned forward.

He was my best friend when we were children. We played together and fought together.

Ahhh, Timothy scrutinized her carefully.

Sheridan did not look pleased while Gwyneth wrinkled her nose at her brother-in-law. It isn’t ‘ahhhh’ at all, at all.

Gwyneth, I know how much you and James loved each other but I also know he would want you to be happy with someone else if that is what you want.

Sheridan’s glare turned into a glower. Let’s not start that foolishness, MacKendrick. Gwyneth is fine just the way she is and we don’t want some blasted fellow trapping her into a marriage that will make her unhappy. A lieutenant, you said?

Timothy fixed his superior with a stony gaze of his own. I rather think that it is for Gwyneth to decide. After all, Phil, she’s a beautiful woman and is entitled to be more than just a mother. She should have a man around who will adore her and cherish her.

I don’t dispute that, MacKendrick. However, our Gwyneth can do better than some blasted junior officer. Now, let’s be systematic about this. Who do we know who is available?

Gwyneth went from exasperation to amusement as her two self-appointed protectors began to trot out the names of potential suitors, dissected them cold-bloodedly as to qualifications, and then brought out another; all without once consulting her. Finally, when Timothy mentioned a certain commander and Phil disagreed vehemently because the man was Navy, she could contain her laughter no longer. The feelings of dissatisfaction engendered by Brown’s visit had been vanquished by the real affection these two men had for her; affection based strongly on the very qualities that had seemed to offend Brown.

Sure and why would I want a lummox of a husband when I have the Army and the rest of Washington at my feet? she inquired gaily. Jack doesn’t need a father, so he doesn’t. Why, he has an entire city of uncles and brothers all around him and I have good friends to care for me.

What about this Bob person? Sheridan asked belligerently.

His name is Bill, General Sheridan.

Well, is this man apt to bother you?

No, he’s off to Carlisle.

You turned him down? Timothy inquired.

No.

Ah. He turned you down?

Oh Timothy, Gwyneth laughed. As Adria says, you can be such a blessed fool sometimes.

So I’ve been told. I don’t seem to be following this discussion at all, at all.

Gwyneth tossed her head at his gentle mimicry while Sheridan helped himself to another cookie.

Am I a cold-blooded society harpy?

Sheridan’s roar came close to lifting off the roof. WHAT!? Did he call you that? I’ll kill him! I’ll break him to private!

After I get done with him, Timothy vowed.

Calm down, the pair of you, Bill didn’t come right out and say so but I could see he was thinking it. Bill knew me when I was Kevin O’Donnell’s daughter. I have changed and I got the distinct impression that he didn’t approve of the woman I have become.

The woman you have become is a credit to James, to me, and to herself, Timothy stated haughtily. If this Ben...

Bill.

If this Bart can’t appreciate you he doesn’t deserve you. Why Gwyneth, you are a beautiful, witty, accomplished woman. Do you know how many Washington hostesses would give their second and third chins to have your grace and style?

Gwyneth preened slightly. To make matters worse, he was rude to Michael.

Rude to Michael? Timothy frowned. How?

He called him ‘boy’. Michael didn’t say anything of course but he got that look on his face.

What look? inquired Sheridan while Timothy’s frown deepened.

I can’t explain it. Sometimes, Michael just gets more...Michael. Very dignified.

Timothy snorted. Michael has better manners than I have. I’d have thrown him out of the house.

Would you? Gwyneth tilted her head. I don’t quite understand. I could tell that Michael was insulted at being treated like a waiter.

Timothy relaxed suddenly and picked up a cookie. You’re still a bit of an innocent, Gwyneth, when it comes to matters of race.

I still don’t understand.

That lieutenant wasn’t offended because Michael was a butler. He was offended because of Michael’s color. ‘Boy’ is one of the words Southerners, as well as like-minded Northerners, use to keep a black man in his place. It’s a way to demean and remind someone like Michael that he’s inferior.

But you’ve never treated him like that.

No, of course not. But you must realize that I grew up in my Uncle Lafe’s household. While they weren’t abolitionists, the Randolphs always treated their folk with respect. Even when they were slaves, they were considered people, not livestock. Not inferior either. Lafe’s best friend was Michael’s father. They grew up together and were closer than most brothers.

But the Randolphs never had slaves, Timothy. When I visited Rose Hill with Jack, Anne commented that when she married Jared before the War, part of the marriage agreement was that any slave she brought to Rose Hill had to be freed.

That’s because my great-grandfather Christopher freed all the Rose Hill slaves by the terms of his Will. Before that, back to the Colonial times, the Randolphs owned slaves just like most of the wealthier people in Virginia.

I always knew you MacKendricks and Randolphs were special, Gwyneth said.

Not that special. Christopher Randolph simply followed the example of men like George Wythe and Thomas Jefferson. It took a few years for Rose Hill to recover too. Grandfather said it took time to figure out how to pay the workers that had never been paid before while still providing the food and care that they had received as slaves.

So Bill is a bigot, odd, I never realized that about the Browns. It never came up. The only people of color around us were the Indians. I never even saw a black man until we went to Omaha for the Sioux uprising and encountered some of the black regiments; the Buffalo Soldiers as they’re called.

Man is an idiot, grumbled Sheridan. He can’t be in MY Army.

A small, white clad haunt wandered into the room; rubbing sleepy eyes. The orbs widened when their owner spied Generals Sheridan and MacKendrick. They positively gleamed at the sight of the platter.

Cookies, drawled Jack.

Jack, my boyo, you are supposed to be in bed.

Jack eluded Gwyneth’s quick hands and went to stand beside Sheridan; looking wistfully at the platter. From experience, the little boy knew the Commanding General of the Army was a real pushover.

Oh, let him stay, Gwyneth, Phil pulled the delighted Jack into his ample lap and proceeded to split the confection he had been holding with the child.

Gwyneth tried to look stern. What are you doing up, Jack?

Jack pretended not to hear for he was deep in a discussion with the general about the relative merits of maple sugar, pecans, and meringue.

Jackson Lee.

Both general and boy jumped at her firm voice: Jack because she only used his full name when she was getting annoyed and Sheridan because it reminded him of the pair of nemeses of every Federal officer who had fought in the late conflict.

Mama? Jack asked around the partial cookie in his mouth; his gray eyes very limpid.

Why did you get out of bed? You know you aren’t supposed to do that.

Jack chewed vigorously at his cookie just in case his mama got difficult and sent him back to bed before he was really ready to go. I heard noise.

Oh? What sort of noise?

Jack spread his arms wide; losing about a third of his treat in the process. Big noise.

Like a great wind, no doubt, Timothy remarked with a sly look at Sheridan. I keep telling you that your bellow will wake the dead, Phil.

I recall some loud gales from your vicinity, too, MacKendrick, Sheridan huffed. Anyway, I don’t care. I like seeing the boy. He’s got a sharp mind for such a young’un. A very sharp mind indeed and he’ll go far.

Jack responded to Sheridan’s approval with a crumby kiss; hugging the man with all the fierce strength in his little arms. Seeing the happy grin on her little son’s face, Gwyneth decided, as always, to let him stay. She grinned a bit ruefully at her brother-in-law. I am a terrible mother, Timothy. He’ll have a tummy ache in the morning the way the General is stuffing him. I shouldn’t permit Jack to get around me the way he does but he’s having such a good time.

Timothy glanced over to where Jack’s silken dark head rested companionably on Sheridan’s shoulder while the general recited one of his own children’s favorite stories to the eager little boy.

He really isn’t spoiled, Gwyneth. Jack is precocious but he’s also one of the best-mannered children I’ve ever known. You’re doing very well by him and I know James would have been proud of both of you.

Gwyneth gave a tired little sigh and let her head drop briefly to Timothy’s broad shoulder. I still miss Jimmy. I’ll always miss him. I’m accustomed to that perpetual, empty ache in my heart that he filled. Mother and all the others are wrong. The pain doesn’t go away and I’ve only learned to live with it. At least I have Timothy. More than anyone else, he seems to understand that my loss is something from which I’ll never recover. He misses Jimmy too. I’ve caught him watching Jack the same way I do for mannerisms that were Jimmy’s; that, perhaps in his son, something of him remains. Timothy is a good friend; it never occurred to me that a woman could be such good friends with a man and yet not be romantically entangled with him. I hope that Adria understands and does not begrudge me the times I spend with him We’ve never discussed it but she must know that she is the only one for Timothy just as Jimmy was the only one for me.

Jack’s asleep. Shall I put him to bed for you, Gwyneth? without waiting for her answer, Sheridan lifted the slumbering child and walked up to the nursery. With four children of his own, Sheridan had ample experience.

Timothy gave Gwyneth a reassuring hug. Are you all right now, Honey? I could see that you were upset when we came in.

Not upset, exactly. More disappointed, I suppose. At first, it was like old times, seeing Bill. Then, the same thing happened that did the last time Mother and Da visited. We couldn’t find anything to talk about. It’s terribly sad.

Timothy held her close for a minute. I can’t quite comprehend these differences you’ve mentioned, Gwyneth. Even when most of my kin wore the gray, we were still family and cared about things the same way.

That Jack, Sheridan chuckled as he joined them. "The little monkey woke up just as I put him down and demanded to know what I did with the last cookie.

What did you tell him? Timothy asked.

Now you know I always tell the truth, ‘Mothy. I told Jack that I ‘et it. He stuck his tongue out at me and said I was mean. Then he went right to sleep.

That’s horrible, appalled, Gwyneth stared at the General. And the pair of you said he isn’t spoiled.

I’ve seen worse, Sheridan avowed. There are these four hellions who live north of here. Proper little Army brats they are and must take after their Mother.

Timothy raised an expressive eyebrow. Don’t start, Phil. My children are well-bred, well-behaved, obedient...

Monsters, Sheridan finished cheerfully. Except for Dorothea. When they were down on that last visit, she played like the little lady she is with my girls.

They are not monsters. They’re biddable and reasonable young people.

It must be wonderful to have children who do everything you ask without argument or question, teased Gwyneth as she sided with Sheridan in this match.

It is, Timothy replied. It’s late and we’ll be off now. I’ll be going up to New York for a few days. Do you need me to get you or Jack anything?

No, just give my love to Adria and the children.

Always, Timothy kissed her cheek.

Then he departed with Sheridan in tow; still arguing amicably over who had the better-behaved offspring.

Chapter 2

New York, December 1885

One of Timothy MacKendrick’s well-behaved offspring was rather rebellious as some early snow dusted the rowdy Christmas throngs of New York