A Perfect She-Devil

*****

12 February 1862

Wheeling West Virginia

Mary stared at the florid faced man at the desk in front of her. There wasn't much else she could do with the gag back in place.

He looked to his subordinate. "How long have we had her detained, Mathew?"

"Since August last, General Rosecrans." The staff officer, a Major, glanced over his papers.

He looked back at her. "I have attempted to talk with her many times and I have detected no change in her temper at all. Not even the merest glimmer of contrition. Do you agree?"

"I do, sir." The Major pulled the improvised bandage tighter on his hand. Stopping Mary Green's diatribe had cost him a nasty bite on his hand. "She has proven quite unsuitable for virtually anything. We tried to parole her to work for a family that merely resulted in their children learning unbecoming language. Putting her to work preparing food was, as you well know, unsuccessful."

General Rosecrans leaned back and looked at her. "Yes, I am quite aware. I had to sign the requisitions to replace the rather large amount of glassware and plates she managed to destroy during her rampage. A perfect she-devil. It is a pity she's not Catholic. We could send her off to a convent."

"Even if we could, I'm not certain it wouldn't be considered a stain on the Army's honor to foist her off on an unsuspecting victim, sir."

"I would send her to England just to keep her away for a while, but I believe that would be considered an act of war." Rosecrans looked entirely too pleased with his assessment. He sat up straighter, suddenly much more serious. "That aside, I do not believe in leaving unsolved problems behind me for others. I'm afraid we have to do something with Miss Green, as I will not leave her to gnaw at General Fremont when he comes to this headquarters."

The staff officer waited expectantly, and there was little else Mary could do but remain silent.

"We will release her."

The Major stiffened in shock. "Sir?"

General Rosecrans smiled, and for the first time in all the many times Mary had seen him over the last several months, there wasn't the slightest hint of paternalism or good humor in his smile. "Tell Major Darr that I have determined that we shall release Miss Mary Jane Green to her home in Braxton County with the hope and expectation that the next time she encounters Union troops while in her normal state of misconduct, they will simply shoot her without regard to her sex." His stare bored into her. "Someone less chivalrous than I may be able to bring Miss Green's inappropriate behavior to an end."

*****

2nd of May, 1862

The Trestle Bridge

Weston, Lewis County, Virginia

Mary clung low on the railroad embankment watching to the north, as most of the rebel band worked at destroying the Trestle Bridge. This wasn't going as smoothly as they had expected, the trestle bridge was proving much harder to destroy than they had planned. The trestles were too wet to burn due to the ceaseless rains and heavy mist that clung to the river, and the construction was typical Railroad Company Construction. The massive trestle timbers felt more like rock than like wood. Their attack on the telegraph lines earlier had gone much better, but then telegraph lines tended to be much more fragile than railroad trestle bridges.

The predawn gloom and heavy fog made it almost impossible to see anything but at least the fog muffled the sounds of the sledgehammers hitting the joints on the railroad bridge.

Unfortunately, it also muffles the sound of the approaching Yankee cavalry.

As soon as Mary saw the vague forms moving through the fog to the north she leveled her Walker revolver and fired one shot at the vague figure in the lead. She frantically re-cocked the heavy pistol and tried another shot as the cavalrymen kicked their horses to a gallop.

The hammer jammed as she pulled the trigger.

Heart pounding, she jumped and skidded down the muddy embankment to go warn the others, only to find far more cavalry had already come up from the south. She looked frantically for an escape but the cordon was completely around them and there were no gaps to run through. There must have been forty Union Soldiers surrounding her little band of eight.

It was obviously hopeless, so like the rest of her band, she simply dropped her revolver to the ground and raised her hands in surrender, her broad brim cap and shapeless clothes hiding her sex for the moment.

The Union Soldiers began separating men, taking and stripping them in a search for weapons. Mary desperately looked for an escape. She'd heard terrifying stories of what happened to unfortunate female guerrillas who'd fallen into Union hands.

Looking for salvation Mary glimpsed a familiar face. It certainly wasn't a face she would have thought she would ever want to see again; right now it gave her the only hope she had.

He rode past her watching the proceedings.

Keeping her voice low she hoarsely whispered. "Lieutenant."

He didn't turn at all; she couldn't believe could he couldn't hear her.

She tried again. "Lieutenant!"

He still didn't turn. As a last act of desperation, she called him by the name that the others had always used.

"Jeremiah."

He finally turned and she saw the twin bars of Captain's rank on his uniform.

He peered toward her through the darkness, trying to make out her face, obviously confused as to why anyone would use his given name.

Hesitating, he reached out slowly with one gloved hand as if he was not only uncertain but fearful of the consequences. Before he could do so, she reached up and raise the brim of her hat with her own two hands.

He slightly closed his eyes and paused to send up a prayer of Contrition for whatever wrong he had done to deserve this.

"Miss Green, I'm not even going to ask why you are here or what you think you're doing. That has, as I recall, proven rather pointless in the past."

As hard as it was for her to ask a favor of a Yankee officer, she had to do so.

"Please don't let them search me. I don't have any...underpinnings."

Another Trooper rode up. She recognized Sergeant McKay just as he recognized her. He turned toward the Captain. "I'd almost rather just shoot her out of hand rather than try and search her, Sir." She stiffened, not certain of how much was humor and how much he really meant. The Sergeant smiled at Captain Lodge. "It's like you have your own personal plague sir. I believe the Egyptians may have gotten off lightly."

Mary thought it best to say something before the humor got too far out of hand. "I will cooperate, provided searching is not done in an unseemly manner."

With a heavy sigh, the Captain slid from his horse as the Sergeant moved his own to shield them. Mary noted that the Sergeant kept his revolver resting across his saddle in her general direction, rather than returning it to his holster as many had done.

Mary stood with her arms outstretched and her legs slightly apart, face turned away as the Captain searched her. Her heart sank as she realized he was bleeding from his leg. Since no other shots had been fired it must have been hers that hit him. "Are you hurt?"

He paused and looked at her disbelievingly. "That is what happens when you shoot someone. Did you think I wouldn't recognize that ridiculous hat? Fortunately, it appears that fury and self-righteousness are poor substitutes for good pistol drill and I have rather more of a scratch than anything serious."

His search was rather more thorough than she was comfortable with but obviously driven by anger and frustration rather than prurient interest. In any case, she reflected, she had rather fewer secrets from him than from any other man.

In short order, all of the erstwhile guerrillas had been searched and stripped to their underthings.

Except for her.

Captain Lodge looked over the sorry little band.

"My instructions are to hang incendiaries from the bridges that they attempt to burn. Happily for you, I see no evidence of any fire at all, though, I suspect that is rather more a statement of your ability than your will. Nonetheless, it is a fortunate break for you. So instead of hanging you, we will be marching you to the Provost station where you will be sorted properly." With that, he looked directly at Mary. "Although I believe there are some of you who can't be sorted properly at all."

Mary was not particularly surprised that while she was allowed to remain dressed, she was forced to march along with the rest all the way to the Provost station. With the rain and muddy roads, by the time they reach the Provost station they were a sorry looking lot.

An obviously vexed Captain Lodge left them standing out in the rain under the watchful eyes of the troopers as he went in to confer with the Provost.

A few minutes later Major Darr stepped out to look over the captives. He didn't even bother to try to conceal his amusement as he walked past Mary, shaking his head with a rueful grin.

He looked over Captain Lodge.

"Well Captain, it looks like we have our Hellion back. It's just as well, things have been awful quiet without her and we're starting to build up far too many unbroken dishes in the kitchen."

*****

12th of June 1862

Wheeling, Virginia

Mary Jane Green shivered weakly in her bed, despite the mounds of blankets, one hand visible, picking feebly at the mattress as she mumbled in low terrified tones. Even though she was awake, or what passed for awake, her eyes were mostly unseeing as the Fever took its toll. Irish Mary looked down at her, the concern etched on her face. "She'll not last the week if'n she don't start fightin' back you know."

Bruna nodded with a soft frown. She'd seen it before, all too often over the last several weeks. Typhoid fever had torn through the area, killing so many young men. "She wouldn't take the medicine. What is she talking about? Who is Scratch?"

"Ol' Scratch is the Devil. She's sayin' she's goin'ta have to marry the Devil. That he's a-callin' to her, and she's sayin' she doesn't want to go." She slowly and deliberately crossed herself.

Bruna shivered and muttered a Vaterunser under her breath before responding. "Tomorrow's the full of the moon. That's for weddings. And it's a Tuesday. Weddings on Tuesdays are bad luck."

Irish Mary grimaced. "She's a headstrong lass, an' there's no mistakin' that, but she doesn't deserve this. Dying of Fever, well that's bad enough, but she's done nothin' for Scamp hisself to take her to wife."

Bruna glanced at the door and pulled a whisky bottle from her apron pocket. Whisky warded off the Fever, or so they said. There was no reason to take chances with it. She took a pull from the bottle and passed it to Irish Mary. "It's very sad."

"An orphan whose brothers have gone for Soldier. Sad it is." Irish Mary swigged a mouthful of whisky herself. "It sure'n tis."

*****

Jeremiah jolted awake at his desk. He'd fallen asleep reading troop dispositions again.

The pounding sounded again at his door, bringing him to his feet. He wearily pulled his suspenders up onto his shoulders before opening the door.

A large hand grabbed him by his shirtfront and dragged him into the corridor. He frantically fumbled for his revolver only to wince when he realized it was still in the belt and holster looped over the bedpost where he'd left it.

"C'mon lad, yer savin' her." The very drunk Irish woman dragged him down the hall with no more trouble than a nanny would have with a two-year-old.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"My namesake, she is, and that's enough, isn't it?" She still wasn't making sense, but something in her tone warned Jeremiah that she was quite willing to use violence to do whatever it was she wanted to be done.

A few moments later she opened the door to Miss Green's room; it had passed for a cell, now a sick chamber. She dragged him to the bed, where Miss Green lay in a ghastly pallor, twitching and mumbling fearfully.

Irish Mary reached down and grabbed Mary Jane Green's hand and mashed it into his. "We're here now, Dearie, and the lad here is goin' ta save you."

Jeremiah looked at her in disbelief. "If you need the Doctor..."

"The Doctor? Yer not makin' sense, boy. He's married."

Jeremiah shook his head in confusion. A moment later, an equally inebriated Bruna, carrying a truncheon, shoved a thin man in a Confederate gray uniform through the door. "I have found one."

Irish Mary eyed the man doubtfully. "Yer a man of God?"

After glancing cautiously at Bruna and her club blocking the door, he responded politely. "I am a Chaplain with the Army of East Kentucky, here under truce.

"What Church, Mister Chaplain of the Army of East Kentucky?" Irish Mary's narrowed eyes carried a clear warning.

The Chaplain looked like he might argue for a moment, but chose the safer course. "Episcopalian."

"It's nae Catholic, but it'll do." Irish Mary leveled her forefinger at the Chaplain. "Let's get to it then. We have to do it before midnight."

"To what?" Both Jeremiah and the Chaplain asked at the same time.

Irish Mary shook head sadly and looked at Bruna. "Are they both simple then?"

Bruna squinted at them, a bit blearily. "They must be."

"It's all the hardtack. It makes men even more simple than they are by nature." Irish Mary looked back at the two men. "Yer savin' the lass."

Jeremiah held his hands up in confusion. "I'm not a doctor."

"Yer a bit thick, lad. Pretty, but thick. Yer here to save the girl's immortal soul, not her body."

The Chaplain started to sidle to the door but thought better of it when Bruna hefted her club and narrowed her eyes at him.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"She cannot marry if she is already married," Bruna announced it slowly and loudly from where she stood, looking for all the world as if the question was settled for good.

Irish Mary grinned broadly. "The Devil's tryin' ta take her for his bride, but he canna do that if'n she's already married, see?"

It took a few more minutes for Jeremiah and the Chaplain to fully understand the brilliant plan to save Miss Mary Jane Green's soul from eternal damnation.

Jeremiah wanted to protest, but Mary Jane's hand was grasping his as if he really was her only link to salvation and the pleading, stark terror in her near-unintelligible words was enough to quell him.

The Confederate Chaplain was both more practical and rather more easily swayed, realizing that the only guarantee of safe escape depended entirely on convincing the two very drunk, self-appointed, and rather large and sturdy, guardian angels that he had done what he could. It was, he reasoned, simple enough to carry out the ceremony. It would hardly matter, he decided, as the girl was unlikely to survive the night anyway. He too had seen more than his share of the toll the Fever took.

The Irish woman managed to prompt mostly coherent answers from the delirious girl, and the girl for her part seemed to take comfort in the matrimonial ritual, slipping peacefully into a still sleep as soon as Jeremiah had kissed her forehead.

Irish Mary and Bruna stumbled out together, quite pleased with themselves. The Chaplain followed cautiously, although quite mollified by the bottle of whisky and a large sack of coffee beans that Bruna had produced as payment.

Jeremiah pulled a chair over to Mary Jane's bedside and sat holding her hand, waiting for her to slip away as so many others had recently.

*****

"Captain?"

Jeremiah blinked more fully awake and turned to look down at the woman whose hand he held. Whose hand he'd been holding every night for six days as he read passages to her from his Bible. The tone was so soft and peaceful that he barely recognized the voice. "Miss Green?"

She stared up at him for a long moment. "Am I still? 'Miss Green,' I mean, I had a dream. It seemed real." She squinted slowly at the ceiling. "We were...hitched. Married."

He stopped for a second and considered, then laughed for a moment. "I don't really know."

Mary blinked a couple of times. "You don't know?"

He gave her a bemused look. "I really don't. We will have to ask the Minister."

"I remember..." She broke off shuddering in revulsion and gripping his hand like an iron band. "It...or Him. Waiting for me...and you reached over to me and pulled me away." She flushed red, though not the red of fever for a change.

Jeremiah explained Irish Mary and Bruna's plan to fool the Devil. "But I don't know whether that Chaplain married us or merely went along with them to keep himself in one piece. I'm not Episcopalian, and I was more concerned with your condition than with what he was saying."

"We might be married or we might not?" Mary studied him for a moment. "How do we find out?"

Jeremiah sighed. "We will have to find the man and ask him if we are truly married in the eyes of God."

Mary nodded slowly. "I think we probably need to know. Why haven't you asked him?"

"It seemed...unnecessary at the time. And I think Irish Mary and Bruna may well have beaten us senseless for even discussing it."

A tiny hint of a smile pulled at the corner of Mary's mouth as she imagined that. Then the smile disappeared. "Why?"

Jeremiah refused to make eye contact for a long moment. "I did not think it would be important because we did not think you would survive the night."

"Oh." She shrunk into her bedding a bit, her emaciated form almost disappearing.

"You didn't die though, Mary."

"No. I did not, and we may, or may not, be married." She seemed far less upset than he would have guessed. Perhaps the illness had temporarily blunted her edges.

"I hope you weren't betrothed." The concern and earnest tone caught Mary a little off guard.

She looked up at him with a weary shake of her head. "Most of the menfolk are gone for Soldier and them that remain are simple, old or already married." She gave a sigh that might have been a laugh if she'd have had the strength. "Or they're Black Republican Yankee mercenaries."

Jeremiah smiled ruefully. "Isn't that the same as simple?"

She gave a weak smile in return. "Wasn't gonna say that out loud an' all. Can't be rude to the man who might have saved me from the Devil."

He looked down at the hand he was still holding and at the skinny arm attached to it. "Do you feel you would be able to eat?"

"I guess I could try."

Jeremiah let go of her hand almost reluctantly. "I'll go get Bruna."

*****

A meal of clear broth later, Mary was able to almost sit up on her own, a development that Bruna appeared quite pleased with.

Irish Mary pushed into the room just as Mary settled herself. "There ya are, Lass. We was thinkin' you'd not be with us nae more. Kitchen physic will do you more good now than anything else."

"I don't think I would be here without you and Bruna."

"And your Jeremiah. The lad sat with you every night, reading God's word to you to ward off the Devil himself."

Even though she suspected as much, Mary felt an uncharacteristic flush trickle through her. "He did?"

"Aye, he did. Sat in that chair. Slept in it too. Every night. Attending like a proper husband, he was. Every night, then off ta drillin' and patrollin' with his men every day, just like he is now."

Mary avoided looking in her eyes, embarrassed by the thoughts she was having. A Yankee. A damn Yankee and she was, well, probably married to him. Which brought up a question. "What was the name of the minister that married us?"

"Your man asked that already. I don't know. Bruna was deep in her cups and didna ask his name. Had a drink or two meself, medicinal, what with the Fever running here. It's nae matter I'm sure'n he was a proper Minister. Too Pecksniffian to be anythin' else, he was."

Mary bit her frustration back, not pointing out that the missing minister was the only one who could answer the looming question of whether Jeremiah really was "Mary's man." Irish Mary didn't even notice, continuing on without missing a beat. "As bad as the Fever held you, you'll be a couple months coming round. You'll need yer rest for a good while. Ya cannae see yerself, but you're just shadows and eyes right now, near ta nothin' left of ya."