Hel Morgan

Five

The house was grand, large windows sparkling in the late afternoon light, and rows of carriages and buggies lining the wide, graveled driveway. Morgan started his horse again, feeling his stomach tighten a little at the thought of going inside. The hardest part of the last four years was just behind him. He'd been to see Magdalena, and her large brown eyes had filled with tears, her full lips quivering badly as he told her of Manuel's death. She had cried, burying her face into his chest, her fingers clutched into his shirt and he'd held her for a long while, trying to find a way to soothe her grief but unable to.

"Weel you not stay mí amor?" she'd asked him, looking up with tear-filled eyes "Stay weeth me, here?"

"No señoríta, I cannot stay." He'd brushed the wetness from her cheeks "I've got to go, I'm expected back by the end of next week."

"Weel you come back?" Her voice had been trembling, full of hope.

He'd hated to say no, but Morgan had slowly shaken his head.

"No Magdalena, I won't be back."

She had lifted to her toes then, pressing a kiss against his lips and Hel had returned the embrace, holding her soft curves tightly against him. When he'd ridden away she had watched from the doorway, tears streaking unchecked down her face.

Now he was at the largest, most grand estate he'd ever seen, belonging to a southern man who'd always sympathized with the Union, and he was throwing a ball in honor of the victorious northern forces. Hel would not have come at all, but his invitation by General Sheridan himself had left no room for refusal.

His horse was borrowed from the livery stable back in town, Hel's faithful gelding worn out and tired from hard travel. The black underneath him now moved with sharp tight steps, tossing his head proudly as Morgan reached the wide stairs leading to the front door and stepped from the saddle. The servant waiting there took his reins and waved him toward the door.

"Go on ahead sir, the other guests are inside."

Morgan nodded briefly at him and started up the steps, sweeping his hat off as the door opened for him. He was dressed in his finest uniform, the material heavily starched and crisp, and Hel Morgan turned more than a few eyes as he strode easily into the room. Barely had he stepped inside when a booming voice called to him.

"Captain! Ain't you a sight!"

Hel's green eyes settled immediately on Mic O'Brien standing just to the left of the door, a drink in his hand, a wide smile on his face. Morgan grinned and stepped forward, the two shaking hands.

"O'Brien, good to see you on your feet."

"Oh aye, I wouldn't a missed this shindig for anything! Bill Grayson's daughter is here, and I seen her earlier! She makes takin' a couple of bullets worth it!"

Morgan frowned and shook his head in mock disapproval.

"No woman is worth taking bullets for Mic. Most times they're the ones pulling the trigger."

O'Brien chuckled and tossed back his drink, his small grey eyes twinkling.

"You say that 'cause you haven't laid eyes on the filly yet. Just you wait Captain, you'll swallow those words whole!"

They were silent a moment, then the Sergeant Major turned somber eyes on his commander.

"The word about what you pulled off is spread wide Cap," O'Brien's eyes were full of serious respect "A whole rebel cavalry, and you brought 'em back without a single problem!"