The Lady and the Officer (38 page)

Henry nodded, but kept his eyes focused on the dusty road ahead.

“I hope you'll accept my apology so we can put this unpleasantness behind us.” James extended a gloved hand.

The adjutant shook halfheartedly, meeting his gaze with heavy lidded eyes. “The subject will not be brought up again, sir.”

“Thank you. Later today the road will take us near the town of New Market. Please see that this gets posted.” James handed over the letter penned the previous evening. “This will put an end to my distraction with Mrs. Howard.”

The major glanced at the address and tucked it inside his coat. “Of course, sir, I'll see to it myself.” Snapping a salute, he spurred his horse and rode off to the head of the column.

This will be one letter that won't land in the campfire tonight.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

 

J
ULY
1864

M
adeline enjoyed the warm sun on her back as she hoed weeds from between rows of potatoes, carrots, and beans. Aunt Clarisa had finally stopped insisting she not work in the garden like a field hand. The family needed to eat, and Esther and Micah could only do so much. Kathleen had been easily replaced with an emancipated slave who had come east from the Lynchburg area. The young woman's husband had died during the winter from pneumonia, along with her son. But she'd given birth to a baby girl in March and desperately needed work to support the two of them.

Aunt Clarisa said the sound of a baby would do them all good, even if she cried during the night. There had been too much death, too much misery for so long.

But Patsy's daughter, Abigail, almost never cried. And Eugenia happily stepped in as nanny when their maid needed a moment in the privy. Eugenia asked Patsy a bushel load of questions as though eager to learn the secrets of motherhood. Blessedly, Major Penrod received a staff position with General Beauregard. Although his letters were few and far between, Eugenia lit a candle at Saint Patrick's each week and prayed for his protection not less than a dozen times a day.

From Uncle John, Madeline learned that a fierce three-day battle was fought in June for control of Petersburg. The Yankees broke through Confederate trenches and might have taken the city if fighting hadn't inexplicably stopped for the day. By morning Lee arrived with reinforcements and prevented disaster for his army.

Instead, “disaster” continued in the form of a siege, with constant sharpshooter sniping and frequent skirmishes at the fieldworks surrounding the city. The prolonged siege cost lives on a daily basis and emptied the vast storehouses in Richmond. With disruption in the rail lines from the Carolinas and Georgia, the citizens of Richmond began to suffer. Any available food cost dearly.

And so Madeline hoed, weeded, and plucked bugs from cabbage leaves. Later, she and Aunt Clarisa would pick apples and pears to bake or can, reserving the seeds to be planted where roses once grew. Those with the ability to grow food wouldn't starve. The family wasted nothing and never complained if their diet contained creamed corn or tart applesauce every day. Madeline's heart broke for those in refugee camps beyond the city, displaced whites and freed blacks seeking jobs from people with few resources to pay salaries.

That afternoon, Micah entered the kitchen as Madeline, Patsy, and Esther were pitting sour cherries to make into jam. Because Uncle John had sold his horse and carriage to a visiting banker from Canada, both men walked everywhere they needed to go. Uncle John had mourned the loss of his favorite gelding, but the proceeds would keep the family in cheese, eggs, and milk, with occasional meat or fish, for at least six months.

“Where on earth have you been with that?” Esther pointed at the large basket that Micah returned to the ceiling hook.

“To the market, of course. I wanted to see if anything had been left when folks packed up. Sometimes they leave behind bruised fruits and vegetables free for the taking.” He rolled up his sleeves to wash at the hand pump.

“And was there?” asked Esther.

“No, not so much as a moldy grape.” The butler cast Madeline an odd look despite the fact she hadn't been the one asking the question.

Esther snorted. “I could have told you it would be a waste of time. You went too late in the afternoon.”

“With less produce, the merchants sell out and pack up earlier these days,” Eugenia added, using her newly acquired habit of observation.

“Yes, ma'am.” Micah nodded at Eugenia, but focused on Madeline as he dried his hands.

That evening, after they had eaten and washed the supper dishes, Madeline went in search of the enigmatic butler. Micah usually was as straightforward as a judge, so his strange behavior earlier had unnerved her. She found him in the garden whittling sharp points on several long sticks.

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I thought I would go fishing in the
river shallows tomorrow. Maybe I can spear some shad or trout if I don't catch anything with my hook and line.”

“You found no fish today down on the docks?”

Again Micah angled an expression supposed to mean something, but Madeline had no idea what that was.

“I heard they sold their catch to the army sutlers. All Captain George had left was some shrimp not fit to use for bait. And I have been able to dig up night crawlers now that Mrs. Duncan keeps ripping out flower gardens to plant vegetables.” Micah folded his pocketknife and tucked it into his pocket.

“You saw Captain George?” Unable to control her excitement, Madeline glanced over her shoulder at the door.

“I did. I tried selling him some bait, but he had all he needed.”

“What a shame. I'm sure you and Esther are trying to put aside a little money for the future with life so uncertain in Richmond.” Madeline tightened the shawl around her shoulders, the breeze cool with the sun having set.

Micah straightened to his feet and stood less than a foot away. “Captain George sends his regards to you, Mrs. Howard. He asked me to give you this.” He withdrew a folded envelope. “He said no charge for delivery and that you two are even.”

Madeline quickly hid the letter under her shawl. “Thank you. I'm grateful for your discretion.”

“I don't know what you're up to, ma'am, but this is the last time I want to be involved.”

“I understand.” Madeline reached for his hand. “I'm indebted to you, Micah.”

He stared at her for a moment and then clasped her fingers between his. “I suppose you are. Let's hope something's biting in the shallows tomorrow. I have a taste for fresh fish dipped in egg and cornmeal and fried up in hot bacon fat.” He was already on his way to the carriage house.

Despite how delicious that sounded, Madeline couldn't think about food as she climbed the back steps two at a time. Once she was within the private confines of her room, she extracted the sheet filled with James's slanted script. Holding the paper close to her nose, she inhaled
the quintessentially male scent of shaving balm and tobacco as her heart pounded with anticipation.

Dear Mrs. Howard,

With his salutation Madeline's exuberance slipped a notch.

Recently I was shown a photograph of a Confederate colonel, Elliott Haywood, and yourself taken at a Richmond social event not long after your return from Culpeper. Although I was reluctant to believe your affections could have changed in so short an interval, I held proof of your newfound joy in my own hand.

I must surmise this infatuation began prior to your trip to my winter camp. Could this Elliott Haywood be the reason you stayed such a short time? Although I feel foolish over my relentless pursuit of you, I regret nothing I said or did during our acquaintance. You possess a gentle soul with a resilient spirit. I had so yearned to spend my life with you. Because your heart belongs to another, I pray Colonel Haywood keeps you safe and far removed from the horrible privations that war brings.

I respectfully withdraw my petition and wish you much happiness in life.

James A. Downing

S
EPTEMBER
1864

Madeline applied the fan so vigorously that the stiff paper novelty snapped in half. Festooned with bizarre Chinese symbols, the gift from Justine Emerson was no match for the stifling heat of late summer. If only a breeze picked up or a thunderstorm blew in from the ocean—anything that would break the city's relentless humidity. Just as Madeline was about to stick her head in the horse trough, her cousin skipped into the garden wearing a fresh cotton dress and broad smile.

“Good afternoon, Maddy.” Eugenia chirped like a sparrow.

“Good afternoon, although I find little good about it. It must be one hundred degrees even in the shade.” After Madeline had slumped against the chaise, Eugenia planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Don't be cross, dear cousin. Why don't you help plan my spring wedding? That should help pass the afternoon until supper.” She perched on the edge of her chair.

Madeline bolted upright. “Did Major Penrod propose in a letter? He hasn't been here in weeks.”

Eugenia glanced around the courtyard for eavesdroppers. “No, he hasn't, but I have a feeling he'll be home soon. And the first words out of his mouth will be: ‘Miss Eugenia, will you honor me by becoming my bride?' ” She spoke in a deep baritone voice with her hand positioned over her heart.

Madeline chuckled despite her bad mood. “You truly do sound like him. But Joseph coming home soon may be wishful thinking by a woman in love.”

“
Au contraire, m'petite
.” Eugenia offered one of the few French phrases she learned in finishing school. “I heard Papa tell Mama the war will soon be over. It's practically a foregone conclusion.”

Madeline stopped tearing the broken fan into shreds. “A victory for which side?”

“For the Confederacy, of course, with all due respect to your late
husband's memory.” Lowering her eyelashes, Eugenia patted Madeline's hand.

“Thank you, sweet girl, but perhaps Uncle John was expressing his hopefulness. Surely morale must be low at the war department.” Madeline resumed mutilating the paper fan.

“I don't think so. Papa read in a Washington newspaper that Northern sentiments have turned against General Grant. People are fed up with their boys dying for no good reason.”

“What
people
, Genie? There always will be pacifists against war, no matter what principles are involved.”

“I'm not talking about Quakers and such. These rabble-rousers are called Copperheads—what an odd name. According to the report, they are rioting in the streets in New York and Ohio. The Copperheads demand that Lincoln recognize the Confederacy and schedule peace talks. If your president refuses, they're encouraging Union soldiers to desert.” Eugenia plucked a flower off the bougainvillea bush. “That isn't wishful thinking if it was in a
Yankee
newspaper.”

Madeline stared speechlessly at her cousin for several moments before gathering herself and saying, “That will never happen, Genie. President Lincoln promoted General Grant over other commanders and gave him full control.”

“Then Lincoln will lose the election in November most assuredly. A democrat in the White House will bring this nasty business to a swift close.” Eugenia smiled politely to soften her words.

“Uncle John actually said this to your mother?” Madeline had never heard Eugenia talk about anything other than ball gowns and local gossip.

“Indeed he did. Maybe Joseph will be home by Thanksgiving, Mr. Lincoln's new federal holiday. I'm certain Mama will throw a grand Christmas party so we can announce our engagement. Then we can be married in the spring.” Eugenia began waltzing around the courtyard as though at a ball. “I do hope babies arrive right away, because I've absolutely fallen in love with little Abigail.”

So like Eugenia to turn the conversation back to herself within five minutes,
Madeline thought uncharitably. “Will you please sit down? How can you dance when I can barely breathe in this heat?”

The girl ceased celebrating an assured Confederate victory, along with her promising future. “I beg your pardon, Maddy. Since you came home, I've been hoping you would remain with us forever.”