Beloved Enemy (24 page)

Lizzie's father had left his children with not only a vast wealth of money and bonds, but also books. Julia could have lived happily in his library for years to come. She turned up several of the gas lamps, then ran her fingers along the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. She took down one and thumbed through its slightly musty pages.

It looked interesting. If it wasn't, at least it would put her to sleep. Julia curled herself up in the well-worn leather wing chair, put a knitted afghan over her legs and began to read. Immersed in the machinations of Henry VI's knotty love life, she failed to hear Wilson's rap on the door frame.

“Miss Julia?” he said in a low voice.

Julia jumped. The heavy book fell onto the thick pile carpet. “Wilson! You scared me out of nine lives in one fell swoop. I'm very sorry if I had awakened you.”

He shook his head, but did not treat her with his usual smile. “No, miss. I'm wide awake.” Then he whispered, “We have visitors at the side door.”

“Visitors?” she repeated. Her stomach churned. “Who on earth comes calling at this hour?”
Not with Lizzie gone!

“It's happened, Miss Julia,” Wilson whispered. “The prison breakout. It came sooner than Miss Lizzie expected. There are two men at the door.”

His words galvanized her into action. “We must get them inside. It's colder than Russia out there. They'll freeze to death.” She scrambled under the chair to locate one of her slippers.

Wilson finally smiled. “Oh, they're inside the door,
miss. In the mudroom. They're a mess and feeling mighty poorly from the look of them.”

Julia turned down the gas lights, grabbed her candle then hurried past him toward the back stairs. She tried to remember everything that Lizzie had prepared for the escape. “Is Mary awake?”

Wilson kept up with her. “Yes, she's cleaning them off now.”

Julia shot him a quizzical look, not quite understanding what he meant. “We must get their beds warmed. And hot water bottles for their feet. They must be half frozen. And some hot soup. And fresh clothes. Where did Lizzie say she put the clean shirts and underdrawers?”

Before giving Wilson time to answer, she pushed open the swinging door that led through the butler's pantry. In the mudroom, two men, covered from head to toe in dirt and globs of mud, struggled out of their caked boots and socks.

Julia came to a complete standstill. “Oh, lordy,” she breathed.

The taller man looked up, and grinned at her; his teeth shone white against the layers of dirt and ragged beard.

“Good evening, Miss Julia. I believe it's ten o'clock. Am I late?”

“Rob!” In one forward motion, Julia flung herself into his embrace.

W
ith efficiency born of practice, Mary set up a tin bathtub on a sheet inside the safety of the blacked-out parlor. When clean clothes, hot water, and lye soap had been assembled for Rob and his friend, Stu Cramer, Wilson sent the women out of the room.

“These gentlemen are not going to strip down with you two standing there. Now, shoo!” Wilson flapped his hands as if his wife and Julia were a pair of hens.

Once back in the kitchen, Mary heated up a kettle of soup on the large potbellied stove. Julia nudged the heap of muddy uniforms with the toe of her slipper. “I suppose we should scrape and boil these,” she suggested, though it occurred to her that she had not the slightest idea how to boil anything. Hettie had never allowed Julia or Carolyn near her stove.

“Ha!” Mary said out of the side of her mouth. “No use in wasting the time and the water, Miss Julia. Those clothes are fit for nothing but burning.” She pulled a pair of poultry shears from one of the kitchen drawers. “You can start with these. Make the pieces small to burn better.”

Since she was already covered in grime from Rob's embrace, Julia sat down cross-legged on the tile floor and
hacked at the sodden wool pants and coats. The work was considerably harder than snipping embroidery threads or hemming dresses.

“So that's your man, Miss Julia?” Mary asked as she chopped at the clothing with a long kitchen knife.

Julia blushed. “I'm afraid that he doesn't belong to me, but yes, that's Major Montgomery.”

“He's fine-looking, even under all that mud. I expect he'll clean up pretty good.” She laughed. “And he's yours, that's for sure. Just ripe for the taking. All you have to do is look at his face to see that.”

Julia bent her head over her task. “Maybe after the war. We'll see then,” she murmured.

Mary tossed a hunk of cloth into the glowing belly of the stove. “I doubt that man is going to wait for peacetime or anything else. You'll see.”

The front doorbell chimed. The two women froze. “More escapees?” Julia asked, getting up and brushing off some of the dirt.

Mary shook her head. “Don't you answer it, Miss Julia. Nothing good ever comes in the front door after dark. I'll get Wilson.”

Clutching the shears, Julia followed Mary up the back stairs and into the central hall. The front door shuddered under repeated kicks and blows of a cane. The chimes jangled. Wilson, his brown eyes hooded like a hawk, emerged from the parlor, followed by Rob and Stu who were now washed though still unshaven. They were half-dressed in fresh long johns and wrapped in blankets.

“Open it,” said Stu, “it must be more of the boys.”

Both Rob and Wilson shook their heads. “We were the only two to come here,” Rob replied. “Most everyone else was to fan out over Church Hill and head for the Mechan
icsville Turnpike. Got to get as many of the men as possible away from the city before dawn.”

“Besides,” added Wilson, “people always know to come to the side door. Front door is for Richmond white folks in the daylight. Miss Lizzie never opens the front door after dark, and I'm not going to start now.”

Julia drew closer to Rob. “But what if it's someone who's been hurt in the escape? Maybe he was shot by a guard and is confused.”

“Not likely,” Stu spoke up in a voice hoarse from a deep cough. “Any time the Rebs have discovered an escape, they've rung every bell in the city and called out the hounds. Whips up a real hullabaloo. Listen, the streets are still quiet, except on your doorstep.”

“Open up!” shouted a man out front. “Lizzie Van Lew! You have got something that's mine and I've come to get her!”

Julia sagged against Rob. “Hellfire! It's Payton Norwood! How did he ever find me?”

Rob opened his blanket and wrapped her protectively against him. Though Julia's nerves were stretched to breaking, she still felt a shock of forbidden excitement run though her when his thinly clad thigh pressed against her. His strong body gave her courage, and made her heart skip a beat.

Wilson wrinkled his forehead. “What's he want with you?”

“My inheritance,” she whispered, afraid that Payton might hear her voice though the crack under the door. “He'll get it if he can marry me, but I would rather die first. The varmint's a bully at heart.”

“I can hear that,” agreed Mary. “What are we going to do with him? He's bound to wake up the Logans next door, and they won't take too kindly to all that racket.”

Stu coughed into his blanket.

Julia looked at the feverish man. “You two should be in bed before you both catch a worse chill. We've got everything ready upstairs.”

Mary took Stu around the waist and guided him toward the staircase. “Now you come along with me and we'll fix you up fine. Major, don't you tarry none. You don't look too good yourself, you know.”

Rob held Julia tighter. “Wilson,” he whispered. “Blow out the candles. Now, is there a gun in the house?” The man nodded. “Good. Please find it for me. I may be winged on one side, but I used to be able to load and shoot with either hand.”

Julia shivered and wrapped her arms around Rob's waist. She looked up at him. “You're going to sh…
shoot
Payton?”

He brushed a quick kiss on the top of her hair. She held him tighter. Her skin prickled with the heat of his body. She wanted to twist herself around him like a vine around a tree trunk.

“He deserves a good round of buckshot,” Rob whispered in her ear. His breath warmed and tickled her. “But I don't intend to blow a hole through Miss Lizzie's door. Only if he breaks in. Then it's justifiable.”

Wilson returned with an old-fashioned Mississippi percussion-lock rifle and a box of cartridges. “You remember that man I saw hanging around the house the other day, Miss Julia?” he whispered as he handed the ammunition to Rob. “I saw him sneaking across the portico out back. Don't you worry. The door's locked and barred, and I got my cudgel right handy. He won't get in.” He glided away down the darkened hall.

Rob passed his blanket to Julia. Then he tore off the top of a cartridge with his teeth, poured the powder and shot
down the barrel then wadded the paper down after it with the ramrod. She marveled how dexterous he was with only minimal use of his right hand. Then he pulled a side chair to the center of the hall, and crouched down behind it with the gun barrel resting on the seat.

Just then, old Mrs. Van Lew called from the top of the staircase. “Who's down there?”

“It's Lizzie's mother,” Julia whispered to Rob.

He glanced up at the tiny glow of a candle shining over the balustrade. “You'd better go stay with her. Don't worry about Norwood. He won't get by me.” He pressed a hard kiss on her lips. “Now hurry!”

Outside, Payton's blows increased in intensity while his language descended in vulgarity. Julia grabbed her candlestick and ran down the hall and up the stairs. Midway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. The silver spill of the moonlight through the front parlor windows outlined Rob's coiled body. A wave of pride and love washed over Julia. No other woman in history ever had such a gallant, brave chevalier as this man, who guarded her safety with one good hand, an old gun and a world of courage.

She would marry him in half a minute, if he ever asked her.

Mrs. Van Lew called again. Shaking off her romantic fantasy, Julia hurried to the second floor. Lizzie's redoubtable mother had armed herself with her cane and an empty enamel chamber pot. The sight would have been ludicrous if the situation wasn't so fraught with danger. Payton's disturbance could bring the night watchmen, which would be disastrous for the two Yankees in the house.

“It's all right, Mrs. Van Lew,” Julia soothed as she helped the old woman back into her bed. “It's some crazy drunk fool who has confused our house with his own, I expect.”

The sweet-faced little lady impaled Julia with a piercing look. “If my husband were still alive, he would have shot that man by now so a body could get some rest.”

Julia returned a wry smile. “It'll be just fine. Wilson is awake and will take care of him.” She thought it prudent not to mention the presence of the escaped prisoners under their roof. She had no idea how much the mother knew of her daughter's secret life as a spy for the Union.

Mrs. Van Lew rearranged her pillows. “A fine time for Lizzie to go off to the farm for some chickens,” she huffed, “especially when there's an ornery rooster at the front door.”

Julia sat beside the bed and held Mrs. Van Lew's fragile hand. The loud ticking of the mantel clock lulled them both. Julia yawned.

She awoke with a jolt just as the pink of pre-dawn washed over the treetops. Her candle had gutted in its holder, and Mrs. Van Lew snored slightly amid the froth of her lace-edged pillows. Julia rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then glanced at the clock. She had slept for nearly five hours! She pulled on her robe, then tiptoed down to the staircase. Peeking around the curve of the banister, she saw the side chair standing solitary guard in the middle of the downstairs hallway, but Rob was not there. A quick glance at the front door confirmed that Payton had gone without evidence of a forcible entry. Had Rob been arrested by Payton? A cold fear lodged in her stomach.

Wrapping her robe tighter around her, Julia scurried up to the third floor. The secret door at the end of the hall was closed and, to the casual glance, it looked like part of the molding. Holding her breath, Julia opened it slowly on its well-oiled hinges. In the far bed, Stu slept heavily, curled up under several blankets. Julia exhaled with relief when she saw that Rob was in his bed as well, or rather,
he had fallen across it and his single blanket had slipped half off. The old rifle lay on the floor.

I wonder how long he sat downstairs listening to Payton.

Tenderness engulfed her, especially when she noticed his bare feet hanging over the edge of the mattress. For some inexplicable reason, she found the sight of his toes particularly adorable. She really should get him under the covers before he froze, but Julia had never before been inside a man's bedroom—especially when two scantily-clothed men were also in residence. She rubbed her hands together while she tried to figure out the best way to pull the blankets around him. At that indecisive moment, Rob rolled over.

He squinted at her, then grinned through his scraggly beard. “Evening, Miss Julia. Have you come to have your dastardly way with me?”

Instead of being shocked, she giggled behind her hand. “It's nearly daylight,” she whispered with a quick glance at Stu, “and I only wanted to see…that is, to make sure you were all right.”

He pulled himself into a sitting position and ran his hand through his hair. Julia picked up the blanket and dropped it lightly over his shoulders. She wanted to touch him, to enfold him in her arms and warm him, yet she held back, suddenly shy. His weight loss in prison accentuated his classic features and, at the same time, revealed the energy and power that lay within him. He was a lone wolf facing the world on his own terms.

Rob's gaze roved over her and his smile broadened. “You are the best sight I have ever seen this early in the morning.” The warmth in his liquid-dark eyes beckoned her closer. Julia's question of Payton's whereabouts evaporated.

The silence stretched and encompassed them. He held out his hand to her. Julia placed her fingertips in his palm. His long fingers folded around hers and squeezed with a gentle invitation. Hot blood, as if charged with lightning, surged from her fingers, up her arm and radiated throughout her whole body. Her inner core blazed. Rob bent over and kissed her fingers, one at a time, with agonizing deliberation. Her heartbeat pounded in her temples; her breath almost stopped. Julia felt herself drowning. Leaning toward him, she moistened her lips for his kiss.

Rob raised his head, then he looked over her shoulder and his expression changed into a sheepish grin. “Good morning, Miss Lizzie,” he said with the innocent air of a small boy trapped with a warm apple pie. “Welcome home.” He released Julia's hand with a squeeze of farewell.

Travel-stained and tired around the eyes, Lizzie folded her arms across her bosom. Julia blushed. How long had she been standing there? Lizzie studied the pair speculatively. “Yes, Wilson told me it was an interesting night.”

In the other bed, Stu coughed in his sleep and turned over. Lizzie lowered her voice. “When the two of you are dressed in more respectable attire, come down to the dining room. Mary will have breakfast on the table at eight.” Her bright eyes sharpened. “I fear I have dire news that may force a change of plan for both of you.” With that warning, she left them.

Rob covered himself with the blanket. “I'm sorry, Julia,” he mumbled, looking away. His neck reddened.

Julia swallowed down her acute disappointment. Was he sorry that his seduction had been thwarted, or sorry that he had even thought of it? She tossed her loose hair out of her eyes. “Of course,” she murmured. “Please excuse me.” She fled the room before he could say anything else.

As she donned her green plaid day dress, Julia chided herself for her lack of discretion. What did Lizzie think of her now? Would she send Julia on her way?

She brushed out her tousled curls. And what did Rob think of her? Would they have really become lovers as Lizzie had so graphically described to Julia? For a well-bred spinster, Lizzie Van Lew knew a great deal about subjects no proper lady ought to know. Staring at her reflection in the looking glass, Julia realized that she would have indeed allowed Rob to seduce her. She chewed on her lower lip. She'd become a hussy like the women outside the prison.

Yet the prospect of giving her virginity to Rob did not shock her, as it once might have. An hour ago, the idea of making love with him had seemed the most wonderful, natural thing to do. Pressing her cool palms against her burning cheeks, Julia wondered how she could possibly sit down opposite him at breakfast as if nothing had happened.