Beloved Enemy (25 page)

But nothing is exactly what
did
happen, thanks to Lizzie's untimely arrival. With her emotions swimming in confusion, Julia put up her hair in a net and faced the day with the firm resolution not to make a fool of herself again—no matter what.

Lizzie, looking clean and refreshed, gave her attention to her soft-boiled egg when Julia slid into her chair. Rob, across the table, flashed the brief grin of a fellow conspirator. Julia lowered her head; her heart turned over. He had shaved away his dark beard. With the astonishment of sudden discovery, she realized that she had never once seen Rob in the full light of day.

Good gracious, he was very handsome!

When she looked up from her plate, she caught him
staring at her with widened eyes. She instinctively patted her hair, hoping that she met with his approval.

“I'm afraid all we have this morning is corn bread, a bit of bacon, warmed-over peanut soup, soft-boiled eggs—and tea,” Lizzie announced with a decided disgust over the tea. She passed Julia a crystal bowl of preserves. “If you slather enough blackberry jam on the bread, it might make up for the lack of butter.”

“Thank you,” Julia replied in a barely audible voice.

She waited for Lizzie's lecture or for the dire news, but her hostess only said, “Pass the salt, please.”

The clink and scrape of silverware against the china plates sounded raucous in Julia's ears. Back at home, Mother had never allowed deadly silences, but had kept the house lively with her histrionics. When Julia stole another quick glance at Rob, she saw him shifting in his chair and fiddling with his fork. His obvious discomfort made Julia feel, perversely, much better.

To break the tension, Julia asked Rob, “What happened to Payton?”

Lizzie replaced her cup in its saucer. “I had wondered that myself.”

He dabbed his lips with his napkin, then grinned. “Shortly after Miss Julia went up to stay with your mother,” he began, with a pointed reference to Julia's absence from his side, “Mr. Norwood became…um…violently ill. I suspect a surfeit of rich food washed down by too much wine. Then I heard a crash against the door, then silence. Fearing that he might have injured himself, I took the liberty of peeking out. He had merely gone to sleep on the mat.” Rob grinned and a devilish look stole into his eyes.

“Since Mr. Norwood has been nothing but a thorn in
Julia's life, I took the opportunity of doing something permanent about him.”

Lizzie adjusted her spectacles on her nose. “And that was?”

“I hope you do not mind, ma'am, but I helped myself to some of your plain stationery. I sketched out a counterfeit escape map and a list of so-called ‘safe houses'. Then I stuffed them into his shoe.”

Lizzie chuckled.

“Naturally, I hoped that the night watch would find him, which they did soon after that. When they discovered the interesting evidence sticking out of Norwood's shoe, they immediately decided to take him to the provost marshal's office. They never bothered knocking on your door. After they left, I went back to my own bed—with Stu,” he added quickly.

Lizzie's eyes sparkled. “Once the breakout has been discovered, I suspect that dear Mr. Norwood will soon find himself a resident of Castle Thunder for a while,” she observed, naming Richmond's infamous lockup for political and civilian prisoners. “How very clever of you, Major!”

Just then, the bells of Saint Paul's pealed an alarm. The remaining few other churches, which had not yet donated their bells to the cannon foundry, took up the call. Firehouses added to the noise. Julia clenched her napkin in her lap. “What is it? Are the Yankees attacking the city?”

Lizzie spread more jam on her muffin. “In the dead of winter? Of course not!” She smiled at Rob. “I expect that Colonel Thomas Turner has discovered that some of his guests are missing. This means we will have to act quickly.”

Gasping, Julia glanced at Rob. “Will the authorities come here?”

Lizzie munched her bread, swallowed then replied. “Of course. I am always on the top of their suspect list—but it will take General Winder some time to organize the dragoons and the city guard before they come round to visit. Captain Cramer will be perfectly safe in his hideaway over the portico. It's
you,
Major, who is in the greater danger.”

L
izzie handed Rob a wrinkled broadside. “One of your Pinkerton agents gave me that while I was at the farm. He said that copies had been circulated throughout all the Union lines in Virginia and the Carolinas.” She turned to Julia. “I fear your major is a marked man.”

Disbelief jolted Rob as he read a detailed description of himself under the inch-high heading: “Traitor!” “Shoot on sight—shoot to kill—$5,000 reward in gold.” The black newsprint virtually dripped poison. He swore softly when he saw that Julia was also named and described, and grimaced when he read Stanton's signature. Claypole had done a good job to save his skin. Rob would be shot down by his own side before he even reached Williamsburg. His anger choked his breath.

Julia's eyes reflected her bewilderment. “What is it?” she asked in a frightened voice.

Wordlessly, he handed her the sheet. She moaned when she read it. Rob floundered in a whirlwind of anger and confusion. He had the sensation that the walls of the dining room were closing in on him. His single overriding thought was immediate escape—but where? And what about Julia? The shock had drained the blood from her face.

She raised her head. “How?” she silently mouthed.

Rob gripped the silver knife in his good hand. “Claypole,” he growled, wishing he could impale the turncoat. “He's a double agent,” he explained to Lizzie. “We saw each other in Libby when he visited, disguised as a Confederate general. Since he knows I will denounce him the minute I return to Washington, he has taken evasive action.”

Lizzie regarded him with a steely look. “You realize that you cannot return now, don't you, Rob? With that high a reward, you are a target too good to ignore.” She pushed aside her breakfast dishes and placed her elbows on the table. “So the question is, where will you go?”

Rob shook his head slowly. If he stayed in Richmond, he was bound to be recaptured and sent back to Libby. There he would rot until the end of the war, or die of fever and malnutrition. No one in the Office of Military Intelligence would lift a finger to save him now. If he took to the road and headed for New York, how far could he get before someone killed him for the five thousand dollars in gold? Even if he were captured alive, how could he defend himself at his court marshal when the formidable Secretary of War wanted his head on a silver platter?

“You will have to go abroad,” said Lizzie. “When the war is over, perhaps cooler heads will listen to reason and it will be safe for you to return.”

He gazed across the damask-covered table at the most wonderful woman he had ever known. “Julia?” he asked. “What do
you
want to do?”

“She can remain here with me,” Lizzie snapped, watching his reaction closely. “After all, she's not wanted for treason. It's a question of loyalties,” she continued. “Now comes the truth of it. Where do yours lie, Major? Julia?”

Julia stretched her hand out to him. “It breaks my heart
to say this, but I will stay here. It's better for Rob that way. They are looking for
two
of us and he can move faster without me.” Though her bearing was stiff and proud, a glazed look of despair spread across her face.

His soul wrenched in two. “I want to keep you out of danger,” he explained in a voice hoarse with emotion he could not name. He laid his hand over hers and stared deeply into those fathomless pools of green.

A little sob escaped Julia's throat. The sound tore at him. How could he abandon her in Richmond? Turn away from the person who had taught him to live again?

“Humph,” Lizzie snorted, looking from one to the other. “It's plain to
me
that both of you are afraid to say what you
really
want. Well, my dears, there is no time for sweet speeches and shilly-shallying. It is this simple: if you separate now, you will probably never see each other again. Before this madness is over, it is likely that one of you will die.”

Julia stared at her, openmouthed. Closing his eyes, Rob nodded. He understood exactly what Miss Lizzie meant. He was a live target.

“Harsh words, but that is the way of war,” Lizzie continued. “So, make up your minds now, then don't look back. Rob must be at the depot by noon, before Winder's men pay me a call.”

Rob shot her a quizzical look. “What depot? I can't stay here, I can't go south and I can't go back. How do you propose I leave the country?”

Lizzie's eyes sparkled as if she found perverse pleasure in their predicament. “On a ship bound to the Bahamas, of course—unless you would prefer to walk to Mexico.”

“A blockade runner!” Julia exclaimed, comprehension igniting her hope. “Oh, Rob, you can do it!” She squeezed his hand.

“Will you come with me?” Their eyes met and held each other. He gripped her tiny hand in his. “I need you, more than you can possibly know. Please?”

Lizzie slammed down her hands on the table. “For heaven's sake, Rob, how can she answer that when she doesn't know what's in your heart? Do you love her or not?”

Julia jumped at the sound, but Rob held steady and never took his eyes from her. “I do, Miss Lizzie,” he replied, speaking directly to Julia. “I love you, Julia Chandler, with every fiber of my being. Will you come with me, even though I'm a Yankee?”

Julia held him tighter. Her eyes glazed with tears.

“Well, Julia?” Lizzie rapped on the table with her spoon. “He's asking. Are you taking?”

“Now and forever,” she breathed. “I see no enemy here, only the man I love.”

Rob wanted to shout, to dance around the table, to give everyone in the house a kiss. He started to rise, but Lizzie thumped the table again. “Not now, Major! You will have time enough to bill and coo on the ship. What we must do now is get the two of you ready.”

Julia jumped up from her chair, knocking it over. “I'll pack at once!”

Lizzie held up her hands. “No, I'm afraid you are going to have to travel very lightly—and as a boy.” Ignoring their shocked expressions, she hurried on. “The broadside describes a major in the Federal army, accompanied by a young lady with long auburn hair. Even if we disguised Rob as a Confederate, his lame hand would betray his identity. So we will change who you are. Julia will be a young farmboy—and you, Rob, will be his mother.” She smiled with triumph.

Rob didn't know whether to laugh or swear. “Miss
Lizzie, how in the hell do you plan to do that? I'm over six feet tall.”

The “old cat” had a plan that she put into action before either of them found their wits to object. Within the next half hour, Mary had cut a foot off Julia's beautiful hair, the shimmering tresses lying in pools around her feet. Instead of her pretty green dress and petticoats, Julia now wore a large red flannel man's shirt stuck into blue wool trousers that had been cut down from a military uniform. Only the suspenders kept Julia's clothes together. A short gray sack coat—another piece of Confederate uniform without the buttons and piping—a battered brown felt hat and a handful of dirt smudged on her face completed Julia's transformation. She wore several pairs of wool socks in order to fit into the walking boots.

Julia studied her new appearance in the mirror, wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Wouldn't old Melinda Winstead laugh herself into a stitch if she could see me now.” She gingerly touched her shorn hairline.

Rob snatched a brief kiss before he replied. “I think she would be pea-green, as you Southerners say, since you're the one having all the fun while she sits at home, bored fit to die.” When Julia cocked her head at him, he explained. “She told me so herself upon our last meeting.”

Now that he had declared his love for her, Rob wanted nothing more than to hold her close and kiss her over and over. However, Lizzie gave him no time. While Rob shaved close to the skin, the surprising lady pulled out of her clothes chest the most outlandish garb he had ever seen.

“You'll be a chinquapin woman,” she explained, shaking out a large pair of buckskin trousers. “I must admit those farmwives dress more practically than we town
ladies do. You step into these and this—” She handed him an oversized dress made of faded yellow-and-red calico.

Rob lifted an eyebrow as he held up the garment against his long body. The hem came down just below his knees. He hoped the buckskins fit. Lizzie tossed him a knitted brown shawl and a dirty white apron. She pronounced his own shoes “good enough.”

“You can put a few personal odds and ends in this basket, but be sure to keep it covered so your fellow travelers don't see your razor,” she rattled on. “And shave often!”

“Wilson will cut you a walking stick you can use to hunch over. Limp a little. Keep your head down and don't talk. Your New York accent will be a dead giveaway. Let Julia do all your talking for you.” Lizzie shot him a wicked grin. “After all, she
is
the man of the family.”

Rob exploded with indignation when Lizzie handed him a wide-brimmed calico sunbonnet. “You cannot expect me to wear
that!
”

Stu, who observed the proceedings, laughed so hard he had to grasp the doorjamb. “Hell's bells, Rob, you sure look a pretty picture.”

Rob bared his teeth. “You will
never
tell a living soul about this.”

Lizzie put her hands on her hips. “I expect that Captain Cramer will dine out on this story alone for years to come. Don't argue, Rob, there's no time.” She consulted her watchpin. “You finish putting yourself together while I get some papers you will need. Come along, Captain. You should know by now that ladies like to dress in private.”

Stu laughed all the way out the door and down the hall.

Alone with his new identity, Rob realized exactly how Julia must feel without her long hair. At least, she looked
adorable, though he would never dare tell her. But what was she going to think of him?

He tried on the bonnet and had to admit that it hid his masculine haircut and features well enough. Then he pulled it off. He was not wearing that thing any longer than he had to.

 

When Julia saw him come down the stairs, it took every ounce of willpower to keep her face straight. Only the thought of what lay ahead of them sobered her. They were not off to a costume party, but fleeing for their lives—and their future together. Rob had said he loved her, but nothing about marriage. But she couldn't worry about that now. Just take one day at a time.

Lizzie met them at the bottom of the staircase with a packet wrapped in a piece of oilskin. “Do not lose this. In it are two documents signed by the British Consul here attesting to the fact that Mrs. Sarah Broadfoot and her son, Sam, are under the protection of Her Royal Majesty's government.”

“How did you get them?” Rob asked, examining the papers. “The signature looks real and so does the stamp.”

“Of course it's real!” Lizzie huffed. “Mr. Crindland, the consul, is very fond of fried chicken and I make extra sure that he always has fresh chickens to dine on. I never know just when I might need some help from the British. Now pay attention. Here are your travel passes for Wilmington from the provost marshal. General Winder is a delightful old gentleman and has been my guest here on many occasions,” she added.

Julia stuffed the passes in her shirt pocket. This adventure was really going to happen. Her heart pounded.

Lizzie's instructions flowed faster. “A packet of Confederate money—it's all I can spare so use it wisely. Julia,
you have your greenbacks? Good. Finally, a note for the harbormaster at Wilmington. He'll get you on board the next runner out. You'll have to pay him extra, of course. After that, everything will be in God's hands.”

Julia glanced at Rob. He gave her a smile of encouragement.

Lizzie stood on tiptoe and kissed Rob on the cheek. “Good luck and take good care of Julia, or I'll find you later and have your hide.”

He hugged her. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied in falsetto, though his eyes remained serious.

When Lizzie turned to her, Julia felt her tears welling up. Putting her arms around the older woman, she whispered, “I can never fully repay you for all your kindness. As soon as I can get my legacy, I'll send you some money. Thank you so very much for everything.”

Lizzie hugged her, then gave her a shake. “Keep your money. You are going to need every penny for your new life. You be good and take care of that man. Keep him out of trouble,” she replied briskly.

After a round of goodbyes with Stu, Mary, Wilson and Christopher, Lizzie announced that it was time to stop the caterwauling and be off.

Her last-minute instructions flew faster than a hailstorm. “Put on that bonnet right now, Rob. Look old. Julia, rub the dirt around your cheeks. You are a little streaky. You will catch your train at the Richmond and Petersburg depot on Byrd Street.” She pointed out the general direction. “Wilson will follow behind you at a distance to see you safe to the station. Don't look around for him. Remember, you are from the country and are new to Richmond. Don't get friendly with strangers.”

Julia puffed out her cheeks with a couple of deep
breaths. The first step out the door would be the hardest. The palms of her hands sweated.

Lizzie opened the side door. “Stay out of the dragoons' way. I imagine they are scouring the city now, looking for escaped prisoners. If you see any of your friends, Rob, don't signal to them. You don't know them.”

Still spewing advice and directions, she followed them out as far as the back gate. “You've got food in your basket, but don't gobble it all at once. It has to last, maybe until Nassau. God bless both of you—and Rob, be sure and
marry that girl!
” She slammed the gate behind them.

Julia's cheeks burned. She didn't dare look at Rob, but her pulse throbbed with pent-up anticipation. She waited for him to say something—to ask her to marry him. They walked for several blocks in heart-stopping silence. Beside her, Rob stared straight ahead and hunched over his walking stick until they arrived at a busy intersection. Then he slipped his hand—his wounded one, sheathed in a black knit fingerless glove—through the crook of her elbow as naturally as an elderly woman would take the arm of a strong boy.