Emma Barry (9 page)

“Leave it, please,” he instructed. She looked up him with tears in her eyes, and he tried to pull her up into his arms.

She shrugged off his ministrations. “We haven’t time, Theo.”

“Any activity that doesn’t give me time to hold you isn’t worth doing.”

She rose unassisted and crossed to the armoire to find a shawl saying over her shoulder, “Does that include your war?”

“Margaret, you’ve been cold all afternoon.”

She wouldn’t turn to look at him as she replied, “I don’t think so.”

“I know you’re upset.”

Her back tensed. “No.”

That’s it. Show me my stubborn girl. I haven’t seen her in a while.

Theo pursed his lips. “Can we discuss this, please?”

“No, we cannot. I don’t want to fight. We haven’t the time. We have to go or else we’ll miss the big send-off.”

The farewell meeting for Middletown’s contribution to the Connecticut Fifth was held at McDonough House, site of the infamous dance that had set the events of the past month in motion. Theo sat with the company at the front of the room while a parade of speakers extolled the company on their valor, honor, and sacrifice. Speaker after speaker was called, and soon the event stretched on toward two hours in length.

The crowd, which filled every available seat and spilled into the hallways, cheered and cried appropriately with the speakers. Theo was happy for his men to receive such veneration. They would head to war knowing their community loved and supported them.

But searching the crowd for Margaret and Mother, the air escaped from his lungs in a disappointed hiss when at last he found them. Margaret’s hands were clenched in her lap in tight fists, as if she were a little warrior. Mother’s arms were twisted over her chest, a barricade against a distasteful tide.

After a group of children sang “The Star Spangled Banner” both Margaret and Mother clapped, but the motions were chopped and despondent. When the mayor encouraged the boys to end the thing before the harvest, they exchanged a look. While he knew he should be pleased — they were communicating! — his heart felt heavy. In pursuing his dreams, in changing his life, he was doing most grievous harm to the women he loved. There was simply no way to reconcile his love with his duty.

They walked home in silence, Theo, Margaret, Mother, and Mrs. Ruskin. When they arrived, he tried to prevent Margaret from ascending the stairs.

“Sit with me in the garden a while, please.”

“I’m sorry, but I won’t. I’m tired.” She bade them goodnight and went up alone. The fall of her feet sounded hollow echoes all the way up the staircase. At last he heard the door click and he turned toward Mother.

“Theodore, I would have a word with you,” she said, signaling for him to follow. He felt like a child again, called to account for some transgression.

She crossed into the parlor and lit a second lamp, yet the space still seemed dark.

He said as he entered after her, “It was a nice event, I thought.”

“Oh, yes,” Mother replied. He wasn’t sure she had processed his statement, for surely she didn’t agree.

Theo felt as if he were treading lightly, so he waited for her to speak.

“I know,” she said after a pause, “you feel as if this deployment is an accomplishment. That your life up to this point was disappointing in some way, and you have changed things in an agreeable manner.”

He lowered himself onto the settee warily. “Mother, that’s a vast over-simplification.”

“But you’re happy to be going to war?” she asked plainly.

He couldn’t lie to her. “Yes.”

She blinked several times reflecting on this, and when she spoke again, her voice was like a spring wound too tightly. “I sat there tonight, and I listened to man after man talk about honor and duty. If you die, it will be your life that is forfeit. It’s your sacrifice. But don’t ever forget you had a choice. Margaret and I were given no such thing. Every day without you, perhaps for the rest of our lives, is a sacrifice too.”

He took her hands in his and rubbed the backs with his fingers tenderly. “I know that, and if there were any other way to contribute — ”

“This is not a conversation,” she snapped, drawing away from him. That was one of her favorite lines. She had kept him silent for years with that one. In this case, she’d earned it.

She continued, “Knowing, then, as you do, you had better conduct yourself in such a way as to be commensurate with our offering for the cause.” He nodded.

Finally, Mother took a deep breath and finished, wagging a finger at him. “She’s a good woman, Theodore. Better than I gave her credit for being.” She pursed her lips, unhappy to be making the concession. “Don’t make her a widow.”

He smiled sadly and kissed her cheek. “Good-night, Mother.”

Upstairs, Margaret had already undressed and was lying in their bed with her face turned toward the wall. He slipped out of his uniform as quietly as possible and then into the bed next to her.

He glided his arms around her waist and pulled himself against her. While she allowed the advance, the muscles in her neck and back were rigid and cold. Theo felt as if he’d smacked his face on a wall and come up ringing.

He nuzzled her shoulder. “We must talk about what’s wrong.”

“Oh, must we?” Her voice was muffled by the pillow, but the sarcasm in her tone came out clearly.

“Yes. I’ll be gone soon.”

She raised her head and said primly, “Then I don’t want to spend our remaining time arguing.”

“You quarreled with me for half an hour the other day about the fate of Sydney Carton.”

Back into the bed she fell. “That was different.”

“Then don’t fight with me.” He attempted to roll her over, but she resisted. “Be with me as my wife.”

As he kissed the back of her hair she shook her head. “I can’t. It hurts too much.”

He sat up, alarmed. “Are you injured?”

“No, you ninny.” He could feel her laughter through his hands, which stroked her back. It was short, chopped, and forced. More a bark than a laugh. “Hurts in my chest, in my head. All over, really.”

He sighed. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t argue with me. You won’t make love to me. What else do we have?”

“Nothing. That’s all we are.” Her chest deflated.

If she thought that, she was a fool. He considered rolling her over, pinning her down and explaining in detail everything that was wrong with her statement, but somehow he knew he couldn’t push. Neither, however, could he leave things at that.

He leaned over again and nipped her ear. “In a few short weeks, I’ll be on a battlefield somewhere. Is this how you want to spend our next-to-last night together?” It was manipulative, but better than the alternative.

Margaret finally rolled over and fixed her gold-brown eyes on him. “Why did you do it to me, Theo? I was … happy enough. Why did you claim me just to leave me?”

“Pure selfishness.”

At this, she allowed a few notes of her true, musical laughter to fall from her mouth. It was, however, the truth. He had no other explanation. It had been damn selfish. He settled beside her and nestled her into him. “Sleep now, Margaret. I promise I will be here when you wake.”

“And the next day?” she whispered.

“Aye.”

“And the day after that?”

“Now who’s being selfish?”

She snuggled into his shoulder, giving into him at long last.

Sleep came for her quickly. She had worn herself out hating this war. Theo stayed awake for a long time trying to memorize the moment. Margaret’s soft breathing, the swish of the wind through the trees outside, and the soft creak of the house at night. How long would it be before these sounds were his again?

Margaret’s lips quirked, but she managed not to laugh. She hazarded a glance at her companions, but neither Theo nor Sarah was aware of her inappropriate mirth as they all occupied the Ward family pew. Getting out of the house for church had been a comedy of errors. Gloves and bonnets and shoes had gotten to who knew where and would not be found. Finally, they had managed to escape in a little procession and had arrived just in time for service. She snorted, remembering how flustered Sarah had been at the idea of being late.

Glancing again at her husband, she focused on a brass button on his chest bearing an eagle. Theo was dressed in his uniform, as he was often these days. Forcing her eyes forward and blinking several times, she reminded herself she hated weepy women. His arm lingered on her elbow, exerting a reassuring pressure now, as if he knew she needed comfort.

One more day. I have one more day with him.

Last night’s farewell meeting had been physically painful. It had been an exceedingly warm evening, and the assembly room at McDonough House had been filled far past capacity. One hundred men and boys, many of whom Margaret knew at least in passing, sat at the front, beaming in their uniforms while platitudes about victory and honor had been exchanged for nearly two hours.

She wanted to smile and cheer and to let waves of patriotism sweep her away as they evidently did the rest of the crowd. Theo had always wanted to escape from Middletown. He had always wanted to make a difference on the issues that mattered to him. Why could she not rejoice for him? If theirs wasn’t a true marriage, if it was a shadow of the union they should have entered into before, why could she not grip his hand as a friend and send him to war with the words he needed?

Perhaps because she felt like an empty shell. Like a flask, she stood, vacant and hollow, waiting to fulfill her purpose, which was … she knew not.

For years, she had felt like she was accomplishing something at the seminary. It was routine and thankless, yes, but it was her life. Then Theo Ward had stepped back into it and made her discontent with her meager accomplishments. She was nearing the end of her childbearing years. Sarah neither needed nor wanted looking after. One more morrow and he would be gone, so it hadn’t been for want of company.

She sighed and leaned against his hand. It was firm and warm. Steady. Certain. She was being too introspective. Theo had been fair and gentle with her. He had sought to protect her and to care for her. Like her, he seemed to realize what they had lost and wanted to enjoy this marriage, limited as it might be. Thanks to him, she knew a family for the first time in her adult life. Couldn’t she be grateful for that?

Reverend Patterson, who Margaret had never liked and thus had always attended the other Presbyterian Church, was preaching on Psalm Ninety-Two. “It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, O Most High,” he read. “We give thanks this morning for our fine boys in blue.” Margaret felt her chin tremble. “They understand, oh Lord, that it is their duty to serve. They will act as your hand on earth and smite your enemies, the rebels and sinners … ”

Margaret shivered. It was all well and good to rejoice at the destruction of one’s enemies, but the nature of the task set to them would mean that some of their warriors would be slain in kind. Didn’t anyone know this? For days she had listened to old men celebrating the war as if it were not a creature that would consume the pride of Middletown’s youth.

She was old enough to remember the last war, with Mexico, clearly. A face clouded her memory: floppy gold hair, warm brown eyes, and a roguish grin. William Jones, a sweet boy who lived near her aunt, had fallen on the streets of Monterrey never to rise again. What had his death been for? Could Theo face the same fate?

“For, lo, thine enemies, O Lord, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish; all the workers of iniquity shall be scattered,” Revered Patterson continued, pounding the pulpit now with his fists for emphasis.

Margaret remembered how Theo’s face lit when he talked about the reason for the war. He believed, truly believed, that the states in rebellion were his enemies. They had sinned against the union, against their brothers, and most of all against humanity when they had taken and refused to give up slaves. They must be punished. He had been waiting his entire life to stand up. This was a better reason than he had ever had or would again. Why could she not be happy for him?

Worst yet, she agreed with him. All her life she had opposed slavery. Gathering signatures on petitions. Instructing her students. Raising money. These tasks had consumed much of her life. If ever a cause necessitated war, wasn’t this it? Was she too selfish? Did she desire an outcome but was unwilling to pay for it? Could this war not be avoided?

Reverend Patterson had reached the sweet spot now, the pay-off for the dutiful. “The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Our boys in blue will be like the cedars in Lebanon. They will dwell forever in the house of the Lord, rewarded for their service to God’s work.”

Margaret could hear murmurs of agreement, but when she looked around, she saw stony faces on the wives, mothers, and sweethearts. Women may not be able to fight, but they bore the brunt of this war for they had to send their beloveds off.

Beloveds. Was Theo her beloved? She steeled herself and turned to glance at him. He caught her eye and smiled. It was a winsome, boyish grin. He did not look like a man of forty years but rather an overgrown adolescent trying to win the heart of a young girl. She might know now, as that girl did not, that love was a giddy, ephemeral thing, but she still had no defense against that smile. Even if she was a hard and untrusting woman in a marriage she did not understand.

If she could not defend against it, she could at least avoid it, so back to Reverend Patterson, and his jingoistic sermon, she turned.

After the service, Theo embraced old friend after old friend, and their progress out of the church was very slow. At the door, he took Margaret’s arm and said with purpose, “Mother, we’ll be back for luncheon. We’re going for a walk.”

He steered her away from the crowd, down the street, and toward the small park and bandstand near the center of town. As soon as he insisted on walking, she knew where they were headed. Like a compass, their feet led them toward the willow on a bank of a small inlet near the river.