Kary, Elizabeth (43 page)

It
was some time later that Crawford brought Hayes downstairs. He looked tired and
disheveled too, but not much more than the major did. When she saw him, Leigh's
first impulse was to run to him and throw her arms around him in relief that
their ordeal was over and he was safe. But there was something cold and
forbidding in his blue-gray eyes that froze her where she stood.

"You
watch yourself, Banister," Crawford warned as the three of them turned to
go. "Your friends in high places may have saved you this once, but I'm
still not convinced you are as blameless and pure of heart as you claim. I'll
be watching, Banister, and waiting for any mistake."

"And
I assure you, Major Crawford, that you will be waiting in vain." Hayes's
parting words were accompanied by a low bow that spoke of utter contempt rather
than of courtesy.

The
ride from Army headquarters back to the landing was accomplished in total
silence, as if the passengers in the carriage preferred not to disturb the
murky, predawn stillness. Even Horace's questions were forgotten, and Leigh
could not bring herself to ask for explanations about his hours in Crawford's
custody or what Hayes had been doing on Albert Pincheon's behalf. The only
intrusions on the quiet were the sounds of the horses' hooves on the cobbled
streets, and of Hayes's and Leigh's footfalls on the stair treads as they made
their way to their cabin on the
Barbara Dean.
Leigh had decided that
Hayes did not mean to say anything about his arrest and his connections to the
Federal government until they were both calmer and rested. But once they were
inside the stateroom, with the door closed to shut out the world, Hayes hurled
his coat across the room and turned cold eyes on her.

Before
he said a word, Leigh read the reproach in his face. But though she knew what
he thought she'd done, nothing prepared her for his anger or the words that
slashed through the quiet cabin.

"Is
there no loyalty in you, Leigh?" he asked furiously. "Don't I matter
to you at all?"

Leigh
tried to stammer a denial, but it caught in her throat behind the knot of
unshed tears. As she watched the glaring accusation in his eyes, she realized
how frightened she had been for his safety. It had been a fear she had not
acknowledged until now, but all at once she wanted nothing more than to cling
to him, to simply hold him close. But with the tone of his outburst, with the
stinging accusation that lay between them, she knew she could neither voice her
fear nor seek comfort in his arms.

She
knew she had done everything in her power to see him released from Crawford's
custody, but Hayes did not seem to recognize her efforts on his behalf. Instead
he was filled with disillusionment based on the major's lies, on the misleading
conversation on the levee, on the irrevocable fact that she had not warned him
of Aaron Crawford's suspicions. Nor was he giving her time to explain. A
strange mixture of dread and disappointment roiled within her as she watched
him pace the width of the cabin.

Then
relentlessly he turned on her, his words, for all their softness, biting as
deeply as the sharpest lash. "You may be the most beautiful woman I've
ever known," he said angrily, "the one whose body I crave above all
others, but tonight I learned a lesson no man should ever have to learn. I
learned that our marriage is a travesty. That for all the hope I'd had for our
life together, I cannot trust my wife!"

September 9, 1862—St. Louis, Missouri

"It's
so wonderful of you and your mother to let me come and stay for a few days
while Nathan and Hayes are away on business, Leigh." Delia chattered
happily as she poked at the dish of peaches set before her on the elegantly
laid breakfast table. "It's marvelous to sleep in a real feather bed and
enjoy food that isn't left over from the things we feed the men."

Leigh
smiled across the table at her friend. "I'm glad you could come, Delia. I
think being away from our hospitals for a few days will do us both a world of
good."

"I
couldn't agree more," Althea interjected. Already her friend's presence
seemed to be raising Leigh's spirits, and after the tense, strained months in
the town house, Althea was ready to embrace anyone who could bring a little
laughter and gaiety into the gloom.

It
was odd, Althea reflected. She had expected that Leigh's marriage to Hayes
Banister would be a good thing for her daughter. Hayes was a fine man, and it
was clear that he cared deeply for Leigh. But instead of the relaxed, settled
air she had expected to see in the younger woman, there was a subtle, growing
discontent.

Perhaps
it had been a mistake to ask Leigh and Hayes to move in with her, Althea
fretted, but since Horace was gone so much, it was a relief to have someone in
the house. Besides, Leigh needed someplace more to come home to than a single
cabin on a steamboat. But living in close proximity, it was easy for Althea to
see that the first days of her daughter's marriage were not going well. Leigh
and her husband did not fight, at least not the way she and Horace did. Their
battles were waged with silence and a few harsh, well-chosen words. It was hard
to believe that two people who had seemed to be at odds from the very beginning
of their married life had eloped to be together. Althea sighed. She had hoped
for so much more for Leigh when it came to marriage, but her daughter seemed
every bit as bitter and disillusioned as Althea was herself.

Felicity
Hale's words broke in Althea's dreary thoughts. "And what is it you two
young ladies plan to do today?" she asked. It had become Felicity's habit
to take meals with the Pennington household to save her servants trouble.

"I
think we're headed down toward Verandah Row," Leigh answered.

"Yes,"
Delia agreed enthusiastically. "I have a long list of things to buy for
women working in the hospital at Cairo. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if, when
I go back on the steamer, I'll have another whole trunk of purchases to take
aboard."

"Well,
Leigh, perhaps while you're out you could get me some more yarn so I can finish
those socks for the troops."

"Of
course, Felicity, I'd be glad to," she assured the older woman, then
turned to the servant who had come to stand by her chair.

"Yes,
Matty, what is it?"

"Miss
Leigh, there's a man here with a message for you," the maid reported.

"Who
is he? Do you know him?"

"It's
Mr. Brandon's man, Miss, the one they call Plato."

"Oh,
no!" Felicity cried, paling. "Oh, no! Oh, no! They've not killed
Brandon, too!"

Leigh
rose and hurried into the hall where the grizzled black man who had gone off to
war with Lucas and Bran stood waiting. Taking one of his gnarled hands, Leigh
led him back into the dining room where the other women waited. "What's
the news, Plato? Is Bran all right?"

"He's
been wounded, Miss Leigh, and needs someone to bring him home."

"Wounded,
oh dear!" Felicity gasped with a hand clutched over her heart.

"Delia,
will you help Felicity with her smelling salts?" Leigh suggested, and
Delia moved to do as she was bid before Leigh continued her conversation with
the man at her side.

"How
badly is Bran wounded?"

"He
lost a leg, Miss Leigh, about a month and a half ago. He wouldn't let them take
it the night he was shot, but then the fever come upon him and he didn't have
no choice."

Leigh
heard her mother moan softly, and her own face was grim. "Where is he now,
Plato?"

"He
was wounded down in Arkansas, and when he was able, we headed home. Some people
going to Kansas City agreed to take us that far, and Mr. Bran said we could
find a way to St. Louis once we got there. But Mr. Bran took sick again just
outside Nevada, Missouri."

"And
he sent you here to me?"

"Yes,
Miss Leigh. I left him with a widow woman at the edge of town. He said you'd
come to get him, that you'd know what to do."

Leigh
could well imagine the shape Bran was in. She had seen too many like him in
these past months. When he was wounded, he had undoubtedly tried to deny the
need for an amputation as so many brave men did, but the putrification that set
in when treatment was delayed had doubtless been a greater threat to his life
than losing a leg might have been. If his recurrent fever was related to the
amputation, rather than to some other cause, Bran might well be dead before she
could reach him in Nevada. Still, she knew she had to try.

"Very
well, Plato. You look as if you could use hot food and some sleep. While you're
resting, I'll make arrangements for us to leave for Nevada in the
morning."

"Leigh,
you can't seriously be planning to go all the way across the state to get Bran
yourself!" her mother gasped. "That whole area near the Kansas border
is a virtual no-man's-land overrun with bands of guerrillas from both the north
and south!"

Leigh's
decision had been made the moment she heard of Brandon's plight, and she didn't
welcome her mother's interference. "Who else is there to go? I can't
ignore Bran's needs."

"But,
Leigh, it's bound to be dangerous for a woman to go out there alone."

"I
fully intend to go with her, Mrs. Pennington." Delia Travis spoke up
unexpectedly, her cool, steady gaze locking with the older woman's.

"Two
women alone will hardly make it any better," Althea protested. "Can't
you wait until either Hayes or your father returns to accompany you?"

"And
what if Bran is dead by then? What if I could have done my part to save him but
waited here instead?" Leigh's deep-green eyes flashed with the strength of
her convictions, and Althea fell silent, knowing further protests were futile.

"Matty,
take Plato to the kitchen, feed him, and give him a place to sleep," Leigh
continued, impatient to begin preparations for the trip to Nevada.
"Mother, have the cook take the supplies we will need for a two-week stay
from the household stores. Delia and I will have some things to prepare, as
well."

Leigh
came around the table to the frail little woman who had raised Lucas and Bran.
"Now, Felicity," she said softly, taking the elderly woman's hands.
"Don't you worry. I'll bring Bran home as soon as I can, and together
we'll nurse him back to health."

They
started out the next morning just after sunrise, with Plato riding beside the
well-sprung wagon Leigh had rented from a livery stable. Though taking the
railroad as far as Rolla would have been faster, Leigh and Delia had decided a
well-equipped wagon might better suit their purpose. The previous evening they
had moved a rope bed with a thick, soft mattress into the back of the
Conestoga, then carefully packed away supplies, camping equipment, and a chest
of bandages and medicines. Brandon might be too ill to be moved, or he might be
able to tolerate only a few hours of travel a day. This way they could stop and
make camp whenever they deemed it necessary.

Once
they had left the city behind, the rolling Missouri countryside spread out
before them. There were prosperous farms with grain standing in the fields
awaiting harvest, and rows of rustling corn ready to be picked. Sheep and cows
dotted the hillsides, and sturdy farmhouses were nestled into groves of ancient
trees. It presented a pleasant bucolic scene, but Leigh knew that as they
traveled west, farms like these would become scarce, for in the last months the
Union army and the guerrillas had bled the western counties of Missouri dry.
The houses and crops of Yankee sympathizers had been burned and their livestock
driven off or slaughtered by the roving bands of bushwhackers who claimed
allegiance to the Confederate cause. But, in truth, the Union troops sent to
capture the guerrillas were little better than the Rebels, taking the same
revenge on Southern families suspected of harboring the fugitives.

After
his travels into the western counties of Missouri for the Quartermaster Corps,
Horace Pennington had told tales of rape and murder done more for the sake of
plunder and mayhem than for any patriotic ideal. Leigh had not made the
decision to go into the disputed area lightly, but with Bran's life in the
balance, she felt she had no choice. Still, she had tried to prepare herself
for trouble as best she could. Beside her on the high seat of the wagon,
half-hidden by her flowing skirts, was a new rifle, and a pistol in its holster
hung from the frame of the canopy behind her. If only they were lucky enough to
stay clear of the bands of marauders led by Lane, Jemison, and the notorious
Quantrill who rode roughshod through these counties, Leigh would be fervently
thankful.

Beside
her, Delia seemed not to share Leigh's concerns and chatted happily. Perhaps it
was this indomitable facet of Delia's character that drew Nathan Travis to her,
Leigh reflected, slowing the horses as they approached a particularly rough stretch
of road. Travis seemed by nature such a quiet, sober man that Delia's good
spirits and perpetual optimism must somehow complement and lighten his somber
moods. Whatever it was that bound them, it was evident that theirs was a happy
marriage. Nathan's tenderness when he touched Delia and the way he bowed his
head to catch her words spoke eloquently of his feelings for his wife. When
Leigh watched them together, she felt the same despairing jealousy that had
filled her the day they were married at Savannah months before. From the first,
everything about Delia and Nathan had shown their contentment, and her
wistfulness was even sharper now when she realized how far she and her own
husband were from that ideal.