The Lady and the Officer (33 page)

“Good show, my dear.” John refilled his glass from the decanter.

Clarisa sighed wearily. “The insufferable man returned yesterday morning when Madeline and Eugenia were at the market with Esther.
I tried explaining again that Madeline wasn't home, but the oaf stepped inside the foyer anyway.” She stamped her foot with sheer indignation.

“I'll speak to the publisher of the
Times.
Such effrontery will not be tolerated in my home.” John sipped his drink without taking his eyes off her.

“He said he wished to talk to
me
. I neither showed him into the parlor nor offered refreshment. Because he was acting impolitely, I returned the behavior.” She set down the glass and smoothed her palms down her skirt. “He asked me if it was true that Madeline had visited Union Army camps. Because it was common knowledge that she went to Culpeper to end a relationship, I couldn't deny it. Then he asked if she had visited Chimborazo Hospital and spoke to wounded Yankees.” Clarisa picked up the glass for another sip, coughing from the fiery liquid.

“What did you tell him, my dear?” John crossed the room in a few strides.

“I explained that she had accompanied our priest during his rounds and read Scripture to men from both armies. It was Christmas, and many patients wouldn't live to see the New Year. Then Weems asked if I knew Madeline had been caught attempting to speak to Yankee officers at Libby Prison, that she had been searched and escorted off the grounds with the order not to return.” Clarisa pressed a fist to her bosom, willing herself not to cry. “I knew Madeline's visit with our priest had distressed her, so I never pressed for details. She never went back to the hospital or to Libby.”

“You should have demanded that he leave the house at once.” John took her by the forearms. “Please try to calm yourself. It's over, and I'll see to it he never returns.”

“But that's not all,” she cried, her composure slipping. “Today in the newspaper he printed a… a scathing editorial on how pillars of society have chosen to harbor Yankee sympathizers in our midst. And that no matter how well-meaning their initial intentions, their complacency threatens the safety of everyone in Richmond. Read it for yourself.” Clarisa thrust the paper toward her husband.

With his face flushing hotly, John unfolded the paper and quickly scanned the contents. He huffed out a breath with Weems's allegations and read, “Who knows what information finds its way to Secretary Seddon's ears due to the inexhaustible Southern hospitality of some scions of
society?” John stopped for a moment, gripping the paper so tightly his knuckles were white. Then he continued. “A certain
guest
in our city has taken advantage of her hosts' benevolence and repaid their kindness by entertaining gentleman callers—known traitors to the Confederacy—in the middle of the night. One former major has left the South and is purportedly on his way to Canada to wreak his havoc beyond the reach of our dedicated men.”

He stopped reading and threw the paper onto the fire, where it quickly turned to smoke and ash. “Lies and innuendos. I'll speak to President Davis about this Jonas Weems.” He made an effort to be calm and then took his wife's hands. “But in the meantime, do not distress yourself, my love. Say nothing of this to Eugenia or Madeline. Wartime creates thugs who willingly sacrifice a lady's reputation to sell newspapers or further their own agendas. If that man comes here again, I'll order him arrested as a trespasser. It's over, so don't give this trash another thought.”

Clarisa allowed herself to be folded in his embrace, accepting his tender placation willingly. Yet deep in her gut, she knew Jonas Weems was far from finished wreaking havoc on the Duncan household.

A
PRIL
1864

James stood in the doorway of this field office, staring at a lush but soggy world. The breeze carried the sweet smell of apple and pear blossoms along with dogwood, honeysuckle, and forsythia.

Forsythia—the name of the Richmond street where his heart resided. It had been two months since he'd heard a word from Madeline. Each time he handed a letter to his chief of staff, Major Henry assured him it would be mailed at a post office inside Confederate lines. And yet he had no idea if any found their way to her. The sooner they defeated the Rebels, the sooner the Republic could be united again and they could pick up the pieces of their lives. How he yearned for a future with her. Once peace was restored, he would let nothing stand in his way.

At least spring had brought welcome change. Ulysses S. Grant, the
newly appointed commander of all Union forces, planned to initiate an offensive against Robert E. Lee in Virginia. Utilizing Meade from the Fredericksburg area and Ben Butler from south of the James River, Grant set his sights on Richmond as their ultimate objective. William T. Sherman, commander of the western troops, would take on Joe Johnston in Georgia. President Lincoln canceled future prisoner exchanges, depriving the Confederacy of desperately needed officers. Grant dispatched cavalry to destroy rail lines in West Virginia, which would cut off a significant source of food and munitions from the Gulf of Mexico. Only a concerted effort would bring the lumbering beast to its knees.

James watched his adjutant make his way through the regiments as the sergeants led morning drills—endless activity was needed to keep soldiers from falling into mental and physical decay.

“General Downing, sir. I have dispatches from the war department in Washington.” Snapping a salute, Major Henry handed him a sheaf of rolled papers.

“At ease, Major. Let's take a look at these inside.” James went to his desk and slouched into a wooden chair as he thumbed through inspection reports, ordnance requisitions, and quartermaster accounts.

“I'll be glad to strike this loathsome camp and never see this part of the world again.” Major Henry frowned at the rolling hills beyond their city of huts and dirty white tents.

“You're tired of Virginia?” James asked, not looking up.

“Down to the soles of my boots, sir. I can't wait to return to Philadelphia, where people carry on intelligent conversation without interjecting colloquial nonsense. And why do Southerners insist on adding extra syllables to words?”

James had no answer as he searched the stack of correspondence from last night's train. “Is this everything from the Culpeper post office?”

“Yes, sir. The train tracks from Lynchburg to Charlottesville are still torn up, so there's no mail from the west.”

“General Sherman has his work cut out now that Sam Grant has taken over for Meade.” James sipped the dregs of his cold coffee, the Army of the Tennessee not foremost on his mind.

“If we would have dogged Lee out of Pennsylvania, we could have
ended this war then and there. His whipped army had their throat laid bare, poised for slaughter. But instead we let them limp back to Virginia. Now those Rebs have had nine months to lick their wounds.” The major spat into the spittoon by the door.

When did my aide take up the enlisted man's habit of chewing navy?
James glared at his adjutant. It was one thing for soldiers to utilize every opportunity to prevail on the battlefield, but it was quite another to hear one of his officers speaking without a shred of compassion. “Some sentiments are best left unspoken, Major, lest the victorious army be branded as a band of ruthless dissipates. Besides, Lincoln didn't appoint General Grant commander because he wished more of the same. If it be God's will, this will be the final spring of this war.”

“We're ready, sir. The men are itchin' for a fight. They've cleaned their muskets so many times they could do it in their sleep.”

“Spirits are high?”

“I would say so, sir.”

“Good to hear. See that rations are increased. I won't have them starting the campaign with empty bellies.”

The major looked surprised. “At the risk of depleting our storehouses? We have no idea when more food can be shipped from Ohio or from Kentucky and points west.”

“The almanac predicts this will be a good year for crops. Let's trust in Providence and not let our flour and cornmeal molder. Has the packet of mail been distributed to the men?” James tried his best to sound disinterested.

“It will be later. The company sergeants hand it out after they finish morning drills. We don't need Billy Yank wondering whether Betsy Lou still pines for him in Peoria.” The adjutant snorted with derision. “These recruits don't need any more distractions.”

Unfortunately, the corps' general had his own distraction on his mind. “Was there any personal correspondence in the mailbag for me?” Helpless to stop himself from asking, James summoned his most imperious expression.

“There was not, sir. There haven't been letters for you for several weeks.” Major Henry made little effort to hide his contempt.

“Mail delivery in this part of the Virginia is less than reliable. Who's to say which singular piece will find its way to the intended recipient?” James kicked a log that rolled onto the hearth back into the fire.

“May I speak for a moment as your friend, sir, instead of an officer under your command?”

James ground his teeth but nodded permission.

“Could Mrs. Howard have had a change of heart since her visit in February? Indeed, she stayed less than twenty-four hours in Culpeper. What woman could so easily be torn from the arms of the man she loved? Her silence might be a gentle way of revealing the truth about her affection.”

“There could be a dozen reasons for a lack of correspondence or the brevity of her visit. Only a madwoman would feel at ease in the midst of a war. Who knows what dreadful sights she encountered along the way?”

“You may need to consider another possibility—one less complimentary to the elusive Mrs. Howard.” Wisely, the major hesitated before he continued.

“Go on, but I assure you this will be the last time we will discuss this particular topic.”

The major lifted his chin. “Perhaps Mrs. Howard is playing you for a fool, sir. I have eyes and ears in Richmond. It's my job as your chief of staff. Apparently, she has been seen on the arm of Colonel Elliott Haywood of Jefferson Davis's home guard. Rumor has it that they are a courting couple.”

Although unspoken, the words
he and not you
resonated in the room louder than a cannon shot. “I prefer to deal with truth and not speculation, Major. There could be any number of reasons why she'd been with Haywood, so don't spread idle gossip. And if you ever demean Mrs. Howard in such a fashion again, I will have you brought up on charges of insubordination.”

Major Henry straightened to attention. “Begging your pardon, sir!”

“There is a list of infractions in these inspection reports. I suggest you see to their correction immediately.” James pulled a paper from the stack and thrust it toward his aide.

“At your service, sir.” The major took the list and marched from headquarters without bothering to salute.

But James was so eager to be rid of the noxious man he let the incident of disrespect pass without correction.

Madeline stretched and tossed her book on the chaise. She was so weary of reading and sewing and knitting socks that she could scream. Listlessly, she rubbed the small of her back and decided upon a stroll in the garden. Longer, warmer days had filled the air with the scent of gardenia and magnolia, and the overhead arbors were lush with wisteria. Apple, pear, and cherry trees blossomed gloriously, promising an abundant harvest of fruit this summer. But despite the beauty of spring in Virginia, Madeline couldn't be more miserable. It had been weeks since her return to Richmond, and what had she accomplished? The entire point of leaving James was to be of use to his cause… her cause. Yet she'd done nothing except drink tea, read sonnets, and wear out the soles of her slippers. Despite the Duncans' social standing and Colonel Haywood's subterfuge, her opportunities to garner military information had been sorely curtailed. There were no more parties or balls where ladies might converse with Confederate officers. Even though every indication pointed to a renewed Rebel initiative, she was privy to none of it. Uncle John didn't discuss even the most innocuous of military matters within her presence.