The Lady and the Officer (39 page)

Home? Remain with us? How can I possibly forfeit a lifetime commitment to freedom without slavery or repression?
“The fact my former beau and I parted ways doesn't mean I won't return north after the war. Pennsylvania will always be my home, Genie.”

“I understand that your friends are there, but promise me you'll at least stay for my wedding.”

Her annoyance faded, leaving Madeline with nothing but pity for her cousin. “Of course I'll be here for that.”

Eugenia perched on the edge of Madeline's chaise. “Will you stand by my side as matron of honor?”

“What about Justine? Don't you think you should ask her?”

“I want you both—maid and matron.” Without warning, large tears flooded Eugenia's eyes and streamed down her face. Her emotions had swung like a pendulum to the other side.

Madeline pulled her into her arms and patted her back. “I would be honored to stand up with you. You have my word I'll be here, but please don't get too far ahead of yourself. The siege drags on at Petersburg. General Grant hasn't surrendered yet.”

“He must give up soon because he won't have any soldiers left. Didn't you hear about the crater? Yankees built a tunnel under our trenches, and filled it with gunpowder to blow a hole in our line. Grant ordered his troops to charge. They jumped into the hole but couldn't get out the other side. Papa said it was like shooting fish in a barrel—”

“Enough, Eugenia!” Madeline stood up so fast her cousin landed in a heap of petticoats on the flagstones. “I don't care if your precious army wins tomorrow, but I don't want to hear another word about it. You should be ashamed of yourself. Gloating over boys suffering and dying isn't very Christian.” Her breath came in gasps even as she tried to rein in her own emotions. “You should light a candle at Saint Patrick's in petition to be delivered from your bloodlust.”

Eugenia gazed up from her undignified position in shock at her cousin's vehemence, her hoop askew.

In a fit of rage from months of wanting to serve her country but not being able to do so, fueled by the dismissal from the man she loved, Madeline ran down the path toward the street. Heedless as to her destination, she kept going until she doubled over with a painful side stitch. Cobblestones pressed through the thin soles of her slippers to bruise her feet. But who remembered to wear sensible boots when they stormed away from everything despised and loved at the same time? Her life had become a quagmire of deception with no one to blame but herself.

Lately, during weak moments, she had actually entertained thoughts of Colonel Haywood. He would return from the battlefront—either victorious or conquered—to rescue her from her Richmond existence. He would take her to his country estate, where she could plant a garden and raise horses again. Not as the indolent mistress of a vast plantation surrounded by servants, but as a simple farmer's wife. Then she would forget holding the hands of wounded men with the coppery stench of death filling her nostrils. Colonel Haywood had been the only soldier she saved in Gettysburg. The hopelessness and futility of war would continue to haunt her forever.

But moments of imagining a future with Colonel Haywood would soon pass, replaced by the visage of James. A man not quite as handsome… an officer nowhere near as polished or cultured… yet infinitely more appealing to her. She couldn't stop thinking about him, yet she'd destroyed his passion by pretending to be someone she was not.

Eventually, Madeline slowed her pace but kept walking. Her anger with Eugenia had already evaporated. How could she blame her cousin for the way she had been raised? Everything she'd been taught and the future she yearned for was dependent on a Southern victory. Madeline was sick of it all—both sides eager to kill each other in cruel ways; both armies praying for God to grant them victory. Both sides discovering God seldom takes sides in a war.

With her dress sodden with sweat and her feet cut and dirty, Madeline arrived at the gates of the city market. No vendors displayed vegetables or smoked hams today. With food tightly rationed, produce booths were set up only three times per week. Fishmongers appeared seldom more than every other Wednesday due to the naval blockade. Nevertheless, something she couldn't name drew her like a siren's call. Madeline crawled
under the gate, tearing her hem on a sharp stone, and headed straight for the wharf, where boats bobbed in shallow water. With the tide out, she descended a ladder to reach the dock. Blessedly, the
Bonnie Bess
had sailed into the Richmond harbor.

“Captain George,” she called, fearful of being heard by other boatmen. “May I come aboard? It's Mrs. Howard.”

The grizzled sea captain stuck his white pate out a porthole. “Madeline, my girl. What a lovely surprise. Climb down, but mind your step.” His head disappeared briefly and then reappeared in the hatch of the freshly scrubbed deck.

Madeline lifted her skirt with one hand while holding the ladder with the other.

“To what do I owe this rare pleasure? If it be seafood you're after, I'm afraid I'm plum out. The fish managed to stay away from me nets and lines this week.” The captain's pleasant expression vanished when he noticed her deplorable appearance. “Come now, what befell ya on the way to the docks?” George steered her to a bench in the stern. “Did you have to outrun one of those thievin' scalawags? That sort would steal gold from a dead man's teeth if the undertaker turned his back long enough.”

Madeline grimaced at the mental image. “No, sir. I ran pell-mell solely from myself.”

“Ahhh. That can be the trickiest to outmaneuver. Care for a nip?” He pulled a silver flask from his pocket. “It's rum from the West Indies, the finest available in this hemisphere. After one or two swigs you'll forget your woes.”

She sniffed the bottle and handed it back. The vapors alone could inebriate the unsuspecting. “A couple of swigs and I wouldn't find my way home.”

“Would that be so bad? Why not stow away on the
Bonnie Bess
down to Fort Monroe? You could catch a passenger transport headed up the Chesapeake and spend the rest of the war in Annapolis or Baltimore. Make a fresh start.”

Madeline laughed without humor. “I don't know anyone in Maryland, and I have no money and few useful skills other than breeding and raising horses.”

“Perhaps you could nurse in Washington—either Armory Square or Campbell Hospital on Seventh Street.”

She covered her face with her hands. “No, Captain. I have no stomach for blood.”

“That would present a problem. Maybe a cook then. Those fancy hotels are filled with speculators and journalists circling around like buzzards.”

“I was a wife who prepared simple country meals without a shred of culinary training.” Madeline shook her head and sighed deeply. “I have no choice but to return to my uncle's home.”

Captain George placed his callused hand on her shoulder. “At least you can sleep knowing you served your country well.”

Madeline's head snapped up, her self-pity momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“General Meade was very grateful of that map you drew of the James River landings in Richmond. He passed it along to General Grant and his navy admiral.” The captain took a stout swig from his flask before replacing the cork.

“But General Sheridan gave up his idea to take Richmond. I heard talk that his cavalry followed Jubal Early into the Shenandoah Valley.”

“I see you're still eavesdropping, Madeline, my girl.” Captain George's smile revealed his gold tooth. “The cavalry may have given up, but your map will help to position artillery.”

For a moment the boat seemed to sway as though tossed on high seas. “Cannons aimed at Richmond—is that what you mean?” Madeline felt as though her throat was starting to swell shut.

George stroked his beard. “Aye, artillery usually precedes an infantry assault. There's no better way to breech a line, storm a fort, or in this case, take the capital of the Confederacy.” The captain no longer looked like a happy-go-lucky seafarer who made his living selling fish along the coastline. His eyes gleamed with the same bloodlust as Eugenia's had earlier that afternoon. The lingering war fanned hatred in people's hearts.

“I didn't think my map would be used to place cannons to destroy the city.”

“What did you think? Our boys needed a sandy shoal to tie up their
rowboat for a picnic lunch?” The captain walked to where his lines looped around cleats to keep the boat in place, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Of course not, but I assumed it would be used for our army to fight
an army
, not make war on innocent people!”

“Keep your voice down, or we'll both face a military tribunal. No one is innocent anymore. When a war lasts this long, even ‘innocent people' end up helping one side or the other. Trouble is, you need to decide which side you're on.” He stared down at her without a hint of merriment remaining in his watery blue eyes.

“How dare you, sir. I know
exactly
where my loyalty lies. But that doesn't mean I want my aunt and uncle's home, their church, or my church destroyed by cannon fire.”

“Nothing will happen for a spell, not with our boys chasing Rebs in the Shenandoah and Grant latched onto Petersburg like a dog with a bone. But the day is coming, so I suggest you leave Richmond.” He walked to where a thick rope was tied to the dock post. “I can offer you passage on the
Bonnie Bess
, but I'm leaving tonight as soon as the moon rises. I don't know when I'll be back. My friends don't like me selling fish to these townsfolk anymore.” He angled his head toward the market above the wharf.

Madeline tightened the thin shawl around her shoulders, her damp dress growing chilly against her skin. “Thank you, Captain, but I couldn't leave my family without saying goodbye. Not after all their kindness toward me.”

“Suit yourself, but I advise you not to tarry in the city too long.” Doffing his soiled cap, he offered her his hand to climb the ladder.

She fled the fishing boat and outdoor market as fast as her legs would carry her. With a gut churning with anxiety, she ran all the way to the Duncans', heedless of people's stares or how much her feet ached. Captain George was right. No one was innocent anymore—not Elliott or James or her. They all had blood on their hands. And someday they would answer to a power higher than Lee or Grant, Davis or Lincoln.

T
WENTY
-T
WO

 

K
athleen shrank back into the shadows along the riverfront. Lately, it hadn't been hard for her to blend into the grimy back alleys of a city she'd thought would be home for the rest of her life. She hadn't expected Richmond streets to be paved with gold, but she had expected to be treated better than she had back in Dublin.

All these prissy ladies counting their silver each morning as though a missing teaspoon would change the fate of their lives. Just like in Ireland, the rich only looked out for themselves and each other, not caring whether the salaries they paid would be enough to survive on. And ex-slaves were no better than their former masters. They wanted to order her around simply because they had worked longer in the house.

Kathleen had had a bellyful of Virginia. She planned to get one more pouch of gold from Jonas Weems and then book passage on a steamer. She would head up the coast, maybe as far as New York City, where plenty of her people had landed. With any luck she might convince some foolish couple she was their long-lost niece or cousin from home. And with what she'd seen and heard this afternoon, that newspaperman should pay enough for her to leave the refugee camps forever. Between squalling babies, arguing couples, and drunks fighting over the last sip of whiskey, Kathleen barely slept a wink most nights.

The next morning she stuffed her meager belongings into a tattered valise, washed her hands and face in a rain barrel, and left the crude tent city behind. She said no goodbyes because she'd made few friends since getting fired. Mrs. Duncan refused to supply a reference after finding a stashed gravy boat among her clothes. At least she hadn't been beaten the way she had in her last position. But without a recommendation, no family would hire her, despite her mournful tale about dead children and a missing husband.

Kathleen hurried inside the offices of the
Richmond Times Dispatch
as soon as the doors opened. Without hesitation she approached a clerk
and demanded to see Mr. Jonas Weems. The skinny, pinched-faced girl pressed a hanky to her nose, insisting she wait out in the hallway. Kathleen knew she couldn't smell bad after bathing in the James River just two days ago. Besides, why should she worry about her clothes needing to be laundered when the entire hallway reeked of tobacco smoke?

She was finally shown to a paneled office after a purposefully rude amount of time.

“Mr. Weems?” The clerk barely lifted the linen from her face. “This is the woman who insists she has business with you.”

“Thank you, Miss Fletcher. That will be all.” After the clerk skittered away, Weems motioned Kathleen into his office. “Come in, Miss O'Toole, and close the door behind you. I hope you brought information worthy of the interruption. I'm a very busy man.” Adding to the haze already in the air, Weems lit a fresh cigar.