The Lady and the Officer Read online

  Her affection for him had not diminished.

  Her anticipation of their reunion grew more poignant each day.

  And if it was still his intention to court her, he would find she was of an agreeable mind. Madeline left her well-trodden path in the garden and hurried to her room. Not bothering to walk around the house, she used the back outdoor steps, those reserved for servants. With a sense of purpose heating her blood, she couldn’t wait to put pen to paper in her private quarters.

  In her letter to James, she described the kindness shown by the Duncans. She explained their attempt to maintain a lavish lifestyle despite dwindling finances and the restriction of goods from the seacoast blockade. Finally, she detailed her difficult struggle to emulate the family’s dress, customs, and indolent habits. Would he be amused by her vignettes or find her ungrateful for the Duncans’ largesse? All she could do was write what came to mind and pray her words would be well-received… if the letter was received at all.

  An hour later, she went downstairs and entered the kitchen dressed in a new day frock and her wide-brimmed hat. “Good afternoon, Esther. Where is everyone?”

  The cook glanced up from a chopping board of colorful vegetables. “The missus and miss are napping in their rooms. Master Duncan is still at his office. Micah’s in the stable, I am here, and Lord knows where that Kathleen be.”

  “Today is market day. Could I trouble Micah to drive me to the waterfront?”

  Esther’s eyes turned very round. “You wanna go to market at this hour?” Her tone would have been appropriate had it been close to midnight. “The time to go to the docks is after breakfast, when the fish is fresh, not after it be baking in the hot sun all day.” She returned to chopping green peppers, the matter settled in her mind.

  “Please, Esther? I so wish to buy peaches before they are gone for the season. I’ve had a hankering for a cobbler my mother used to make.”

  “You’re too late. Peaches are done.”

  “Pears, then. Some sweet Bartletts will work. Let’s be inventive with the recipe.”

  The cook’s brows lifted with suspicion, yet she was too well-mannered to question Madeline’s motives outright. “Nobody does a cobbler with pears, but I ’spose we could make a compote. Will that satisfy this hankering of your’n?”

  “Indeed it will!” Madeline flashed her a sincere smile.

  “Go find Micah in the stable or garden.” She resumed chopping.

  “Thank you, Esther.” Madeline caught herself before hugging the woman around the midsection, something highly inappropriate between servant and houseguest.

  “You’re welcome, but you gotta pick up Master Duncan on your way home. No time for Micah to go back and forth.” Esther scraped a mountain of peppers, onions, and diced tomatoes into the soup pot. “So you best have some fruit to show for your trouble.” She pointed at a large basket hanging on the wall.

  Grabbing it from the hook, Madeline ran outside.

  Fortunately, Micah took little exception to her odd request for a Wednesday afternoon. “Why don’t you wait on the shady bench in front, ma’am. I’ll hitch the carriage and pick you up there. Too many flies are buzzing around the stable yard.”

  Filled with anticipation, Madeline was afraid she couldn’t sit still. But pacing might draw the attention of her aunt and cousin, so she perched on the stone bench and waited. Tucked inside her bag was an envelope for General James Downing, Fourth Corps Commander of the Army of the Potomac. If it were discovered, her letter contained no planned military maneuvers and no estimates of troop strength. It was merely the chaste confession of a woman’s heart. Just the same, the outing filled her with a sense of purpose long absent in her life.

  At the riverfront, Micah parked in his usual spot under shady elms. Then he climbed down with his slow, arthritic gait.

  “Micah, why not wait for me here?” she said sweetly.

  “No, ma’am. It is my job to carry the basket.” He lifted it from behind the seat.

  Madeline practically yanked it from his hands. “With only one item to purchase, I prefer to shop alone. Remember, I’m a Yankee, accustomed to doing things for myself.” She hoped she didn’t sound overly rude.

  The dignified man frowned but released his grip on the handle. “All right, ma’am, but don’t tarry too long. We mustn’t forget Master Duncan.” Micah patted his vest where he kept his prized possession—a pocket watch.

  “I won’t,” Madeline called over her shoulder.

  Loiterers crowded the narrow aisles, still hoping to nab a late day bargain. Using her basket as a shield, Madeline cleared a path through the fruit and vegetable merchants toward the waterfront. She paused long enough to buy some pears without bothering to sort through them. However, when she reached the spot she had met the Yankee fisherman, his table was empty.

  “Where’s Captain George?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Gone.” The woman at the next table spoke without lifting her focus from her dwindling supply of soft shell crabs.

  “Yes, ma’am, I can see that, but to where?” Madeline offered what she hoped was a pleasant expression.

  Looking up, the woman wrinkled her sunburned nose. “Not to Paree or Rome. Back to the Bonnie Bess, I reckon. George sold out early and has probably hauled anchor by now.”

  “Thank you,” Madeline said before running down the dock behind the stalls. The wharf stretched well past the market area into a loathsome row of decrepit warehouses. She tried holding her breath until she spotted the twin masts of a schooner with Bonnie Bess across the stern.

  “Captain George!” Madeline hollered in an unladylike fashion. “Are you there, Captain?”

  After a moment, a wooden hatch scraped open and a white-haired head appeared. “Mrs. Howard!” he boomed. “I’m just getting ready to run down the river. Another five minutes and I woulda been gone.”

  “May I come aboard, sir? I have an important matter to discuss with you.” Madeline lifted her skirts a few inches in preparation to jump the gap between land and sea.

  “No, no. I’ll join you there. Can’t let a lady fall into the James River wearin’ a hoop. You would get tangled up and drown for sure.” The seafarer punctuated his conjecture with a belly laugh.

  Madeline arched an eyebrow. “I learned to swim years ago in our farm pond.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Reaching her side, Captain George loomed half a foot taller. “Now what brings a fair Northern matron down to the docks? So late in the day, no less. A tad earlier and you could have had the shrimp I just tossed in the drink.”

  Blanching at the thought of rancid, oily shrimp, Madeline glanced around to be certain no one stood within earshot. “I’m not here for seafood. Could you take a letter for me, Captain? I wish this to reach the commander of the Fourth Corps, infantry.” She extracted the envelope from her reticule along with one of her few remaining coins.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I can take it to Fort Monroe on the peninsula. They’ll know how to get it into the hands of—” He read her slanted script. “General Downing. Keep your coin, Mrs. Howard. This one is compliments of the Bonnie Bess.” He bowed and swept his cap from his bushy head.

  “I’m in your debt, Captain.” Madeline attempted a half curtsey.

  “Yes, ma’am, you are.” He tucked the envelope inside his coat. “Now be off with you ’fore somebody sees ya talking to an old sailor.”

  Madeline didn’t have to be told twice. She picked up her skirts and ran until she reached the last shoppers pawing through shriveled produce.

  Her relief was soon matched by Micah’s. “I was just about to start looking for you, Mrs. Howard.” The butler slapped the reins on the horse’s back the moment she stepped into the carriage. Soon they were rattling down the cobblestones toward the center of town without a moment to spare.

  Growing impatient in the heat, Clarisa rang her silver bell for the second time. Not a breath of air stirred the leafy branches overhead. If it became any more humid,
a person could wring the air like a wet dishrag.

  Eugenia lifted her skirts to cover her legs on the chaise and snapped open her fan. “Tell me again where Cousin Maddy went in the carriage.”

  “As I said five minutes ago, Esther said Madeline remembered a recipe for peach cobbler that she favored and went to the market with Micah.” Clarisa picked up her needlepoint for the third time with little interest.

  “I don’t understand why she didn’t mention this cobbler at luncheon. She knows I love haunting the aisles and stalls on market day.” Eugenia’s lower lip trembled.

  “Don’t pout, dear. It’s very unbecoming in a lady. And don’t use the word ‘haunt.’ You know I don’t care for references to ghosts or phantoms.” Clarisa glared over her half-moon spectacles.

  “Sorry, Mama. I’m truly out of sorts since Maddy left me behind.” Eugenia tried to drink from an already empty glass.

  “Esther mentioned that Madeline asked about you but was told you were resting. She knew how poorly you’ve been sleeping lately and probably considered her actions merciful.”

  “I would be happy to sleep through supper for a chance to break our monotonous routine. If I spend another afternoon listening to the auxiliary ladies bragging about their sons and grandsons’ heroism, I will go mad. You know their tales cannot possibly be true or we would have beaten Mr. Lincoln’s army long ago.”

  Spotting the maid in the doorway, Clarisa swallowed her admonishment. It was too hot to fuss. Besides, Eugenia was correct about her friends’ penchant for exaggeration. “There you are, Kathleen. We’re parched dry out here, and I had to ring for you twice.” Clarisa dropped her sewing into the basket for the last time that day.

  Kathleen carried a pitcher to the table at the only speed she knew—turtle slow. “Had to squeeze more fresh lemons. No lemonade left after lunch.” She wiped her hands down her apron.

  Clarisa saw nothing on the tray but a small bowl of sugar and two spoons. “Were there no tea cakes with the apricot jam left?”

  “No, ma’am. Et at breakfast.”

  “Eaten at breakfast. What about those shortbreads? I know some remained in the tin.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Esther packed the last ones for Mr. Duncan to have for lunch with two measly boiled eggs.”

  The two women locked gazes. Clarisa experienced a surge of anger that a maid would comment on the quality of lunches the household provided. “Refill our glasses and that will be all, Kathleen.”

  Eugenia waited until they were alone to speak. “Don’t you think Cousin Maddy should have returned by now? The vendors pack up their wares and leave by this hour.”

  “Micah plans to pick up your father on their way home. No sense in making two trips.” Clarisa added plenty of sugar to her lemonade and drank half the glass for fortification. “While Madeline is out, there is something I must discuss with you, daughter.”

  Eugenia sat up in her chair. “I didn’t eat the last apricot tea cake, Mama, on my honor.”

  She sighed wearily. “I’m referring to your frequently correcting your cousin’s manners and habits. I know you don’t mean to be rude, but you are. You’re constantly pointing out Madeline’s differences to what you consider proper etiquette, regardless of who might be within earshot.”

  “I only meant to be helpful. How will she ever learn if no one tells her?” Eugenia’s eyes glazed with moisture. “At mass last Sunday, she didn’t know when to stand, when to sit, or when to kneel. And she started reciting the Lord’s Prayer when only the priest is supposed to talk. One would think she’d never been to church before.” A large tear ran down her pale cheek.

  Clarisa reached for her daughter’s hand. “Come sit with me.” She patted the foot of her chaise.

  Eugenia complied, but soon her face streamed with tears. “I tried to explain because Maddy said she didn’t understand a word of Latin.”

  “Madeline goes to a Christian church, but it’s not Catholic. Similar, but not exact. They have ministers, not priests; English and not Latin; and they seldom kneel. And it wasn’t just this past Sunday that I noticed this. You are quick to correct her at table too. Country folk don’t use a separate fork for oysters, salads, entrees, and desserts. They often use one fork throughout the entire meal.” Clarisa stroked the girl’s back.

  Eugenia peered up with a streaky face. “Are you teasing me?”

  “I am not. A well-bred lady never points out someone’s shortcomings in the company of others. I heard told that at Queen Victoria’s court, a visiting foreign dignitary picked up his finger bowl and drank the contents.”

  Eugenia’s delicate hand flew to her throat. “Oh, my. What did the queen do?”

  “She picked up her finger bowl and drank as well. Then everyone at table followed her lead. Do you understand why the queen would do such a thing?” Clarisa lifted her daughter’s chin with one finger.

  “Because she didn’t wish the foreigner to feel like a ninny?”

  “Exactly. Victoria wanted all to take comfort at her table, and not just from the delicious food she provided.”

  Eugenia’s tears returned in earnest. “I am a dreadful person. No wonder Cousin Maddy went to the market alone. Who needs the constant assault of my wickedness?”

  Clarisa gently shook her daughter to get her attention. “You’re not wicked, my love. We just need to remember that someday this horrible war will be over, and our Maddy will return to her friends up north, but she will always be our blood kin. We want her to take home fond memories of her days in Richmond, along with a desire to visit often.”

  “I promise to do better, Mama,” Eugenia said, laying her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  “I have no doubt you will.” Clarisa kissed her smooth, unlined forehead. “Let’s go inside. I hear the carriage. Your father and cousin have come home, and I have a matter to discuss with Micah.”

  Clarisa watched her daughter scamper off with the energy and exuberance of a child. The admonishment already forgotten, Eugenia was eager to hear about any market day escapades she had missed. Clarisa sent up a quiet prayer that Eugenia would meet and fall in love with a patient man—a man who would overlook her shortcomings and recognize her true nature—a simple, gentle soul in a world that grew frightfully more complex each day.

  “Micah, a word with you, please.” Clarisa waited until her husband and niece had entered the house, wishing no one to know her intentions until it was too late to change her mind.

  Micah halted on the path to the stable and tightened his grip on the horse’s bridle. “Yes, madam?”

  “The first chance you get, I would like you to dig up those roses on the side of the house.”

  “Which bush, Mrs. Duncan?”

  “All of them. I want them dug out and heaped into the refuse pile to be burned.”

  If he hadn’t been better trained, his jaw would have dropped open several inches. “Your rose garden, madam? The prize roses your guests fuss over all the time?”

  “Those are the ones. Impressing my garden club is of little importance to me now. I read in the newspaper that food shortages are imminent all the way down to Wilmington. I won’t have people in my house going hungry while I cultivate varietals of fancy thorn bushes.”

  Micah scratched a stubbly chin. “What are you going plant there, if I may ask? You won’t have room for corn or cotton, and the soil’s too dry to plant rice.”

  “Don’t be silly. I want to plant food we can eat, such as carrots, potatoes, beans, and squash. I’ll see if my neighbors can spare their gardeners for few hours tomorrow to give you a hand.”

  “It’s too late in the season for a garden.” He took a step toward the stable.

  “Maybe not for root vegetables if we have a mild winter. I wish to try, at least.”

  “Digging up your roses for potatoes?” Micah shook his head like a stubborn mule. “What is Master Duncan going to say about this idea, madam?”

  With waning patience, Clarisa crossed her arms. “H
ave you been spending your free time chatting with Kathleen? If so I’ll take this matter up with Esther.”

  “I’ll start digging soon as I return from driving Master Duncan to work in the morning, madam. There is no need to take this up with my wife.” Micah bit down on his lower lip, but his twinkling eyes gave him away.

  “Thank you, Micah. I will discuss the garden with Mr. Duncan when I deem the time is right. If you have no other questions regarding tomorrow, you may see to the horse.”

  “Yes, madam.” He tipped his cap and led the horse into the stable.

  Clarisa took a few moments to collect her thoughts. John wouldn’t like another reminder of the sorry state of affairs in his beloved city, but a woman had to do what she had to do.

  NINE

  Madeline couldn’t sleep Tuesday night. Tomorrow she and Eugenia would head to the market after breakfast. She was as giddy as her young cousin, but not with the prospect of eating sweet callas or bowls of steamed shrimp and grits. It had been a week since her visit to the Bonnie Bess. Had James received her letter? Would he have replied back by now? It was doubtful, to be sure, but possible nonetheless. She needed to force romantic notions from her mind or dawn would find her still staring at the rosettes in the plaster ceiling. Just as Madeline began to doze off, she heard a faint rapping on her door.

  “Come in, Genie. The door isn’t locked.” She’d spoken loud enough to be heard, but a second knock ensued. Madeline reached for her long wrapper and headed for the door, mildly annoyed.

  “I said come in—” Seeing the face in her doorway, she abruptly halted midsentence. Her late night caller wasn’t her cousin, but the Duncans’ imposing butler.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Howard.” Looking very uncomfortable, Micah spoke in a whisper. “But I was sent to fetch you.”

  Madeline tightened the cloth cord around her waist. “Who sent you? Is Esther ill?” For a moment she feared that false notoriety of her nursing abilities had spread.