The Lady and the Officer Page 5

  “Why don’t we feed your poor husband?” she asked Mrs. Bennett. “He must be famished.”

  “Let’s give our guests another fifteen minutes. A corps commander has plenty of responsibility.”

  Madeline opened her mouth to protest when the sound of hooves cut her short. She nervously patted down her hair and wiped a drop of sweat from her lip.

  The minister greeted the officers at the front door, ushering them into the parlor amid a flurry of handshaking and introductions. Madeline stuck to the wall like new wallpaper. General Downing had brought two lieutenants along with the insufferable Major Henry.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Howard,” the general said. “I apologize for our tardiness.” He removed his hat and closed the distance between them. “We received last-minute dispatches that required our attention.”

  “Think nothing of it. I’m… we’re pleased you were able to join us.”

  “Shall we be seated?” Mrs. Bennett said as she bustled past with the platter of chicken. “I know you gentlemen must be hungry.”

  General Downing offered his elbow for the short walk to the dining room. When Madeline took his arm, the officers nodded respectfully as she walked by. All except for Major Henry.

  “Mrs. Howard, you sit there, between the lieutenants—a rose between thorns.” Mrs. Bennett pointed at the opposite chair. “General Downing can sit here, across from you and next to me. The major and my husband will take the foot and head and shall be in charge of passing bowls.” She hurried out for the rest of the meal.

  When Madeline followed her to help, Mrs. Bennett ordered her back to the dining room. With five pairs of eyes on her, she sat down at the table feeling like a child. She noticed the table had been set with the Bennetts’ finest china and an Irish handmade cloth. The lace had been repaired several times, but in the flickering candlelight the room looked lovely.

  “Don’t be shy, boys,” said Reverend Bennett. “Let’s start on these biscuits.” He took one for himself and handed the basket to his left.

  Madeline spent the next few minutes buttering every nook and cranny of her biscuit, not daring to meet the general’s eye. When Mrs. Bennett returned with a tray of side dishes, the conversation turned to compliments about the fare as bowls changed hands and plates were filled.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bennett, for your hospitality,” said General Downing. “It’s been a long time since we dined at such a bounteous table.”

  “Hear, hear,” chimed two of the soldiers.

  Mrs. Bennett blushed like a schoolgirl with the praise. “It’s our duty and pleasure to feed our soldiers in blue.”

  “Is there any word when the army will move out?” asked Reverend Bennett. “You still have much to do in town, I would imagine.” He placed a second piece of chicken on his plate.

  “We’re awaiting orders from the commander,” General Downing said, glancing in Madeline’s direction.

  Major Henry slid three pieces of chicken from the platter and announced, “General Meade seems to suffer from the same malady as General McClelland—a bad case of hesitancy. Let’s hope it’s not terminal.”

  The lieutenants chuckled even as the general cleared his throat.

  Ignoring the subtle warning, the major attacked a chicken leg as though the enemy had arrived. “We could have ended this war if we had been allowed to follow Lee. We could have struck while his divisions were disorganized.”

  With a fork paused midway to his mouth, General Downing glared at his chief of staff. “Perhaps the commander has information you are not privy to, Major. And regardless of the situation at headquarters, let’s not spoil the evening for Reverend and Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Howard with talk of the war.”

  “Begging the pardon of the ladies,” Major Henry said, nodding solely in the direction of the minister’s wife.

  To fulfill his request for local news, Madeline had come up with several witty comments about the July weather and discovered news about a parishioner who just bore twins. But Major Henry’s thinly veiled scorn eroded her confidence. Instead, she nodded politely while passing bowls and focused on her food. Throughout the meal she could feel General Downing’s gaze on her.

  After dinner, Mrs. Bennett rose gracefully to her feet like a society matron. “Why don’t you gentlemen retire to the porch? I’ll send Mrs. Howard out with a pot of coffee in just a few minutes.”

  As the dining room emptied, Madeline stacked the dirty plates onto a tray.

  “Go to the kitchen for the coffee and pie, my dear.” Mrs. Bennett bumped her with a well-rounded hip. “I can handle this. Make sure you pick out the best small plates.”

  “I’m happy to deliver the dessert, ma’am, but I insist on helping you with dishes.”

  “Nothing doing,” Mrs. Bennett hissed under her breath. “Those officers spend all their time with one another. How they must long for polite female company.” She pushed Madeline out of the room. “Go. I’ll make sure Reverend Bennett remains with you outside.”

  A short while later, Madeline carried a tray out to the narrow porch filled with cigar smoke. “Pie, gentlemen?” she asked. Passing around the plates, she tried not to choke on the fumes.

  “I cannot eat another bite.” General Downing set his slice down on a table. “But I would appreciate your company in the garden.” He gestured down the steps.

  “I must serve the coffee.” Madeline held up the carafe as though proof of her assertion.

  “My men are capable of pouring their own. Come, Mrs. Howard.” He led the way down the steps.

  Once she was away from the other soldiers, her courage returned. “Goodness. I’d forgotten who was in charge for a moment.”

  “Tell me how goes the harvest.” He barked the order as if she were one of his men.

  “What?”

  “The harvest,” he said in a tone more suitable for a man courting a woman. “I know you asked nearby farmers.” Chuckling, he turned his gaze toward the panoply of stars.

  “Let’s see,” she said, stopping at his side. “You just ate two ears of the first local sweet corn, and hay is ready for the second cutting.”

  “And the weather? What say you about that?”

  “It’s still too hot for my taste, but the breeze from the west may bring a shower or two.”

  “What about Cashtown news?” He turned his focus from the sky to her.

  Madeline felt as though her heart stopped for a moment. “Mrs. John Price gave birth to twin sons this week. Mr. Price is said to be overcome with joy.”

  “Overjoyed… as I am in your presence. Thank you for your forbearance with my staff tonight. They are often blustery following a battle.” General Downing reached for her hand, pressed it to his lips, and lightly kissed the backs of her fingers. “Good night, Mrs. Howard.”

  Before she could react or think of a single clever reply, he disappeared around the corner of the house. Madeline stood thunderstruck on the Bennetts’ parched lawn. But you haven’t touched your pie yet. She remained in the garden until the sound of hooves faded in the distance. Then she wordlessly climbed the stairs to her room and closed the door.

  She’d never felt more confused in her life.

  FOUR

  JULY 15

  Unable to sleep, James stood at the flap of his tent at headquarters waiting for dawn to break on a wet, dreary world. Heavy rains during the night had turned the roads into a sloppy mess. If new orders arrived today, moving his troops a considerable distance would be downright nightmarish, if not impossible.

  “Coffee, sir?” Major Henry appeared with two steaming mugs in hand.

  James gratefully accepted one and let the hot liquid scorch his throat on the way down. Something needed to break him free of this tedium. Time spent waiting for General Meade to make a decision had been unbearable. Each day the Union Army hesitated, General Lee moved deeper into Virginia into areas he was not only familiar with, but could depend on townsfolk to feed and reoutfit his troops.

  Not that his soldiers
didn’t have anything to do. The battlefield had to be combed for cartridge boxes and abandoned weapons. Horses running loose after riders had been wounded or killed had to be corralled and reassigned. Quartermasters required time to forage and procure available food for man and beast. And the dead? What a loathsome task to bury ten thousand men in blood-soaked, unhallowed ground. Civilians arrived daily to pick through a grisly array of corpses in vain hopes of finding a son, husband, or brother. That horrific sight would linger in his mind until he moldered in his own grave.

  “Breakfast, sir?” Major Henry placed two plates on a low table. “Fried eggs and ham, biscuits and gravy, fresh berries.”

  “I’m not hungry, Major. More coffee will suffice.” James stared at the street where wounded prisoners moved through town under regimental guards.

  “It might be awhile before we see food like this again, unless General Meade decides to remain here for the rest of summer. Perhaps he plans to wait till next spring to mount an offensive on the Rebs.” He refilled the general’s cup from the pot.

  “Leave the food, Major. That will be all.”

  “Tarnation, sir. President Lincoln replaced George McClelland because he was too cautious. And now our new commander is dragging his boots through the dirt too.”

  James finished his cup of coffee, reluctant to chastise his aide for speaking frankly. Hadn’t he been thinking along the same lines? “Be that as it may, we must—”

  Without warning, a breathless courier stepped inside and snapped a salute. “General Downing, a dispatch from General Meade with his compliments, sir.”

  James grabbed the rolled parchment and scanned the contents. “I have been summoned to federal headquarters for a meeting of corps and division commanders. Major, alert the officers to ready the men to move out.”

  “Yes, sir!” Major Henry sprinted out the door on the heels of the courier.

  James picked up the plate of food and devoured half. His body would need strength, but his resolve needed no fortification. The sooner they pursued the Confederate Army, the sooner this conflict would be over. If they thwarted the enemy at their next encounter, he would waste no time in returning to this lovely valley. He would seek out Madeline Howard in Cashtown. If she had moved elsewhere, he would follow. This would be his plan, his course of action to see him through whatever lay in his path.

  His meeting with the Commander of the Army of the Potomac held few surprises. They were to form ranks at first light and then head south—several corps on the Emmitsburg Road toward Turner’s Gap and two corps toward Frederick by way of Taneytown. According to cavalry reports, the enemy was moving toward Thurmont. For the remainder of the day, James packed his ledgers, maps, and personal effects and then conferred with his staff. Every officer under his command knew what to do to prepare thousands of men, wagons, artillery, and horseflesh to travel dozens of miles each day.

  However, he had one more errand before he slept for the final night in Gettysburg. He rode the familiar back trail through fields and woodlots toward Cashtown, arriving at the Bennetts’ home long after the preacher and his wife had retired for the evening. A sinking feeling filled his gut that he’d squandered his last chance to meet with Mrs. Howard.

  Reining his horse to a walk, James rode around the overgrown flower beds into the backyard. In the kitchen window burned a kerosene lamp, offering a glimmer of hope. He crept toward the light and peeped through the window like a mischievous schoolboy.

  Mrs. Howard sat close by reading a tattered book. With her face in repose, she looked much younger than she had after the fire. When his horse issued an impatient snort, her head snapped up.

  “General Downing, what on earth are you doing in the shrubbery?” she demanded, recognizing him.

  Stepping into the pool of light, he climbed the back steps without a logical answer.

  She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Why didn’t you knock at the front door, sir?”

  “Because I feared the Bennetts wouldn’t receive me at this hour.”

  “You are most likely correct. What is so urgent that it wouldn’t keep until morning?” She pressed the book to the bodice of her dress.

  “Could we sit, Mrs. Howard?” He gestured toward the swing.

  Frowning, she glanced between him and the swing. “Just for a moment. This is no time to entertain callers.” She sat and covered her ankles with her skirt.

  “Tomorrow my men march south in pursuit of General Lee into Maryland, at long last.”

  “I shall pray for God’s mercy on you,” she murmured.

  “Thank you, but I’ve come to ask about your plans for the future. May I know where you are headed?”

  “I have written to an aunt in Richmond, asking for shelter for the remainder of the war. Confederate territory or not, I cannot rely on the Bennetts’ charity forever.”

  James stroked his beard while choosing his words carefully. “May I offer you an alternative? Richmond may soon become a hotbed of action, a dangerous place for a Northerner.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Even in dim light, he could see her forehead furrow. “That you come with me… or rather my corps. We have many civilians who accompany us as laundresses and seamstresses.”

  “Become a camp follower? How dare you ask such a thing? We’ve had this conversation before. I know the true vocation of most ladies who call themselves laundresses.”

  He recoiled as though slapped, yet he couldn’t deny her assertion. “Again, I meant no disrespect. Your virtue would not be tested by my behavior.”

  “But an incorrect assumption would be drawn nonetheless.” She rose to her feet.

  “Perhaps if I—”

  “No, General. I trust that your offer was made with honorable intentions, but I must decline. I will leave for Richmond by train, by way of Washington. I will write to you in care of the U.S. Army, Fourth Corps, once I reach my destination. I hope my letter will eventually find its way into your hands.”

  General Downing clutched his hat brim with a death grip. “Do you know the address of your destination? If letters can get through, truly I wish to correspond.”

  She hesitated a few moments before tearing a blank page from her book. “Clarisa and John Duncan, 17 Forsythia Lane.” She scribbled down the information with a scrap of pencil she pulled from her apron pocket. “I have no idea how long my trip will take, or if Yankee mail will be delivered, but I will hope for the best.” She handed him the slip and pulled open the door.

  “Another minute, please.”

  Halfway inside, she paused.

  “I beg you not to forget me. I will think of you often during the coming weeks. While this war drags on, I have nothing to offer.” He held up his palms. “But one day I will offer you everything I have, everything within my power.”

  Madeline gasped at his bold statement before a sudden smile bloomed on her face. “Everything sounds sufficient, sir. I will pray nightly for your safe return.” She hurried into the house, letting the door slam behind her without a thought for her slumbering hosts.

  General Downing left the Bennett homestead, the village of Cashtown, and soon the commonwealth of Pennsylvania with a small flame glowing inside his heart.

  After mailing her letter to the Duncans, Madeline kept busy at the Bennetts. While the minister and his wife nursed the Gettysburg wounded, she packed their remaining possessions and tended their vegetable garden. In the evening, Mr. Bennett returned with a borrowed wagon, and together they loaded up furniture, cooking implements, and linens. Household goods were in short supply, so the Bennetts donated what they could to those in need.

  “God will provide when the time is right.” The preacher repeated his mantra not less than a half dozen times. Soon, like their guest, he and his wife owned only one suitcase of clothes. But at least they had a place to stay at the end of the week.

  With a heavy heart, Madeline sold Bo to a federal procurement officer for a fair price. A lady couldn’t ride all
the way to Richmond on horseback, and a carriage would quickly bog down on roads ruined by both armies. After kissing her beloved mare on her white forehead, Madeline sobbed as she was led away. But how could she cry about a horse when countless men lay in unmarked graves a few miles away?

  Madeline wiped her face and packed the last of the garden produce into a small basket for her and a larger one for the Bennetts. Waiting on the porch provided plenty of time to ponder the general’s offer. Her back still stiffened with indignation at his cavalier invitation to join an army caravan, and yet the possibility of never seeing him again saddened her as much as losing her home. In the last two years, Madeline hadn’t given much thought to men, assuming she would spend the rest of her life as a widow. James Downing had swept into her life in a cloud of dust and then vanished almost as quickly.

  Reverend Bennett drove the borrowed team up his lane promptly at five o’clock. “All set, Mrs. Howard? Climb on up.” He slapped the seat of the rickety wagon.

  “Whatever for?” she asked in surprise.

  “To join us for the night, of course. There’s nothing left in the house. You can’t sleep on bare floors.”

  “I planned to walk to Gettysburg tomorrow to catch my train.” She clutched her basket handle with both hands. “Thank you, sir, but I can’t impose on your kindness any longer.”

  “You can’t walk that far in this heat. Besides, Violet found a room for you, free of charge. A widow in town was so grateful to get our furniture, she said you may stay as long as you like. Hers was carried right out of her house while she searched the battlefield for her son.” He shook his head with dismay.

  Madeline shuffled her feet in the dirt, unsure what to say. “She’s willing to open her home to a stranger?”

  “She is. Please, Mrs. Howard. Violet will shake her wooden spoon at me if I don’t bring you back.” He offered Madeline his hand.