The Lady and the Officer Page 8

  More importantly, would she see James Downing again? Each night she struggled to remember details of his handsome face, the sound of his voice, and the touch of his hand. And each night it grew more difficult. She’d written three letters since arriving, but how did someone correspond with a corps commander of the Union Army?

  Excuse me, Uncle John. Could you post these tomorrow on your way to President Davis’s headquarters—the so-called White House of the Confederacy?

  Dinner conversation often veered abruptly onto other subjects whenever her uncle or aunt realized she might be embarrassed or angered. Two sisters had grown up in the same household and ended up on different sides of a war. Aunt Clarisa’s simple Pennsylvania childhood was buried under years of wealth and social position. She was as Southern as her penchant for grits instead of oatmeal, cornbread over sourdough, and the addition of sugar to every beverage. On afternoons she and Eugenia weren’t shopping or attending church activities, they waited to entertain callers in their opulent parlor. And ladies arrived most afternoons, wearing cumbersome hoops beneath their voluminous skirts. Huge hats shielded their faces from the sun, with brims festooned with feathers and odd types of ornamentation. Aunt Clarisa’s guests treated Madeline politely and were never intrusive with their questions, not even when they heard her Northern accent.

  Despite her aunt’s pretentions, Madeline fell in love with her after two short weeks. Aunt Clarisa was patient and kind to everyone, including the sullen maid who didn’t deserve indulgent treatment. Aunt Clarisa fussed over her daughter and husband, and now she fussed over Madeline too. Even at the supper table, her aunt made sure everyone had loaded their plate before taking no more than a thimbleful for herself.

  Despite the lavishly appointed home, Madeline realized the Duncans were not as wealthy as they once had been. Curtains with tears in them were repaired, not replaced. Every scrap of leftovers from a meal was reused in a soup, stew, or casserole. And despite the dressmaker having consumed three mornings of their lives, mother and daughter ordered only one gown each. And neither had chosen the expensive fabrics shown last during the presentation. Aunt Clarisa was more concerned that Madeline had a suitable wardrobe during her visit to Richmond, however long it might be.

  This morning Madeline entered the sunny dining room wearing one of the tailored-to-fit dresses. Although never overly concerned with appearances before, this down-to-earth farm girl adored her new clothes. The soft blue frock, with its white collar and cuffs and deep-V neckline, revealed more skin than Madeline had ever showed to anyone other than her husband. Aunt Clarisa assured her that this amount of décolletage was quite proper for daytime.

  “You’re up!” Eugenia greeted enthusiastically, pouring coffee from a silver urn. “I’m delighted you didn’t sleep in.”

  “Am I late, Aunt Clarisa?” Madeline felt a flush climb her neck on her way to the table.

  “Not at all, my dear. Eugenia has planned a full day for you and can’t wait to get started. Your uncle had to leave for work earlier than usual.” Clarisa rang the silver bell next to her plate. Micah appeared almost immediately with a platter of fried eggs and crisp bacon.

  Madeline inhaled the aroma and fluffed a linen napkin across her lap. “I will undoubtedly gain weight while your guest. Everything has been delicious.”

  “You were too thin. Now you have color in your cheeks.”

  “That’s because Maddy usually forgets her hat when we walk in the garden, Mama,” Eugenia said as she scooped up a modest portion of eggs.

  Aunt Clarisa’s brows kitted above her nose. “Did you ask permission before assigning your cousin such a familiar moniker?”

  “Yes, ma’am, she asked,” Madeline injected before Eugenia had a chance. “I like the name. That was what my mother called me when she wasn’t perturbed with me.”

  “I can’t imagine my sister being angry with you. She was such an easygoing, gentle soul. You are very much like her.”

  “Indeed, she was. Thank you for the compliment.” Madeline tried to swallow the lump in her throat. If she squinted, she could see her mother in Aunt Clarisa’s features.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t attend your mother’s funeral. Your father didn’t inform us of her passing until after the fact. Had I known she was ailing, I would have come to nurse her back to health… or at least stayed until the Lord called her home.”

  Madeline’s eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t realized anyone mourned her mother’s death besides herself, her father, and Tobias. “He forbade me from contacting you.”

  Setting down her coffee cup, Clarisa shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault. Forgive me for bringing it up. When I heard of your father’s passing from a mutual acquaintance, I grieved again for you, Madeline.” They locked gazes for a long moment. Then Aunt Clarisa turned toward her daughter. “What adventures do you have planned?”

  “Wednesday is Esther’s marketing day. We’ll ride in the carriage with her to the riverfront. Because Papa walked to the office, we can get an early start.” Eugenia turned toward Madeline. “Along the way Micah will drive past Richmond’s most famous sites. Finally, you will receive an official tour of your new home.”

  No matter how long I stay, Richmond will never be my home, no matter how lovely the city. “Will you join us, Aunt Clarisa?”

  “Goodness, no. I will sew uniforms with the parish auxiliary and pack canned goods to be sent to our soldiers.” She picked up her cup and sipped her sweetened coffee.

  “It’ll just be the two of us, Maddy, along with Micah and Esther, of course. Since my pitiful debut last winter, I’ve had few outings without Mama.” Eugenia looked dolefully at her bacon as she cut it up into small pieces.

  Madeline had folded her bacon and eaten it whole. She must remember to sip, not swallow; nibble, not devour; and most of all, slow down. The Pennsylvania blood running in her veins made her hurry through everything she did. “Why do you describe your debut as pitiful?” she asked. “I thought ‘coming out’ was an exciting season for young women of society.”

  Forcing a smile, Eugenia looked to her mother to respond.

  “Since the start of the war, there have been few balls and parties. People simply don’t have resources to spend on frivolity while our soldiers’ needs go unmet.”

  “There’s privation on both sides,” Madeline replied.

  “True enough. Yet I cannot impress on Eugenia that sacrifices must be made during times like these.”

  Eugenia stared now at her lap. “You must think me horribly vain and selfish, Cousin Maddy. Forgive me.”

  Madeline swallowed her last bite of fried egg and pushed away her empty plate. “I think nothing of the sort, Eugenia. A woman is young only once. It’s normal to have expectations about the future and feel a loss if they aren’t met.”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad you came to visit!” Eugenia jumped up and wrapped her arms around Madeline’s neck. “Let’s get our hats and parasols so we can be off.” Bobbing her head in her mother’s direction, she hurried from the room.

  “Good luck today, niece,” Aunt Clarisa said, winking as Madeline followed the dynamo out the door.

  Micah’s tour took them past the gates of Hollywood Cemetery, St. Charles Hotel, and St. John’s Church, where Patrick Henry had delivered his famous “Give me liberty or give me death” speech. Madeline ooh’d and aahed at every architectural or botanical landmark. Micah seemed to know more about his adopted city than Eugenia. However, the youngest Duncan knew the name of every family that lived in the palatial mansions on Broad Street… and how many of the sons were still eligible bachelors.

  At long last they arrived at the open-air market along the waterfront of the James River. Normally, the docks would be no place for a lady, but according to Eugenia, even respectable people crowded the narrow lanes on Wednesdays. Flatboats and packets of all shapes and sizes came downriver to sell freshly caught seafood in addition to the fruit, vegetables, and smoked meats available other days.


  Madeline stood on tiptoe to scan the lively scene. “My word, what a selection.”

  “This isn’t half the normal amount of merchants. The federal blockade keeps out bananas, coconuts, and coffee from the tropics. We’re lucky to get fruit, rice, and tea grown in the Carolinas, Georgia, or here in Virginia. Begging your pardon, cousin.” Eugenia raised her fan to hide her face.

  Madeline patted her arm. “You needn’t apologize every single time you mention the war. Otherwise, our conversation will become downright cumbersome.”

  The Duncans’ cook stepped in between them with her huge basket. “I know Miss Eugenia will want some callas but don’t go wandering too far. Stay where I can keep an eye on y’all.”

  “Of course, Esther. This way to the sweets.” Eugenia grabbed Madeline by the arm.

  “What are callas?”

  “Rice and brown sugar formed into a ball and then fried. You will absolutely fall in love.”

  Love—a word never far from Eugenia’s mind—or Madeline’s either, lately. How she yearned for a letter from General Downing. They each bought two rice cakes, one for now and one to save for tomorrow. Madeline tried not to get powdered sugar down the front of her dress while nibbling hers.

  Esther, however, was all business inside the market. She paused at each stand to poke and sniff, and she wouldn’t buy unless confident of freshness. Madeline studied the foods not sold in Pennsylvania, while her cousin studied the crowd. Eugenia watched the ladies to see what they wore and the gentlemen to see if anyone was watching her. As they slowly worked their way to the waterfront, Esther filled her basket with bargains.

  “Mercy,” moaned Eugenia. “We’re getting close to the fishmongers. That smell isn’t something I want clinging to my clothes.” She took hold of her cousin’s arm.

  Madeline gently shrugged off her hand. “I want to see the seafood. We get little from the ocean in Cashtown, just river trout.”

  “You go ahead, Maddy. I’ll wait for you in the carriage. My feet are beginning to hurt.”

  Esther looked from one to the other and frowned. “Don’t know ’bout you two separatin’.”

  “It’s all right, Esther. I’m twenty-six and a matron. I’m allowed to shop without a chaperone.” Madeline tried not to grin at the older black woman.

  The cook wasn’t convinced, but in the end Esther followed Eugenia toward the street.

  Madeline continued to browse the stalls with interest. Some of the fish didn’t smell “caught yesterday” as the sign proclaimed, but nevertheless the array was impressive. “What do you call that creature, sir?” she asked, peering at a monstrosity with tentacles.

  “Squid, ma’am.” The vendor doffed his cap, releasing a bounty of white hair.

  “And those?” Madeline pointed at critters resembling cockroaches.

  “Crayfish or crawdaddies, however you prefer.”

  “Hmm, some things should remain exactly where God put them,” she said, smiling at the burley fisherman.

  “Definitely not a delicacy for everyone, that’s to be sure. Your accent says you’re not from around here. Where are you from, ma’am?”

  “I’m Mrs. Howard from Pennsylvania,” Madeline said, holding her handkerchief to her nose.

  “Name’s Captain George. I hail from Boston, as you might have figur’d out by now.”

  “You are farther from home than I, Captain.”

  “Truth be told, but here’s where the money’s to be made.” Captain George lowered his voice. “I can run up the Chesapeake because I know most of them navy ships in the harbor.” He hooked a thumb toward the river. “I can sell things the local boys can’t get their hands on.”

  Madeline blinked, shocked that a stranger would share such confidences. “I wish you good sailing, Captain, but I must be going.” She backed away from his unnerving presence.

  “I’m here most Wednesdays should you be needin’ a friendly face to talk to, seeing we’re both Yankees and all.” He grinned before hastily adding, “Meaning no disrespect, ma’am.”

  “I have a houseful of kinfolk should I wish to chat,” Madeline said coolly, miffed at his boldness. She marched away but didn’t get far before an idea occurred. Hurrying back, she leaned precariously over the squid. In a much warmer tone, she said, “Actually, could you could get a letter into the hands of someone in the Union army? I would like to write to my… brother.” She regretted lying, yet she dared not trust this swarthy sea captain.

  Captain’s George’s grin revealed a gold tooth. “That I can, ma’am. I’m here most Wednesdays. Don’t take your business to nobody but me.” He resettled his cap on his head and turned toward crates stacked on the ground.

  Madeline practically ran through the crowd to the Duncan carriage. She was eager to lock herself in her room, write one more letter, and then bind them all together with string. But when she and her cousin had entered the foyer, Aunt Clarisa asked them to come to the parlor before Madeline could escape upstairs.

  “I’m glad you’re finally home, Eugenia. Colonel Haywood had business with your father and has graciously agreed to stay for dinner.” She waved her hand toward the tall, distinguished officer who had risen to greet them. “Colonel Haywood, you’ve met my daughter, Eugenia. And this is my niece, Mrs. Madeline Howard.”

  “Good afternoon, Colonel.” Eugenia curtsied charmingly and extended her hand.

  “Miss Eugenia, how lovely you look in pink.” He gripped her fingers briefly before turning his attention on Madeline. He stared at her briefly, and then his smile doubled in size. “Mrs. Howard, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The colonel bowed deeply from the waist.

  Madeline didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t wearing gloves, had just been in a public market, and feared she would fall if she attempted to curtsy. “The pleasure is mine, Colonel, but you must excuse me. I seem to have misplaced my gloves during our outing.” She clasped her hands behind her back, regretting her second lie of the day.

  Yet if this Confederate colonel would be staying for dinner, she suspected it wouldn’t be her last.

  SEVEN

  At thirty-eight years of age, Colonel Elliott Haywood had known more than his fair share of lovely belles. In the past, some had vied for his attention because of his father’s money and social position as a Virginia planter. However, in recent years their slaves had run off and the crops were picked clean by a hungry army. His family would be fortunate to raise enough for the next tax bill. Some women were attracted to the pressed and polished uniform of a Confederate officer, yet with only one functioning arm, his reassignment to Richmond’s home guard no longer carried the same prestige as a member of J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry. Frankly, Elliott had grown weary of vapid young women who clung to an old way of life. He was neither sentimental nor particularly attached to the trappings of polite society.

  He had fought bravely in battle for the South. Shot from the saddle, he had lain for a full day in mud and blood, fully expecting to die on Northern soil. When Yankee soldiers carried him to the crowded yard of a field hospital, he fully expected to die from neglect under a blistering sun. So many wounded men lay in rows like forks in a drawer with so few doctors to attend to them. But when a sweet-faced angel appeared above him, he thought he’d woken in the Promised Land. Elliott was stripped of his jacket and hat and carried into the surgeon’s tent. Each morning thereafter he’d fully expected to be hauled off to a Union prison. But he neither died nor was marched away under guard. Then one day, after he recovered sufficient strength, he walked out of that gruesome hospital and chaotic little town and came home… home to Richmond.

  Elliott rather liked his new assignment. Certainly, ensuring the safety of Jefferson Davis and members of his staff shouldn’t prove too taxing. His shoulder still ached where the bullet had been dislodged. And although he still possessed two arms, one hung limply like wet laundry on a clothesline. Tonight he had been invited to dinner at the home of John Duncan—one of the president’s most trusted staff me
mbers. Unlike his own family, the Duncans apparently still possessed the wherewithal to entertain. John Duncan’s daughter had always seemed immature for her age, even though she’d officially come out. Elliott didn’t need another reminder he was almost forty and still unwed. What he hadn’t expected was to recognize the face of his saving angel when introduced to Mrs. Duncan’s niece… and a very pretty face, at that.

  An hour had passed since he had been introduced to her. With murmured excuses, the young women had left them to freshen up after their morning out. Eventually, Elliott followed his host and hostess into the dining room, and while Elliott tried to keep his attention on his conversation with the Duncans, he couldn’t help internally anticipating the return of their niece.

  “What news do you hear of the navy’s plans to destroy the blockade, Colonel Haywood? We simply must get regular shipments from England and the continent—” Mrs. Duncan’s question to him hung in midair as she suddenly turned toward the doorway. “Ah, there you two are. Please join us. Dinner is about to be served.”

  Elliott and Mr. Duncan had risen to their feet with the appearance of Eugenia and Mrs. Howard.

  “Please forgive my tardiness, ma’am,” Mrs. Howard murmured deferentially, while Eugenia flounced to her chair.

  “Not at all, my dear. We were enjoying an aperitif, knowing you two had a tiresome day.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Howard.” Elliott lifted his glass in salute. “I’m delighted to see you again after all this time.”

  She looked puzzled as she lowered herself to her chair. “I beg your pardon, sir. We were introduced but an hour ago.” Mrs. Howard angled her head toward the parlor as the Duncans stared in confusion.

  Elliott held up his glass for the butler to refill. “I’m not surprised you don’t make the connection. My appearance was less than presentable at the time. But I will never forget you, no matter how long I live.”

  Mrs. Howard waved away the offer of a glass of wine. “Again, sir, you have me at a disadvantage.” She placed a goblet of water to her rosy lips.