Ashes in the Wind (12 page)

“Well, I dunno—” The sheriff scratched his head.

“Good!” Cole took the decision from him. “The boy works at the hospital under my direction, should you need to question him further.”

Reluctantly the man heaved his heavy shoulders. “I guess he didn’t hurt me none.” He gestured to the splintered board and directed a frown at Al.
“You better be careful with that iron, boy. We ain’t hung anyone your age for—oh—eight or ten years, at least.” He turned aside with a grin and winked at Cole, then nodded to Mrs. Hawthorne. “I’ll be checking back to find out how this all comes out, and if I visit again, it won’t be with the likes of Mister DuBonné a-taggin’ at my heels. Good-day, ma’m. Doctor!”

The sheriff stepped up into his buckboard and clicked his horse into motion.

“I’ll have your signed receipt now, Captain,” Mrs. Hawthorne stated. “And I will be anxiously awaiting word from you as to what you have found out.”

“Yes, ma’m. I’ll see to it as soon as I can.” After the necessary papers were signed he glanced around at Al. “Can I see you home before you get into more trouble?”

“What do you think you are, my guardian angel or somep’n? I can take care of myself. And I don’t need your help gettin’ home. I got Tar.”

“Perhaps I should return to your uncle’s and assure your cousin that you’ve come to no harm. It will be a while even if you manage to get that beast headed in the right direction.”

Al’s eyes narrowed. “You do that, Yankee.”

Cole drew on his gauntlets. “I’m glad I have your approval,” he laughed as he swung into the saddle.

“Jes’ don’t do nothing what’ll getcha hitched in the family,” Al called.

Cole pulled the steed around and grinned mockingly. “You needn’t worry, Al. I can take care of myself.”

“Huh!” Alaina snorted derisively, then frowned as she watched him ride out of sight.

“Come in, child,” the woman’s rasping voice intruded upon her thoughts, “and have some tea before you go. It’s rare enough these days that I have visitors, much less those of a friendly nature.”

For the first time since she arrived, Alaina could take a moment to consider the woman. The face was wrinkled and ancient, yet a bloom of rosy color still touched the cheeks, and there was a sparkle in the soft, brown eyes that age could not dim.

“What name may I attach to you?” the woman asked.

“Al.”

“Al? Nothing else?” An elegant brow raised.

“The res’ don’t matter none.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, child.”

“Well, you can jes’ call me Al fer right now.”

“All right, Al.” She stressed the name oddly as she gave the younger one a casual scrutiny. “Now tell me, for what purpose did you traverse this narrow dirt lane? As the road ends at the levee, I can only assume you came to see me.”

“Yes’m. That polecat Jacques came slinging his mud onto my clean hospital floor and was spoutin’ off ’bout bringing the sheriff out here to arrest you. I jes’ figured I owed him one. That was a fine piece of cuttin’ you did on his shoulder, ma’m.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Hawthorne graciously replied and considered the sword. “I hated to soil it on such vermin, but I’m sure Charles would have understood.”

“Charles?”

“My husband. I’m a widow now.” She waved a hand toward the carefully tended, exquisitely flowered garden across the lane. “He’s buried yonder with my daughter, Sarah. They died of the yellow jack before the war.”

“I’m sorry,” Alaina murmured.

“Oh, don’t be. Both had a good life, and it is my belief that they’re enjoying a better place now.” She held the door wide. “I hope you like tea. I can’t abide that chicory they pass off as coffee nowadays.”

Alaina followed her into the house, and the woman led her through a cool hallway. Without pausing, Mrs. Hawthorne asked over her shoulder, “Has anyone ever explained the decorum of hats to you?”

Alaina swallowed and, dragging the offending article from her head, mumbled, “Yes’m.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to know a little and guess some more, ma’m.”

“I believe that.” She gestured for Alaina to take a chair at a tea table in the parlor. “Sit there, child. I’ll be only a moment. The water is hot. I was preparing tea when those awful men arrived.”

Alaina looked down at the tapestry seat of the chair that she had been bidden to take, then glanced around until she found one that her soiled clothes would not damage and exchanged them. Gingerly sitting on the edge, Alaina surveyed the room with more appreciation. Everything seemed in order, nothing missing, no telltale rectangles on the walls where paintings once had been. The furniture was intact and in good condition. A rarity these days to be in a parlor that no Yankee had savaged.

Mrs. Hawthorne returned bearing a tray upon which reposed a most handsome porcelain tea service and, with a clatter of china, set it before Alaina and began to fill a cup. The woman seated herself in a tall-backed chair across from Alaina and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her cup, while she carefully perused her tattered guest. Uneasy beneath the woman’s regard, Alaina sipped her tea. When she again raised her gaze, Mrs. Hawthorne’s stare was just as intense.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re playing games with me, child?”

Alaina swallowed with difficulty and managed to ask innocently, “Ma’m?”

“Your clothes! Why are you running around masquerading as a boy?”

Alaina opened her mouth to answer, then as she realized the full import of the words, her composure crumbled. She sat as one stunned, her mind stumbling and forming no logical thought.

Mrs. Hawthorne smiled and tasted her tea. “I suppose I have an unfair advantage. Before I married, I taught at a school for young girls. None of them managed to fool me for very long either.” She sipped her tea again and nodded her head. “You’re good. You’re very good. I think your liberal use of dirt”—she wrinkled her nose in mild distaste—“disarms most people. But there’s a softness in the way you step and the way you handle yourself.” She laughed briefly. “And I’ve never known a man who cared about a chair or wasn’t clumsy with a teacup.

“Now,” she leaned forward, her soft brown eyes glowing with expectant curiosity. “Will you tell me why?”

The sun had dipped low in the sky when Alaina crossed the Craighughs’ back yard. Once she had been able to gather her wits about her, she had felt no hesitation about Mrs. Hawthorne and tirelessly recounted the tangled chain of events that had led to her present circumstance, while the woman listened with rapt attention. It was an afternoon preferable to one spent under Roberta’s heckling. That one was waiting for her in the kitchen with a smug, complacent smile.

“Where have you been all this time, Lainie? You missed Captain Latimer’s visit.”

“Good.” She nodded stoutly. “I’ve had enough of ol’ striped-pants for one day.”

Roberta laughed and examined her fingernails closely. “I declare, Lainie, there just doesn’t seem to be anything at all feminine about you.”

“If you mean I make my own bed, wash and iron my own clothes, and work for a living, you’re right. When have you ever brought a dollar into the house?”

Roberta sniffed delicately. “Hmph, a lady has other responsibilities.”

Dulcie rolled her eyes and, with a rattle of pots and pans, loudly busied herself.

“Yeah,” Alaina grunted laconically. “Like being lazy and getting fat.”

“Lazy! Fat! How dare you!” Roberta’s ample bosom contested the restraint of her bodice as she drew her shoulders back in stunned amazement. Before she could air her outrage, the pantry door slammed loudly, shutting off any further rejoinder. As Dulcie giggled over her labors, Roberta glared at
the woman’s broad back and petulantly stalked out of the kitchen. She was passing the parlor door when her father looked up from his newssheet and gazed at her over his glasses.

“Who was that?”

Roberta paused in the doorway. “Oh, Lainie just came home.”

Leala glanced up from her embroidery. “Sometimes I think Alaina works far too hard, Angus. Here she’s been out all day again. That poor girl.”

“Humph!” Angus returned to his paper. “The work will do her good. Teach her some responsibility.”

Roberta was a trifle piqued. “Maybe I should find some work, too, Daddy.”

“Not you, my dear.” Angus favored his daughter with a doting smile. “You’re a different kind of lady.”

Satisfied with her parent’s indulgence, Roberta leisurely retired to her bedroom to dream about life as a Yankee officer’s wife, and for several pleasurable moments, Alaina was able to savor the cleansing heat of her bath before the door swung open. She glared back over her shoulder, an angry word ready on her tongue, but when she saw it was only Dulcie with a clean towel draped over her arm, her irritation eased. The woman set a large block of homemade soap on the table beside the tub, then bustled about, humming to herself as she picked up Alaina’s cast-off clothing and smoothed the frayed nightgown the young girl would wear. Alaina puzzled at the woman’s manner but found no explanation for it until she took up the bar of soap and began to wash. From the soap wafted a scent strangely familiar, not unlike the perfume Roberta owned and jealously guarded.

Alaina raised her gaze in amazement. “Dulcie! You didn’t!”

“I sho’ ‘nuff did. Miz Roberta has been raisin’ such a ruckus ’bout de soap I been makin’, ah jes’ figgered she’d squall only a mite mo’ if’n ah showed her dere ain’ no difference, ‘ceptin’ a little sweet-smelling rosewater, betwixt my soap and all dem fancy bars her pa used to bring home fo’ her.”

Regretfully Alaina laid the soap back, picking up another smaller piece. “You’d best save it for Roberta. ‘Al’ would have some tall explaining to do if the Yankees noticed he smelled like a flower garden.” It had been bad enough when Captain Latimer had caught her smelling like one.

Dulcie grunted obstinately. “I sees it a cryin’ shame dat Miz Roberta gets all dem fancy clothes and parfums, and yo’ ain’t got nothing but de dirt and dese heah boy’s clothes. Mister Angus been skimpin’ pennies and mos’ times takin’ de money yo’ make scrubbing dem Yankee floors jes’ so he can get dat chile some cloth for a new gown.”

“What money I give him,” Alaina murmured, “is barely enough to pay my keep.”

“Yo’ ain’t ’round here ‘nuff to cost Mastah Angus the time o’ day,” Dulcie protested. “An’ mos’ times yo’ look like some tidewater orphan. When is yo’ gonna stop traipsin’ ’round in dem boy’s clothes and start actin’ lak a lady?”

Alaina heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Dulcie. Sometimes I think never.”

Alaina had left the cleaning of Cole’s apartment for Sunday, knowing the captain was scheduled
for duty until the late afternoon. She sought the time away from the Craighugh house, wishing to avoid any further confrontation with Roberta. She found it necessary, however, to seek Cole out at the hospital and admit that she had misplaced his key.

“You needn’t say what’s on yer mind,” she warned. “I can see it in yer eye.”

“After yesterday, I’m trying to refrain from saying anything to you,” he retorted, handing over the key. “Because once I start, I might not be able to stop.”

“You gotta chance to visit with Roberta,” she reminded him rancorously. “That should’ve made you happy.”

“Not nearly as much as turning you across my knee would.”

She glared at him. “You got them papers of Mrs. Hawthorne’s seen aftah yet, Yankee?”

“If you don’t know better, the banks are closed on Sundays.”

“Don’t get ‘nuff money to put in banks,” Al goaded. “How should I know what their hours be?”

Cole peered down into the gray eyes, his own narrowed suspiciously. “Are you complaining again?”

Alaina shrugged petulantly. “Jes’ stating fact.”

“What do you do with your money, anyway? Haven’t you earned enough by now to buy yourself a change of clothes?”

“Cain’t see doing that ‘til these wear out.” Cole opened his mouth to retort, but Al cut him off abruptly. “Gotta go now if’n I’m gonna finish yer ‘partment afore nightfall. Yo’ ain’t paying me to stand here jawing with ya.”

“Be there to let me in,” Cole called to her back.
“Or else bring the key back here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sometime shortly after noon, Cole paused over his meal to receive a packet of letters Sergeant Grissom brought to him. After briefly testing the perfumes of the two from Xanthia Morgan and Carolyn Darvey, he tucked them into his blouse, saving them to read at home at his leisure. He felt a mild disappointment at the absence of a correspondence from his father, then noticed the painstaking script of Oswald James, a lawyer and close acquaintance of the family. The date was nearly two weeks ago. He chose to relieve his curiosity as to the lawyer’s purpose in writing and slit open the envelope. A crushing weight descended upon him as he read the first line.

“I regret to inform you that your father passed away during the night—”

Roberta directed Jedediah to a halt beside Jackson Square and, after bidding the black driver to wait, continued by foot, loftily ignoring the Union soldiers who paused to stare. She had other purposes on her mind and was not bent toward petty flirtations this afternoon. She was after richer game than that. A Yankee doctor, to be exact.

She had taken the key from Alaina’s coat, and the cool weight of it inside her glove reassured her that all would go smoothly. Even cajoling her father into allowing her to take the carriage for a Sunday afternoon outing had been relatively simple. By the time Cole Latimer reached his apartment, she would be garbed in such a manner as to eliminate any
reluctance he might have. Though he had thus far betrayed none, one could never be too sure about a single man’s objection to being caught.

The rapid tap of her sharp heels gave evidence of her haste. Now that she had laid out her strategy, she was eager to be about it. Even the repugnance of submitting herself to that undignified end by which men proved their virility did not dissuade her. Once Cole bedded her, she could claim herself with child, and even if he proved unwilling to do the honorable thing, she knew her father would convince him.

A prior afternoon spent discreetly questioning proprietors of nearby shops had supplied the information she needed to find her way to Cole’s door, for the man himself had been casually evasive. Indeed, the captain appeared to have a strong sense of self-preservation.