Cheryl Reavis (17 page)

One of the men saw her coming and held the door open for her. All of them were clearly happy to see her bringing something for them to eat.

“If you see Robert, you can tell him to take his time,” one of the men said as she set the buckwheat cakes and the molasses on the table, and she and the others laughed.

She was still smiling as she made her way back to the house. Robert was standing by the well, apparently waiting for her. He looked so...resigned—she supposed that would be the best word for it. It was as if he had encountered a formidable situation he could not change, and he had no choice but to accept it.

She didn’t ask him if he was all right. She didn’t ask him about Warrie or if she had told him where Eleanor had gone.

“They’re still out there, I take it,” he said when she was close enough.

“Yes. They’re eating Mrs. Justice’s buckwheat cakes and molasses.”

He gave a slight smile. “We used to talk about her buckwheat cakes on the march sometimes. Hers were the best in the county. We’d remember all about when and where we’d eaten them and how many we had—and make ourselves miserable.”

He looked toward the summer kitchen. Kate could feel him trying to gather his thoughts—or perhaps let go of them. Whatever had happened with Warrie Hansen, she thought that he didn’t want to take it with him when he talked to the men who were out there waiting.

“Thank you for doing this, Kate,” he said quietly.

“I built a fire,” she said, hoping to make him smile.

He did, and Kate felt as if he had given her a small but incredibly special gift.

Then he took a deep breath and stepped out into the rain. She watched him go, waiting until he went inside the summer kitchen. In only a moment a loud cheer went up. Robert Markham was home at last, and he’d gotten a hero’s welcome.

She was on her way upstairs when the carriage bringing Maria and the children home arrived. Sergeant Major Perkins came in carrying the baby in one arm and the civilian mail pouch that would contain the family’s personal mail in the other. Private Castine had Joe and Jake slung over each shoulder as if they were sacks of flour, running the last few steps to the door to make them giggle as only little boys can.

“Send them young’uns over here to me,” Warrie Hansen called from the far end of the hall. “We got to get them out of their Sunday best while we still can.”

Castine deftly put both boys on their feet, and they dashed down the hallway to Warrie.

“Sergeant Major, bring that one along, too,” Warrie called.

Maria was just coming in the door, and she stopped dead.

“What?” Kate asked.

“Well, I hardly know where to start. Warrie’s here, for one thing...”

“She came and talked to Robert a little while ago. I didn’t realize she hadn’t left—he’s out in the summer kitchen.”

Maria was still looking at her. “And you’re...”

“I’m what?”

“Well, you don’t look like you did at church,” Maria said, trying not to grin.

“Why?” Kate asked. There was no mirror in the downstairs hallway where she could see for herself.

“You haven’t been shoveling coal, have you?”

Kate looked down at the front of her dress. It was heavily streaked with wood ash.

“Face, too,” Maria advised her, grinning openly now.

“It’s your brother’s fault. He has been teaching me how to build a fire,” Kate said.

“Why?”
Maria asked.

“Mostly because I didn’t know how—and please don’t look at me as if my sanity was suspect. It’s not my fault I was brought up useless.”

“Kate, you are the least useless person I know,” Maria said kindly.

“Then I’ve certainly got you fooled. Anyway, a vote was taken and I lost. Robert and Mrs. Justice outvoted me, so I had a lesson. I’m happy to say I can now officially build a hearth fire.”

“I should hope so,” Maria said, still teasing. “Given the way you look.”

“Actually I’ve lit not one but two fires since the church service,” Kate said. “And the fire brigade hasn’t had to be summoned—so far,” she added in an effort not to tempt fate, and they laughed together when—Kate was certain—neither of them felt like it. But she and Maria knew the importance of at least trying to find a better humor. Doggedly making the effort had likely gotten them both through difficult times in their lives. This would be a somber house until Max came home and until Kate knew for certain that her letter had reached Philadelphia.

A train whistle sounded in the distance, and they both turned their heads in that direction, the brief respite from the disquiet that threatened to overwhelm them rapidly fading.

The boys—shoeless and half-undressed now—came racing down the hallway despite Warrie’s objections. It was clear that they had no intention of returning to her. They ignored her as long as they dared, giggling as they circled Maria and Kate both, and then running back in the direction they’d come. Kate couldn’t help but smile at the audacity of young male children. Had Harrison done things like this when he was their age? Had he ever had the opportunity for exuberance? She had always wondered. John very likely had, because he was as recalcitrant as they came, but Harrison was nothing like John. Mrs. Howe had wanted him seen and not heard and he would always have done his best to please her—until now.

“I think I’d better put on my play clothes, too,” Kate said, and she went upstairs to repair what damage she could to her face and her dress—but not before she checked on the fire in old Mr. Markham’s sitting room. It was burning just as Robert said it would—slow and steady—and the room was warm and comfortable.

She smiled slightly when she returned to her room. A fire burned there, as well. Castine had beaten her to it.

Kate washed her face and hands, then she changed her clothes, deciding she really would put on the dress she always wore whenever she played with the boys—or whenever her trunks went somewhere without her. She stood for a moment looking at her sad reflection in the washstand mirror, then closed her eyes.

“I’m afraid again,” she whispered. “I want to believe You’re here, just the way Robert says You are. He believes You’re always with us, no matter what. I want to believe that, too. Help me.”

She sighed, and turned away.

The house had grown quiet, and Kate assumed that Mrs. Justice, and Warrie and the children, were all settling down to take their customary afternoon naps. Maria would likely be napping, as well. She was going to have another child, and Kate knew from experience how fatigued Maria must be in these early days.

Kate moved to the window where she could see the summer kitchen. After a moment she thought she could hear...singing.

Yes, she decided. Robert and the men in the summer kitchen were singing a hymn—“Amazing Grace.” She could hear the melody quite clearly now, if not the words. They had sung together before, she thought. Perhaps as boys, and as young men and as soldiers.

She took a deep breath, her mind suddenly filled with the most disturbing aspect of Harrison’s letter.

Pray for me.

“I am, sweet boy,” she whispered. She moved to the bed and stretched out. She had been so long without sleep that it was a relief to lie down, and yet she still wanted to get up and pace the room, as if that would somehow help. Eventually she reached for the quilt at the foot of the bed and pulled it over her, and—incredibly—she slept.

Chapter Eleven

“R
obert has company,” Mrs. Justice whispered to keep Warrie from hearing her.

Kate kept stirring finely chopped onion and bacon into the cornbread batter Robert had Mrs. Justice teaching her to make. Kate was fully aware that Robert was bent on keeping her busy as a way of making time pass, and in the interval since her fire-building lesson, she had learned all manner of things pertaining to the kitchen and the household. Or so it would seem to the casual onlooker—and there were several. The most diligent observer had been Valentina, who seemed to pop up at the most unexpected times without ever saying why. It seemed to Kate that she only wanted to know what Kate was doing, and where Robert was while she was doing it.

Kate didn’t have to ask Mrs. Justice who Robert’s company today might be. Men came to the summer kitchen all the time, sometimes just one and sometimes a half dozen or so. She had even seen the chaplain arrive under his own power—twice. Robert always spoke with them, and when he did, Kate and Mrs. Justice would bring coffee. Today it looked as if some of the men’s wives or sisters or mothers had come along, as well. Robert’s reputation was growing, and so was the strain on the household schedule. There were constant disruptions to the sergeant major’s routine—and therefore everyone else’s—despite Robert’s best intentions. After the second week he sat up specific times for prayer meetings—Thursday and Saturday early evenings so as not to conflict with the other churches in town. And, aside from just bringing the refreshments, Kate found herself staying to hear him speak, keeping well in the background so as not to be a distraction. Her brother was the occupation commander, something very few people in this town would be able to ignore if she were too obvious.

Thanks to Mrs. Justice, Kate was beginning to know, at least by sight, many of the people who showed up—and how they figured into Robert Markham’s early life. They were merchants he’d run errands for after school, church friends, distant relatives by marriage, old classmates, Sunday School teachers who had thrown up their hands more than once at some of his antics, but all of them were apparently finding some degree of comfort and good sense in what he had to say.

Surprisingly—or perhaps not—Valentina had shown up for a recent meeting, but whether it was for a personal spiritual need or whether she was bent on finding herself another “adventure,” Kate couldn’t say. Or perhaps Valentina had come on her mother’s behalf, to keep Mrs. Kinnard informed so that she would know if—when—she needed to put a stop to all this.

A much bigger surprise was the evening Mrs. Russell came. After the service many of the Confederate veterans who were present gathered respectfully around her, speaking to her of James Darson and their regard for him. It was as if they had been wary of doing so before, because of her intense grief, but now that she had come to hear Robert—and in her lost son’s absence—she would henceforth belong to all of them.

Kate made a point of spending time with Maria in old Mr. Markham’s sitting room in the evening because she had promised Max she would be available to his wife, and because—if she were truthful—she knew that Robert might come to visit with his sister before she retired for the night. Maria felt better when he was near, and so did Kate. Stronger somehow. More hopeful.

But this night Maria had gone to bed early, and only Kate was sitting by the fire when he came up the back stairs.

“Your handiwork?” he asked, nodding at the hearth.

“It is, actually,” she said. “I’m afraid Sergeant Major Perkins finds my new skill very unsettling.”

“He hasn’t forbidden you to do it?”

“Well, not yet. And so far I’ve been able to beat Castine to it enough to keep my hand in.”

“Poor Castine,” he said, and she smiled. She was looking directly into his eyes, and she shouldn’t. She knew that, but she didn’t look away.

“I was...surprised,” she began, because this was the first opportunity she’d had to speak to him alone.

“About what?”

“About Warrie—that she decided to return to the house.”

“I coerced her into doing it.”

“How so?”

“She’s a good woman—a kind woman—and your brother told me that Maria was having another child.”

Kate frowned, and managed to refrain from saying how surprised—shocked—she was that Max would have told him such a personal thing.

“He wanted to make sure I understood what my responsibilities were while he was gone,” Robert said as if he had read her thoughts.

“And do you? Understand?”

“I do. And I passed some of them on to Warrie. I told her that Maria needed her—which she does—and that she and I had to find a way not to cause Maria any more worry than she already has.”

“It seems to be working.”

“So far—if I stay out of her way. She’s a long way from forgiving me.”

It was Kate’s opinion that forgiveness in this situation would be Eleanor’s prerogative, but she didn’t say so.

“I...take it you’ve had no answer to your letter,” he said without warning, watching her closely as he said it.

Kate shook her head. “I should have heard by now—if John takes what I’ve said seriously.”

“He will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know you well enough. And so does he.
I
would take you seriously.”

She felt the sudden sting of tears and looked away.

After a long moment she took a deep breath and asked the question she’d been wondering about.

“Did Warrie tell you where Eleanor has gone?”

“No. She thinks I’m not fit to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think...”

“What?” Kate asked when he didn’t continue.

“If Eleanor lets Warrie know where she is, then Warrie will likely tell her I’m here. I just have to...wait and then take it from there.”

She gave a quiet sigh. That was exactly what she herself was doing—waiting for something to happen, and then she would take it from there. But the waiting was so
hard,
and most days it was all she could do not to fall back into hiding to solve her problems, hiding so she would have the privacy to weep.

Kate looked at him. “Will you pray with me?” she asked. “For Harrison.”

As he had before, he moved his chair to face hers and held out his hands.

* * *

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you going to keep staring at me?” Robert asked, because Maria clearly hadn’t insisted on coming to the summer kitchen to join him for breakfast without some—as yet unknown—purpose.

“Nothing is on my mind,” she said in a way that would cause any man who had grown up with a sister to realize immediately that such a statement was far and away from the actual truth.

“If you say so,” he said, going back to eating the eggs and bacon she had prepared but didn’t care to eat herself.

“More coffee?” she asked him after a moment, and when he looked up she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, ignoring her obvious mirth.

When she’d poured the coffee, she moved the cup back in his direction—and she was smiling again.

“I’m wondering when I got to be so entertaining,” he said.

“I’m wondering when you got to be a preacher—despite what you said in church that Sunday.”

“I’m not a preacher—yet.”

“But you intend to be.”

He looked at her. “I... Yes.”

“And you’re pining over Eleanor.”

“No, Maria. I am not pining over her, though I freely admit that I would like to know that she’s all right. I will always care about her. She and I were engaged to be married.”

“Feeling guilty, then?”

“For what specifically?”

“For ‘dying,’ of course.”

“I’ll always feel guilty about that. I hurt the people I loved. But Eleanor wouldn’t deliberately ruin her own reputation because she thought I died. Eleanor would come to my memorial service in a red dress.”

“I did think it was something like that at first—that whatever scandalous thing she did or didn’t do was because she was angry with you—for dying and leaving her.”

“But you changed your mind.”

“Well, I still think it has something to do with you. I just don’t know what it is.”

“And neither do I, until I can ask her.”

“Aha!” she said, as if she’d uncovered some dark secret he’d been carrying.

“Now what does that mean?”

“You actually don’t know, do you?” she said, leaning toward him, smiling still.

“I wouldn’t ask if I did.”

“What do you think of Kate?”

“What do I think of her?” he said, startled because she had veered off in a completely different direction.

“Don’t ask what I ask. Answer.”

“I like her,” he said easily—because it was true.

“She likes you, too.”

“Does she?” he said, surprised by the remark.

“Well, so she said.”

“When did she say that?”

“Weeks ago—before she got to know you.”

Robert glanced at her. She was teasing him now.

“Right after you came back and disrupted all our lives,” she said to qualify her remark. “And you can frown all you like. It doesn’t change a thing.”

“Maria, you do know I haven’t the slightest idea what we’re talking about here—”

“Then, dear brother, I will tell you,” Maria said, getting up from her chair.

“I wish you would,” he said. “And soon.”

“You want to be a preacher.”

“I do,” he said agreeably.

“And you like Kate.”

“Yes.”

“And she’s been...helpful to you when you have your prayer meetings.”

“And Mrs. Justice, as well—” he began.

“It’s perfectly clear then,” Maria said, interrupting.

“What is?”

“Preachers need wives, Robert, and you—my dear,
dear
brother—are grooming her to become one. Yours.”

“No, I’m not,” he said as soon as he’d recovered enough from Maria’s assertion to respond. “‘Grooming,’ as you put it, is not the reason I’m—”

“Oh, I know you think that,” Maria said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “Max told me Kate is worried about Harrison, and I can see you’re trying to help her by keeping her occupied—which is an excellent idea. But you should realize that that isn’t the
only
reason. I’ve seen the way you look at her—and believe me it’s not the way you looked at Eleanor. Kate Woodard is important to you. You would have had a much harder time being home again if she weren’t here, now wouldn’t you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She smiled prettily and went out the door.

* * *

Kate stood outside the door for a moment, not wanting to cause Maria to lose her place with her knitting.

“There you are,” Maria said when she realized Kate was there. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?” Kate asked, but Maria was counting stitches and didn’t answer. Kate glanced around the sitting room. No Robert. In fact she hadn’t seen him all day.

“I should learn to knit,” Kate said, more to herself than to Maria.

Warrie was putting the boys to bed in the nursery wing. She could hear her singing the song that was, as far as Warrie was concerned, a lullaby, her voice slightly brittle and off-key:

Go tell Aunt Rosie,

Go tell Aunt Rosie,

Go tell Aunt Rosie

The old gray goose is dead.

“I could teach you sometime,” Maria said. “Right now I need some company. Come sit down. Mrs. Justice has gone to Mrs. Kinnard’s house.”

“On a visit or was she summoned?”

“I’m not sure,” Maria said. “Whichever it is, the refreshments will be worth it.”

Kate sat down in the nearest rocking chair, clutching the book she’d brought with her, the one she had no intention of reading, the one that always held Harrison’s photograph. She was so restless. The more time that passed since she’d written that letter to John, the less she was able to sleep. The truth of the matter was that she couldn’t remember quite what she’d said. Had she sounded legitimately concerned or completely overwrought?

“Has the mail pouch arrived?” Maria asked, looking up from her knitting.

“Not yet,” Kate said. “There must not be any personal mail today.”

“No,” Maria said. She was clearly disappointed that she wouldn’t have a letter from Max to read when she retired. And it wasn’t only letters he sent. Kate was more than a little surprised by the romantic gestures her brother made via military postal delivery. Just last week he’d sent Maria some violets he’d dug up from a riverbank along the Neuse and potted in a tin can with a garish yellow Pie Meat label. The can had been wrapped in several layers of wet muslin and placed in a small wooden box before it left New Bern on the train. Incredibly the violets had arrived still fresh and beautiful.

“Is Robert not coming to visit this evening?” Kate suddenly asked, not caring how it sounded. She wanted to know, and if Maria thought the inquiry inappropriately forward, then so be it.

“I’m glad of your friendship with my brother,” Maria said instead of answering Kate’s bold question.

Kate made no comment, mostly because she didn’t know what to think of the remark.

“Did you...know Max had spoken to him?” Maria said next.

“Yes,” Kate answered.

“You did?”

“Yes. Robert told me.”

“Robert
told
you?” Maria said, clearly surprised, if not out-and-out astounded.

“It’s natural that Max would be worried about you—” Kate hesitated because of the expression on Maria’s face.

“Natural?” Maria asked.

“Max wanted Robert to know about the baby—so he would understand what his responsibilities were while Max was gone—or that’s how Robert put it.”

“But that’s not what I meant at all.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I meant that Max talked to Robert about a complaint he’d had from one of his officers.”

“What officer?”

“I don’t know what officer. Max didn’t tell me his name. The complaint had to do with you.”

Kate looked at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“This officer felt Robert was being much too familiar where you are concerned, and he thought Max should know about it.”