Cheryl Reavis (7 page)

“I always wonder what kind of tree that is,” Kate said of the tall, spirelike evergreen growing in the churchyard.

“Do you? I never wonder about things like that.”

“What do you wonder about, then?”

“Oh, about husbands—finding mine, that is. Don’t you do that?”

“No,” Kate said truthfully. “Is there anyone in particular you have in mind?”

“Oh...no one suitable,” Valentina said with such nonchalance that Kate wondered if someone had caught her eye who shouldn’t have. “There aren’t that many men to marry since the war. The ones who did come back are so...
changed.
Mother really wanted me to marry Colonel Woodard—she thought
he
was very suitable even if he did fight on the other side—but that didn’t work out.”

“No,” Kate said, somewhat taken aback by Valentina’s candor. She wondered if the girl had somehow forgotten that she was talking to Colonel Woodard’s sister.

“I should like to pick my own husband,” Valentina said wistfully.

“Perhaps you can,” Kate said, despite the fact that they both knew Mrs. Kinnard wouldn’t stand for such a thing—ever. She looked again at the unusual tree, but it was Harrison she was thinking about. Harrison
would have wondered about the tree just as she had. He was blessed with such a wonderful curiosity about everything.

What are you doing today, my dear Harrison?

He was probably in the classroom, she decided. She wished she’d asked him about his daily schedule so she’d have a better idea of what his life was like now that he was away at school. It would be...pleasant to know what was happening in his world hour by hour.

Comforting.

She would ask him about it in her next letter.

“They say he’s gotten religion,” Valentina was saying.

“Who?” Kate asked because she hadn’t been paying attention.

“Robert Markham, of course. He must have if he asked for a
chaplain
.”

“Yes, but their meeting sounded more like an out and out argument than anything that had to do with his getting religion.”

“Well, if he
is
religious now, I suppose it’s because he was so wild before the war—he hardly
ever
went to church. Mother said at the time that a war was the best thing that could have happened to him—because his love of brawling might actually be useful for a change. But that was before Samuel was killed. Samuel was such a sweet, sweet boy. Robert was supposed to watch over him—and I’m sure he did—but poor Samuel was killed, anyway. That would make him sad enough to try to change his ways, don’t you think? People used to say Eleanor Hansen would make him settle down, but look how that turned out.”

Kate stopped walking. “How did it turn out?”

“Oh, dear,” Valentina said, putting her neatly gloved hand to her mouth. “It’s so confusing. I keep forgetting you don’t know anything.”

“Then tell me.”

“I couldn’t! It’s one thing to mention such matters in the company of someone who already knows the particulars, but you can’t discuss it with someone who doesn’t—oh, no! There’s my mother’s carriage. I’m sure she’s sent it to get me. I’m afraid we’ll have to see about the dresses another time. I enjoyed our walk so much. Truly. We must do it again soon.”

A carriage was indeed headed down the street in their direction. Valentina gave Kate a little wave and hurried to meet it, likely because Mrs. Kinnard didn’t just send the carriage to fetch her daughter; she’d come along. Kate wondered if Mrs. Kinnard had approved an outing at all. Her best guess was that she had not. Mrs. Kinnard was nothing if not diligent in her quest to find Valentina a rich and prestigious husband, and once Max had married Maria, he was no longer important. Mrs. Kinnard certainly wouldn’t want Valentina wasting her time and energy on an unavailable Yankee colonel’s sister. Poor Valentina. Kate and Valentina both were firmly ensnared by the expectations of society and family.

Kate gave a quiet sigh and wished yet again that Max would get home. Bearing even a small part of the responsibility for the federal occupation of this town was beginning to weigh heavily.

“I’m going to step into the church for a moment. I won’t be long,” Kate said to Private Castine, because the Kinnard carriage was still sitting on the street in plain view—much to the private’s pleasure—but the last thing Kate wanted was yet another prickly encounter with Mrs. Kinnard.

Still hiding,
she thought with a sigh.

She found the church unlocked, and she went quickly inside and took a seat on one of the back pews, thankful that the church had been so handy. She suddenly smiled. What must God think of the things Kate Woodard found to be grateful for.

But I am grateful, Lord, even when I’m not running away from something.
Truly...

Her son was alive and well, even if she did worry about him, even if he was far away from her. It was only in one moment after Harrison’s birth that she’d despaired so and wished herself dead. But she hadn’t felt that hopeless since. She’d been sad and worried and afraid more times than she cared to count, but all of that had always been overridden by the fact that she was Harrison’s mother.

She took a silent breath and looked around the sanctuary. No one else seemed to be about. It was so peaceful here. Despite her longstanding estrangement from God, she liked this church. Perhaps it was the extraordinary tree outside, or the pleasant smell of lemon oil and beeswax used to polish the pews and the wood paneling or the way the sun shone through the sparkling clean windows. She had always felt that church buildings had personalities, and this one had such a comforting air. She could almost feel the prayers and praise of generations swirling around her. After a moment she bowed her head and recalled the part of Mrs. Justice’s prayer for Robert Markham that had resonated with her so.

But her prayer was for her son.

“Bless Harrison, Father, and keep him safe. And please—
please
—guide me so I can know what to do for him. And whatever situation he may find himself in, don’t let me ever do anything to make things worse for him...” She stopped for a moment, then continued, “And watch over Robert Markham. Help him with whatever he needs to do to find his way home again. Amen.”

The private was waiting where she’d left him when she came outside again. He kept glancing at her as they walked along the still snowy path toward Max’s house. Clearly he had something on his mind, but she didn’t say anything to push him into making a revelation.

“Thuya,” he said finally.

“I beg your pardon?’

“Thuya. It’s a thuya tree, miss.
T-h-u-y-a
. Thuyas come all the way from China. That’s what Mr. Markham says—Mr. Robert Markham what’s staying at the colonel’s. He says it’s planted in the churchyard to show that no matter where you come from, in God’s house, you’re welcome.”

“That’s...very interesting,” Kate said, but she was thinking what a complex man Robert Markham was turning out to be.

“Yes, miss, it is.”

The conversation ended, and by the time they reached the house, Kate was feeling the cold. Her toes and her fingers burned and prickled with it. She entered with nothing in mind but getting warm.

“Miss Kate,” Perkins said as soon as he saw her. “Mrs. Justice saw you coming. She’s got some good hot tea waiting in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Major,” Kate said with a smile. She couldn’t think of anything she would like better than tea with Mrs. Justice “Still no word from my brother?”

“No, Miss Kate. Not yet. I sent off another telegram. I don’t know how much longer I can put off Mrs. Kinnard without having to lock her up.”

Kate couldn’t keep from smiling.

“What did you do with the other one?” she heard Perkins ask the young private as she walked toward the dining room door.

“Her mother came and got her—in this fancy carriage.”

“How mad was she?”

“About like usual, I reckon, Sergeant Major. She didn’t yell at nobody. Of course, Miss Woodard, she hightailed it into the church before Mrs. Kinnard got close enough. By the time she did, there weren’t nobody left to yell at but me, and I had a couple turns yesterday. I reckon she decided to rest up before she gives me what-for again.”

“Go see why that wagon’s stopping out front,” Perkins said, and Kate heard the front door slam again.

Mrs. Justice looked up from pouring the tea as Kate opened the dining room door and stepped inside. “You look frozen,” she said. “Come sit close to the fire. I’ve got your cup ready for you.”

“Bless you, Mrs. Justice,” Kate said, removing her gloves and shawl and sitting in the chair closest to the hearth. She hesitated, then took off her wet boots as well, determined to savor the heat from the fire on her cold feet. It felt wonderful, and it reminded her again that she still didn’t know precisely how to build one. “Is Mrs. Russell joining us?”

“No, she’s overseeing the soldier who is cooking blancmange for the evening meal—or trying to. I believe he is balking at the addition of rosewater. Did you find yourself some dresses?”

“No,” Kate said, taking the cup of steaming tea Mrs. Justice offered her, holding it in both hands rather than pretending she was a lady and not cold at all. “Mrs. Kinnard came and fetched Valentina before we got to the dressmaker’s.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Justice said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kate assured her.

“Did you see Robbie when you came in?”

“No, why?”

“He was asking after you earlier,” she said. “He may still be in the kitchen. He was visiting with Mrs. Russell in there a little while ago.” She gave a heavy sigh. “It was hard for them both.”

“He told me about Jimmy Russell,” Kate said.

“Did he?” Mrs. Justice said, clearly surprised. “I think Mrs. Russell had her hopes revived that Jimmy might turn up, too. But that’s impossible, of course. A number of his comrades were with him when he died.”

They sat for a time in silence, sipping their tea.

“I believe something is worrying him,” Mrs. Justice said after a time. She looked at Kate. “Robbie.”

“I— Mrs. Justice, Robert has asked me to find out what I can about Eleanor Hansen,” Kate said, deciding to speak plainly. It was her first opportunity to actually talk to Mrs. Justice alone about the favor he had asked her to do.

Mrs. Justice frowned. “That seems— Why do you suppose he would ask
you
to do that? You don’t even know Eleanor. Oh, I know. Robbie trusts you to tell him the truth.”

“Does he? I can’t imagine why.”

Mrs. Justice smiled. “You have a way about you, my dear. There is something you carry with you that inspires trust. It’s probably the reason he talked about Jimmy Russell.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Kinnard would agree.”

“Ah, well. Acacia and I have been friends since we were children so I can truthfully say—without malice—there aren’t many things Acacia finds agreeable. I’ve always thought it was a sad and fearful way to live one’s life. We should pray for her whenever we say our prayers, don’t you think?”

Kate smiled without answering. She had just prayed for Robert Markham, whom she barely knew, and yet that hadn’t seemed nearly as ill-fitting a task as the idea of saying a prayer for Mrs. Kinnard. She continued to sip her tea and stared at the fire in the fireplace, thinking about the train heading north sometime today. How many days would it take her letter to arrive? One could never be sure. A week? Or much longer? In her mind’s eye she could see Harrison’s shy smile when it was delivered to him. Or so she hoped.

Please watch over him...

“My dear,” Mrs. Justice said gently, and Kate looked up at her. “It doesn’t go away,” she said. “The sadness. But it does get better.”

Kate attempted a smile, to reassure Mrs. Justice if nothing else, but she couldn’t quite make it. “Mrs. Justice, do you know where Eleanor is?” she asked, hoping to change the subject and to satisfy the quest Robert had given her.

“I know she left town. Warrie—her mother—doesn’t talk about her. Even so, she is the one Robbie should speak to. Perhaps you could tell him that. She will have the information he needs.”

“I can’t remember meeting anyone named Eleanor. Did she come to Max and Maria’s wedding?”

“She wouldn’t have come to the wedding even if she’d been invited. It wouldn’t have been...proper, and Eleanor would never have done anything to ruin Maria’s lovely day. So you wouldn’t have met her. And if you heard mention of her at all, you would likely have heard her called Nell.”

“Nell—yes. I do remember someone named Nell. Oh,” she said as her memories of the woman called Nell unfolded. “Oh,” she said again.

“Just so, my dear,” Mrs. Justice said.

There was a sudden sharp whistle outside the door, the kind one might use to summon a horse or a dog, and it heralded a great commotion in the hallway, a running and assembling of all the military personnel on the premises—along with Mrs. Russell, who was apparently still very concerned about the blancmange.

“Perkins! What are you doing here!” Kate distinctly heard her brother ask—demand.

“Sir! You didn’t get my telegrams, sir!” Perkins said.

“I did not—why are these soldiers in my house?”

“Well, it’s one of those long stories, sir—”

“The short version, Perkins!”

“Sir, I wish I could oblige, but this is going to take a while to explain. And we need to keep Mrs. Colonel Woodard out of the way somewhere until I do.”

“Why? What are you talking about!”

There was an added disturbance in the foyer—the boys and Warrie coming inside. And—surely not—Mrs. Kinnard and Valentina.

“Colonel Woodard, I will
not
be put off any longer!” Kate heard Mrs. Kinnard say.

Oh, please
.
Do not tell him the day of the week,
Kate thought, remembering Mrs. Kinnard’s earlier fit of pique when Max hadn’t met her deadline for addressing her long list of complaints. It hadn’t mattered to her in the least that he had been attending to army business in New Bern some two hundred miles away.
Kate had worked too hard to preserve the occupation; she didn’t want Max in his present state of mind to unravel it all.