Shadow of Dawn (15 page)

Catherine began to feel furious with Bart. “I
could strangle him. He used me…to think what I almost did!”

“I wouldn’t have let you. I would have stayed
behind and gotten the letter, even—” He stopped, but she knew what
he had been about to say.

“Even if you had to kill him,” she said, with
a shudder.

“Look at me, Catherine.”

She raised her eyes to his.

“This is war. You and I are both involved,
whether we like it or not. The terrible thing about war is that it
means killing, and lying, and brother turning against brother. And
the thing that makes this war particularly terrible is that we’re
all Americans.”

She saw the intensity in his eyes and knew he
felt more than he showed.

“I’ve told you before…this war should never
have started. They like to say it’s over slavery, but I don’t know
anyone who says he’s fighting to preserve slavery. Most of the men
who are fighting never owned a single slave.

“Slavery is wrong. It’s poison to any society
and it should be abolished, but not this way. There had to have
been another way, but somewhere down this long road of animosity
between North and South, it got lost.

“I’m fighting for a principle, Catherine…that
no state should be forced to do anything against its will and
threatened with extermination if it doesn’t comply.”

“I know,” she said. “I read those things the
North said about us.”

“If they had agreed to give us time to work
out our own problems, if they hadn’t tried to force things down our
throat…well, it’s happened now and I don’t think the South has a
chance, even if we do have better generals. There’s so much against
us…a shortage of food and supplies and a certain weakness in
communication. You wouldn’t believe the bickering that’s going on
in the government, among even the highest officials. The president
has a difficult personality and he’s often ill. His generals don’t
understand him and half of them don’t even like each other.”

The coach rocked as a wheel sank into a hole
and came out again. Clayton reached out to steady her as she braced
herself, then stopped the wild swinging of the lamp. He said
quietly, as if there had been no interruption, “Catherine, I have a
job to do. I hate killing, but killing in wartime is not murder. I
hate lying, too, but there’s no way to avoid it.”

She gave a slow nod.

“You mustn’t tell anyone who I really am.
You’ve got to tell Bart you delivered that letter to Hadley. And
there was a phrase you’re to repeat back to Bart. Hadley was
supposed to have given it to you after you gave him the letter.
It’s ‘We must prevail.’”

Catherine cringed inwardly at the thought of
having to deceive Bart, thinking he would surely be able to read
the truth in her face. She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can
make him believe me.”

“Think about what he is. He’s a traitor to
his own people. If he wanted to fight for the Union, he should have
joined their army, but instead he’s betraying the Confederacy. And
he’s doing it for money, not for any patriotic cause. I don’t think
Bart really believes in anything. Just now you were angry with him.
Use your anger constructively.”

“Yes, I suppose I can, when you put it that
way.”

“Good,” he said. “But one word of caution.
Don’t try to embellish. Tell as little as possible so it’ll be
easier to remember what you’ve said. You can get lost in a tangle
of falsehoods.

“We’re going to tell Bart that a wheel broke
on Martin’s carriage and caused it to run down into a gully. We
were tumbled around a bit and had to wait on the road for another
carriage to come by. The driver was injured and had to be taken to
a hospital. Later we’ll receive word that he died of his
injuries.”

“What about Uncle Martin’s horses?”

“I’m going to give them to the army. We’ll
say their legs were broken and the man who picked us up had to
shoot them. As Andrew, I’ll offer to replace them.”

He leaned toward her. “I would be the last
one to ask you to go against your principles, darling. But in war
sometimes you have to make new principles. Some things, of course,
you should never do, no matter what. But deceiving the enemy in
order to save lives—I don’t see that God would condemn that, do
you?”

“No,” she said, trying to smile. “I suppose
not.”

He returned her smile and leaned back against
the cushion, his arms folded. He did not speak again. The swaying
of the coach began to soothe Catherine and again she was engulfed
in drowsiness.

Darling.
The endearment went straight
to her heart. He had said he loved her. Happiness struggled with a
sudden feeling of indignation as she remembered how he had tricked
her. She wanted to think about it, concentrate, come to some sort
of conclusion, but she was so tired.…

She tried to stay awake but her head kept
falling against the cushioned side of the coach. Sometime during
the journey she lost complete awareness, until she felt a hand on
her shoulder give a gentle shake.

The coach had stopped. She looked down to see
a dark glove and thought hazily…Andrew. No, not Andrew! She looked
up at the familiar black scarf.

“How can you see through that thing?” she
mumbled, half asleep.

“It’s thin material, and I’ve rubbed it even
thinner around the eyes. I can see well in broad daylight, not so
well at night. Bart’s sure to be waiting for you. Are you
awake?”

“Yes,” she said, but she was far from being
fully alert. Utter exhaustion gripped her, and she could neither
will nor force her body to rise and climb out of the coach. Her
limbs had stiffened; her head felt as though it had been stuffed
with cotton.

Someone came out on the porch and she heard
Bart’s voice, taut with anxiety. “Catherine! It’s about time!
What happened
?”

S
he heard Clayton
reply, “We lost a wheel on the way back and the carriage rolled off
the road. I’m afraid it’s beyond repair. I’ll buy Martin another
one and replace the horses. Your driver’s in a hospital in
Charlottesville.”

Bart all but ignored him. “What’s the matter
with Catherine?”

“She’s worn out. I’m sorry, I can’t…would you
carry her into the house?”

At that Catherine tried to climb out the
door, but her skirts impeded her and she almost tripped. She felt
someone pull her arms and then she was lifted up. Bart carried her
through the doorway and started up the stairs. He grunted a little
and she felt herself slipping.

“I can walk,” she said irritably, though she
wasn’t at all certain she could. She put her hand down on the
banister and Bart released her. Her legs began to crumple.

“I’ve got you, Miss Catherine.” It was
Ephraim. His strong arms lifted her and carried her up the stairs
as though she were a child. He entered her room and laid her on the
bed.

“All right, you can go,” Bart dismissed the
butler, close on their heels.

“Thank you, Ephraim,” Catherine whispered,
her voice weak with fatigue.

“Did you deliver the letter?” Bart
demanded.

She opened her eyes to see him standing over
her, white-faced. She nodded.

“You must have something to say,” he went
on.

At first she couldn’t think what he meant,
and then she remembered there were words she was supposed to repeat
back to him. What were they? The gates of hell…no, that was the
first phrase.

“Prevail,” she said, closing her eyes again.
“We must prevail.”

She sensed rather than saw Bart’s relief.
“Very good. Thank you, Catherine. You can tell me about it
tomorrow.”

Clayton spoke from the doorway. “Mrs. Shirley
is here to help you, Catherine.”

Suddenly Bart and Clayton were gone, and Mrs.
Shirley was helping Catherine get out of her clothes and into her
nightgown. The covers were pulled back and she crawled into bed,
thinking that clean sheets and warm blankets were indeed something
to be thankful for.

***

Catherine’s muscles had become so stiff
during the night that in the morning she almost cried out when she
tried to move. Slowly she swung her feet to the floor, her face
contorted with agony. She caught her expression in the bedroom
mirror and would have laughed out loud if she hadn’t thought the
exertion would kill her.

How did men ride horses for days at a time?
She really must ride more; she hadn’t been on a horse since she
moved to Richmond—until yesterday.

Bent like an old woman, she managed to light
the fire. A hot bath suddenly seemed like the most wonderful thing
in the world. Hobbling to the door, she opened it and called for
Ephraim. He appeared at the landing and looked up at her.

“Yes, Miss Catherine?”

“I want the tub, Ephraim, and lots of hot
water.”

The door across from her opened. Clayton
stood there, again garbed as Andrew.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I very well may be an invalid for the rest
of my life,” she said and slammed the door.

In a moment Tad and Joseph had brought up the
large tin bathing tub and set it down before the fireplace. They
returned some time later with Jessie, carrying buckets of steaming
water until they’d filled the tub. Jessie lingered to help
Catherine climb into it, leaving clean towels on the dresser.

“Jessie, the house seems awfully quiet. What
time is it?”

“It’s gettin’ on near noon, ma’am.”

The servant left the room. Catherine piled
her hair on top of her head and secured it with pins. She was
amazed she’d slept so long; she couldn’t remember ever sleeping
past seven o’clock. How delicious the water felt! She stretched out
as much as she could and leaned her head back against the tub,
watching the steam rise with narrowed lids.

The events of yesterday ran through her mind
like a play that someone else had enacted. Andrew was dead, shot as
a traitor. How foolish she had been to marry him when she really
knew nothing about him! She remembered their wedding night and his
poorly concealed disappointment when she became ill. She was glad
now that they had not been intimate. Yet she felt sorrow for the
man she’d known, sorrow that he had acted the coward and lost his
life because of it.

And Clayton…it had been Clayton all the time!
Again she remembered the night on the balcony and burned with
embarrassment. And the time she had declared she wanted to have
“Andrew’s” baby! How could she ever face him again?

She tried to recall what states of undress in
which she’d appeared when she thought she was speaking to her blind
husband. Good heavens, the day of Delia’s wedding she had gone to
his room in chemise and pantalets!

She supposed it was to his credit that he had
never taken advantage of the many opportunities given him.

She heard the door open and, thinking it was
Jessie, waited for the maid to speak. When there was no sound, she
opened her eyes and turned her head to see Bart standing in the
doorway, a surprised look quickly turning to one of mischief. He
closed the door softly behind him.

“Bart Ingram!” she cried, outraged. “How dare
you come in this room? Get out of here this minute!”

“Don’t worry, my dear Catherine, you’re quite
hidden from view and I need to talk to you.”

“Get out or I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead, everyone’s gone. The servants are
out on errands, except for the ancient cook, and your husband’s
probably taking one of his many naps. That is what he does best,
isn’t it? And that dragon of a nurse just left the house, probably
to buy him more drugs.”

Catherine’s stunned mind raced. It was
alarming to find herself alone with Bart, but if she called out for
Clayton he might be forced to reveal strength that he, as Andrew,
was not supposed to have. Well, at any rate, the tub was too tall
and the water too high for Bart to see much more than her
shoulders, and surely he would not be so rash as to come any
closer.

“You are certainly no gentleman,” she said
coldly. “And what do you know about my husband? He does a lot of
things besides sleep.”

“Indeed? Well, you should know. Now tell me
about yesterday.”

Her jaw tightened with anger but she replied,
“There’s nothing to tell. I delivered the letter to Mr. Hadley and
then I left. We lost a wheel on the way home and had to wait for a
ride.”

It was surprisingly easy to lie to Bart.

“How many times were you stopped?”

“Once, I think, on the way out of the
city.”

“Just once? Weren’t you stopped when you came
back to Richmond?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Well, of course. I
meant once on the way and once back.”

“Did you see anyone else with Lieutenant
Hadley?”

She frowned. “No. Was I supposed to?”

“No.” He smiled at her. “You’ve done well.
Perhaps I can call on you to help me in the future.”