Shadow of Dawn (18 page)

“There is sufficient evidence to suspect the
existence of at least one other player in this game, madam. I must
ask you to accept my word.”

Catherine tightened her lips and decided to
change the subject. “How are we going to get Clayton into the
house?”

“It’s simple enough. Everyone knows of
Andrew’s illness. An ambulance will bring him here, to this
hospital, so that he can be under a doctor’s care. I, of course,
shall become Andrew for the ride to the hospital. A few days later
Andrew, this time Major Pierce, will return, recovered from his
illness but naturally very weak.”

“I see.” Catherine waited a moment, then
added, “Mrs. Shirley, if I’ve…misjudged you, I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Shirley began putting on her bonnet.
“You really should not be so quick to form opinions about others,
Mrs. Kelly. First, even second, impressions are often wrong.” With
quick, impatient movements, she pulled on her gloves, wrapped a
shawl around her thin shoulders, and left the room.

***

Catherine went home that night feeling almost
giddy with relief. Clayton must not be too severely injured, she
reasoned, if he was well enough to travel. The very fact that he
was coming home was enough to lift the awful burden she had carried
with her since his departure.

Coming home? No, this was not home. They
would have their own home—someday—when all of this was over. It was
something to look forward to, something to ease the dread everyone
had felt since the war began.

She decided she’d better begin laying the
groundwork for Andrew’s journey to the hospital. With that in mind,
she joined the family for supper the next night.

Her uncle looked preoccupied, as he often did
these days. He glanced up from his plate when Sallie poked him in
the arm.

“Good heavens, Martin, don’t be so gloomy!
Bartie just asked you a question.”

“I only asked how business was,” Bart said,
endeavoring to slice the fried ham with his damaged hand, holding
the thumb delicately against the handle of his dinner knife.

“Well, there are not many people buying land
these days, I can tell you. I was just thinking about what in the
world this city is coming to. Do you know, Sallie, as I was walking
down the street to my office, one of those…those fancy ladies
called out to me, in broad daylight! A year ago that would never
have happened.”

“Happens to me all the time,” Bart said
cheerfully.

Sallie stared, aghast. “Bartie!”

“Well, don’t have a fit, sister. I just
ignore them. They’re Yankee girls, anyway, down here to take
advantage of all the turmoil.”

“And how do you know that?” Catherine
couldn’t resist asking.

Bart raised his eyes to meet hers over a bite
of ham. “I can tell by their accents.”

“How is Andrew today, Catherine?” Martin
inquired, rather hastily. “He must be better since you’ve decided
to join us this evening.”

“I’m afraid not. But I had to get out of that
room for a while. Dr. Edwards is talking about taking him to the
hospital. He says he just doesn’t have time to keep coming out
here, when there are so many wounded.”

“Is he…contagious?” Sallie asked. “Dr.
Edwards never would answer me directly when I asked him.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sick.”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Martin said to his
wife. “He’s been in his room…I don’t think he’s been out of it more
than once or twice since he’s been here.”

“A change of scenery might do him good,”
Sallie said, giving Catherine an innocent smile.

The men adjourned to the parlor for cigars.
Sallie lingered to help Catherine carry the dishes into the
kitchen.

“You’ve been devoted to Andrew,” she said
lightly, not looking at Catherine. “You’re to be commended.”

“Why? I’m only doing my duty. And I happen to
love him.”

Sallie raised an eyebrow. She looked lovely
in a pale blue gown, her shoulders bare, her blonde hair swept high
on her head. “Of course. Is there any hope that he’ll ever
be…normal?”

“Oh, he’s quite normal, I assure you.” When
Sallie paused to stare at her she said again, “Quite normal. In
every way.”

When she swept out of the room, Sallie was
still staring at her.

T
wo men from the
medical corps arrived the next day to transport Andrew to the
hospital. Dr. Edwards accompanied them to ensure the welfare of his
patient.

“Careful with that stretcher,” he directed,
as the men maneuvered their way into the bedroom.

Mrs. Shirley lay on the bed, dressed in black
trousers, boots, black muslin shirt and coat, and the hood.
Catherine stood at the end of the bed. She was aware that Martin
lingered in the hallway speaking to Dr. Edwards, who stood just
inside the door.

“I assume the nurse will accompany him? Where
is Mrs. Shirley, by the way?”

“Why, I don’t know. Where is Mrs. Shirley,
Catherine?” asked Dr. Edwards, rolling his eyes at her.

“I…I suppose she had to visit the water
closet.”

The hooded face turned toward her and
Catherine felt the woman’s glare. Well, it was the only thing that
occurred to her.

“Oh, now I remember,” said Dr. Edwards. “She
went to the hospital to prepare a bed for Mr. Kelly. Of course
she’ll be staying with him

while he’s there.”

The men easily lifted Mrs. Shirley, placed
her on the stretcher and covered her with a blanket.

“There now, he’s not heavy, eh? He’s lost a
lot of weight. Martin, I’ll keep him in the hospital until I’m
certain he’s on the road to recovery. He’s been very ill.”

“Of course. Andrew, we’ll be thinking of you.
If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

Martin left without waiting for a reply.
Catherine called her thanks after him.

The men descended the stairs with their
burden. Sallie stood in the lower hall and watched with avid
curiosity as the men passed through, going out the door and sliding
the stretcher into the waiting ambulance.

Catherine rode in the ambulance along with
one of the attendants, while the other drove. She watched nervously
as he picked up Mrs. Shirley’s hand, pushed the glove down a bit
and felt for a pulse.

“Strong heartbeat,” he said, looking
puzzled.

Catherine wished that Dr. Edwards had come
with them, but he had elected to ride his horse back to the
hospital. She cast about for some diversionary topic of
conversation.

“I’ve seen you at the hospital, haven’t I?
What is your name, sir?”

The young man seemed pleased that he’d been
noticed, removed his cap and introduced himself.

“Oh, I went to school with a girl with your
last name! Do you have a sister?”

“Why, no, ma’am, that is…my sister died of
diphtheria when she was two.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are you from?”

He was from the western part of the state.
Catherine began to talk about the efforts of western Virginia,
which was anti-slavery, to become a separate state, and she somehow
managed to keep up the rather one-sided conversation until they
reached the hospital. The young man still looked puzzled, but this
time about her, as he and the other man carried the stretcher into
the hospital. Dr. Edwards had set up a bed in his own study and
there they deposited Mrs. Shirley.

“I hate wearing this thing.” Mrs. Shirley
snatched off the hood as soon as the orderlies left the room. “My
bag should be under the bed, Mrs. Kelly, if you will be kind enough
to hand it to me. I should like to change my clothes.”

Catherine reached under the bed and dragged
out a valise. “When is Clayton supposed to get here, Mrs.
Shirley?”

“Sometime today. That’s all I know.”

Catherine left the room. She stayed all day
at the hospital, but every time she checked the new arrivals, she
was disappointed.

Something has happened to him, she thought.
Maybe he died on the journey. She carried out her chores
automatically, hardly hearing anything said to her. When Tad came
to drive her home, she sent him back, saying she would stay with
her husband. At Dr. Edward’s insistence, she slept on the bed that
was intended for “Andrew,” and Mrs. Shirley slept on the sofa.

The gray light of dawn had filled the room
when she woke. The hospital sounds, which never completely died
down, had begun to rise in volume—slippered feet hurrying down the
hallway, pans rattling, the voices of the doctors and nurses, the
cries of those who were delirious or in pain. She washed her face,
scrubbed her teeth and smoothed her hair, then turned to leave the
room, noticing that Mrs. Shirley still slept. She glanced out the
window and stopped.

Against the soft glow of the dawning sun,
several ambulances had just come to a halt at the rear of the
hospital. Orderlies rushed about, carrying the stretchers inside.
She could not make out any faces. Whirling, she ran from the room
and down the corridor to the doorway. Already the wounded men were
being borne down the hall, and she looked at each one, her hand
pressed to her chest and her heart in her throat.

None of them was Clayton.

She stood dejectedly by the door as Dr.
Edward’s voice came from outside. “This way, men…leave him in my
office for the time being.”

The doors were flung open again, and
Catherine stepped away until she felt the wall at her back. Her
eyes wide, she saw Dr. Edwards first, followed by a man being
pushed in a rolling chair. His black hair was limp and brushed back
from his face, which seemed pale under its tan. A dark blanket
covered his lower body.

He saw her and tried to smile but did not
speak, and Catherine remembered that she mustn’t call him by name
or behave as if she knew who he was. Dr. Edwards led the way into
his study. The men rolled the chair inside and quickly left the
room. Mrs. Shirley still snored quietly on the sofa.

Dr. Edwards took out a stethoscope and
listened to Clayton’s heart, then straightened and gave Catherine a
wink. “He’ll do until I get back.” He went out, stuffing the
stethoscope into his coat pocket. He closed the door firmly behind
him.

“Clayton!” She knelt beside him and took one
of his hands, tears streaming down her face.

“Now Catherine, I don’t have a handkerchief
this time,” he said, the familiar, self-deprecating smile on his
lips. His voice was weak, but her heart delighted in the sound of
it.

She wiped her tears with the back of her
hand. “Oh, I just want to crawl into your lap and hold you and
never let you go.”

“Indeed!”

They both turned their heads to see Mrs.
Shirley sitting stiffly upright, her hair still in its bun and her
clothes looking as if she had just put them on. “I hope you will
both exercise a little self-restraint until our mission is
accomplished.” She got to her feet and held out her hand to
Clayton. “Major Pierce, I’m glad to see you have returned. If you
will excuse me, I shall go and prepare another room, perhaps a
storeroom of some kind, where I can stay until we both return to
the Henderson house.”

She marched out of the room, somehow
conveying disapproval by the very swish of her skirts. Catherine
sat looking up at Clayton.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said softly,
“or our ever-vigilant guardian will certainly deplore my lack of
‘self-restraint.’”

“Clayton, how badly are you hurt?”

Before he could reply, Dr. Edwards returned,
looking at some papers in his hand. “Let’s see, my boy…what do we
have here?” He sat down at his desk. “That bullet in your chest
missed a lung by about half an inch. And the leg…” He frowned,
continuing to read silently.

Clayton saw Catherine’s glance at the blanket
that covered him. He squeezed her hand.

“It’s still there,” he said.

“Bullet passed clean through, missing the
artery and bone…looks like you were lucky, Clayton.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lost a lot of blood, though. Get into this
bed so I can have a look. Catherine, help me get his clothes
off.”

Catherine, who had removed the clothing of
countless wounded men—sometimes cutting them off with scissors when
they were stiff with dried blood—turned scarlet.

Clayton hastened to say, “I can do it myself,
Doctor. Maybe Catherine had better wait outside.”

Dr. Edwards peered over his spectacles at
them, and Catherine saw a smile under his bushy beard. She went
into the hall. The doctor called to her when the examination was
complete, and she reentered the room.

“Looks like he received excellent care—clean
wounds, no sign of infection. That’s what we’ll watch for. Let’s
leave him here for two or three days before we transfer him to your
house, Catherine. Why don’t you get him something to eat? I’m going
home for a few hours.”

When he had gone, Catherine walked over to
the bed and took Clayton’s hand again. A crisp white sheet was
pulled up to the middle of his bare chest and she saw the tip of a
white bandage. She said quietly, “I heard you took those bullets
for General Cobb.”